"Do you want some coffee?" Cuddy asked.

"I'll take some of yours," House answered, looking her over. The morning was chilly. She had put on a pair of his sweatpants, rolled up no less than three times at the ankles because they were so long on her.

She brought the largest mug he owned filled to the brim with strong black coffee to the table and took the first sip. House had been up for at least an hour, his dirty coffee cup from earlier was in the sink. Cuddy didn't say anything. She believed the coffee thing was some sort of petty revenge for beating him at checkers. And as long as it was his coffee there really wasn't anything she could do about it.

"Have you given it any thought, Greg?" she asked, pushing the big grey mug across the table.

He knew what she was asking about. There was no need to say it out loud. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no idea what I'm supposed to think," he said thickly. The coffee was too hot. It burned his tongue.

"You could call her."

"I don't know where she is. She could be in Timbuktu for all I know...or care."

"You can find out."

"And then what?" The words came out sharper than he intended. "What am I supposed to say to her? 'Hi Stacy, remember me? Eight years ago you fucked up my leg and broke my heart. I'll never forgive you and I'll hate your guts forever. I just wanted you to know that.' Does that sound about right, Lisa?"

"Greg, you don't hate her." Cuddy pulled the cup back.

"You're right," House said, the sharpness replaced by quiet resignation. "I don't hate her."

"You can forgive her."

"No, I can't." No anger in his voice, just sadness. "She wanted to do the right thing, sure, but we all know the road to hell is paved with, right?" He looked up at the woman sitting across the table. "I don't blame you, Lisa. I would have done the same thing."

No response, she just pushed the mug back over to him.

House picked it up and continued, "You want me to have some kind of closure, don't you?"

"Yes."

"It's not going to happen."

"Why?"

"Because what happened can't be fixed."

"This isn't just about your leg, Greg. This is also about Stacy leaving you."

"Oh...she left me all right," he hissed. "She left me with nothing, and for years that's all I had, until I stumbled on all that baggage. So why should I waste another second of my life thinking about her?" He took a gulp of coffee and smacked the cup back down. Drops of dark liquid splashed up and landed on his arm. If it was still hot he didn't appear to notice.

"She left you with that fear," Cuddy said. "She left you with that if nothing else."

"That was so nice of her."

The Dean of Medicine closed her eyes and sighed. "Greg, I'm not asking or expecting you to move mountains here. Just make an effort, a token effort. If you can't do it for yourself, can you at least do it for me?"

"Are you laying a guilt trip on me, Lisa?"

"No, I'm just asking for a favor."

"I just want to forget about her."

"I know you do."

"For you I'll move mountains," he said with a tiny humorless smile. "Aside from kicking off her baggage, Stacy is only worth a token effort and that's all she's getting."


Gregory House sat at his desk and stared at the numbers. Wilson had dug them up for him. The area code was for Los Angeles. Stacy's last known phone number. He couldn't look away.

He had hoped Cuddy wouldn't ask at all, that she would be too busy running the hospital to think about it. Not so, apparently. Given her strange obsession with his insomnia, the only thing should have been surprised at was the fact that it took this long to bring it up.

A token effort. He could follow through on that. That little box hiding the fear was just going to have to stay put for now. He just wasn't ready to hunt for it. Maybe when he got rid of the baggage. Maybe when the divorce came through. Maybe a few years down the road. Maybe never.

Calmly he pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers.

Ring. Ring.

"The number you have dialed has been disconnected..."