Light headed is not a way that Lisa Cuddy ever feels, she is far to staunch for such a flowery faint hearted feeling. So when her body falls onto her bed, feet aching and her mind painting hazy shadows across her eyeballs, she pegs it down to exhaustion. She is probably right the stress is taking its toll; she has conditioned herself into believing that she thrives on stress but right now her body is telling her that that is a blatant lie.

Cuddy wishes it was Friday and she could spend the next few days in bed sleeping, or perhaps running off those clouded thoughts that are littering her conscious but as fate had ordained it is only Wednesday and the rest of the week has yet to unfold before her.

It's hardly a surprise when the alarm clock blares at the second she feels she has fallen asleep. Her eyes are tired and even when she is in the shower the warmth feels like it could be her blanket and invites her to close her eyes and return to her restless slumber. She is too tired to be amazed that she has managed to dress herself and shower without succumbing to the subliminal 'sleep' messages that all the walls of her house seem to exude.

A caffeine shot should chase the cobwebs away, and she is sitting at the breakfast bar with a large cup of black coffee (with excessive sugar) steaming in front of her. The smell is strong and rich making her feel queasy yet she manages to swallow it down along with a few slices of lightly browned toast.

She knows the hazards of consuming large amounts of sugar, she'll be on a momentary high and then she'll crash, she just needs to last through out the day and she is certain that she is capable. Better yet she is going to do a damn fine job of it as well.

It' during her lunch hour that Eric Foreman walks into her glass cocoon, he is speaking to her and the words themselves seem like they must be very important but all she can do is gaze uncomprehendingly as his face works through a series of emotions finally rounding on concern.

"Dr. Cuddy, are you alright?"

This is the time she realizes that she is overlooking her job, her mental checklist reels off what little information it has retained of the words spoken to her, still they make little sense.

"I'm fine I just need some more coffee"

She shares with him the all knowing doctor look

"Can you run your request by me again?"

By the end of the day everything seems to have morphed into riotous hilarity though Cuddy manages to keep her underlying urges to collapse into hysterics at bay. She recalls reading somewhere that if a person hasn't slept for twenty four hours then they react in ways similar to that of a person who is legally drunk. Whether this information has been produced by her weary brain or is just an old wives tale is hard to determine.

Making her way home as soon as possible Cuddy makes herself a nice meal, has a shower and then gets into her bed ready to catch up on her sleep. But sleep won't come; she silently curses herself as she tries to fathom a guess at exactly how much caffeine she has consumed.

Still inevitably sleep does come, slowly but still there.

Feet propped up on the desk House watches as Wilson paces around his own office he is clasping the phone to his ear. Sorely tempted to make high pitched moaning sounds House tries to find something on the desk to distract him only to be interrupted by the slamming down on the phone.

Wilson sighs

"Don't ask"

"I wasn't going to"

"So…"

Wilson begins hesitantly

"I think Cuddy is sick, she seems run down. What is your opinion?"

House just cocks an eyebrow at him and shrugs his shoulders. He is slightly suspicious at his friend's sudden interest in his boss. Wilson who knows him better then he should takes this miniscule hint and charges off into a completely unrelated tangent.

A wet tongue passes over Cuddy's lips as she makes her way to the elevator, the hospital once again shines in the ethereal glow of artificial lighting, it makes her eyes blink and she listens to the faint scuffling of nurses in the halls. The halls that are almost empty now, the day is winding up and coming to the conclusion that it was made for.

Pressing the elevators call button she jiggles on one foot for a second as she watches the button light up. Getting in the elevator her stomach protests as it starts its lurching ascension.

Home is her savior and when she closes the door behind her again she smiles, at last some time to wind down and get the kinks out of her back. Stress laden days, however un-compelling, come with the territory.

Ring

Surely that cannot be her phone.

Ring, ring

Lisa picks it up and brings it to her ear slowly, the expression on her face reads to mild confusion and she ignores the habitual twist of her guts that accompanies the phone every time it beckons her.

"…Hello?"

The words come out as if she is asking for the reassurance of nothing but her own echo.

"Lisa, how are you?"

Considering how odd she is feeling the reassurance of a familiar voice on the other end of the line seems to break her out of a daze. Her father speaks to her asking after her health and how work is going. At first she suspects that something terribly wrong has occurred, the feeling of dread that is building up inside of her is formidable. She waits for him to break the news of the family tragedy gently to her, but the moment she is sure will happen never comes. She only accepts this when the dial tone has been droning in her ear for minutes.

Cuddy wonders what is wrong with her, her father calls to inquire after her health and she spends the entire call stranded inside some sadistic thrall waiting for him to speak of a mass crash involving her dearest family members. This can't be normal.

To comfort herself she runs through the familiar actions of making herself a cup of tea, she chooses something herbal from the cupboard and lets herself be drawn to the soothing properties of chamomile.

Sitting on the balcony seems like a good idea so Cuddy grabs the burgundy afghan off her sofa and wraps it around her shoulders. Cup in hand she walks out and takes a seat watching the sky. Dusk makes quick work of all the remaining light in the sky and settles down behind the clouds.

Reaching for her cup she finds her hand grasping the box of cigarettes still remaining form her little relapse, glancing over she notes that the cheap lighter she had brought to go with the pack is still there too. There is a slight internal battle raging but somehow she manages to convince herself that one last cigarette would hardly be a crime, but just one.

Tapping ash into her conveniently empty cup Cuddy thinks about how much of a disgusting habit smoking really is, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't grind the butt into her table until there is no other option. Rising to her feet she moves back into the house taking her cup and the packet of cigarettes with her.

She thinks about flushing the packet down the toilet but opts to instead throw it into the rubbish bin. Flushing away a packet of cigarettes is far too symbolic and dramatic for her liking, though she still feels a determined rush of achievement as the lid of the bin flips closed.

Cuddy is leaving the house; she is taking a break from the familiar surroundings she keeps on facing day to day, even though she loves them. Driving a little too fast to feel comfortable she reaches for her hand bag and manages to grab her cell phone, unwilling to let her life end in screeching of breaks and a startled look Cuddy pulls over and dials the number.

The phone rings exactly five times before House picks up, Cuddy knows it's five because it's the same amount of times she considers hanging up

"Hello"

It's a statement; he has a confidence in answering that she lacks

"What are you doing?"

The abrupt question makes House curious, he glances down at the keys of his piano and then down its long polished back, as tempting as it would be to say "Washing Cameron's hair" House concludes that if any such an inflammatory comment were to be made Cuddy would hang up immediately and then adopt one of the governments favorite slogans and 'deny everything'

"You want the truth or a happy lie?"

He is asking because he wants to please her at the moment and isn't exactly sure what she is asking of him.

"The truth"

"I was playing the piano, Beethoven's 'Moon light sonata'. Yet I have a feeling that is not exactly what you wanted to know… Perhaps this is your way of asking if I am home alone."

The headlights of the traffic are illuminating Cuddy as they stream past; snapshots of her profile can be seen as each car passes her. The pause before her reply is one weighted with stubbornness.

"Are you?"

She had to ask, she wants to know and he will be more then willing to provide her with the answer. They both count a second and then he answers

"Alone? Yes."

She arrives on his doorstep and he gives her entry only when he meets the glare from her eyes, she closes the door behind her and follows him into the kitchen where her offers her a drink. She remembers clearly thinking that this wasn't what she was here for so when he makes a sharp comment about just jumping to the chase she doesn't seem wounded by it at all.

Walking to the bedroom he glances behind him to see if she following.

She grabs his wrist and slides him into the wall her abdomen pushing firmly against his and she kisses him fiercely waiting for something to register.

He is pushing the boundaries unaware of how far she thinks she is able to go, hands sliding across her body discreetly. Ear to ear, cheek to cheek he fancies he is listening to her pulse thud but even if he could hear it he is far too enraptured with the gasping sounds she is making. Some how she has him pinned to the wall but he is the one in control

"I need… I want you..."

House doesn't claim to be a master at reading Cuddy but he is sure he sees panic when the words slip from her lips so he draws back his lips and hisses "Freudian slip" into her waiting ear.

She draws her body back from him momentarily and looks into his eyes with a purposefully bland expression on her face

"You didn't let me finish my sentence"

"I cut you off just in time"

Neither of them bothers with trying to unravel the riddles and contradictions that seem to be festering between them.