Several days later, Stacy angled her car to the side of the road and parked. House stared up at the familiar building. It had positive and negative connotations like every other place he'd been. It didn't make him feel anything. Only a woman could make him feel; that and his damn leg.

He pushed open his car door and got out, and she followed him up the steps and down the hall to his old apartment. They stopped as she retrieved the key, which she handed to him. "Welcome home."

He took it from her and opened the door. His first thought was how much bigger it looked without all his stuff. He limped into the room, and Stacy followed him inside, shutting the door. "How does it feel?"

But House gave his head a subtle shake and answered, "It doesn't." His eyes passed over the sheer emptiness. All those years of working to get what he had. Why did it surprise him that it was gone?

"I thought it would make you happy."

House turned to look at Stacy, awkwardly standing there as she readjusted her purse. "Well, it didn't piss me off."

"You're always pissed off."

House didn't dignify that with a response. He couldn't. He turned and limped down the hall, disappearing into the nearest bedroom. She pursued him within. "I have a confession to make."

"Another?"

"Yes. A good confession." She smiled warmly at him. "Your team—"

"Old team," he corrected, a bit harsher than he'd intended.

"Also bought a storage locker," she finished, and raised her eyebrows at him, still smiling. "After Foreman exposed you. Everything inside is new; I'm sorry. But we're not starting from scratch."

House was quiet, staring at her.

She began to look nervous. "We would have preserved all your old stuff, but we thought you were..." She stopped talking when he began shaking his head. "What's wrong?"

"No, it's not—it's..." He took a deep breath. "It's more than I deserve," he finally said, and averted his eyes, forcing himself to add, "I'm sorry."

Stacy didn't quite know what to make of that. Not only was she unaccustomed to hearing a fragment of humility from him; she still had so many questions that she didn't want to overwhelm him with. But she also didn't want to leave them unanswered. Maybe the right time to ask was when he was being gentle. But, it would require proper application.

She walked over to him and stared into his piercing winter crystal eyes. "I don't blame you for what you did. I blame you for how you did it."

"Wilson needed me."

"His cancer could have gone in remission."

"That was one of the...four chances I wasn't willing to take."

"Are you willing to answer my questions?"

He gazed at her, then he nodded. She smiled and squeezed his arm, but as she prioritized her questions, her expression slid into a frown. House waited in thinly veiled worry.

"How come Foreman didn't invite me?"

House quickly averted his gaze, but one hand reached up to cover the hand that rested on his arm. "Because I was the one making the list."

Upon hearing the shocking revelation, she clearly wanted her hand back, but he wasn't moving. "Wha," she said eloquently, and tried again. "Why wouldn't you want me there?"

"Because I knew you were happy."

She stared at him. He continued to avoid her eyes, but left his hand atop hers.