House, M.D. 1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Rated mostly for language and it might be a little violent later on. Has House/Cuddy. Takes place sometime in Season 6.

I don't own House or I wouldn't be posting this on .

**Chapter 1**

The soft padding of tennis shoes and the rubber stamp preceded the surprisingly graceful figure of Dr. House. It was a rare morning to see him whistle as he walked, but his repeated mashing of the 'up' button in the elevator did the trick of allowing him to escape Cuddy. The woman had the instincts of a submarine's radar and she seemed to almost inevitably catch the blip of Dr. House just as he walked in. Thankfully the clinic had been busy with worried mothers who were all convinced their child had swine flu. Still, he cheerfully awaited Cuddy's imminent arrival to his office.

He pushed through the glass door where his oldest of fellows were seated at the main table. Two of them doing such routine tasks that he briefly wondered if it still wasn't three years ago.

"Good morning, my little ducklings."

"It's noon," Cameron replied as she stared over Chase's shoulder at the Crossword puzzle he was doing.

"Is it really? Wasn't the time meant to be set back sometime last weekend?"

"One hour, not two," she replied with an unperturbed smile.

"I can't believe you still play his games," Chase said to her while House threw his jacket on the back of his ergonomic chair. "Cuddy's looking for you by the way."

"Apparently I didn't squish her mitten enough last night," House replied when he came back in, and snatched a marker up from the tray. "So what do we have today?"

"We don't have a case yet," Foreman said, who still hadn't looked up from the medical journal he was reading.

"Then go find us one," Hosue snapped and pointed the marker at Chase. "You, go do my clinic hours. And you," he glared at Cameron, "I'm surprised you're not already applying band-aids and wiping snot from the little puppies and kittens that come through our doors."

"I've already done my two hours of clinic," Cameron replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Then head up the E.R. or have you finally realized that the satisfaction of that job is nothing compared to your old job as my minion?"

She said nothing as she walked after Chase and Foreman, but kept that annoyingly superior smile she liked to wear now that she'd successfully made it through the obstacle course of a fellowship with him. She had certainly smartened up and lost that unbelievable naiveté that hung so thickly around her he was surprised no one had yet choked on the fluffy cotton balls of her personality. He also sincerely hoped she had truly left behind that ridiculous crush she had for him and stayed with Chase. He didn't need the resident Care Bear hanging on his every word with the intent of fixing him.

He didn't stay in his office for long and head down the hall to his next predictable stop and barged into it in his usual fashion.

"It's noon. Feed me."

Wilson didn't even look up from the form he was filling out and said, "You only just got in, didn't you?"

"Trifling details. Feed me." He pushed a ceramic mug at the edge of Wilson's desk until a hand shot out to halt its path over the edge of the desk.

"All right! Just let me finish up this report and I'll pay!"

"You always pay. Also, how are the twins today? You're a girl, I'm sure you've been to see them recently on your routine gossip rounds."

Scarlet flushed Wilson's cheeks, "Why would you ask me that? I don't look."

"You're supposed to be male, but as I may have hinted at earlier, I don't think you've been taking your testosterone lately."

Wilson rolled his eyes and then he said, "Why don't you ask Cuddy that yourself." His eyes were fixated on the door.

House turned and he had to fight to keep his smirk from growing into a delighted grin. "Oh, it's the She-Devil herself. Cuddles! How wonderful to grace us with your presence and the twins _are_ looking especially perky today. A big donor or two to impress, I bet. Do you hand out complimentary blowjobs as well?"

She was in a particularly low cut mauve top with a single button black business jacket just barely keeping the twins at bay. A matching black skirt wrapped around her rotund ass completed the outfit. Now with that spark in her cloudy gray eyes and the faint tug of a smile on her lips as she closed the distance between them, he was certain the room temperature had gone up a few degrees.

Ever since he'd finally returned from Mayfield, he'd been eying Cuddy from a distance, but he was making his intentions toward her far less subtle from the last five years. She seemed far less susceptible to his cues now compared to over the years, but he figured that was only the imagined distance she was keeping between them until she was certain he was fully recovered from the ordeal last spring.

"I'll let you go to lunch," she said as Wilson got up and pulled the wallet from his jacket. "But your ass is in the clinic from the end of lunch to five."

"But mom! I already have Chase catching up on my hours. Besides, I'll miss my soaps."

"I'll be sure they get attributed to him. Brenda's on orders to call me if you spend more than fifteen minutes in a single exam room," she replied, her smile turned into a smug smirk.

"What if I get a case?"

"Foreman can handle it," Cuddy said, turning to leave. House could swear she put an extra wiggle in her step just for him.

"He's still green! Well, blackish-green."

"He at least does his paperwork," she called back as the door closed behind her.

"If you keep calling her mom, you're going to develop an Oedipus Complex," Wilson suddenly said, jolting House from watching the last sliver of her delectable ass disappear from around the corner.

"What are you, my mom?"

Two hours later, House was dutifully sitting in an exam room pretending to take notes on a clipboard as the third mother in a row droned on about her son might have swine flu. There was no denying this kid at the very least had a fever, slightly flushed from the heat and dull-eyed from drowsiness and sickness combined. After two minutes, House finally said, "What makes you think this is any different from just the regular flu? Is he vomiting piglets to make you instantly think that's what it is?" He glanced up from the clipboard (which was decorated in his typical exasperation with the ignorant: "Another overanxious mother worried over her gremlin about swine flu, meanwhile exposing all the rest of us with the virulent bug as she worries. The irony!")

She swept her hair back in a confused gesture and her eyes were narrowed accusingly at Dr. House. "What do you mean, doctor?"

"He has the flu! Not avian flu, swine flu, or crocodilian flu – on second thought that sounds pretty cool. Just follow the regular routine," he said, getting up from the chair and opening the door to the full waiting room.

His eyes met with Nurse Brenda and she smirked at him knowingly and tapped the side of her cheek with her pointer finger, her other handing resting on the phone ready to call for Cuddy if he even so much as thinks about skipping out on the rest of clinic duty. He inwardly groaned and limped up to the counter to drop the file he had and grab the next one.

"House, we have a case," Foreman suddenly appeared by his side and held out another file in front of him.

Never a religious person, House was just about ready to thank God himself for his divine intervention – until he was reminded that God himself also made those overanxious mothers fret so much about their whelps, the bastard – but instead he simply took the file and began limping once more toward the elevators. Brenda had reached for the telephone but she seemed hesitant, knowing perfectly well the typical urgency and clinic-skipping House was allowed out of on such cases. He gave her a smirk and just before the doors closed she scowled back at him.

"Symptoms are abdominal pain, decreased eyesight, and bloody vomit. Boring. Send him home with a couple of aspirin and a reference to a good Optometrist. I have to run over Peach in Mario Kart."

Foreman continued to give him that familiar smug smile and he said, "The patient's been to four doctors and all the rest of them thought that way. It's not a stomach ache."

"Fine. It'll at least get me out of clinic duty," House replied, glowering into his reflection. An uneasiness had suddenly washed over him that he could not quite find a rational reason for and spent the rest of the trip to the office wondering what could have possibly caused his hands to start sweating. His fear had died with his childhood innocence and the last time he had felt the least bit of fear was that day way back in May, when he had been suddenly come to the realization of the delusion he had been living.

That was fear of the unknown. This – this fear prickled at the back of his mind like a long forgotten memory. To hell with it! He had learned already that the mind could be a dangerous thing as well as a helpful tool and it was nothing more than his nerves firing into reaction of something. He'd find out later what. _Might be that damned flu all the kiddies are bringing in, _he thought. Well, at least _that_ would get him out of clinic duty for a couple of days.

Cameron and Chase were already sitting at the glass table and House immediately went to the white board as Foreman handed out copies of the man's file.

"Symptoms: abdominal pain, decreased eyesight, and bloody vomit. Go! And Cameron, if you even think of saying Lupus, you'll be doing clinic duty for the rest of the day." He heard Chase chuckle.

"It's still a perfectly viable option!"

"It's _never_ Lupus! Clinic now," House jabbed the market at the door with a glare at her, but she remained seated, equally stubborn to sit this out.

He ignored her and was just about ready to nudge the other two with more suggestions when his mind suddenly called upon the reason for his peculiar uneasiness. "Wait – what was the name on that file again?"

All three of the ducklings stared at him.

"Anthony Marcino. Why do you want to know?" Foreman replied.

***

**Let me know what you think. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews, ItsNevrLupus and dmarchl. =) Still don't own House.

**Chapter 2**

_"I'm gonna get ya, fuckface! I'm gonna tear your fuckin' head off!"_

_ Greg House was running. Small houses slid past him as he pelted down the empty road, trying to ignore the bull snorts of Tony Marcino and his two trolls, Aaron Drissen and Scott Solstice, as they worked to close the distance between them. He had been running for what felt like hours, dodging through construction zones and between houses through the town of Birkson, Florida._

_His father had uprooted him, yet again, and set him down here earlier in the year and three months was plenty of time for Tony Marcino to develop a churning, raw hatred of the new "military brat." _

_ Tony, who happened to be half-cuban, was a giant lumbering 15-year-old to his lanky 11-year-old victim, but he had still yet to pass beyond 7__th__ grade ("Your past teachers must have felt sorry enough to pass you through even to that year," Greg had said, earning himself another chase through town and a bloody nose). Yet despite coming home bloody, he could not prevent himself from lashing out back at the lumbering beast. He was lucky enough to see nearly eye-to-eye with Tony and he often found himself standing between Tony and whichever young victim he had chosen for the day._

_ This particular day he happened to pass the three kids just outside of school, each of them with a cigarette in their mouth and Tony called, "Hey, look it's Twig! I feel like snappin' me some twigs today." The other two guys chuckled and tossed their cigarettes before they started walking behind Tony, like wolves preparing for the attack. _

_ "That's the best insult you can come up with? No wonder you haven't gotten past 7__th__ grade," Greg snarled back at them. _

_The boy next to him, Ben Lasseter, groaned and smacked his hand to his forehead, "Oh God, you better run, Greg."_

_And he had and that's where he was now, streaking down the middle of Larson St., glancing around wildly for an obstacle, any obstacle. A burning pain was gnawing the muscles in his legs and a stitch was starting to cripple his stride. He was growing fast but he was still skinny enough to slip through the holes the burly teenagers couldn't. There! The chain link fence that separated the street from the wild jungle of the swamp stood in his way and there was a chance he could scramble up it and hide in the underbrush._

_The fence swayed dangerously with his weight, his feet kicking for a foothold, but he pulled himself up half the way. Just as he reached the top, Tony came barreling into the fence, shaking it madly with his impact. For a moment, he wavered and he wasn't sure if he'd fall forward over the top or slip into the grips of the three wolves. Oh God, his foot slipped, he wasn't going to make it—_

"House? Are you all right?"

He shook his head as he was suddenly pulled back into reality and all three of the ducklings were looking at him in puzzlement. Cameron, of course, had gotten out of her chair and just barely touched his shoulder. He abruptly stepped out of her grasp and she shrank back at the glare he sent her way, but it wasn't at her. He stood there for another moment and then he grabbed the cane from where it was hanging on the white board and darted out of the room.

_It can't be the same man. It's not possible. All right,_ he granted, _very improbable! _What are the odds that the both of them ended up in New Jersey? But then it seemed far more likely Tony would hear of him rather than the other way around. He imagined that if he ever heard that name again, it would be in a news story about a man on a shooting spree in a shopping mall. No, he _had_ to go see.

So when he found himself standing outside the room of his newest patient, he simply stared. _No, it can't be_. But even if they had both aged forty years, he could still see the similarities of the monster that had chased him through the summer of 1970 until – he never thought he would be thankful toward his father about _anything_ – John House has been stationed yet again somewhere else that was miles away from Birkson, Florida.

But now that face was relaxed in calm repose as the patient napped in bed, unknowing that his favorite punching bag was standing not twenty feet outside his room. The years were not kind to him. His face which had been plump before was now a little more doughy and creased in age lines and he seemed to have put on a little more weight based on the vague out-line of his shape in the bed.

"Dr. House, you…don't look too well," a nurse suddenly said from behind and she said it in a halting tone as though she were wondering if she should've spoken at all.

He was startled from his thoughts and whipped around to face her, only causing her to shrink back from the same glare he had given Cameron, but it was now he realized he was quivering and a slick sweat had broken over his brow. He tried to take a few calming breaths to stop the motion, but now he was wound tight as a guitar string and he was a little surprised to find just as much anger there as fear. He gripped the cane in his right hand tightly enough that he was certain it was white and he wanted nothing more than to enter that room and beat the man on the bed to death.

If ever there was a favor he wouldn't mind doing for the world, it would be to remove the stain that was Tony Marcino.

He had no idea how long he stood there, staring at him, but a familiar voice suddenly spoke from his side.

"Who is he, House?" Wilson asked and when House turned to him, his head merely cocked in curiosity at the ferocious intensity of his stare. The only other time he was certain he'd seen House so upset was right after Amber died and perhaps during the trip they had taken to his father's funeral.

"I suppose Cameron and her caring senses activated yours as well," he said, his eyes once more fixed onto the man who wouldn't be able to see him unless he was intentionally looking.

"Something like that. Care to talk about it?" Wilson asked.

He gave his head the barest of shakes, not quite able to unclench his jaw enough to answer.

"Well, you know I'm here if you need an ear."

There was only a slight nod in response, and then House started off again and impatiently jammed the down button of the elevator. There was a slight crowd in it and one look at his face parted it like fish escaping a shark. The whole time in the elevator, everyone kept shooting furtive glances at him but he made no eye contact with anyone and simply stared straight ahead. They seemed even more surprised at his lack of biting remarks or sexual innuendos. Just plain, cold, dead silence.

When he finally reached the floor he was looking for, he fixed his eyes to the familiar door and made a bee-line, barely bothering to notice anyone unfortunate enough to step in his way. Cuddy didn't even flinch when he busted through her door as usual, but she did look up when he said, "I will not treat that patient."

She expected to see the usual mocking light in his eyes and there was almost always the barest of a smile – or more likely, a smirk – behind his scruff, but the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes told her there was a serious issue at work here.

"Then you're fired."

"You won't fire me. You haven't for years!"

"I didn't fire you when you did your job, and now you're refusing to," she said, stepping around the desk and staring him in the eye, but he did not flinch or even crumble. Not that she truly expected him to. This was House after all and his stubborn streak could only be matched by hers. Her face softened slightly and she asked, "What's the matter, House? You would treat your own would-be shooter, but now you won't treat this guy?"

"I wouldn't trust myself on this case," he answered with surprising honesty. He was almost certain that if he went into that room, he would automatically go through the motions of overdosing the man on his morphine.

"Personal vendetta?"

He said nothing, but she felt as if it was confirmed. House knew this man from somewhere and what she was seeing could not be mistaken in those ice cold blue eyes. He _hated_ their patient. A trench a mile deep and a mile wide had been dug in the deep crevices of House's mind and she had a feeling any attempts at empathy would die an awfully lonely death in that hole.

"House, I'm afraid I cannot simply let you duck out of a case because of personal feelings. Besides, you don't even visit your patients anyway, so this should not be a problem. If you honestly have a problem with him, keep away," she said, finally turning her back to him and sitting back down at her desk to finish her paperwork. "I did mention Foreman was supposed to handle the case while you caught up on your clinic hours."

Doing clinic never sounded like such a damned good idea.

***

**I'd appreciate feedback, please! =)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks, dmarchl, for the review again. I promise you'll find out over the next several chapters what this is all about. =)

Definitely don't own House.

***

**Chapter 3**

The searing glow of the alarm clock next to House's bed read 2:30 am yet every which way he turned he could not find sleep. He had so desperately wanted to drown the memories that had surfaced with Tony Marcino in good bourbon, but he drowned his sorrow in alcohol. Not fear or even his anger. In the end, the emotion he was feeling was far too volatile a mix to risk attempting to drink it away. He might actually do something drastic and he was still weighing the options if time in prison and never-ending boredom was worth the fucking brute.

That and Wilson purposely saw to it there was no alcohol in their apartment.

_Hell no it isn't worth it, _he immediately chastised himself, glaring into the darkness. He would rather put up with the ghostly whisperings of Wilson talking to his dead girlfriend right now than the ghostly whispering of his childhood. _It's over and done with. Nothing can change what happened back then. Buried one skeleton and now I have to bury another! If there is a God he sure as hell would be having a good laugh over this crap. Bastard._

He had never considered himself a violent character. After such long-suffering at his father's hands, he dared not wish the same pain on anyone else, even as much as he disrespected the rest of humanity. He recalled the very first fight he had gotten into, if it could be called that.

Some third-grade idiot had started harassing him the first day he rode on the school bus, having yet again been dumped there only halfway through the year by his father's career. He was just in first-grade himself and had been talking to another boy who had enthusiastically struck a conversation with him, telling him who the good teachers in the school were. He remembered he was poked on the shoulder—

_"You a jew, kid? Your nose is as big as one!"_

_ Greg scowled at the bowl-headed cut of the boy sitting across the aisle, who was laughing up a storm with his friends. "Better a big nose than a fat lip!" _

_ A collective gasp rose from the mouths of every kid within listening distance and Tommy narrowed his eyes and stood in the aisle so that he seemed to tower over the scrawny first-grader. "What'd you say to me, turdbucket?"_

_ "Your hearing doesn't work either?" He now found himself standing in the aisle of the bus as well. The other kid's head still hovered a good six inches over his, but compared to staring down his father this was a cinch._

_ "Why you—"_

_ Greg didn't wait. He pulled back his tiny fist and socked the other boy in the eye with all of the might in his muscles. _

_ Tommy clapped a hand to his eye and squealed like a rabbit dangling from the teeth of a cat. Greg had already sat down and was contentedly staring straight ahead into the seat, tapping his fingers impatiently against the cracked leather seats. The kid next to him was staring completely open-mouthed._

_ The moment they got to school, the bus driver promptly grabbed his arm and traded him to another teacher, relating the incident to her, and he was hauled up in front of the Principal's office on the first day. He could remember it as clearly as if it were only yesterday: the squat, balding man who was sitting stern behind his ornate oak desk; a small gold owl sat on the desk much like a paper weight, its head was turned to him and his beak was open in a fierce scowl as in if disapproval of his fighting; a gold burnished placard shined in his eyes with the principal's name: Wallace E. Stephenson. A smell much like sawdust permeated the room as if it had been recently renovated, and Greg had to fight to keep from sneezing. As he had noticed all of this, the teacher had been whispering in the Principal's ear, but finally she departed and the man sat behind his desk from him with his hands clasped and his mouth bent in a frown, the lines making him more like a nutcracker._

_ The two met each other's eyes and after a drawn out moment, Mr. Stephenson spoke, "What's your name, son?"_

_ "Greg House, sir." (You always address your elder men as such, boy!)_

_ "I'm sure you know why you're here."_

_ "Yes, sir," Greg replied steadily, in a bored sort of tone. He was certain the Principal in front of him had delayed to weigh his attitude. Where Greg was certain other kids had been standing in the exact same place, clammy and cold with nerves, he appeared to lack any contriteness. John House was far more intimidating than this portly figure._

_ "Why did you hit Tommy?"_

_ "He was being mean. I don't like mean kids."_

_ "Why do you think he deserved that?"_

_ "Because he's a bully," Greg replied. The 'duh' hung in the air unspoken but still present._

_ "Greg." He scowled at the use of his first name. Only familiar adults called him that and this man sure as hell was not familiar. "You should've told the bus driver or another teacher when you arrived. Violence is not the way."_

_ The boy raised his eyebrows in disbelief and a surprisingly condescending smirk graced his face. "No? Well, he's not gonna bully me again. 'Cause now he's afraid."_

_ Mr. Stephenson replied, "That's not how the real world works. Since it's only your first day, I'll let you go to class, but I'm calling your mother. Next time this happens, you will be suspended."_

_ From that day onward, Greg House found himself surrounded by other kids who hero-worshiped him and the bullies who originally tormented everyone now gave him a large berth wherever he walked. The worst reaction came from his mother that very same day. She came to pick him up at the end of the day and she chastised him the whole way to their tiny little house, "Oh, Gregory, how could you? You know what I thought when the Principal told me what happened? 'Oh, my little boy is already turning into a ruffian. He's still so young, but he's already fighting at school!' Don't become a ruffian Gregory, please, promise me this."_

_ It was this card ride that had been far more unbearable than standing in the Principal's office. She was hardly ever upset at him and to see her so broken up made him want to cry._

_ (Crying's for sissies. No son of mine is going to be a sissy. You hear me, Gregory?) _

_He sniffed back the tears and said in a quavering voice, "I promise, mom."_

House, now 44-year removed from that boy, once more turned in bed and sighed at the luminescent numbers on the alarm clock: 2:56 am. With an agonized groan, he finally pulled himself out of bed, rubbing his thigh more out of habit than pain. He had been pleased that after he had been purged of Vicodin, the pain really hadn't been that bad at all. At least the initial days following his release, he had found ways to forget his sore thigh – he never thought cooking could be so enjoyable – but he was both wary and pleased that going back to his original job ended up being a better cure for the pain than either him or Dr. Nolan had imagined. He had personally quailed at the thought of doing research for the rest of his life. Dead from boredom before his 51st birthday.

He limped out the door and paused briefly at Wilson's door. It was awfully attempting to get a blow horn and watch the Oncologist flail in his bed sheets, but his irritation and the noise would only serve to exacerbate his own emotions – he was doing his best to exorcise that masochistic side of him – so he passed on by. He grabbed his cell phone out of his coat pocket and fell back onto the couch, quickly punching a number he knew by heart.

It rang twice, until it was finally picked up, and a voice that stirred his blood spoke in a husky, sleep-ridden voice, "Hello?"

"I sincerely hope I didn't interrupt a session with one of your clients."

"Only a solid eight hours of sleep," Cuddy replied wryly, but the annoyance wasn't there.

She sounded like she was going to fall asleep any moment though, and so he quickly said something to keep her attention. "Why did you let me keep my job?"

"Oh, so now you ask me that."

"I figured it was because you couldn't get enough of my hot bod." At the back of his mind, a treacherous little voice whispered to him, _You're an asset, nothing more. You put her hospital on the map. _He did his best to squash that doubt and waited for her answer.

She chuckled. "In the fear of stroking more than one part of your ego—"

"You can stroke more than my ego. Just ask."

"—House!"

"Sorry, continue," he apologized, but she could hear his mocking tone.

"Remember when you began taking the Methadone?"

"Yeah." _How could I forget?_ She gave him the most desperate look the night he stopped, and there were many a lonely nights he had reconstructed the scene to end in an entirely different way.

"Then you know."

"I don't think you said everything there was to say."

"Do you really have to dissect this now? It's 3am, House!" There as a silence when she finally asked, "Are you okay? I can tell you haven't been sleeping. Have you been drinking?"

House snorted. "Are you kidding me? Wilson is an alcohol Nazi. He pats me down for scotch or bourbon every night I walk through the door. He strip searches me—"

"House!" He chuckled into the phone. "Is this patient really bothering you that much? How do you know him anyway?"

"Ancient history."

"Will he even remember you?"

"Unless all that alcohol he's been drinking has killed off the rest of his brain cells…I doubt he'll even recognize me."

"Then why are you so concerned?"

This was the risk he took when he called her and he fought with himself over whether to tell her anything, and how much. _Let her guess._ "I told you I hated my non-father, but you could never tell when my parents actually visited, because he could no longer rule my life. Otherwise he might've ended up in jail, and that's not proper for a man of the military. Our patient has no such limits. Look up his record yourself, you're the Dean!"

"I'm not like some God, House."

"No, but you have the ability to assess threats in your hospital. It should all be there in his file."

"Well, now you have me intrigued, but unlike _some_ people, I still have to be in to work by eight o'clock."

"Wait! I actually couldn't sleep because I kept wondering what color your underwear is. I was imagining this sexy Devil red, complete with stiletto leather boots and—"

_Click_.

With a self-satisfied smirk, he set the phone down and limped his way back to bed. Exhaustion finally caught up with him and it seemed that the moment his head hit the pillow, he immediately fell into deep sedation.

_He was running again. His breath burned in his lungs as he panted in an effort to keep moving, but he was stumbling over tiny footholds in the crumbling brick of the streets. He passed Ray's Haircuts for Men, the County Registration Office, General Sherman's Trade Shop, and the Quikmart. Footfalls of another person tailing him seemed to echo off the buildings but every time he glanced back, there was nothing to see! _

_The sky was a deeply, dark blue as if the sun had just fallen below the horizon and night as setting in, casting a strangely blue light over the scene that only seemed to panic Greg more and more._

_Suddenly, laughter seemed to fill the streets. Low, evil, and inhuman. It shrieked into the air, rebounding off the buildings as if everything fit into a cave, growing louder and louder as it continued echo in the area. Greg desperately wished to clap his hands to his ears until he could finally stand it no more and clutched his head in his hands with a suffering grimace. The ground slipped out from beneath him like a rug pulled out from under his feet and he went sprawling, wincing as a deep bone pain pierced both his knee caps. He heard the footsteps stop behind him and a clawed hand gripped the back of his shirt—_

Greg House jerked awake and clutched at his leg as it protested his sudden movements. The pain settled relatively quickly, but it continued to ache fiercely. He pulled back the sheets to look at it as if he expected the scar to suddenly smooth and when he stepped into the bathroom, he scrutinized his expression closely. His scruff was still gray and his hair had unfortunately not filled the small bald spot on his head, yet he felt like the scrawny and leggy eleven-year-old he had previously been.

_Certainly dreaming like a boy who's still waiting for his testicles to drop, _he thought with a scowl.

House was perfectly happy – or as close to happy as he had gotten in years – and his leg pain had been quite manageable, but now it returned with the old feelings of resentment, anger, hate, and even a little bit of fear. _I am not going to let Tony fucking rule my life by his mere presence. _There was certainly far more to the world than him and there seemed to be no better time to stretch out.

And currently his biggest fear was that of a regression. Eight years of pain, narcissism and loneliness had been plenty and the last thing he needed was to fall right back into that rut after he had struggled for the last five months to climb out of it.

He was going to ask Cuddy out on a date.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thank you, everyone, for the reviews! =) Long chapter this time.

**Chapter 4**

When House walked through the sliding glass doors of PPTH – at a shocking 9:30 in the morning. At that time, his entrance definitely attracted stares – he knew precisely what he'd say to Cuddy. He only hoped the usual awkwardness that accompanied these sorts of conversations would stop short in light of the obvious chemistry and usual banter that they'd had for over twenty years.

_Christ, has hit been that long? Why the hell did I wait so long?_

Stacey had been in the way for a couple years there, true, but she was eight years gone and it finally took a hallucination to convince him he really wanted Lisa Cuddy, the main character of his fantasies. Pretty pathetic if you thought too hard about it. It was true, though, that he didn't know anyone who was in a successful relationship. Perhaps Chase and Cameron, but they really seemed to be tightrope-walking these days.

He burst through the usual office doors and Cuddy glanced up. Her brow furrowed and she stared at him, forgetting the mug of coffee that was halfway to her lips. _Well, I have her attention. _He pointed at her with his cane. "You. Me. Dinner. At your place. Tonight. I'll cook," he said and waited for her response.

It seemed to take a moment for what he said to sink in despite his monosyllabic sentence structure, and then she smiled and looked at the computer screen and her eyes widened theatrically. "You're two hours earlier than usual! You trying to sweep me off my feet?"

"That sumptuous ass of yours will break the fall. Now answer the question."

"What makes you think I don't have something else planned?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You want me to crash your dates? Because I can rearrange your schedule, but it'll cost you."

She shot him an exasperated look. "Fine, you can come over, but I'm kicking you out the moment you try to get in my pants."

"Now, Cuddles, I know you put out on the first date. That Lube guy—"

"That didn't go anywhere thanks to you!" He saw her eyes flash and quickly moved on.

"Fine, but I can change your mind easily enough. I'll be over at 5:30 to start cooking, so you better be there unless you want the babysitter calling the cops on me."

"Now there's an idea! It'd serve you right for breaking into my house all these years. But fine, I'll be there by 5:30."

House nodded and turned to leave when Cuddy said, "Wait!"

"Geez, Cuddy, you could have just asked if you wanted a quickie on the couch."

"What will you be making?" She asked with a wry smile, finally remembering the coffee mug and taking a ginger sip of it.

"Don't worry, Cuddles, it's sensitive towards your vegetable sensitivity. At least half of it will be. Real men can't sustain themselves on rabbit food for the sake of the baby cows."

"You know perfectly well it's not for moral reasons," she said. "It's healthy and you might consider eating some rabbit food after that so-called diet of pizza and beer for the last five years."

"I'm living with Wilson! He's a compulsive wholesome foods eater, too. And anything that doesn't add to the roundness of that delectable ass of yours I'm against."

"What are you making?" She repeated a little louder, but it was impossible for her to even try and pull off annoyed.

"Lasagna! Half-hamburger, half-rabbit food. I'll even throw in a frozen package of roasted vegetables that Wilson favors. I can even make a pie that should add ten pounds onto you with one slice, if you so like," he replied with a lecherous grin.

She made a motion of rolling her eyes, but she nodded and said, "Sounds good then." When he was just about to open her office door again she said, "For the longest time, I thought you were allergic to cooking."

"I had to buy hypoallergenic appliances," he replied and when the door opened, he shouted for the entire clinic to hear. "No, Cuddles, I will not have sex with you again today! " He caught Brenda's glare and said, "She's just insatiable."

He headed to his office for some much needed procrastination only to find the old ducklings crowded in there and he silenty groaned. When he entered, Cameron opened her mouth to begin but he held up a hand and said, "Let me guess: Mr. Testosterone won't let you run anymore tests until he sees me."

They all nodded grimly and Cameron, for once, seemed to sense that speaking on the matter was not going to help it, so he threw his coat on his chair and stumped off down the hall with them in tow. It really did feel like three years ago. _The past always comes back to kick us in the ass._

He purposely approached the room from an angle where Tony wouldn't see him and before he entered the room, he propped his cane against the wall. Then, without it, he walked into the room as normally as he could.

Tony was sitting up in bed, his eyes fixed to the TV which had a WWF wrestling match on it. As soon as the door slid open, he looked at House and his face split into a grin that could've been mistaken for welcoming. The first words out of his mouth erased all doubt.

"Well, shit on a stick, it's fuckface! Still all bones and no muscle. I have no idea how you could've ever gotten away, but then you were always like a rat, running through the gutters, beneath everyone, ratbastard."

The ducklings stood just behind House and stared. They had never seen anyway talk to House this way and not find themselves flat on the floor in the next three seconds. They glanced at House and they saw one hand clenched in a quivering fist like he wanted to punch the man out.

"How long did it take you to rehearse that? Did someone compose that for you? I'm impressed for a man who dropped out of middle school," House replied, his mouth curled up in a slight smile. His head was tipped at a jaunty angle and his weight was slightly shifted to his left leg to keep the pressure off his right. Slowly, he approached the bed and purposely kept his head back to tower over the other man. Despite Tony's sneer, he shrank back a little.

"You never knew when to keep your fucking mouth shut. For someone who thinks he's so smart, it took you long enough to learn who's boss," Tony snarled.

Despite what some people thought, House certainly found his cane useful for some things and in this situation, he would typically be holding it against his shoulder like a batter waiting to take a swing at the ball. He also appreciated it as a distraction for his hands, and he was struggling not to reach over and strangle the man that instant.

"Yes, because a man who needed three other minions to feel brave is truly the one who's in charge. It's such a shame that was forty years ago. Now, I think you'll need a foot stool to hit me."

Tony made a motion to reach for House and he stepped back calmly, but adrenaline was flooding his veins and it took every ounce of will to control the fight-or-flight reaction.

"If you had any guts, you'd step a little closer. All talk and no backbone!"

"Only the stupid are brave. The rest of us are just survivors. And I don't want another lawsuit for beating up another patient. It's rather a shame you've put yourself into this position," House replied. His smile had now turned smug, "now your life is in my hands. And you've coincidentally given us a new symptom to our growing list." He pointed to the bag under the bed, which had a red tinge to it. "He's pissing blood, children, back to the white board."

They all filed silently out of the room and House snatched up his cane. The nurses behind the desk stared as they departed, apparently able to feel the tension oozing out of the room like a noxious fume. The nurses glanced at the room anxiously and silently hoped they would not have to treat whoever was in there.

Once back in his familiar hallway, House didn't turn into the room with the whiteboard but continued onto his own office and collapsed in his chair. Then he began to rub the soreness out of his leg. It had been aching all morning – ceasing briefly in Cuddy's presence – and now that such viscous emotions hung in the air, it screamed at him. _God damn, a Vicodin sounds good right now, _but he shook the thought and continued to massage it.

The ducklings had followed him and stood around his desk. Cameron appeared torn between running to his aide and keeping her distance, Foreman and Chase preferred to respectfully wait it out.

Finally, the pain dissipated enough for him to glare at them. "Well? Are you waiting for me to magically pull out the correct disease out of my hat? Go do your differential!"

"You're not going to join us?" Cameron asked, even as the other two had already started heading back to the other room.

"I think it's pretty clear I could care less if the son of a bitch lived, but for the record, I'm putting my money on cancer."

"He's your patient! You can't just let him die because you don't' want to cure him," Cameron replied.

"Cameron, let it go," Chase said, still holding the door open for her.

She opened her mouth to protest one last time, but House cut her off. "Go on! I mean, you can't just let him die because you have an issue with your old boss." She sighed at that, but it got her moving.

He dug out his PSP from his backpack and flicked it on. It was surprisingly therapeutic to smash digital cars into walls and after a couple of minutes, the tension began to unwind from his muscles and the events of the last half hour drifted from his mind like smoke dissipating on the wind. The leg pain lessened.

Grand Theft Auto soon lost its appeal, and he picked up the giant tennis ball for another distraction, any distraction. He gave a thought to reading medical journals, as hideously immoral he found most of them, they were also boring and often incorrect, but not nearly so boring as –

_-Superman comics were the only ones he was allowed to read. His father deemed all the others, unpatriotic enough and so he had to put up with the red and blue idjit killing off his would-be girlfriend Lana Lang an awful lot of times. Still, they were better entertainment than what awaited him at home. The 4__th__ of July was always his least favorite holiday since his father hung so much importance on the day. It was the only one the family bothered to gather for. Ordinarily, Greg would be stuffed into a car and driven several hundred miles, but this year they were holding it at their house. With only two days left until the big day, family members had already started piling in and he did his best to make himself scarce. He had to make it home before his father got off work or he'd catch hell. _

Need to leave in about fifteen minutes, _he thought as he glanced at his cheap, plastic wristwatch._

_Suddenly he heard a low snicker from behind and he jumped to his feet and whipped around like a wired rodent. Tony, Scott, and Aaron lurked near the swing sets of the deserted playground, not half a dozen meters away each with their hands in their pockets, and they slowly approached. Tony had a wicked gleam in his eye, which caused Greg to back up with every step they took._

"_Heya, fuckface. Enjoying your day? Well, it's about to go to hell. You're not going to get away like last time." The last chase had been three days before summer vacation and he had managed to fall over the correct side of the fence and then collapsed about a dozen meters away, easily hiding among the thick plants of the swamp. Since then he had done his best to skirt around Tony and his gang whenever he saw him. Now, it seemed, his lucky streak had run dry._

_And his mouth ran away with him again. "Your pick-up lines are as shitty as ever."_

"_Get him!"_

_Greg sprang away, intent on giving him the slip as quickly as he could. He felt something strike his shoulder and then a second later a crack like a gunshot split his ears and he cried out involuntarily. He glanced back, eyes wide and saw another sparkling rock hurtle his way. He tried to dodge it and found another that exploded right by his shoulder and he screamed. _Oh my God, he's throwing cherry bombs at me!

"_We're gonna get you and I'm going to shove these cherry bombs down your pants!"_

Where the hell is everyone?! _The town was small and the streets usually empty, but it was still mid-afternoon and the sun still hung high in the sky, burning the back of his neck, yet the neighborhood was eerily quiet. He could hear kids screeching behind houses, but the fronts were absolutely deserted._

_He dodged a parked car and heard one of its windows shatter from a poorly thrown cherry bomb. He suddenly veered into a turn, taking it so sharply the pads of his sneakers nearly slipped against the pavement. If he was quick, he might be able to hide out in one of the sewer drains at the edge of the swamp._

_Tony anticipated this and threw another lit cherry bomb. Its aim was near true. It seemed to explode right next to Greg's ear and he reeled to the right, nearly losing his balance as the world spun crazily and the side of his face burned like a particularly savage sunburn. They closed in and shoved him violently to the ground where his head cracked against it, sending another wave of pain and making the world spin even more. Tony pulled him over and sat on his stomach, then he snatched up some loose gravel and began rubbing it in his face._

_Like that rock sandwich, your little ratbastard? You're gonna like this even more!"_

_Greg had been flailing, trying to shove Tony's hands away, but then he heard a gasp from the other two and a cold edge touched his throat. He immediately fell still and stared straight up at the sky. _Oh, God, oh holy shit, he's going to kill me.

"_Whoa, Tony, stop! This is too far!"_

"_You don't think throwing cherry bombs was too far?"_

_Scott hesitated with his answer and finally said, "He had a chance there. This – you're gonna kill him!"_

"_That's the idea!"_

_You're gonna kill him 'cause he gave us the slip last time?!"_

"_He's disrespected me from the first time he got here."_

_Tony was distracted and he stood up a little to confront Scott. Now was Greg's chance. He shoved the knife away from his throat and scrambled to his feet. Tony looked back and snatched the back of his shirt, but then Greg turned around and aimed a solid kick to his groin. He never saw pupils go quite that small and he would have stuck around to study the fascinating reaction if the situation hadn't been so dire._

"_ooooogghh, irrrghg kill….you…..now!"_

_He had only taken a couple of strides when something whizzed past his ear and clattered to the ground just in front of him. It was the pocket knife. Greg purposely slowed to kick it into the gutter at the curb, and then he was running again with Tony's enraged howls ringing in his ears._

"_My father gave me that knife! I'm gonna kill you, you fucking coward! Better enjoy what time you have, because I promise it's going to be short!"_

"House!"

He jolted back to reality and realized he had been staring out the window as the memory flooded back to him. He now turned to Wilson and tried to slow the pounding of his heart, as if he really had been running the entire time. Wilson was there, standing in front of his desk with his hands on his hips and the expression of a mother dismayed with her lying child.

"What's the matter? Did that new nurse shoot down all of your advances?"

"There is no new nurse. Stop deflecting. What was that just now?"

"It's called thinking! You might try it sometime."

"I called your name twice and you did not answer. You never miss my entrance, so I think you must have been locked into a memory."

"My latest case is particularly intrig—"

"Cameron might have mentioned the confrontation between you and your patient, with hints that he might have bullied you when you were younger."

"I swear, she kept her nose out of my business better when she had black hair."

"House, what's wrong?"

"Quit being such a mother hen! The look doesn't suit you. Oh, look at that! It's 11:30. Come on, let's go get lunch."

Wilson merely sighed, but he knew pecking at House would give him nothing but ulcers, and so he said, "Fine. Let me go grab my wallet."

***

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lisa Cuddy was doing her daily rounds when she heard the latest news to circulate the thriving rumor mill. Two nurses who hadn't seen her at the counter were talking rather loudly about it and she unashamedly eavesdropped when House's name came up.

"Apparently Dr House's patient gave him his remarks right back at him, and they say Dr. House is afraid of him. He left his cane outside the door."

"The smug bastard deserves all the shit he gets. I still can't believe Dr. Cuddy puts up with him. He _must_ be good in bed," the other said as they both leaned against a counter while. One was filling out a patient form while they talked.

"I don't think they're sleeping together. Yet at least. From what I can tell, their relationship has been on the rocks since he disappeared over the summer. And I'm personally glad I'm not stationed on the third floor. That patient just sounds nasty. I hear he nearly broke Nadine's wrist when she didn't bring up the right order from the cafeteria."

"Don't believe everything you hear. Word is he shouted at her. He's still leagues better than House as a patient."

"And the both of you should be more careful about where you say things," Cuddy suddenly spoke up from down the counter. She glanced up in time to see their eyes widen comically. "If I hear you speaking about mine and Dr. House's personal lives again, you can both look for another job together." She gave them a winning smile and headed off to the elevator to see why House had been so jittery.

Much like House the day before, she observed the new patient at an odd angle so that he would have to actively search for her. His eyes were fixed on the corner of the room where the TV was hanging. She wasn't sure if the unease she felt as she watched him was a sympathetic twinge for House, but she was almost certain she could feel the waves of anger rolling off the man. He was sitting far too stiffly and she could see his fists clench and unclench periodically. Cuddy shivered at what he might be thinking about and finally moved to the nurse's station.

"Has everything been going well with House's new patient?" Cuddy leaned in and asked one of the nurses who was looking at a file.

"Oh, good afternoon, Dr. Cuddy," she said with a smile and then it faded with the next words, "You know, he was fine yesterday. Maybe a little sarcastic but ever since House's visit, he's undergone a severe mood swing. He threw his food tray to the floor when Nadine didn't bring up what he requested."

"Hmm," Cuddy glanced back at him briefly and then asked, "Do you know what happened between House and his patient?"

"Very weird," she replied, "Some of the other nurses caught bits and pieces of the conversation and he called Dr. House some pretty nasty names."

"How did House respond?"

The nurse gave her a wry smile. "You know him."

"Yes, I do. Well, thank you," Cuddy said and headed to her office. After the first two nurses, she had been suddenly reminded of the late night call House made to her last night.

_"Look up his record yourself, you're the Dean!"_

Now, discovering the history between House and the patient seemed to be of the upmost importance. She also felt a mixture of guilt and excitement about finding out something about House. He had a reputation for being an intensely private person, but looking at the patient meant, however removed he might be, a violation of House's privacy. However, she reminded herself, she was House's proxy _and_ doctor and his conversation last night gave her plenty of an invitation.

Back in her office, she pulled out the new case file for Diagnostics and began thumbing through it. She couldn't get specific details but there were records of three different arrests and the charges he was given and the status of which all read 'dropped.' He also had three different notations of admittance for therapy and twice had been forced into an Anger Management class. He was also on at least half a dozen Psych meds. All these signs pointed towards at best a marginally insane man.

_Perfect. A man who hates House is just two floors below him. _She still occasionally recalls the moment she found out House had been shot and now another potential threat was within striking distance. God, she hoped this didn't come back to bite her in the ass.

_ Tap, tap!_

She glanced up and saw Wilson sidle into her office and he wasted no time. "House is acting strange. I mean, stranger than usual. He barely ate his Reuben and didn't steal my chips. He didn't even ask for them! What's going on?"

"And what makes you think I would know? You're his best friend. He sees you more than me."

"When I came to get him for lunch, I stood in front of his desk and called his name three times. He was locked in a memory. Classic PTSD symptom. Now, I _know_ it has something to do with his patient. House knew him. That's easy to see, but the only person I knew he hated was his father."

"He's always been extremely private. Try to wrestle it out of him if you like, but I wouldn't recommend it," she said with a tone in her voice that suggested House might very well rip his head off.

He eyed her archly. "You know what's going on."

"No, I don't. I imagine he's in a more horrible mood than usual since his encounter with the patient, though. He spent five hours in the clinic yesterday to avoid his patient." She still marveled that he actually had caught up on many of the hours that he owed her, although that measly five hours in no way covered his debt. By the way he was going, he'd be working well into his 90's by the time he covered them all and that was if he did about five hours on average.

"That's a lot of hate."

"Yes, well, it's apparently short-lived because he hasn't done any of his hours yet," Cuddy replied, pushing herself up. "I better go see him about it or he'll just play Gameboy all day."

She found him just as she expected, playing a Gameboy. Even from outside, she could see his shoulders were hunched and his focused expression was one of concentrated acid. She squared her own shoulders and fully expected to feel some of his aggravation. However, when he noticed her come in, the look seemed to soften.

"I know you've come by for seconds, but I don't think I can fit you into my schedule," he said to her, but she imagined it would sound forced even to Cameron's ears.

She smiled as usual and said, "I heard about your encounter with the patient. Are you doing okay?"

"I suppose you think I'm going to pick up Vicodin again." His eyes flashed in hurt at the thought, but his hand reflexively rubbed his thigh.

"How's the pain?"

"It's fine. Nothing to get your panties in a wad."

"What's the number?"

"Don't you have cancer kids to give lollipops to?"

"House," she said with a bite to her tone.

He sighed heavily and said, "Five." She mentally added at least two more numbers.

"Go home."

This surprised him and he stared at her a moment. "Who are you and what have you done with the she-devil?"

"Go home, House."

"And here I thought you were going to use your feminine wiles to get me into the clinic," he said, but he grabbed his backpack and began throwing items in.

"I don't want you and your current bad temper sending me double the number of complaints to my office, thus making me late for dinner tonight and having to call off dinner. It's a winning situation for everyone," she replied. Then her façade of good humor finally slipped away and she said, "I finally checked the patient for his history. You were right. I'm sorry."

He sighed again and this time exaggeratedly rolled his eyes. "Don't begin with the unnecessary padding of the guilt complex, Cuddy. Even if you had known his history for arrests, you wouldn't know his significance to me," he replied as he pulled on his jacket. "I do have a habit of treating threatening patients after all, as you pointed out to me yesterday when arguing for the patient."

Cuddy cocked her head as she stared at him in narrowed eyes. "I'm still getting used to all this honesty. The other House would've milked me out of even more clinic hours."

"Well, I could use less of those, too. You caught me in my game of subtlety!"

"Take it easy, House. I'd prefer you arrive tonight without the moodiness."

"Will that get me sexual favors?" He was grinning like a boy who was given the pick of the candy shop.

"We'll see," she replied with a temptress' smile, and then she gave him a stern look and her eyes flicked over to the ducklings in the side office before she left.

"Very nice. And you're actually here when you said you'd be," Cuddy said and she took some of the groceries when he'd actually stepped into the house. Even with his coat on, she could see that sky blue dress shirt that he always looked good in.

"I always keep my appointments," he said, as he dumped his coat off on the nearest armchair and for which he received a stern look.

"Put your coat on the coat rack right next to the door!"

"Maybe when you cook," he said, walking past her into the kitchen.

She sighed, not entirely sure if she should kiss him or throw a pillow at him. Both sounded appealing, but she settled for neutral: hang up his coat for him.

"I see your obsessive compulsive neatness just couldn't stand the random chaos that hit your house."

"Actually, it's wondering why I put up with such a slob."

He was letting the hamburger brown while he made her half of the lasagna, slicing up onions, peppers, carrots, and celery for her half. "You shouldn't call your daughter that!"

This earned him a rolled up magazine upside his head, but since he did have a knife, it was more like a tap.

"Hey, slicing here!"

"Wilson's on call. Perhaps he'll be nice enough to stitch up your fingers since no one else will," she called from the living room where she started to play with Rachel again. "Hey there, little girl. You like that stuffed elephant, don't you? It's so nice and soft!"

House rolled his eyes at the cooing and baby talk and said, "Making your speech goopy isn't going to make her understand it any better!"

She chose to ignore this and continued until House's eerie silence finally got the better of her and she came out holding Rachel against her hip. "How are you doing after what happened today?"

He gave her a disgusted look as he finally started layering the lasagna. "I wait this long for a comeback and this is the best you have?" She waited patiently with that knowing smile and he finally said, "I'm fine. Grocery shopping does wonders."

Yes it had. Such a mind numbingly dull task, it had believably made his thoughts turn into a far worse direction and had probably spent an entire hour buying two plastic bags worth of food. He remembered his parents had quite a row the night of the Cherry Bomb incident and he had sat in another room continually sponging his face with ice wrapped in a paper towel.

"_The boy needs to be tough, he can't be no sissy. Sissy boys don't get anywhere in life. I'm doing him a favor!"_

_ "John House, this is too far! Three boys against one? You _need_ to address this!"_

_ "In World War II, I was cornered by four Germans and I had to fight my way out with a pistol and a pocket knife. That's what a real man does and this will be the best way for him to learn it."_

_ "This isn't a war, John! This is supposed to be a neighborhood to raise children. He is not supposed to be fighting for his life!"_

_ "You think it will be this easy when he's grown?!"_

_ "Yes! Even the real world isn't that dangerous and even if it is, he'll be able to handle it then! God help me, but if you don't do something about this, I'm packing up and leaving your miserable life!"_

They hadn't left but then John House had attempted to get the situation under control. Tony's father, Hugo Marcino, had merely grounded him for a month. He himself, the victim, had been grounded from the July 4th festivities, not that he truly minded that but the day after he had also been saddled with so many chores he hadn't been free until the weekend to do anything remotely fun.

He heard Cuddy's voice from a distance and with an effort he brought himself back to hear what she was saying. "House, if he's bothering you that much, then maybe you should consult with Dr. Nolan about it. That's what therapists are for."

"Can we not talk about this? I came over to forget him." It suddenly struck him as a similar conversation that any married couple would be having and the thought caused him to shiver and he immediately turned back to put the lasagna in the oven.

"Certainly, but, House, he's your therapist and he can help you move on from whatever this guy did to you in the past."

She came up and put a hand on his shoulder, hesitantly since he seemed to be allergic to personal contact but he did not shy from her touch or even slap it away but just continued staring into her eyes. "This isn't something he can help with. I don't want to talk to him."

"Then what are you going to do?" His eyes were always so intense she could never seem to look away.

She felt him lean in and for a moment she was certain he was going to kiss her but he simply said, "I'm going to wait it out. So far symptoms point to cancer. I can finally relax when he's dead and buried or at least too weak to be considered a threat."

"A threat?" He winced and finally turned away to head out toward the living room. "House, what did he do to you?"

"We still have about twenty-five minutes before dinner. I wonder what's on TV."

She sighed and bounced Rachel against her hip as she followed him out there. He was dodging and now it was just best to go with the flow. Pushing rarely got anyone anything except perhaps ulcers and nervous disorders. Wilson case-in-point. "You better not be ordering porn on my TV out there!"

He gave her a 'Who, me?' look that only his mother could believe and said, "Not porn. Something much, much better!" He finally settled on a channel and put his feet up on her table with a pleased smirk on his face.

"WWF wrestling? That's almost worse than porn," she muttered. His eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared into his short hair and he picked up the remote again as if to flip to the 'On demand' screen before she gave him a glare. "I said, 'almost!'"

"Wow, who put a stick up your sizeable ass?"

She gave him a slap on the head. "House, don't curse around children!"

"What's the point of shielding her from it? She's going to learn them eventually!" He leaned into Rachel who was staring at him rather intently and he said, "You better get away before your mommy turns you into a neurotic, obsessive compulsive vegetarian like she is! Ow!"

Rachel giggled when Cuddy shoved his face away and then she began cooing at her smiling daughter, "Don't listen to the big, ugly man. You'll be a healthy and socially acceptable adult when you're older"

He gave her a wry look. "I hope she gets multiple piercings and tattoos just to spite you."

She smiled at him as she finally sat down a foot of space separating them. "Or she might actually be normal!"

"Now that's a creature of myth. Besides, normal's overrated. She's either going to be the high school tramp or the champion virgin known for beating up boys that even wink at her." He heard Cuddy click her tongue in annoyance and glare at him. He was smirking back at her when his eyes lit up, "Or she might be a hot lesbian that routinely makes out with hot girls in the locker room. Now _there's_ something to aspire to."

Despite the terrible image that thought put into Cuddy's mind, she couldn't help but smile.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dinner was a surprisingly quiet affair, though not uncomfortable. Cuddy, however was shocked when House actually volunteered to feed Rachel, although it was in his typical fashion.

Cuddy had cut up a tiny piece of the meaty lasagna and the loaf of bread House had heated for dinner as well and attempted to feed her daughter. Most of it seemed to fall out of her mouth, but Cuddy continued to beam brightly as she continued with her attempts. "There's a good girl! You like that, don't you? It's yummy yummy."

A loud sigh sounded from the other side of the table and House said, "Good God, Cuddy with a voice like that it's no wonder she keeps throwing it back up."

"Funny, she seems to like it," she replied, then she turned back to her charge with the smile hitched back onto her face. "There you go! Eat it up! It's good for you."

House snorted from the other side of the table and wrinkled his nose in disgust as more mush fell out of Rachel's mouth. "It's a wonder the kid's made it this long without solids. Let me try it or she's going to forever be on a liquid diet," House said, getting up and pulling his chair over to Rachel without the use of his cane.

Cuddy was so stunned she forgot to keep up her end of the banter. "Sure, go ahead," she replied as she handed him the fork she'd been using.

"You better not barf on me this time, kid, or you'll be wearing this lasagna." That earned him a light slap on the arm and a wry look from Cuddy. "She was a month old, House!"

"She was doing covert ops. You only think she couldn't secretly plan such a vile attack," he replied, and he purposely made sure that his tiny forkful of meaty lasagna stayed in her mouth, with only a little bit of dribble sliding down her chin. "See, squirt? Meat is good. Don't let your mommy tell you otherwise."

Normally Rachel would be cheerfully giggling, but his tone of voice and the intensity of his eyes seemed to silence her to open curiosity. This ritual continued for several minutes, House watching her carefully and ensured every morsel stayed in her mouth and Rachel chewed slowly and contentedly. Cuddy did her best to ignore this event, but it was so rare that she forgot about the piece of lasagna on her own fork.

"You know, it's rather depressing how surprised everyone is when I do something as obscenely normal as feeding a baby," he said, finally returning to his seat and helping himself to another slice of lasagna. He frowned tersely at Cuddy as he began to slice it up with his fork.

"You aren't known for your people skills, House," Cuddy replied. She let that sink for a moment before she continued, "But I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. You tend to speak better to children than your fellow adults. I can't remember if I've already asked this, but why is that?"

He looked up and cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at her. "Going senile, Cuddy? That's okay, your funbags still look as perky as ever despite you obvious aging." She smiled sweetly at him, a smile he'd seen several times already that day. "Because kids rarely have a hidden agenda. Their innocence and naivety speaks truths. It's adults who teach them to steal, cheat, and lie."

"Funny, I thought I was raised well. I have not cheated and I never will steal."

"But you lie," House replied with a smug grin.

"I'm well acquainted with your motto, House: Everybody lies."

"They do."

Another silence fell between them, but in conversation's vacancy a comfortable atmosphere filled the room. Cuddy only broke it when a thought occurred to her. "House, I thought you said you were going to make a pie. From your groceries, I can tell you didn't make it earlier and bring it over."

His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open and Cuddy rolled her eyes in exasperation of his antics, but she was shaking her head with a smile. "I got lazy. I'll make it next time. You get cheesecake instead."

"Well, you did promise something fattening."

"I also brought over entertainment."

Cuddy stalled. "Do I want to know?"

"It should be a movie you've already seen, and if you haven't, I think it still has enough of the goopy romance you women crave to satisfy you and if that's not enough…" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

With a completely straight face she said, "I don't put out on the first date."

"Ah, proving your theory right now. Your mouth says no, but every other part of your body says hell yes!"

"What's the movie, House?"

"Gladiator."

"House, that's violent!"

"You really think I could watch a movie for two hours without an explosion or a blood-spurting battle. Honestly, Cuddy, I am male. It's Wilson who lacks the testosterone for normal manliness."

"Maybe I should ask him to dinner next time to get my romantic comedy fix."

House stared at her, seemingly torn between excitement and horror at the idea, and then he finally said, "If I hear from Wilson that he's going on anything other than a lunch date with you, I'll personally castrate him. It's not like he uses his balls anyway."

"House! Don't talk like that around Rachel."

"She has no idea what I'm saying at her age." When he saw Rachel smile widely and gurgle he said, "Oh, look at that! She agrees with me!"

"Are you really that concerned that Wilson will date me?"

House snorted. "Hell no. He's been playing matchmaker between us for years. I would have a heart attack if he simply stopped trying."

Cuddy had nothing to say, so she let the conversation trail into silence again and then a moment later said, "Well, I think it's bedtime for this little girl. I'll put her to bed. Can I trust you not to vandalize my house?"

"I'll just be on the couch, if that's okay with you."

"Hmm…okay."

"What's _that _supposed to mean? You want me to knock all the books out of your book shelves? Key your car perhaps?" She was surprised at how irate he was starting to become, glaring at her balefully from across the table when she realized that his nerves had likely caught up to him and he was falling back on his reflexive reaction.

"No, House, I just realized that I couldn't expect you to clean up after dinner. How silly of me."

"My mother taught me that those who cook don't clean."

"Touche. I'll be back in five minutes."

As she walked down the hall, she glanced back at him briefly to see him stab another piece of lasagna with his fork, but just as he was about to eat it he seemed to change his mind and contented himself with stabbing more of his food. _Whatever this person has done to you, House, I hope that you can start to move on from it the moment he exits the hospital. You cannot allow this person to meddle any further in your life, even if he is in his hospital bed._

As she changed Rachel, she cooed at her in the way that House hated and tickled her stomach to elicit a gurgling little giggle. "I hope you have a happy and healthy life, little girl. If any bullies bother you, just come to mommy and I'll make sure they never bother you again. Yes, I will, pretty girl!" She had to force herself to keep from tickling her again, knowing perfectly well Rachel wouldn't go down for another hour if she did.

After rocking her for a few minutes, Rachel's eyelids shut with a sleepy slowness. After setting her down, Cuddy turned on the baby monitor and grabbed the other from her bedroom before heading out to the living room. As she approached, she could hear the Gladiator theme music playing softly but all seemed…far too quiet. She slowly entered the living room, expecting to catch House red-handed with the panties from her drawer but all she found was him stretched out on the couch, lying entirely too still.

"House?" She moved up behind the couch and saw his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and even. It was only now as she examined him more closely that she could see the dark circles under his eyes from the sleepless night before. Though his scruff was gray and there seemed to be a few more lines that weren't there even three years ago, she found it fascinating how many years just the act of sleeping seemed to take off of his face. He could not deepen the lines with a scowl and appear as if the world had been particularly unkind to him.

_Life has given him far more obstacles than the average person, _she mused. But he was so far from average and he admittedly did not help his own case by not treating everyone he meets with the very least a modicum of respect. He preferred the harsh reality when even it could be suspended momentarily with at least a little bit of kindness, but his cynicism continually got in the way of any well meaning.

She felt her hand move of its own volition and then it hesitated briefly just over his face before it decided to continue with its intended goal, and she ran a hand through his now very short hair.

"You need to stop thinking so loudly."

Cuddy snatched her hand away as though thorns had erupted from his head but as she made her way around the couch, she said, "I should've known you weren't asleep." When he opened his eyes though, he appeared a bit groggy and she smirked. "You _were_ asleep! It's not even 8 o'clock! Old age catching up to you, House?"

"I think this speaks more about your hospitality if I can drop off so easily at your place. If you hurry and put on the Catholic School Girl uniform, I won't tell anyone that you have the most boring parties known to mankind."

"If you call dinner and a movie a party! I suppose I could always ask someone else over to see if they get bored so easily."

He felt a pang in his chest at the thought and even as he frowned up at her, he berated himself: _What the hell is wrong with you? Turning over a new leaf doesn't including getting hormonal like a teenaged girl!_ "Only if I don't have to share the funbags with anyone else, be my guest."

"I'm sure you would just be completely fine with another guy being over here alone with me."

"Sure. Just wear protection. He doesn't know where you've been." He almost rolled off the couch when that remark was met with a pillow smack to the mouth. "Hey! Where did you learn hospitality from? The husband abuser from across the street?"

She gave him an arched expression, completely unashamed for hitting him and said, "Start the movie, House, I actually like to get a full night's sleep."

House obliged by smacking one finger down on the play button and said, "No you don't. I have heard personally that after you put Rachel to bed, you strap on skintight leather and go Manhunting to sate your sexual drive." He gave a low whistle in admiration at the thought.

"Only in your dreams, House."

The opening battle scene kept House's attention enough that he did not say anything for the first fifteen minutes and then, when the action finally wound down and he started to fidget at the actual presentation of plot, he glanced over at Cuddy who appeared utterly fixated on the movie if a little cramped curled up n that chair. "Why are you over there?"

"You're taking up my couch. And you're not known for sharing or your wish to be touched at all," she stated.

"You can come over here," House said to her, his eyes focused on the movie so that he wouldn't have to watch her trying to analyze his every motive.

"Is that an invitation?" Cuddy asked.

"Do I need to give you a handwritten note?" He levered himself up so that he was sitting against the couch. She hesitated in her chair, but eventually she slid to her feet and transferred to sit next to him. "That's better." She watched in astonishment as House laid back down, his head resting in her lap and gave her a smirk. "The funbags look so much bigger down here!"

She cursed herself when she felt her face flush scarlet. "House! What do you think you're doing?!"

"Making myself comfortable to watch a movie," he replied with wide innocent eyes, but his eyes kept darting to her round breasts which were just centimeters from his eyes.

"Because my breasts can somehow reflect the movie into your eyes."

"That would be amazing. Someone should invent that."

"You're not lying in my lap."

"I'd like to see you try to move me."

When Cuddy tried to leverage House, he sunk even further into her lap and lie there like a dead weight, smirking up at her for her pathetic attempts to get him off. "Fine. You can stay there until the movie's over, but then you're out the door!"

"As the mistress demands."

She couldn't help a small smile as he burrowed a little further into her stomach making himself comfortable and stared at the TV and all was quiet. A niggling voice in the back of her head whispered dire warnings, but the feeling of domesticity stole of her and she sunk into its embrace, enjoying it in all of its brief moments. _I can't imagine every night would be like this if House and I were to actually enter a steady relationship. _But since he had returned from Mayfield, far fewer barbs left his mouth – though he still gained a sadistic pleasure from verbal sparring with her – and he seemed to be in an overall good humor. He had been dark and moody for so long, Cuddy wondered if he was ever supposed to pull himself out of the spiraling situation he had found himself in.

Sometime later in the movie, she looked down and chuckled. There was no faking sleep this time, his eyes were shut tight and she could already see them moving under his lids in dream. _He hasn't been asleep for long. I wonder what he's dreaming about, _she thought as she gently ran her fingers through his hair again, attempting not to disturb him.

**

_The hot July sun burned his neck from where he hid behind the rose bush, but even as he felt it and the sting of his sweat trickle down his neck, he did not move. A plastic toy gun was clutched in his hand and he carefully and quietly peered through the branches and leaves, looking for any sign of his friends, Joey Truscotte or Ben Lasseter. They had insisted on a game of cops and robbers in the swamp and Greg volunteered as the robber, taking advantage of his stealth, intelligence, and, at the time, endless patience. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he stalked his friends, carefully making his way around them for his escape. _

_ He thought the game was for babies, but the amusement of constantly outwitting his friends never wore off, so he continued to play it. _

_ Another two minutes went by and when he still did not hear the murmur of either Ben or Joey talking to themselves or the rustle of leaves in their way, he inched out from behind his hiding spot and dashed across a clearing, dodging behind a tree and then jumped over a wild hedge to roll on the ground. The park was his safe point and if he could just make his way over there then he could win the game and casually wait for Joey and Ben to finally catch up with him. He sprinted through the forest and then abruptly stopped and turned. _

_ Greg had the uncanny feeling that someone, somewhere was watching him and he scoured the landscape with his eyes. But just as he had managed to conceal himself in the dense cluster of leaves and thickets, so had someone else. Despite the hot humid day, his sweat was chilled and he suddenly realized he was breathing harder than necessary. He scowled and berated himself, _Get a grip! Even if it is Tony, he's still mortal! To hell with not fighting, I'm going to give as good as I get! _He set his jaw and wheeled around to find his way out of the forest to finish this game, paying as little heed to Tony as he could. _

_ Ben Lasseter walked right by a tree Greg had slid behind and he smirked at the clearly frustrated look on his friend's face. "C'mon, Greg, I know you're great at stealing the goods and getting your way past us, but can you for once just let us win one? Huh? I know you're listening to this." _

_ Greg just chuckled silently to himself and after he felt Ben was sufficiently far enough away, he sprinted out from behind the tree and jumped behind another patched of bushes and slowly began crawling his way to freedom. The playground was just on the other side of the wall of greenery and that was all that stood in his way._

_ He suddenly heard a tearing of leaves and snapping twigs, but before he could turn around he let out a 'woof' as all the air left his lungs when something heavy landed on his back. He scrambled to get out from under it, but Greg could already tell he was not quite skinny enough to slip out of this one. _

_ Black spots began to dot his eye as he gasped for air, but his lungs could not take anything in and then Tony wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him up so that he was at almost a ninety-degree angle. Tony had to slide back to bring him up as much as he wished, but the crushing pressure on his throat meant that Greg still couldn't breathe._

_ "Hey, shithead. You got lucky last time, but not this time. How'd'ya like that?"_

_ Greg dug his fingernails as deep into Tony's exposed arm as much as he good but the vice grip did not change. Just when he thought he really might suffocate, Tony let out a snarling cry and released him and Greg gasped for breath and scrambled to his feet._

_ "Leave him alone, Jerkface!" Ben Lasseter and Joey Truescotte stood side-by-side glaring at Tony and each holding a couple of sizeable rocks, one of which Ben had pitched at the back of Tony's head._

_ "Did you say something? Because if you did, you better drop the rocks and turn around now! This has nothing to do with you," Tony said in a low voice and narrowed eyes, slowly approaching Ben and Joey. _

_ Both boys were much smaller than Tony and though Joey began to shrink back in terror, Ben continued to eye him levelly and scowled at him. "Letting you get away with this hasn't kept you from picking on the rest of us. Well, I won't let you hurt anyone else anymore and if you don't get out of here right now, I'll crack your skull open!" He held up one of his fist size rocks as if to emphasize his threat._

_ Greg stared. He had never seen Ben stand up to anyone like he was now, and he distinctly remembered Ben telling him to run near the end of the school year. _It must be because the other two guys aren't around. We outnumber him this time, _Greg thought. _

_ Tony continued to advance and he could see Ben starting to crumble under the intensity, seeming only to have just realized how tall Tony was in comparison to him. "I warned you shitstick and now you're going to get it." _

_ Greg ground his teeth together, rushed the four or five steps to Tony and shoved him as hard as he could into a bush. Then he jumped on the boy and began punching him in every spot he could see: his jaw, the right eye, his stomach, and then another last club on the head. He looked back over at Ben and Joey who gaped at him, their eyes bulging out of their sockets and shouted, "What are you waiting for? Run!"_

_ The distraction was enough for Tony to cock his own fist back and lights exploded in Greg's eyes as he desperately tried to reorient himself while digging his fingers into an arm. A whirl of black and green made his head spin, but he kept up his end of the fight, even going so far as to dig his teeth into Tony's wrist. _

_ There was a howl and more pain sprung from his neck. He couldn't see—_

_ "House! House, wake up! House—"_

House jolted awake and he had to catch himself before he rolled right off the edge of the couch. He dangled there for a moment, ready to fall before he finally got his balance and pulled himself back up onto the couch and…Cuddy's lap. He jolted and hissed when he sat on his right leg. It took him a moment to get situated again and he straightened out his leg and rubbed it fiercely of the soreness and stiffness that had settled as he slept.

"You know, I just realized that we didn't have any of that cheesecake you brought over. Would you like a slice?" Cuddy asked and House breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sounds good. Be sure to eat some too. Can't have any of the fat leaving that sumptuous ass," he replied and he earned a sigh of exasperation. Cuddy hadn't even touched those niceties that other people bothered with and he was glad for it.

When she came back with fork and plastic plate, she said, "I don't suppose I should bother asking you what that dream was about."

"Just wrestling with the monsters under my bed, mommy," he replied.

"I'll take that as a metaphor."

He almost cursed himself aloud, but kept his mouth shut and pointedly kept from glancing up at Cuddy, although it was a spectacle to watch her eat the cheesecake, as if it was the most exquisite one she had ever tasted. "Geez, get a room already! It's disturbing watching you give that stuff oral!"

"House, I'm just enjoying the cheesecake you brought."

"Rather loudly. Is this your way of trying to seduce me? Because it's not working!" He sincerely hoped he concealed that lie well enough as his blood was already heating to an unbearable warmth just hearing her groan with pleasure.

"Yes, that was my ploy all along. If I can get you back into the bedroom, I will be able to have my way with you there."

"That actually sounds kinda hot, but something tells me you're a black widow."

"A what?!"

"You kill your men after you sex them up. Yes, I wouldn't put it past you. I bet you hide the bodies under your house's foundation, like Charles Manson."

"Eww! I'm pretty certain Child Protective Services would've already taken Rachel away due to the smell."

"I bet you pour baking soda over their rotted bodies. It's supposed to neutralize any smell!"

"I'm pretty sure that's not what they had in mind when they advertised that as a use for baking soda."

"I'm sure all that perfume you wear works as a double to cover the scent of dead bodies," House said as he set his empty plate down and stiffly made his way over to his jacket.

"You're going?"

His eyebrows nearly shot up into his hair. "Geez, Cuddy, if you wanted to have sex with me, you could have just asked."

She merely gave him an indulgent smile and said, "I just thought that you might want to sleep in the guest bedroom, considering how much you slept at my house tonight."

"I think this is a plea for sex."

"And I specially said 'guest bedroom'"

House's amused smirk dropped away and he said, "No, that's fine. I haven't fulfilled my 'bugging' Wilson quota tonight."

"All right. Drive safely."

"Goodnight, Cuddy," he replied, but he hesitated at the door. His head was cocked to the side and she could see a small smile on his lips and briefly wondered what he could be contemplating. But then he shook his head slightly and headed out without another word. She watched him back out of her driveway and speed off through the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Oh you poor souls! On top of all the crushing amount of reading I have to do, I also got Assassin's Creed 2, so any free time I had was dedicated solely to completing that (and I still haven't finished it), so...my time for this story has been nil, unfortunately. It should get better _after_ the quarter is done, but that's still a ways.

Also take note that I'm not a doctor and since the story doesn't actually revolve around the diagnosis, the medical facts are in all likelihood very wrong. Don't hold it against me too much.

David Shore still owns everything.

**Chapter 7**

House truly never thought he would take solace in clinic duty, but he started hiding in there much like he used to hide in coma guy's room. Nurse Brenda appeared utterly perturbed by this new occurrence and only called in Cuddy when he had spent thirty minutes in an exam room after he'd sent his last patient out.

"I know you hate the clinic patients," Cuddy said as she walked in. She seemed to be struggling not to grimace in empathy – she'd certainly dealt with plenty of self-assured Internet doctors and overanxious mothers, "but I need you to do your job."

"Oh, c'mon, Cuddy! I fool around more than this on a regular basis and I've already put in two hours of clinic duty _today_. More than I usually put in a single week," he replied, finally tearing his eyes from his DS after Link met an unfortunate end

"Which is what it should be, but I can't have you sitting in an exam room as you are now and simply waste the hospital's time. How about this," she reached into her coat pocket and drew out his favorite flavored sucker. "if you see another five patients before lunch, you can have the sucker. I've already given the rest of the children in pediatrics so, if you want your sugary fix you better get to work." A coy smile was on her face and House sighed.

He continued to glower but then he turned off the DS and snatched the lollipop from her fingers, "I'll settle for sucking this off." He raised his eyebrows suggestively and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"I think that's the worst comment you've made."

"Oh, please, we're alone. If you haven't filed for sexual harassment by now, you never will."

She gave him a smug smile but then said, "I'm going to be busy with work later this evening, so don't bother coming over if you insist on attention."

House suddenly smirked. "That might call for a distraction."

"Don't even try it! Now get back to work." She opened the door and he filed out behind her. She even slapped a file onto his chest to ensure he did not slink out in the five feet that stood between him and the desk. He sighed. This was going to be a more productive day than he was used to and wished more than ever that he hadn't given up drinking. Jigglypuff was going to be beaten bloody that night in Brawl. Finally, at 11:30, he barged into Wilson's office and said, "You better be reaching for your wallet."

Wilson appeared amused. "Cuddy told me you were in the clinic. Is the challenge of convincing people they don't have the swine flu not enough for you?"

"More like, 'How can I be pregnant? I've never had sex' act." She ended up with syphilis to boot, the poor future baby. To enter into a world of endless suffering by having a twit like that for a mom," House grumbled and then he said, "Quit distracting! I'm hungry."

"I'd heard this was your second day to be in before ten. The board is becoming suspicious. They think you're going to start an apocalypse of mayhem and this is just the calm before the storm."

"Damn! They know me too well. I'm going to have to mix things up. But right now, I'm ready to commit seppuku in the clinic if you don't feed me."

"I can't imagine the janitors would enjoy cleaning up that mess," Wilson replied as he pull on his coat. "I'll buy an extra bag of chips for you to steal."

Halfway through lunch, as House was eyeing the french-fries on Wilson's tray, he noticed his old team trooping in and scowled. "What does, 'I have no part in this patient's diagnosis mean to you?'"

"We're completely stumped," Foreman replied and his tone was that of a person who was sick of being in his superior's shadow, both literally and intellectually. "Just give us a direction to go and we'll leave you alone. He's starting to show signs of disorientation and hysteria and he's coughing up blood. He also crashed earlier this morning."

House snatched the file and hit Wilson on the head dumping it over to him. The pages slipped out and scattered all over the floor.

"House—!" Wilson and Cameron went scrambling after the pages.

"Cancer! You want to hand it to Wilson, not to me!"

"We've looked at common symptoms of cancer: no spindling of the blood, no masses in a CT Scan, we've even looked in the brain and we can't find anything!"

"Well, look again!"

"You just want it to be cancer so that he'll have a greater chance of dying," Cameron suddenly spoke up and glared at him.

It was spoken loud enough that a hush fell in the vicinity and all eyes fell on them. House glared hard at Cameron, who wilted under those fierce blue eyes. When he felt she was sufficiently cowed he turned away from her and spoke to his Reuben, "In the time that you've worked for me, how many times has it been cancer? I think it's pretty clear nature doesn't have just cancerous cells up her sleeve. You don't like my answer, go find your own!"

At the end of the day, House stood behind his desk and stared out at the sunset and supported his neck with his cane, the fiery beauty of the sky completely lost on him. It had been confirmed by Wilson an hour after lunch. Tony had Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. He was pudgy enough that the team had completely missed his swollen lymph nodes and Wilson did his usual breaking of the news.

House felt the slight fluctuations of his surroundings and the glass door clicking shut, which would have been inaudible to anyone else. He didn't turn but he asked, "How bad is it?"

"He has a month or two at best. I noticed that he had very little reaction to the news. Just sort of shrugged," Wilson said.

House finally turned and he asked, "Do you think it's the cancer or is he a full-fledged psychopath?"

Wilson raised his eyebrows at him and he seemed to have trouble finding the correct words to answer House's question. "Aside from his anger management classes, we have very little background on his psychology. Just from what I've observed, I seriously doubt that his psychopath is a symptom of the cancer. In fact it was probably the road block that caused Foreman to overlook the option of cancer for so long. Although, I wonder if you think it's merely his apathy or perhaps….his violent tendencies that have you concerned about his mental status."

"Gee what gave it away? My inexplicable behavior?" House replied and Wilson only shrugged in response.

"It's certainly easier to see your motives when you act a completely different way than your usual annoying superiority. You're even more tight-lipped about him than even your father. A mere childhood bully would never have made you react…"

Silence fell between them and House continued staring at Wilson as he stood silhouetted against the window his expression complexly inscrutable. Finally, House broke it in his usual way, "Well, Dr. Freud, what do you consider my diagnosis?"

"An arrogant jerk with the beginnings of an Oedipus complex and a need to hide his true feelings" –at this Wilson drew an eye roll from House –"behind a wall of sarcasm while at the same time projecting the usual untouchable front. You're completely normal. I mean, normal for you."

"If you had a better couch, maybe I'd drop by more."

"You'd have to talk, not sleep. I don't think Cuddy would approve otherwise," Wilson replied with his usual amused expression.

"I am seeing Dr. Nolan still," House replied. Wilson could see the walls come back up now and he knew House had nothing more to say."

"All right, House, but as I said, I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you, Redundancy Department of Redundancy." House turned back to look out the window, but he was aware, by the click of the glass door, when Wilson left.

* * *

Tony was lying on his side in bed with his eyes closed, but anyone looking in would not expect it to be racing, or as much as his IQ allowed. What the doctor had said to him truly hadn't fazed him. Life had been one long kaleidoscope of moments between nightly binges on beer & tequila. This three-day period was quite possibly the longest he'd been sober since he dropped out of middle school at sixteen, only going for that long at the insistent nagging of his mother.

No, he had little care for what life he had left. No, his cancer was not the reason he was here. His apathy had stretched back to even when his sister hauled him to the doctor and all the specialists afterward. It was simply one word which had snapped him out of his stupor: "You might ask for a consult with Dr. House. He's supposed to be able to solve any medical mystery."

His brown eyes had almost immediately cleared from the painful haze of the drinks still in his system – he'd cut the drugs since the first visit – and he focused on the doctor. "House?"

"Yes, Dr. Greg House. I can send the administrator of his hospital your file. He won't touch the case if you go to him directly. He's a world renowned jerk as well."

Tony gave a small smile, but there was a new light to his otherwise dull brown eyes – the doctor took this as a new sign of hope – and he said, "Sure, I'll go see him." And so he'd flown up from Florida alone, leaving his bewildered sister behind when he scraped together every penny he could for the plane ticket. He had to – had to know if this man was the same little shit who wouldn't bow down to him all these years ago.

Well, the little shit was no longer little, but he could still see the same features. And, of course, that mocking sneer and blue eyes. No, it couldn't have been anyone else. House had even acknowledged him as someone from his past. Now all Tony could think about was revenge.

If he hadn't had the IV stuck in his arm, he would have leapt off the bed and wiped the smug smirk off his face and he also recognized the extreme advantage of three other people standing behind him, obviously much swifter and younger. He cautioned himself to bide his time and the opportunity would come.

And now it had. He opened his eyes and glanced around at the darkened floor, seeing only a few otherworldly shapes glide underneath the eerie glow of the fluorescent lights.

He was not the brightest man as many of his test scores could attest to, but it took very little inspection to find the off-button to the monitor switches and quickly pulled out the IV in his arm. A bead of liquid, protruding from the hole, slid down the rest of his forearm to drip on the floor, but he gave it little notice as he went to the little night stand next to the bed. Since he had checked in without a fuss, they let him keep his clothes in one of the drawers, and he searched the pockets until he found what the item he was looking for, and then he tucked it into the palm of his hand and slid out the door.

* * *

House remembered that in the days before Mayfield, he kept a bottle of scotch and a little glass nearby for contemplative endings to the day, but that had been cleared out and in its place probably sat something along the lines of Diet Coke. He did occasionally miss drinking, at least when he hadn't overloaded on it but now he could no longer trust himself. Dr. Nolan may not have said it aloud, but he was almost certain he had some psychotic disorder that caused him to latch onto things – Vicodin and alcohol or even his music – with an inhuman obsession.

As a result, there seemed to be little point in continuing to idle in his office but the prospect of heading home to Wilson's scrutinizing eyes and prying questions made him prematurely groan in disdain. He considered heading over to Cuddy's, but they'd eaten together only last night and the last thing he wanted to do was come to her looking like some pitiful puppy begging for attention. No, best to stay here until he was certain Wilson would be in bed by the time he arrived back at the condo.

He turned his thoughts towards Tony. He had been doing his best all day to stay away from the topic, but now that he was alone in his office he felt safe enough to contemplate him. Wilson had told him he had a month or two at best to live. House doubted he would have ever remembered the monster if he hadn't stumbled into their hospital and now every single instance of brutality Tony had committed on him resurfaced to his mind, so clear in detail and precision it was as if they'd happened yesterday.

Digging through his mind, he decided to try some questions that Dr. Nolan asked him virtually every session. _How does that make you feel? _He still couldn't keep himself from sighing in exasperation at the questions, but he had long accepted them as a necessary part of routine. Digging through his mind, House was surprised to find that the relief was minimal at best. The predominating feeling was anger and even regret that he never had a chance to face Tony man-to-man. With two good legs, he knew he would have won that scuffle, but now the odds seemed to be a toss of the die.

He winced at the thought and retreated from it, feeling his shoulders sag with disappointment. Violence? That was his father's predisposition, not his! But much like how he had forever wanted to prove John House wrong in his assessment that the only strength you could have was military, he wanted nothing more than to prove to Tony that he couldn't beat _everyone_ into submission.

If he were Freud he might have thought that perhaps standing up to Tony might have been a subconscious rebellion against his father and his abusive orderliness. Except Tony had been far from orderly and had such a low IQ it might have bordered on mentally handicapped. Whatever the trigger was, he approached both of them with an entirely different line of thought and, particularly now that he had saved himself from the crutch of Vicodin. He was going to acknowledge Tony's dying presence and let it be.

The door swung open on its silent hinges and much like earlier, House seemed to feel the new presence by the mere stirrings of air. "I thought you'd…" He turned toward the door, expecting to see Wilson, but found himself staring down the subject of his thoughts. Tony was smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he seemed to eye House with an almost predatory gaze. A glint caught House's eye and they slid down to Tony's hand which held an open pocket knife.

They both stood there, at opposite ends of the office, neither one hardly daring to breathe. Finally, House whispered to no one in the quiet office, words that would have carried all the way over to Tony, "Oh crap!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: **Well, I had enough time on my hands to dedicate to you, faithful readers, but I can't promise this will happen often. Enjoy!

David Shore owns everything or I wouldn't bother posting this here.

**Chapter 8**

_"See you tomorrow, Ben," Greg said to his friend as he disappeared through his front door. There was a faint echo of 'Bye' and then all was silent._

_ Greg glanced at his watch and turned toward home. He had twenty minutes to get there or there would be hell to pay. The sun had already fallen below the horizon and evidence of people retiring for the evening could be seen all around, as cars pulled into driveways and parents cawed from their front door for the kids to come inside._

_ He walked with his head down, thoughts a thousand miles from where he was now. The end of July was quickly approaching and he actually looked forward to the days when he would be back in school, as horribly frustrating he found his much slower classmates. It was still a refuge from the façade of his All-American family._

_ Suddenly, a hand reached around and clapped him over the mouth and he found himself being nearly pulled off his feet as he was dragged down the street. Greg's heart leapt into his throat and he dragged his heels for purchase. He finally dug his teeth into the hand and slipped free with a satisfying screech from Tony. He took no more than four steps before his face met the asphalt and he struggled under Tony's weight._

_ Black spots erupted before his eyes as Tony landed a punch to his ribs. The pressure abruptly lifted and he slowly got to his feet before he crashed down again with another blow to his head._

_ "Say your prayers, you little shit, because you're dead meat now."_

_ "Why don't you just leave me alone? It'll save both of us a lot of trouble," Greg mumbled from the ground, shocked and angry with himself when his thoughts cast to what his father was going to do when he didn't make it home. He gasped and doubled over after a kick to the stomach. _

_ "Shut up!"_

_ Tony grabbed the front of Greg's shirt and rolled him over on his back to put another knife to his throat. Much like before, Greg fell still, his eyes never leaving the glint of the knife. "I'm trying to think just what I should do: carving you up like a pig for dinner would be so wonerful. It's awfully tempting to give you a fighting chance, too. Scott and Aaron aren't here to distract me from you We are all alone."_

_ Greg stayed silent, his racing at the speed of sound to come up with an escape to the situation, with as few cuts and bruises as possible, but his options were almost out. If Tony let him up under the "fighting chance" pretense, he might have an opportunity to run but Tony would certainly be expecting that!_

_ "Oh don't worry, fuckface. You won't get away this time," Tony replied, as if following his train of thought, smiling gleefully down at his scrawny captive. "I've made my decision." He leaned further down onto him. Greg turned away, gagging on the smell of stale tobacco and cigarettes. "Fair fights are for pansy whites."_

Tony and House continued to stand where they were and stare at each other. House was unwilling to move, certain he would break this prolonged spell and earn himself an attack which he was attempting to hold off for as long as he could. However, that glazed predatory look never left Tony's face when he finally stepped forward.

"You're not gonna get away this time, shithead."

House's eyes darted toward the back door, but axed the idea almost immediately. Wilson's painful neatness and routine would've caused him to lock the balcony door from his office. If he got trapped out there, either one of them could easily go over the side and House wasn't willing to give Tony anymore chances than necessary to end his life. There was only one way out and that was through the very person who was advancing on him like a starved wolf.

He stepped out from behind his desk, squared his shoulders, braced himself, and brought his cane up in front of him like a batter waiting for the fastball. "Tony, you either walk away now or my fellow Dr. Chase will have to surgically remove this cane from your ass."

"You always had a big mouth." Without a word of warning, Tony rushed the rest of the distance and House swung the cane with enough strength to send his adversary into the desk, but he felt like a wimpy toreador in the ring with the bull so maddened it didn't even feel each slice of the blade in its back. Tony swung the knife wildly and House only had time to lift his arm in defense and gritted his teeth against the searing pain and immediately felt blood rushing down his arm. House shifted the cane to be a barrier and hold Tony at arms distance, sucking in his stomach to avoid Tony's swings with the knife.

The adrenaline which had flooded House's system could not quite numb his leg completely and he could feel it trembling violently beneath his weight. _This has to be some sort of cosmic joke. Keep it together, House, or last night might be the last time you touch Cuddy again._ His eyes widened at the thought and with a last burst of energy he shoved Tony into one of his book cases.

At the same time, his leg crumpled beneath him and he was certain his pained cry could be heard on the whole floor. If only there was _anyone_ on the floor. He desperately tried to rub the pain away with digging fingers. He barely had time to glance up before Tony jumped on him and House automatically grabbed for his hand, doing his best to hold Tony off. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his neck, but he was holding his own, and then Tony shifted and it took every fiber of strength he had to keep the knife away. He had shifted onto his bad leg, although he couldn't tell if it was intentional or not, but now his strength was giving away and he could feel the knife inch closer to his throat.

Abruptly, Tony pulled the knife away and House was stunned at the sudden reversal and then he gasped when he felt a ripping pain right around his ribs and was stunned to see Tony had sunk the blade between his ribs but not before skidding off of one to find soft flesh and muscle. House socked Tony in the jaw hard enough that the knife was dislodged and House immediately snatched it up and threw it to the far corner of the room.

Tony tried to get up to chase it, but House pulled him down by his ankle. He nearly blacked out when he earned himself a solid kick in the head, but he gamely held on to the meaty ankles. With an almighty wrench, Tony pulled out, but instead of going for the knife, he pulled House up enough to shove his head onto the edge of the desk. The world vibrated violently in front of his eyes and he fell back with a groan, feeling the blood sliding down his face. He pressed a hand to the wound and willed himself to not close his eyes, blinking rapidly until the world stabilized. Tony was in the corner hunting for the knife and with an ice cold realization he realized his minutes were numbered.

House rolled over and felt a hard ridge dig into his shoulder. His cane! If he could get to his feet, he might be able to end this. Willing himself to forget the pain and using the cane, he managed to stand up. Blood continued to slide down his face, but he set aside the worry over that and concentrated on Tony.

The knife had fallen behind the chair in the corner and Tony had been forced to pull it out to retrieve it. With it now in hand, he returned to finish the job and saw the cane an instant before it clubbed him in the face. He bent double, blood gushing from between his fingers and another blow to the back of the neck sent him to the ground, completely limp.

House fell with him and cradled his leg. The throbbing in his head surprisingly dulled, but he could still feel blood trickling down his face. The ache in his arm was much sharper, but its flow was already lowed to a trickle. The wound in the ribs was the problem. A large patch of his shirt had already soaked through and while the flow of blood was small it was still steady. If he fainted now, he'd be dead long before morning. _My phone. Where is my phone? _He always kept it in his jacket pocket, which was still resting on the back of his chair. Narrowing his focus, he pulled himself each agonizing inch and fumbled around in his pocket. _It better be here. I'm not sure I can pull myself to get it on my desk._

He gasped a sigh of relief when he pulled it out and it fell to the floor. A cold calm was falling over him and he willed himself to press speed dial #2 and keep with the conversation.

There were two rings before it was answered and Cuddy's sleep-laden voice filtered over the phone. "What is it now, House?'

"Help me," he whispered into the phone.

"House, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?" There was a pause. "House!"

"Stab wound in the ribs…in my office…"

"Stay awake, House. I'm coming right in!" He could hear her breathing as she jumped out of bed. Then she spoke again. "This is Dr. Cuddy. Dr. House is injured in his office. Send a gurney and security. I'll be there in ten minutes." He could hear the small click of her stetting down her home phone. "House, are you still here? House!"

For a minute or so all he could do was breathe and then he managed a weak, "Here." He wasn't losing consciousness, but an otherworldly detachedness had fallen over him, completely removing any will to move or speak. "Cuddy," he mumbled more to himself than her.

"House? House!" But he didn't answer her. It only took three minutes for the hospital to retrieve him with a gurney, but the minutes had felt like hours, and despite his eyes being open he was completely limp and the staffs' voices seemed to come from down a long tunnel.

_Each slice of the blade kept his nerves shrieking, but he did not scream and his body trembled so violently from a combination of fear and chill that his teeth were chattering. Tony carved bloody lines into his body with the meticulous precision of a surgeon. First a cut behind his ear, a slice on his arm, a long line down his side. He was currently cutting the shape of a 'V' on his chest. The next place, he promised, would be his throat._

_ He was just connecting the two lines when there was a shout that jerked his head. "Hey! What the hell are ya doin'?"_

_ Tony froze like a deer in headlights and then he looked at Greg, thinking of completing his job. He turned with a staccato of footfalls and vanished into the night. There was another sound of footsteps and suddenly a strong beam of light fell across him. "Oh my holy God. Nancy, call 911! This boy's hurt bad!" Then in a lower voice right next to Greg's ear, the man said, "Hold on, son, we'll get you help." The hand reached out to brush his face and then he pulled away as if burned. "Samuel, get a blanket. He's frozen!"_

_ A moment later, he felt his body bundled in a thick woolen cloth and a spark of warmth filled his deadly cold limbs It was the last memory he had with any clarity. The rest was a blur of distant voices, bright lights, and stabs of pain as they stitched him back together, like a young Frankenstein. John House was pleased to point out that not once did his boy cry in either fear or pain._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: **Thank you for your reviews and your patience, everyone! School has been absolutely insane and the next couple of weeks are going to worse, so I worked hard to get this out to you tonight. Enjoy!

Yeah, David Shore still owns everything.

**Chapter 9**

Cuddy's heart was in her throat as she drove to the hospital. She stayed on the line with House until she could hear the response team arrive in his office. Now she called up Wilson and heard a sleepy groan, "Hello?"

"Wilson, it's Cuddy. House was attacked in his office."

"Wh-what? Is he okay?"

"I sent a team up to get him, but I'm not sure. He stopped responding to me about a minute into the phone call."

Cuddy heard Wilson give a prolonged groan and then he said, "What do you want to bet the attacker is my newest cancer patient?"

She had been thinking on that, too, and despite the ice nestled in the pit of her stomach, she said, "We'll see when we get there."

"Right. I'll be there."

Cuddy hung up her phone just as she was pulling into her hospital's parking lot. Rachel was, thankfully, still asleep in her car seat and although she was getting big, Cuddy transferred her into a stroller and rushed into the hospital as quickly as she dared to go. The night time receptionist saw her coming in and said, "Dr. Cuddy, he's on floor 2 in OR room 3."

"Thank you." Cuddy considered asking her how House was doing, but she figured if he was rushed into the OR it must be serious enough. She set Rachel down at the back of the observation room and stepped up to stare down at him, trying to conceal her shock. The tension had been more palpable when House was shot, but he looked far worse this time around. Even from up here she could see the footprint on his forehead A good deal of blood was encrusted down one side of his face, she could see the surgeon stitching up his side, and his left arm was already wrapped from wrist to elbow.

Cuddy would keep her reservations to herself until she got a full report, but just the cursory glance at his injuries made her sigh in relief. He appeared far worse than he was and she was confident House would make his usual full recovery. She could not, however, get over his silence over the phone. He had sounded weak and the strange quality of his voice made her believe for a moment that their phone conversation was going to be their last.

Wilson took that time to walk in and though he decided to forgo a suit for a fleece pullover and jeans, his hair was as perfect as usual. "How is he?"

"I haven't had a full report, but I think he's going to be okay," Cuddy replied.

Wilson's eyebrows shot up. "You sounded pretty worried over the phone"

"You weren't talking to him," she said in a soft voice. Tears weren't filming her eyes, but there was a defeated expression and her shoulders were slumped. "Wilson, he finally got his life together and he was opening up to me and accepting Rachel I thought he was going to be dead when I got here." Cuddy wanted to say more but she couldn't find the words. For once, Wilson didn't pressure her but simply laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort. She gratefully grasped the hand, keeping it where it was as they looked on. A few minutes later, the surgeon below turned on the intercom and said, "Dr. Cuddy, we're finished here."

"Thank you. Where will you be taking him?"

"I thought we would wheel him back into the ICU."

"Give me a minute and I'll get him a private room," Cuddy replied. "Could you watch Rachel? I should've done this when I arrived."

"You were worried and wanted to see your friend." She ignored the strange way Wilson said friend, as though he were waiting to be corrected, but then he said, "Go on. Rachel's safe with me."

"I don't doubt that for an instant," Cuddy said the hint of a smile. It hardly took more than thirty seconds for Cuddy to get a room and they stepped out to follow House's bed down the hall.

Dr. Howard, the surgeon, was waiting just inside the door when they arrived. Wilson carefully set Rachel down and then he stepped over next to Cuddy to listen to the conversation.

"How is he Dr. Howard?"

"He'll make a full recovery. He didn't lose too much blood and the wound on his head did not need more than super glue. He was actually conscious when he arrived for surgery, willfully unresponsive or not, I'm not sure. I think he may have a touch of shock, but it's difficult to say. We've taken him off the sedative so he should be awake in a few minutes."

"Thank you, doctor," Cuddy replied. She turned to look at House and breathed a sigh, of relief and exasperation. After Dr. Howard left, she moved to stand over him and muttered, "How do these things always happen to you?" Staring down at him, she tilted her head a little better to see the cut just barely hidden beneath his now short hair and winced. After a moment of silence she said, "Wilson, the police should be here and I need to look at House's office. I know I've asked this already, but would you continue to watch Rachel, please?"

"You don't even need to ask. Do you want to be paged when House wakes up?"

She hesitated. With any other person, she would simply say no, but his was House. He was quick to notice small details and gestures and jump to rapid and occasionally inaccurate conclusions. "Yes, if you don't mind. I imagine I'll be about half an hour."

He nodded. She was just stepping out of the doorway when Wilson abruptly said, "I'll go check on the _other_ patient when you get back." She stiffened at the mere thought of the person, but although she did not turn around, she nodded slightly and started off, grateful of Wilson to take that responsibility off her shoulders.

Upon reaching the fourth floor, Cuddy took slow and measured steps towards House's office. She could see the police and crime scene investigators moving through the glass windows but she could not keep her stomach from clenching at what she imagined she would find there: blood everywhere, dripping off the books and staining large patches into the floor, House's medical references torn out and littering the floor, and undoubtedly his cane split in half. She was surprised once she reached the door and found hardly any of it was true.

There _were_ dried patches of blood on the floor, and one particularly large one under his desk with the phone right next to it. Now she could see him lying on the floor with his phone nearby trying his best to speak to her even as his blood drained out of his body. The top half of House's cane had indeed been shattered and she could just see there was a spot of blood on the corner of his desk where he hit his head she imagined. His chair in the corner had been overturned and her eyes nearly popped out of her skull when she saw the three inch switch knife with a film of dried blood covering its edge.

"Excuse me, ma'am, we'd appreciate it if you stayed right there. You don't want to contaminate the scene just yet," an officer said, walking up to her slowly so as not to startle her.

She locked eyes with him and let a breath out that she hadn't realized she was holding. _Thank God it isn't Detective Tritter, _she soothed herself and immediately clamped a hold of her emotions and held her hand out.

"Officer, I am Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

"Lieutenant Fredrickson, Dr. Cuddy. May I ask you a few questions about this incident?"

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"Where were you when the attack occurred?"

"I was at home sleeping," Cuddy replied and she smiled slightly to herself. She had immediately suspected House was calling to fill his Nightly Cuddy Annoyance Quota. She would rather have endured that annoyance than the paralyzing shock that had splashed over her like ice cold water instead.

"Who called you?"

"Dr. House."

"What did he say?"

"He asked for help. Said he had a wound in his side."

"What did you do?"

"I called the hospital through my house phone and ordered security to pick up Dr. House. I continued to stay on the line with him."

"Did he say anything else?"

Cuddy almost flinched, thinking back on the conversation with House if the two meager sentences he'd managed could be called a conversation. "N-no. I thought he was going to be dead before I even got here?"

Officer Fredrickson's eyes softened and he asked, "How is Dr. House now?"

As if on cue her pager blipped and she immediately grabbed for it to see the message and a small smile tugged at her lips. "He's awake now and he will make a full recovery. His injuries were not as severe since he was retrieved relatively quickly."

"Right," he said with a nod and then asked, "Do you know of the circumstances that led to this attack?"

She hesitated for a moment. Simply because she was certain who the attacker was did not necessarily mean she knew _any_thing and she decided on that, "No."

"Are you certain there was nothing to suspect?"

"Who _was_ the attacker?"

The officer peered down at his notepad and said, "I believe he was one Anthony Marcino, a cancer patient who was admitted here earlier in the week. Did you notice anything odd?"

Her eyes hardened and she gazed at the officer. "Yes. It was rather clear that Mr. Marcino and Dr. House did not like each other."

"How did this behavior manifest?"

She drew her lips into a line and she was certain the officer got the message, but she continued to answer his questions in a clipped tone, "Mostly avoidance although there was one encounter with the patient that was, from what I heard, little more than name-calling. Dr. House was permanently removed from the case the day he received it and was not working on it since."

"Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. If you do not mind, I would like to take a statement from the victim. Do you think he would be up to it tonight?"

Cuddy raised her eyebrows in surprise and asked, "How important is that statement? I am already well aware that a conviction, or even a trial, is highly unlikely."

Fredrickson sighed and folded up his notepad to put it in the front pocket of his uniform. "It is true, Dr. Cuddy that this will more than likely be thrown out before it can even be considered for court. With the assailant in advanced stages of cancer and obviously sick, there would certainly be a question of delirium and whether he was of sound enough mind to realize what he was doing."

She bristled at his statement even though it didn't surprise her at all to hear that was the case. "I think this is much deeper than that."

"Even if it is, Dr. Cuddy," Fredrickson gave her an annoyed expression, "Even if it _is_, he is still a severely ill patient with little life left to begin with. You will certainly be granted an order to transport him to a different hospital to keep the environment of yours safe, but that is all that is likely to happen."

"Right," she muttered and sighed to herself.

It was only ten minutes or so after Cuddy left that House started showing signs of waking up. Wilson was still standing at his bedside, too wired with nerves and energy to sit down for long. He was admiring the tiny little gash in House's short hair when he saw his friend's eyes twitch and flutter.

He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes. Wilson watched them sweep around the room until they settled on him, and then he said, "I'm starting to wonder if you broke the world's largest mirror – possibly with your ego – or if all these incidents are some plea for a attention, because they certainly work." He made a show of taking out his pager and sending Cuddy a message.

House snorted at his comment and said, "A black cat crossed my just as I walked under a latter. I should have known better." He rubbed one hand over his scruff and then abruptly opened his eyes and asked, "Where's Cuddy?" He had seen Rachel's stroller nearby so she could not be far.

"Being the Dean. After your attack the police _did_ need to be called. I imagine Tony's hand-cuffed to his hospital bed right about now."

House sighed in impatience and picked at invisible lint on his bed sheet before he said, "Before you can get any further, I am not going to say anything with regards to _him_. So stop fishing for your lighter to that cigar, I'm not doing another session with you, Freud."

"No cigar in the hospital, so I thought I would stick to pencils," Wilson replied. "I don't suppose I can ask what you were doing here so late at night?"

"Trying your damndest to play every significant historical figure, Einstein? Why do you think I refused to arrive at a reasonable hour considering your constant badgering all day?"

"I would hardly say it was constant since I only sat with you for lunch and talked to you for a few minutes later."

House sighed again and gave Wilson an irate look, "I could easily twist this situation around to make it _your_ fault I was here when he attacked!"

"Sorry, my perverse sense of guilt withered and died with constant exposure to your glowing personality and ego."

House opened his mouth for another retort when they heard a keening cry and they both shifted to Rachel. From the way she was squirming in her seat, she was waking up. House tensed, ready to get her himself, but Wilson had already swooped to the rescue with such easy grace, House eyed him coldly before he caught himself and smoothed his expression again. It was still obscenely early in the morning though and it took only a little bit of soothing mutterings from Wilson to get her eyes drooping again before she dozed off.

"Why don't you set her down here? Bound to be more comfortable than your skinny shoulder," House said and Wilson raised his eyebrows at him.

"Hmm, I'm sensing a disguised plea to hold Rachel yourself…to gain Cuddy's attention for when she first walks in."

House's answering glare was so severe, Wilson immediately shut his mouth. "Lay off the psycho-analysis _now_ or I'm throwing you out."

"Even if you did, you'd be begging me to come back in and take care of you after the nurses got sick of waiting on you hand-in-foot."

"No, because there's still Cuddy with her extraordinary guilt complex."

Wilson was just about to give him another reply when the whoosh of the door drew their attention and Cuddy came in with a resigned yet grim smile. Behind her was an officer, who was not exactly trim but certainly nothing like the heavyweights munching on donuts. "House, glad to see you're awake. This is Officer Fredrickson and he would like to ask you some questions."

House frowned severely at the police officer and inwardly groaned. "I don't see why it matters. The likelihood he will go to prison let alone stand trial are nil since he's terminally ill."

"With your full cooperation, Dr. House, we will attempt to reach a solution for this matter to the best of our ability," Fredrickson replied and there was no denying the officer's obvious hostility.

Cuddy stepped between them, giving the officer a long measured glare before she said to House, "Please cooperate just this once, House. If it is as you say, then they will not be back to ask you anything else."

House curtly nodded. "Fine, I want you to leave the room though."

She flinched slightly at his words and felt a pang in her heart. For a brief moment, House himself looked pained at what he had just said, but as he was so good at, the mask was hitched back onto his face and he nodded at her stolidly. _All right. I'll leave you alone, but don't try to bottle everything up all the time, House, _she mused and grabbed Rachel's stroller to wheel it out. Wilson promptly followed.

When the door was slid shut, House turned back to the officer to hear his line of questioning, all the while privately wondering just how he was going to tell Cuddy _any_ of reasons that led to the attack.


End file.
