Days went by, and the cast did eventually find time to get together and celebrate the start of a new season. A while later, the filming of Birthmarks had begun, and Lisa was on set for her only day of filming before Hugh and Robert began their marathon of car-based scenes. She found Hugh sitting in House’s chair while the directors and writers were having a conference, waiting to begin filming.
    “Hey, you.” She took a seat in the chair across the desk. “How’s life?”
    Hugh glared at her and she choked back a giggle. “You are a cruel, cruel woman,” he said, picking his newspaper back up.
    “Oh come on, be a good sport. You’ve spent the last four years checking out my ass, it’s about time I get to return the favor. If it means anything, it’s quite a nice one.”
    “Oh come now, it’s nothing compared to yours.”
    “Well thank you, sir.” Lisa put her feet up on the desk and folded her hands, leaning back in her chair. Hugh was staring at his newspaper, but put it down after a few seconds and set his elbow on the arm of his chair, propping up his head. “So… how’s Jo?”
    Lisa and Hugh never really talked about Hugh’s family—they were just sort of there, in the background, but were barely acknowledged from day to day. In the beginning of the series everyone tried to ask after them constantly, thinking it must be hard for Hugh to be so far from his family. But as the years passed, they realized that Hugh was the world’s greatest compartmentalizer; he had his work life and he had his personal life and he had his really really personal life, and never the twain shall meet. A few of the people working on the show had decided that for him to show such a decided lack of emotion must mean he was completely cold on the inside, but Lisa knew better. If nothing else, they had spoken of it about midway through season 3, and now—well, everyone has their own way of coping. Hugh’s way was simply to set things aside and deal with them only when it was necessary. Lisa’s way was to obsess. To each his own.
    Hugh sighed. “She’s good.”
    “Good.” Lisa looked down at her hands. “And the kids and everything?”
    “They’re fine.”    Lisa and Hugh looked at each other for a moment. “Lis, why—”
    “Ok, you guys ready?” David was back from the meeting. “We can get started anytime.”
    “Sure thing,” Lisa said, getting up. Hugh remained in his chair for the beginning of the scene. Lisa stopped before she had walked away from the desk, forcing Hugh to look at her. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry—”
    “You never pry.” Hugh said, looking away. “I’m ready when you are.” Lisa raised an eyebrow. “To start the scene?”
    “Oh. Right. Sorry. Ok.”
    “Action!”
    Lisa came into the office, and Hugh looked up at her.
    “Sorry about your father,” she said, coming a few steps closer to the desk.
    “I’m not. Are we done emoting now?”
    “If there’s anything I can do, just—”
    “You know, you’re right. I don’t think I can sleep alone tonight.” Lisa glared slightly at him and pulled a syringe from her coat pocket. “And… you can tell me that that is liquid Vicodin.”
    “We’re giving IG shots to everyone who came in contact with your patient. Shockingly, none of the nurses volunteered to administer yours.” Hugh rolled his eyes and started to pull his sleeve up. “It goes better in the big muscle,” Lisa said, uncapping the medicine. “Drop your pants.”
    Hugh narrowed his eyes at her as he stood, unbuckled his jeans, and leaned forward on the desk. “You know, I usually pay tens of dollars to hear that.”
    Lisa couldn’t help but smile as she looked down and pushed the retractable syringe into his hip. Hugh furrowed his brow when he felt her hand touch him briefly as she pulled the needle back away, her thumb brushing against the spot where the point had gone in.
    “The funeral’s tomorrow,” he heard her throaty voice from behind him as he stood and fixed his jeans.
    “My mom called you?” Hugh turned around and looked down at her.
    “There is a 3:40 flight out of Newark. If you leave now, you can be in Lexington tonight. Your mother wants you to deliver a eulogy.”
    “Eulogy. From the Greek for ‘good word.’ Now, if she asked me to deliver a bastardogy, I’d be happy to—”
    “Then be a grown-up. Call your mother back and tell her that you’re sick with grief, but you’re too busy to be there.”
    “She knows when I’m lying.”
    Lisa looked up at him, and suddenly for no reason at all, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch his face—but… “Then start writing,” she said softly, and turned and left the office.
    “I don’t know how they do that…” David said, watching the monitors. “But thank God they do. That’s good, guys! Try it again, and then we’ll do the close-ups…”
    Hugh sat back down in the chair and called to the director, “I just want to say, I think the audience enjoys it more when House checks out Cuddy’s ass than vice versa!”
    “Not!” Lisa stuck her head back in. “Someone should post a poll online had have people vote. I bet it’s about even.”
    “And that is a very important consideration,” David said, trying not to laugh. “But in the meantime, what say we shoot some scenes?”
    “Sure thing, boss,” Hugh said, picking up his reading material again. “Here we go…”