Finally, the girls were asleep. It had taken longer than usual tonight, both of them fighting it, wanting to spend time with their father after the previous night's absence and also probably picking up on some of the tension. House, on the couch with Abby sprawled across his lap and Belle sitting neatly packaged over his thigh, looked half asleep himself by this point, though fighting that state as determinedly as his daughters had.

Cuddy picked up Abby and moved her over, freeing her husband to stand (though Belle gave a flick lash as she was dislodged), and Thomas came smoothly to his feet. "Well, you both need an early night, and I need to catch Home Depot before they close. Good night, Greg, Lisa."

House replied only with a wordless grumble as he climbed to his feet, but Cuddy came over to give Thomas a hug. "Good night, Thomas." She didn't try to hide the pressure and affection in it, and she saw her parents watching closely as she released him.

Thomas left, and House picked up Abby and started toward the nursery. Cuddy headed for Rachel, sleeping with the stuffed Ember in the corner of the couch. "Lisa," Robert said, and she all but snarled as she turned toward him.

"Not now."

He looked taken aback. "I wasn't going to suggest talking now. I was just going to say goodnight."

Guilt surged through her. "I'm sorry. Wait a minute, okay? Let us get the kids tucked in." Robert nodded, and Susan reached out to run a hand softly through Rachel's hair, not firmly enough to wake her.

Cuddy carried her sleeping daughter down the hall. Tonight, she felt like it was an effort herself to lift her, though Rachel wasn't overweight. Fatigue was meeting growth head on. She wondered how long House would be able to walk holding his daughters, and she dreaded crossing that bridge. The fact that she herself would hit the point of physical impossibility with the girls, albeit later since she had two strong legs and better balance, would be no comfort to him.

He had already put Abby in her piano bed she had received for her birthday, and he was standing there looking at her. Cuddy put Rachel down and gave him a hug. "Mother and Dad want to say goodnight, but they're about to leave, too. I was thinking I might set up an appointment tomorrow at the hospital. Tomorrow's schedule is better than today's."

He started to refuse, then looked down at Abby again and relented. "We've got to do something."

"Yes. And not here. That was too close tonight. She's like a dog with a bone when she sees a puzzle on anything. Reminds me of you." She smiled. "I'll bet you were inconveniently perceptive a lot of times when you were a toddler." She caught herself a moment later, remembering what his childhood had been like, starting younger than Rachel was now.

"Stop feeling guilty," he scolded. "I actually was a kid. At first, anyway, and for rare moments later. Mom used to mention a few stories, not that that's any guarantee that they were accurate. " He bent over to kiss Rachel and then stood back waiting until his wife had her tucked in, Mr. Bear on one side and the stuffed Ember on the other. "Let's go face the music."

"Brief music, Greg. Just a few stanzas tonight."

"Bars, not stanzas. Stanzas can be long. Actually, bars sound tempting tonight." He reached out for her hand even as he criticized her terminology, and they walked back to the living room together.

Robert and Susan were on their feet, waiting. "Good night," Susan said. "Greg, please get some sleep tonight. You look exhausted."

"I will," he promised her. Bed sounded even more tempting than bars, and not in the physical sense of the word. That must be a sign of age. Only half old, he reminded himself, but he felt more.

"Dad, Mother," Cuddy started, "we really do need to talk. Not tonight, but sometime soon. But I don't think it needs to be here, not even when they're asleep." If Abby woke up and wanted a drink of water or something, she was quite capable of stretching a few overheard words into a full story.

They both nodded. "That Abby is something," Robert said. "With her questions and Rachel's energy, you two are going to have your hands full."

"We really didn't mean to set her off tonight," Susan repeated.

"I know, but all serious conversation is off limits in this house for now. Don't even say you're postponing it when you're in front of her. Just leave it alone. But why don't you call me at work tomorrow? Let me get in and double check my schedule first."

"Like you need to," House snorted. "You're a walking itemized schedule, Lisa."

She ignored him. "We can probably arrange something tomorrow. It's less busy than today."

"We'll do that," Robert promised. He gave her a stiff hug, something that carried lifelong familiarity for her. The feelings were there, but he simply had never quite known how to express them.

"Good night," Susan repeated. She also hugged her daughter, then her son-in-law, who stood for it with a martyred expression.

The door closed behind them, and House quickly and with dramatic flourish shot the dead bolt. "We're free! For now."

She embraced him, but he was hurting too much for it to go far, especially while they were standing by the door. "What about a soak in the hot tub, Greg?"

"If you're included, sounds like paradise. Go ahead and run it. I'm going to call the hospital."

"How's Kutner?" she asked a few minutes later as he joined her in the big bathroom.

"Stable. Slowly improving on vitals. Still hasn't woken up." He sighed. "Damn it, I wish I knew why he made a 1-day trip to India. And what's on his laptop."

"Come on, Greg." She started undressing, slowly enough to draw his attention. She knew that his concern was making the unsolved mysteries, though technically irrelevant now, even more annoying. It was something to hurl mental energy against while dodging thinking about the worst case prognoses for Kutner.

She offered an arm to help him over the side of the tub once they were both undressed, not reaching out but available, and after a brief hesitation, he took it. She followed him into the water, and they settled back, letting the jets swirl around them, releasing tension from the day.

"I wonder what Thomas did today," she said. "He seemed a little tired."

"As he was reminding the whole room tonight, he's old. Stop trying to write special significance about the anniversary into it."

"I hope Wilson's gentle when he talks to him."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, not like Wilson has any experience dealing with people who are going through deaths of family members. They'll be fine." He didn't mention his own worry, which was that Wilson wouldn't be able to resist either trying to probe for more private Housian details or trying to be the House authority and tell the old man what he needed to do. Wilson had promised that their conversation wouldn't be about him. He just hoped the oncologist remembered that fact if temptation hit. Of course, he'd ask follow up questions himself, and he'd know if Wilson was hiding something.

By the way, now that he remembered, he had some unfinished business of his own to tidy up. "Lisa?"

She had closed her eyes and was starting to relax. "Mmm hmm?"

"I have something else I need to apologize for." She opened her eyes and smiled, anticipating. "I'm sorry I let Mr. and Mrs. Wallet into your office this afternoon before you had a chance to primp."

He reached for her, ready to conclude the ritual of the reconditioned phrase and hoping it would lead to other ideas in the delightfully soothing hot tub. His leg was unkinking. Still, he could never quite stop observing on one level of his mind, and he sensed a check before she came forward to meet him.

"Hey." He pushed away, reluctantly postponing more enjoyable activities. "What's the matter?"

She studied him, gauging tiredness, and his curious concern was replaced by annoyance. "I'm fine, damn it. But you're stewing over something, and the longer it cooks, the more it will turn into a burned, ugly mess. So spill it."

"We don't need to talk about it tonight, Greg."

"You don't have to coddle me," he protested. "But you're screwing up the reconditioning here. Remember, this is prescribed. My shrink told us to. You're breaking the rules by being half hearted on it."

"I'm not half hearted!" she fired back and grabbed him with a kiss that was definitely anything but half hearted. He went along with her willingly, but after they had made love, when they were snuggled up in satisfied silence, he returned to his question, coming at it sideways, of course.

"You're about to start stewing again."

"Shut up, Greg. I'm not stewing."

"Maybe not a minute ago, but you will be." He saw the minute shift in her expression. "See, you're stewing. I told you so."

"Greg. I wasn't even thinking about it then until you reminded me."

"What it weren't you thinking about?"

She shook her head. "Not tonight. Let's just get a good night's sleep first."

"You think you would?

"Yes. It's not that big a deal. Just a little thing." He widened those blue eyes that she found irresistible and just looked at her. She was forced to smile. "You and Abby. Neither one of you will let a puzzle alone."

"You're breaking the rules, like I said. I do something, I say I'm sorry, and we get to have fun with it. But you weren't buying it that time. That's breaking the rules. And this is psychiatrist-prescribed therapy you're interfering with here."

She sighed again. "Greg, I have to look professional and put together for my job."

At the moment, flushed from the water and the love-making, wearing nothing but her birthday suit, she looked anything but professional and put together, and he admired the view, even while answering. "You do, Lisa. You looked fine this afternoon."

"I looked a little scattered." She actually hadn't looked as bad as she had feared once she got a chance to check in the bathroom mirror, but that hadn't been until after the meeting.

"Very slightly scattered. Not enough to matter."

"I could have used a quick moment, and I would have looked better. But I felt scattered. I sat there wondering just how bad it was the whole time. It affected my confidence, and I need that to do my job."

He looked sullen now, like a scolded child. "You really think I would have done that if you'd looked like a wreck? I know you have to impress the rich idiots on the job."

"Just . . . please, Greg, remember that the image is important to the hospital. I need to feel put together. We can have our games in private, but don't throw total strangers meeting me professionally into it when I do need to impress them. The hospital needed that money."

"Didn't they donate anyway?"

"Yes, they donated, but not as much as I think they would have. They kept looking at me the whole time. They knew something was wrong. And yes, I realized later that I was probably projecting that attitude myself, but right then, I didn't know."

He looked down. "I said I was sorry," he repeated.

She heard the difference in the tone, not just a game that time, unlike earlier. "I'll forgive you." She kissed him, and they settled down into the water, but it couldn't go much further, not again. She still enjoyed the closeness anyway, as did he.

(H/C)

He stared at the apartment door. Locked. It was locked against him, and he had to get in. The key ring he pulled out seemingly had a hundred keys on it, and he tried one after the other in growing desperation. None would fit into the slot. After the failure of the final key, he hurled the ring away in frustration and simply banged on the door, though he knew no one would reply. No one could reply. Kutner was in there, and he had to reach him.

As a last resort, knowing it was pointless, he simply tried the knob. It turned, and he almost fell in as the door opened. It wasn't locked.

It wasn't locked.

House woke up abruptly, not with a post-nightmare jerk but with his impatient mind already out of bed and halfway across the room even as his body emerged from sleep. The door wasn't locked. Damn it. All the time he had wasted here.

He sat up, upsetting Belle, and moved his leg over, giving it a few quick massage strokes, coaxing it into action as he stood and started dressing in the dark. The red figures on the clock glowed at him. 1:45.

"Greg?"

"It's okay. Got to get down to the hospital. I thought of something."

She sat up, clutching the covers around her. "At 1:45?"

"Yes. It's about Kutner. I'll call you later. I'm fine." He finished his hurried preparations and limped out of the bedroom, heading for PPTH.

He knew what the password was.