They wound up at the same diner where they'd had their very awkward first lunch, only this time the atmosphere between them was completely relaxed. House found Stacy to be a creature of habit when ordering, much like himself, and they ordered the same things they had before. They talked about whatever popped into their heads at any given moment. Stacy went into a bit more detail about the legal briefs she was working on, and House told her about the patient whose sepsis he and his staff were trying to diagnose. He also spent a bit of time venting about his Chief of Nephrology so that she could start to understand the idiocy he had to deal with on a daily basis.

When the food came, the conversation turned to backgrounds and childhoods and life experiences - the types of things that people in new relationships tend to talk about. House was surprised to learn that Stacy did not, in fact, have brothers. She grew up in Mississippi and had wanted to be a lawyer since she was 6. He started to answer a question she asked about where he grew up, then grew pensive. Stacy immediately felt the shift in Greg's mood. He had gone from joking and inquisitive to practically mute in a matter of seconds and she grew concerned. She reached across the table and took his hand, rubbing her thumb across the back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize that would be such a sensitive subject for you."

"It's not your fault. You had no way of knowing." House looked down at the table and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, the ones he rarely thought about and never discussed. "We moved a lot when I was a kid. My dad was a pilot in the Marine Corps, so we never stayed in one place for more than a few years. He had impossibly high expectations of me when I was growing up that I could never live up to, and we were never any place long enough for me to form any lasting friendships. I spent a lot of time alone." He glanced up at Stacy, wondering how much of himself he should let her see. "I'm okay with being alone - or at least I was for a very long time. Now I'm not so sure."

Stacy could see those storm clouds brewing behind Greg's deep blue eyes again, and tried to steer the conversation away from his family. "What got you into music?" she asked, breathing a small sigh of relief when she saw the tightness in his brow begin to ease, his gaze turning grateful.

"My mom got me started with piano lessons when I was 6. Dad never approved, convinced it would make me soft, but Mom stood her ground and he finally backed off. He'd still make snide comments from time to time, but for the most part he left me alone about it. That guitar you saw me playing when you came in? I got it when I was in 8th grade and taught myself to play. I've had it with me ever since."

Stacy was gaining more insight into this surprisingly complex man, and found herself even more attracted to him. It was obvious to her that he had a wounded soul, but it was also obvious that this was not something that necessarily needed to be fixed. She did suspect that it might have something to do with why he was so brilliant, sarcastic, and conflicted. Which got her wondering…

"When did you know you wanted to be a doctor?"

"High school. Actually, I'd planned on studying physics when I went to college. I read everything I could get my hands on about it and found the subject endlessly fascinating. Still do. But when I was 14 my dad was stationed in Japan and everything changed.

I went rock climbing with this kid from school. He fell, got injured, and I had to take him to the hospital. We came in through the wrong entrance and passed this guy in the hall. He was a janitor. My friend came down with an infection and the doctors didn't know what to do. So they brought in the janitor. He was a doctor. And a buraku. One of Japan's untouchables. His ancestors had been slaughterers, grave diggers. This guy...he knew that he wasn't accepted by the staff, didn't even try. He didn't dress well. He didn't pretend to be one of them. The people around that place, they didn't think that he had anything they wanted. Except when they needed him. Because he was right. Which meant that nothing else mattered. And they had to listen to him.

After that, I knew I wanted to be like him, like the janitor. I never wanted to be the kind of doctor that spent his days wiping noses and treating crotch rot. I wanted to be the one other doctors had to come to because they needed him. Because he knew things they didn't. Because he was right," he repeated, looking down at the table.

Stacy stared at Greg, moved beyond words at the intensity behind what he said. She wished that she felt that kind of passion for what she did. She loved being a lawyer, loved arguing facets of the law before judges who knew it far better than she did, trying to get them to see what she saw and rule in her favor. But she didn't feel the same level of passion that Greg obviously felt about what he did, and she wondered if she ever would.

By the time they got back to the apartment, all traces of House's pensive mood shift were gone and he had returned to his affectionate, playful self. Stacy asked Greg if he'd play something for her on the piano. He agreed, and she sat down next to him on the bench as he placed his hands on the keyboard. He looked at her with absolute seriousness then launched into a very simplistic and goofy version of Chopsticks, his gaze switching to impish glee as she laughed at his choice. Switching gears on the fly, House began to play the Professor Longhair classic Tipitina, his eyes closing as he lost himself in the music. Stacy couldn't take her eyes off of him, the way he looked as he played. Everything about him relaxed as his long fingers skipped over the keys, and she caught him softly singing the words to himself like a mantra. When the song ended he switched gears again, launching into Pachebel's Canon in D. Stacy gaped as she recognized the piece. It was one of her favorites and the subtle improvisation Greg added convinced her that he had more than just a passing talent.

The piece ended, the sounds of the last notes fading into silence. House's eyes slowly opened and he realized that Stacy had been watching him intently the entire time. He looked over at her and shrugged, something Stacy found more than a little endearing. She stood up and walked around the bench to face him, offering her hand. He took it and stood, moving to lean against the piano and taking her in his arms. She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek, running her thumb lightly across his lips before sliding her hand to the nape of his neck to kiss him deeply. When the kiss broke, she took him by the hand again and led him into the bedroom.