The head nurse heard him before she saw him, swearing at an orderly, abusing another patient; growling at people to get out of his way. He moved awkwardly with no grace, weight braced across crutches, dragging his right leg as he painstakingly shifted himself forward, the strain evident on his face with every movement. Sweat beading on his forehead he propped a crutch against the nurses' station and began thumping the counter impatiently.

"Hey! Hey!" He thumped the counter again, attracting the attention of the attending nurse. "I need to see Doctor Cuddy."

"Doctor Cuddy doesn't see clinic patients on Tuesday." The attending nurse replied, retreating.

"Tough shit." The man snarled. "Tell her I'll be in that room there." He pointed at the exam room two doors to the right of the nurses' station. The nurse regarded him with thinly disguised fear, his hair stood on end, complimented by the week or more of thick stubble that peppered his cheeks and wild, piercing blue eyes that bore into her with barely concealed anger. The head nurse arrived at the attending nurse's side, grabbing her by her shoulders and steering her away.

"What can we do for you today Doctor House?" She watched him carefully.

"Tell Doctor Cuddy I'll be in that room there." The man pointed again to the room two doors to the right.

"Do you have an appointment?" The head nurse asked coolly. The man offered no reply, wedging the crutch back under his arm and dragging himself over toward the room in question. "Doctor House?" He stopped, turning to face her, the veins of his biceps straining against his skin visible below the sleeves of his t-shirt, sweat soaking though the fabric across his chest. Concern shattered the head nurse's initial hostility; she hurried over to him as he swayed slightly. His clothes hung from his lean frame, shoulders seemed too bony. The nurse reached up and pressed a palm to his forehead; he stank of whiskey and stale sweat.

"I'll get Doctor Cuddy." She intoned, suddenly serious. "Can you get to the exam room?"

"Yeah," The man steeled himself, shaking his head violently enough to cause the tip of one crutch to lose traction. He felt the floor coming up toward him and instinctively transferred weight to his right leg, howling in agony. The nurse's arms slid around his waist in the hope of keeping him upright, the entire clinic falling silent as she ushered him into the waiting exam room. He leant on her heavily, the room a blur for a few moments until he regained composure.

"Okay turning around…" The nurse shifted him clockwise on the spot in a graceless two-step. "Lifting up…" He braced both of his hands against the exam room table and hoisted himself up. "Turning…" He swang his left leg up onto the table, the nurse carefully lifted his right leg up to join it before ducking out to retrieve his crutches from where they had fallen from his grasp earlier.

House slowly leant backward, reclining on the exam table. Eyes squeezed shut his breath escaped from between his lips with a hiss, fists twisting the crisp white sheet that lined the table into a crumpled mess at his sides.

"Oh god…" The head nurse mumbled, hurrying from the room. She looked down the hall in the direction of Cuddy's office. Empty. She turned to the nurse's station, catching the attention of the attending nurse. "Page Doctor Cuddy. Tell her it's urgent." The attending nurse looked at her wide eyed and complied immediately. The head nurse returned to the exam room, hurried inside and closed the door. House stared at the ceiling, right hand gripping the edge of the exam table white knuckled.

"What are you taking for the pain?" The head nurse asked quietly.

"Vicodin." He breathed through clenched teeth.

"You've been mixing Vicodin with alcohol?"

"No I ran out of Vicodin three days ago."

The nurse's eyes widened in mild shock as the door swung open behind her.

"Greg?" Cuddy's voice cut through the air, a mixture of shock and concern flooding her features. "It's okay Lucy, you can get back to work now."

"Hey Doc." House breathed.

"God, you look terrible." Cuddy dragged the sphygmomanometer to the edge of the bench snatching the blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around his near arm. She wedged her stethoscope under it and began to inflate the cuff whilst simultaneously flicking her stethoscope into her ears. Cuddy ceased to pump, watching the meter. "It's up 140/90." She paused, sniffing the air. "You've been drinking."

"Yeah." He breathed.

"What happened?" Cuddy asked, removing her stethoscope from her ears and undoing the cuff from his arm, she screwed up her nose. "And when was the last time you showered?"

"Stacy's gone." House's head rolled on his shoulders, eyes meeting hers.

"I know." Cuddy replied quietly. She neatly folded up the cuff and placed it back on the bench. "When did she leave?"

"Four days ago." House replied through clenched teeth, eyes glassy. "When did she tell you?" His voice cracked as he spoke.

"Last Monday." Cuddy gritted her teeth, a pang of guilt shooting through her. "When did you run out of Vicodin?"

"Three days ago." House rasped, tightening his grip on the edge of the table.

"Why didn't you call me?" Cuddy hissed, voice fraught with concern. She grabbed the electronic thermometer, jamming a new disposable tip onto it before easing it into his ear.

"Stacy took your number when she went." He grunted.

"101." Cuddy sighed. "God you're a mess. Why didn't you come in sooner?"

"First day I've been sober enough to drive." House breathed heavily, eyes squeezed shut to stop the room swaying around him, leg throbbing in time to his heartbeat. "That and it's pretty fucking hard without your right leg."

"When was the last time you ate something?" Cuddy asked, arms folded across her chest.

"I don't know." He growled, fists clawing at the sheet again. "Just give me something for the damn pain!"

"Will you eat something if I do?" Cuddy inquired coolly.

"Geez, I'll eat you if you want just give me something!" House hissed at her through clenched teeth, eyes wild as he glared at her.

"Don't move." Cuddy warned, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" House growled. Cuddy didn't look back.

Cuddy was gone five minutes. It felt like a lifetime. He had taken everything he could find over the last three days in an attempt to take the edge of the pain that tore through his thigh; all he managed to scrounge up that morning were three Tylenol and a single Valium that he chased with a mouthful of bourbon. The combination merely served to make the world bend slightly and numb his mind enough in order for him to convince himself the pain was bearable. He had hardly eaten since they released him from hospital; it was as if they had somehow managed to remove his appetite along with most of his right quadriceps muscle.

He heard the exam room door open followed by the sharp click of heels on linoleum, then the sound of a china plate being placed onto Formica. House heard the telltale snap of latex gloves. He didn't open his eyes.

"Roll over." Cuddy spoke; his eyes flickered open in time to see her place an ampule of morphine on the bench before opening a draw to retrieve a hypodermic needle. House extended his right arm toward her. Cuddy paused, shooting him a sideways glance, she shouldn't even be doing this; she should be writing him another script and sending him packing. "No, roll over. Pants down."

"Please?" He shifted his right arm insistently. Cuddy looked at him, brow furrowed. "Please, Lisa?" The desperation in his tone tore at her. Cuddy closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Oh, what the hell. He was desperate, he hadn't sued; he wasn't going to tell anyone. She turned around, selecting a standard syringe from the draw and fishing out a bright green and orange tourniquet. Cuddy wrapped the strip of elastic around his arm, fastening the clip and tightening it roughly. House slowly opened and closed his fist as Cuddy retrieved the ampule of morphine from the bench. She pulled the cap off with her teeth, pushing the needle through the cap of the ampule, inverting it then drawing the morphine down into the syringe. Syringe full, she discarded the empty ampule, flicking the syringe to shift any air before depressing the plunger just enough to expel the air completely. Cuddy brandished the syringe in her right hand, simultaneously tapping the thick vein that ran down the base of his bicep and through the underside of his elbow with her left. She slid a latex covered thumb down the raised vein, pausing momentarily.

"Did you take anything this morning?" Cuddy watched him carefully.

"Three Tylenol and a Valium." House breathed, his leg throbbed. "Please, Lisa…" He groaned, desperate to the point of begging. "Please, just let me…"

Cuddy pushed the needle through his skin and into the vein, simultaneously loosening the tourniquet with her left hand. She placed a finger gently over the point at which the needle entered the vein and began to slowly depress the plunger. House sighed, shuddering as the cool liquid shifted up the length of his arm, leaving a dull ache in its path. It occurred to Cuddy at that moment that a few minutes spent warming the ampule between her palms may have been more considerate, but she hadn't anticipated how insistent he was going to be on the method of delivery, she didn't even really know why she had gone straight for the morphine instead of something lighter. The plunger ceased to move in her hand, Cuddy looked down at House's arm, holding the empty syringe in place with one hand as she reached over and snaffled a cotton ball from the jar on the bench. She pressed the cotton ball against his skin directly above the point at which the needle had entered, then swiftly extracted the needle whilst pressing firmly against the vein. House flinched slightly. She shifted the tourniquet down over the cotton ball, tightening it just enough to put sufficient pressure on the wound to stem the bleeding.

Cuddy turned her back on him, throwing the used syringe into the sharps bin and discarding her latex gloves. Behind her, House emitted a deep, throaty groan, Cuddy span around to face him.

"I think I love you." He sighed, the opium coursing through his veins slowly lifting the tension that previously gripped his body. House appeared visibly more relaxed, his breathing had slowed and Cuddy guessed his blood pressure had probably fallen back to the lower side of normal. She paused, eyes travelling the length of his body. Clad in a ripped blue t-shirt that hung loosely from his torso, a pair of well-worn jeans that seemed a little on the large side and an old pair of trainers he looked haggard.

"How much weight have you lost since the surgery?" Cuddy asked, dragging a stool over to the head of the exam table and sitting down.

"Is this including the five or so pounds of muscle you hacked out of my thigh?" House retorted, his tone lacking its usual menace.

"Be nice or I'll go and get the Narcan." Cuddy snapped at him.

"I don't know." House sighed. "Eight or nine pounds maybe? It's not like I can really stand on a set of scales or anything. I did notice that my clothes don't fit anymore if that's what you're asking."

"You said you'd eat." Cuddy span on the stool; retrieving the plate from the bench behind her and passing it to him.

"What is it?" House looked at the sandwich, lifting a piece of bread and peering at the contents through his drug-induced fog.

"Ham, cheese and salad." Cuddy replied.

"Boring, but you got me jello." House smiled at her sweetly. He dragged his little finger across the top of the purple dessert, leaving a trench in the surface. He slowly sucked the jello off his finger. "Grape. Yummm."

"Greg. Pain, on a scale of one to ten." Cuddy sighed, shaking her head at him and fighting the smile that threatened to break out across her face.

"Hmm." He slowly took a bite of his sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully. "Ten minutes ago I would have said maybe a twenty six, now I'd say about a six."

"So it's still pretty bad?" Cuddy watched him carefully.

"It doesn't tickle, sweetheart." House quipped without menace, the words blending in places. He placed the sandwich back onto the plate. "Where's my spoon?"

"I thought I got one..." Cuddy looked from the plate to the bench. She paused for a moment before grabbing a tongue depressor from the jar behind her. "Use this."

"Resourceful." House looked at her with foggy-eyed admiration. "Did I ever tell you that you grew up into a seriously hot lady doctor?" House dug the tongue depressor into the jello. "Now say ahhhh." He spoke down into the dessert.

"Oh god," Cuddy sighed, desperately attempting to stifle a giggle. "That IV injection was a mistake. I should have gone into muscle."

"Where's the fun in that?" House replied slowly, concentrating on getting the jello-coated tongue depressor into his mouth. "Little Lisa Cuddy, all grown up. You've done well for yourself…" House paused; he speared at his jello again with the tongue depressor. "Still got a great rack." House grinned, raising his eyebrows.

"You're high." Cuddy replied flatly, clearly unimpressed. House spilt grape jello on his shirt. She shook her head, laughing.

"I don't know where my mouth is." House laughed for the first time in four months. "She's not coming back, is she?"

"No." Cuddy watched him carefully. "Do you want her back?"

"No." House sighed. He flipped open half of the sandwich and picked out the ham. He tilted his head back and slid it into his mouth. Cuddy caught herself taking in the long lines of his neck from the far reaches of the stubble that covered the area beneath his jaw right down to the torn collar of his t-shirt. She attempted to blink the image away, banishing the thought.

Cuddy sat with him as he picked at his sandwich and spread jello across his shirt, making light conversation as the morphine consumed him. He ate most of the sandwich, spreading shredded lettuce across the plate, throwing a slice of tomato at the door to confirm his hypothesis that it wouldn't stick like a pickle. Cuddy found herself doubled over with laughter and not overly concerned about the mess. Up until he appeared in her hospital some four months ago, she hadn't seen Greg House in fifteen years, and in that four months she hadn't heard him laugh until then. With tomato on the floor, she drew the line when he wanted to feed her jello off the tongue depressor.

"Man I'm wasted." House sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"Have you finished playing with your food?" Cuddy asked. She imagined that this was what child rearing was like.

"Uhh," House started at his plate in fuzzy contemplation, he poked the lettuce around his plate with an index finger. "Yep." He handed the plate to her. Cuddy took it and placed it on the bench behind her. House shifted on the exam table, he was beginning to itch.

"Let's have a look at your leg." Cuddy stood.

"You gonna patch up my arm?" House waved his right arm at her, the tourniquet still held the cotton ball in place in the crook of his elbow.

"Okay." Cuddy unclipped the tourniquet and removed the cotton wool. "You've bled a little more than I'd have liked." Cuddy tore a corner off the cotton ball and fastened it over the puncture wound with a sticking plaster. "Now, let me see your leg."

"You've seen it before." House slurred in irritation. "It hasn't changed. A leg is a leg is a leg."

"If you don't unbutton your jeans, I will." Cuddy threatened.

"Okay." House watched her, a look of mild surprise tickling his features. He folded his arms behind his head and waited, looking to call her bluff. The world moved a little slower now, the pain in his leg had faded to a dull ache for the first time in days.

Cuddy quickly unbuttoned his jeans, sliding the zip down with little fanfare.

"Hips up." She instructed. House shifted his hands from behind his head and bodily lifted his hips from the bed. Cuddy gripped the waistband of his jeans and shifted them down over his ass to his knees. House turned away, staring at the far wall as she pushed the right leg of shorts up to his groin to reveal the long purple scar that ran from his groin to just above his knee. House flinched involuntarily as he felt her fingers trace the length of the angry mass of tissue the surgeons had left in their wake, through the blur of the drugs he could feel her hand trembling. Cuddy's breath left her lips with a distinct hiss, she felt up and down the length of the scar, applying pressure at various points, as he continued to stare at the wall making no attempt to hide his discomfort.

"It's taken longer to heal than I anticipated." Cuddy spoke quietly. "How are you getting around? Crutches still?"

"Yep." House grunted, still looking away. Cuddy ran a fingertip absently along the length of the scar.

"And the physical therapy, how's that going?" She continued, unable to tear her gaze from the remnants of his thigh. She did this; it was her handiwork as much as the Surgeon's, the thought of it made her sick.

"About as much fun as having teeth drilled." House looked at her briefly. "Finished admiring your work?"

"Does it hurt?" Cuddy paused, instantly regretting the question. "The scar."

"Every time I look at it." House turned to face her, his piercing stare threatening to leave an indelible mark on her soul.

Desperate to avoid his eyes, Cuddy checked her watch.

"It's been an hour, do you think you can stand? You can't stay here all day."

House stood long enough to pull his jeans back up before slumping to the floor. He spent the rest of the day dozing on the couch in Cuddy's office while she worked, t-shirt stained purple across his heart, silent in his narcotic-induced slumber.