Stacy hadn't wasted any time. A few days after the phone call, Mark was resting comfortably in a private room at the hospital. Cuddy was somewhat surprised that House had taken the case, but then, Stacy could be very persuasive when she wanted to.

"Hi Lisa." Stacy was sitting in the waiting room, staring at her cup of coffee.

"How's Mark?"

"Gregg says he's stable. Can we talk?" She sounded ominous. Cuddy was certain she wasn't going to like the outcome of this talk, but she agreed and led Stacy to her office.

"Can I get you anything?" Cuddy felt like she needed a good stiff drink, but it was only 9am, and she didn't want to drink alone. Stacy declined, so Cuddy poured herself a glass of water.

"I feel like everything has been turned on it's side. I had to quit my job to come here…" she let her words trail off, hoping Cuddy would take the bait.

"You really love him a lot, don't you?" Cuddy hadn't taken the bait. She had an agenda of her own. She needed to know that Stacy was no longer her competition. It had taken her years to finally admit her feelings for House, and she didn't want to get pushed back to friend status so soon.

"Of course I do." Stacy let her temper show. She was trying to play it cool, the grieving wife. She did love Mark and she would do anything to help him get better. That's why she'd asked to talk to Cuddy. She wanted her old job back, so Mark could stay at the hospital and House could watch out for him.

"I'm sorry, that was rude." Cuddy realized she'd overstepped a line. "He seems like a remarkable man."

"He is." Stacy's mind was racing. Cuddy had gotten her off track. This should have been much easier. She needed a way to swing the conversation back around to her agenda. "Mark's family is so happy to see him, even though it took his getting sick to make it happen."

"He has family here?" Cuddy hadn't expected that.

"Yes, his mother and a couple of sisters. They have been here every day since he got here. They miss him a lot."

"You know," Cuddy was about to say something she felt she may regret, but she was feeling generous. If Stacy loved her husband as much as she seemed to, then Cuddy had nothing to worry about, and if House went running back to Stacy, then Cuddy never really stood a chance anyway. "My legal staff has been a bit anorexic lately. I really could use you back on the team. I mean, it would give Mark a chance to recuperate here, with his family and you nearby."

Stacy gave herself a mental pat on the back. It had worked. "Thank you, Lisa. That is really very generous. I really would love to, but I need to know it's OK with House before I accept."

Damn her, Cuddy thought, she's going to make it all my idea, and if House hates it, he will blame me. "I will ask him and let you know." She tried to stay cool. could she let herself get trapped into this? House was going to hate her for this one.

Cuddy knew she was going to have to tell House, and the sooner the better. Even though she wanted to get it over with, she avoided House all day. It wasn't until he was walking out the door that she finally worked up the nerve to ask him.

He took it well. She thought he would protest, argue, give her an emphatic NO. He did none of those things. He said it was fine, and then he walked away. She watched him go. She wished he had argued, yelled, protested, said anything. His quiet resignation was a bad sign. It meant he was giving up, again.

Over the next few days, Cuddy watched helplessly as House descended deeper and deeper into depression. She knew he wouldn't let her do anything to help him, but she wasn't going to just sit around and watch him fall apart. This was all her fault. She never should have let Stacy come back. She had hoped it would do House some good, that he would see Stacy had moved on, and it would give him the strength to move on. Unfortunately, it had the exact opposite effect.

"You wanted to see me?" Dr. Wilson was standing in the door to her office. She had left him a message to come by as soon as he could. He was the only other person who had been with House the first time Stacy left. Together they would try to get House through Stacy's return.

"It's about House?" She sounded sad. There was none of her usual spunk.

"I thought it might be." He sat down, knowing this was going to be a very long talk.

"He is falling apart."

"I've seen it too. He was late three days this week."

"Have you seen him today?"

"I tried calling him, but he isn't answering."

"I can just imagine him sitting alone in the dark, listening to that sad music of his."

They both spoke. "You should go see him after work." They laughed nervously.

"You're his best friend." Cuddy explained. "You could talk to him. Get him through this."

"You can do more for him than just talk." Wilson smiled.

Cuddy blushed. "Did he tell you about that?"

"He didn't have to. I know you both too well to not have figured it out. He needs more than a talking to Lisa. He needs someone to comfort him. He might not admit it, but he does. He needs someone who will understand what he's going through, and won't treat him like an invalid."

Cuddy fell silent. She wanted to comfort House. She wanted to get him through this, but she was afraid. She had already messed things up by letting Stacy stay. What if she messed up again? "Can't you go talk to him?"

There was a pleading in her voice that Wilson simply couldn't ignore. "I will try."

House sat in the dark. The sad sound of a violin cried out from his iPod speakers. A half empty bottle of Scotch sat on the table next to an empty pill bottle. He would have to go to work tomorrow and get a refill.

Why had she come back? Stacy was almost out of his system, and then she comes waltzing back into his life. It was typical of her. She had always wanted what she wanted, when she wanted it, and damn anyone who got in her way. He used to love that about her. He still did.

He didn't want to love her anymore, but when he heard her voice again, everything he felt came flooding back. She respected him the way few people ever have. She never once tried to force him to be happy when he wasn't, or take him out when he wanted to stay in.

She was as independent as he was, maybe even more so. Their romance happened quickly. So quickly he didn't even see it coming. He wasn't sure either of them knew what was happening. The flame burned fast and bright.

House took a chug from the bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty. He would have to get up and get another bottle soon. He looked down at his leg. There was a time when he ran the lacrosse field like a champion. He was athletic, he was energetic. Now he was just a broken old man, and he blamed Stacy. So why did he still have feelings for her? She broke him, and then she discarded him.

House banged his cane on the ground. "DAMN!" He shouted. Why did she come back? What did she really want?

Wilson pulled up outside House's apartment. He sat in the car several minutes before turning off the ignition. This wasn't going to be easy, but he had to do something. When Stacy walked out on House it had devastated him. House didn't trust many people, for fear of getting hurt, and when Stacy left, it caused him to shut down completely.

Wilson just got out of his car when he heard a loud voice come from inside the apartment. "DAMN!" It was undeniably the voice of House. Wilson sped up. He stopped at the door. He was having second thoughts. Should he knock? He decided to jump in the deep end, and he would worry about the sharks when they started circling.

House didn't answer his knock. Wilson tried again, still nothing. "House, open up. I know you're in there." House was not responding, so Wilson went to step two. He had a spare key to House's apartment. It was for emergencies, and he thought that this qualified.

The apartment was dark, the shades pulled down, but Wilson could make out the outline of his friend sitting on the couch. Wordlessly, Wilson walked into the room and sat down. He picked up the bottle on the table, saw that it was empty and got up to get a new one. He opened it and poured out two glasses, handing one to House.

House took the glass but didn't look at Wilson. "So, she's back." Wilson didn't want to beat around the bush. He knew House didn't like small talk.

"Yep." House took a big swig of alcohol. He let it slid down his throat and warm his bones.

"Cuddy said you were OK with it." This wasn't entirely true. Cuddy had said House SAID he was OK with it, but that she didn't believe him. Wilson didn't want to get all he said she said, though, so he kept it simple.

"Yep." House was obviously not in a talkative mood.

"She also said she thought you were a liar."

"Well, Cuddy sure does say a lot." House finally looked up. He drained his glass and poured another. "You didn't happen to bring me a refill?" He picked up the empty bottle and shook it.

"Afraid not." Wilson wouldn't have, even if he knew House needed in. Pills and alcohol were not a safe combo.

"Then why are you here?" House looked at him for the first time since Wilson entered the room. His eyes were bloodshot and his face more scruffy than usual.

"You look like crap." Wilson commented.

"So you came to give me a makeover?" It was a small glimmer of the real House, but there wasn't the usual spark in his eye.

"Sort of." Wilson finally finished his drink, and poured another. If misery loved company, then he was going to stick to House like glue. He was in for the long haul now. "Cuddy's worried about you."

"She worries too much."

"I'm worried about you."

"Oh, well, in that case." House drained his glass again. Wilson wondered just how much his friend had already drunk.

"House?" Wilson didn't know what to say. If House didn't want to talk, he wouldn't talk. All Wilson could do was be here in case House decided he did want to talk.

"If Cuddy's so worried, why didn't she come here herself?" House sounded somewhat belligerent.

This was the last thing Wilson expected. He didn't know what to say, and just made strange movements with his mouth, hoping to trigger it into action. "Well, she…I don't know."

"What, you didn't hold a meeting, talk about it?" He puts on fake Cuddy voice. "Oh Jimmy please help him. I just don't know what to do?" He stopped the imitation. "That is not Cuddy. She sent you here in her place. Why?"

House was suddenly very alert and Wilson wondered if he'd only been pretending to be wasted. Wilson wasn't sure if he should talk, but he did. House needed to hear the truth. "She is scared. She thinks you are going to blame her for all this. She thinks it's her fault."

"Her fault?" House was incredulous. "How can this be her fault? Did she make Mark sick? That makes no sense. Why would she do that?"

Wilson was tired, and he was becoming slightly buzzed. He was loosing the ability to edit his thoughts. "She's in love with you, you idiot. She is afraid she's going to loose you again."

House was stunned. He had always kidded Cuddy about liking him, but it was all in fun, wasn't it? Sure, they had been intimate, but that was purely a physical thing. She was hot, he wasn't blind. And she was quite, skilled. He smiled to himself, hoping the dark of the room would mask it from Wilson.

"Did you hear me House?" Wilson had dropped the bomb, and now he was going to run with it. He didn't know when it would explode, and what the fallout would be, but he was a little too drunk to care. "She's crazy about you. Why do you think she puts up with all your crap?" Wilson's lips were getting looser and looser, as was his brain. "She wants to marry you; she wants to have your babies." He blanched as he pictured what House's children would be like.

"Shut up." House grumbled. He needed time to process what Wilson had said. He was usually very perceptive. How did he miss this? Cuddy was in love with him? No way; but….no, can't be.

Wilson realized he'd struck a nerve. "You like her too, don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. This is Cuddy we're talking about. I can't like Cuddy?"

"Why not?" Wilson thought it was a fair question.

"It's…Cuddy."

"She's not an it, she's a she, and very much so." Wilson pictured her in his head. Yeah, she was definitely a woman.

"But, she's still Cuddy."

"Not if you marry her, then she'd be House. Two House's. Wow, that's crazy." Wilson hadn't noticed the last two glasses of scotch he'd drunk. They had slid down his throat when he wasn't looking. Now he was far beyond buzzed. He was entering that happy place where everything seems funny. "Hello, House, yes House. You've reached the House residence, the doctors House can't come to the phone…" He stopped when the pill bottle hit him in the head. "What'd ya do that for?" He rubbed the spot where the bottle made contact with his scull.

"I said shut up." When Wilson had first arrived on his doorstep, House didn't want the company, but now he was glad his friend had come over, even if he was driving him nuts.

Before Wilson arrived, House had been well aware that he was slipping into a deep depression. He could feel it closing in around him. He had felt helpless to stop it. He wasn't sure he'd wanted to stop it.

There was a comfortable familiarity in his depression. It was like a warm blanket that protected him from the cold. He understood that it really wasn't about Stacy. He hated her for what she'd done, and House was not a forgiving man. It was just that she brought with her so many painful memories. Memories of the worst event in his life, but also memories of some of his happiest days. His memories were riddled with regret, and it was that regret that had pushed him into the darkness.

Once the darkness came, it blotted out the present, and held him warm in the clutches of the past. He forgot about his friends, his work, everything that kept him going. All he wanted to do was linger in his mistakes, and punish himself for every one of them. He didn't want help, he wanted to stay in this dark hole forever.

"House," Wilson's voice brought him out of his own head. "I don't think I can make it home tonight." House looked a Wilson for a moment and saw him swaying slightly. He had had way too much to drink, and it would not be good for him to drive home. It wouldn't be the first time Wilson had slept on the couch. House kind of hoped it wouldn't be the last. He didn't know what he would do without Wilson's friendship. It was one of the few good things he had in his life, not that he would ever tell Wilson that.

House groaned as he lifted himself off the couch. It felt like he'd been there for years. Every bone in his body ached from inactivity. He gave a long stretch before reaching for his cane.

"See you in the morning." He told Wilson after helping him settle in.

"Night, House," Wilson mumbled into the pillow.