Chapter 10

She had lied.

I'm over you, Greg.

The lie had come easy, like a reflex. It was self-defense, your honour.

And yet, it was past midnight, Mark had long gone to bed, and she was still awake, reading up on a case for the following day. Correction, make that trying to read up. She had just gone through the same page for the third time and retained nothing.

The reason for her lack of concentration was just on the other side of this wall, right behind the couch she was currently stretched out on.

The news of Greg's death had been a massive shock. And yet, when James had told her what little he knew of the circumstances, she couldn't help but think that an end like this somehow suited Greg. Sudden, a little mysterious and, perhaps, not entirely accidental.

Stacy had smiled her way through his funeral service. It had been years since they had seen each other then, and they hadn't parted in the best of ways, with him outright rejecting her. And yet, aside from James and Blythe, she was probably the only one who really felt the loss.

She knew full well that, had their parting all those years ago been a breakup like so many others, due to falling out of love or falling in love with someone else, she would have long been over Greg House and wouldn't have wasted another thought on him. His death would have caused nothing more than a minor ripple in her life, if at all.

But through the decision for the surgery on his leg, she had bound herself to him, or him to her, she wasn't entirely sure anymore. She had messed up his life and probably saved it at the same time. It all depended on how you looked at it, and she had chosen her viewpoint long ago, just as Greg had chosen his. Even without the continuing attraction – she might have lied to him, but she wasn't going to lie to herself – there would've always remained that connection of her being responsible for his life, as it was.

His death should've cut that connection.

And yet, here he was. As alive as ever, if a little the worse for wear.

His first phone call a few weeks ago had left her reeling for days. She had claimed to be in over her head with a particularly tricky situation at work, but when she had to tell Mark that Greg was very much alive, and not only that, but he was going to stay with them for a while, she was sure he had been able to put two and two together.

But after he'd heard the news her husband had, calm as ever, just said that they better set up the den for a guest then.

"He can stay at a hotel, Mark." She hadn't been sure then and still wasn't now, whether she had said it for her own protection or for Mark's. Now, a day after seeing him get off that train, she understood that she would never be sure where Greg House was concerned.

In the end, she knew it was easier to give in, have Greg stay at her house and just keep herself in check.

Just.

Stacy finally closed her file. There was no point pretending she would get any work done tonight.

She could hear the muted sounds of the TV in the next room. Either Greg was still up or he had fallen asleep with the TV on.

She hoped her knock would be quiet enough not to wake him if he was asleep and loud enough for him to hear if he wasn't.

"Yeah."

He was still dressed and stretched out on his bed, a pillow under his head and another under his legs. Some court drama was playing on the TV in the corner.

"I'm taking a crash course to prepare for my big day."

She took a step into the room and closed the door.

"Can't sleep?" His amusement at the stupidity of her question was obvious, so she felt the need to elaborate. "You seemed pretty tired at dinner."

Indeed, he had been uncharacteristically quiet.

In reply, Greg muted the TV, sat up slowly and patted the bed to his left.

She took a couple of steps but didn't follow his invitation.

From up close she saw the tightness in his face. Take plenty of food and wine, add some Vicodin, and he should've been fast asleep by now. The vial by his bed was half-empty.

She finally made a decision and sat down in the chair across from him.

"How bad is it?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

She wasn't sure if this was a particularly nasty barb or if he was trying to sound casual to stop her asking more questions. Both were equally likely. But she wouldn't be drawn into an argument tonight, especially not this one, so she went with option two.

"Anything I can do?" How many times had she asked this question? As if she would ever get an honest answer.

His eyes lit up in mock delight.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask!" He grinned suggestively. "Are you offering yourself as a distraction?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "I'm offering you a distraction. That's it."

Greg sighed. "You're a rotten tease, just like all the other girls. First you offer, then you pull out."

And just like that, they'd had moved on from the original topic. Which was just what he had wanted. Some things would never change even if they both grew as old as the hills.

"So, what's the plan?" Neither of them could sleep. He needed a distraction, and she was genuinely curious. Two birds, one stone.

"We have a plan?"

"With Lorimer."

"Oh, that plan." Greg sounded as if he had been thinking of something else entirely. "He is trying to get the DA to agree to a meeting. I'm waiting for Lorimer to call. Although he probably won't want to get his hands dirty dialling my number, so I bet anything he'll get his uber-cute and stylish PA to call."

That sounded just like J. P. Lorimer. "Did he say when?"

Greg shook his head. "Depends on what he's got on the DA and how scared he is. Or how scared they both are."

Another accurate assessment.

"Okay. So we wait." She had the feeling they wouldn't have to wait all that long. This wasn't something anyone would want to drag out, least of all Lorimer and the DA. But even a day would be too long for Greg. He wasn't exactly blessed with a lot of patience.

"Actually, the DA is a woman. Her name is Rosalyn Mercer. I'm surprised Lorimer went all the way up to her. I thought he'd go for the assistant. He seems more approachable."

Greg grinned. "Approachable being lawyer speak for dirty?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't call him dirty. Let's say… a little more susceptible to blackmail."

"So you're saying the DA isn't dirty? She can't be squeaky clean, that's for sure, or Lorimer wouldn't be convinced he'd get her to deal with this."

"He definitely told you it would be the DA?"

It was a stupid question. She'd earned the look Greg gave her.

"Maybe I can charm the DA into making everything go away?"

If only. "You're not that charming, and she's not that kind of woman."

"What kind of woman?"

"The type who'd be susceptible to your bad boy charm."

"Oh, she's not like you then?"

"Actually, I'd say she's a lot like me. Not fond of boys who don't get the message."

"Oh, I get the message. But there's some interference. It's like you hope I'll give you a reason to change your mind."

No, not hope. But she had learned by now that she'd always have a weak spot for this man. And one of the reasons why was that he knew perfectly well how to find other people's weaknesses. Including her own.

Meanwhile, his hand had moved to his thigh and gripped it tightly. She'd bet anything that he wasn't even aware of it.

Stacy wasn't sure how to handle this. In the past, he had either ignored any attempts at being looked after or outright railed at her.

"I could run you a hot bath?" After staring at his white knuckles for another minute, she finally dared to make a suggestion.

"Won't help, already tried it. It's not that kind of pain."

"So is this how it's going to be?" Maybe it was time to deal with this after all. She steeled herself. "I suggest something that might help and you shoot it down? I'll never be able to suggest the right thing then."

She could see Greg tensing further. Tough. It was late, she was tired, and she was sick of playing games and pussy-footing around.

"You suggest something that has a chance of actually helping, I'll gladly take you up on it."

It was pretty clear where this was going but Stacy knew she had no real choice. They would always come back to this.

"Except I don't know what could actually help." She kept her eyes locked on him. "Because I didn't hang around long enough to learn what does help and what doesn't."

He just lifted an eyebrow in response. See. You got there all by yourself.

She took a deep breath. Held it for a moment. Things were so simple. And yet, so complicated.

"You'll always just sit there and blame me, right? You'll never forgive me for what I did. You'll never understand."

He snorted. "Understanding and forgiving are two completely different concepts."

"Yeah," she nodded slowly. "And that's why this will never be resolved. If you understand, then you know that I never had a choice…"

"There's always a choice!" His eyes burned holes right into her.

"Yes, there is. And I made mine. I had to choose between letting you die and letting you live. Like this. In pain. It wasn't really a choice then because both options meant the end of us."

"When did you get your medical degree? You don't know I would've died. It wasn't your decision to make. You should've left me to it."

"And should've watched you die?"

She could see how much effort it took him to stay calm.

"Who says I would've died? But yes, you should've. It was my choice. Mine. Not yours. You were selfish."

In a roundabout way she had been selfish, he was right. If this was her only sin… "Yes, if you look at it like that, I was selfish. I was so selfish I gave up on us so you could live."

He laughed. "Don't make yourself out to be some sort of martyr."

"I made a decision. You've made hundreds of decisions for your patients and hoped for the best."

"But you weren't my doctor. It wasn't your choice. Besides, you didn't just make a decision. You waited until I wasn't in a position to object anymore. You went behind my back and reversed my decision." He took a moment to take a deep breath and slowly rubbed his leg. Then he added quietly, "I trusted you."

This was what it came down to. Not the decision itself. Not the pain. Not the surgery. She had broken his trust.

She finally sat down on the bed next to him and put her hand on top of his where it had stopped massaging his leg. She'd always loved his hands. "And for that, I'm sorry. I did what I thought was best."

He looked up at her then, straight into her eyes. "Yeah, don't we all."