House had gone to a place where Cuddy couldn't follow, and probably didn't want to, shuffling the pieces of the nightmare around his head in the hope that they would fall into place like a jigsaw puzzle, form something that could explain whatever significance, if any, it held. Pouring over every bit, every inch, waiting for the answer to jump out. By the time the sun came up he had moved only once to reach for his Vicodin bottle.

It wasn't exactly the opportunity she was looking for to play hooky, nonetheless, Cuddy took it. They both did.

She handed to the phone to House and told him to call up and let the hospital know he wouldn't be in. He mumbled away in the phone until his last sentence when he hissed, "Well, if you don't like that's just too fucking bad," and slammed down the receiver. Then he spent the next hour blowing off steam by stalking up and down the hall. She lay there and listened to his footsteps and watched as his shadow roiled in the rectangle patch of light from the doorway with each pass.

He finally gave up or got tired or both and fell back into the bed. An arm wrapped around her and she cried out in surprise as she was suddenly wrestled out of her tranquil half-doze and yanked backwards. "Stay here," House whispered, his voice gravelly with anger and exhaustion. "Just stay here." The nearly suffocating grip squeezing her loosened into an embrace. She relaxed with it and fell asleep as he took her hand and ran his thumb along her soft palm.

She awoke to a shaky feeling from the awareness that it had been at least twelve hours since she had eaten something. She turned over to find House still in her bed, still awake and fighting to stay that way. It was a battle he was slowly but surely letting himself lose.

"You want something to eat?" she asked.

"No." he answered thickly.

"You sure? I'll fix whatever you want."

"I'm not hungry." He turned away, letting her know the conversation was over. The end.

From the kitchen table she looked out at beautiful day. The perfect day to say 'to hell with everything' and lounge around doing absolutely nothing. She silently ate her cereal and wished it was rainy and miserable. A day filled with gloom to match the night filled with dread. The perfect combination. Something to match the black cloud hanging over her and House at the moment.

The two coffee cups finally made it to the dishwasher with the cereal bowl and the lights were finally extinguished. She berated herself for a few seconds for wasting electricity. Just for a few seconds. She felt almost normal again.

Back in the bedroom, House had lost the battle, sleeping with the covers kicked off and an arm hanging down the side of the bed. His skin was still too damned pale, making the dark circles under his eyes look like charcoal smudges or two hard punches delivered--postage due--by his worst enemy. But his breathing was slow and smooth, some of the tension was asleep with him. She opened a window to let some fresh air chase away the staleness that had crept in, and pulled the covers back up to his chest. House didn't stir as she rejoined him under the sheets.

I lost the battle but not the war. That's what Greg would say, Cuddy thought as she closed her eyes and hoped to see him in her dreams.


The long shadows told her it was late afternoon, and the clock proved her correct. The other side of the bed was empty.

She changed into the Ramones shirt and sweatpants, and padded out to the living room. A World War II documentary played on the television. House sat in his spot, looking at the television but not really watching it. His clothes and hair were damp, and Cuddy was afraid of another nightmare. On closer inspection, she could smell the warm water and soap. He had showered.

"Hi," she smiled and settled next to the doctor.

"Hey," he said, and pleased her immensely when he returned her smile.

"You're looking better," she said, and meant it. Color was coming back to his face and his eyes had regained some of their fire. Not really a fire, more like a candle flame, it was still a million times better than the dull lifelessness that had filled them the night before. Whatever sleep he got obviously did some good and she smiled again. "How long have you been up?"

"A while," House replied absently. He probably hadn't looked at the clock and really didn't know the answer. "Is that invitation to fix whatever I want still open?"

"Of course."

"Waffles?"

"I'm out of waffles. How about a sandwich. I've got some turkey."

"It's not any of that crap fake vegetarian tofu shit?"

"No, it's the real thing."

"Okay. Turkey it is. Hold the pickles."

Cuddy fixed him two sandwiches, knowing he was hungry and he'd be more relaxed with a full stomach. He deserved to be relaxed and content for a little. It was just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later he'd have to close his eyes again, see if the nightmare was still there.