May 23, 1997

Greg waited at Gate 7 absently rubbing his right thigh. It had hurt on and off for the last few days. He figured that he would need to get Lauren to write him a script for something a little stronger than the samples that he had pilfered from the hospital.

His eyes were trained on the stream of passengers coming out of the passageway from the recently landed plane. As the exiting numbers began to thin, he started to think that Lauren decided not to come. He called her two days ago and left a message on her machine telling her that there was a ticket waiting for her at the Delta counter for this weekend. He didn't say anything else knowing that she knew him well enough to know that his actions expressed that he really needed her.

He looked down at his watch contemplating whether or not he should make the drive to Baltimore or find a flight. Consequently, he did not see Lauren come out of the gate. Caught unaware, he jumped back and emitted a somewhat unmanly sound when she sidled up next to him and gave him a Wet Willie.

"Brat," he blustered while a smile broke free as he reached for her bag.

"Yeah, you know you love me," Lauren smiled back scrutinizing his scruffier than usual appearance and looking into his eyes searchingly as she handed over her carry-on.

"This it?" Greg asked hefting the bag over his shoulder heading towards the exit.

"Yep," Lauren responded falling into step with him. Observing his profile after stuffing her hands into her pockets, she queried, "So, what's up, Greg? Why the sudden need to see me?"

Greg remained quiet for a few moments. His grip tightened on the bag strap. "We'll talk later. You hungry?" he asked as they made their way to the parking lot.

She nodded her head, and her right hand came up to pat her stomach as she responded, "Yeah, I'm starving." She added with a smirk, "And you're buying."


"Fuck, Greg." Lauren expelled disbelievingly. She leaned back on the couch shocked cradling her second beer in her hands. She had finished the bottle quickly as though it would somehow help her understand. She tried to respond again, "This is . . . I mean- this is wow."

Greg said nothing. He simply continued to sip the warm amber liquid from his glass and stared sadly at his friend.

"How could you do this to Lisa?" she asked after awhile placing the empty beer bottle on the table.

"I don't know. Honestly, I don't," he grappled for the words, "It just happened. We haven't seen each other for months. Hell! The last time I saw her was over five months ago, not counting when I told her. We haven't lived together for three years now." Disgusted by his excuses, he trailed off as he fixated on the liquor in his glass. Finally, he whispered again, "It just happened. I haven't done anything that's true 'adultery', but . . ."

Lauren looked over at him and answered softly for him, "But you wanted to." He didn't respond; she took his silence as an admission of guilt.

"Well, whose fault is it that you aren't together? You haven't been able to keep a job in the same place in... God, how long has it been?" she ranted before continuing in a more gentle tone, "I mean you've never been the most stable person, but this is insane even for you. I don't know what to say. I love Lisa, and I love you. I love you both and want you both to be happy. I mean . . ." She paused looking at him intently, "Are you happy, Greg? Does this Stacy person make you happy?" She leaned in towards him a little and continued to study his face hoping to find some answer.

He finished his drink saying nothing and gestured towards her bottle. Heading towards the kitchen, he asked. "Do you want another?"

Lauren sighed thinking that he evaded the question. She called out in the direction that he had gone, "Sure."

He returned with two bottles that he set in front of her and refilled his glass from the open bottle of Scotch on the coffee table. Before taking a sip, he replied, "No. No, I'm not happy."

"Then, why are you doing it?" she asked perplexed.

"I . . . it's like a puzzle. I've never wanted anyone else since I met Lisa. Yet, here was this woman, and I found myself attracted to her. She was interested in me, and I wanted to know why. Then, all of a sudden I was in over my head," he tried to explain and then stumbled, "I can't . . . I don't love her, Lauren. I know that; she's not Lisa. I don't want her to be, but there's something there."

"How is Lisa taking it?" Lauren asked him. Her voice filled with honest concern for her other friend.

"Don't know. We haven't talked since I told her three months ago. I still send my half of the mortgage. The checks still get cashed. She still sends me her monthly schedule. Everything is just how it always was. It's another piece of the puzzle," he mused taking another swig from his glass.

"Why do you say that? How is that another piece of the puzzle?" she asked him curiously as she started her third beer.

"Three months ago, I told my wife that I met someone else, but nothing has changed," he emphasized the strangeness of the arrangement, "Nothing is different about my fucking marriage except for the fact that I don't speak to my wife anymore. I tell my wife that I'm seeing another fucking woman while I'm married, and she acts like nothing has changed. It's a puzzle, Lauren. I just can't figure out why Lisa doesn't care. Why doesn't she punish me or send the divorce papers? If she wants to stay together, why haven't we tried to fix it? Hell, I don't know if we even can or should." He sighed deeply. Putting his drink down, he slumped into the couch and stared at the wall across from them.

"Here's my advice since you obviously flew me out here for it," she started with a wry smile, "I think that you should dump your 'girlfriend' and focus on this marriage puzzle. Lisa is the best thing that's ever happened to you. I've known you forever, and you aren't going to find that happiness with anyone else. You'll end up regretting it if you throw away what you guys have because, as much as I love you, she could find a better man. If you let her go, you may not ever get her back." Placing her hand on his knee, she gave it a squeeze before grabbing the empty beer bottles to take them into the kitchen.

"I know," Greg whispered to the empty room closing his eyes and covering his face with his hands.


May 24, 1997

"Are we seriously playing golf?" Lauren asked for the millionth time as she lined up her shot at the eighth tee.

"Yes!" Greg responded rolling his eyes as he twirled his club. Planting it in the ground, he balanced his weight on it as he watched her complete her swing.

"Damn it!" Lauren exclaimed watching the ball fall several yards outside of the fairway.

Greg chuckled at her stepping up and bending over to place his ball on the tee. He pointed his club out towards the far reaches of the fairway, a la Babe Ruth. Out of the blue, he felt a horribly painful spasm in his right thigh.

He dropped the club clutching frantically at his right leg as an anguished breath escaped his lips. Lauren rushed over to him placing one hand on his back. As she bent forward, she asked him what was wrong. He managed to grunt out the word hospital and allowed her to help him back to the golf cart.

Lisa was in the middle of an emergency board meeting that had interrupted her weekend when her pager began to vibrate. She reached down and unclipped it. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she read the number on the screen preceded by a 911 tag. It was a Connecticut area code.

Her heart clenched at the thought that something had happened to Greg. Making her apologies, she excused herself from the meeting and rushed to her office. She punched the numbers on the pager screen into the phone's keypad and anxiously waited through several rings before it was answered.

"Hello," spoke a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Lauren?" Lisa asked unsure if she was hearing correctly. Her confusion and anxiety were growing.

"Lisa! You got my page? That was fast. I . . . it's Greg. You need to get here as soon as possible. I mean . . . he's okay right now, but we don't know what's wrong with him. He's been admitted to the hospital," she trailed off remembering the current state of their marriage.

"Oh, my God!" Lisa gasped feeling her heart start to race. She fumbled, "I will . . . I'm coming. I'll be there as soon as I can. Just . . . please page me if anything happens." She instructed. After she finished, her mind was already clearing her schedule while she decided whether she should take the train or drive.

"Okay. If anything changes, I promise I'll page you," Lauren responded pausing briefly before she hesitantly went on, "He asked for you. He's in a lot of pain, but the whole time he asked for you and before they put him out..."

It was the way she said it that alerted Lisa that Lauren knew about her and Greg's estrangement. She was trying to reassure her that . . . she didn't know what she was trying to reassure her of exactly. It actually hurt to know that he was asking for her; it hurt even more that after what he put her through she didn't even think not to come.

Lisa steeled herself with a soft intake of air and in a tone devoid of emotion stated, "Thanks. I'll call you when I know when I'm getting there. Is this number good?"

"Yeah, this is the phone in his room. The number is 2210. I'll see you when you get here," Lauren finished holding the phone to her ear for several moments before cutting the connection in face of the silence from the other end.

Lauren sat in the chair next to Greg listening absently to the monitors and waited on Lisa to arrive. Lisa called a little over three hours ago to say that she would drive since the next train left in the early evening. She should be there around half past four. According to the clock, it was a quarter past the hour, so she wouldn't have to wait much longer.

Lauren was lost in introspection about her oldest friend when she registered a light tapping on the door. She looked over her shoulder taking in the sight of a tall brunette in jeans and a lavender button-up. She stood in the doorway; her posture strained.

Lauren knew immediately that it was Stacy. At once, she felt caught. She didn't want to invite her into the room in deference to Lisa, but she knew that this woman had some claim to Greg. In many ways, he had risked his marriage for her.

Several moments passed. Finally, Lauren spoke, "He's okay. Well, he's not entirely okay otherwise he wouldn't be here. We don't know what's wrong with him yet. When he wakes up, I'll tell him you came. You can't stay. His wife will be here soon, and she doesn't deserve this." She paused "Though, neither do you." Her tone wasn't unfriendly, but it wasn't welcoming either.

As Stacy listened to the blonde, her demeanor noticeably relaxed. She had never seen any pictures of Lisa, and they never really talked about her. So, she wasn't sure if this woman was or wasn't his wife. After one of the nurses, who was her friend, called her to inform her that Greg was admitted, she came to see him wanting to see that he was okay.

Nodding her head in comprehension, she stepped into the room coming to a stop at the end of his bed. She said, "I understand. I know what you must think of me, but it's not like that. I've never done anything like this before. We haven't done anything...He's just . . ."

Taking in a deep breathe, she reached out to touch his foot. She closed her eyes. Her free hand reached to the crucifix around her neck as she said a silent prayer. Stacy stepped back from the bed pausing briefly with her back to the other woman. Before making her way out of the room, she paused and whispered over her shoulder, "Thank you."

When Greg woke up, the pain remained. It wasn't the same blood curdling pain that had taken him down on the golf course, but it was enough to have him reaching his hand down to massage his thigh. Disoriented by unfamiliar surroundings, the feeling was exacerbated by the disinfected smell of hospital, which he never quite grew accustomed to.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim fluorescent light, he made out the shape of Lauren sleeping in the chair to the right of his bed. Looking around, his heart sunk when there was no sign of Lisa. There was just another empty chair, the usual sound of monitors beeping his vitals, and a round clock on the wall opposite. It was nearing one in the morning.

His last thought, before succumbing to the drugs that numbed the abject pain, was that he wanted Lisa. He remembered asking for her several times during the ride to the hospital and before they drugged him knocking him out. The scans had revealed no apparent cause for his pain. Tugging at the nasal cannula delivering him oxygen, he turned towards the door when it swung open.

Lisa walked in wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a grey hoodie. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her head was down as she focused on not spilling the contents of the styrofoam cup that she was holding.

After a few steps, Lisa sensed the change in the energy of the room. Her head shot up, and her gaze immediately zeroed on the bed. Her entire body allowed the tension, which had been holding her together, to relax when she saw Greg awake. She was concerned to see him rubbing his thigh and tugging at the nasal cannula.

Finishing her route, she came to a halt at his bedside, and placed the coffee on the nightstand. Pulling his hand away from the oxygen tube, she reprimanded, "What are you doing?"

"You came," he stated. His hand covered hers in an unrelenting grip as he stared up at her in relief.

She squeezed his hand. Her eye contact never faltered as she replied in a tone that wouldn't allow him to question that she would ever do otherwise, "Of course, I did."


May 26, 1997

The next two days passed in a blur of tests and no diagnosis. Lauren was called back to Baltimore. A patient of hers was not responding well to their chemotherapy regime, and she could not stay any longer.

Greg coded midday while Lisa was showering at his apartment. She was wrapped in a towel searching for a t-shirt to wear in his bureau, when she got the call. Donning the first shirt that her hand touched, she pulled on her pants before making her way back to the hospital.

While stopped at a red light, she looked down and noticed she had on Greg's Rolling Stones t-shirt. It was one of his most prized possessions, and he had only let her wear it once during all their time together. The realisation caused tears to pour down her face.

Later that evening, Greg diagnosed his infarction and demanded an MRI to confirm. Within the hour, his diagnosis was proven correct. His attending recommended that they amputate. Greg threw the pink plastic water jug at him and screamed at him to go fuck himself. He'd be damned if they took his leg. Nobody would take his leg.

Lisa tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't budge. Instead, he suggested that they do a bypass to remove the clot, put him in a coma, and let him ride out the worst of the pain. The room was silent. No one wanted to acknowledge this idea because it was clear that it would certainly end in his death. The risks were just too high.

The lead attending suggested that they could remove the dead muscle surgically to save the leg. House would still have the leg. He might need pain medication, but he could probably regain most of his function with physical therapy.

Lisa urged him to consider this middle ground. She didn't want him to die. He shot her down convinced his idea was the best course. They had no choice but to do something soon, or the muscle death would spread. The hospital had him sign release papers freeing them of the liability and attesting to the fact that the procedure was done against medical advice.

The last thing he remembered before succumbing to the drugs was Lisa's warm lips against his whispering 'I love you'. He smiled back weakly saying the same as his hands ran over her face, his fingertips tracing ever feature as though memorizing her.

The procedure was dangerous, and Lisa had not agreed with it. She sat by his side for a day watching him lay in the bed lifeless. There was no improvement, and the most recent scans showed that the dead tissue was spreading throughout his thigh. If it continued, it was likely that it would kill him.

At the beginning of the second day, Lisa gave up. She asked to exercise her right as his medical proxy and approved the surgery to cut out the dead muscle from his thigh. She was tired, worn out, and scared at how he would react when he woke up, terrified actually. But she had to make sure he woke up.

She felt absolutely alone. It would have been no comfort at all to know that she wasn't.


The request made its way to Stacy's desk to be written up. She cried as she prepared the papers. A sense of relief that he wasn't going to die washed over her body and out of her eyes in a steady stream of tears.

She didn't envy the woman that was going to deal with the aftermath. Though she had only known him for a short time, she understood the magnitude of the consequences this decision would have for the still unknown Lisa. Her heart hurt for them both as she signed her name notarizing the documents.