He was in a tree. How he got to be in this tree, he hadn't a clue. It was a nice tree, though. The trunk was lean but sturdy, the particular branch he was on strong and firm. He liked it there very much, the way the leaves sang out softly when the wind tickled them and the surprising level of comfort he was in. He felt very secure and secluded; a canopy of leaves, a soft green bubble that kept him hidden and protected. Slates of sun filtered through. Ants worked their way up and down the bark. House closed his eyes, nestled his head against the wood.

When he opened them again, he was surrounded by darkness. Sweat pooled around him and he kicked off the sheets. It was a bad decision. Something similar to a fireball shot up his leg, releasing a burst of pain that licked at his torso. He pushed his head back against the pillow, teeth grinding against each other, resting one sticky palm on his forehead. He glanced at the clock; cursed.

It had been over five weeks since Vicodin last graced his lips; four weeks since he'd stepped outside at all.

Cuddy was alone the next morning. She stared up to the stairs, wandering about House, feeling hopeless towards his pain. She had no clue in the least about what she could do to help. She had to act quickly, though, unless she wanted to witness a bedridden House. On the other hand, she had to eat quickly now, unless she wanted to be late for work. She drained her coffee and grabbed her coat. She cursed every red light she hit, and since she was in a rush, that meant almost all of the traffic lights. As if things couldn't get any worse, she happened to glimpse over at the car stopped next to her. She nearly jumped through the roof – who else would it be but Tom.

Running a hand through her hair, she turned away from him, hoping he hadn't seen her. Tom reached over to change the radio station, and something made him look up and over. He spotted her, a broad grin spreading across his face, waving like a fool. Cuddy sank lower in her seat, refusing to acknowledge he was there, pretending she hadn't noticed, and praying for the light to turn green. Once it did, her car shot forward and away.

Life had finally gone back to normal at the hospital. Completely, unquestionably normal. There wasn't a moment that passed where she wasn't grateful for it. No one there questioned her personal life – no one even bothered to find out about it. Her toll of random 'sick' days had lowered, and even Sela had seemed to forgotten anything remotely weird in the last month.

At the hospital, at least, life was back on track.

And Cuddy sure as hell wasn't going to steal pills from it anytime soon.

House did get up, around noon. He was stiff and restless, however his leg was being a nuisance – it was a miracle he'd gone this long, but he guessed he had the year off Vicodin to thank. Still, it was all he could think about – the sight of those two little pills in his palm, the feel of them on his tongue. The pain matched every other bad feeling he had. It shared the table with his loneliness, his misery, his confusion. The pain didn't override the other emotions, if anything, it augmented and exaggerated them. He could match vibrant colours to each – a deep blue for the misery, a bright orange for the loneliness, a verdant green for the confusion. A blaring red for the pain, red like blood, red like anger…

He was probably slightly delusional. His skin was constantly soaked; sweat covered his face, giving it a sheen of fevered insanity. His blue eyes were dark and stormy, his pupils dilating and flashing. He was going through detox, obviously, and it was making him irritable and mean. Pure, old fashioned, unsympathetically harsh, with a lack of empathy or any other emotion. Fear washed over him in waves, fear of something that was absolutely possible – that he'd hurt them, hurt Rachel and Cuddy, badly, just as terribly (or maybe worse) than last time.

And that had to be the greatest pain of all.

Sela glanced up as Cuddy sat across from her. To say the nurse was surprised was an understatement – Cuddy never ate in the cafeteria, let alone the hospital. Sela put down her phone. "Well, looks like my lunch date with Apple needs a rain check."

Cuddy opened a salad dressing package. "Sorry. Is anyone sitting here?"

Sela shook her head. "No. Please, be my guest."

Cuddy took a bit of salad, looking off into the distance and chewing hurriedly. Sela stared at her again, knowing her boss well enough to know she was bothered by something.

"Haven't seen Tom around here lately," Sela started, trying to keep her voice bouncy and light as she inspected her club sandwich.

Cuddy swallowed and coughed lightly, covering her mouth with a hand. "No, we haven't."

"What's the deal?"

"Sorry?"

"C'mon, Lisa. I'm the one who always seems to get caught up or involved in the random nonsensical middle of your personal life, which I guess makes me the best person to ask about it."

Cuddy smiled in spite of herself. "This is why I keep you around as a friend."

"Just talk already."

Cuddy set down her fork. "I don't know. There are just a lot of things I'm still trying to figure out. Some things that take time and thought."

"He's not giving you space? Men." She snorted.

Cuddy chuckled slightly. "I guess so. He's just a part of the figuring out."

"Well I doubt the guy's gonna leave you anytime soon. He has an uncanny resemblance to a puppy dog."

The Dean shook her head. "Thanks for that." She said sarcastically. "Why do I keep you around again?"

"Because my blunt, incredibly accurate answers are exactly what you need to be sane. Oh, and, also, you'd be fired without me in a week."

Cuddy picked up her tray slowly. "Right. You remind me of someone I used to know…"

Delirium.

He thought he could've held on longer. He was actually disappointed he hadn't. But he was slipping, and fast.

Much like the first days he was here, he spent his time on the couch, convinced he was dying. The fine line between unconsciousness and reality was starting to no longer exist, and his thinking process was nothing but pain-induced haze.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he started to wonder when the hallucinating would start. He was very keen to see who it would be, then laughing at the idea of Wilson directing him to do things.

He lost sense of time and purpose, and soon everything faded into nothing but the throb of his thigh. Sweat glistened and oozed out of his pores, his pupils were nothing but tiny dots. He couldn't get comfortable, but he gave up on trying to. No longer struggling to comprehend the world around him, he let whatever thoughts he had take over.

His mind tried provoking intense feelings to get even the slightest relief, but it failed miserably. The sexual dreams involving Cuddy increased in intensity and occurrence. But something always got in their way, a little nagging thought.

And the thought was Tom.

Even just thinking about him in passing made House want to spit and hurl. He loathed the guy, absolutely, hated his guts. Somewhere, in the back of his deranged mind, he was convinced he could go and kill the guy. The more he dwelled on it, the more it seemed possible. He got up and tried to make his way to the door, but the urgency of punching Tom into oblivion quickly fell away to that of his screaming leg.

He sank to his knees, defeated. Remarking that he had collapsed in this very spot two times prior, he fell to the floor and curled up in a ball, firmly believing he'd never move again.

When Cuddy was walking back to her office, she glanced up and saw a figure heading in the same way. She approached, noticing it was a man. As she drew nearer she recognized Tom and immediately spun around to head the other way, praying he hadn't seen her for the second time that day.

She walked quickly, heels clicking. He heard and turned, following her. As she went to turn down a wing, she glanced back, and noticed he was trailing. She walked towards the end of the wing, still managing to keep the distance between them. The hospital had a core of offices and elevators, and then two U-shaped wings that spread out from the center, with the round part of the U being the end of each so that it curved back towards the main part of the building. The first floor had the cafeteria at the end of one wing, and the ER and conference rooms on the other. The other floors had patient rooms in the wings. Nearing the end of the first-floor wing that headed into the ER, she turned into a women's washroom and popped out on the other branch of the wing. He, unfortunately, did the same. Cuddy noticed the elevator doors open, and ungracefully bolted towards them, pushing through the crowd to get to the back.

Unfortunately, Tom made it in before the doors closed. Fortunately, most of the people got out on the same floor, forcing him out. The doors shut again before he could get back in.

Relieved, Cuddy slumped against the wall. She got out a few floors above, having business up there anyway. By the end of the day, Tom still hadn't found her. She realized he'd probably be pissed, but at least she had gotten the space she needed.

The ride home was long. But when she did get home, she wasn't all that surprised to find House as he was. He wasn't unconscious, just a miserable lump hunched over on the floor.

She sighed, bending down next to him. She helped him up to a sitting position, cradling his head against her chest as they sat in the middle of the hall together. She removed her scarf and patted his shiny forehead, watching his eyes roll back.

"Okay," She whispered. "I got the message; I'll get you Vicodin, one way or another." She promised, and left him to go see what she could offer in the meantime.

That kind of dozing that happens early in the morning as one is first coming to was what was happening to House. He was swimming in his subconscious, slowish impulses starting to become clear concise thought. As Cuddy watched, a confused expression overcame his face, his eyes moving underneath his eyelids

House opened one eye, slowly, testing his surroundings. To his surprise, his initial instincts had been right: there was Cuddy, face illuminated by the late sun, and here he was, listening to the wind in the trees.

He was outside.

A lazy boyish grin overtook his face, and he let the sensation of being outside sink in. Cuddy watched mutely, pleased that he seemed to be doing better. They were on her back deck, comfortably seated in two Adirondack chairs.

House knew when he opened his eyes Cuddy would be staring at him. He knew what conversation the late afternoon held in store. He sighed deeply, and opened his eyes.

There are moments in life your heart skips a beat and you don't even know why. You don't even know if you want to know why, in fact. Such a feeling happened to her when he flashed his irises towards her.

The mischievous, contemptuous gleam had returned to his gaze. She hadn't seen it yet. But it took her by surprise. It was that same gleam that turned her on, the one that made her fall for him, and the one that ripped her world apart.

"Feeling better?" She asked quietly.

"For now." He murmured. "The sun…"

She half-smiled. "I thought some fresh air would do you some good."

"Mmm," He replied and briefly closed his eyes. He seemed to contemplate a crude and sexual remark; didn't say it.

"I need Vicodin," He said instead, bluntly.

She shifted positions, becoming excited. "Clearly. I have an idea. Do you think your apartment's still the same?"

"Should be. I seriously doubt Chase has done much with it."

"Do you still have a secret stash?"

He suddenly became vivid. "Many. Can you get in?"

"Yeah," she said dismissively, as if it was a stupid question. "I can."

The icy blue irises locked on hers. "I bet you can."

Cuddy swallowed. "Nice weather, lately."

The eyes looked away and closed. "Not like I'd know."

Cuddy opened her mouth to continue the conversation, but House cut her off sharply. "Oh, just shut up and let me enjoy."

She rolled her eyes and sauntered back into the house, like she would've done out of his office two years past.

The following morning, Cuddy stepped out of the front door and turned to lock it. It was a decent day so far. Cuddy yawned, yanked out her keys and headed down to the front steps.

She was usually one of the first up every morning, in the town no doubt, and today was no exception. She was surprised to see a car turn down her street and stop in front of her house. She instinctively stopped in her steps.

Tom got out and slammed the door. His facial expression said he wasn't pleased.

She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but nothing came out. The green eyes flashed angrily and he pointed to her house.

"We need to talk. Right now." He said firmly, moving towards the front door. Cuddy stepped in his way immediately, and he towered above her, raising one eyebrow.

"We can't go in there." She thought of House, probably still eating his cereal dejectedly because they had run out of bagels. "It's… a…. uh…. A real mess."

His jaw muscles tensed, but he nodded. "This is exactly what I wanted to talk about. You keep brushing me off like I'm some toy that isn't worth dealing with. I'm not part of a to-do list, Lisa. I'm a man, and I'm not stupid. I can tell when someone's purposefully pulling away, and what that could imply." He jammed his hands into his pockets, seemingly for emphasis.

Once again, she was at a complete loss for words. She knew what she wanted to say, but she had no clue how to…

When she didn't reply, he sighed and his shoulders sagged. He suddenly seemed quite wary. "Then that's it. I'm not breaking this off, but I'm done chasing you around. It's about time you came after me."

She was still standing, stunned, long after the squeal of his tires faded.