The living room was still cloaked in darkness, a few familiar corners and shapes registered in his tired, glazed eyes. Everything was fuzzy, grainy, he felt detached and far away, floating into a nothingness. What time was it? House didn't know the answer, or care. What day was it? He didn't know or care about that either. All he knew was that he was hurting again and he wasn't alone anymore. Did he forget to lock the front door? Oh no...Someone else was there and he was suddenly afraid. Faint footsteps came closer and House was terrified, he couldn't move or run; the shooter was back, the shooter had come back to finish the job and this time he wouldn't miss–

"Greg?"

A woman's voice. It belonged to his boss, his lover. Lisa Cuddy's voice.

House gasped for the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Ssshhhh...it's okay. It's me." The voice was soft and sweet and reassuring. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just me."

She sat at the edge of the sofa, the cold night air still clinging to her. He hadn't expected her to come back so soon, figuring she would need at least another day to cool off before she approached him again. How wrong he had been about that. The fear in him ebbed away, leaving behind the bitterness and emptiness that he had been wallowing in all evening.

"What are you doing here? What do you want?" he muttered.

"I wanted to see you. Do you need another reason?" A few strands of her hair picked up what little light found its way to the room, silver threads haloed around her head.

"Yes, I do. What do you really want, Lisa?"

"You shouldn't be alone right now."

"Go away."

"No. I'm not leaving you like this."

A cool hand touched his face, a cool hand with silky skin, tinged with the scent of the January outdoors, a soothing touch. God, how he needed that right now, how he loved the feeling of her skin against his own. The harsh words he had left her with at the hospital earlier in the evening came back and he felt a deep pang of guilt. House gave up all pretense of arguing with her, just wanting to feel her soothing touch for the rest of the night, for the rest of forever. She wrapped her hand around his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Come on, Greg. Let's get you to bed. You'll be more comfortable there."

"I can't," he moaned. "My leg hurts...it hurts..."

"Your bedroom is right over there." She put her arm under his back and urged him to sit up. "Ten steps. I know you can walk ten steps for me. Ten steps and you can lay down and get some rest"

He felt the cane pushed into his hand, and House pulled himself up to his feet as the band of rusty spikes tightened around his leg, from his knee to his hip. Cuddy's arm slipped around his waist and carefully steered him toward the bedroom. With the first step his leg threatened to collapse from underneath him, and he felt Cuddy leaning heavily into him, trying to hold him up. If he fell to the floor, he wasn't getting back up. He wasn't going to let himself be that helpless, not in front of the one person he cared about, not in front of anyone. He paused and balanced on his left leg, readjusting his grip on the cane.

It took twelve steps to get to the bed. He collapsed onto it, panting, hearing an "Oomph!" as he inadvertently brought Cuddy down with him.

She said something that he didn't listen to and left the room. Clinks and creaks drifted into the room as House closed his eyes, willed himself to relax, and felt the band around his leg loosen up a notch. Still too tight, still hurt like hell, but better than it was before Cuddy arrived. Footsteps as she came back into the room. A rattling sound. The bottle of Vicodin. That rattle was music to his ears. His eyes snapped open.

"How many of these have you had today?" she asked.

"Not enough. I can never get enough," he replied, and couldn't stop himself when he was suddenly overcome with an inane giggling fit. He stopped long enough to swallow the pill she gave him and take a drink from the glass of water she held up to his lips.

House fell back onto the pillow, wanting nothing more than to drift away and lose himself for a while. He felt Cuddy's soft soothing hands on his forehead, then they began to unbutton his shirt.

"Lisa, you're insatiable," he murmured, and giggled again. "You minx..."

"Yeah, that's me," she replied quietly. "Sit up."

"I don't want to."

"Sit up for me, Greg. Please. Just for a few seconds."

He did, grumbling the whole time as she slipped the shirt off his shoulders. When she started to pull up on his tee shirt, he batted her hands away, complaining about the cold. She sighed and left it alone. It was cold, as the hardwood floor beneath his bare feet had already told him. Carefully, she pulled off his jeans, hearing her whisper apologies as he yelped in pain when the right pant leg caught around his ankle.

"It's almost over," she said. "I need you to stand up."

"Noooo...," House protested, and buried his head in the pillow. He couldn't remember a time when getting ready for bed was so painful and exhausting.

"You need to stand up so I can pull back the covers."

"Lisa, please, my leg hurts and I'm so tired...," he moaned . Even though he was shivering in the cold winter night, the thought of standing up again was enough to make his head spin.

"Five seconds," she said gently, stroking his cheek. "I know you're tired and I know you're cold. Stand up for five seconds and you'll be under the warm covers and you can go to sleep. You've come this far, Greg. Five more seconds."

The room was freezing, or maybe he was just imagining things, but he managed to stand up. The floor felt like a sheet of ice. After the eternally long five seconds, he was back in the bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. He could feel the warmth of his own body heat from where he had been laying. The shivering stopped.

Bedsprings creaked and covers rustled as Cuddy joined him. She curled up next to him, and he reached out for her, feeling the familiar cotton fabric of his tee shirt and sweatpants covering her form.

"Thief," he muttered, and she chuckled.

She gave him a quick, soft kiss. "Goodnight, Greg."

"Lisa?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. You know that, right?"

A few beats of silence. "Yes, I know that."

"Good. No matter what I might say, I never want you to think otherwise," he said softly, and pulled her closer.