Omg this is a really really long chapter. For me, at least. And there will be longer ones still. I had to add in a little last minute medical issues for the disease to fit (HappyDaysAreHereAgain shout out), and I was too lazy to bother rereading all 8000 plus words so I just really hope it worked out. SHHHH!

Besides that, I don't have much else to say. For now...

Three Days Later:

It had been three days since Stacy had come to the hospital and revealed her pregnancy, and things had returned more normal and familiar for House. He'd talked to Stacy once in that time, and all was going well with her from what he could tell. Back at Princeton-Plainsboro, Caroline's condition had gotten worse as House and his team struggled to find the right diagnosis. Foreman and Chase had explored her house, a medium-sized cottage in the country. They'd discovered an asbestos mine not too far away on their drive back (after having gotten lost). This had led to a chain of wrong diagnoses, each time worsening the patient's condition. It was neither cancer nor asbestosis, two diseases House had mostly explored in the past days. The pressure was on for House to find the right condition and be the hero once again. But with his current state of mind possibly putting Caroline in danger, Cuddy had overseen the progress and considered taking him off the case as time ticked on. Relentlessly, House had thrown himself into his dusty untouched books, spending hours pondering over which infection, condition, or autoimmune it could be but failing to find the right one. He complained a lot, pressuring his team to run incredible amounts of tests as he did his research (and actual research too, not code for naked female bodies on the internet). He'd never admit he was indeed grateful for the distraction. Cameron had picked up on the unusual eagerness despite the overlaying misery as she often did and her curiosity of House's personal life bloomed. She still hadn't found the answers she strived for. For a day after the bar incident, Wilson and House's friendship had been prickly but they'd come back as always. Ah, yes, life had returned to its completely complicated normal at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital – or as normal as it could possibly ever be again.


House shook his prescription bottle, a small delightful pill falling into his palm. He'd completely erased the whiteboard in order to start over from the beginning as a new approach. He leaned heavily against the board, his team seated around the messy table in front of him, concentrated and focused. He didn't have to tell them it was show time – one more wrong treatment and the patient would die, no treatment and she'd also die. This time they had to be right no matter what.

"Differential diagnosis time. Symptoms," he demanded. He'd never admit in a million years, despite his rudeness and ego, that he enjoyed this part of a case; the part proved to be the hero or the loser. The tension in the air thrilled him as someone's life hung in the balance – notably, his balance. He was definitely self-centered but he wasn't cruel. Anyhow, he probably only enjoyed it because he was right the majority of the time.

This time, in order to be right, he'd asked Cameron to list off each symptom aloud and the team to clarify if it was the disease's cause or not.

"Fever." Cameron said.

"Disease X. She came in with one before and it was an original symptom." Chase said immediately. Cameron and Foreman nodded their agreement. House turned and wrote it down.

"Chills," Cameron started as House finished jotting 'fever' under the label of symptoms.

"Disease X, original symptom." Foreman explained, looking around for nods of agreement, which he received.

"Productive cough.'" Cameron said, and then continued talking before anyone else could speak up. "Disease X, she came to the hospitals with complaints of productive cough."

"Chest pain," She continued. The team looked surprised.

"We never really gave it much thought." House murmured, speaking for them all.

"Well, then let's give it some thought. It might help us find the answer." Chase said.

"The chest x-ray did confirm it was some type of infection, primarily in the lungs." Foreman pointed out. "That narrows it down."

"Not down enough. We could do a lung biopsy, but the results may not be back in time." House disagreed, staring intently on the whiteboard. "Better to keep going."

Cameron exhaled unenthusiastically and looked back down at her papers. "Kidney failure."

"Clarithromycin," Chase said immediately.

"Disease X." Cameron said a split second later, glaring at him. They both turned to see who House would side with. He was, of course, the uncontested leader, and decision making was definitely a strong-point – even if they were crazy, they rarely proved wrong.

"Go on," He said to no one in particular.

"If ill-prescribed, clarithromycin has a common side effect of renal problems. This, last time I checked, includes renal failure." Chase spoke up, triumphantly looking at Cameron.

"But since it's an infection, it means the infection might have spread elsewhere." Cameron straightened her back, smirking a sarcastic 'thanks for playing– better luck next time'.

An amused expression danced its way across House's face. He'd taught them well. "Go on." A ghost of a smile appeared.

Catching on, Cameron rolled her eyes. Also realizing this was just House screwing with them, Chase leaned back, crossing his arms and frowning. House's attempted smile faded.

"Fine, be no fun." He scowled. "It's because of the clarithromycin. One point for the dingo lover."

"What? How do you know?" Cameron immediately protested, ignoring the smug look Chase was giving her.

"Oh sorry. I forgot I just gave you time to explain your reasoning, which you didn't use. But I don't. Cuddy thinks so." He mockingly covered his mouth. "Shhh. You know what happens if Cuddy doesn't get what she wants..."

Cameron rolled her eyes, reading the next symptom. "Weight loss."

"Disease X." Chase stated.

"Not disease X," Cameron said quickly, receiving raised eyebrows. House and Foreman shared an entertained look.

"Saying that just to disagree with Pretty Boy? Or is there a reason?"

She ignored them. "Her diet's been off since she was admitted. A lot of patients lose weight at hospitals."

"Mmm." House thought, and Foreman looked impressed. "It's a tie. Wow, the chemistry between you two is red hot. I can almost feel the sexual tension."

Cameron looked away, and a faint blush colored Chase's face. House smirked, feeling accomplished. Foreman exhaled loudly in frustration. "Can we continue with the medical issues at hand, please?"

House's face scrunched up. "Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Cameron gave House a look. "Sweating." She sat back, a confident smile on her face. "House's symptom to explain TB."

House quickly turned his back to them, adding on to the team's glee. It was their running joke: sweating had been House's excited explanation for why the disease could be TB, even though it meant nothing at all. Alas, sad as it was, when House made a medical mistake, the team took pleasure in making sure he never lived it down – much like he did to them.

"Hmm… maybe a symptom? TB?" Chase said, barely managing to remain serious. Foreman cracked up.

"Or… maybe… This might be crazy… she was hot?"

"No, gotta be TB." Cameron giggled. House muttered something, but the team didn't' hear it. "She was probably just nervous. I mean, the handsome," Chase e made his words drawn out and overdramatic, "charming, nice doctor was ever so gently asking her polite questions. She must've been turned on." Chase snorted, and with that, all except House burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

His face masked, House turned around and started for the door.

"Aw, did we hurt the poor doctor's feelings?" Foreman said in a childish voice, Chase snickering in the background. House's eyes clouded over with thundering emotion.

"While you all snicker like immature preschoolers, I'm going to go do my job." He growled and didn't mention the fact it meant he'd rather be in the clinic than here. He didn't have to: the team burst out laughing again, so hard tears glistened in their eyes. Muttering under his breath, House left them snickering in the office. Cameron was laughing as hard as the rest, but some worry pricked at the back of her mind. She knew as well as anyone House could dish it out and not be able to take it, but he didn't often make a mistake, and even rarer a simple one like this. Sure, he jumped to conclusions, but he was nearly ever blindly wrong.


"Cory here has been complaining of a headache for awhile now. He hasn't been to school in a week," a woman with grotesque makeup and provocative clothes (they made Cuddy's apparel rate like a strict school uniform on House's scale of provocative clothing) said in a disturbingly flirtatious tone. She pointed to her ten year old son sitting up on the table in Exam Room Two. She batted her overly mascara-twirled eyelashes at House, obviously the obscene I'm-still-sexy-and-young-forty-year-old type. House forced down the urge to gag, instead writing a prescription on his pad, ripping it off and handing it to her. He pretended to not notice her flirting with him, though his eyes struggled to keep away from her obviously fake boobs that were stuffed in a saggy, over-dramatically low neck top.

He studied her face as she read the prescription. As he expected, it took her awhile, but eventually her face screwed up in a confused expression.

"HB pencils…?" She looked up at him, blinking dumbly. House rolled his eyes. "Buy your son some pencils and take him back to school."

"But what's wrong with him?" She asked, twirling her hair.

"Apparently, not only a slutty but also a very dumb mom." He scrunched up his face in a disgusted fashion. "He's faking it."

On their way out, he stopped the kid. "Next time, it might be more useful to come up with something else wrong after a few days. It'll get you more time off school." House advised, and the mother pushed her son out the door, waving a goodbye to House who ignored her. He was grateful when they disappeared out of the clinic.

He leaned his elbows on the exam table, sitting simply on a stool. He fished out a Vicodin and slipped it into his mouth and savored as it slid down his throat, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead thoughtfully.

"I'm thoroughly surprised you didn't take down her number," a soft voice commented from the doorway. House's eyes flickered open as he recognized the owner, and turned to face Cuddy. She leaned on the doorway, her arms folded and her eyes gentle.

"Children are deal-breakers. Sex apparently suffers after them, and that was a clear example of deprivation and desperation." He answered, then realized how awkward that must've sounded and winced slightly. Cuddy simply laughed softly, gliding into the exam room and coming to stand next to him.

"I'm even more surprised you're working in the clinic," She admitted, the softness and gentleness of her voice once again surprising House, and he squinted at her suspiciously. Her voice haunted him, it was so unlike Cuddy without the outrage but yet so typical of her to care. He furrowed his eyebrows. Actually, Cuddy seemed to be more and more caring, and more and more un-Cuddy like. He glanced at the calendar on the wall – she should be PMSing, and extra bitchy. Yet she was the exact opposite. He frowned. He'd never understand hormones, and more importantly, he'd never understand women.

"Why'd you come see me?" He tilted his head, observing her from a different angle. She held his gaze, her greyish blue eyes filled with calmness, a sort of wholeness which intrigued him. She searched his eyes with such a strong unrecognizable emotion that House felt his eyes break the look even though those blue eyes burned into his mind. He felt weird, and squirmed, shaking his head to rid them of those startling eyes. Cuddy was still looking at him, precariously studying his face, and he stiffened. He watched her watch him, trying to shake off any feelings or thoughts towards the look she gave him.

"No reason," she finally shrugged, straightening out the black skirt she was wearing. For once, House noted that black looked good on her; that it brought out her actually really pretty eyes and defined her dark hair. She wore a tight black skirt that stopped just before the knees and a fluffy creamy pink blouse with a matching tight black jacket, the same shade as the skirt. Her curves were, as expected, noticeable in the outfit. Cuddy felt self-conscious as he studied her, and even though he did it every day, she felt this time it wasn't just his testosterone speaking.

"I better go." She hesitated. "You're actually doing clinic hours," she repeated to herself again, disbelieving, and sounding more like the Cuddy House had come to known. She left the exam room, and House waited a stunned moment before jumping into action. He clicked the door shut and locked it, flipping the blinds closed. He limped over to the counter and pulled out a drawer, cautiously pushing away numerous syringes and needles, all used for different reasons. He found the correct one to draw blood and picked it up triumphantly, laying it on the counter as he quickly and carelessly washed his hands. He stared at the supplies he'd gathered, and with a calming deep breath, he secured the tourniquet. He wiped his skin raw with an alcohol disinfectant, his mind distracted. He loosened the tourniquet and rubbed the disinfected area with a cotton ball, moving efficiently. Expertly, he slid the needle and let the tube fill, his face finally relaxing and the concentrated frown fading. He quickly took it out and applied pressure with a piece of gauze. Relief and dead surged through him, but he pushed all thoughts away. He realized just then he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly, waiting a few moments before retrieving his cane and limping away and out of the clinic. His pager sounded, and he gratefully headed to the elevator to catch his ride up. He stepped into the empty elevator, and the doors were about to close when someone barely managed to squeeze in.

House's heart sank and he said a few curses under his breath. It was Mark, the patient's cheery friend, who'd slipped in. House kept his eyes downcast, hoping that he wouldn't be recognized and could avoid an annoying conversation for the next few minutes. His luck didn't hold out.

"Hi! It's Doctor House, right?" Mark broke out into a wide grin, face flushed. House sighed.

"Yeah." He glanced sideways at Mark.

"How's Caroline?" Mark turned very serious. "I came as soon as I could, but I can't stay too long. I'm on my break."

"Well, Catherine's still dying." He shrugged. "You must have a pretty shitty job if you drive here on your break." He said slowly, eyeing him with distaste.

"Nah, it's not that bad. She'd do it for me." Silence followed.

"So… Where do you guys stand?" House's curiosity got the better of him.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you like… friends? Coworkers? Slept together? It's medical questions." He added quickly.

"Yeah, we work together and we've been friends for a very long time."

"So yes to the sex."

Mark looked disgusted and offended.

"Really bad sex?"

"No sex!"

"There had to be sex." Mark shook his head, completely baffling and rendering House in shock.

"It's medically relevant." House defended himself. "Ever been to her house?" He continued, hoping to juice out more likely relevant information if he couldn't get the personal shame.

"Of course. Very quaint; she just loves to breathe in the fresh air. I've stayed overnight; it's so peaceful."

Now it was House's turn to be disgusted. "You slept at her place and didn't jump her? Are you crazy?! Or are you gay? She's smoking hot!"

Before Mark got a chance to answer, the elevator doors dinged open and House walked away, still shaking his head. He didn't know much, but he knew that those two could be clearly together and live happily. How could people be so blind and narrow-minded? He shook his head again, checking his pager. Surprisingly, it was from Wilson. He walked over to the familiar office labeled 'James Wilson, M.D.' and opened the door. Wilson was sitting at his desk, working.

"Why'd you page me?" House asked. "Did you find something?"

"By God, Cuddy was right!" Wilson checked his watch. "Judging by the amount of time it took you to get here, you were doing clinic hours."

"So you didn't find anything?" House stomped his cane impatiently. "What a waste of a page."

"Now it's unlike you to do clinic hours without being pestered to, and Cuddy said she hadn't –"

"What, now you both scrutinize my ever move?"

"-which means there was something in it for you or something you had to do."

"Or, I just wanted to ignore useless people like you." House snapped. "Is there anything medically relevant I need to know or am I wasting my time?"

Wilson sighed. "Deflecting as usual. Nope, your patient's the same." House absentmindedly nodded, looking thoughtful.

"That Mark guy and her seem pretty close." Wilson suggested, "Maybe you can juice some information out of him?"

House made a face. "Already tried. Did you know they frequently stay at each other's places? They've never even slept together."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "It's normal, for everyone else besides you, to have lady friends they don't want to jump."

"That's revolting. Why go through the trouble of dealing with them for no reward?" House grimaced.

So you do want to jump Cameron then? I'll let her know."

"That's different. No, I'm forced to interact with her because she's my employee."

"Whatever." Wilson dismissed the topic with a tired wave of his hand. "You said they often stay at each other's places? Did you check out his place yet?"

"Why would I? If whatever caused it was at his place, he'd be sick and a lot sicker than she is. Do the world a favor and stay in Oncology, Wilson." House stopped abruptly, thinking. "Now that I think about it, how do we know Foreman and Chase did do a thorough job? We don't. I'm going to check her place out after, you game?"

"Later? Why not now?"

House shrugged. "I have things to do. I'll take that as a yes, then." He slipped out of the office.

"Things to do? Like what? Play video games?" Wilson called out after him, but House ignored him, excitedly paging his team to meet him the office.


Stacy silently cursed herself for letting Cuddy choose where to meet. She sank lower in the booth of the coffee shop, keeping her eyes downcast and glancing at the door every so often. This café was a hotspot for the hospital's employees, and Stacy really didn't feel like having a conversation with anyone else except Cuddy. She didn't know why, either. She and Cuddy had been… friends, but when she'd left work at the hospital they hadn't exactly kept in touch. And that was until Cuddy had called out of the blue, claiming she'd seen Stacy in the hospital, which Stacy had doubted. Stacy had been extra careful and made sure not to be seen. That meant someone who had seen her – House – would've told Cuddy. She was surprised; she didn't think House talked about many personal things with his boss. She knew enough to know they had a relationship beyond boss/employee and doctor/doctor, but she'd never guess it was that deep or serious. It made her feel kind of strange, as if she was intruding on something and not the other way around. Her heart did a little twist but she shrugged it off, wrapping her hands around her coffee and taking a sip.

"Shit, shit, shit!" She muttered as it burned her mouth. She swallowed painfully, eyes stinging. When she blinked the blurriness away, she just glimpsed Chase, Cameron, and Foreman exiting the café, and relief swam through her. Cuddy, being the Dean of Medicine, had a more pressing job (Stacy had taken time off from her current job anyway), so Stacy had let her choose the meeting place. Cuddy had chosen here, and Stacy guessed it was the farthest away she could mange. And their coffee was pretty good, considering you didn't scold your mouth on it.

She thought again about why House had told Cuddy. Apparently, Cuddy hadn't known very much at all before calling her, only that Stacy had been in the hospital. Stacy frowned. She'd then told Cuddy everything without thinking, glad for a trustworthy confidant. She didn't full out regret it now, but she was having a few second thoughts. She remembered that Wilson had also seen at the hospital, to her dismay. It hadn't bothered her as much as she'd wished, though – they were good friends, and she'd expected House to tell him everything anyway. Maybe Wilson even told Cuddy.

She briefly closed her eyes, loathing how complicated relationships were. She had told House one little sentence, and the next thing you know, she had to deal with all these people. Why did humans have to be unpredictable and complicated? More so, why did House have to be so secretive and complex? Stacy knew him better than anyone, but even she found him impossible. It was one reason she'd fallen for him among many; his mysterious and odd reactions, among the fact no one would ever understand him except himself, and the way he took pride in that.

She opened her eyes, and at that moment, Cuddy appeared in the door. Stacy made sure Cuddy knew where she was, and smiled a greeting as the woman slid into the seat across from her.

Stacy watched as she took off her neat and fashionable coat and scarf. Cuddy turned on her, smiling.

"Hi," She started.

"Hey," Stacy greeted as Cuddy ordered Earl Grey tea.

"No coffee?" She inquired, knowing Cuddy liked coffee just as much as tea. Cuddy shrugged.

"Less caffeine and it's generally better for you." Stacy nodded, taking another tentative sip to find her coffee much more bearable. They made small talk for awhile, avoiding the tense awkwardness in the air. Deciding enough was enough; Cuddy reached a hand across the table and clasping her warm palms around Stacy's hands. This forced an unwilling Stacy to truly look her in the eye.

"Hey. I'm here for you. You can trust me – you have before. I'll do anything to help." Her gaze was intense with friendliness, and Stacy found even slight wistfulness in its depth that alarmed and comforted her at the same time. She sighed, giving in – she wanted Cuddy, a responsible doctor and respectable friend, on her side. She might come in handy, being House's boss and friend and all.

"Thanks," Stacy said, and then hesitated. "How's Greg? He hasn't answered any of my calls."

Cuddy stared at her tea, searching for a gentle way of saying things. "He's the same – narcissist, curmudgeon, rude, and a huge lazy jerk – but sometimes his mind seems elsewhere. He's distracted."

Stacy nodded slowly, absorbing this information. He was purposely ignoring her and pushing her away, but every time Stacy looked at Mark nowadays, her heart filled with guilt.

"Did you tell Mark?" Cuddy asked gently. Stacy shook her head.

"To be honest, I don't know what I'll tell him, no matter what happens." She sighed again. Cuddy looked at her sympathetically.

"Are you coming to Princeton-Plainsboro for check-ups? I can oversee it myself, if you want."

"It's a long ways from home. I don't know if I can afford slipping away to here."

"The test will be over with soon. Things will get easier." Cuddy looked at her watch. "I have to go, sorry, Stacy, but call me."

When Cuddy had left, Stacy thought over her words. It was true, once the test happened and was over with, she'd choose one life or the other and not look back. Things will get easier… When she'd said that to House; they'd gotten a lot more complicated and painful. Stacy took her time to finish her coffee, and then ventured into the cold.


"What's up?" Foreman asked, diving his hand into the bag of pretzels. House crunched noisily on a mouthful, swallowing obnoxiously and pointing to the whiteboard accusingly with his cane.

"We have the symptoms," he took another handful, "and they haven't helped. But what do we actually know about our patient?"

Cameron made a face as she watched the men stuff their faces. House sneered back at her, purposely showing the half-eaten contents of his mouth.

"Ew, gross," she put up a hand and turned her face away. Chase and Foreman laughed.

"Welcome to men, babe." House said, the thrust his cane forward in an agitated fashion in the direction of the whiteboard. "What do we know about our patient? Hellooo?"

"Remind me why I stay here again." Cameron muttered, glaring at House. "She's 39 years old."

"Oh! Oh! I know this one!" House shot his hand up into the air. "It's because you like the money, want to learn from the best, and you get turned on by the way Chase flicks his golden locks out of his eyes. More importantly, though, is the fact you say you hate the rude doctor but everyone knows you still love him because he's damaged. Right?"

Shifting uncomfortable when Cameron didn't answer, Chase coughed loudly. "She lives in the country, in a cottage. Asbestos mines and cattle farms nearby."

"She works at a hair dresser's." Foreman added.

"There's a new symptom- a rash." Chase blurted out. If looks could kill, House would have Chase murdered several times over. "I didn't know bringing up symptoms as late as possible was in style. Thank you for this great revelation that you just remembered. Diagnosis?"

"For rash, chills, fever, cough, and chest pain? The common flu or a cold."

House stared at him. "I totally forgot! It's ingenious to treat for something twice when it failed to work the first time." House shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Get your eyes off Cameron's chest and put them back on your patient."

"The last time she was out of the country," Cameron started uneasily, "was-"

"Woah!" House interrupted, sliding his feet off the table. "Wait… she works at a hair dresser's? That Mark's gay! I knew it!" House exclaimed. The team stared at him, not understanding nor finding it funny.

"Never mind." House sighed. "Continue."

"-was in 2002, when she and Mark," Cameron stopped, now understanding what House had meant earlier and briefly smiling at his crazy conclusion, "went to Canada."

House caught her eye when he realized she had understood. A look passed between them, for once not serious but humorous, and Cameron saw the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. She giggled and couldn't help grinning. He looked years younger when he was happy. Something in her chest did a little flip, and she desperately wanted to freeze that moment in her memory forever.

Sharing that look with Cameron, House had felt good, that finally one of his jokes was maybe not appreciated but at least understood. She was really pretty ad girlish when she giggled, he noted, and it made him feel warm inside. He totally forgot that Chase and Foreman were still in the room until Cameron broke the look, and House felt disappointed it had ended.

All of this happened barely over a few seconds, and luckily, neither Foreman nor Chase ad caught it. He tuned out for awhile afterwards, enjoying the happy sensation as long as it lasted, often looking at her to see if she was looking back at him. Cameron never did though; she seemed intensely concentrated on the case at hand. The truth was, as she stared at the papers, she was still sorting out what that look had meant – for herself and for House.

Chase and Foreman were still throwing out things they knew about Caroline, turning it into some sort of competition.

"Her dad died n a car crash just over a year ago." Foreman said, nothing medically relevant involved.

"She has a tattoo on her left butt cheek." Chase said, trying for a joke. Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Dude." House finally broke the awkward silence. "One abbreviated word: TMI."

"What? I saw it during the LP!" Chase defended himself. "It was just a joke!"

"What kind of person checks out their patient's naked ass?" House exclaimed, and then stopped. "Oh wait. I do."

Cameron and Chase snorted in amusement. Foreman glanced at them angrily.

"Enough. She's dying; let's get back on track here."

House pouted. "Party pooper."

"He's right." Cameron said, receiving a stare from House.

"Fine. There's got to be something we're missing." House said, turning serious once again as he returned his feet to their position on the table.

"What else do you want us to say?" Chase said. "There's nothing else."

"Then what's killing her?" His voice rose a bit, the frustration showing. Tired and fed up, the team stayed silent until House's cell rang. He flipped it open to see who was calling – Stacy. Surprise, anger, and dread flushed his face. He hesitated for a second, uncertainty paralyzing him, before coming back to reality. He shook his head at his team.

"Gotta take this call. Go check out her work place and test samples of whatever you find." He didn't wait for them to answer before heading into his office and shutting the door behind him.

"Hello." He said gruffly into the phone.

"Greg," Stacy's breath caught; a hint of surprise that he actually answered clear in her voice.

"That's the name."

"Oh, right, yeah, sorry. You don't usually answer, that's all."

"There's a reason for that."

"Right. Medical doctor. I've heard the excuses before."

He grunted in reply, not mentioning that he also didn't want to talk to her.

"Well, what the hell do you want? I have a patient dying—" He started harshly.

"A cigarette would be nice, but I can't smoke because I'm pregnant. Save the bullshit for someone who cares." Stacy snapped back. "She's not going to die in the next few minutes you can take to talk to me."

House's eyes stormed over but he stayed silent. He could hear her take in a sharp breath on the other end of the line, but she didn't offer an apology. He didn't deserve one, anyway.

"When will you get the blood?" She eventually asked, her voice emotionless and curt.

"Got it today." He answered just as shortly. "When's your test?"

"At the end of the first trimester, so in three weeks. Oh, and it's at Princeton-Plainsboro, by the way."

House was taken by surprise. He knew she obviously was going to do it in a hospital, but he hadn't really thought much about it. Correction- he tried not to think about it. The curious itch of why she decided to do it here still pestered him, though. She obviously trusted the doctors here, but when she last came she'd been awfully secretive. He suppressed the desire to fire her with these questions.

Stacy laughed a cold sarcastic tone in her voice. "I know what you're thinking, and I know you're curious. I'm doing it there because that'll be the day I either say goodbye to it forever or welcome it as home. And, though I'd like to, I can't keep this a secret forever."

"Oh," He answered simply, slightly disappointed the answers had been easy to find out. He purposely kept his answers short and quick, assuring the communication of his hostility and dislike, even though it pained him and caused him great misery.

"Shit," Stacy swore, and despite everything, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. She hadn't changed in the least – some part of him admired her will to stay strong in all this change.

"Shit!" She repeated, with a little more enthusiasm. Whispering into the phone, she said, "I'll be back, Greg, but please, I beg you, don't say anything." With that, she was gone.

She could've hung up, he thought, we're done here. Curiosity ebbed at him again, and he wondered why she'd left so abruptly. He strained to hear the faint voices talking on the other end.

"Who's that on the phone?" A familiar male voice demanded. Of course! The only reason Stacy would ask him to stay silent and leave the phone would be if Mark – her Mark, the Mark House loathed and envied – interrupted. Anger and hate welled inside of House, and he had to bite on his tongue to keep in a sarcastic snarl.

"Oh, just someone from work." Stacy brushed him off. House could imagine Mark's indignation and hurt at her short, brief, unhelpful answer. Back when Stacy and he had had the affair, Mark had told House he was pushing Stacy away. Now, it seemed House was witnessing the opposite. It was terrible and involuntary, but it made House's heart soar.

"I'll take it into the other room, honey," Stacy said sweetly to him, and it wasn't fake sincerity. She did love him, and House could hear it loud and clear in her voice.

Stacy shut the door and pressed an ear against it to make sure Mark had moved away. When she heard the limping shuffle slowly move away, she let out a wavering breath. A memory of doing the same to House flashed in her mind, the same tired limp-shuffle of his footsteps as he gave up and walked away after she had slammed a door on him. Tears stung at the back of her eyes – she wasn't trying to push him away at all, it just sort of happened.

She sank to the ground, a thoughtful hand on her belly, the other busy supporting her. She glanced at the phone. Silent, though she knew House was still on the other end. She stared down at it for a minute, for the whole scene seemed rather odd. She picked it back up.

"Back," she said in a quiet voice, clearly not trying to sound unsteady. House stayed silent, a hand caressing his stubble.

"I should go." He said coolly, even though it sent a rush of pain through his leg and all Stacy unmistakably wanted was comfort. She bit back a moan. Never, ever, had she felt so alone.

"Okay. Talk to you soon," she answered, her voice hard and stony.

"'Bye." House hung up and set the phone down on his desk. He leaned back in the chair, toying with a tennis ball in his hands.

Hearing the line go dead, Stacy threw the phone away. Still sitting on the floor, she leaned her head back against the heavy wooden door and closed her eyes, a hand lying on her crucifix. Only 3 torturous weeks left, she thought.

Only three weeks left, House mused. Three weeks left of semi-normal life. He shifted, pushing away the thoughts. Sighing, he got up and went to visit Wilson, finding him easily in his office.

"Ready to go now?" Wilson asked, getting up from behind his desk. "I've been waiting for hours. I need a break."

"Yeah," House answered quietly, staring thoughtfully at the floor.

"You sure are quiet today. Not too many sarcastic comments," Wilson commented, trying to poke his way into a conversation.

"Oh, shut up, can't one think?" House snapped.

"That's better." Wilson ignored him, locking the office door behind him. "My car?"

House nodded, stabbing the elevator with the butt of his cane and whistling impatiently. Wilson didn't say anything else.

"Shotgun!" House howled as they approached Wilson's old car. "Too stoned to drive."

"Clearly," Wilson muttered. "What did they mistake your Vicodin for this time?"

"Unfortunately, not something good like 'shrooms or even ecstasy." House pouted, sliding into the passenger seat as Wilson turned on the ignition.

"Where to?"

"The Dennis Township."

"Dennis! That's two hours away!"

"Then we better get going." House nodded, sliding his hat over his head and eyes and snoring immediately, leaving Wilson to drive for two hours. When they finally got there, Wilson incessantly lay down on the horn to wake House up. House jumped, startled, his snores cutting off as he looked up and around.

"Let's go," Wilson grumbled, looking up at the house. "Nice place," He said as House fumbled with the lock. House didn't answer, instead smiling and yelping some sort of victorious sound as he managed to open the door.

The cottage was indeed very nice, copying a traditional French style with the white plaster and criss-crossing dark brown beams. Every windowsill had a pretty bouquet of flowers, alternating red and yellow. It was fairly big for a cottage. Inside, the furnishings were slightly less spectacular and much more simple and practical then they were fashionable.

"The chest x-rays proved it was an infection," House explained, "So that's what we're looking for."

"I've got upstairs," Wilson called, and House nodded. He started in the living room, taking a sample from the fireplace. He checked all the corners and under the furniture, opening drawers ad such and sniffing everything. He didn't find much of interest and moved on to the kitchen. He took a sample from the garbage and swabbed some greenish gunk around the sink's tops. The pantry and cupboards were very clean, as was the complete dining room. House was in the middle of checking the downstairs bathroom when Wilson bounced down the stairs, having finished the second floor.

"Not much upstairs of interest. Not that she'd breathe in, anyway." Wilson reported. House nodded, than froze, stiffly looking up at Wilson. "Repeat that?"

"That." Wilson smirked.

"Impressive. How old are you again?" House growled, a warning in his voice that quickly ended Wilson's pleasure.

"Nothing useful upstairs, not that she'd breathe in, anyway." Wilson repeated more slowly, puzzlement only slightly perceptible in his voice. House didn't say anything else as his face light up in epiphanic realization. Without warning he quickly hurried by Wilson and outside, heading directly for the thick forest behind the house.

"Where are you going? The house is back there." Wilson said as he trailed him. House was in a concentrated trance, and it was really no use trying to talk to him. Wilson knew this, having witnessed it countless times before, but at least he tried to snap him out of it. Wilson eventually, as always, gave up and cautiously followed House deeper into the woods.

"We should get back; it's really easy to get lost in a forest." Wilson tried unsuccessfully.

"Just a little farther," a determined House answered, and a few minutes later he stopped walking. He knelt down near a rotting log, covering his mouth and nose with his jacket and motioning for Wilson to do the same.

"Blastomycosis," He said, shaking his head, his voice muffled through the fabric. "Rare infection that lives in rotting vegetation." Wilson knelt beside him as House took a sample. "Fits all the symptoms, including the sweating and possibly the weight loss. Inhaled through the lungs. When I was talking with Mark, he said she loved it out here to breathe in the fresh air. And, she lives literally in The Middle of Nowhere, Dennis Township, New Jersey. She's far from her neighbors, so it's possible she was the only one affected when she left Mark inside to take a smoke. The rash even confirms it."

Wilson nodded. "Perfect, and curable."

House checked his watch. "As long as we get back before she dies."


Back at the hospital, Wilson stumbled out of the car, face green. House had driven all the way home, speeding ad jerking the car this way and that across the highway lanes in an attempt to get back in time. Dizzy, Wilson unsteadily followed a barely queasy House into the front doors.

"C'mon, c'mon!" House repeatedly pressed the up button for the elevator, agitated. The color had slowly returned to Wilson's face but the time the doors clanged open. House fumbled with his pager as he quickly alerted his team.

Everyone got back to the office at relatively the same time. Silently, they all filed into the room, faces expectant.

"It's blastomycosis," House diagnosed. "Fits all the symptoms except kidney failure, but that's easily explained by the misuse of clarithromycin."

The team absorbed this each in turn, slowly nodding. It made faultless sense.

"Very easily could be," Foreman agreed. "She lives in the country in the middle of the woods."

"Her symptoms are still easily explainable by other infections. We can't be certain," Cameron argued.

"For once, can you not fight heart and soul – literally – with everything that comes out of my mouth?" House growled at her. "It's perfect!"

"But not confirmed," Cameron calmly responded. "We can confirm with that lung biopsy."

"She doesn't have that time. We have to start treatment." House said. "Start her on fluconazole." Nobody moved an inch, and Chase shook his head.

"Fluconazole is too dangerous. Not without being positive."

"What else do you need?!" House exclaimed angrily. "The rash, the rotting log, the country, it explains everything! If she dies because of your stubborn refusal to let me do my job, we'll find it in the autopsy. You all will never be able to live it down."

"That's better than knowing we let you kill her."

House dramatically tossed his hands up in the air in mock defeat. "Fine," he exclaimed. "I knew you'd do this, so I got a sample from the woods. Hurry up and check it out in pathology before our little lovebirds are torn apart by death." He said, his voice sinister.

A few hours later, the test came back positive. House's diagnosis confirmed (again), he prescribed fluconazole and made a very pale Caroline take it orally immediately. She had literally been on the brink of death, and Mark had barely left her bedside. He was now holding her hand firmly in his.

Cuddy and Wilson observed this as the stood outside the room, looking in through the glass.

"Well, he did it again." Wilson stated, leaning an arm on the glass and turning to look at Cuddy.

She shook her head, a smile on her lips. "I can't believe it. He never fails to amaze."

Wilson raised an eyebrow at her, wondering momentarily if there were more than just medical reasons behind that statement. There probably isn't, he scolded himself. Stop acting like House! He knew Cuddy well; she was a good friend. And she wasn't interested in House. He didn't press it. "He never fails in the end, period."

Cuddy chuckled. "Medically, maybe. But he's an expert and failing in other areas."

Again she received the questioning eyebrow, but she ignored Wilson, keeping her eyes trained on the activity inside the room.

"I know." She told Wilson, who stared at her dumbly for a second. "I know everything that's going on. Stacy. All of it." She crossed her arms, briefly looking at him.

"Oh." That explains a lot, he thought. "I didn't think he'd consent. I thought he'd just alienate her more." Wilson admitted as he looked back in at House.

She shrugged, looking at the oncologist's reflection in the glass. "This could be good for him."

Wilson met her gaze through the glass. "Or it could be very, very, very bad. It'd be better for all of us if it was Mark's kid." He shook his head sorrowfully. "House and Stacy's relationship has always been rather rocky, to say the least. That relationship has always ended painfully."

"Don't they all?" Cuddy replied, an unknown sadness in her voice. Before Wilson could answer, House slid the glass door open and stepped outside with them.

"Sorry to interrupt your daily gossip, but can I go home now?" He whined. Cuddy chuckled, receiving curious stares from both men.

"Good job, House. See you tomorrow," she said over her shoulder, walking away.

"Tomorrow as in when you wake up next to me naked?" He called hopefully after her. No response. "As a reward?" He tried desperately, but Cuddy took no notice as she opened the door into the night. For a bit, he two friends watched as Caroline and Mark smiled joyously and celebrated. She already looked a lot better. In a flurry of their tears and hugs, Wilson spoke up.

"Maybe he'll learn his lesson and ask her out, with the near death experience and all," he offered, referring to Mark.

"Almost dying changes nothing. He won't. If she had died, he'd be confessing his love right now over her body." House answered his voice low in volume and despondent. Wilson sighed.

"Would you rather be the miserable and sarcastic man out here or the cheerful happy-go-lucky man in there, House?"

"Yeah, I've always secretly wanted to be a hair dresser." House motioned sarcastically. Almost tiredly, Wilson shook his head. "Nice deflection." After a moment of silence he added on, "Good night, I'm going home."

House didn't acknowledge this as Wilson started walking away. He put on a masked expression. He wanted to add something, to tell Wilson he wasn't okay but without flat out saying so. He couldn't find a way to; couldn't even manage a whispered and chocked 'Wilson…' His friend was down the hall when House refused to let him leave by saying in a reserved voice: "It should've been easy."

Wilson stopped, but he didn't turn around. He listened for the standard step-pause-click-swing of house's gate as he approached from behind. As usual, House felt the words tumble out of him without him willing them to do so.

"Blastomycosis is such an easy diagnosis. It's rare, but I normally test for it when there are no other ideas. She shouldn't have almost died. Cuddy should've taken me off the case."

Wilson turned around then. "House. Your ex-girlfriend just told you she is pregnant. I think we can let this one slide."

"It doesn't possibly have anything to do with me. It doesn't mean anything; it won't affect me if I don't let it."

"And that's why your leg is hurting right now so much more? Because it doesn't affect you? And that's why you're completely distracted and zoning out? Because it doesn't affect you?"

"I knew you'd give this lecture sooner or later." Aggravation climbed up in his voice. "How'd you know about the leg? I never told you."

"The heaviness of you gait. I can hear it." Wilson confessed. "You're human, House. You'll make mistakes with your relationships and with medicine. Yeah, you'll lose the girl now and then, and yeah, someone will die. It doesn't mean you should obsess over it and question your whole medical judgement."

"If there's a direct link between a rare infectious disease and my sperm, I knew you'd be able to find it." House averted as he slid his eyes from side to side.

"Let it be. No one died, and everything's all right." Wilson reassured, and House indignantly popped another pill.

"When there's Stacy, there's pain. When there's pain, my medical judgement screws up. Therefore to eliminate the pain, I must get rid of the original problem, which is Stacy."

"You can't rationalize this. I'm sure you found a way to mess up the blood sample anyway, so what do you have to worry about?"

"You figuring out that relation and tying it to cancer."

"You have no proof that it's 'of your creation' yet."

"No, but… they haven't exactly been physical lately."

"You broke into Stacy's file? Again? Why am I still surprised? And could that possibly be because someone –"

"Found the guy of her dreams and then made him a friggin' cripple before running away and marrying some pathetic guidance counsellor?"

"Screwed around-"

"If I get what you're saying-"

"With the girl of his dreams and now he's paying the price."

"Yeah, the price with someone's life? I can't do that. It's not worth it."

"Really, or is that just what you want so desperately to believe?"

"Oh, that was very deep. You should've been a shrink."

Wilson just waved a hand, a sign that he'd had enough. "If you're just going to deflect and ignore, then I'm not going to say anything else. Good night, House." Wilson called as he followed Cuddy's footsteps. House watched him go before swinging by his office, throwing his bag over his left shoulder. He turned off the light and locked it up for the night. It was dark outside, and House was glad to get home. He set down all his work things and shook off the leather jacket.

Cuddy got home as well, feeling very calm. She felt satisfied and content. The big house tended to feel empty, and she longed for the sound of children. She smiled to herself as she curled up on the couch. She'd just gotten an implantation at her last IVF appointment. She made herself a celebratory cup of tea. She was finally going to be a mother!

After awhile, house found himself sitting at his piano. He popped a Vicodin into his mouth, his leg being even more of a nuisance since Wilson pointed it out. His mind couldn't decide what emotion to take on. He felt proud and confident after the right diagnosis, desperate and lonely after his phone call with Stacy, annoyed but grateful towards Wilson, and unexplainably about both Cuddy and Cameron. His heart felt heavy, a sinking sensation in his gut, but his mind felt light, as if it were soaring.

To forget these mixed emotions, he started playing. He let his heart guide his fingers, not reading off any sheet music nor playing a memorized piece. The piece he played was very different- sometimes fast and festive, other times mournful and full of suspense. He stated to calm down, the music secretly displaying and opening all his torment and unheard of happiness to the world.

He always found music – playing, especially – the best possible therapy, even better than drugs or video games. When he played, he was no longer trapped inside the curmudgeon old body with a terrible, life-ruining pain-filled leg, but instead weightless as he drifted among melodies. There was something purifying and healing about that.

Slowly, gently, he allowed himself to float back down to reality, ending his musical rant with a solid, fat note he let ring out into the night. As it faded away, he sighed, disappointed at always having to come back down to earth and not lose himself in his music forever. It's a real shame, he thought, that all good things must come to an end.

Oh gee, I just love ending on a foreboding note. And I really love these Wilson/House scenes. The mystery behind our dear Cuddy's niceness has been solved. I think her situation will add a whole other degree to the story, don't you? And they'll most definitely be some Cameron action too, don't you worry. For some reason, all my chapters are once again doubling in length. Huh. Creds to my bestest medical beta reader! Please review! Please? It'd make my day if you did... C'mon. Be nice!