House didn't have any use for religion, astrology, tarot cards and the like. He didn't believe his luck would change if the sun was in Leo and the moon was in Scorpio. He didn't believe in God.

But he did believe he was a man in transition. His life was changing and he couldn't deny it anymore.

There was the dream, the first he had remembered in at least seven years. It was just a simple dream starring Lisa Cuddy, simple to the point of being absurd, but it burned an image in his mind as if he had stared at a bright light for too long. If dreams were messages manifested from the subconscious, then his had walked up and smacked him upside the head for being so fucking stupid.

There's a woman in your dreams and her name isn't Stacy. There's a woman in your bed with her arms wrapped around you and her name isn't Stacy.

If Stacy loved you she wouldn't have left. How many more bottles of scotch do you need to get that through your head, genius?

The answer–none. It was time to let Stacy go.

Of course, it wasn't that easy.

She had been a part of his life, whether she was actually there or not, for a very long time. Getting rid of the excess Stacy baggage wasn't like throwing away an empty container. This was something that had to be spread out over time. For the moment House had to settle for pushing off a few boxes to lighten the load he carried.

Lisa could appreciate the effort. He hoped he wasn't wrong about that.

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Playing the piano was escapism at its finest. His mind was stuck on the soundtrack to The Piano, and that in turn was stuck on repeat, but House didn't hear any complaints. When he finished thirty minutes later he was disappointed that there were no neighbors pounding on the door yelling at him to knock it off.

Clapping came from behind him. Cuddy was still on the sofa.

"Do you take requests?" she asked.

"Maybe later."

"Half an hour straight and not one sour note. I'm very impressed."

"If you're that easily impressed then you definitely need to get out more." House limped over to join her on the sofa.

"You've been up for a while," she said, looking over his clean-shaven face. "Is the insomnia back already?"

"It never left to begin with," he said, lazily twirling his cane.

"Doesn't that ever bother you, Greg?"

"It does if I let it. You've seen the results of that. When I have a hold of the insomnia and not the other way around it's something I can live with."

"Considering how little you seem to sleep it's no wonder you don't remember your dreams."

After a brief pause in the cane twirling, House said, "Lisa, that's something you hardly need to worry about. I sure as hell don't."

"Just so you know, Greg," Cuddy said, smiling coyly, "As much as this drives me crazy, and as much you drive me crazy, I've dreamed about you for years."

As that revelation washed over him he tugged on the Jack Daniels shirt, pulling her closer. He felt the firm pressure of her mouth on his and every worry, pain, and regret began to melt away. As their kissing became more frenzied he threw the cane on the floor, barely hearing the crash because it didn't matter. Nothing mattered at that moment except Lisa.