"I can make a list of all your wonderful qualities if you want," House smirked. "You can take it home and hang it on the fridge. Or tack it to a bulletin board at the hospital."

"You aren't going to tell me?" Cuddy asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't feel like it right now," he said simply, as if that vague answer explained everything.

"Not even one little quality?" She gently bumped his leg with her foot. The red polish on her toes caught his eye, tearing his attention away from the article.

House looked over with a grin. "Make us a cup of coffee and I might be persuaded."

"Just one cup?"

"One cup for the couple."

As Cuddy disappeared into the kitchen, House continued to peruse the article, then looked around the stack hoping to find more information on lucid dreaming. Information he could use and hopefully put an end his nightmares, the one in his sleep and the one it was causing for himself and Cuddy in their waking lives. Twice was more than enough. He didn't even want to think about a third time. That was a nightmare in itself, waiting in a dark corner.

A shadow floated over his papers. Cuddy stood over him, taking the first sip.

"You always take the first sip," House remarked as she handed over the cup.

"That's because I always make the coffee," she pointed out, sitting closer to him on the sofa.

"You make a great cup of coffee. That's one quality I admire about you." He continued to leaf through the papers, tossing away the ones that were filled with worthless new-age trash.

"That's nice to hear," she said dryly as he handed the cup back. "Now how about something worth admiring."

"Suzy Homemaker skills aren't enough?"

"Not for me, or for you. As you would say, any moron can stir stuff into hot water."

"You're not afraid to be with someone like me, not afraid of 'guilt by association'. Is that enough to mollify you for a while, boss?"

"For a while," she smiled. "But you pull a 'great cup of coffee' thing again, you're going to write that list, sign it, and hang it in your office. Now what are you reading about?"

"Lucid dreaming. Knowing you're dreaming while dreaming and controlling what goes on."

"I didn't get a chance to really look through it," Cuddy snatched a few of the papers from his lap. "Sounds like what you're looking for."

"A dream come true," the diagnostician muttered and turned back to the papers, shuffling for another useful nugget of information.


"Wake up! Greg, wake up!" She frantically groped for the lamp and found the switch.

"Don't go out there...don't...don't...," Pleading in his sleep. Knowing what was going to happen and being unable to stop it. The panic in his voice turned her blood to ice.

Grabbing his arm and shaking him frantically, Cuddy continued her own pleading, "C'mon Greg, wake up!" Her fingers slipped on the sweat that covering him, soaking into the pillowcase.

His eyes remained tightly shut despite her loud protestations. "Lisa, turn around, please..." he sobbed, still in the throes of the nightmare he wasn't able to control, not yet.

Cuddy couldn't let it go on for another second. He couldn't hear or feel her through the thick layers of sleep and the nightmare. Shaking, though she knew it was the right thing, she drew back her hand and whispered, "Please forgive me," before slapping him across the face with everything she had.

His eyes flew open and he froze in place, thefrantic panting, chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath was the only movement. Their eyes locked, Cuddy sitting up, still shaking with her hand clamped over her mouth, House lying on his back. A look of shock covered his face like a wet blanket. Whether it was from the nightmare or the slap wasn't known to her. The Dean of Medicine's gaze shifted to palm-shaped mark on his face as it filled with red.

"I'm sorry," she eventually said, voice cracking as hot tears flowed and trickled down to her jaw.

Shock slowly melted into simple bewilderment and relief as House finally spoke. "You were at the door...still not listening. You were at the door, but you didn't go through it. I woke up before...you and the car...I didn't have to see that. I didn't have to see that, thank you..."

"You were crying out again. It was terrible, watching you like that. I had to wake you up." More tears as she broke and let them flood.

"You slapped me," he scowled, carefully tracing his musicians fingers over the growing welt. "Goddamn, you slapped me. Hard."

"I was yelling at you to wake up, but you wouldn't," Cuddy tearfully replied as she reached for the tissues.

"So you slapped me," he said again in a flat voice, pouring all his surprise and disbelief into this one event.

"I didn't want to, I–" The sobs strangled her voice and cut off the words.

"I know," House told her, now strangely calm, reaching for his pills. "I know. Given a choice, which I seem to have now, I'll take the slap. That's a million times better than the car. Anything is better than that damned car." Two Vicodin were swallowed to chase away the ever-constant pain and any lingering scraps of the nightmare.

"I'm sorry–"

"Stop. You don't have to say anything else. Neither of us has to say anything else, except maybe we should start keeping a glass of water by the bed. More wet, but less painful. Now turn out the light and get over here."

"Greg, are you–"

"Lisa, I'm not mad at you. Just turn off the light."

The light clicked off and the covers ruffled as she slid over, collapsing on his chest. His heartbeat was still fast, but steady and reassuring, as was the arm around her back. She closed her eyes and hoped he could close his soon enough with having to worry about what was lurking behind them. A few remaining tears leaked out and dribbled onto his shirt.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy whispered, knowing full well he didn't want to listen to her anymore.

"I heard you, Lisa. It's okay."