Dr. Cuddy had been wondering the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital for over an hour. She had run out of paperwork quite some time ago, and had hounded each of the doctors who were behind on their paperwork. But she had run out of things to occupy her time as well as her mind, and now she couldn't stop her thoughts from drifting back to the patient she lost this morning and the autopsy report that still wasn't done. She found herself standing in front of the door to the morgue, not exactly sure what had brought her there. Ever since med school she had found an odd comfort in the morgue. The silence. The stillness. The peace. So she walked in and decided to wait for the page that would tell her that the autopsy was complete. Looking around the cold metal room, she got lost in her thoughts.

She knew that every doctor loses patients. It was inevitable. But the words House had told her on so many occasions haunted her. She goes so long without actually treating patients. She can't help but wonder if House was right. Had she really lost her skills? Had she really failed?

She had become a doctor to treat people. To help them. Sadly, somewhere along the way she let her ambitions get in the way, and now she was stuck behind a desk filling out paperwork and sweet-talking donors. Sure these things were important for the hospital. Her hospital. She kept things running smoothly and the money flowing. She ensured that the patients that came to her hospital would get the best possible care. Maybe, she thought, the best care wasn't from her.

That morning the clinic had been the busiest it had been in years. It was packed. And she was short on doctors. So she decided to jump in and treat a few patients. She called the middle-aged Joan Williams into exam room 3. The woman complained a headache, a sore throat, fatigue, general malaise, and she had a slight fever. Everything pointed to Joan just having the flu, so Cuddy prescribed an antiviral and sent Joan on her way. As she was waiting by the hospital pharmacy for her prescription to be filled, Joan clutched her chest and died suddenly. There hadn't even been enough time to get the defibrillator and try to save her. Of course Cuddy felt responsible.

Suddenly she was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the door opening followed by the distinctive sound of his footsteps. Cuddy turned and shot him the most convincing "go to hell" look she could muster as silently she cursed the world for setting her up to be kicked while she was down. She was already feeling guilty and questioning herself, she didn't need him to come in and rub it in her face. Knowing she couldn't prevent whatever the asshole was going to do to her, she simply braced herself.

House limped over to the table she was sitting on and hopped up next to her. He said nothing. No insults. No jokes. He didn't even look at her in a condescending manner. He just sat there staring at the metallic wall in front of them.

After a minute or two, he began to tap his cane on the ground in a steady, but not impatient, rhythm.

Cuddy was still waiting for him to torment her and the silence looming between them was driving her crazy. She took a deep breath and turned to snap at him. But House cut her off before she even began.

"Why are you still here?"

"I think the better question is why are you here?" Cuddy countered in a defensive tone, clearly not in the mood to take his shit.

"I asked first." He replied in a boyish bantering way.

The awful silence settled between them once more. House glanced uncertainly at the gorgeous, strong, powerful, and amazing woman sitting beside him. He took a breath and turned his attention back to the cold wall in front of them.

"You know there was nothing you could have done. Why are you here?" he asked. This time with genuine concern in his voice.

"I like the company." She snapped.

He then looked at her with those piercing blue eyes. She refused to meet his gaze. They both knew she was just deflecting. That was obvious. But she couldn't take the feeling of his eyes on her any longer.

"Because…I don't know…what if…what if I missed something…what if…"

"Oh for god's sake!" House exclaimed as he rolled his eyes. "Stop torturing yourself! That moron never mentioned chest pain or anything else that could have made you suspect the heart!"

He sighed heavily. He was frustrated. Frustrated by her insecurity. But more frustrated with himself. He hadn't followed her down here to yell at her. He turned to her once more. This time she fixed her eyes on his.

"Lisa, you're a good doctor. There was nothing you, or anybody else, could have done for that woman."

He held her gaze. Emphasizing the truth of his words with his eyes. He slid off the table and stood in front of her. He then handed her a file she hadn't noticed before. And with that he left.

She sat there in stunned silence for a moment. Trying to take in what had just happened. She opened the file and read the autopsy report held within. Joan had died of heart failure due to acute myocarditis which was caused by coxsackievirus B. House was right. Even if she had somehow known that Joan's heart was infected, there wouldn't have been much she could have done. There was no well-accepted treatment for the coxsackievirus. Joan would have been put on bed rest and IV meds to improve heart function until she died. While this was a very sad case, Cuddy felt oddly reassured. She hadn't screwed up, and House made sure she knew that.

Slowly she closed the file and lowered herself from the table. She stopped and the door, took one more look around the cold morgue that had once again provided her with the comfort she needed, turned off the light, and walked out.