She was standing in his office doorway three hours later, reminding House his of his co-workers' favorite pastime – office gossip. He wrinkled his nose in mock confusion over Stacy's smugly sweet smile, and leaned towards her in his rolling chair. "And what can I do for you? I'm sorry, I just don't think I can fit a quickie into my schedule, but if you're insistent, come back in an hour and I'll see what I can do."

"No thanks," she replied. "Three hours is just too long. I'll just pop by Wilson's office and see if he has a moment."

"Ew," said House. He watched her for a moment, taking in the loose tendrils of her hair, her almost starkly upright posture, her nervous hands. She looked beautiful, and like she hadn't been sleeping. "How are you?" He asked. "You look…"

"Well?" She asked. "No, I wouldn't expect that from you, too mundane, too predictable. Cuddy says I look well. I think I look messy."

"Tired," House finished, as if she hadn't spoken. "Have you been sleeping?"

"If that's a slow way to a vulgar question, then yes, I've been sleeping just fine." She glowered at him, and then shivered unexpectedly, a chill running through her. She glanced down, noticing that she was standing over the office air vent. House chuckled.

"You'd look less weather-beaten if you didn't stand on the air vent. Just a thought."

"Well," she replied, "Next time I'm trying to impress you, I'll remember that."

"Nah," House said, shaking his head. "You won't."

Stacy stared at the ground for a long moment, running her fingers over the back of her neck in an unconscious nervous gesture. House stood up and crossed over to her, lifting her hand gently from behind her head and pushing it down. "Don't do that," he reminded. "Someday you'll break the skin, and it's not like we've got band aids just lying around, her. Where do you think you are?"

"I heard a rumor," she said, as his fingers lingered over hers, "That you're trying to kick the habit."

"Wherever might you have heard that," House mock-mused. Stacy snorted.

"He doesn't think you can do it."

House shrugged. "I think he's right." He crossed to the other side of his desk, and placed his hand over the spot where his bottle of pills used to reside. "I don't know why I decided to embark on this endeavor in the first place.

"Because it's good for you," Stacy suggested. House shook his head.

"Because," he said, "and I'm going to let you in on a little secret. The depths of the mind of Doctor Gregory House; things you wanted to know, and things you didn't. Are you writing this down?"

"Mental note," smiled Stacy. "What's the big secret?"

"Drug dependency." He shrugged. "I hate drug dependency, I think it's weak, obnoxious, and costly"

Stacy snorted. "You're a doctor who hates drugs."

"Not drugs," House shook his head. "Drugs are good for you. When they're not good for you, at least they're fun, and don't we all need a little more pep and joy in our lives." He bit his lip. "Nope, it's the dependency that I can't stand. The lack of self-sufficiency. If you can't do it yourself, getting hooked on the drug is not the answer. And I say that with a straight face. Or at least as straight a face as I can throw together."

"So." Stacy put a hand on his shoulder, and relished the shiver that ran through him as she did so. "What's the next phase of plan No-More-Dependency?"

"Well," House sighed, "We'll see what happens after the first week, I guess."

Stacy smiled. "You're not going ot say something like "No matter what I do, don't let me start up again, no matter how many times I beg you," are you," she asked.

"Nope." Said House. "Definitely not."