Much thanks to fellow writer and reviewer JLCH who inspired my creative juices with her comment regarding the previous chapter.

Where we left off: House and Brad just got into a fist fight. House punched Brad; Brad grabbed his cane, forcing House to put all of his weight on his bad leg, etc...

Cuddy, who had been peering out of the passenger side window for the past four minutes, breathed a sigh of relief when she saw House finally appear outside.

She immediately frowned as she noticed his grimace and the fact that he was limping slower than before and obviously in a considerable amount of pain.

Immediately, she opened the door and got out.

"Get in," she told him, "I'll drive." She saw his fist, but decided not to comment. She wanted to ask what had happened but decided that it can wait.

House didn't even argue with her as he handed her the keys.

Once his body was in the front seat, he grimaced as he placed both hands on either side of his thigh to assist in bringing his leg into the car.

Once she closed the passenger side door, Cuddy made her way over to the driver's side and got in, glancing at House, who leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he gripped his damaged thigh with his hand.

"Take a Vicodin," she told him quietly, as she started the car and drove in the direction of Route 1, deciding that, with House's current pain level, having him sit through a two and a half hour show with no pain relief was torture.

Chapter 70:

Not even half an hour later, Cuddy pulled the convertible into her driveway and assisted House with getting in the front door and into the foyer, while her mind was still racing as to what had happened earlier that night.

"Go lay on the couch," she told him as she slipped off her jacket. "I'll be right there."

As House limped slowly and painfully into the living room, Cuddy went into the bedroom in search of a heating pad and House's Vicodin.

Walking back into the living room, she noticed House had taken his jacket off and was lying prone on the couch, with his right leg stretched out in front of him.

Letting her anger stay in the back of her mind for the time being, Cuddy gave him a Vicodin, which he dry swallowed immediately. Having no Vicodin certainly is not helping with his pain level right now.

As Cuddy sat down on the edge of the couch, House opened his eyes and looked at her.

"I guess you want to know what happened."

"That would be a start, yes…Although, right now, I'm more concerned about your leg though," she said softly. "Did you get hit?"

"No."

Somewhat relieved, Cuddy plugged the heating pad into a plug on the floor and laid it across his thigh. "Should warm up in a few minutes."

"I'm sorry. I'm not entirely the good guy here," House told her.

"Knowing you, I figured that much out already. I'm assuming Brad is why you went back inside…did he say anything to you?"

Leaning his head back against the arm of the couch, House let out a sigh. "I told him to back off…some words were said. I punched him -"

"You WHAT?!" Cuddy exclaimed, staring at him.

"I punched him and then as I was leaving, he grabbed my cane and I put all my weight on my leg.."

"Why the hell did you punch him?!"

House shrugged "He provoked me. And don't worry about my leg or anything. I'm fine..."

"Oh, so he said something to you, or about you, or whatever - and that gave you the right to punch him?!" Cuddy exclaimed, ignoring the later part of what he had just said.

"Well, I certainly see whose side you're on…" House sneered lightly.

"Greg, I'm just trying to understand why you went back inside -"

"He made some comment about you being into cripples, okay?" House exclaimed, as he stared at her.

Quite taken aback, Cuddy was silent for a few seconds.

"He shouldn't have said that," she finally said. "But you also shouldn't have hit him," she added.

"So you're not angry?"

"Well, I am certainly not thrilled that you punched him…"

"Oh come on. I told you I was sorry."

"Like that's going to stop you from doing it again…," she scoffed.

"What the hell is your problem?! The guy obviously has the hots for you. As your boyfriend, I didn't think he was being a gentleman tonight and I was protecting you -"

"Why? I'm perfectly capable of fending for myself…speaking of which," Cuddy interrupted him, "I'm extremely surprised the first words out of your mouth weren't asking if I had sex with him..."

"Well, did you?"

Cuddy smirked. "You'll never know."

"Oh come on. Now I definitely have to know."

"Why? So you can compare?"

Yes and no. So, you did have sex with him…"

Cuddy stood up. "I have to pee."

"Oh come on," House whined. "You can't change the subject now."

"Tell that to your son who is pressing on my bladder." She turned and began to walk down the hallway toward the bathroom.

"I still expect a yes or no answer," House called out from his spot on the couch.

Later that same night around one a.m., James Wilson and John Greene were sleeping in Wilson's queen sized bed.

Jolted out of a deep slumber due to his cell phone ringing, Wilson carefully rolled away from his partner and grabbed his phone, bringing it up to his ear.

"Dr. Wilson," he said groggily into the phone, without even bothering to check who was calling

He listened for a few seconds, squeezed his eyes shut and open a few times to wake up and then he spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Did you tell the parents yet?"

Sitting upright, Wilson moved the covers off his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, as he listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

"…No, its okay. I'll notify them tomorrow morning," he spoke after a few seconds of silence, "Do you need me to come in?"

He disconnected the call a few minutes later and simply sat in the same position, staring at the floor, with the cell phone still grasped in his hand.

His patient Madeline, the eight year old girl, had passed away in her sleep just moments ago.

Wilson exhaled and ran a hand down his face, clearly distraught.

"Hey," he heard a voice behind him whisper, "What's up?"

When he received neither a response nor any recognition, John reached out and laid his hand on his partner's hip, trying to draw him back.

"James," he tried again, softly, "What is it? Talk to me…"

Still, Wilson didn't even acknowledge him. Standing up, he went over to the chest of drawers that sat against the wall. After putting a pair of boxers on, he walked out of the bedroom without a word to his partner.

John gave him a few minutes before he jumped out of the bed and went to look for his partner, who was clearly distracted by something that had just occurred moments ago.

He spotted Wilson in the kitchen, sitting at the table, both hands gripping a glass of water.

John sat down opposite him. "You okay, James?" he began, softly.

Wilson shook his head.

"My patient just died," he murmured, as he gripped his hair with both hands.

"The girl?"

"Yeah…passed away in her sleep. Her parents weren't even there. I wasn't even there -"

John was silent for a few seconds. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered. He reached across the table and grasped Wilson's hand in both of his own.

"You can't be there every second you know."

Picking his head up, Wilson stared across the table, knowing that John indeed spoke the truth.

"I know. I just…" He broke off, and exhaled before continuing. "… I just wish there was more that I could do…"

"You did do all you could," John told him firmly, "You diagnosed her. You treated her. You oversaw her treatment until the very end…you can't play God every time."

"James," he continued, "you are a good doctor, but…you can't save everybody. That's just how life is…"

"Sure you're a lawyer and not a psychologist?" Wilson joked, as he wiped his face with his hand.

John chuckled lightly. "Every once in a while, I surprise myself as well."

He stood up and reached out his hand. "C'mon. Let's go back to bed. You'll feel better in the morning, I'm sure."

Reluctantly, Wilson grabbed John's hand and allowed himself to be led back into the bedroom.

Meanwhile, a few miles away still in Princeton, Cuddy was lying in her bed, surrounded by darkness, wide awake, her mind racing.

Next to her, House was flat on his back, his mouth slightly agape as he was snoring lightly. His hands were resting on his belly, intertwined together.

Cuddy glanced at his hand, the one he had presumably punched Brad with, and noticed the bruise on his knuckles starting to become more noticeable. She shook her head, slightly amused but mostly pissed.

She didn't know all of what had happened when she had walked outside of the restaurant that evening, but what surprised her was House's concern and presumably jealousy on his part. He's usually not one to get overly jealous Cuddy thought to herself. So then, why Brad and why now?

Brad too had surprised her. She hadn't even seen him since they were both in medical school doing their residency together. She was shocked he even recognized her. But, then again, she was one of only a few female Deans of Medicine at the country's top hospitals, so the recognition of her face was hardly surprising.

She had to admit: he did look good for mid forties.

Her thoughts shifted to House again. He shouldn't have hit him. Hopefully Brad doesn't press charges. That's just what they both needed: another lawsuit in the middle of preparing for one for Thursday.

She was also extremely taken aback that House had resorted to physical violence. Yes, he had a bit of a temper and it showed sometimes, but to physically hit someone because of…, well, because of her, that was one thing she did not expect. At all.

She knew she shouldn't be angry at what he had done, but a part of her was in fact absolutely livid that he would actually hurt Brad, who really did nothing to him.

Still incredibly frustrated, she rolled on her back and stared up at the ceiling, shaking her head in sheer aggravation as her mind continued to ruminate, her mind largely occupied with what House had told her.

A few minutes later, her thoughts were interrupted when House spoke out of the darkness.

"You know, if I collected a penny for all of your thoughts right now, I'd probably be very rich."

"You probably would be, yes," Cuddy replied, uninterested, without turning her head to look at him.

"So, any of these thoughts concerning what I did tonight, or is it all work-related and about the trial?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?!" Cuddy sneered.

"Okay, stop. I already apologized. What more do you want?"

Cuddy didn't answer him right away.

"… Or you can just ignore me, that works too," House added.

"You didn't have to punch him!" Cuddy finally spat out, angrily.

"I was provoked."

Cuddy turned her head. "Yeah, you said that before. You were provoked. Well, that makes it all better," she replied, her voice dripping heavily with sarcasm.

"Could you stop being so goddamned pissed at me for two seconds and accept the fact that I didn't have a choice?!"

"Oh, you had a choice…If he presses charges against you -"

"Oh please. He is not going to sue me for punching him in the gut!"

"How do you know?"

"You clearly know him better than me, so you tell me…"

Cuddy stared at him, surprised. "I can't believe you just had the nerve to say that!" she exclaimed.

Looking away from him, she exhaled, still clearly frustrated.

"And what I did in college and medical school after you left is my business," she added.

"Clearly not, if Bradley is still trying to woo you and get in your pants -"

"What the hell is your problem, Greg?!" Cuddy exclaimed in sheer frustration. "You are unbelievable! You had no right whatsoever to punch him and certainly no reason to make that comment you just said! He didn't do anything to you except for poking a little fun at me, which clearly I can handle like an adult …God, you're just so…."

She shook her head, annoyed, as she couldn't formulate the words to describe what she thought of him right now.

"And I think your 'over protectiveness' just went a little too far," she finished coldly.

Throwing the covers off her body, she stood up and walked over to the dresser, flicked on the light switch on the wall, ignoring House's moans of protests at the sudden brightness.

Throwing on a pair of gray elastic yoga pants, cotton socks and a black maternity t-shirt, Cuddy didn't say a word to House as she grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

"Lisa, stop," House finally said roughly. "You're being ridiculous."

"Am I?"

Climbing out of the bed, House limped painfully over to where she was standing and grabbed her right wrist forcefully to prevent her from moving.

"Stop this, okay?" he said to her, searching her eyes, his fingers still grasping her right wrist as he tightened his grip. "It's almost two in the morning. You're over-reacting, okay? I said I was sorry..."

"Get your hand off me," Cuddy told him coldly, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Now."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, neither of them saying a word. Finally, House slackened his grip, and Cuddy was able to pull her wrist from his talon-like grasp.

Without saying anything, Cuddy turned on her heel and walked out of the bedroom, knowing he wasn't going to follow her with the shape his leg was in.

"Lisa!" House called out after her, but he received no response.

Not even a minute later, he heard the front door slam.

Cuddy sat in the driveway in her car and willed herself to take deep breaths to calm down. Tears threatened to fall, but she didn't let them. You're stronger than that, Lisa, she thought to herself.

Once she backed out of the driveway, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for. Driving down the quiet street in the darkness, Cuddy took another deep breath before hitting the 'SEND' button on her Blackberry and bringing the phone up to her ear, hoping that the other person picked up.

Not even ten minutes later, Cuddy pulled into an empty spot on the familiar darkened street, and shut the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

Exhausted, she glanced at her phone. It was just after two in the morning.

Making her way across the street after exiting the car, she stood in front of the familiar door, taking a deep breath before knocking.

TBC...