AN: House is not mine. If he was...I won't even go there. It would be good. For me anyway. They belong to David Shore. He does an amazing job. I'm just a fan. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, please read and respond.

Last Chapter: "If I don't have to see him, then I'm fine. I don't have to deal with his bitchy 'oh your stealing my wife' spews."

"Just don't do anything stupid," she said, knowing her words were completely useless. She sighed and walked away, watching from the corner of her eye as House removed a pill from the bottle he carried and popped it into his mouth. He was back on the cane. He was back on the vicodin. He was back with being in the same 100 miles as Stacy. Yet, he seemed better than he had in the past few weeks. And that worried her. It worried her a great deal.

----

"Spleen's enlarged. 2cm larger in diameter," Chase reported the diagnostic information to his boss. House smiled wryly, and limped over to Chase to read the results over his shoulder.

"Start him on azathioprine and penicillamine. His symptoms should start to go away in a few hours."

Chase nodded and exited the door to the office swiftly. House sat in his chair, and tossed another vicodin into his mouth. He stared thoughtfully at his own ceiling. Having nothing medical to fill his brain, his thoughts turned to Stacy. He was confident that they had found the source of Mark's problems, and he hadn't even had to see him. It also meant that Stacy would be leaving again. What did he care? He had told himself that he intended not to care, but for some reason he had no control over the situation at all. Wasn't that what had happened before…in Baltimore…in bed? He couldn't help but grin to himself, but soon it faded. He was no longer in the past. He had been hurt because of that past. Thus he was brought to the somber present. His cobalt blue eyes gazed out the window of his office; though is thoughts were elsewhere.

----

Stacy gazed out the window of Mark's room, absentmindedly running her fingers up and down his arm. House had discovered what was wrong with him, just like she had asked. Now they would soon be able to return home, back to their normal lives. Why then, did she feel so devoid of just a little bit of happiness? Surely she should be pleased that Mark had a diagnosis that should take little time to cure. She looked over at Mark, sleeping quietly on the hospital's sterile bed. She ran her fingers over his hand, watching him sleep. The insomnia seemed to be going away. She hated herself for not feeling happy that they were on the way to being allowed to return home, that Mark would be okay. She felt so empty, though. What had she been expecting? Him to come crawling back, begging to be with her? You're over that. She told herself that often, though she failed to convince herself.

She stood up for a moment, deciding that she would go to get a bite to eat while he slept. She made her way down to the cafeteria, and got into line to order food. She spotted Wilson making his way to her, and she smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey. How are you doing?" Wilson asked, his voice full of authentic concern.

"Good. They think its Felty's Syndrome. The medication they're giving him seems to be helping."

"So they're just keeping him for observation now?"

"That's what they said."

"That's great!" Wilson said enthusiastically, now genuinely happy for her. Stacy simply glanced down at the trey of food she had gathered. Wilson observed her, and, obviously curious, questioned her. "Stacy?"

She didn't move for fear of resorting to tears. Instead she simply stared at her trey, and she heard Wilson sigh. He nodded, though, as he understood what she was thinking. She breathed, happy that she did not have to express exactly why she felt so horrible when she should be more than euphoric.

They ate a quiet lunch together. There was some small talk over cancer kids, of life at Short Hills, but there was no mention of Gregory House. Wilson was willing to talk about whatever she wanted to, but at the moment she seemed uninterested in discussing her old feelings that were beginning to return.

Wilson had just stood to empty their treys, when his pager went off. He glanced at it, and then looked, alarmed, at Stacy.

"It's Mark."

Stacy examined him with wide eyes. They both ran upstairs, rendering the steps faster than the elevator.

----

Stacy gasped as they reached his room. House's doctors were scurrying about, and Wilson ran in to join them. Feeling helpless, she watched from the glass. She knew that she would be told to leave as soon as she was to enter the room.

The machine that recorded Mark's vitals beeped angrily, getting faster and higher pitched each time. She ran her hands through her hair, and studied the action on the other side of the glass that she could not penetrate.

"Cardiac arrest. Its not Felty's." Stacy glanced over her shoulder to see that House had suddenly appeared. He was very close to her, only a few inches to her left.

"Paddles and Epi!" Cameron shouted from inside. Stacy turned to face the glass, daring herself not to say anything. The machine got faster, and she drew a deep breath.

Then there was a dull, monotonous tone that rang out. Every line on the machine that recorded vitals had gone flat. Stacy covered her mouth with her hands, clearly in shock. Tears, now unbridled and unable to be contained, traveled freely down her cheeks.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see House, still looking in the room, but stiffly showing his concern. Genuinely touched, she was surprised at how much more secure she suddenly felt. Her eyes were wide, and she could not bring herself to speak a word. However, as he gruffly gripped her shoulder, she felt as though everything would eventually be alright.

She stifled a sob as they reached for the paddles to attempt to restart Mark's heart. She felt House's grip on her shoulder tighten. Slowly, she lifted her right hand from her side. She reached up to grip the fingers of the hand that rest on her shoulder, and silently let the tears fall as try after try they attempted to restart Mark's still heart.