-25-

"Discuss"

If anyone but House had suggested it, Cuddy would have laughed it off, filing it under 'hungover physician's folly'. But she was well aware House didn't throw out instructions for a course of treatment indiscriminately. Even under the influence of alcohol and the lingering glow of hooker sex, he is still twice the diagnostician of anyone on staff.

Felicia and Dan are scheduled for tonsillectomies this afternoon. Eddie's parents have decided to wait for the results of these operations before allowing their son to undergo the surgery. Cuddy understands their decision but it's not one she would make for her child. Any port in the storm. If there was the slightest chance a tonsillectomy could eradicate the fevers, Cuddy would go for it.

Still, it's not her decision to make.

She took lunch in her office. Alone. A tossed salad and glass of diet iced tea were enough to sustain her. Lately, hunger has abandoned her. Some people binge when they are upset or anxious. But like her mother and sister, her appetite takes a powder the moment worry comes trundling along.

In a moment she will meet with Wilson to discuss a number of things. He wants to hire another oncologist, someone to help with the caseloads that have seemed to overwhelm them lately. Is it the crap in the air, the tars in cigarettes, the chemicals in red meat, the caffeinated lifestyle that is causing the abundance of tumors and cells gone awry in so many patients? It's times like these she wishes she could channel some of House's callousness, his ability to dehumanize the process of healing.

Today she is not in the mood for this. Her lower back aches, more than likely from the six inch heels she wears. They give her height, allowing her to gaze directly into her employees' eyes rather than up at them. She thinks of it as having a psychological edge. Like any vice it is easy to defend. And it is a vice; she really loves wearing these shoes.

She slows her step as she approaches Wilson's office, strolling along as if she doesn't really have a budget meeting in an hour. Her casual gait belies how stressful her day has become. The thought of sitting across the desk from Wilson makes her stomach dip and swoop and dive. At first it will be all business. The conversation will start out on the right track but then, after exchanging a knowing look or two, the chat will veer off the road and careen into the Land of House.

She is not at all pleased with Wilson's decision to once again enable her diagnostician by letting him go to Atlantic City. Of course, House is a big boy; he is perfectly able to do damage to himself without his best friend goading him on. But Wilson could have at least tried...

...and suddenly she is in Wilson's office. They chat amiably and easily. His case for a new oncologist wins her approval. His notes are in order; she will bring copies to the meeting this afternoon to plead Wilson's case. Their meeting is winding down and she nearly escapes before that look in Wilson's eyes holds her fast.

"I don't know what happened." He is rubbing his brow with two fingers and slowly shaking his head. "One minute we were driving along to some...place he wanted to show me, the next I'm leaving him off at Penn Station. I can't seem to remember..." The sides of this hands rest on his blotter. "...what happened in between."

The look he gives her is unsettling. He seems as lost and confused as he was just after Amber passed. That air of unreality and disbelief is as thick as heavy cream. Cuddy wishes she could reassure him nothing out of the ordinary happened, that he was just stressed and tired and hanging around with House too much. But she knows this is not the case. There is something else at work here; something indefinable, something totally out of left field.

He touches his fingers to his brow again. "I left Rosa...we split up."

"I'm sorry."

Folding his hands on the desk, he gives her an uncertain smile. "Thanks in advance for pleading my case."

"It's my case too, don't forget."

A smile touches his eyes. "I know."

He wakes with a jolt. It seems only a moment ago he was with Misha, enjoying her ministrations, the care she took with him, feeding off his reactions to her touch, her moves. She was all Stacy this morning, aggressive, passionate but with that subtle hint of neediness that didn't quite fit. Somehow she was able to emulate all the nuances, the quirks and surprises that made sex with Stacy so rousing and addictive.

He realizes now how much he had missed it, missed Stacy. He is good at repressing stuff, at blocking out the good, bad and in-between, crushing those memories into a ball and locking them away behind a sturdy virtual door. But a danger exists; those memories could always spring up to bite him on the ass if he wasn't careful, if he didn't keep a check on his mental meanderings.

House half hopes Misha doesn't return for awhile.

Swinging his feet off the bed, he makes his way to the window and pulls up the shade. It's dark out, a near dawn darkness. The grass shimmers with dew; a crow caws its question, its pal from across the road awks its reply. A street lamp throws a pool of yellow light onto the street beyond his yard, The light is like a leftover slice of sun, hanging around until morning comes around again.

On the grass, a woman circles his Dr. Gregory House shingle. Occasionally she reaches one hand to brush her fingertips against the sign to make it swing. Her London Fog coat flows around her legs like the wide skirt of a dancer. The arc of light drifts over, embracing her, putting her on center stage.

He realizes who this is only after she stops her wandering, sets one hand on her hip, tilts her chin up and throws him an haughty glare.

Amber...

Behind her the ice cream truck idles. Its motor purrs, the tinkle of its bells is almost imperceptible. The driver pushes the brim of his hat up with his thumb before tossing House a wave.

"You should go."

He turns to see Misha languishing in the half-light by the door.

"Why are you here?" House asks.

"You never can tell when one might be in the mood for an early morning snack..."

Her eyes sparkle with seductive promise, like Cuddy at her most flirtatious.

"...but you're going to be otherwise engaged."

In the town hall, two men are in the lobby seated before the mosaic layout of Pleasant Hills. One of the men holds a small black box, tilting it slightly to allow his companion to view its screen as well.

Scavenger is hard at work. It makes a clickety-ca-tick sound as it analyzes the doctor's current state of mind, then hums contentedly as it tells the tale, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat. It is a sure sign the doctor's interest is piqued, his curiosity factor is on orange alert.

"Could work," Sarno says around a mouthful of jellybeans. He shrugs, squints at the screen as he digs into the candy bag again.

"Coulds and maybes aren't going to work here." Garrett leans his head against the leather seatback. Again he is exhausted. Espresso shots and snorts of Athermine, the new experimental stimulant Irie tucked into her last Care package succeeded only in making his heart race. They did nothing for his bleary eyes and a mind that is functioning like a molasses fueled freight train. "We need to provide him with enough stimulation to make him fall in love with this place. Until we can safely say he has no thoughts about going back, we haven't succeeded." He tilts his head at Scavenger, which continues to reassure him with its golden light. "This is his playground, his sanctuary, his refuge from pain."

Sarno cups another handful of jellybeans. He shakes them once before bringing them to his mouth, which prompts Garrett to give him a sour look.

"You're killing your teeth even more with that crap. Have you gone to Beltran?" Dr. Beltran was the Nova City dentist whose expertise at fixing 'Grayrot' was fast becoming legend.

"Nah," Sarno fishes through the candy bag again. "gonna get those new implants, the ones that supposedly never rot."

"That's out of your pocket, Sarno." Garrett scoffs. "Irie's not going to approve that."

"Shu-up," Sarno mumbles through a mouthful of candy.

"Fuck you."

Licking his lips Sarno's eyes shimmer with interest. He leans forward in his chair and waggles a finger at the movement on the mosaic map. An opaque blue tile has separated itself from its brethren and taken off down a center artery of the town. The tile follows the path that winds through streets and valleys and back roads.

His eyes meets Garrett's. "Well, now, looky, looky, looky." A slow smile crosses his lips. "The healer's on the move..."