Thanks for the reviews, and special thanks to those who took the time to review each chapter instead of en masse. The story is over the major hill and on the wind down but still has several things to work out first. Lots is still unresolved. We'll get there.

(H/C)

It was late that night when Cuddy woke up abruptly. She still had House's hand in hers, and she felt him shift slightly and then immediately settle back down. Her eyes snapped open to quickly check his monitors, her body immediately at full alertness. She hadn't heard Blythe and Susan tiptoe into the room, but House moving even slightly immediately registered, even through her sleep. Blythe was standing over on the left side of the bed and had obviously just run her hand along her son's bandaged head. She did it again, running a hand affectionately along his hair and the large patch along the left side that had been shaved for the surgery, and Cuddy felt House react and minutely pull away, felt his hand twitch slightly in hers, and saw the heart monitor jump a few beats.

"Blythe! What are you doing?" Cuddy kept her voice pitched very low.

Blythe looked over, smiling at her. "Oh, hello, dear. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You're hurting him."

Blythe stared at her hand, which had just been descending for another stroke as if she were petting a cat, and the hand froze guiltily. "I was being gentle. I was just thinking of all the times when he was . . ." Blythe hesitated, and her eyes shifted toward Susan and back. "If he was sick or hurt as a boy, sometimes I'd go up into his room after he was asleep and just run my hand through his hair, just to comfort him without waking him up."

Cuddy gritted her teeth and discarded her first five comments unsaid. First, Susan was standing right at the foot of her own bed, and second, she had no desire to wake up House. He was pretty medicated at the moment, but he wasn't in a coma any longer and would most likely react to sharp stimuli such as pressure along the surgical site - or his wife killing his mother. But the thought of Blythe talking about comforting House in childhood, considering everything she'd missed in his childhood, infuriated Cuddy. "Blythe, he just had the internal pressure monitor removed today, he's still got all sorts of stitches there, and he had a piece cut out of his skull with a bone saw and then reset, not to mention having arteries freshly repaired right under there. It's still quite touchy. He reacted to you, even through the drugs. Do not touch his head."

Blythe studied her son dubiously but stepped back obediently. "I was being careful," she repeated. She studied House with a frown. "Every time I've been in here today, he's been asleep. When will he start being awake more? I'd like to talk to him."

"Probably a couple of days. Rest is the best thing for him; it's good that he's sleeping so much."

Susan entered the conversation, following Cuddy's example and keeping her voice down. "How are you doing yourself, Lisa?"

"I'm starting to feel better. Still tired myself, though." She yawned dramatically, though quietly.

Blythe took the hint. "We'd better leave you two to sleep. I just wanted to check on Greg again." She leaned forward to put a hand on her son's shoulder. "Good night, Gregory. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Good night, Lisa," Susan added.

"Good night," Cuddy replied, teeth clenched. After they left, she checked House's monitors again, then leaned back into the pillow. She really was tired, but she was worried, too, not just about him but about the future. "Which one of us do you think is going to snap and commit murder first, Greg?" she asked. Very tough call. She was still thinking about it when she fell asleep.

(H/C)

Jensen stuck his head in cautiously the next morning, checking if they were asleep first. House was, but Cuddy was awake and looking out the window, obviously deep in thought. Jensen tapped lightly on the door. "Good morning. How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing better. He had his bad leg cramp up and had to have more pain meds about 2:00 this morning, but overall, he seems to be slowly feeling a little better, I think. His eyes look more like himself every time he wakes up. He is getting more frustrated, too, like you said."

"I can't blame him," Jensen replied. "It must be maddening."

"Can I ask your advice on something, Dr. Jensen?"

"Of course." Jensen dropped into the chair next to her, keeping his voice very low.

"What is the best way to tell his mother and mine to get lost?"

Jensen chuckled softly. "They're getting impatient, too, I know."

"Blythe was actually in here about 11:00 last night stroking the side of his head." Jensen flinched. "She was talking about how she'd go into his room after he was asleep when he was a kid, whenever he'd been hurt, and comfort him, as she called it." Cuddy's eyes flashed. "She might have pulled her head out of the sand and found a few more productive ways to accomplish that. And then there's my mother, who is going to want to stage manage our convalescence. Soon as we get home, she won't leave us in peace. I know her. She'll want to make sure everything is done right, by which she'll mean meds taken, pillows fluffed, hot tea regularly whether we want it or not. We won't have any privacy or processing time." Cuddy sighed. "I just want our lives back, and I'm afraid she's going to want too much of them."

"Realistically," Jensen replied, "you are going to have a period where you two probably cannot function completely independently at home, especially considering Rachel."

"I know. I'll have to be careful what I lift for several weeks, and who knows what time frame we're dealing with on him?" She glanced at House, and her brow furrowed in worry. "He was mentioning before he collapsed that his legs felt off, which he put down to the bruised left one on top of the right. He didn't feel safe carrying Rachel, and that was before we had any idea he had a head injury. His left leg really was badly bruised; that might have been it. Or it might have been balance issues related to the brain injury and be all better now after surgery. Or it might need a longer-term recovery."

"And we can't even evaluate that until he's stronger," Jensen completed.

Cuddy nodded. "Exactly. I know we're going to need help. But with them, we'll have more than we actually need, and there won't be any escape. And Blythe can't really help physically with Rachel anyway, although my mother could."

Jensen considered. "Are you comfortable having your mother care for Rachel, speaking purely about her needs and not about your own wish for occasional privacy?"

"Yes. Mom is a first-class grandmother. She's a first-class anything, wouldn't have it any other way."

"I know Rachel is capable of being discharged at this point. Maybe your mother could take her on home, with possibly some assistance from the nanny for breaks if needed. His mother could go along, even if she wouldn't be able to handle anything alone. That would give them another focus besides the hospital for the moment."

"That's a point. We've kept her here while everything was in full crisis, but the hospital isn't a daycare. And I know the nanny is on hold; Wilson found messages on Greg's voice mail and called her back. Greg apparently had filled her in last week, so she already knew about the wreck, just not about him." Cuddy considered. "That would give Mom something to do now, but the eventual point is to get her out of our house, not move her into it."

"This is a compromise offer. Tell her how much you would appreciate her taking care of Rachel right now. Emphasize the fact that as you said, the hospital isn't a daycare. This is a great chance for time with her granddaughter. Make her feel needed, and then, soon as she's feeling appreciated from that, set firm limits on the other end. Remind your mother of her husband's convalescence, remind his mother of her physical limitations, and tell both of them outright that you two are going to need some privacy and return to normality when you come home. You might have to hire a sitter for Rachel at first, even overnights, but I assume you'd rather have a paid sitter underfoot than your mother."

Cuddy nodded. "A paid sitter at least knows how to limit her attentions to the child unless specifically asked to do something else." She tilted her head, thinking. "That might work. Sort of help us out right now, thanks so much, couldn't do it without you, but here's how it's going to be when we come home?"

"Right. Basically you will have to remind them that it is your house and your life to get back to, but if you set that up in advance so they can prepare for change and expect it, and if you also convince them you will have adequate help then, they will take it better."

"Do you think you could do that?"

Jensen smiled. "I think that specific conversation would come better from you. However, I'd be glad to sit in as a referee if you like."

Cuddy grinned. "I don't know what we would have done without you the last week." She paused, considering. "One week ago today."

The monitors beside her abruptly blipped, and she turned quickly to assess them. Nothing worrying, but House was starting to wake up, and his heart beat realized that before his mind did. Cuddy squeezed his hand, trying to give him another first impression of the day other than his assorted injuries and aches. "Good morning."

His eyes opened slowly and looked across at her, also noting Jensen sitting on the other side of her bed. "Good morning," he said after a moment.

"How are you feeling?"

He was feeling a bit better, actually, though still nothing to write home about. For the first time since coming out of his coma, a metaphor sprang to mind, a sarcastic Housian response to reassure her, but while the concept and the illustration were there, part of the words eluded him. Timing was everything; by the time he finished managing to say it, they would be focused on his speech patterns instead of the joke. He gave a sigh of frustration and looked away.

"Greg?"

"A little better," he replied.

Jensen stood up and went around the nearly adjoining beds. "Since you're feeling a little better, let's see if your writing has improved." He put his notepad on the bed and passed House the pen. "Why don't you write down what you were actually thinking there?"

House hesitated, then took the pen and wrote it out fairly efficiently, the pen once again being far quicker on the uptake than his speech was. The tremors in his hand seemed better at least for the moment. He finished, then pushed the pad into Cuddy's hand, and Cuddy picked it up to read. A smile dawned, and then she started to laugh, passing the pad on to Jensen.

House's writing looked better today, less wobbly than yesterday morning, but it was the message itself that made Jensen smile. He could almost hear it in House's dry tones.

Like the fourth day of a three-day weekend, but yesterday, it was the third day of a three-day conference with exceptionally idiotic speakers and no Ipod or Gameboy, so overall, a little better.