According to Cuddy's dream dictionary, blood represents love, passion and life. House made a crack about there being nothing more passionate than having her "vitality" splashed all over him while she bounced off a car and turned back to his reading.
He really wasn't interested in interpretations and meanings and hidden clues of every tiny detail; he just wanted the damn dream to go away. Let Cuddy scour the land for the symbolism and nitpick it all she wanted. She was going to anyway. He scowled and scanned the pages for something that had at least a crumb of medical relevance.
"Many researchers believe that nightmares are a mirror of reality and that means there's something that needs to be resolved," Cuddy suddenly spoke up.
"Some people believe the world is flat and other people believe that a monster lives in a lake in Scotland. That doesn't mean it's real," House responded, his eyes moving over the pages faster and faster, trying to find something he could relate to. He focused on an article about lucid dreaming and began to read with real interest since it involved details on how the dreamer could take control of the dream.
"What do you believe?"
"I believe in what I can see."
"So what do you see?"
"I see that as long as my feet are on the ground, the world could be triangle for all I care. And as long as the monster doesn't end up in my bathtub, I really don't care about that, either. It doesn't impact my life one way or the other." He glanced over at Cuddy, her holding that damned silly dictionary. "If I were dreaming of, say, being eaten by a horde of fluffy little kittens, would you show this much interest?"
"Killer kitties? How much Vicodin have you had today, Greg?"
"Just answer the question."
Furrowing her eyebrows, she asked, "Would you wake up screaming?"
"For the sake of argument, let's say yes."
"Of course I would," she answered immediately, a bit puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I think the nightmare disturbs you almost as much as it disturbs me. The only way it would disturb you more is if you were dreaming it yourself. The fact that it involves you only makes it seem more threatening than it really is. Are you afraid it's going to come true, Lisa?"
"In some form, maybe," Cuddy frowned. The book in her hand was forgotten for the moment. "Aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. Maybe dreams do mirror reality, but they aren't reality. You being hit by a car means something, you being hit by a car in the future isn't what it means."
"I hope not," she replied, though House could tell a tiny part of her did worry about that very thing.
"Haven't you looked up 'death' in that dream dictionary of yours yet?"
"I was just getting to it. I thought you weren't interested in this stuff."
"Not really. I'm amused that you are though, a student of hard science and medicine like yourself. Stuff that relies on the cold hard facts. Does the definition read, "Lisa Cuddy is going to be pulverized by a rogue dream car?"
"No...," she looked flustered.
"What does it say about the whole death thing? I'd like to know."
She flipped through the pages, searching through dozens of other words starting with the letter D. House only saw a blur of paper and ink from where he was sitting. "There are several definitions here. Death of a loved one symbolizes worry over that person's well-being–"
"Gosh, that's a shocker," he snorted. "Any moron with an IQ hovering around room temperature could figure that one out."
"And it may also mean that you are lacking a certain quality the loved one represents."
"What the hell...?" His mouth flopped open like a fish and Cuddy couldn't help but smile a little. "Are you looking at the right thing?"
She handed the book over. "Read it for yourself."
House read it over, and read it again. "So...unless this means I wish to become a Jewish woman, I don't know what significance that has."
"I do," she said. "So tell me, Greg, what quality do you see in me that you wished you possessed. And why does it bother you so much?"
"Goddammit, Lisa...," he trailed off. "Let's try to find someone that has some sort of real world meaning to it first, and if all else fails, maybe I'll look up what being mauled to death by kittens means." He turned back to the article on lucid dreaming with a grunt.
"Greg?"
He didn't look up, pretended not to listen, but she continued, "Are there qualities you admire about me?"
"You already know the answer to that," he said.
"Yes, I do. But I'd still like to hear what they are."
