House was playing solitaire when the knock on the door came. He abandoned the half-hearted game immediately, sighing as he looked down at his watch. Ten o'clock at night. There was no one who'd be calling at ten o'clock at night who he'd have any interest in seeing. Then again, he realized, there was no one he knew who'd be calling at ten o'clock at night either way.

He crossed to the door, and put his hand out towards the knob. Before he could reach it, the knock came again, a little more forceful this time, more urgent. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he called. "What do you want?"

"Greg?" Stacy sounded tired, nervous. "Greg, can I come in? I know it's late, but you're not sleeping."

House undid the lock, and opened the door, allowing Stacy full view of his home. The entrance room was littered with papers, some of which where half-torn, strewn about the floor and countertops. The piano itself was covered in dog-eared books and sticky notes. The closet, visible through the open living room door, was the only thing in the house that seemed to be organized.

"It's a mess in here," Stacy announced, surprised.

House snorted. "You're welcome," he said. What are you doing here?"

Stacy looked at him. "You're a mess, too," she said, unconsciously reaching out and brushing his hair back from his face. A now too familiar unconscious shiver ran through House's body, unnoticed by Stacy. "This is unlike you."

"People change," House replied helplessly, gesturing to her dress. "You, on the other hand, look very nice. Did you come marching into my house in the middle of the night to try and seduce me with your little green dress and your new stilettos? Or can I help you with something?" He paused. "Either one works for me, don't be shy."

"I don't know," Stacy said with a sigh.

House looked at her quizzically. "Well, that makes two of us," he said. "Or do you know, and you just don't want to say?"

"I really don't know," Stacy said firmly, glaring at him. "I didn't come here to seduce you, if that's what you mean. I just. Wanted to come over, that's all."

"I just wanted to come over, that's all," House mimicked her gently. He paused, his blue eyes searching her face for some key to the trauma. "How often have you "just wanted to come over" in the past couple of months? The past year? Or is that why you were surprised to see that my room was a mess?"

Stacy ran one hand across her face in a nervous gesture. "I got a hotel room for the night," she said.

House raised an eyebrow. "The last time you said that to me you were trying to convince me to get into bed with you. Are you sure-!"

She cut him off mid sentence with a frustrated exhalation. "Yes, I'm quite sure, and now I'm started to wish I hadn't come. I just wanted to talk, that's all, I just wanted somewhere to go. I'm sorry if it's too much trouble to entertain me if I won't sleep with you."

There was silence for a moment, before House took her elbow and led her over the couch, where he let her seat herself. "You're just lucky I found a free moment from my Cassanova-esque social schedule," he chided, inducing a snort of laughter. "You fought with Mark again?"

"We didn't fight," she said staunchly. House waited. She tried again. "We didn't fight, we just didn't…do anything. We're not fighting, butwe're not speaking, we're not upset with each other, but we're not entertaining each other's company. We're just not." She laughed derisively. "That certainly made a lot of sense, didn't it?"

"Sure it did," House said with a shrug. "He's moody and you're frustrated. He's withdrawing, and you're doing that adorable reaching-out thing that you always try to do when someone just wants more than anything to be alone. Cute, misguided, and endearing."

He paced back and forth idly in front of her as he spoke, and Stacy watched his gait, watched his prideful compensation for his injury, watched his lack of shame, his arrogant, obnoxious, disturbingly sensual confidence. "Somehow," she said, "I don't think Mark finds it quite so endearing."

"Of course he does," House retorted. "He's just afraid of you."

Stacy blinked. "Afraid of me? I'm not that scary. I mean, I'm dangerous with a rolling pin, but I'm not that intimidating."

House shook his head. "Sure you are," he said. "You're confident, collected, together. You can walk, you can reach physical levels that he doesn't feel he ever will. And he's in love with you. He hates it, but he is. You scare the shit out of him, because you have things he never will, and one of those things is you."

Stacy stared at the floor. "You're not making sense," she said.

House nodded. "Yes I am," he replied. "Who'd know better than I would?"

He left the area of the sofa and crossed to the piano, sitting down and caressing the keys with one long finger as he continued the conversation, not looking at Stacy. "Mark needs compensation, like anyone does. He thought you would be the key to that compensation, but you're not. He doesn't know what to do with that, how to cope with it. It's a perfectly human response."

He started to play, and Stacy closed her eyes and let herself sink back into the sofa. When she opened them, she saw that House was leaning into the keys, playing more lightly than she'd ever imagine such a forceful man would. He didn't look at her as he did so, nor did he give any sign of expression for her to work off of. He simply played gently until she felt the tension in her neck and back begin to relax of it's own volition.

"What is this?" She asked, after a few moments of enjoying that relaxation.

"Bach's Piano Concerto in A Minor," House replied, not looking at her. "Not my favorite, but easier to learn with a full working schedule."

"I like it," Stacy said, resting her chin in her hands. "I really do."