House was soaking in a warm bath while Cuddy sat in the living room and stared at the rat. He never mentioned having a pet.

She padded into the kitchen and found some eggs and bread that didn't appear to be fossilized. She went to the bathroom door and knocked lightly.

"Greg, you think you can eat something?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Dinner in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed.

As Cuddy scrambled up some eggs she saw House stagger in, every bit as shaky as Wilson had described. His cheeks were flushed from the heat of the bath. Baggy sweat pants and a Ramones tee shirt clung to his skinny frame. His left hand was wrapped around the cracked bottle of Vicodin. After collapsing into a chair, he swallowed a pill, then leaned his head against his steepled arms. For one brief, bizarre second Cuddy thought he was praying.

He looked up at her as she brought the plates over. Despite the dark circles underneath, his eyes had regained a bit of their light.

"You're looking better," said Cuddy, between bites of toast.

"I've still got a headache," he grumbled, pushing eggs around his plate.

"If you drank half as much scotch as I think you did, I can see why. By the way, Cameron was asking about you."

"Cameron," he smirked. "I'm surprised she's not over here playing nurse-maid instead of you."

"It's still early. She could still show up." Cuddy had heard rumors of Cameron having a crush on her boss and was more than a little amused at the thought.

"Tomorrow she'll be demanding a five-page single-spaced typed report. Did you bring your laptop?"

House snickered to himself then ate few more bites. From the corner of his eye he could see Cuddy looking at him with her hands tucked under her chin. "Something on your mind, Lisa?" he said, dropping a bit of soggy toast back on to his plate.

"Greg, do you remember why you were so upset last night?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake..."

"Do you remember?"

"Goddammit Lisa, don't even fucking think about lecturing me–"

"You wanted me to promise you something. If you get anything out of this experience it should be that memory. Why were you so upset?"

"It was the anniversary of when Stacy left me. I already told you that."

"Do you remember what I promised you?" Cuddy pressed on even though she hated it whenever the subject of Stacy came up since Stacy hurt him more than his leg ever could.

"A promise? No, I don't. Feel free to fucking enlighten me." The sarcasm dripped from his words.

"You got it in your head that I was going to leave you just like Stacy did–"

As quick as lightening House slammed his fist on the table. Cuddy jumped three inches. Silverware clattered from the plates. The Vicodin bottle fell over and swung in tiny arcs. "Okay okay okay...I remember. You don't have to say anymore. I remember." They both took a few seconds to catch their breath. "Being a misanthropic jackass, I just automatically assume the worst in the people." He laughed. There wasn't a trace of humor it. "What's that old saying...We only hurt the ones we love? Is that how it goes? It's true. Hopefully you won't have to learn that lesson the way I did, Lisa," he went on, then met her gaze. "I'm counting on you to keep your promise. Just come out and say it. Don't make me assume the worst in you."

"Greg, I just wanted you to remember that I made that promise. You deserve that." said Cuddy.

"Fine. That's settled. I'm glad we had this talk," House said, not meaning a single word of it.

They sat under the harsh glow of the kitchen light, Cuddy staring at House, House staring at the table. The sound of the rat's squeaky wheel drifted in and out.

"Is your car out front?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Under the street light?"

"Yes."

"What will the neighbors think?"

"Who cares?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that touched his eyes. "I guess that means you're staying over tonight."