House threw open the door to his private room and flicked on the switch, limping inside. "How long were you going to wait?"

"Don't yell, okay, you're still healing."

"Really!" he barked, and one hand moved automatically to the pain that radiated from the recent lacerations in his abdomen. Seeing him cringe, Stacy moved forward and began helping him shuffle to the gurney. "This doesn't mean you win the argument," he growled.

"Let's not lose perspective. I kept something from you, you kept something from me; every couple has their secrets. But your secrets are unhealthy and as a lawyer, I refuse to help you abuse medication."

"That was a joke!"

"Nothing about drug abuse is funny."

"There's no abuse!" he snapped, and huffed a sigh, looking away. "Not anymore," he continued, forcing himself to speak calmly. "In the ten years you thought I was dead and the ten years I spent in prison, I only had one bottle. You can ask Foreman if you don't trust me."

"Knowing your weakness for narcotics, why should I trust you?"

House hesitantly met her eyes. "Because I've been...afraid," he answered hesitantly.

"Afraid? Of what?"

"Filling a prescription." House looked down and shrugged. "I let him turn me in and I served more time than I was initially served. It doesn't make a difference. I don't want my name going into their computer."

Stacy reached out and touched the side of his face, then bent down and kissed his head, careful to avoid the healing wound. "Okay."

She stepped back and shook back her hair. "Can I get you anything from the cafeteria?"

House looked up at her and shook his head. "No."

"Alright. If you're sure."

"I'm sure you're not going to the cafeteria; you're going to call Foreman."

"Of course I'm going to call Foreman." She left the room, pulling the door shut. Alone, House hung up his cane on the gurney handle and slowly, agonizingly lay down.

House had closed his eyes, but his mind was nowhere near a restful state when he heard the door open. He opened one eye and peeked at Stacy. She approached the cart beside the chairs, deposited two coffees and a paper bag on them, and wheeled the cart to the gurney as House raised the bed into a sitting position. She sat beside his leg. "I thought I said no."

"You thought I wasn't going."

He was almost smiling as he dug into the bag.

"I stepped outside to call him on my phone," Stacy ventured.

"And he confirmed."

"Yes. But my point is, I'd missed a call from the landlord. It's ours if you want it."

House considered, briefly; then nodded. "Cool."