Cuddy stood in their private bathroom, surveying herself critically in the mirror, judging her preparation. Her parents were due in an hour, coming in tonight for Abby's birthday tomorrow, and after the girls were in bed this evening, the Cuddys were taking the adults, Thomas included, out to dinner at a nice restaurant.

It was an olive branch in classic Cuddy style, formal, surrounded by social code, with visible price tag attached, yet legitimately meant as an olive branch for all that. Cuddy appreciated the gesture, but she still had butterflies in her stomach thinking about tonight.

Over the months since her parents' surprise initial encounter with Thomas, they had been obviously trying to adjust to this new addition to the family, but it was an effort. Cuddy regularly salted their phone conversations with stories about either Thomas' background or his current performance as a grandfather, hoping to boost him in their eyes, though House had wondered once or twice if she was overdoing it. The one meeting in person since May had been at House's birthday, just the one afternoon, and had passed peacefully if a bit stiffly.

Now they wanted to take them out to dinner, their idea, and Cuddy hoped that this indicated continued slow softening of hurt feelings. She also hoped her husband would behave himself - but her parents loved him - and that Thomas would continue to impress - but Thomas was in his element with people and would have no problems at all handling tonight.

No, most of her focus of worry was right behind those same two eyes looking back at her from the mirror. Even without the added element of Thomas, she always felt that she needed to try extra hard to merit her parents' approval. The compulsion was slowly improving with therapy, but tonight, annoyingly, her emotions seemed to have tossed a year of therapy out the window and reverted to a few years ago.

She took a deep breath, then forced herself to look away. She knew that the longer she studied outfit, hair, and makeup, the more faults real or imagined she would find. She had asked House's vote on her outfit for tonight's dinner, and he had casually pulled something out of the closet after about three seconds of consideration of the selection. She didn't make the mistake of thinking that it wasn't his honest opinion in spite of delivery, and she did look good. She just hoped that her parents agreed.

Relax, Lisa, she scolded herself, then paused as the word awoke those new memories from just a few nights ago.

Hypnosis had been an eye opener. She had submitted to it in hopes of reaching her husband, no other reason, and had never expected to benefit from it at all herself, but that window of time, all the worries set aside, focused fully but relaxed at the same time, had been a revelation. She hadn't realized exactly how tense she had been until the noise was stilled, and she hadn't expected her thoughts to be that much clearer without the emotional overlay. Of course, she had been under exceptional stress leading up to that, but she still found herself wondering a few times since just how much harder she made things for herself at times routinely.

At least House had heard her. It had worked. He had been very thoughtful since, on the quiet side, but the sense of strained, taut wires between them was much better. No great conversations, no new insights, but he wasn't as worried about her. He seemed bewildered more than anything. Of course, he had also tried to dig out the thought she hadn't said several times, but mostly, he was thinking. He had his differential look on, but it was not that of a frustrated stall on a case.

They were also making love again, and he had given up his new efforts to try even harder to please her and compensate for his disabilities. The last few nights had been a time of rediscovery, of reassurance, of rekindling. His leg hadn't come up specifically, and she hadn't pushed, giving him the space he always needed to think in. She did hope they could eventually talk about it, but the time wasn't quite yet.

She couldn't help asking him gently about the appointment with MacDonald on Friday. The usual session with Jensen had been cancelled, Jensen deciding he'd had enough this week, but he had gone to see MacDonald, and he had given her the Cliff's Notes version when she asked. The allergic reaction was healing; MacDonald even thought he might try wearing the TENS again today. (Cuddy had checked the lower nightstand drawer around noon; it was no longer there in storage.) He did tell her the methadone had been increased and that the higher dose helped.

The methadone. That was yet another worry point. She was glad for him, but she hoped he was being careful with the drug, remembering the differences between it and Vicodin. He did seem to be making entries in his pain diary, even if less lengthy ones than he had before her sin.

All in all, there was progress. She felt that they were well on their way to healing in their relationship, though it would take time. Patterson had warned her not to expect too much too fast.

Improvements. Hoping that there would be more tonight with her parents, she opened the bedroom door. Sounds immediately swept down the hall and into the bedroom, breaking her solitude of preparation. Rachel's stuffed horse. Abby asking a question and Thomas' reply. House playing the piano softly, more thinking through the keys than any settled tune; he was a bit on edge about tonight, too. But only about her parents, at least. Between them, things were better.

Cuddy breathed in her family, savoring the moment, then turned back right before crossing the threshold. She retrieved the old emerald necklace that had belonged to Thomas' mother and added it to her ensemble, then gave a final check in the mirror.

Feeling at least mostly prepared, she left the bedroom to go rejoin the others and wait for her parents to arrive.