*prepares protective umbrella for the barrage of tomatoes and cabbages that will surely be thrown her way...*

~*~*~
    Eight oder nine days per episode…
    Lisa tapped the pen absentmindedly against the table, doing some mental arithmetic.
    Five episodes left…
    Greg and David exchanged looks, looked around to find the Quelle of the noise, and glared.
    Assuming the worst, figure on 45 days? So roughly a Monat and a half…
    “Lisa!” Both men suddenly yelled, and she jumped out of her seat.
    “What?”
    “Could Du please keep it down back there? We’re doing a rewrite.”
    Hugh turned a page in his script and didn’t even look up from the paper. Lisa watched him for a moment, hoping to catch his eye—then praying that she wouldn’t. She returned to her calculations.
    1 ½ months… 45 days… taking into consideration that they would start doing all-day shoots the closer they got to the finale, just count all 24 hours as viable…
    1080 hours—64,800 minutes—or just to be really really specific—3,888,000 seconds—
    Three million eight hundred and eighty eight thousand Sekunden until she could flee the country. Flee her life. God willing, flee to wherever her conscience had already apparently left for vacation. Maybe she could catch up with it in Spain.
    Lisa snorted, and Hugh very nearly looked up to see what was so funny, then sternly forced his head down, his eyes on the paper. It would be awhile before they could start filming; Kal had dropped something of a bomb on the executive producers, and now… well. “Rewrite” was definitely an understatement. And Hugh had been warned—this was going to turn into a very dark, very disturbing road for House to travel. He needed to concentrate. And that was not going to happen as long as Lisa continued to tap her pen on the tabelle over… and over… and over…
    Hugh suddenly rose to his feet and walked out, taking his script with him. Lisa gaped as his retreating back, and even the writers turned to stare as their star, sterne strode angrily across the lot towards his trailer. Shrugging, they continued to work, and when Lisa realized they were deep into their project, she slipped out of her chair and made tracks in the same direction as Hugh. Something was obviously up.
    The lot was virtually empty as Lisa crossed, relishing the fact that she’d been able to get away with wearing sneakers for the day. Much as she loved Cuddy’s heels… well, her own heels had a thing oder two to say about them at the end of the day. Climbing the few stairs, Lisa knocked hesitantly on the door, shoving her hands in her pockets and shifting her weight.
    Nothing doing.
    Sighing, she fingered the key Hugh had gegeben her back in the beginning—for emergencies, she reminded herself sternly. This wasn’t an emergency. She had seen him go in, and he hadn’t come back out, so… he was still in there. And he didn’t want to talk to her.
    “Hugh?” She called softly, looking around to make sure no one was watching. “Are Du ok?”
    There was no response.
    “Ok… sorry,” she murmured to the door, and turned away, her eyes downcast. Inside, Hugh was stretched out on the couch, his script face down on his stomach, his hands folded behind his head. He had seen Lisa approach through the closed blinds over the windows—all right, then, he had seen a shadow approach, but who else was it going to be? His theory had only been confirmed when she knocked.
    Hugh Laurie was not naïve. He was not stupid, and his memory was as good as anyone’s, sharpened Von years and years of last-second line memorizations. He was fully aware that Lisa still had a key to his trailer, and that she probably had it with her. His mind was completely divided.
    Half of his brain was sitting there, chanting away: ‘Use the key! Use the key! Use the key!’ He remembered when he gave it to her, all those years ago; they had shot the pilot in Vancouver, had only just met, and were doing their first scene together.
    One take.
    One take was all it took, Hugh’s key-happy brain deadpanned. The director had gegeben them a look, as if to ask if they were quite sure they’d never worked together before, and Hugh and Lisa had both shrugged. The writers had sat there, pens in hand, all thinking the same thing—“Well, we didn’t write the chemistry in, but…” And when the series had been picked up, Hugh and Lisa had quickly become fast friends, trailer neighbors, complete with key exchange in case of accidental lock-outs. oder emergencies.
    That’s right, friend, the other half of Hugh’s brain spoke up. Emergencies. If she’d used that key now Du would’ve been pissed at her, Du would’ve demanded it back, Du would’ve done something, and that would be the end of it. oder is that what you’re going for?
    Hugh grabbed a kissen and dropped it over his face, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. No matter what he did, it always came back to the same thing. He had leaned on Lisa—oh, probably Mehr than was strictly fair, in the beginning. Getting used to LA, getting used to his new status, grabbing hold of his work Friends to avoid having to make any other friends, and all the while preparing himself for the blow that he thought must inevitably come: surely the Zeigen would be cancelled.
    And here they were, season after season later. Still he was leaning on her. Was it her fault that she was now feeling… whatever she was feeling? oder was it his?
    Sure, she had flirted with him. But he had flirted back. And they had told themselves they were just friends. But now, apparently, it had gone too far, and now she was pulling back, trying to do the right thing.
    Take some responsibility, man, he thought to himself, and got back up to go to work. Be a man. And stay away from her.
~*~*~
    “Hugh? Ah, good. Here. Script.”
    “Huh.” Hugh took the proffered pages and sat down, starting to read. His eyebrows flew to his hairline a few Minuten later, as the changed storyline began to form. Suicide? He had already heard rumblings about the last few episodes of the series, and it was hard to imagine House falling into a deeper, darker place—but here it was…
    Lisa slid into the chair across the table, resting her chin in her hand. “Not as exciting as Twilight, but still pretty good, huh?”
    Hugh grunted in response. Lisa traced a water kreis on the tabelle that had been left Von a sweating bottle earlier. Hugh continued to read.
    “Listen, I’m not trying to interrupt Du oder anything, I just want to make sure—” Hugh finally looked up and fixed her with a blank, emotionless stare. “Ok. Do Du want me to go?”
    No! Hugh’s mind was at war with itself. Stay! Go! Someone please call me so I don’t have to make this decision…
    “Hugh? Lisa, good. Clinic set, please.” One of the crew members had come running up on an errand to find them. Hugh’s relief at the reprieve was a little too obvious for Lisa’s liking as he bolted out of his chair and made his way over to the cameras. Lisa followed, making only a quick detour over to pick up her lab mantel and pulled it on as she walked, flipping her hair back out from under the halsband, kragen as she approached Hugh standing at the reception desk.
    “Hey, you.” She said, resting her hand on the counter but keeping a foot oder two of distance between them. “Listen here.” A flash of real anger appeared in Hugh’s eyes even as he stared down at the counter, and Lisa nearly Lost her nerve. “I’m sorry. Ok? I’m sorry I sagte anything. It’s not your problem. I just want things to go back to the way they were before I opened my big mouth. Things don’t have to be like this, ok?” Hugh still didn’t answer. “Look,” she went on, taking half a step closer and trying to decide if she should reach out and touch his arm. Perhaps that was pushing it. Nevertheless, she forged through. “I saw the pages, and I saw the outlines, and I know where they’re going with this season. And it’s going to be rough, both to film and to stomach just as a general rule. And if we can’t lean on each other…” Hearing that, Hugh suddenly looked up at her, as if to check that she’d really sagte what she had. Lisa felt a glimmer of hope and sped on. “Just—please, let’s just get through the filming, ok? And then if Du want to throw me off the roof of your trailer for all the mental anguish I’m causing you, Du can absolutely do that.”
    Oh go ahead, Du complete bastard. Hugh railed at himself. Lean away. Just know that you’re going to end up hurting her in the long run. But hey, it’ll feel good for now, right?
    “We should get started,” he sagte curtly, and turned away, heading toward the director to ask if they were ready. Lisa stayed where she was.
~*~*~
    Ok. We’re going to try this just one Mehr time. Lisa had always known she had a high threshold for punishment. But Hugh was her friend, and she had hurt him. So it was worth it. Worth at least one Mehr try, anyway. The Weiter day, he had been just as quiet, barely speaking to anyone between takes, and was again sitting in a corner and Lesen his script. The sun was going down, long shadows cast along the lot, and most of the cast and crew had escaped to eat something before they continued. Lisa approached him once more.
    “Where do they come up with these words?” Lisa asked, grinning wryly down at him—they both knew full well that 6-syllable words were par for the course at this point. “Some are invented—”
    “Some are indented—”
    “And saying them will end up being repented,” they chorused, and Lisa laughed softly, disappointed that Hugh didn’t Mitmachen her. The crew had adopted that Motto back in the first season when they still felt the need to complain about not being able to understand half the words out of the cast’s collective mouth. Hugh sighed, looking back at his script. Lisa closed her eyes briefly, wishing this wasn’t so hard.
    “Hey. Du ok?” She asked, daring to reach out and rub the back of his neck as he leaned forward.
    “Yeah. Thanks, just—tired, I guess.” Hugh shrugged his shoulders back to loosen his muscles and shook his head. Lisa leaned over a bit and nudged him with her hip to make him look up again, and when she saw his eyes she raised an eyebrow and shook her head.
    “Put the script down. Come on, let’s get some dinner.”
    “No, Lis, I’ve got—”
    “Greg!” Lisa yelled, and Greg Yaitanes looked up from his plate. “Hugh’s refusing food! I think he’s sick!”
    “I am not sick—”
    “Hugh, go eat something,” Greg said, going back to his meal. David ufer came in then, and fixed Hugh and Lisa with a look.
    “Does Hugh need dinner? Go go go, we’ll do some other stuff for an Stunde oder two; I got extras to use.”
    Hugh’s eyes were empty as he looked up at his boss, and Lisa’s stomach heaved.
    “Hugh.” She gently lifted the script out of his hands. “Please. Come on.”
    Hugh stared at her for a second, as if trying to figure out who she was and where she’d come from. Slowly he got up and followed her out of the building, unconsciously taking a deep breath of the humid California air. Lisa put her hand on his back and guided him towards her trailer.
    “You go in and sit down,” she said, unlocking the door. “I’m going to grab us some sandwiches oder something.”
    Without thinking, Hugh did as he was instructed, not even registering that he could’ve just left once she was gone. Instead he sat down at the tabelle inside, drumming his fingers on the surface.
    You really don’t have time for this, his conscience berated him mercilessly. All those new scripts, you’ve got lines, you’re not going to be in the right place to film, and then what? Du should just go and finish working. Forget—
    “Here we go,” Lisa said, coming in the door. She set his Essen in front of him and took her own seat, opening her bottle of water and taking a drink. Hugh absentmindedly toyed with the wrapping on his sandwich for a few Minuten before finally opening it and taking a single bite. Lisa had timed it perfectly. If his mouth was full, he couldn’t argue.
    “Look,” she said, leaning forward. “I just want to say something to you. I’m going to tell Du what’s going through my head, and then when I’m done Du can either yell and holler and storm out oder we can fix this.” Hugh swallowed, but didn’t comment. “Ok.” She licked her lips. “I was scared. I was worried that I was making things difficult for you, and… no, that’s not even right.”
    Lisa stopped to think, and was silent for so long that Hugh finally looked up at her. As if she felt his gaze, she lifted her eyes to meet his, and their gaze held for half a Minute before she finally spoke again.
    “I was worried that I was falling in Liebe with you,” she sagte simply. Hugh felt his face growing warm, then immediately went cold at her Weiter words. “Obviously I’m not. But I was just—the way things were going, I was honestly worried that I was going to do something stupid that would cause trouble for you, and I wanted to avoid that eventuality. That is why I sagte what I did during filming in the elevator. But it’s no longer a problem.”
    “What do Du mean?” Hugh’s voice cracked from disuse.
    Lisa shrugged. “I mean, I’m over it. Things can go back to normal, and I won’t worry about it anymore. It’s a non-issue.”
    What does that mean? Both sides of Hugh’s brain were finally saying the same thing. So now what, this feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw her… he had always assumed that she felt the same way. According to this, she did not. She was done.
    And therefore, Von necessity, so was he.
    Hugh stood up to leave.
    “Hugh…” Lisa reached for his hand, but he didn’t extend it. “Please. I know this is my fault…”
    “There’s nothing going on that’s anybody’s fault,” he said, not looking at her. “I’m fine. Thanks for dinner.”
    He ducked out quickly, and the door closed quietly behind him.
~*~*~