The flickering images in his head were going by too fast. He slowed them down until they were passing by like a slide show, the pictures appearing in no particular order. House looked them over to see what he could use, what could be thrown away, and what could be saved for later.
Wilson: Unless he really wanted to know what it felt like to be kneecapped with a cane there was nothing to worry about with Wilson.
Cameron: House suspected things might boil over with her sooner or later, but he had more important things to think about at the moment. See ya, Cameron, he thought, and moved on to the next slide.
Stacy: Goodbye Mrs. Warner, House thought, I'm moving on. Do you hear that? I'm moving on. You've caused me enough heartache, grief, hangovers and tears to last several lifetimes. Hanging on to the memory of you has given me nothing but a giant mountain of baggage to lug around. You have a husband and I have baggage. That's hardly a fair trade. Dammit Stacy, I loved you. I really did.
He kicked off another box of Stacy baggage, his second one of the day.
The Lisa Dream: A silly little dream, hardly an earthshattering event for the rest of the world, but it meant more to him than anyone could ever know. Carefully, House folded up the memory and put it away. He hoped one day to share it with Lisa.
Lisa Cuddy: The woman he loved. The woman who loved him–a moody, drug addicted, damaged, crippled, arrogant, misanthropic insomniac.
You didn't have to let me in the door, Lisa, he thought, tapping his cane of the floor. All you had to do was tell me to get lost and that would have been the end of it.
House opened his eyes and stared at the piano.
I've dreamed about you for years.
Years. She had said years. Apparently he wasn't the only one who kept his feelings hidden. Through all the screaming matches about treating patients, nagging about clinic duty, pulling his authorization, he always believed Cuddy put up with him because he able to solve difficult cases, not because she actually liked him.
It all began to snowball simply because he wanted to see if she would invite him into her home. He had a vision of Cuddy wondering what would happen if she let him in. Did she expect this to happen?
Lisa Cuddy was the last woman on the planet he expected to fall in love with. It was a pleasant surprise.
He remembered the night she seduced him, how she had been damn near aggressive about it.
Why did you let me in the door, Lisa? It wasn't just because you liked me.
The reason she let him in would probably remain a mystery. Whatever it was, he was glad it overruled her reason to leave him standing on the porch.
Cuddy promised to tell him if she ever wanted out. Her only promise so far. It was one more promise than Stacy ever made.
Rustling sounds brought him out of this thoughts. Steve McQueen was running around the cage. His food dish was empty. House got the rat food from the closet and filled up the dish until was overflowing. "Sorry Steve."
Looking into the bedroom, he saw the twisted blankets and the hamper piled with rumpled clothes. Chores had taken a backseat to his scotch during the past week and now it time to play catch-up. Usually, he didn't let his laundry pile up since smaller loads of wash were a hell of lot easier on him and his leg. Sighing, he stripped the bed and limped with the blankets to the laundry room. Everything was washed in cold water on the normal cycle. There weren't any delicates to shred or shrink.
Back in the bedroom, he sorted his clothes, turned socks right side out, checked pockets for forgotten papers and money. The whole time he knew something wasn't quite right but he couldn't put his finger on it. After House finished sorting, it hit him–the black Jack Daniels shirt was missing.