Chapter 14 – Never Growing Up, Just Aging

They say that no matter how long you're a doctor, things change when it's your loved one who is the patient. House took a few minutes to get himself together, and limped down to the ICU. With the emotional rollercoaster he'd been riding the past few hours, his leg felt like lead. Chase was walking out of her room when House turned the corner. He was almost stunned to see House's heartbroken face.

"Surgery went perfect. They stitched up the small cardiac laceration and her vitals are stable. We're just waiting for her to wake up. I have to warn you though, she will have a massive scar from bicep to bicep and of course the post op scar." House hadn't picked his head up. He just intently stared at the floor. Chase tried to meet his eyes. "She's going to be okay, House. She was lucky." House finally looked up.

Taking a deep breathe, he simply whispered, "Thank you."

Chase gave him a small nod and walked down the hall. Bracing himself, House walked into her room.

During the years that they were together, he always knew that they would spend the rest of their lives together. That was the way he always thought. Him and Stacy. Stacy and him. Sometimes when he was in one of his somber drunken states, he would wonder about the future. His strange morbid mind pondered around the question of which one of them would go first. For some dark reason, he never once thought that she might be the first one to leave this world. He knew he couldn't handle the thought of the world without Stacy. Because in all actuality, she was his world.

She looked so frail and weak. This strong and passionate woman that he loved was reduced to this. He should have told her to stay. This all happened because of him. These thoughts were like a bad CD on repeat.

He limped over to her bed side, pulling a chair with him. He saw the scars that Chase was talking about. Feeling his eyes sting once again, he took her hand in his.

Wilson opened the door slowly and walked over to his broken friend. "Hey."

"Hey."

"This isn't your fault." He whispered. Realizing that House wasn't going to lift his head anytime soon, he figured that he didn't need to talk about this just yet. "Can I get you anything?"

House finally turned around. "Just get my jacket and bag from my office. I'm staying here tonight."

Nodding his head, Wilson turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

He had to admit that he wasn't in the most comfortable position. His legs were propped on the extra chair, his torso twisted in another. He moved the small table next to the bed in order to be as close to her as possible. He was absent mindedly stroking her palm and fingers. Grunting in pain a little, he reached over to grab his bag and his pills.

Reaching for that wonderful little orange bottle, he felt something in his bag that he couldn't quite identify. Pulling it out, he realized that this was the closest thing to a journal that he had. A book that he filled with quotes and poems. None of them were Gregory House originals, but he always put in the ones that he felt really connected with him.

Turning a few pages, he found the last poem that he wrote in his book. He didn't remember how he found this, but he remembers that it was during his recovery from the shooting. It was when Stacy came back.

Clearing his throat, he took her hand again and began to recite to the love of his life.

"I know your tricks and your deceptions,
You know my spells and wiles and charms.
From traps you've given me protection:
Sometimes I've lost you from my arms.
Sure we've had other lovers in our beds:
It helped when there was time to kill
Or with our bodies' passions raging,
But in the end when all is said
It seemed our only special skill
Was never growing up, just aging.

And each succeeding year uncovers
More opportunities for hurt.
Of traps that lie in wait for lovers
This one's the hardest to avert.
Of course you take more time to cry,
I take a lot more work to crack,
We get more devious and clever.
You can't let chances pass you by,
You have to learn to watch your back:
The tender war goes on forever."

Taking another deep breath,

"Oh my love,
My sweet,

my marvellous, my tender love, From early dawn until day's end
I love you still."

Closing the book, he placed it gently back into his bag and closed his eyes. Even though she wasn't awake, he still hoped that she heard it. Relaxing his tense shoulders, he heard the driest whisper.

"I love you too."

He immediately shot up and kicked the chair where his legs rested half way across the room. Standing over her, he touched her with a soft finger, moving a rebel piece of hair out of her face. She shifted uncomfortably with what House knew was her post-op pain and looked up at him. She grinned at him.

"I let you out of my sight for 5 minutes and-"

"Shh. It's not every day Greg House actually reads poetry." He chuckled lightly at this.

"Get some sleep. I'll be here when you wake up" he managed to say without going above a sweet whisper. Leaning over the railing, he placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

As she drifted back to sleep, he felt the once limp hand that held in his hand, squeeze ever so lightly.