House was at Stacy's, using her computer when Skype began to sing. Seeing his daughter's name, he answered the call, raising his brows at her.
"Oh. Hi," Rebecca said uncertainly. "Is Mom there?"
"Yes. Enjoy your evening!"
"Wait," she said, when his hand moved to the keyboard. "Uh, can I see her? Please."
"Oh, you meant...Sorry." House clucked his teeth. "I thought you just wanted to know. See, Nanny McFeline..." House knelt, grabbing the weight that pressed into his leg. He lifted the cat into the field of the cam. "Is here, too."
"That's not his name."
"Yeah, I know. But the name you picked is stupid." House smiled, petting the cat.
"Can you please just put her on?"
House stood up as Stacy approached. She looked to her side, watching House limp away; cane in one hand, cat in the other. "Hi, Rebecca, what's goin' on?" Stacy twanged.
"Oh, not much. School, work. Oh, there is one thing," Rebecca added casually.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"I was just on the phone with my friend in New Orleans, and she told me about this guy, this...diagnostician, who was found to be alive after ten years."
House paused in the hallway, turning back in concern.
"And she asked me," Rebecca's voice continued, "'Does Mark know you're his?'"
House watched as the light from the screen abruptly vanished off of Stacy's face. Her eyes met his. But without saying a word, he clutched Beezer tighter to his chest and continued limping down the hall. Stacy sat at the desk and watched him disappear into the bedroom.
When Stacy entered the bedroom later, House was laying down, looking up at the ceiling. His fingers drummed against his stomach. Perched atop the dresser, the cat glowered at Stacy as she crossed the room.
Stacy sat on her side of the bed, facing House. "Maybe this is for the best."
"Nothing is ever for the best," House said in disgust. "It either makes you miserable for a long time, or happy for a short time. And then, you die."
"Honey, you really need to try and be more positive."
"For what? AIDS?"
"Come on. Don't pout."
House turned his head to finally look at her. His eyes narrowed in the analytical way that always made her feel awkward. "You're calm," he observed. "I could go back to jail, and you're calm."
"You already did your time."
"That's why I said back."
Stacy reached out to comfort him, only hurting him when her fingers grazed his wounds. She quickly withdrew her hand. "Should they give you any trouble, I'll represent you myself."
House stared at her, then struggled to painfully sit up. "Stacy," he croaked, and cleared his throat. "You got my home, my furniture, you left Mark and Rebecca and Short Hills. You know I don't take...handouts." He scrutinized her a moment longer. "You didn't come here because you love me."
"Yes, I—"
"No. You stayed because you love me. But you came here because you want something." His eyes narrowed as she averted her own. "What is it?" he pressed.
Her eyes swung resolutely back to his. "I want you and Rebecca to get along. To be in the same room, and talk."
"We talked!"
"No. I mean, in person. And not about what you did, but about who you are. Who she is." Stacy looked imploringly at him. "When my parents call me, and invite me to a reunion, I want both of you there. I want what all my relatives have; a family. A functional family. Please, Greg, if you love me...give it a chance. Give us a chance."
He sighed grumpily and looked back up at the ceiling. "Fine, I'll...try."
"It would make me so happy."
"Happiness fades."
"So I'm learning," she mumbled. Then she smiled brightly. "What would make you happy for a short time?"
He rolled his head again to look at her, and opened his arm nearest her. She lay down beside him. He reached over and turned off the lamp, and they held each other in the dark.