He held her because that's what she wanted, and she couldn't go to sleep unless he did. He seriously doubted that but didn't say anything. No reason to get Cuddy more wound up than she already had been in the weeks following the black plague that had been named Nicole Wallace. Cuddy's nose had healed well and her hand was getting there. But her other wounds were more than skin deep. His new job was checking each and every lock-including the new deadbolts on every door leading to the outside-every night ever since Nicole Wallace had bulldozed her way into their lives and died on his living room floor.

House tried not think about Nicole anymore and usually succeeded. Cuddy couldn't stop, not at first. For nearly a month he had spent more than a few nights sitting up with Cuddy because she had had another nightmare about Nicole breaking into her home to finish what she had started back at the apartment. The nightmares were tapering off; no new ones in the last week or so. The homicidal bitch was now a briquette in hell. Cuddy once mentioned buying a red dress and dancing on Nicole's grave. She later denied she had ever said such a thing. House knew damn good and well what he had heard and kept checking her closet for any new dresses, just in case.

Cuddy was finally asleep, warm puffs of her breath against his neck. He kept right on holding her since she was so nice to hold on to. Asleep in his arms because she felt safe there. Safe in arms of a cripple; House thought that was hilarious. He decided it was best to keep his trap shut about that as well. It was probably the first and only time in his life a woman thought of him as her hero, her knight in shining armor. Who was he to say otherwise?

Soft, well-worn fabric under his fingertips. The Jack Daniel's shirt. A hole in the fabric. The shirt had been washed and worn so often it was starting to fall apart, the black fabric fading to dark grey. House made mental note to buy another one or maybe two in the near future.

He stretched his good leg, his foot poking out from under the fluffy yellow comforter. Cuddy's bedding on her too-small bed. In her home. Not their home. Not yet.

The move had been postponed. No word on when she might want to give it another go and make some plans. Cuddy had all but thrown herself back into her work to distract herself and the subject of his moving in with her had barely been brought up. Strange, considering it was her idea to begin with. Whenever he tried to ask her about it, she would change the subject and babble on about fundraising, patients, meetings. Things that were familiar. Things she had to deal with because she was in charge. Maybe the idea was just too much for her at the moment. Maybe she just didn't want him to move in anymore. She couldn't or wouldn't say.

That was going to change tomorrow morning. He was going to get a yes or no from her at breakfast table.

"I want an answer," House said as he pushed his now-empty plate of eggs and toast out of the way.

Cuddy stared into her bowl of cereal as if she wished it would swallow her up. "I don't have one right now," she muttered.

"Lisa, it was your idea to have me move in with you. Remember that?"

"Yes." Her gaze moved from the bowl to the window. Anywhere but his eyes.

"You were over at my place, making plans and taking notes."

"I remember that, too."

"Have those plans changed?"

"I don't--"

"It's a yes or a no. Which is it?"

"I--"

"Yes or no. You either want me to move in or you don't. Which is it?"

Cuddy stood up to leave. House grabbed her wrist and held on like a bear trap.

"Lisa," he began. "I was there, too. She's dead and buried. All those new locks might make you feel better but it still doesn't change the fact that you bought them to protect yourself from someone who can't hurt you anymore."

"She hurt you too, Greg. And she's not the only who has," Cuddy said stonily. "He walked right out of the hospital and is still out there with a gun."

"That was years ago. If he really wanted to finish the job, he would have finished it already," House pointed out. "You're a strong woman, Lisa. I know you want to move on and I know you can do it."

"I want to move on," she admitted. "I don't want to live like this anymore."

"I know. We can't change what happened, but we can put it behind us. We. You and me, Lisa. How does that sound?"

"It sounds nice," Cuddy said, finally meeting his eyes.

"Have your plans changed?"

"No, they never have."

"Yes or no. Say it."

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

He let go of her wrist. "Good. My plans had never changed, either. We'll talk things over at my place tonight. I really hate your bed."