Sorry all for the slow update, I've had a really nasty case of writers block, and I was trying to get my new iPod shuffle to work. The evil thing was driving me crazy. But anyway, here's what I could come up with for another chap. It's probably short but whatever, I'll update again later.

Chapter 6

The alarm rung out the next morning, House caught it on the first beep. His leg pain had wakened him up hours earlier and he just sat there staring at the ceiling. Cuddy still slept next to him in the bed, her mouth gaped open slightly and she snored lightly. He gently massaged his throbbing thigh trying to gather the strength to move from his bed.

When he shifted upright in the bed he accidentally bumped her head and woke her, he never noticed. She sat there and watched him try to will himself to move. A pang of guilt enveloped he stomach and she gulped down the lump in the back of her throat. He slowly gained his rickety upright stance, stepping gingerly forward with the right leg, he fell backward and cried out with pain. She couldn't stand watching him like the she slid off the bed and moved in front of him, kneeling down, and gaining his attention.

"House" she grabbed his forearm "you okay?" she whispered.

"Yeah sure, how much did you see?" He averted his gaze to the floor.

"Enough to know you are not okay." She patted his shoulder and offered he hands to help him up.

"Oh, let's just end this pity party, and just hand me my cane so I can pluck my self from this bed." She obeyed, and suppressed a tear as she watched him move. He left her in the room and went to the living room to occupy his mind with something.

"Coffee?" she asked as she turned into the kitchen.

"No, withdrawal has already set in, probably won't stay down anyway." She quickly whipped up a cup of coffee for herself and sat in the chair next to the couch. Some how before she got back he managed to scrounge up his iPod (or ipp-odd as Coma Guy called it… ok geesh, Vegetative State Guy) and was now listening to god knows what.

She tapped him again and he was a bit startled he turned and paused the music.

"What?" she looked confused

"What are you listening to?" she asked

"Music, I thought it was pretty obvious." She smirked no one can stop the almighty Gregory House of snark.

"No I mean what song."

"Southern Star." He lifted his finger to start the music again.

"By who?" she wondered because she might put it in her own iPod if it sounded interesting.

"Billy Gilman, why?" he looked at her. "You like country music?" she nodded and he handed her one of his ear buds, and restarted the song. Her eyes widened she would really have to put that in her iPod.

"He has a good voice" she pointed out.

"He was a soprano when he was 11 believe it or not. He sung that one song One Voice, like 6 years ago." He stared the music again and this time he was listening for himself.

"That's him?" she couldn't believe it. "You got anything to read?" he still heard her over the music and pointed at the large black bookshelf, he kept his fingers crossed that she wouldn't find the little grey box on top hidden under the stack of medical journals.

She picked a book that looked promising and sat back down to read it. She saw his occasional glances to the top of the bookshelf she wondered what could possibly be holding his interest. But then she looked into his eyes, they spoke volumes, they wanted relief. Her mind mulled over what was up there; she thought it might be one of his stashes, for emergencies. She read in an article that most chronic pain suffers have one, just in case. She also decided not to bring it up with him.

The more hours that flew by, the more he plunged into with withdrawal. A few quick sprints to the bathroom later, he now sat a thick blue blanked pulled up to his chin, he shook like a mini earthquake and looked like dirt. She stroked his sopping wet hair, in a small attempt to calm him just a little. She was getting herself in big time and she knew it.