House was literally rocked back in his chair for a moment at her confirmation of his conclusion. Surely, she didn't mean - but she did. He knew already that she did. "You never said anything in five years about wanting a child," he protested. "Not once."
"I never really had a chance to," she countered. "Do you remember the first time you brought up children? It was very early, right when we were first getting into a relationship, and you told me flat out that you never wanted children. You repeated that several times through the years, too. I always wanted a child, but you were so dead set there that I just never brought it up. You even asked me several times about my birth control prescription. Remember?"
He did, and she was right. He had, at that point in life, been adamant to put it mildly that he must never have children. But she had never seemed bothered by that decision, and Stacy was not the meek, go-along type that his mother, for instance, had been. If it had meant that much to her, wouldn't she have brought it up? Shouldn't there have been signs? Or had he just completely missed them, locked into his own fear of duplicating his past? "I was -" He left the sentence uncompleted.
"I wondered at the time," she continued. "That was the strongest opinion I had ever heard you express on anything. No kids, never, period. And you weren't short of strong opinions in life, Greg, but that one was the top. So, I just let it go. I was young. I thought there was still plenty of time, thought maybe you'd change your mind as we got older. I just enjoyed what we had then and put the question of children to the side for the moment. But I did always want one eventually."
She lifted her imaginary cigarette and again surprised herself by its absence. Her fingers gripped each other briefly, but her voice was steady as she made herself go on. "I can understand that now somewhat, knowing - knowing your background. Knowing what you went through. I'm sure you didn't want to repeat that. You wouldn't have repeated it, of course, but I can understand better where you were coming from. But now, you've learned to like kids."
"It was never a question of liking," he objected.
"I know. I do understand it better now, like I said. But back to me and Mark, we've been trying for quite a while with no success."
He tried to retreat into medicine to steady his whirling thoughts against it. "Have you both been checked out medically?"
"Yes. I've had every test under the sun, and they can't find any reason for the failure."
"And has Mark had every test under the sun?"
"He was a bit more - reluctant," she admitted, "but at this point, yes, he has seen a specialist, and they've performed extensive lab tests on samples. He has a very low sperm count, and the ones he has aren't that active. The doctors are sure he is the issue."
"Which he accepted?" Having known Mark, even specifically as a patient, House couldn't imagine him taking that news well.
Stacy tightened up. "He was upset at first," she confirmed. "They even repeated the testing a few times on different samples, but the same results came up. But Mark knows how much this means to me, and frankly, I'm getting older. All that time I always thought I had to play with is running out. At this point, yes, he has agreed to using sperm donation. Which brings us back to you."
House felt off balance, as if his chair were shifting under him. "Stacy, that's a very complicated request, given our history."
"I do mean via the lab, of course," she assured him. "And yes, I know it's complicated. I've spent whole sleepless nights debating this. But really, Greg, you are the best candidate I know of. Your spirit, your personality, your intelligence. You would make wonderful babies. In fact, I'll bet you already have. I'll bet your little Abby is something special." She pushed the chair back. "Don't give me an answer right now. Think about it for a few days, Greg. I know you'll need to do that anyway, and I understand. Do your differential on it. But please, consider giving me this." She stood. "I'll come back here next Saturday and talk to you, okay? Would the same time work?"
Numbly, he nodded.
Her fingers were clenched around each other again. "Thank you for listening to me," she told him. Then she walked to the door and left. Through the glass, he followed her tight, tense shoulders as she headed toward the elevator, and he could tell she fought with herself - and won - about walking away without looking back one more time to try to read his expression again.
Once she was gone, he leaned back in his chair and studied the far wall. His thinking ball sat in its holder on his desk; his mind was galloping off far faster than his hands possibly could have followed. "Wow," he said to the empty office. It gave back no answer.
