Rachel awoke with a start, immediately confused as to where she was and why. She wasn't in her dorm room at Penn; no, she was home for Winter break. She was on the living room couch, where she must've fallen asleep sometime after her mom went to bed. Her mom. She was asleep in the bedroom on the other end of the house. House? Where was House?

Rachel heard the distinct sound of a key in the lock. That's what had woken her. She hoped it was House. He'd been at the hospital late, she remembered, because a patient needed his full attention. He obviously had his own key. It had to be House. And if it wasn't, well...she was half asleep and she wasn't going to think about that…

She jumped when the door finally swung open and slammed against the wall, and was on her feet heading for the entrance when she heard her dad's low grumbles.

"House! What are you doing?" She whispered harshly, sounding more like her mother than she'd meant to. When she saw how unbalanced he was, her annoyance was replaced by concern. The concern was amplified when he looked up, revealing his glassy eyes. "House? Are you okay?"

"Rach," he grumbled. "What're you doing awake?"

"You're being loud," she responded.

He shrugged with one shoulder, his right arm braced tightly against his body and his hand clutching his cane. He looked like he was about to topple over.

"You're trashed, aren't you?" She asked, stepping closer to him as he swayed. She put her arms out to either side, ready to catch him at the first sign of a stumble. She knew her sixty-five-inch, 120-pound frame wouldn't do much, but she was willing to try.

"Always knew you were smart," he said dryly. His words were sturdier than his body. "Been saying that since you were little."

She watched him attempt to pull his coat off his shoulders without putting weight on his right leg. He wasn't doing very well, and she thought it would've been funny if the potential consequences weren't so horrific.

"Here, here," she said as she moved towards him. She caught his weak glare but looked past it. God, his eyes were unfocused. "Let me help you."

"I'm fine, Rach."

"You're gonna wake Mom up." Rachel chastised, deciding if anything might get him to shut up and comply, it would be his fear of her mother.

She was right on both counts, and House stopped resisting immediately.

"Sit down," Rachel commanded, pointing to the straight-backed chair in the entryway. She knew its position near the front door was an unspoken commission to his disability, and though he hardly ever utilized it, she was suddenly very grateful for its presence.

House objected, shaking his head and wavering, "No, no...couch. Won't get up if I sit there. Couch."

Rachel sighed. He was probably right, but she honestly wasn't sure he'd make it to the couch. Not like this. Though, if she deposited him on the couch, she'd at least be able to leave him there without worrying he'd pass out and fall over.

"Fine, but let me help you," she replied, taking his left arm and draping it over her shoulders.

"Taller than Cuddy," He muttered as they shuffled to the living room. "Not as tall as Wilson."

"I see your powers of observation have remained intact," Rachel replied under her breath. God, she wished that either her mom or Wilson were there to handle this. The couch was just a couple yards away, but House placed more and more weight on her shoulders with every step. Her body trembled.

After sitting House on the couch, Rachel stood over him with her arms hanging at her sides. His jacket had been left in the entryway, but he still had his shoes on. They were a pair of Nike running shoes, the ones with the bright orange soles. She remembered thinking they were heinous when they arrived at their house last summer. Her opinion hadn't changed.

"House, you need to take your shoes off," Rachel enunciated.

He waved her off, instead clasping his hands together underneath his right thigh and pivoting until he was reclined on the leather surface. He then put his hands behind his head, shut his eyes, and leaned back.

Rachel groaned silently. She knew her mom had conceded to House putting his feet on the furniture long ago, but he was supposed to leave his shoes on the ground. She glanced at him again, saw that his eyes were still shut, and bent over his feet; she'd just have to do it herself.

His eyes were still shut when Rachel pulled his second sneaker off, and she decided they'd all be better off if he just stayed there. So, she turned off the muted television, flicked the light off, and went to her bedroom, thinking the whole time that she couldn't remember ever seeing her dad so wasted.

Between House's chronic pain, chronic insomnia, and chronically erratic work schedule, Cuddy was rarely surprised to wake up alone. It used to bother her, especially when Rachel was young and completely dependent on the two of them. She'd signed up to be a single mother, of course, but after years of co-parenting, it was neither fair nor easy to never know when she'd be on her own or when she'd have House to help. They'd compromised a bit, with House leaving more of the late night and early morning calls to his team, and things became easier as Rachel grew older. But then, once Rachel left for college and was only home a few weeks per year, Cuddy found herself feeling lonely whenever she woke up to an empty bed. So while waking up alone was hardly ever a surprise to Cuddy, it was certainly a disappointment.

What was even more disappointing on this particular morning, however, was discovering House sprawled across the living room couch. There was no reason for him to be on the couch. If his leg had been hurting, he would've slept in the spare bedroom. If his patient was in serious trouble, he would've slept in his office. The only reason he might sleep in the living room was…

Cuddy sat on the coffee table across from House's head. Gently, she reached out and clasped his right wrist, finding his pulse with her fingers. Slow, but relatively steady. A small wave of relief washed over her. She surveyed her surroundings: there were no glasses or bottles in sight, his cane was on the ground nearby, and his sneakers were off. He clearly hadn't gone on a bender right here in the living room. And yet, he couldn't make his way to their bedroom on the other side of the house. There were some missing pieces to this puzzle.

She'd been tempted to rouse him from his sleep when he suddenly twitched. Her fingers tightened around his wrist, and his head turned towards her in response.

"Mm..Cuddy…" He mumbled, his eyes fluttering open.

"Hey," she said softly. Her stomach was still knotted with worry.

"What's...happenin'?" He asked, still blinking through the cobwebs of his slumber.

"I was wondering the same thing," she responded. "Why are you out here?"

House suddenly tensed if he'd been doused with cold water. He clearly hadn't realized he was on the living room couch.

Cuddy's heart sank.

"House? What happened last night?"

His leg was not, for the first time in a very long time, the first thing he was aware of upon awakening. That alone should've immediately tipped him off to his mistakes the night prior. Instead, it wasn't until Cuddy asked him what he was doing that he realized his current situation: he was passed out fully-clothed on the couch at seven A.M. on a Saturday morning.

He tried sitting up, but was overcome with a wave of lightheadedness. His head felt...full, like it was stuffed with cotton. His mouth was dry, his vision hazy. He would've check his carotid if he'd been confident in his brain's ability to direct his hand towards his neck. Instead, he leaned back and allowed his head to fall onto the pillow behind him. His leg still didn't hurt.

"Are you okay?" Cuddy asked, her voice softer than the tight grip she had on his wrist.

House attempted to move his tongue out of the way, only realizing after a few too many moments that his tongue wasn't actually in the way.

"Pocket," he said, tapping the fingers of his left hand against his leg. He kept his eyes shut as he felt Cuddy reach across his body and slip her hand into his pocket. Even in his hazy confusion, the rattle he heard next was unmistakable.