Sorry it's been a bit of a wait for this chapter! "The Babysitter" was distracting me and I was also waiting to see how recent episodes played out. Hopefully it is worth the wait. I know it's slow-moving, but I think that adds to the realism. Let me know! Comments and criticism most welcome.

Chapter 1

Saturday morning brought with it bleary eyes and a headache, and House went through his morning routine mechanically. Pain, pills, and after some blatant self-pity, a hot shower. All the while his thoughts were still occupied with what had been circling his mind prior to Wilson's unannounced visit.

He thought again of that seemingly selfless act of Cameron's in his office. He wasn't stupid; he knew what Cameron's ploy had been designed to do. She had wanted him to come back begging. Had wanted him to lay prostrate before her, insist that whatever he'd had with Stacy was long over, that his dreams and his waking thoughts were all filled by her, instead.

He had always been better off alone. It was a tried and true fact. So how could he have been so deluded into thinking that dating Allison Cameron would have brought anything other than misery?

He paused in the middle of pulling on his shirt. Narrowing his eyes in self-disgust, he gave a little sigh and continued to dress. He was lying to himself about the motivations of one of the most honest women he'd ever met. Pathetic. Cameron didn't have angles. She didn't work through subterfuge or mind games. He at least owed it to her to think of her as she was and not as his conscience wanted her to be in order to sleep through the night.

It was wrong. She hadn't been the problem. What they'd had together had actually been working for him. He'd liked it, even though he didn't outright admit it. He was fairly certain that she'd liked it, given the way she had tangled her hands in his hair when they'd kissed after their fourth date.

No. It definitely hadn't been her. It had been him. And Stacy. Or rather, the idea of Stacy.

As calculating as he was, House had completely neglected to consider the ramifications of seeing Stacy outside of the hospital. Hell, Princeton was a big city; the odds that he would end up at the same restaurant as she would be virtually none, and yet, that was precisely what had happened. When he saw Stacy with Mark at Sangiovese and his mind just shut down. Before, his thoughts were occupied with work and games and soaps and Cameron. Now there was only Stacy.

Cameron had tried. Under normal circumstances he would have enjoyed the concert, and especially her company, but his mind had been focused on Stacy. Stacy the unattainable.

House sat at the foot of his bed and began pulling on his Shox.

Did he still love her or was she simply a conquest in his mind? To take control of the relationship between the two of them away from her, as she had taken control away from him so many years ago? Or was there another question there? The question about why things had ended, and whose fault it had really been, and was he any different now than he had been five years ago.

It wasn't the first time he'd asked himself those questions. He just never had any answers. This time was no different.

When she'd first arrived, begging her to help with her husband, he'd felt blindsided, and unprepared for the feelings that came along with seeing her again. Seeing her supposedly happily married. Then, in the background, had come Cameron's words and actions, freeing him from something they'd never even had, but at the same time forcing him to realize that he was never going to have anything with Stacy either.

He'd told himself that asking Cameron on that second date had been as much a test for himself as anything else. He could move on, dammit. He could have the most attractive woman in the hospital, and Stacy could sit in on her wheel-chair bound husband's therapy sessions and know that he had moved on from her. He hadn't quite expected to enjoy it. He hadn't expected to feel things he'd carefully compartmentalized and shut away along with his dreams of walking and running. He'd enjoyed himself and Stacy had slipped down to second place in his thoughts, kept there by his still-bitter need to antagonize her.

That had changed after that fifth date when he'd seen her eating with Mark in their old favorite restaurant, in their old favorite booth. They'd never gone there again after his infarction; he hadn't wanted to go anywhere. She'd had to drag him to physical therapy, and to hell with psychiatric therapy. He'd felt righteous and justified in his anger. He still felt that way, but now he wondered what would have happened if not for the infarction. Would they still be together or would he have found some other reason to push her away? What kind of man was he, really? Had he changed at all?

Maybe the need to know that was the largest part of what drove him now, although he told Wilson that it was all about Stacy and needing to know if she still loved him. Yes, he needed to know that, needed to know if those feelings had been real and if they still existed. He couldn't lie to himself. He still loved her, but when he tried to imagine a perfect world where Mark and Cameron didn't exist, he couldn't picture himself with her. Oh, he could picture the sex. That was easy. He had plenty of past experience to draw on, and the Playboy channel for more inspiration. But when he thought of them in quiet times, going places together, eating dinner, watching television… he couldn't quite put her into the blank space beside him… a space that Cameron had so recently occupied. The question of love was there, but there was much more to it than that. He needed to know what she thought about him so that he would know what he should think about himself.

Stacy seemed to consume him in a way that little had. She had somehow managed to lodge herself into his thoughts so completely that everything else was secondary. So completely that he had broken doctor-patient confidentiality and read her file from the hospital therapist. He wanted to get into her head as undeniably as she'd gotten into his. When he accomplished that, then he could decide his course of action. He could either take her or exorcise her completely. Either way, he knew that he would have to do it alone.

What a difference a day makes. The phrase was trite, perhaps because it was so often true. In fact, the difference in question took place over a week, but the feeling was the same. It had been a week of long-overdue discussions and pained looks; of pretending not to care while caring far too much; of bitter arguments and harsh realizations. House sat in his desk chair thinking about it all, and trying to let the throbbing pain in his leg numb him to all other pain. Unfortunately that only worked when the competing pain was also physical.

It was Friday morning, ten a.m., and House's last day as leader of his merry band of misfits. Foreman would be taking over on Monday, and while House was more than a little pissed off about that, surprisingly it wasn't at the top of his list of concerns. In fact he had a feeling he would have a good time annoying Foreman for a month. He'd been through worse in his medical career.

If he craned his neck, House could just barely see Chase and Foreman in the next room, talking and drinking coffee. The one remaining member of his team had called in sick. Cameron, the woman who hadn't taken a sick day since she'd been hired, and who had only taken a week of vacation when she was allotted three, had called in sick.

Of course she hadn't called him.

No, Cuddy had passed the information along as he'd stalked through the clinic pretending to be invisible. House could still see the look on her face. She'd actually looked sympathetic. As if she knew that there was something going on beyond a simple health scare, and as if she hadn't just recently handed the keys to his kingdom over to one of his court jesters. House clenched his jaw in memory of that look. She had no right to look sympathetic. And she had no reason to look sympathetic. He was fine. Everything was fine.

Right.

At least Chase was in; that probably meant that Cameron hadn't slept with him again.

Fuck.

It wasn't as if he had any claim on her. He'd as good as thrown her away. He hadn't even tried to talk to her after she'd laid herself open to him, telling him what she needed and what he needed to do if he wanted things to continue developing between them. He'd acted as if there had never been anything there to begin with. Distance was so much easier than actually dealing. He hadn't even so much as given her a supportive pat on the back as she'd walked through two days like a zombie. One in stiff-upper-lip shock and one in strung-out despair. Ignoring her was so much easier than admitting anything. So much easier than stopping to think that a future he'd spent time imagining could be over already. Concentrating on a damn sick rat was infinitely preferable to thinking about a terminally ill woman. A woman he had been busy feigning disinterest in. A woman he'd brushed off in favor of blind pursuit of the diagnosis of a long-dead relationship.

No wonder she'd slept with the fucking wombat.

And now she was out sick. A reaction to her new meds, or a reaction to his disgustingly selfish attitude? House wasn't sure which he'd prefer.

Long minutes passed with him hiding behind a patient's file. Thankfully people seemed to have decided to stay healthy at least for one day. There were no pages about new patients and no threats to revoke his privileges if he didn't report to the clinic. Cuddy had really stabbed herself in the foot by putting Foreman in charge. It certainly gave House much less incentive to stay on his best behavior… not that he ever did anyway.

He was tired of thinking and pulled out his gameboy and his iPod. Dual sensory overload was bound to prevent his mind from running in circles. He had just finished level seven of Metroid when a shadow fell over his desk. Wilson's shadow. He looked up and spared part of his attention for the man, even going so far as to turn down the volume.

"Coffee?"

Coffee. That was Wilson's code word for 'Wanna talk about it?'

"No. I'm fine," House replied, then held up his game, "and I'm on a roll."

"I'll buy. I'll even spring for a danish." More code, this time for 'C'mon. I'm just going to keep badgering you until you come.'

House sighed and shoved the gameboy into his desk. "Fine. But I'm getting the most expensive one they have."

"I figured as much."

They walked to the cafeteria in silence and House could only assume that Wilson was looking for an opportunity to make his opening gambit. House's current close-mouthed behavior wasn't giving him much to work with. Which was, of course, the point. They got their coffees, and pastries, with House selecting the plate-sized coffee-roll, and were heading back towards the elevator and they still hadn't said more than five words to each other.

Wilson rolled his eyes. If he let them get to the elevator he would have just wasted five dollars and fifty cents.

"I noticed Cameron's out today," he practically blurted out, apropos to nothing. "Must be her medication. She said the side-effects were bothering her."

The two men stepped onto the elevator and House glanced at Wilson out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah. Sick. How do you know so much about her, anyway?" House said, trying to keep the sarcasm up and the bitterness down.

"We've… talked," Wilson hedged, concentrating on his coffee. When he looked up, House was staring at him. "Don't look at me that way. Look in the mirror if you want to see the man who dumped her, and look at Chase if you want to see the guy who took advantage of her. I'm just the poor slob she talks to because no one else ever seems to listen."

House's gaze narrowed to a piercing stare that broke off as abruptly as it formed. "I listened," he muttered angrily.

"Yeah. Right. Was that before or after you stole Stacy's therapy notes? Maybe it was in between trips to her house and administering medical treatment to a rat."

"His name, is Steve."

Wilson shook his head and a short burst of derisive laughter sputtered out. "Sorry. I forgot that he's your new obsession. I hope you find the relationship fulfilling." Wilson actually stared House down. It was something he'd rarely had the opportunity to do. "You know, usually I feel bad for you. I figure you just don't know what the hell you're doing when it comes to people. But right now? You knew exactly what you were doing. You've dug this hole for yourself and you deserve to have it collapse around you. You know who doesn't deserve that? Dr. Cameron. The only thing she did was believe that you could actually turn into some semblance of a normal human being."

"Yeah, and who asked her to believe that?" House spit out. The last thing he needed was little Jiminy Wilson perching on his shoulder and making him feel guilty. "She rolled the dice and lost. Not my responsibility."

"House…" Wilson tried to back off but it was too late.

"Don't you have someone upstairs dying who is in desperate need of your soothing hand?"

Any words Wilson might have said died on his tongue, and he pressed his lips together, resigned. The elevator opened and House stepped out.

The shortening days meant that by four-thirty, House's office was completely shrouded in darkness save for the pale yellow light emanating from the stand-up lamp in the corner. House was sitting at his desk and the light didn't reach him. Two hours later he was still there with his iPod on and his head lolled against the back of the chair. It might have seemed that he'd fallen asleep, but close examination showed that his eyes were open and staring off into the middle-distance.

He was still at the hospital because he had no where better to be. That fact rarely bothered him, but tonight it did.

Damn Wilson.

In the hallway, fast moving footsteps neared and slowed. House kept his eyes fixed on an indeterminate spot on the wall.

"Greg?"

Well, this was a switch. Usually he was the one stalking her.

"Shouldn't you be home with your loving husband?"

"Yes, I probably should be. I had some paperwork to finish up."

"Someone else suing me?"

"Not this time," Stacy's expression held something approaching a wry grin as she stepped inside the office.

"Well, that's good. Wouldn't want to completely tap out that special fund Cuddy has for my legal fees. I'm gonna try to convince her to give the remainder to me as a Christmas bonus. Think she'll go for it?"

"I don't know. Probably won't be worth your effort though. I think there's only about a buck-fifty left in it."

"Good thing you'll work for me pro bono then." House finally swiveled around and looked at the woman who had betrayed him years ago and who still managed hold sway over his life.

Stacy moved across the room with unmistakable grace and lowered herself into House's easy-chair in one fluid motion. She was surrounded by light and he stared at her from the dark.

"For what it's worth," she said, "I'm sorry about the suspension."

House shrugged. "Not the first time and it won't be the last. Anyway, I'll have fun riding Foreman's ass."

A rich, throaty laugh was her response. "I'm sure you will."

"What are you doing here?" Stacy's laugh had cut through whatever this casual conversation had been. It was the same laugh she'd always had. A laugh he'd once enjoyed hearing. Now it hurt his ears. His eyes were hard and piercing and he leaned forward enough for the light to glint off of them.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I guess I just wanted to check on you."

"Thanks, but I don't think that's your job."

"Old habits die hard."

He scoffed and leaned back again.

"Greg, I'm not going to be here forever, and I don't want to leave thinking I've hurt you again."

A roll of his eyes and his chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth. "What happened to all that venom you had a few days ago?"

"I calmed down. I told you it hasn't been all bad."

"Right. It just hasn't been good enough for you to admit you'd prefer to be with me than with Marky-Mark."

"Is that really what you want to hear? You want me to leave Mark and rush into your arms declaring that I never stopped loving you?"

"That'd be a start."

"And then what?"

He was silent as he stared at her across the chasm of his desk. "Then I find out what went wrong the first time around," he said finally.

Stacy sighed and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "You mean besides me betraying you?"

"Yeah. Besides that," he said snappily.

"We were too alike, Greg. All hard edges and sharp tongues. I blamed you for making me lonely, but I wasn't any better. We were good for a while, but even without your infarction, you know it wouldn't have lasted. It would have blown up spectacularly, just the way it started except with lots of shouting instead of lots of sex."

One of House's eyebrows arched upwards in a lecherous sneer before smoothing out as the truthfulness of Stacy's words struck home. He'd been searching for a diagnosis, a reason for their terminal relationship status, and although he'd already known the diagnosis he hadn't admitted it. It had seemed safer to just assume it was something he'd done. Some flaw that made him incapable of carrying on a relationship. Such a flaw would then preclude him from getting involved again. Which would eliminate the chance that he would ever feel that chest-crushing defeat when he looked around a living room that looked as if a very selective burglar had passed through.

"What are you still doing here, Greg?" Stacy asked softly, drawing House back from his contemplation.

"I'm comfortable," he quipped.

"You wouldn't be more comfortable at home… or with someone?"

House's head shot up at those words and his stare latched onto Stacy's dark eyes.

"I'm not blind, Greg. I've seen how you two were looking at each other a few weeks ago. What happened?"

"None of your damn business."

"I'll take a guess and say she didn't appreciate you obsessing over me."

"I wasn't obsessing. I was irritating. Big difference," he snarked.

"No hard edges with her, Greg."

House huffed out a breath of air and rolled his eyes. "You'd be surprised," he said, then lowered his chin to his chest thinking about the little-known side of Cameron that he was privy to.

"Complex doesn't equal hard."

"Whatever." He was ready for this conversation to end. He didn't need dating advice from his ex.

Stacy sensed that she was about to overstay her welcome, and rose from her chair. That was one good thing about knowing House so well. She could still read him as well as ever.

"Don't stay here all night."

"I'll be home by curfew," House said with his usual sarcasm.

Stacy didn't reply, she just glided out of the room as smoothly as she'd entered it, shoes clicking lightly on the floor and echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway.

House stared at the pool of light where she'd been sitting, and then at the darkened conference room next door. He could see the dim outline of Cameron's bright white lab-coat hanging on the rack and wondered what she was doing and if she was really sick or just sick of him. He shoved his iPod in his pocket and rose stiffly to his feet, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual after hours spent in the same position. He didn't know where he was going, but it was time to leave.