A/N: Short update, but the next one is longer, with Thomas' night, and then the one after that is where House and Cuddy talk. "Winning the retirement lottery" is a phrase I've heard used several times by my brother the colonel, who has achieved that by now as soon as he feels like switching careers. At the moment, he's at 22 years in and still enjoying the military. But it really is a sweet deal (fully deserved, of course).

(H/C)

Getting the girls to bed that night was a war. The adults finally won but not until long after usual, when toddler exhaustion finally overcame toddler stubbornness. The evening before that had been unsettled, too, and not even the day's second pizza meal had been a distraction for long. The girls were totally zeroed in on their father, although Rachel did ask a few times when Thomas would be back.

Finally the girls were out. As Cuddy and House dragged themselves into the main room of the hotel suite and turned for their own bedroom in mutual unspoken decision, Marina briefly followed them back out of the girls' room, closing the door carefully behind her, and seized House by the elbow. "I hope you realize what you're costing that man tonight," she hissed, eyes flashing. "Not to mention the rest of us." Turning on her heel without waiting for a reply, she went back to the girls, and Cuddy had to give the nanny credit. She had never before seen a door slammed softly, all of the emphasis but none of the volume.

House had only paused for a moment as Marina hurled that verbal dart, but he didn't turn to face her, and he now resumed his tired limp toward the other bedroom. His leg was almost dragging, like it was too much effort for the mutilated muscles to pick it up at all, and as much as Cuddy wanted to shake him at the moment until his head rattled, her first stop once they were in their own room was to turn on the hot tub.

He looked at her in surprise. "No lecture? Or are you trying to relax me for a sneak attack first? Surely you have to get your vote in, too, whether I want to hear it or not." His tone was sharp, and what might at other times have had joking undertones to it was pure defiance tonight.

She forced herself not to snap back at him. If she got started at the moment, she was afraid she'd say things she'd regret. Her last nerve had surrendered to today about an hour ago watching the girls. "You just got one from Marina, short but with a lot in it. I'll at least wait long enough to be original." She tested the temperature of the water and walked over to gather sleep clothes for both of them.

His eyes followed her, suspicious, waiting. She simply kept preparing for the soak, and he was the one who broke the silence ten minutes later once they were in the tub. "About what I'm costing him, you're chewing over that, too. Forget it. He told me himself earlier today that he doesn't have any money problems."

She stared at him. "You think I'm worried about the money? That's not what I was thinking of. Not what Marina meant, either."

"You can't tell me you haven't had the thought cross your mind since he left. You live and breathe the hospital budget, Lisa. Tell me the cost of last-minute tickets hasn't occurred to you at least once tonight." She looked away, and he pushed on, scoring the point. "I thought so. He said he was drawing two retirements, plus Social Security, and one of those retirements would be career military. That's winning the retirement lottery. He's drawing half his final pay for life, and he has been since the 1970s. You don't have to worry about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to find ways to waste it for him. And okay, I did think about the cost of tickets a few times, but that's still not the biggest part of it. You're costing him a lot more than dollars, Greg." She sighed. "I don't want to talk about this tonight."

"You don't?" She saw the concern kick in as he realized she was truly serious. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No, but neither are you. We're both too tired to get into this. We need some sleep right now more than anything, I think." They were both running way past empty. She was afraid to talk to him about this insanity tonight. "Let's wait until the morning to discuss it, okay? Please, Greg."

He shrugged. "Wait until next new year if we like. It's my decision." He was still watching her, though. She had noticed how intensely he was watching her and the girls tonight and hoped that Jensen's session was beginning to soak in, even if slowly.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the tub, retreating but without closing the subject. "Let's just leave it alone for tonight," she repeated. But Thomas couldn't leave it alone for tonight. Alongside the acute anxiety for her husband was the worry for him. How could someone become so incredibly dear to her on really just a couple of days' direct acquaintance?

To her relief, House accepted the postponement of the lecture (discussion, she corrected herself mentally. Not lecture, discussion. I hope). But once they had soaked out at least the physical aches, given up on the others, and were preparing for bed, he spoke up again. "You need to take an Ativan tonight." He was sorting out his nighttime meds as he spoke, and she saw him hesitate at the sleeping pill, then add the full dose, though his look of distaste was eloquent. But the worried glance at her as he decided to take it also spoke volumes. "You're right, Lisa; we do need some sleep. We're not reacting straight to things right now. A good night's rest will help."

She got a pill out and took it, resisting the urge again to shake him. They did both need sleep, but he was wondering now if tiredness itself was all that was wearing her and the girls down, not his own turmoil. "Okay, Greg." They took pills together, and she nearly choked over her water at his next comment.

"And you need to read the will. That way, you can stop worrying about that. I'm sure Mom left me everything, but you won't be convinced until you see it in writing."

"I'm not worried about the will, Greg." Well, it had a position in line, but that spot was nowhere near the top.

"So why not read it? Nice bedtime reading. It looked like only a few pages." He slowly lifted his leg into bed. "Come on, Lisa. Let's get it over with."

Retrieving it took less energy than arguing with him. She was exhausted herself, and that soak in spite of everything was making her sleepy. By the time she found her purse where she'd left it in the main room and came back into the bedroom, he was already looking very sleepy, obviously at the limit himself. Those sleeping pills really worked on him, but mental and emotional exhaustion was supplementing it tonight. He was stubbornly fighting it, though, wanting to hear. "Get it over with," he insisted.

She climbed into bed and held up the will. "Okay. Last Will and Testament," she started, reading it aloud. "I, Blythe House, being of sound mind." She stopped there for a sigh and deleted five editorial comments unspoken. "Do hearby make this my last will and testament, revoking any and all previous such instruments." She was interrupted by a soft snore and looked down at her husband. He was out. She watched him for a minute, anxiety gnawing at her even though the Ativan did help, and then she finally returned to the will, reading faster now to herself. She was named executor, Blythe probably trying to spare her son the task, but doing it long distance from Princeton would be a chore.

Ah, here was where it got down to the most important question. "Leave all of my worldly possessions to my son, Gregory House." Cuddy's exhale of relief caught halfway as her eyes jumped to the next word. "Except. . ." Going on, she could almost see Blythe in the room speaking, could almost hear her voice. The house was okay, but Blythe had 21 various bequests of things in it, obviously donating anything that had been admired to the new friend who had admired it or shared that interest. The little desk in the kitchen was not included in the exemptions (Cuddy actually thought it was younger than this will), nor was the piano, nor the pictures. But there were various other pieces of furniture and wall art. Patsy got the living room couch. Some couple named Bob and Madeline Gideon got that hated kitchen table. A Melanie inherited the mysteries, as well as the bookcase itself. Another was down for the romances. Two different people would receive the kitchen silverware, one for each main pattern.

Cuddy read through the list, imagining overseeing all of this from several states away, and annoyance and memory chased each other in turn through her head. How perfectly Blythe, to bequeath to Cuddy a logistical mess of endless, silly details. On the other hand, this final picture of the stifled woman, free at least from John and almost giddy in her new friends and circles, wanting to give them each something in return for their friendship, was pathetic. Cuddy finished the will and set it aside. That would be a headache but a future one. They needed to deal with the present migraine of circumstances first.

With another check on her husband, she retrieved her cell phone and tried calling Thomas. No reply. He was probably in the air. She looked up the airport and called them to ask. That led to some chasing around a thinner night crew in the different sections, but she ultimately learned that a flight for St. Louis had taken off about twenty minutes earlier. It was the last for the evening. The soonest flight back from St. Louis to Lexington in the morning would be the first morning shuttle, landing at 6:52 a.m., and they thought there were still a few seats available, but she would have to ask St. Louis. She thanked them and hung up.

Poor Thomas. He had been tired already today after his foot throbbing had interfered with sleeping last night, and he was bound to get less sleep than any of them. She called his cell phone again, leaving a message this time. He deserved a status update, at least, even if there was nothing really to report. "Thomas, it's Lisa. Give me a call when you get a chance." She hit end and looked at her husband again, then leaned across him to switch out the light on his side. She brushed her lips against his temple as she returned to her own side. "You idiot," she said, the love and the anxiety churning together.

Finally, feeling guilty at her ability to, she turned off her own light and settled into bed, making sure the cell phone was close at hand so she would hear it. Exhaustion reluctantly gave way to worried dreams about endless wills in which she could never possibly fulfill all of her responsibilities, yet for some reason she was required to complete them and file the final report before seeing her family again.