So, I decided to redo this story that I started 16 years ago lol. It was originally under my old username RH132008, but I couldn't figure out my login and will be posting it under this account now. I tried to keep as much of the original material as possible, but you know, it was kind of horrible so a lot had to be changed. It might still be horrible, but that's okay as I'm just doing this for fun because inspiration struck me when I re-watched House. I'll be putting the songs I used to get into the mood to write each chapter at the top in case anyone is interested. I don't have a beta or anything; if anyone wants to help me out that's cool I could use it. Kind of an angsty start but I'm a die-hard romantic so don't be surprised when it ends up there :).

Enjoy!

Inspiration was Cinder and Smoke by Iron and Wine.

Chapter 1: Stacy

She was close to breaking down again.

Stacy held the cigarette in her hand; blew the smoke into the vent; hoping some of her frustrations would go along with it.

It'd been three months since she'd left Princeton Plainsboro, and still, his words repeated over and over in her head.

"I can't make you happy…You'll need someone to give you what I can't."

She half snorted half-choked through tears remembering the last part.

Because the truth was, no one had ever been able to give her what House had; not before or after their relationship. Even in the darkest of times when it felt like he hated her the most; there was still a passion unrivaled by any other man she'd been with; Mark included.

She had no one to blame but herself for the circumstances she found herself in. Stacy loved Mark, she really did, but some things there were no denying. House was the one that got away, and it appeared he always would be. She wished she could understand why he thought he was unlovable and pushed away everything good in his life. Sure, there was the fact he was a narcissistic asshole, but to anyone who bothered to get down to his base layer, it became blaringly clear he was no more than a child at heart. One that desperately wanted love and acceptance in a world that was perhaps to cruel to give it. It shouldn't be so hard, and yet she had a bad feeling she hadn't helped to convince him otherwise by leaving. She'd gave up when he needed her the most, and then she'd been ready to do the same to Mark because she was a coward.

She knew it now.

That the profession didn't matter.

Doctors, lawyers, cops; the supposed average Joe on the street who saved a woman from getting hit by a bus; they were all the same - damaged. The only difference lay in what kind of and how much, but even then it amounted to the same. Everyone was running from something; sometimes only when the lights went down; others in its blaring spotlight. For her it was her mother.

She knew the soul-crushing heartbreak of losing someone you loved with all your being, and that's why she did everything she could to avoid it. Why she had gone against House's wishes for his leg; why she had left him. She hadn't wanted him to die, and then she hadn't wanted to wait around and lose him by being rejected either. When it came to sticking it out through hard times emotionally, she had a bad habit of giving in to her fear by avoiding the hurt and covering it up with something else - this case, her marriage to Mark.

Now everything was blown up and it was all her fault. Things hadn't been the same since they'd returned to Short Hills, not that she really expected it to be. There wasn't any going back when people realized hard truths about themselves. She hadn't worked up the guts to tell him about what happened between her and House, but she knew she had to. He was getting closer and closer to full recovery and they were both so distant she hardly knew who he was anymore. Trying to get him to talk to her was nearly impossible, and the fights, the oh so many fights over everything - the big things, the little things, but most of all, nothing.

She was drained all the time; hating herself for the mess she'd made, even more for the lies she was still living with. She wasn't sure she and Mark would be able to salvage their marriage; deep down she wasn't sure she wanted to. Maybe too much had been done. Besides, it would be difficult for her to convince him she still loved them when all she could think about was her ex.

Stacy missed House so much; still craved the feel of his lips against hers. When she was with him, it had been the first time in five years she had truly felt alive; like an ex-junkie getting a taste of their drug of choice again. It felt so right, even if the circumstances were so wrong. All the heat and passion they'd shared the night before she'd turned in her resignation was so tender and sweet, and then she'd ruined it.

House had been right about the decision being hard, yet simple, if only she had let it be.

Sighing, Stacy stabbed out her cigarette in the ashtray; burying her head in her hands.

She knew what she had to do, but it didn't make it any easier.

Tears made lonely races down her cheeks as she got into bed and hugged her pillow close. Mark was out again and hadn't said where, but then he rarely told her anything anymore, and she felt too guilty to blame him. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget about everything, even though she knew House would be there to haunt her dreams as always. She didn't think she would ever be able to rid him from her consciousness, but she had to try. If only for one night.