No memories with any usable, pertinent details came back to House. That didn't stop Goren's questions. A runaway train couldn't stop Goren's questions.
"She kept you in a room?" Goren asked.
"A dark, ugly little room," House answered with a scowl.
"What was in it?"
"A table and two chairs on one side. A mattress on the floor on the other side. The place smelled like mold and garbage. She gave me granola bars to eat and bottled water to drink."
"Any windows?"
"Two small windows. They were so damn filthy I couldn't see anything out of them. I had a feeling there wasn't much to see out of them anyway."
"What about noise? Did you hear music, cars, people?"
"I don't remember hearing any other people. I heard car horns and sirens every now and then, but they sounded faint and far off."
"What else?"
"That's pretty much it, Bobby. I was tied up in a dark, ugly little room with dirty windows. That's all there was."
And that's all House could remember at the moment, much to Goren's very obvious frustration.
Nothing else to do, nothing else could be done. Everyone had to admit that they were ready to crash and burn.
The detectives finished up with all the details about Nicole Wallace aka Elizabeth Hitchens they could offer and said their goodbyes, adding "be careful" and "call us if you need anything, anything at all". Goren in particular looked dead on his feet. Cuddy realized that's why he didn't sit down and kept pacing around the room; he was keeping himself awake. Underneath Goren's exhausted exterior, Cuddy could see a spark in his tired eyes. It was the same spark House had when he was working on a difficult case. Through her thick and waning caffeine buzz she found herself wondering if the detective suffered from long bouts of insomnia like House did. Given that Goren saw the lowest forms of humanity in action every day of the week, insomnia was probably in his job description.
Wilson crashed were he was on the sofa and his soft snoring soon filled the living room. No need to worry about House getting some sleep. He let her lead him stumbling to the bedroom and was out as soon as he lay back into the pillow. The urge to take care of him began to rise up and overflow in Cuddy, not that she minded. If House were awake he wouldn't have minded, either. No need for the comforter in the warm weather. She threw it back and pulled the sheet and blanket up to his shoulder. He was warm and safe and sleeping–everything she could ask for. Well, almost everything. She changed back into the Jack Daniel's shirt and slid into the bed with him.
He was on his left side, as usual, facing her. If she wasn't so damned tired herself she would have just watched him sleep. As it was she could feel her eyelids drooping, feeling like they were weighed down with bricks. She took his bandaged hand pulled it to her chest, holding it like a teddy bear. Hopefully his dreams would be free of Elizabeth.
She woke up to find her fingers still curled around House's bandaged hand, and smiled at the sight. The diagnostician was still long gone and she smiled at that, too. Who knew when he would get the chance to get some decent sleep again.
For the next twenty minutes or so she let herself drift into la-la land and indulged her favorite hobby of watching her lover sleep. Watching his chest rise and fall. Listening to his steady breathing. Hugging him close and running her fingers through his hair. Indulgence at its finest. She was in heaven.
He stirred a bit and she let go. Let him get some rest. She carefully got out of bed, pulled on some sweatpants, and made a beeline to the kitchen.
Out in the living room she passed a zonked out Wilson. He was stretched out on the sofa, facing the cushions. All she could see were his wrinkled shirt and pants and a mop of brown hair. She was careful not to disturb him, either.
The coffee was getting critically low, and the food level was beyond low. Nothing left to feed the three of them but Spaghetti-O's. How either of them could eat that slop she would never know. It smelled like dog food and tasted just as good. Barely one cup of milk left. One lonely can of chicken noodle soup. Some petrified potatoes. She couldn't stand it anymore. She was starving and needed some real food and they would be starving when they woke up. Ordering take-out would just be a quick fix to this lingering problem. It wasn't enough. Cuddy got dressed, left a note on the table, and grabbed her purse.
The shopping cart was full, but not too full by the time she got to the checkout lane. She didn't want to overdo it and got a few frozen pizzas and family sized lasagna dinners for the three of them to split over the next few days. Some chips, crackers, and sodas for House. Some fresh fruit for Wilson. A container of soy milk for herself. A trashy romance paperback she was going to hide in her purse before going back to the apartment.
The groceries were stuffed into the trunk and the lid was slammed shut.
"Dr. Cuddy?"
A woman's voice. She had an accent.
Before the thought could fully register, Cuddy turned around at the sound of her name. Then she felt her eyes burn with mace and her nose break with a sickening crack under a vicious swing of a fist.