He was pacing again, up and down the living room, stopping only to drink from a bottle of scotch that was sitting on the piano. The nearly empty bottle had been full only two and half hours earlier.

Insomnia had plagued Gregory House for years and he had always been able to deal with it...until now. For the last four nights he had stared at the clock, the television, the walls. Dozing in fits and starts, not getting anything remotely close to sleep. Now he was starting to crack.

Pausing again, he took another long pull from the bottle, hoping the scotch would magically numb the pain and exhaustion that was eating him alive, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

There was a knock at the door.

Opening the door, he saw a shivering Lisa Cuddy on his doorstep. "We need to talk, Greg." She charged past him before he could respond, nearly knocking the cane out of his hand.

"Please, come in," he muttered to the cold December night before slamming the door. Turning back to the living room, he watch passively as Cuddy shrugged out of her coat. He was honestly surprised to see her. When they spent time together he always went over to her place. "Your car is right out front. This must be important if you're not afraid to be seen at my place."

"Have you slept?" she asked, her eyes wandering around the living room.

"Not in...let's see...four days, or nights, which ever you prefer," he said in a stupidly loud voice,
hoping it would piss her off.

Cuddy's eyes stopped on Steve McQueen's cage for a few seconds, then fixed on the scotch.
"How much have you had to drink tonight?"

"Not enough." He finished the bottle in three swallows. "Damn, you're still here. It's not a hallucination."

"Greg, how many bottles of scotch have you been through this week?"

"Hmmm...I didn't know I supposed be keeping a running count for you, Dr. Cuddy." House limped toward the kitchen. "But I do know that I'm not drunk enough to think you're here for a change of bedroom scenery. So what the hell are you doing here?"

There was another bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. Before House could open it Cuddy snatched it away and tossed it in the trash.

"Hey! That stuff isn't cheap!"

Cuddy's royal blue eyes gleamed in the kitchen light. Usually she could see Greg House's eyes radiate is if they were lit from within. Now they were dull and flat and she didn't like that for a second. "For days now you have been nothing more than a walking zombie. I need to know what's wrong."

"We've know each other for a long time now, Lisa. You of all people should know that I've earned the right to be miserable."

"If you want to be miserable off the clock, in your own home, that's your business." She pushed him back as he tried to rescue the scotch. "When you bring your misery to work and it starts affecting your performance then it becomes my business."