.

No one knows what its like To be the bad man To be the sad man Behind blue eyes

No one knows what its like To be hated To be fated To telling only lies

But my dreams They aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be – The Who

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House stared at the test results in front of him. The numbers seemed to fade in and out of focus. One, because he was in pain and the Vicodin wasn't helping, hadn't been working for several hours and two because his mind kept reverting back to a few days ago. The last time Cuddy had been in his office. Even in retrospect, he couldn't decide whether he should have avoided her touch. He knew it was a 'peace' offering, unfortunately, if she had touched him then he would have been lost. He couldn't have her realise the power she had over him at that point, that he was craving her touch. She was going to find out eventually… hopefully, but until he was certain that they were both going forward together with the same goal in mind, then he didn't want her knowing how easy it was for her to get inside his walls. So far she had seemed oblivious, too worried about her own position and feelings, too wrapped up in her new little world. Meanwhile his world had fallen out of his bottom… or maybe the bottom out of his world. If he was prone to self-pity, as well as other self somethings, he might think that he had the reverse Midas touch, everything he touched turned to rust.

She was smart, sooner rather than later she would come to the same realization that he had, that they had fed off each other, inspired each other, vitalised, motivated, stimulated, focused on each other. They'd always played each other, sparred, brandied words and insults, even the odd compliment… usually wrapped up as an insinuation, but said nonetheless. He'd always enjoyed it and he'd always just ridden that wave, never plumbed the depths of why. It was almost as shocking as the kiss after she'd lost Joy, and hadn't that had been a revelation. She'd been in so much pain, emotionally, that he'd had to reach out, to try and give her some comfort. Her response had been surprising; his response to her response had been surprising.

Up to that point he'd thought he could take her or leave her. Yes, she was fun to wind up, to jerk around, a worthy foe, he liked messing with her, he wouldn't have admitted to liking her, but if she'd have jumped him he probably wouldn't have said no. Then, given the opportunity, he couldn't do it. He couldn't take advantage of her in that state. Put it down to self-interest, it had all the hallmarks of a crash and burn and even his under-developed self-preservation instinct knew better than to go that route. Except, why? Why not accept what was offered? It wasn't as if they were going to have a relationship, so why not? He could hide behind because she was his boss so not a good idea to piss her off, or because they worked in the same hospital and who wanted that complications or because, as Wilson had so perceptively pointed out, it mattered, she mattered, he… cared, he had… feelings. And it had surprised him. He didn't know what to do with the feelings.

Naturally, she'd rationalized and negated which was a disappointing relief. Then she'd changed her mind, somewhat provoked by him he had to admit, although he'd been unsure of himself and of her and he'd screwed up. Then he'd finalized things in his own mind and she wasn't interested – she said. He'd done too little too late or, more to the point, undone too little too late. Except she'd given him clues… deliberately or accidentally was open to debate but she had given him clues. So, there he was working on the friends requirement when, bam, another little surprise.

They needed each other. Scary thought that was. Not to be over dramatic, they'd probably limp along without each other but they'd never get the same zest in life if the other weren't there. Hell, wasn't this a high stakes game. Still no sense in folding at this point, it had always been a high stakes game. It was just becoming obvious that the stakes were even higher than he had anticipated. Nothing like a bit of self-awareness to make you realise you've not been rational but been rationalizing along with every one else. Wouldn't Wilson just laugh his socks off if he ever found that out? Never take anything for granted, he should know that. Hadn't he had this talk with himself after the bus crash? Didn't he ever learn? Not according to Cameron, he thought in slight amusement, but then she didn't see everything.

Don't take Cuddy for granted. Apart from the fact she was a woman and could behave irrationally, hmmm, perhaps he shouldn't use that word, it would be rational to her, it would just be unexpected to him… which was the interesting bit, right? For once in his life he'd rather things were less interesting, because apart from the fact she was a woman, it appeared she was the woman he could not do without. Unfortunately, there was no reason that Cuddy should come to a similar conclusion. She might just come to the opposite conclusion, just to be contrary… or, more likely, because she was panicking. No way on earth would Lisa Cuddy want feelings like that, feelings she couldn't control, free-ranging in his vicinity, possibly anybody's vicinity but especially him. He gave that a bit more thought. Unless she knew he was just as out of control, then it could go either way. She could run for the hills or she'd be fascinatingly intrigued and join in… actually, there was a third way, she could laugh… hysterically, and have real fun at his expense. He'd have to make himself extremely vulnerable to her to find out.

This was a catch-22. He couldn't make himself that vulnerable unless he knew there was a decent chance of moving forward but if he didn't make himself vulnerable he might never find out if they could move forward. They would never survive in an unequal relationship, they had to have balance. It might look unbalanced to an outside observer but it would be balanced to them. Without balance they'd always go in circles. He couldn't let her revert back to how it was before but if he wasn't careful they could move completely away from each other. That was unacceptable so he had to move it forward. He had to get her to realize that what she'd asked for wasn't what she wanted or needed, first professionally then personally. He was fairly certain that professionally at least, she was already being to realise this. However, she'd want to go back to normal and that was just as dangerous or useless depending on where you stood, as moving away from each other.

Therefore, next time, hopefully there would be a next time, he had to let her touch him no matter what he gave away in the process. What to do next? How to convince her? He needed to think but he was distracted. His leg hurt and he had the test results in front of him.

He'd run various scenarios through his head but the only logical course of action at this point was to see Cuddy – except he wasn't ready to see Cuddy. Especially not when he needed her to believe him on this before he said or did something stupid. The something stupid being a defence mechanism because he was in pain, but given the current 'balance' of their relationship, had Cuddy not understanding or forgiving and consequently had her backing off even further. He sighed -- vulnerability again. He looked at the test results, again. He'd checked Wilson it wasn't him. It might possibly be Kutner, but he didn't think even he could be that bravely stupid. He sighed, again, grabbed his cane and test results and limped heavily to find Cuddy.

She was in her office. Start off normal, he thought. He barged in.

"Have you substituted my Vicodin?" he practically yelled.

"Not recently," she replied, slightly perplexed.

He stood thoughtfully for a moment, then obviously came to a decision. He limped to her desk and handed over the test results – she looked at him puzzled before looking down at the sheet.

"I don't think the pharmacist will believe me…" he left the 'I'm hoping you will' unsaid. She turned to look at him.

"Reaping the rewards of past misdemeanours?" She asked, but there was no malice in her tone, almost a hint of… amusement. Was that good or bad? He wasn't sure, it wasn't terrible. He felt one of the bands of tension running though his body ease.

"I've already tried two refills," he added, trying to save on questions.

"Nefarious means I assume?" She looked exasperated.

"One was," he admitted.

"How long?"

"Two days. I've used up my stash, my secret stash, my secret, secret stash… all of them." She looked dubious. "I haven't kept as many since…" He trailed off not wanting to refer to Tritter and all the trouble that had caused. She still looked unconvinced, then he saw her scrutinise him more closely. He knew what she would see. He was pale, sweating, limping heavily, pupils dilated. He was close to withdrawal if he wasn't already in it. She looked back at the figures. She got up, picking up the sheets of paper.

"You tested both refills?" she asked.

"Yes." She headed for the door.

"So help me you better not be pulling a fast one, House."

"You believe me?" She turned.

"Did you fake the test results?" He shook his head. "Then I believe you enough to go and upset the pharmacist. Sit down and wait here. If I find I need to rip your arms and legs off I don't want to search the hospital to do it."

He sat on the couch with a sigh of relief, rubbed his leg and waited. The wait was interminable giving him a lot of time to think. Had that been a professional exchange? She hadn't seemed aloof or distant. She hadn't been too disbelieving… sceptical but not disbelieving. She was allowed to be sceptical, she was a scientist before she was an administrator. Was that sympathy, pity or business as usual he saw in her eyes? He didn't see triumph, so unless she'd got it well hidden she hadn't conspired with the pharmacist to doctor his pills. Somebody else might have though. He'd made enough enemies over the years and then topped it off by upsetting Hacker's plans. He didn't think that Hacker had the balls to tamper with drugs, maybe one of his cohorts might, but he'd be too scared of getting caught. Fortunately, Cuddy came back stopping his train of thought.

"The Vicodin is all the same batch number that came in three days ago. It looks like the genuine article, packaging, sealed, everything. However, other complaints are coming in. The first few the pharmacist thought it was the usual addict behaviour. I've sent some random samples up to the lab to be tested."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course not. However, you wouldn't be here if you had any doubts but I need to know the scale. If it's the whole batch or if you were just unlucky. In the meantime, I've brought you methadone." She held out a cup.

He looked up at her, surprised.

"I know it's risky but it'll help with the withdrawal as well as the pain. You can go back to the Vicodin when we can get another batch. Or you can wait for the test results and hope that the whole batch is not fake. Or, I'll give you another prescription and you can try a different pharmacy, which might not have fake Vicodin. Your choice."

"But I can't have a drink if I take that." He felt the need for some token resistance, even though his pain level was now around 8. He wouldn't object too much, though. Not when this was his ideal opportunity to try methadone with Cuddy's blessing and without her ever having to know he'd been considering it anyway.

"Are you an alcoholic now as well, you can't go without a drink for a couple of days? Is this something I should know about, you can't be drunk and practice?" He looked at her then down to the cup she was proffering.

"I'd rather have oxycodone," he wheedled.

"You overdosed on that."

"That was…" perhaps he'd better not go there, Tritter again. It was a one-off but he could see her point and no doubt Wilson would have the same point if he tried to get a different prescription from him. He took the drugs in the hand rather than aiming for the fix in the bush, especially as it suited his hidden agenda.

"You're not going to give me the lecture?"

"You wouldn't listen if I did. I thought I'd save ourselves the time. You know the risks as well as I do. The pharmacist will be contacting the other patients on Vicodin and eventually the distributor – other hospitals and pharmacies might be affected. PPTH just happens to have its own canary."

"Tweet, fucking tweet." She smiled. He felt another of the bands of tension ease. She continued to watch him, then sat down next to him. He turned his head to look at her.

"Counterfeit drugs are on the increase," she said, conversationally. "The FDA estimate that fake drugsaccount for about 10% of global pharmaceutical sales, and have lead directly to more than half a million deaths a year worldwide. Problem's worst in Asia and Africa, where the WHO reckons up to 25% of drugs sold are fake and for some drugs, for example those for malaria treatment, it could be up to 50%. Nearly $39 billion, equivalent to 11% of global pharmaceutical sales will be counterfeit this year expecting to reach $75 billion in 2010, an incredible 92% increase from 2005. Even in developed countries it's estimated about 1% of drugs are fake. In the UK alone that equates to about eight million packs of medicines worth £425m a year. There have been 14 major recalls in Britain in the past three years, compared with just one in the previous decade, and British border officials seized more than half a million counterfeit pills last year. In the last two months, the EU seized 34 million fake tablets at customs points in all member countries."

"Actually, most active ingredients for brand-name drugs can be bought over the internet cheaply, and you don't need a sophisticated lab to duplicate pills," House chimed in.

"You setting up a lab in your kitchen? The recovered packs contained 50-80% of the correct pharmaceutical ingredient, but ineffective antibiotics made of talcum powder, birth-control pills made of rice flour, and more dangerous substances are regularly seized by border officials. At least there wasn't rat poison in the ones you took." She reached for his wrist to take his pulse.

"Only if I can con Kutner into doing the mixing, otherwise it would be too much effort. Much easier to get Wilson to write a script." He watched calmly as her fingers encircled his wrist. Good thing he had an excuse for his elevated heart rate.

"You'd be out classed anyway. The counterfeiters are sophisticated, even the packaging and pill markings are the same. It's suspected that some of the manufacturers, mostly in Asia, make the real stuff during the day then make counterfeit ones at night. It used to be small amounts online but organised criminals are now involved, counterfeiting globally, and target pharmaceutical wholesalers who supply everyone from high-street pharmacies to hospitals. Wholesalers duped…"

"Or unscrupulous -- why pay $100 for a pack of tablets, when the same pack costs $5 from a Chinese counterfeit gang," said the cynic extraordinaire. Cuddy acknowledge the possibility with a tilt of her head.

"From the criminal's point of view, there's far less risk than with cocaine and heroin -- fake medicines are easy to produce, low risk to sell, and vastly more profitable than the traditional drug trade. A counterfeit drug costing a fraction of a penny can be sold for 50 times as much on Western markets. And, the maximum penalty you can serve for misbranding is 6½ years in prison."

"A tracking system's needed but that requires a level of global cooperation that's not happening anytime soon. Here in the US, a national computer system to record a drug's journey from factory to patient has been stalled repeatedly by the pharmaceutical industry. Can't blame them for that -- extra bureaucracy will raise costs and possibly disrupt supply chains. So, it'll stay like that until something bad happens."

"That almost sounds like you sympathising with the pharmaceutical industry." He looked scandalised. "Fortunately, the source of the counterfeit drug is the wholesaler's problem not mine. Patients on the other hand… Your heart rate is coming down. You've got a bit of colour back. How are you feeling now?"

The pain was easing, as was the tension in his body, which had been making the pain worse.

"Better." She let go of his wrist. He thought she was going to say something else, but obviously decided against it. He sighed, rose from the couch and walked towards the door. He turned.

"Thank you," he said. For everything, he thought, as he walked out -- for believing me, treating me, caring enough to take a few minutes out to give me a distraction while the medication kicked in.