What do you do the day after you've confessed your undying love to someone who was completely unmoved by the gesture?

Pam considered that very question as her alarm clock went off that following morning. She had done exactly as she planned after House disappeared: namely threw on her nightshirt and crawled into bed. The effects of living through the same work day twice certainly took its toll, for even though she was fast asleep by six-thirty that evening, she had no memory of waking up even once. The glowing green numbers on her clock told her that over twelve hours had passed.

Still, Pam felt drained. Exhausted. Completely unprepared and unwilling to face another day of work. Not today. Not after the things she'd said – and the things he didn't say. She'd worry about all of it later, but not right now. Instead, she turned off her alarm before the snooze button timed out, padded into the kitchen to find her purse and cell phone, and left a message that she was ill and would not be in on both Michael and Dwight's voice mails. Then she went back to bed.

It was after nine-thirty when she woke again, this time due to overwhelming hunger pains. She tried to remember when she'd last eaten. Did she even have lunch yesterday? Walking back to the kitchen the empty tortilla chip bag in the trash reminded her of her last meal.

“Good and healthy there, Pam,” she said to herself. “No wonder I feel like crap.”

She grabbed a plate and mug, the idea of a simple and quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich sounding delicious. Matched with a glass of cold milk, she was already feeling better just thinking about it. But as she pulled open the refrigerator door, she did a double take. There was no milk or jam or even the oatmeal bread she liked to keep in there. It took her a minute to realize that most of her fridge had been emptied, and only restocked with some very specific items: sliced ham, sliced cheese, white bread, yellow mustard, carrot sticks in little plastic pre-sorted bags. And where the milk jug had sat the last time she looked sat a twelve-pack of grape soda. She knew immediately who to blame.

She slammed the fridge door. Unfortunately her hunger reminded her that she still needed to eat, so she opened it again and grabbed the ham, cheese and bread. She turned around to take it to the counter, only to find House sitting there.

“Feeling better?”

“No.”

He watched her as she went back to get the mustard and a can of grape soda. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” She practically slammed the soda can on the counter. “I'm starting to understand why your original team left you.”

“What do you mean?”

Pam glared at House. “How does Cuddy stand you? Or Wilson?”

House gave a slight smile. “I guess I'm just an acquired taste.”

“Like Absinthe?”

He made a sound that seemed almost like a short laugh. “I could get to like you, Beesly. Might even appreciate someone like you on my team, except for that one glaring character flaw.”

She cocked her brow at him, “And that would be?”

“Your complete lack of follow through.” He hung his cane from the edge of the kitchen counter, nudging it to start it swaying back and forth. “You don't run a diagnostic test on a patient and then not examine the results.”

“I'm not going to talk about this right now.”

“Okay, it's your call. But don't you wonder what he's thinking today? Especially seeing as you didn't even have the nerve to face him today.”

“No, I don't.” Pam gathered up the leftovers from her sandwich making and practically threw them into the fridge. “Though maybe he'll get a taste of what it was like for me when he just up and disappeared.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he'll come in, ready to talk to you, but your absence will give him the time he needs to talk himself out of it and crawl back into his shell again.”

“Then he should stay there.” She bit into her sandwich, willing herself not to think of Jim. “Can we now quit talking about this?”

She took her plate and grape soda into the living room and clicked on the television. She flipped through all the daytime talk shows, feeling like a perfect candidate for Jerry or Montel or Sally right now.

So tell me – what did you think when a fictional character showed up and started telling you how to live your life?

She kept searching for something to watch when she finally stopped on the Game Show Network. It fit her need that it be something mindless, and they also appeared to be in the middle of a Press Your Luck mini-marathon – the original version. Nothing like a little Whammy and Peter Tomarken to take her mind off everything.

“You heard about the guy who cheated on this game, right?” House had joined her on the couch, feet back on the coffee table, head slouched back against the sofa cushions.

Pam didn't take her eyes off the screen. “Yeah, I think so.”

“His name was Michael Larson. He spent months tracking a recorded episode on his vcr, and figured out there were only five different light patterns used on the board. He memorized them all and then ended up getting chosen as a contestant.”

Pam nodded but added nothing.

“Pretty impressive, wouldn't you say?”

“For a cheater.”

“No – see, that's the thing. No one ever said you couldn't do that. It never occurred to anyone that it could be done. The game show producers were sloppy and careless and he used that to his advantage. Damn clever of him, really. All that patience to memorize the combinations and then hope he'd get picked to be on the show.”

Pam finished her sandwich and put her plate down.

“It's amazing what can happen if you're willing to be persistent like that,” House mused.

Pam sighed. “Go on --”

“What?”

“Just say what you're dying to say.”

“I don't have anything to say.”

“Right.”

“Except that no one gives up on the first try unless they don't really want the big prize to begin with.”

“It wasn't exactly my first try.”

“You don't seriously count any of your other half-hearted, feeble attempts to get his attention as real tries, do you?”

“Well it seemed pretty clear to me last night that he wasn't interested anyway.”

“Bollocks.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“I highly doubt you would have handled it any better. Actually, as I understand it -- you didn't.”

“That's not fair. You can't compare last night to that night. He took me completely by surprise.”

“Oh well, right. And he was totally expecting what you said last night.”

“It's not the same.”

“If you say so.”

“Isn't there someone else you should be haunting about now?”

“I am not a ghost, therefore I do not haunt.” He nodded slightly. “I may have, however, made some suggestions to someone while they were in a dream state.”

It took a minute for his implication to sink in. “You did not,” Pam said.

“You would be amazed by the things I can do. Though I should probably mention that in one of his fantasies there's apparently something about you and a storage closet at Chili's restaurant.” House shook his head dismissively. “But I guess it takes all kinds.”

“Stop it.”

“I'm just saying.”

“Don't.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence as they watched Deloris from Sioux City, Iowa take her final three spins, only to land on the Whammy space and lose all her money on her final turn, leaving Nick from Bellamy, Washington, as the winner. House pounded his cane on the floor, surprising Pam so much she literally jumped.

"Why in God's name would you not pass that last spin when you're already fifteen hundred dollars in the lead?!”

Pam stared at him as if he was crazy. “You just get caught up in the game, I guess,” she said carefully.

“Well I certainly hope she wasn't responsible for anyone's pension fund investments.” He paused. “Are we going to sit here and watch this all day long?”

“WE aren't doing anything. I am sitting here watching tv and eating ice cream all day. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

“I don't think you have that much ice cream.”

“You'd be surprised.”

“No, I mean it. I finished that half-gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough while you were at work yesterday.”

“Whatever.” Pam shook her head, feeling defeated. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I care.”

She had to admit she hadn't expected that. She quickly turned her head to look at him.

“Ha,” he scoffed. “Got ya.”

Pam rolled her eyes.

“I just think the make-up sex the two of you are going to have will definitely be worth video-taping. Maybe burn a few DVDs for some eBay sales. Not that it's technically make-up sex, seeing as you two have never, you know --”

“You can stop right there,” Pam interrupted.

House was undaunted. “I mean, have you looked at the nose on that guy?” He pointed to his own face. “and I mean really, really looked? And how big his hands are?”

Pam kept her eyes on the television as a new episode of Press Your Luck started. “I'm not listening.”

“You know it's true what they say about proportionality.”

“No, I don't know.”

House leaned in. “Unless God was really pissed off at him, Jim's got --” House waved his hand a good distance out from the zipper of his jeans.

“Okay, that's enough.” Pam stood up.

“I'm trying to be encouraging!”

“Well, you're not.” Pam crossed her arms over her chest, running her right hand over her face. “How can I say this?”

“I'm sure you'll manage.”

“I have no idea how you got here or why you'd want to help me. And despite the fact things are worse than before you arrived, I appreciate you tried to help.” She paced in front of the television. “But really, I'm done. I don't need your help anymore. Go save someone else's life.”

House tilted his head and squinted at her for a very long moment.

“You know what?” He tapped his cane a few times on the floor and pulled himself up off the couch. “You're right. I am done here.”

Pam was actually startled that he was agreeing with her. “Oh well, like I said, I know you were trying to help.”

“The problem is that I was too focused on treating one patient when in fact there are two,” he said, not paying attention to what she was saying. “And you can't hope to fix one unless you also fix the other. I can't believe I didn't see that before.”

He shot her a comical leer. “I blame you for distracting me.” He turned away and started walking towards her kitchen.

“Wait – what are you talking about?”

House gave her a dismissive wave. “Don't worry about it. You can thank me later.”

She watched him limp away, his stride still somehow assured, but she didn't follow him. She knew he'd be gone long before she got there.