Just before leaving, Stacy paid a long awaited call. Across the hall, in House's almost deserted office, Allison Cameron was putting papers into folders in her briefcase. She looked up when Stacy came in, and flinched immediately, before a word had been spoken. Stacy shook her head, disgusted.

"So," Stacy started, her tone level. "I guess you've decided in some back corner of your melodramatic mind that this has become war between us, haven't you." Cameron stared at her. Unchallenged, Stacy continued. "I don't want any part of your little games, and I don't care how you feel about any individual in this office. My business is my business and my business alone."

Cameron looked away, returning to her papers. "With all due respect, Mrs. Warner, I was asked a simple question and I gave a simple answer."

Stacy smoldered. "A simple answer?" She came around in front of Cameron, forcing Cameron's eyes in her direction. "You simply threw away my marriage, you simple little girl!" Cameron looked hurt, and angry. Stacy unconsciously reveled in it. The worst feeling, she thought, was anger that wasn't requited.

"He doesn't deserve to be flung around like this," Cameron started. "He's a grown man, not some sort of prize, not something to play with when you're bored of your husband." She made as if to step around her chair and leave, but Stacy blocked her way.

"That's right," countered Stacy, remaining where she was. "He's a grown man. He's not your baby; he's not your charge. He doesn't need you to protect him."

"No?" asked Cameron, with a deep breath. "Well, no one else around here is going to do it. It's sure as hell apparent that you're more of a threat than a comfort, and he's not a rock, he's not as unfeeling as he comes across."

"I know that," barked Stacy, "I was with him once, remember?"

"That's what I thought." Cameron shook her head. "But I guess it's easy to forget, isn't it." And with that, she stepped around Stacy, threw her bag over her shoulder, and left the office, her heels clicking as she made her exit as quickly as she could. Stacy stood in place, staring at the ground, chewing on her lip.

Later that night, Stacy was knocking on House's door again, this time with a paper bag of Chinese food in hand. It took him a little longer to answer the door this time. He met her there with a tired, almost surprised look.

"Hi," she said. "I brought dinner."

House let her in, and she sat on the same couch on which she'd slept the night before, taking out Styrofoam containers and laying them out on the carpet. "Beef and chicken," she said, when House raised a questioning eyebrow. "I wasn't sure which you'd prefer."

"Look, Stacy," he started, but she cut him off.

"I called Mark after work," she said, with a shrug. "He didn't pick up the first two times, and I finally got him on the third. He asked me if I was coming home, and I said no. He asked me why, and I said I wasn't sure and that I had to think about it." She paused. "He didn't ask me where I was going this time."

"Stacy," House tried again, "this isn't a good idea." He glanced dubiously at the chicken that she'd speared on her fork. "And that doesn't look cooked."

"It's fine," she said. "I thought you liked to live dangerously."

House made a face, his fingers closing on his leg as he took a deep breath. Stacy frowned at him, sliding closer to him on the couch. House arched himself away from her, tending to his leg, eyes downcast.

"Does it hurt?" Stacy asked. House rolled his eyes.

"Of course it hurts," he muttered. "I'm not going to lose sleep over it." He paused. "I hope," he added, glaring at his leg. "Sleep is for the weak, anyway."

"Maybe," Stacy suggested gingerly, "You should take something for it." House glared at her, and she put up her hands in a protective, shielding gesture. "Only if it hurts that much, you know? There's no reason to suffer for principal alone."

"I'm not ''suffering for principal,'" House growled. "Principal is for idiots and crusaders. I'm kicking an addiction. I told you, I hate dependency."

"Dependency isn't going to kill you," Stacy countered, "at least not this one, and it's not as if you don't need it." She edged a little closer to him, and placed her hand on the spot where he was clutching his leg. House flinched away from her and she dropped her hand.

"There are a lot of things that won't kill you that still aren't good for you," House said, releasing the leg and propping it up on the arm of the chair. He looked at Stacy, shrugging. "Have to start somewhere."

Stacy stared at him for a long time. "Greg," she said, "I'm not going back to Mark tonight." She waited for a response, but when she got none, she tried again. "I'm not going back to Mark at all. Not with things the way they are."

House shook his head. "Yes, you are," he started, but Stacy shook her head at him, raising a finer to her lips for silence.

"No," she insisted, "I'm not. I don't want to."

House ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck, averting his gaze. "Stacy," he said, "You're going back to Mark, because you made a mistake once, and I know you well enough to know that you're not going to make it again. You're too smart for that, and you're going to get off of my couch, turn yourself around, and go home."

"You're right," Stacy said, "I'm not going to make the same mistake again." She reached out a hand for his, but he twitched his away. Frustrated, she reached down and picked a piece of beef out of the container at her feet, stuffing it into her mouth as she stared at the far wall. House sighed.

"I'm a lost cause," he started. "I'm ornery and fussy and self-obsessed. And I'm never going to change; I'm too old to learn new tricks. You said it yourself, Stace, people don't change, no matter how much you want them to."

"I don't care," Stacy insisted. "I don't want you to change."

"Yes, you do," House shook his head. "You're going to want a family man, just like Mark was, before the injury, you're going to want someone to comfort you when you come home at the end of the day, someone who likes to laugh at your jokes. I'm not that guy, I'm not the prince riding towards the light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm even less a fallback man, Stacy." He watched her, watched her expression display her coping with this rejection. "You don't want me, and you'll remember it later when things aren't so bad at home." He looked away. "Go home, now."

"You're wrong," Stacy began, but House wasn't listening. He had his back to her, his fingers drumming along his leg where she knew the pain kept shooting through it. Silently, she stood up and left, the door clicking closed behind her as she went. As she left, she could hear the sounds of a scale being pounded out on the piano.