A couple of people, correctly but post-emptively, commented that this story should be betaed despite the fact it was marked as FIRST DRAFT. I have now posted the corrected chapters of LEGACIES AND LOLLIPOPS.

I thank Taruia for so kindly offering to edit my work. You will see how much a good editor gives to a writer's work without imposing their own words or attitudes on the text. Taruia is a fine editor and she is also the person who provides us with those invaluable transcripts of HOUSE MD at http/malaquent. . I also thank MacNMolly for her invaluable information on microdiscectomy spine surgery.

This story is a continuation of my previous fic "Breakfast with an Orang Utan" therefore the characters behave in character with their shared experiences in that fiction as well as their shared experiences at PPTH as seen on HOUSE MD. All characters from the series HOUSE MD are the property of the producers.

LEGACIES AND LOLLIPOPS - Part Three

Written by Magdala

Editor/Beta Taruia

PART THREE

I felt gentle hands placed on my shoulders and reluctantly I turned from watching Greg sleep to look into Wilson's concerned face.

"He should sleep for a couple of hours, Stacy. Is there anything you need to do?"

Like face my life? Like call my husband? Like drive two hours to finish dinner with the group of schoolteachers who Mark counted as his friends? Sure I needed to do all of that, but what I needed more than anything was to be with Greg. Greg was what I needed. He had always been what I needed, from the moment I met him, and now probably for the first time I knew he needed me.

"No there's nothing I need to do," I said too sharply.

"Stacy. I'm not judging you," he said.

"Sorry, Jim. Really, I am sorry."

He guided me away from the bed and out of the room so we could talk without the fear of disturbing Greg or being overheard.

"Is this my fault Jim?"

"No Stacy it just happened," I could tell that he was concerned not just for Greg, but for me as well.

"You think it's more than a disc though?"

"At least we know it's not another aneurysm, but there are a few things we have to rule out."

"Like cancer?" I asked.

"Not necessarily. The reason I am treating him is that in oncology we are experienced in dealing with breakthrough pain. It has to be dealt with quickly. It can't be under treated, because then it develops into chronic pain and he has enough of that already."

"So he won't suffer like he did last time?"

"I hope not. Stacy are you going to be able to stay around?"

I nodded.

"Marital lies aren't all that easy. I should know." Wilson said with a humorless smile. "He needs you, Stacy. He won't push you away again."

"You don't know that," and nor did I.

"I guess I don't, but I want you here," said Wilson.

"I thought you would want me anywhere but here." I had always assumed that Wilson was jealous of my relationship with Greg, and I thought deep down, that he blamed me for the decision that had compromised Greg's life and happiness.

"All I want is for House to recover, and for that to happen, he will need to want to. I don't think he will want to unless you are here, Stacy."

"I still love him." I said, and as my tears started to fall he took me in his arms.

"I know. I know."

Jim Wilson's friendship with Greg was utterly selfless; it always had been, but this was the first time I really understood.

"He is very worried about that letter he received from that law firm," he said finally.

"What letter from a law firm?" I had heard nothing about this.

"The one on his desk, the one addressed to the two of you. The one with the photographs. Could you take a look at it?"

"Yes. Can it be brought up here?" I didn't want to get too far away from Greg at this point.

"Better not just in case it is a real concern. You have a full hour until he wakes.

"Singapore was much more than breakfast with a monkey, wasn't it?" He continued after a moment's pause.

"It was our honeymoon, Jim."

"You weren't...?" Jim looked at me intently.

"No we were going to get married when we got back home. But then the infarction happened and I used the proxy. He told me to forget all about Singapore ... and I did. I totally forgot it..." That was exactly what had happened.

"Until you smelt his after shave five years later," he said. It wasn't a question.

I nodded.

"You realize what you are describing? Erasing such an important memory is a symptom of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome." Again I could hear the concern that laced his words.

"No I didn't."

"I didn't realize just how much you'd been hurt. I'm sorry Stacy. Are you sure you are going to be up to this?"

"Quite sure. Absolutely sure. Don't push me away."

"I won't push you away. You have my word. I just wish I could speak for House." We both knew the man far too well to think that this would be easy.

"It's his choice. I will never interfere with his choice again." I squeezed Wilson"s hand. "I'll go and check that letter."

"I'll call you if he wakes."

I leant against the back wall of the lift and closed my eyes the way that Greg did. Post Traumatic Stress, that explained a lot, I had handled a couple of pro-bono cases for veterans of Afghanistan and Iraq. We had an automatic affinity but I hadn't realized why. When the door of the lift opened I stopped thinking about myself.

Dr. Allison Cameron was in Greg's office. She was using his computer, and when I entered, she immediately looked up with a guilty half-smile.

"I'm just answering some of his letters. I haven't touched that one that is addressed to you as well. I promise."

"It's okay. I am just going to look at it now" I said.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's asleep right now Dr. Wilson is with him." I pulled the package towards me seeing the English stamps with the Queen's head on them. I looked for a while at the first line of the address. 'To Dr. Gregory House and Mrs.Stacey House c/o' I thought I would open the covering letter from Lethbridge and Hawkes Solicitors first. I knew the address well; it was in the City of

London just near the Inns of Court.

"You don't often see this," I said to Cameron turning the envelope round so she could see the red blob at the point of closure.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Sealing wax. This is a very traditional firm. Does Greg have a letter knife?"

"I doubt it. He hates opening mail."

"This'll do," I said spotting a nail file lying on the desk. Greg must have had the same thought about preserving the seal before the pain hit him. Then I noticed he had opened the envelope. I removed the letter, which though computer generated was on thick decal-edged paper. Greg had obviously read some if not all of it. It advised us of the death of their client Audrey

Tillson and explained how Mrs. Tillson had lived in a free-hold property owned by Mrs. Phillipa Fox-Robinson, which now on her death was bequeathed to Dr. Gregory House and Mrs. Stacy House in accordance with the wishes of late Mrs. Fox-Robinson.

Together with the letter was a copy of the title deed to the property and a photocopy of a letter legally written accepted as a codicil to her will, signed by Phillipa, and witnessed by the manager and a member of staff of the Mandarin hotel in Singapore. That and the letter she wrote to me must have been the last two things that Phillipa did in Singapore before she died. I realized I had left my brief case in Greg's office, so I placed the letter and the deeds in it.

Then I spread out the photographs on Greg's desk and looked at them. Most of them were of Greg and myself, or Greg and Phillipa, or the four of us and of course the baby Orang Utan. Then there were several photographs of a charming house set in a romantic garden. It had two stories and immediately I knew Greg would never live there I put those photographs with the deeds in the briefcase.

I noticed Cameron looking over trying not to appear to be snooping. Her interest was in Greg dancing with me.

"I lied to you about Greg. When you asked me what he was like before the infarction. I said he was about the same that wasn't true. He was totally different. Totally."

"I thought so." She said with relief.

"He's been cruel to you hasn't he?"

"It's not his fault," said Cameron leaping to Greg's defense.

"It doesn't make it alright though."

"Do you want to look at these photographs?" I asked her.

"Is it alright?"

"I don't see why not," I said. It was better for her to see them, than to wonder about them and possibly ask Greg about them later.

Foreman entered with the news that Greg was awake and wanted to see everyone.

"I was told not to go up there by Dr. Cuddy," Cameron said, clearly wanting to go, but trying not to be completely obvious.

"Well House said the whole team and the white board. Oh and you too, Mrs Warner."

Cameron took charge of the white board knowing that if she had hold of it, her entry to Greg's room was guaranteed.

I smiled at Foreman's retreating back as I picked up the photographs. Clearly in Foreman's eyes I fell way below the white board in importance.

I picked up my brief case and followed them out, closing the door behind me.

I turned for the lift as the doors slid shut. Foreman and Cameron were not waiting for me.

But when I reached the floor and headed down the corridor towards Greg's room, they were waiting outside with the white board. It was Foreman who spoke first.

"Doctor Wilson said you were to go right in."

I had expected to find Greg sedated and relatively pain free, but that was not how it was. He was obviously in intense pain; and his hands were clenching and unclenching on the sheets. He was pleased to see me, but as he spoke my name it sounded more like a stifled cry. He reached for my hand with his cannular free hand. I was beside him in an instant, his hand in mine.

"Greg I cannot believe you are rejecting drugs," said Wilson.

"I know, I know. You have to treat the patient appropriately and deal acute pain before it facilitates the remodeling of the nervous system," he was gasping; the words coming in spurts rather then full sentences.

"Greg please," begged Wilson.

Wilson only called him Greg when he was desperately worried.

"Just enough to take off the edge. Not so much that I can't think. We have to find the underlying cause ... all of it."

"That's what the white board is for?" I asked, gently stroking over his knuckles and down his long slender fingers.

"Yeah and Dr. Mandingo, the wombat, and the little girl. I need their input."

"Go easy on Dr Cameron. Don't be sexist, Greg"

"So I should just stick to racist should I?"

"You're rehearsing"

"Yeah," but the pain was getting to him. "God it hurts," he gasped.

Wilson drew up the drug.

"Show me," Greg commanded, and Wilson showed him the amount in the syringe. Greg nodded and Wilson injected the drug via the cannula.

"Won't I be in the way?" I asked.

"No," said Greg his eyes closing for a moment. "I need you."

The only other time I had heard him use those three words together was when he said, "I need you to talk to the doctor." That was when he wanted me to ask them to put him into a drug-induced coma. I had failed him then by exceeding his instructions. Now I was going to do whatever he wanted me to do, even if it killed him, because this time I knew it had to be his choice.

I kissed his hand, that beautiful hand, which had once caressed every part of me.

I heard Greg talking to Wilson his voice still catching, as the drug had not kicked in. "Give us a minute, then let them in."

I felt Wilson's hand squeeze my shoulder comfortingly as he replied to Greg. "Will do."

Greg turned his face towards me. Those blue eyes held me.

"Did you look at that letter?"

"Uh huh and it's nothing to worry about." I tried to sound as reassuring as possible.

"Are you sure?"

"Trust me I'm a lawyer. Seriously, it's completely straightforward."

"I haven't changed my will since you left, Stacy"

I winced. I couldn't stand hearing him talking about his will. I did not want to be told I was still heir to everything; including the piano and no doubt Steve the rat.

"Stop worrying about who will look after Steve. For the sake of that little rat just concentrate on what is happening to you, darling. That's all that matters. What is it you and the team have to do?" I tried to hide the fear that was slowly creeping up on me.

"Find the underlying cause; all of it, everything. It's going to be tough,

darling. Really tough."

I nodded. "I'll try not to cry, promise."

"Please, because that might make me cry too. And I don't want to look like an idiot in front of my staff."

Wilson looked down at his friend.

"If you're making jokes does that mean you're ready to face the troops?"

Greg nodded, even though he was far from being pain free.