A/N: This chapter jumps ahead in time a bit, to the end of season one, loosely based on the episodes 1.21 "Three Stories," and 1.22 "Honeymoon."
Rose slams the door to her car and starts the engine, sighing with relief to be out of the apartment. She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep as it was, and having a moment to herself- even at 7:30 - felt like a luxury this morning.
Last night had been trying to say the least. House had spent the whole day lecturing medical students on the virtues of diagnostics, ultimately detailing the entire story of his infarction to the class, as well as his fellows- old and new- and most importantly, to Rose.
Neither she nor Wilson had risked saying anything to House over their pizza that night, tensions clearly running high, and Wilson had thrown Rose a sympathetic look over his shoulder when he left around midnight. Even so, she'd ended up the object of quite a bit of House's leftover contempt towards his ex-girlfriend. Not that he'd ever admit it.
Rose, not having wanted to argue, had kept her mouth shut- leading House to accuse her of siding with Stacy- and they'd gone to bed shortly after, both too stubborn to say anything more. She was hoping by the time he came into work, later that day, he'd have slept it off.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
Walking down the hall to her office, Rose spots a woman pacing around, clearly waiting. When she enters, she's surprised to be met with a face she recognizes.
"Joe?!" she greets, smiling broadly and hugging the taller, dark haired woman.
The woman smiles back, holding Rose at arms length for a moment before they sit down, an easy air between them.
"It's been a long time, John. Unfortunately though, it's not St. Joe anymore- I got married a few years back," the woman replies, still smiling.
The two women had met years before- one an agent and the other a prosecutor- while working several high profile cases in New York City. After some time, they'd gotten to calling each other by shortened versions of their last names- St John and St Joe- and it was a running joke between them. Rose, thinking back, realizes it must have been over ten years since she's last seen or heard from the woman who now sits at her desk.
"Congratulations," Rose replies, getting up to offer the woman a cup of coffee.
"How have you been, John?" the woman asks, following her into the outer office. "When did you start working here?"
Fiddling with creamer, Rose takes a moment to think. "Oh, just over six months ago. Had a big mission blow up in Africa and needed a change. Medicine is just as much a whirlwind as murder, only without the added danger."
The pair laugh at that, returning to Rose's desk, and it's just then that she realizes she has no idea what has brought her old friend to Princeton.
"Joe, what are you doing here?" she asks, honestly curious.
The woman sighs, nervous energy entering her figure. She fidgets with the silver cross around her neck as she answers. "My husband is sick, and... and no one can figure out why. So I'm here to see Greg."
Rose knits her eyebrows together and peers at the woman, "Wait, Greg? How do you-"
"Stacy?" House asks, blatantly confused, as he walks into the office.
"Oh, Greg!" She nearly gushes, getting up and embracing him without reciprocation, Rose looking on in mounting horror.
"Look, Stacy," he starts, stepping back, "I don't know what you…."
She holds up her hands, interrupting him. "Mark…. My husband…. He's sick. I need your help."
The pair hold each other's gaze for several long moments, Rose glancing between the two in confusion from a distance.
"Stacy, I don't think…" House starts, pointedly avoiding looking at Rose over her shoulder.
"Please Greg," she begins again, her words laced for House's benefit, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to be."
Slowly, he nods, then drops his gaze, leaving no room for further discussion. Stacy hugs Rose quickly on her way out the door, and she and House stand in silence until Stacy disappears from view in the direction of the elevators.
Rose remains in place, her back half turned to House, rubbing her face and bracing herself.
"You... know her?" House asks, the demand weaker than she expected.
Rose sighs slowly, turning towards him and nodding. "We worked together for a while a decade ago. I was good friends with her... I eventually changed jobs and moved cross country. I remember her getting involved with a guy named Greg but we lost touch." She gestures to House lamely, breathing deeply. "I didn't put it together until now… we always used nicknames with each other and no one calls you Greg."
The pair stand in awkward silence, both looking around and avoiding the other's gaze. Memories fly through Rose's head until she settles on a distinct one- a desperate phone call, several years after she and Stacy had lost contact, asking for her medical opinion.
She's about to open her mouth to explain, but before she can, House abruptly storms out of the office, leaving Rose standing there, absolute dread creeping into her stomach.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
Entering without knocking, Rose flops down onto Wilson's couch, the oncologist thankfully alone in his office. He stops what he's doing, looking over to her as she leans forward, head in hands, nearly shaking with exasperation.
"Rose? Is everything okay?"
She shakes her head slowly, her gaze hollow as she looks to him. "Stacy showed up this morning, asking for help solving her sick husband's case."
Wilson groans and Rose holds up a hand, indicating she isn't finished.
"James, I knew her… We worked together a long time ago. Called each other by our last names and I never put two and two together until she was standing in the office, half an hour ago.
"And… it gets worse." Rose sighs hard, shuddering as Wilson rounds his desk to join her on the couch.
"I figured out he had an infarction."
Wilson stares at her, wide eyed, nudging her to explain.
"I hadn't talked to Stacy in several years. I'd moved cross country and we'd just lost touch, but I knew she had started dating some guy named Greg shortly before I'd left…
"She called me out of the blue, several years later, crying. She said that her boyfriend was in the hospital and no one knew what was wrong with him… She knew I was a doctor and I guess she just wanted me to say it would be okay.
"She told me the symptoms… leg pain, decreased reflex, kidney failure. I just told her that the doctors there would figure it out and… she was thanking me. But right before we hung up, I mused that it sounded like muscle death…. Oh god James, if I'd known…"
Wilson cuts her off, his voice choked and hollow. "What day of the week was it?"
Rose squints. "How am I supposed to remember that, ten years later?"
"Rose," he warns, leaning forward and matching her posture. "What day was it?"
Scouring her mind for any semblance of an answer, Rose looks to the ceiling. "It was Tuesday. I remember because I was at the grocery store when she called… someone spilled a gallon of milk while I was on the phone… my only day off then was Tuesday."
Wilson inhales raggedly, his hand flying to his neck as he looks to Rose, grimacing. "They figured it out on Thursday."
Both doctors sit, head in hands, contemplating the gravity of what Rose has just realized.
Finally, Wilson speaks, his voice quiet and suddenly tired. "You haven't told House this?"
She shakes her head, chewing her lip absentmindedly.
"And he agreed to take Mark's case?"
She nods, grimacing and rising from the couch, knowing she'll probably be missed across the hall soon.
"Just… keep an eye on him for now, will you Rose?" Wilson asks, clearly worried.
"Always James," she answers, steeling herself as she exits the room, only to walk directly into Stacy herself.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
"Oh! Hey, sorry John!" Stacy exclaims, stepping back and leaning against the wall outside of Wilson's office.
Rose glances across the hall, seeing symptoms and notes on the board and files scattered on the table, House and the fellows nowhere to be found. She must have missed a differential.
"Joe," she responds, curt.
"What's the matter? I was just going to say hello to James."
"It's nothing," Rose answers, attempting to walk away. "He's not busy, you can go in."
"Hey, I'm serious," Stacy returns, catching Rose's arm. "What's up?"
Rose sighs, heavily, crossing her arms as she leans against the wall. "Its just… look, Stacy. We were good friends, we put away a lot of really bad people together, I regretted we lost touch. But… now? House is… What you did… You're lucky he's helping you."
"Look, Rosemary," she replies, her lawyer voice revealing her annoyance. "I saved his life. He's the one who turned into a bastard."
Initially wanting to shout at the woman, Rose reigns herself in and replies in a hissed whisper. "Pain like that would turn anyone into a bastard. He doesn't owe you anything."
She squints at Rose, turning her head slightly before realizing. "You're with him, aren't you?"
She nods, holding Stacy's gaze.
"He's not a bastard, not really," Rose starts, her voice sounding momentarily wistful. "Listen, I don't know why he took your case, and if I'd realized about the two of you before he got there I'd have sent you away. But he took it and I've no choice to go along… Just… know that, if it comes to it, I'm on his side."
Rose walks away without waiting for an answer, actively restraining herself from looking back at a woman she once regarded as her friend.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
It only takes House to the end of the day to find a diagnosis: acute intermittent porphyria. Against his better judgement though, he listened to Stacy and went against Mark's wishes to diagnose him, leaving him temporarily disabled. Poetic justice at its finest.
Rose is the last one in the office at the end of the day, having preferred not to bear witness to whatever marital chaos House had caused the Warners. She erases the whiteboard and gathers up the files. House's bag is still in the office, but he's nowhere to be found.
"Hey," Stacy greets cautiously, walking into the office with a sigh.
Rose looks up but continues what she's doing, trying not to seem standoffish.
"I just wanted to thank you. All of you."
"For better or worse, it's our job," Rose answers, smiling sadly.
"Cuddy offered me a job as general counsel while Mark goes through PT," Stacy starts, gauging Rose's reaction- which is impressively measured.
"I turned it down… Greg… Well he spoke very highly of you earlier today. It's obvious he cares about you. And I know I never let everything settle between him and I, but I've got Mark now… for better or worse."
Rose smirks a bit, not knowing what else to say.
"I'd better be going. And I'm sorry," Stacy starts, not moving in spite of her words.
"You didn't do anything to me," Rose grumbles, regretful.
Stacy looks away for a moment, then takes a deep breath and whispers, not meeting Rose's eyes.
"You were right. He's not a bastard. I saw what I did to him and... I couldn't live with myself."
Roes clenches her eyes shut against the other woman's words, and, deciding to take the high ground, sighs quietly before speaking. "It was good to see you again, Joe."
Stacy nods slightly, turning for the door. She stops again, just as she reaches the handle, not turning around to speak.
"If you're looking for him, try the roof."
HWHWHWHWHWHWH
"Hey," Rose says simply, leaning against the half-wall barrier on the rooftop next to House, looking out over the city. He grunts in reply and pulls a pack of cigarettes out his pocket, offering one to Rose.
She shrugs, then nods. He lights one and hands it to her, taking another for himself.
"I could've done that myself you know," she chides, taking a long drag. "Since when do you smoke anyway?"
"Since when do you smoke?" he retorts.
"I don't," she answers, looking up as she blows out, the cloud disappearing into the night sky.
"Stacy smoked," he answers then, shrugging. "I don't anymore really."
Rose nods, glancing to him and back up. Fall is fast approaching and the air is cool. Both doctors stand in silence for a while, the glowing cigarettes casting shadows on their faces. The sound of traffic rushes by below them, but the stars shine bright above. An unspoken comfort hovers in the space between them.
"She told you I'd be up here?"
Nodding, "it's certainly a good hiding spot."
"I don't use it too often anymore," he replies, smirking mirthlessly and rubbing at his thigh reflexively.
After a few more moments, Rose shivers, sighing loudly and glancing to House.
"There's something I need to tell you."
He stifles, taking a long drag off his cigarette before he raises his eyebrows, prompting her.
"She called me… when you had your infarction. I think she just wanted comfort but… I diagnosed muscle death… on Tuesday."
She shivers again, watching House's face out of the corner of her eye. He closes his eyes, wrinkles deepening as he grimaces for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, he relaxes, shrugging out of his jacket and sliding it around Rose's shoulders. She pulls it around herself, practically swimming in the garment. House smirks, then closes his eyes again and takes another drag.
"I knew you'd make a good diagnostician," he muses quietly.
"I should've pushed the diagnosis. Had her talk to your doctors. I knew how serious that could be if I was right."
"Would you listen to the girlfriend of a patient?" He fixes her with a look, silently putting an end to the conversation.
Rose grunts after a moment, looking up at the stars. "It was good of you to take Mark's case."
"Yeah yeah, Greg House tries, in a vain attempt, to win back a woman he loved."
Rose's lips twitch upward. "I was going to say 'Greg House is a better man than he lets the world think,' but whichever."
He glances to her as she pulls his jacket tighter around her waist and puts an arm around her.
"I don't want her back you know," he pauses, tightening his grip on Rose's rib cage.
In seeming disconnect from his previous statement, House says louder, "She shouldn't have done that to Mark. I shouldn't have let her talk me into it."
Rose lays her head on House's shoulder, sighing. "It was the right thing to do."
After a few more minutes, Rose notices House has shifted to his left, and he's rubbing his thigh with more vigor.
"Wilson would kill us if he knew we were doing this," she says, butting out her cigarette on the concrete wall.
House follows suit and they walk back to the stairwell together, Rose stepping down first and House's hand glancing over her shoulder a few times. She she can hear his respirations increase behind her, but once they reach the landing, he seems to be out of the woods.
"Need a ride?" She offers when they reach the office. He nods, leaving his motorcycle helmet on the desk for tomorrow.
Rain has started to fall when they get outside, and the pair dashes- as fast as a man with a cane can dash- to her car. The ride to House's apartment is silent, as is dinner and the remainder of the night. But sometimes an evening of comfortably companionable silence is worth years of painfully lonely echoes.