The next day

Lara was discharged around midday and she walked outside the hospital guessing she'd find a cab. She had nothing but some hospital papers, an uncomfortably large kotex in her panties, and something the hospital called a "memory book", to show that she'd gone in there expecting to come out with a whole other person. And her breasts, of course, which felt like the size of two Mount Everests. The midwife had bound them tightly with an elasticised bandage, and told her to go home and put cabbage leaves and cold compresses inside the tightest bra she could find.

Lara was surprised, but didn't have the energy to show it, when her friend Janet pulled up, parked the car in a no standing zone, and rushed out to grab her in a hug. Lara winced, uttering a small cry of pain, and pulled away. Janet immediately began apologising.

"Oh Lara, I'm so sorry. I remember how sore my breasts were when—" She trailed off and Lara realised it was because she'd been about to talk about her own experience of childbirth. That had resulted in her two healthy, living children. With a shock, Lara realised this was going to be how it was from now on. She was part of a secret, sad club, and anyone who wasn't a member would never understand. In fact, they'd dance around, awkward, never knowing what to say, trying to avoid it. Janet was her most outspoken friend, she had never before hesitated to say whatever was on her mind. But now, even she was censoring herself.

Janet gave her a grim smile. "Larissa called me. She and Paul have cut their trip short and will be back tomorrow. I'm taking you home now and you can stay with me until Larissa's back. I've got the spare bed all made up and there's soup ready for lunch." Janet grabbed Lara's few possessions and loaded them into the car, helping Lara into the front seat. In the car, she continued to talk brightly. "I'm sorry, I thought I'd get here before you were discharged. You probably didn't get my messages on your cell phone, I know you probably had to have it turned off, but I got held up because Charlie—" Janet gasped a little and cut herself off again. Lara knew that Charlie was Janet's two-year-old son.

"What did he get up to?" Lara asked, knowing from the position of her mouth that she was smiling, although she couldn't quite feel it.

Janet sighed in relief. "He was playing with his ride-on fire engine and the ladder got stuck, so he climbed up on a chair to try to fix it. Of course, the chair toppled over and he hit his head on the fire engine on the way down. He's fine, just a bruise, but of course there was a lot of screaming and I had to calm him down before I could leave him alone with the neighbour while I came to get you."

"Poor kid," Lara sympathised without feeling it.

"Lara," Janet began tentatively, shooting her looks as she drove along, "Charlie will be home and Natalie will be back from school in a few hours. Will you be okay coming home with me with the kids there? I can take you to your apartment if you want, but Larissa and I didn't think it would be a good idea for you to be on your own. Especially if you're on any medication . . ."

Lara couldn't summon the energy to be concerned about it. Sleeping in her own bed appealed, but she didn't feel like being alone. She'd been to Janet's place before, it was nice, the spare bedroom was pretty and Lara didn't mind the idea of someone making her tea and bringing it to her in bed.

"I'll be fine. Thanks Janet, I really appreciate it."

"Of course." Janet reached over and grabbed Lara's hand. "I'm really sorry, Lara."

"Thanks," Lara said blankly.

The day and night passed quickly. Lara had filled the prescription for sleeping pills she'd been given by Dr Collins at the hospital pharmacy, so as soon as she got to Janet's she went to bed, took a pill and slept for most of the day. She woke in the early evening overhearing Janet's husband shushing one of the children outside her bedroom door and got up to go to the toilet and get a glass of water. Janet appeared shortly afterwards with a tray of soup and some toast and Lara made a half-hearted attempt to pick at it. Then she took another pill and fell asleep again.

The next morning Janet took Lara home to her apartment. Larissa and Paul were due in at midday and had promised to be there in just a couple of hours.

Lara steeled herself as she walked in the door, uncertain what her reaction would be to being home, back in a familiar environment and yet feeling so strange. Janet brought her things in, bustled around organising things for a short while and then left. Lara didn't miss the look of relief on her face as she went and didn't blame her. She'd leave too, if she could.

There was a half-empty, cold cup of herb tea still sitting on the table. Lara had been drinking it to try to calm her stomach before she'd decided things were serious enough to go in to the hospital. Without thinking, she picked up the cup and headed for the kitchen, rinsing it out and leaving it on the draining board.

She stood in the doorway of what was to have been the baby's room, feeling strangely unaffected. She'd kind of expected that this was the point at which everything would break, that for whatever force field it was that was currently holding her together, the baby's – Grace's – empty crib would be its kryptonite. Seemed like she was wrong.

It didn't really look like a baby's room yet anyway. Lara had thought she still had seven weeks to get things organised. There was a white crib, she'd picked it up in a sale, and there were a few boxes of supplies scattered around. There was a change table and the few gifts she'd already received were sitting on top of it. Several swatches of wallpaper were lying on the floor, waiting for Lara to make a final choice.

Like she needed reminding of her ability to put off making decisions.

An image of House holding Grace flashed through her mind and that was almost, nearly it – she felt the clutch of something deep down inside, the shatter of a safety chain, something coming loose. But then she swallowed, biting it back, and it reluctantly retreated, returning to its dark cave.

She turned and headed for bed. She'd taken one of the pills in the car on the way over simply as a reflex action, and now the drowsiness was beginning to take hold.

It felt like just a few minutes later when Lara woke to the feel of someone climbing into bed with her and then Larissa's arms were around her, pressing them together. Larissa's cheeks were wet as she pushed her face against Lara's. Lara instinctively returned the hug, wrapping her arms around her friend, holding her tightly, ignoring the pain from her breasts at the contact.

"Oh Lara," Larissa sobbed. "We lost our baby. We lost our little girl."

And then something did break and Lara felt the tears on her face, not knowing if they were hers or Larissa's, but feeling the ache in her throat as she sobbed, loud and ragged, not knowing anything beyond crying and feeling as if she'd never stop.

Larissa's hand brushed her hair back, and after a long while Lara knew Larissa's own tears had abated, but still she lay there, holding Lara, brushing back her hair, letting her cry deep, howling sobs that barely sounded human.

"Shh, shh."

When her throat, head and eyes were aching, Lara knew she had to try to reign in her crying. If she didn't she knew she'd never, ever be able to stop. In the strange, abstract part of her mind that was sitting back and watching her lie in bed and cover her best friend with tears and snot and saliva, she wondered if you could suffer from constant crying in the way she'd heard people could suffer from constant hiccups. She'd have to ask Paul. Or House – she thought he'd be more likely to know about something strange and unusual. She'd read everything she could find about him on the internet once she'd found out she was pregnant and it sounded like he'd be the expert in something like that – there had been a lot of journal articles and internet pages devoted to him. She wondered if he was proud of that.

Then she decided it was a very strange thing to be lying in bed crying over a dead baby while thinking about its father's resume. Which once again proved that she was not normal and that it was just as well she wasn't going to be a mother after all.

Lara began to try to control her breathing, trying to take deeper breaths, swallowing hard, becoming aware of the mess covering her face. Larissa began to wipe her cheeks with a bunch of tissues and Lara took them from her, turning into the pillow to hide for a moment. She wiped her face and then blew her nose, throwing the damp, disgusting tissues over the side of the bed. Larissa instantly pushed fresh ones into her hand and Lara pressed them to her face.

After a while Lara felt composed enough to open her eyes. They were hot and scratchy and she had to blink a few times to bring the room into focus.

Larissa gave her a watery smile and Lara tried to return it but wasn't sure if she succeeded. She was aware at once that while the chains around the dark thing inside had loosened, this wasn't it. Not even close. The prickly, scary, shadowy thing was still there, lurking, waiting for Lara to let her guard down again. Waiting for a time that she could let it happen. Or maybe she was kidding herself, thinking it was under her control.

"Here, drink this." Paul's gentle voice and his hand pressing a glass of water into her hands brought Lara back from her inner contemplation. She swallowed the water, realising that she was desperately thirsty and the cool liquid felt kind on her raw throat.

"You too." He handed a second glass to Larissa.

He refilled Lara's glass from a jug and she quickly drained it again, handing it back to him before resting back on the pillows. She noticed that his eyes were bright and bloodshot; he'd clearly been crying too.

Paul sat down on the end of the bed and Larissa continued to lie next her, clasping one of Lara's hands in both of hers. They sat in silence for a while and Lara felt a few last tears still wending their way down her cheeks. They were matched by quiet tears from both Larissa and Paul. The three of them sat on her bed, all crying silently. Lara couldn't help thinking it should be a scene in some French art-house movie.

"You got a tan," Lara said, breaking the silence, her voice crackling.

Larissa and Paul both laughed weakly through their tears.

Larissa sniffed loudly. "Wait til you see this." She gingerly lowered the cotton t-shirt she was wearing to display bright red sunburn across her chest. Paul laughed again.

"I told you, don't laugh," Larissa said to him warningly.

"Is that everywhere?"

"Yep," Larissa said almost proudly. "Topless sunbathing. Never again. My boobs are killing me."

"Mine too," Lara said. "Check this out." She pulled down her top to reveal a cabbage leaf peeping out from underneath her bra. After hearing the midwife's advice to Lara, Janet had helpfully bought a cabbage for her and separated the leaves, ready for use. They were now in a ziplock bag in Lara's refrigerator.

Larissa began to giggle. "Is that cabbage?"

"Yes," Lara found herself starting to giggle too.

"You're the cabbage patch kid," she joked, before clapping a hand over her mouth, clearly trying to hold in her laughter.

Lara knew it must be wrong to be joking this way, but she couldn't help it.

"That's it," she sat up, pretending to be offended. "I'm leafing!"

That provoked gales of laughter and both women were doubled over, crying again, but this time in hysterical peals of laughter. Lara's laughter, she knew, was simply the flip side of her grief, another way of letting it out. It wasn't even all that funny.

"Come on you two," Paul said with the exasperated tone of a man confronted by a baffling female display of emotion. He stood up. "I'm going to organise dinner. We're having Mexican because I really want a burrito."

Both women watched Paul disappear and slowly their laughter subsided. They heard him rustling around, finding Lara's stack of take-out menus.

"I love my husband, but I hate Mexican food," Larissa muttered, her breath still uneven.

"Me too." Lara nodded slowly. It didn't really matter; it wasn't like she was going to eat anyway.

"Should I tell Paul?"

"Nah."

Larissa turned to give her friend another, gentler, hug. "We'll get through this sweetie. Together."

--

Over the next few days, Wilson watched House carefully. The whole incident had managed to be contained to just a few people – not a small feat in a gossip-hungry hospital, especially when the main star of the story was one of the hospital's most disliked doctors.

Wilson knew, of course. Dr Collins, the psychiatrist, knew, and the only person she told was Lara's treating doctor, Dr Boyd, thinking that it was probably important that she was aware of the connection. She had no way of knowing that Boyd had just been about to go on a date with House. Of course, Boyd would have soon found out anyway, because House was the one who ended up giving permission for the autopsy.

Wilson spoke to Boyd and she was clearly shocked, telling Wilson in a horrified tone that she was mortified because when House had been in the NICU and Grace had died, she had immediately pressed him for details on their date. Wilson patted her arm, told her there was no way she could have known, and had wondered if House really would mind if he asked Chelsea Boyd out. But he didn't. He was glad that she decided to keep the news to herself.

He told Cuddy, because he thought she should know. To his surprise, she burst into tears, but Wilson wasn't exactly sure what or who she was crying for. He just asked her to take it easy with House for a little while, that he felt it was important that she understand what he was going through. She nodded, sniffed, and said she'd look out for him without saying anything.

House's reaction was not quite what Wilson expected. But then, he didn't know what he had expected. House seemed normal. His team, even Cameron, didn't seem to notice any change. But to Wilson's eyes he was subdued, quieter, less excitable. On Friday night, a few days later, he convinced House to go out for a drink, and they sat in a bar, House steadily working his way through a succession of bourbons. Conversation was sparse, and Wilson was acutely aware of the elephant in the room.

"Got the autopsy results," House said abruptly, after a long period of silence.

"Yeah?" Wilson knew he didn't need to ask which autopsy results. He felt a sudden dip in his stomach, realising that they were finally going to talk about it, and although he'd felt all along that was important, now that he was faced with it, he didn't really want to have to go through with it.

"It was inconclusive. They decided it was a combination of things. She had a patent ductus arteriosus and her heart wasn't getting enough oxygen to seal it. It shouldn't have been large enough to cause pulmonary hypertension, but it did. That seemed to cause arrhythmia and some bleeding in her lungs, but again, it shouldn't have been enough for her heart to arrest."

His tone was matter-of-fact; they could have been discussing any patient. Wilson thought he sounded puzzled, not angry, that no real cause had been determined.

Wilson shrugged, trying to find the right kind of sympathetic tone. "It's nothing we haven't both seen before, House. Sometimes preemies don't have the strength – there's some event or bacteria that would have no impact for an adult, but it's catastrophic for them. Even at thirty-three weeks."

"If the x-ray had shown the PDA, she'd have had the echo straight away, and then maybe she could have been put on vasodilators, or blood thinners, or been intubated to get more oxygen into her. But all of those have their own risks."

Again, Wilson noted that he didn't seem angry about it, simply curious. "Hmm." He made some kind of vague agreeing tone because he had no idea what more to say.

House downed his whisky and with a wave of his hand ordered another. The two men sat in silence for a while.

"I'm sad, Wilson," House said quietly after a moment. "I didn't expect to . . ." He trailed off.

Wilson nodded, shocked to hear such an admission from House of all people. He didn't really know how to react to it. "Of course you're sad House. That's . . . perfectly understandable," he said, trying to be mollifying. He realised he sounded like he was talking to a patient. To anyone. Not his best friend who needed more than it appeared he was capable of.

"It doesn't mean I wanted . . . that," House protested, clearly wanting Wilson to know that while he might be grieving for his daughter, it didn't mean he necessarily wanted to be a father in the first place.

"No it doesn't," Wilson reassured him.

The waitress appeared with new drinks for them both. Wilson paid while House stared out the window, only this was one time when Wilson didn't think he was just doing that to get out of paying the bill.

As soon as the waitress was out of earshot, Wilson leaned in. "Have you seen Lara?"

House shook his head.

"Are you going to?"

House shrugged. "Probably not."

"Are you angry with her?"

House frowned. "Angry?"

"For not telling you. For not getting you involved from the start."

He paused for a moment, considering his answer. "At first, maybe. But not anymore. I get it – I'd do the same. I wouldn't want me as my kid's father."

"Oh, House." There was so much wrong with that statement Wilson didn't know where to begin.

Instead, both men drained their drinks and the subject was closed.

"Going to the hockey game tomorrow?" Wilson asked.