From: Lisa Cuddy
Sent: Saturday, March 4, 2006 12:04 AM
To: Greg House
Subject: The Wedding and the Aftermath

I hope I'm sober enough to write something coherent.

All's well that ends well. The good news is that the wedding went off with only a few minor glitches–the veil was misplaced, the flower girl had a bad case of stage fright, etc. The wedding dress was gorgeous. She says it only cost $1200, but just between you and me that's a bald-faced lie. That thing didn't cost a penny under three grand.

Okay, I won't bore you to death with anymore details unless you really want to know who the best man was caught with in the backseat of the Cadillac.

The bad news–I drank wwaaayyy too much champagne and I just know I'm going to pay for it tomorrow. But I'll be damned if that wasn't the best champagne I ever drank in my life. There must have been 100 bottles of that stuff laying around, straight from France.

Sorry to cut this short but I'm really really tired and the room is starting to spin.

BTW, I'm wearing your shirt because I know how much you like that.

I love you,

Lisa


From: Greg House
Sent: Saturday, March 4, 2006 12:19 AM
To: Lisa Cuddy
Subject: Re: The Wedding and the Aftermath and I don't care

So you're getting plastered on champagne while I'm here all alone feasting on stale pizza and drinking flat beer. Nice.

But the vision of you in my shirt almost makes up for it.

You're missing all the fun over there in that No Man's Land some people call Des Plains. Chase and Foreman still won't look at me. My God, this is fun! I wonder how much longer I can drag out their torture. If I can squeeze three weeks out of this I will be able to honestly say it was worth every second.

On the other hand, Cameron has turned into a first-class ice queen. Maybe she'll thaw out a little but if you see icicles in the operating rooms you'll know where they came from.

Get some sleep you party animal. Take it easy on the damned champagne. You swiped a few bottles, didn't you?

Don't forget there's still a chance to catch an early flight. Or a bus. Or a train.

Love you,

Greg


House popped a Vicodin, climbed into bed and burrowed under the heavy comforter, trying to find some warmth against the chilly March night. His leg was hurting. No sleep until the Vicodin kicked in.

Three more days.

Christ, she's been gone for only two days and he missed her.

House kicked off another Stacy box.

It would be a lie to say the last few months hadn't been some of the better he had experienced in a long long time. After Stacy left House believed he could never be that close to another human being ever again. Was he ever wrong. His connection with Cuddy was undeniable, even if a few younger and misinformed doctors couldn't see it or didn't want to.

A vague memory came to him. After the four day bender, Cuddy was there, helping soothe the pain both physical and emotional. Waking up with her arms wrapped around him, feeling her warmth, feeling wanted again. Someone who didn't care that he was damaged goods. After all these years, someone who gave him more than enough reason to forget about Stacy forever.

Damn it, Stacy was still hanging on, a stone around his neck. He hated it, didn't want to think about her in this light. He could never find that nasty little box of fear on his own, it wasn't worth the effort to try. It was going to have to wait until Cuddy came back. She knew more about these things than he could ever aspire to, she hopefully had more than a little insight.

Damn you, Stacy. Can't you just go away?

House didn't want to think about Stacy or pain or fear anymore and threw them out the back door. They'd eventually find another way in but he wasn't going to stay awake all night brooding about it. The pain in his leg was winding down to a dull ache. Gregory House fell asleep, the image of Lisa Cuddy wearing his shirt played in his dreams.