Stacy watched him for a few seconds, then turned on her heel and pressed the close-door button. House was cut from sight by the sliding of the elevator doors, and she listened to his footsteps tapping away towards the cafeteria. Punching the button of her office floor, she took a deep breath as the elevator ascended. In retrospect, she thought, she really should eat something at some point.

With that intention, she slipped out for a Starbucks run. It took her all of fifteen minutes to get her coffee and Danish and to get back to the hospital, and no one noticed her absence. She felt better, refreshed, as she went back towards her office, to put in the first hour of work she'd have attempted all day. She hadn't eaten dinner the night before, or breakfast that morning, and if she'd skipped lunch as she'd almost intended, she would have been even more useless than she was currently.

As she turned the corner towards her office, she was greeted with the sight of a shadow seated at her desk. Eyes wide, Stacy threw up her hands in frustration, and charged towards him through the open doorway. "For god's sake," she cried, "I think I made it decently clear that I wanted you out of my chair. Don't you have work to do, people to terrorize, slander to spread, something?"

"No," came the voice from behind her desk. "Good morning to you, too."

Mark wasn't sitting Stacy's chair. Her chair was across the room, in the same place that she'd put it before while trying to get House away from her desk. Mark had wheeled himself forward, sitting next to, but not genuinely at her workstation, having left all of her papers and personal effects untouched. It was almost disturbing, Stacy thought, the lack of interest he had in where she'd been or what she was up to. Either he'd thrown her over already, or he didn't feel like he needed any help with the puzzle.

"Mark," she acknowledged, biting her lip.

"I think," began Mark conversationally, "That 'good afternoon' would be more appropriate, actually." He glanced at his watch. "What time did you get into work today?"

Stacy shook her head. "I'm not sure," she said. "The usual time, I suppose. Why?"

"Why?" echoed Mark. "Funny you should ask." He wheeled his chair around to face her, as if he was trying to close her in, frighten her face-to-face. Mark was laying on the impending doom with a trowel, Stacy thought. He'd never been a subtle man.

For the sake of stealing his thunder, Stacy drew herself up, and looked him squarly in the face. "I came in late to work today," she said. "I was up late last night being upset about some debacle that had happened at a restaurant, and I slept in this morning. I came in to work by lunch time. Will that suffice, Mark?"

Mark shook his head. "You weren't up last night 'being upset' he mimicked. "You were up last night entertaining old boyfriends. Or are you going to deny that, too?" He waited, she didn't say anything. "The whole office was talking about when I came in looking for you this morning. The nice girl on House's crew was all too happy to tell me everything."

Stacy stared at him. Did he mean Cameron? She couldn't imagine Cameron being the type to spread gossip to the husband, to knowingly make shambles of a marriage. Jealousy, she thought bitterly, would turn you in all sorts of directions. She took a deep breath, and opened her mouth to speak.

"No," said House, from the doorway, "she isn't going to deny it, but I am." Mark swung his chair around to face the intruder. Stacy watched House limp casually into the room, leaning his tall form up against the wall behind her desk. "Stacy came knocking on my door last night," he started, "pretty distraught about some fight she'd had with her husband." He paused. "She sat down and talked my ears off about it. " He shrugged. "You know how hysterical women are."

Mark looked stony. "So, it's all true anyway, then," he started. House ignored him, and continued conversationally as if Mark hadn't spoken.

"She came over," he continued, and then looked at her watch and told me she had a hotel reservation, she had to go." He paused, looking at Stacy. "I asked her to stay of course, used all the usual tricks, the normal, 'it's late, you're tired, you shouldn't be driving, why don't you just stay here for the night?' But no." House glanced back at Mark, with a little rueful smile, "she's a stubborn woman, our girl."

"She's not 'our' anybody," barked Mark, his shoulders heaving with rage in the face of his smirking adversary. "I swear to god if you don't stop coming on to my wife, I'll come back here and have you fired."

"Good luck," House nodded encouragingly. "You do that." He nodded in Stacy's direction. "Your wife'll tell you, you won't be the first and you won't be the last, and Doctor Cuddy will very likely join her forces with yours once she hears about your scheme to keep me out of this hospital."

Mark ignored him. "We're going home," he said to Stacy, reaching forward to grab her hand. Stacy wriggled free of his grip. "We've got stuff to talk about," Mark continued, "and I don't want you hanging around here anymore. I think this guy has made his intentions extremely plain."

"Yes," said Stacy angrily, "I know his. I only wish I had any idea what yours were." She stood up from her chair and stalked across the room, feeling House's eyes on her from where he stood in the corner.

Mark made a motion to start towards her. "Stacy," he insisted. She shook her head.

"I work here, Mark," she said. "I'm not going home with you."

"Stacy," mark tried again, wheeling himself forward, and taking her wrist in one oustretched hand. Stacy tried to wrench herself free, but he held fast, both beseeching and commanding her with the same look. "Stacy, we're leaving. We're leaving now."

"I think she said," House spoke up quietly from behind them, "that she wasn't going." Mark and Stacy both turned around to face him, surprised etched in Stacy's features, White-hot anger in Mark's.

"Stay out of it," Mark hissed. House shook his head.

"She said she's not leaving, Mark," he repeated. "I think you'd better go."

Mark sat there for a few moments, staring at House, who stared back, eyebrows raised. "You want to hit the cripple, Mark?" he asked. "Go right ahead. I probably can't stop you." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But I can sure as hell hit a cripple too. You knew that already. Morals are overrated."

Mark turned away. "Fine," he said, his back to Stacy. "If you want to stay here, you stay here as long as you want. But you'd better think really hard about coming home. Really hard, Mrs. Warner." He wheeled himself slowly out of the office, the sounds of his chair wheels clicking aginst the floor disappearing around the corner. Stacy and House listened, immobile, until they'd gone completely.

House stood up quietly and left the office, heading back towards his own. Stacy stared at the elevator across the hall, licking her dry lips slowly, her deep exhalations coming rigidly, haltingly from her open mouth.