His arms snaked around her waist. He pressed his nose into her curly, black hair and inhaled deeply. For a moment he recognized the scent of Pantene and then it was gone. House lay on Wilson's couch. He had almost found the perfect level of high. For weeks he'd been popping Vicodin after Vicodin, trying desperately to regain the memories of him and Cuddy. It took forever to find the perfect amount, mostly because he was living with Wilson who had this annoying habit of being home.

Tonight, however, Wilson was out on a date. The second Wilson was out the door House retrieved the orange bottle from his secret hiding place – underneath Wilson's bed.

House wasn't sure what to believe. He wanted to think that he was dreaming now; that everyone was crazy and he was in some strange alternate universe. He'd spent all week trying to prove that what he felt for Cuddy was real. He used several tricks to try and make Wilson crazy. If he cracked and did something uncharacteristically Wilson, like actually stand up to House, then surely it was a dream. House left dirty dishes everywhere, brought hookers in and out of the condo, and stayed up playing his guitar until 3 am. He considered putting Wilson's diabetic cat, Sara, into the dryer until he remembered there was no cat. At least not in this reality.

Instead, Wilson ignored House's antics completely. He was being the 'Good-Friend-Trying-to-Understand-His-Best-Friend's-Situation'. Typical Wilson…House would have to figure out another way to get back to his real life.

I'm sorry, House.

Please, please don't do this. I can do better.

I don't think you can.

He hadn't had a chance to get near Cuddy. She'd suspended him for a month, for his "health". Right. Everyone knew better. She'd suspended him because she was uncomfortable being around him after her wedding caused him to overdose.

Now, House was stuck trying to decipher dreams from reality. On the one hand, he could just continue to live like this existence wasn't real. He could spend his days high on pills and his nights bent on booze. But what if he was wrong? What if this bullshit excuse for existence was his life? He was alone. No Cuddy. No happiness. At least there was one upside…Cuddy still hadn't married Lucas. The wedding was on hold until farther notice. He might have a chance to win her, and if he couldn't succeed in this life – he knew where he could go to have her.

"You do realize what this is doing to him, don't you?" Wilson was busy pacing the floor in Cuddy's office. She was seated behind her desk, busily rifling through desk drawers, trying not to listen to Wilson's rant.

"Yes, and I also know what it's doing to the hospital, but I can't let him come back yet." The hospital had had to refer their unsolvable cases to other departments in the hospital. Their success rates weren't very good. Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and Chase were up to their eyeballs in work.

"Every time I leave the condo he's in there getting stoned. I have to pretend I don't know that his secret stash is under my bed."

"Why would he put it under your bed?"

Wilson shrugged. "He thinks it's the last place I would look. You know addicts - they think they're smarter than everyone else…and he just happens to be." Wilson sank into a chair. "Cuddy you have to get him back in here. The only chance he's got now is to work. He refuses to go back to Mayfield."

Cuddy stared at him intently. The last thing she wanted was to see him. It was bad enough that he'd pulled that stunt to ruin her wedding, but he also had been having detailed hallucinations of several months' worth of a relationship that didn't exist.

"When are you getting married?"

The question startled her. "Um, I don't know. Why?"

"Good. Just…don't for awhile, okay? Believe me, he won't take it well." Wilson stood up and headed for her office door.

"Wait," she called out softly. She chewed on her bottom lip, an internal conflict playing on her face. Finally she said, "Tell him to be back on Monday."

Wilson closed her door behind him. He knew he shouldn't be mad at Cuddy but he couldn't help it. He was pissed off at both of them. She was wasting her time marrying a man they both knew she wasn't in love with. Meanwhile, his best friend was single handedly destroying his life.

Some days he wished he had been on that bus with Amber.

Dr. House entered the main doors of Princeton Plainsboro at a slow pace. His leg burned as he crossed the tile floor and headed towards the reception desk. Cuddy was standing with her back to him. She leaned against the desk looking over some patient's file. He couldn't help but admire the way her gray skirt clung to her ass. It kind of thrilled him, knowing exactly what she looked like under that skirt – and her not believing it.

"Morning, Love Muffin." House leaned in toward Cuddy's face. "You smell divine. Have you been using my body wash again?"

"Doctor House…back to your charming self, I presume?" She stepped away from him, her eyes shifting uncomfortably to the floor.

"You mean drug free?" He said loudly.

"Shhh!" Cuddy grabbed him by the bicep and steered him into a vacant break room. "You can't scream across the hospital that you're on drugs. What will patients think?"

House smiled mischievously. "Ah, you mean investors? Relax. They'll never believe I'm a real doctor. I'm not even wearing a white coat."

"Listen, House. I don't want to speak to you unless it's relevant to a case. Got that? I didn't bring you back so you could make my life hell. Patients need you. The hospital needs you."

"Which means that you need me. Don't worry, Cuddy, I'm not here to ruin your pretend relationship with Inspector Gadget. I just thought you could use a good doctor when your mom needs a new hip replacement."

Cuddy stood in the middle of the room feeling dumbstruck. Why would he know her mom had a hip replacement?

"So, boys and promiscuous member of the opposite sex, what do we have today?"

Thirteen ignored House's insult. "Twenty-five year old white male. Presented to the ER with a severe sore throat, dysphagia, and a fever."

"Sounds like almost any infection. Could be the flu? Strept throat?" Taub offered.

"That's what they thought until the nurse noticed he was having bloody diarrhea and his respiration rate was 8," finished Thirteen.

"Do an EGD and a colonoscopy. Find the source of the bleed," Foreman ordered. The fellows began to rise out of their chairs.

"What is this, affirmative action? I'm in charge here, not Foreman." House looked around the room. God, one near death overdose and suddenly Foreman was the genius? This must be a dream. House racked his brain and couldn't come up with anything to challenge Foreman's idea. "Do the EGD and the colonoscopy…"

His team exited the office and House sank into his chair. It wasn't like him to not have an idea. Something was wrong…He slid his desk drawer open; fishing blindly for the little envelope he'd hidden in his desk long before he had even given up Vicodin. Finally, House found it. After ripping open the seal he dumped three pills into his hand. He tipped his head back and the slid down his throat easily.

He could taste her on his lips. She had just told him she loved him even though she didn't want to. She'd broken off her engagement and here stood in front of him – raw and completely his.

"You don't think this is real do you?" House's head snapped up. Lucas stood in front of his desk. He looked tired and frustrated. "You don't think she really loves me."

House leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk. "No, I don't and judging by the way you're standing in front of me looking like a lost puppy, I don't think you believe it either."

"Why can't you just leave it alone, House? You're a sarcastic drug addict with an in ability to show up for the real world. You're no good for her. She knows that. Everyone does."

"Oh, because you're so much better. You have fewer real relationships than I do. At least I don't connect with strangers I'll never know by peeping through their windows and tapping their phones." House smirked. "Face it, Lucas, you're even farther from 'the real world' than I am."

"You lost her, House. You were so close – cleaning up your life. But you ruined it when you couldn't accept reality. You ruined any chance you had by almost dying because of your drug habit."

"That's not what happened…I lost control…I thought she was going to die," House muttered quietly. A confused expression crossed Lucas' face. Damn it! What was he thinking saying that out loud? Even if this was a dream, he couldn't afford to spend it locked up in the psych ward. He had to figure out some way to get back to his real life.

The confused look on Lucas's face was slowly changing to satisfaction. "You're still on drugs, aren't you, House? I can't believe…you still think that was real. There never was a "you and Lisa"! She's going to marry me…and nothing you do can change that."

Lucas left House's office with a spring in his step. The Vicodin was really starting to kick in. He could feel the pain in his leg was nearly gone. The haze was settling over him. He was so close to being back to Cuddy…

Then a familiar voice rang out. "Come on, House. You can figure this out. We can do this. We made a great team in the past."

Oh, shit.

He opened his eyes again. Sitting on the corner of his desk was none other than Wilson's dead girlfriend. She smirked at him, an evil glint in her eyes. "Now you really don't know what to believe do you?"