OCTOBER

"Greg? You need any help in there?"

House didn't answer. He knew Stacy would either ask again or come looking for him. Possibly both. Instead he concentrated on the knot that had worked itself into his shoelace. He tried to force his fingernails under one side of the knot, then gave up and tried to loosen the other.

He'd first found the knot the night before when he got undressed. He had tried to loosen it then, but his leg had been acting up all day, and protested the amount of time he had sat there, bent over it. He'd finally just given up and pulled the shoe off of his right foot and tossed it into the closet.

"Greg?" Stacy's voice came from somewhere in the hallway. She had been in the kitchen the first time.

"I'm OK," he called back. No reason to start a fight over something as simple as this. It had actually been more than two weeks since their last major quarrel -- with no real blood drawn since his parents had visited.

Maybe it was the one good thing that had come from that long weekend as he and Stacy united against a common enemy: his father. When John House had suggested that maybe Greg was still on the crutches because he wasn't following the therapists' instructions, Stacy had come to his defense.

"If he'd just been doing everything the therapists wanted, he might still be in a wheelchair," she'd said. "He's working harder than you could ever imagine."

His father had no response.

"You've always worked hard for everything you've ever wanted," his mother had said.

That night, after they were alone, Stacy had brought them both a glass of wine.

"I need it," she said. "And I didn't feel like drinking alone."

Maybe their victory over the old warrior had finally joined them into some kind of a truce.

Oh, they'd still bicker -- just as always -- but now the edges had finally worn smooth. They were almost comfortable. Stacy no longer seemed as brittle as she had been. She had cut back on the number of cigarettes she'd sneak, and seemed to finally trust him to handle his own meds. And somehow he was even finding it easier to look at her and not think about the decision she'd made.

For months, House had tried to tell himself that there were others far more at fault than Stacy for what had happened -- the original clinic doctor, those involved in the follow-ups, Cuddy, even himself. But the others weren't here, and he was finding it easy to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. Stacy was there. Every day. He tried to tell himself he didn't really blame Stacy for what had happened, but he couldn't quite seem to get past the anger either, despite this new détente.

And he wanted to get past it. He wanted to lay the blame elsewhere. He wanted things to go back to the way they were. He wanted the two of them to go back to the way they had been.

He had never expected things to be perfect -- even before the infarction -- but now he was just hoping that somehow everything could go back to normal.

But things weren't normal. They never could be again. Everything normal had been cut out of his life and turned into ash and dust in the medical incinerator along with that dead piece of his thigh muscle.

But sometimes he could begin to sense something of the way things had been before.

There were evenings when Stacy would set aside her work and sit beside him. Nights when she would point out some shadowed face in the crowd from the TV news footage at a campaign event. She'd lean over and share some tidbit from her days in D.C. of life inside the political bubble -- knowing how he loved gossip and knowing how her stories of scandals had always made him laugh.

There were days when he'd find something interesting in a journal article, link it to the the details of some past case and begin to see the outlines of a new approach to diagnosing an illness or treating one. There were days he'd get a call or e-mail from an old colleague looking for information -- days when he could forget himself and concentrate on the problem.

And there were nights when he and Stacy would wrap themselves around each other, finding new ways their bodies could fit together.

But now it was morning, and House found himself wondering again if today would be the day that new sense of normality would shatter.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, the shoe on his lap, House could hear Stacy's steps in the hall, then sense her presence in the bedroom even before she spoke.

"What's taking so long this time?" she asked from the doorway.

He held up his shoe.

"I think we need to hire an exorcist," he said. "Something has been sneaking into the closet and messing with my shoes again."

"Well you know, we could always have my mother stay for a few days." Stacy took the shoe from him and studied the knot. "She'd be bound to scare off all those demons you've got keeping the skeletons company in the closet."

"Never mind the demons. I'll leave."

"Coward." She handed the shoe back to him.

"What, you're not even going to try?" House still held it out to her. "Fingernails like those ought to make short work of this puny knot."

"Fingernails like these aren't worth breaking for your Nikes," she said.

Stacy went in the closet and House returned his attention to the knot.

"Here," she said, walking out from the closet with another pair of shoes in her hands. "Wear these instead."

House glanced at them, then looked away. "They don't match my outfit," he said. The last time he'd worn those had been three days before his leg began aching, during a long run out on the trails with Wilson.

Stacy looked them over. "There's nothing wrong with them, come on."

"I've nearly got this," he said.

"We're going to be late," Stacy said.

"You're going to be late. I've got plenty of time."

"You've got your blood tests scheduled for first thing this morning, then an appointment in ortho."

"I know that. I'm not an idiot," he said and looked back down at the lace. "But I go in with you and I'm stuck twiddling my thumbs for an hour before the labs open -- then there's another two hours to kill until PT."

"You could hang out with James." Stacy still held his running shoes out to him.

House shrugged. "He's got rounds. No one wants to miss rounds." He could still remember the morning shortly after surgery when he'd woken groggy from the meds to find a collection of students and residents crowding into his room.

"Just put these on, and let's go," Stacy said. "I don't want to be late."

House glanced down at the shoe in his lap again and smiled as the knot finally came loose. "Hah!" He looked up at Stacy. "And you doubted me."

"Fine. All is right in the world. Just put them on, and let's go."

House pushed himself up from the bed and took one of the two crutches leaning against the wall to his left. "Got to pee," he said. "I'll be just a minute -- unless you'd rather go on without me. Don't worry. I'll call a cab."

He didn't need to see Stacy to know her reaction as he set off for the bathroom using just the one crutch under his right arm. He'd been proud when he found he could make it a few steps around the condo without the hassle of handling both crutches. Stacy considered it an unnecessary risk, but at least she had stopped the verbal nagging -- instead using body language to make her point quite clear.

He could write a dictionary defining her moods based on the way she held herself -- how she rolled her eyes, the way she'd tap her fingers or toes, the cross of her arms and the tilt of her head. And each movement seemed to signal to him that somewhere, deep down, something was still off-balance with her, and with them, despite every temptation to find comfort in their new routines.

"This is your two-minute warning, Greg," she called through the door. "I am not about to field calls from every department asking why you're not there."

Thirty minutes later, she was wishing she had let him have his own way.

"Would you just sit there and be quiet? Read or something, would you?"

"I didn't bring anything to read. You got anything good?"

"Law books. Lots of them. Which I need to go through."

"Sounds boring."

"Then go get something from the gift shop."

"What, and give up all this close personal attention I'm getting now?"

The phone rang before she could respond. She recognized the incoming number on the display. "Great," she said. "Now my morning is complete." She picked up the handset. "Hi Mom."

House watched her lean down towards the phone, propping her head up on one elbow.

"This weekend? I think we're busy."

House leaned back against the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. There was a water spot there -- a brown discoloration that had seeped halfway across the white acoustic tile. He tried to remember what was above Stacy's office, and wondered where the spill came from.

"Yes, I know I haven't been over to visit, but you know I've been tied up with a couple of cases," Stacy said.

Pediatrics used to be somewhere up there, before it moved into the new wing, House recalled.

"Mom, I'm sorry, but can I call you back?" Stacy said.

House thought about heading upstairs before his appointment with Simpson and see what was directly above Stacy's office, but remembered he'd have to pass the infectious diseases office -- his office -- on the way there. Midmorning they'd just be finishing up a staff meeting, everyone spreading out through the halls -- a gantlet of fake smiles and useless exchanges of well wishes and pleasantries.

House pulled the Game Boy out of his backpack and turned it on, the beeps bouncing off the walls of the small office.

"Mom, this really isn't a good time." Stacy was looking at him, so House looked back down at his screen. "Yes, I'll remember to call. Tonight, OK? I'll call tonight after dinner."

He heard her hang up the phone. "Hey, I know. They've got magazines down in the waiting room."

"Read them all."

Stacy crossed the room to where he sat on the couch in a few short steps. She grabbed the Game Boy from his hands before he could react and stood there looking down at him. "Go read them again."

"I wasn't done with that," he said and held out his hand.

Stacy went back to her desk and tossed the game into a drawer. "Consider it a hostage. Behave yourself today, and I'll think about giving it back."

"I could just order another one, you know."

"But that'll take days to get here. Which means that this morning? Pure peace and quiet."

"Fine, fine." He grabbed the crutches and stood, then grabbed his bag. "I'll know if you're just hogging it to try and beat your best score, though."

"Go. Now."

"Going."

He opened the door and was turning to pull it closed when she looked up at him again. "Greg? I'll pick you up after PT. Wait for me there."

"Don't worry. I think I can remember the routine."

------------

Four hours later, House was waiting on the bench just inside the main entrance to rehab. His muscles were still trembling -- in his good leg, in his bad leg, in his arms. His shoulders still burned from the exertion, and now the fine layer of sweat beneath his t-shirt and sweats was beginning to cool, leaving him cold.

He reached into his bag and grabbed his jacket. He pulled it on and zipped it up, trying to draw some warmth from the thick fabric.

He fumbled with one of the side pockets on the bag and pulled out his pill bottle, shaking a Vicodin into his hand. If he took one now, it should just about kick in by the time he got home and could crash on the couch. Another reach inside the bag and he had a small water bottle. It had taken him weeks to get used to carrying the damn pills, and then found himself high and dry one day when he didn't have anything on hand to wash them down with. Ever since he'd taken to stashing water in his pack.

House swallowed the pill and a few gulps of water, then leaned back against the wall and tried to relax his muscles, naming each one as it shivered and shook.

He wished he had brought his CD player so he had something to listen to. He wished Stacy hadn't stolen his Game Boy. He wished she would show up already .

House heard a familiar step in the hallway just before the door opened. He looked up.

"I didn't think I pissed her off that much," he said as Wilson entered the room.

"What?"

"Stacy. I know she was upset this morning, but I didn't think she'd just dump me on you."

"House, wait." Wilson held his hand up. "Stacy got a call maybe two hours ago. It's her Mom -- a massive stroke, probably some intra-cranial bleeding from the first reports."

House sat up. "Is she..."

"She's still hanging in there, last I heard. I talked to the doctor over at Shore Memorial for Stacy, but it doesn't look good."

House pushed himself forward and handed his bag to Wilson before reaching toward the crutches. "Stacy still here or is she packing some bags back at home?"

"No, she's ... she left," Wilson sat on the bench to House's left. "She said she tried to page you ..."

"You can't hear the pages in there," House said, nodding back at the therapy room. "At least I've never heard them." He leaned back again. "But why didn't she just come by and tell me? Why didn't she send someone? I would have gone with her."

Wilson shrugged and set House's bag on the floor between his feet. "I don't know. I don't think she was thinking about too clearly just then. Cuddy said she just grabbed all the papers from her desk and stuffed them into her bag, insisting that they were important. She called me maybe fifteen minutes ago and asked me to come by and pick you up."

"So she remembered her work, and not me?"

"Hell, I don't know, House. Like I said, she wasn't thinking about anything too clearly except the fastest route to Somers Point. You know her. She starts thinking of a plan of attack and nothing can change her mind."

House nodded. "Yeah. I've noticed." He rubbed at his leg, the pain continuing to build. He should have taken the Vicodin earlier. "OK. I guess I'll pack some stuff for both of us." He started to think about what they'd need before the thought struck him that he needed a way to get there.

"Stacy was thinking you should stick around home for now," Wilson said. "She wasn't too certain how crazy everything would be, and she didn't want you to miss any appointments."

"They can wait."

"I know," Wilson said. "That's what I told her, but you know ... plan of attack and all. She said she'd call you at home later." He picked up the bag again, moving it up to his lap. "I'd take you myself, but ..."

"That's OK. You've got the ... thing."

"Yeah, the thing," Wilson said with a slight chuckle. "With the people." He stood and shouldered the pack. "Come on, I'll take you home."

House shrugged, grabbed the crutches and pushed himself up. "Grab that for me, will you?" He nodded back down toward the spot where his crutches had been. A silver aluminum cane was leaning against the wall.

"Hey, this is new, isn't it?" Wilson smiled. "Fantastic."

"Don't get carried away," House warned. "It's just a trial run, for around the house. See how it works."

Wilson picked it up, looking from it to House and back, still smiling.

"Besides, it's too damned ugly to take out into public," House said.

"I think it's beautiful," Wilson said.

"Watch what you say or Julie will get jealous."

"I don't care." Wilson pushed open the door and waited for House to pass through. "I'm out in the visitor lot," he said, then matched his speed to House's as they headed toward the main hallway.

"Hey, does Stacy know?"

"Know what?"

"About the cane." Wilson held open another set of doors for House as they made their way toward the clinic waiting room.

"Not yet," House said. "I thought I'd surprise her." He shook his head. "Sounds stupid, doesn't it."

"No it doesn't," Wilson said. "And you still can surprise her. It just might have to wait a few hours is all. That'll give you time to practice."

They stepped out into the gray fall afternoon. "Wait here. I'll be right back with the car," Wilson said and trotted off into the parking lot, House's bag bouncing on his shoulder the cane held tightly in his right hand.

"Not like I'm wanted anywhere else," House mumbled and leaned against the brick wall.

---------

House startled awake as the telephone rang. He hadn't planned to fall asleep. He'd grabbed the cordless phone and a phone book as soon as he got home and started making calls, checking out the best way to get himself to Somers Point. But the Vicodin and hours of PT both hit him once he settled himself on the couch.

The phone rang again and he grabbed it, hitting the power button.

"'lo?"

"I woke you up, didn't I," Stacy's voice was on the other end of the line. She sounded tired and worried. It was a tone he'd never heard from her before the infarction, but one that he now heard even in his dreams.

"It's OK. How's your mom doing?" House shoved himself back until he was sitting up with his back against the armrest.

"Not good. They've got her on a ventilator."

House nodded, though he knew Stacy couldn't see him.

"One of the neighbors found her," Stacy was saying. "God, Greg, I keep thinking that I should have been there. I should have talked to her this morning, I might have been able to ...

"You don't know that," he said. "You shouldn't try to take the blame for everything that happens, you know."

"Just some things," she said.

House didn't bother trying to argue with her about it. "Why don't you have me talk to her doctor. Is he around?"

"Not just now, but he said he'd be back soon. Something about taking her in for a repeat CT scan."

House nodded again. "They want to get a better handle on her condition," he said.

"That sounds right," she sighed. "It's hard to keep it all straight sometimes. Things get so ..."

"Confusing?"

"Yeah," she said. "I might call you next time he comes with an update, and let you talk to him."

"I definitely want to talk to him," he said. "We need to make sure he's not another run-of-the-mill idiot."

"That's not exactly reassuring, Greg."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

"Greg ..." Stacy didn't bother finishing whatever it was she was going to say.

"Listen. I made some calls and found a service that'll drive me down first thing in the morning," House said.

"I don't know ..."

"Don't worry, it's not like we can't afford it." The metro town car wouldn't be cheap, but it'd be easier to stretch out in the back seat of the full-size sedan than the Impala the cab service would probably send.

"It's not that." Stacy took a breath and House could hear the usual background chatter of a nurse's station.

"Come on Stace, you don't need to be going through this alone," House said. "Sickness and health and all that, you know."

"We're not married."

"Doesn't matter."

House sat up the rest of the way, swinging his left leg off the couch. "Do you not want me there?"

"Of course I want you here," she said. "But it's crazy here, you know how it is. You'd miss PT, you wouldn't be able to get any rest ..."

"Stacy, I'm not fragile. I won't break apart if someone looks at me the wrong way or I don't get my nap."

"Greg, please. I can't deal with this and worry about you at the same time."

"You don't have to worry about me."

"I just ... I can't have this conversation now, just trust me, OK?"

House managed to stop himself from commenting on the last time he'd trusted her. He could hear her walk away from the nurses station. He heard the sound of a door opening, then closing. Even through the cell phone connection he could hear the sound of her footsteps echoing, and he guessed she had retreated to a stairwell for some privacy. He wondered if she was crying.

"All right," he said. "I'll cancel the car for now, but I want you to hook me up with her doctor, next time you see him, or I'll track him down myself, OK?"

House could heard Stacy sniff and heard the rustle of something soft. Definitely crying. He leaned back again into the thick couch cushions. He thought about shifting his leg over onto the floor, but knew how painful the move could be, and didn't want to risk giving away anything that might let Stacy know.

"OK," she said. She sniffed again. "How'd therapy go today?"

"Oh, I ran them into the ground. Left them exhausted and crying uncle," he said. "The usual." He looked over at where the cane was lying on the floor, next to the crutches.

Stacy seemed to laugh at little at that. "You really should take it easy on them, you know. They're mere mortals, unlike you."

"Nah. They're my sworn enemies. Never give up. Never surrender."

This time it was a full chuckle. House smiled a little at her reaction.

"You know I love you, right?" she said.

"You too," he said.

She was silent for a moment, then he could hear her shift, heard the sound of her footsteps echoing again. "I want to get back in there."

"OK," House said. "I'll be here."

"Oh, Greg, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Send me my crucifix, would you?"

"Think she's going to ask you about it when she wakes up?"

"Of course not," she said. "I just want it."

But not me, he thought.

"Sure," he said. "I'll get it out in an overnight package, if that's OK. Want me to send it to your mom's place or the hospital?"

"Um, I don't ... I don't know. Maybe my Mom's? But if I'm not there ..."

"Don't worry about it," House interrupted. "I'll figure it out. I'm sure Wilson knows someone there he can have it sent to as a favor. I'll let you know where you can pick it up."

"OK. Thanks."

He could hear her walk back through the door and out into the busy corridor.

"You want me to send anything else, or were you planning on going nude to set off the crucifix even better?"

"Funny," she said. "You're a funny guy. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"They're usually too busy telling me to shut the hell up. I don't know why, I have a highly refined sense of humor, at least that's what all the strippers tell me. I remember this one time ..."

"Greg, shut the hell up."

"Now that sounds familiar," House said. "So, clothes? Or should I tell Wilson's friend to take pictures?"

"I think I'll be OK," she said. "I've got my gym bag in the car, and I can grab a few things at the store if I need them."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Because we could make some decent cash under the table with a little nudity -- you know, the artsy kind of nudity. Very artistic."

She chuckled again briefly. "I've got to go. I'll be turning off my phone, but I'll call you later, OK?"

"Sure," he said. "Fine."

"Greg? You sure you're OK?"

"Fine," he said. "Go talk to your Mom. Tell her hello for me."

"OK. Bye."

She cut the connection and House put the phone on the end table. He took a deep breath and finally moved his leg down off the couch and onto the floor. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling as he waited for the pain to ease.

When he checked his watch it read 4:17 p.m. He still had time to get the crucifix to a delivery place. He grabbed for the phone again, and punched a familiar set of numbers with his thumb.

"Wilson," he said. "Got a job for you."