This time when Lara woke, he was still there. She was lying on her stomach facing away from him, but she could feel him behind her, his breath gently blowing through her hair with each exhale. One arm was thrown over her, laying heavily on her back, but the weight was a comforting warmth.

She lay still for a while, staring at the wall, wondering how it had happened, wondering why life had taken her down the path it had over the past twelve months. She realised with a start that in a matter of days it would be exactly three months since Grace had died, and a few weeks after that it would be Larissa and Paul's first anniversary. And next week life would be back to what passed for normal. She lay there thinking about the week ahead and felt the gradual changes in his body and breathing that told her he was no longer asleep.

"I'm going back to work on Monday," she said, because it was what was on her mind.

"Hmm?" he said, clearly still not quite awake.

"My boss let me have my maternity leave as we'd arranged, and it doesn't end for another two weeks, but I'm well enough to go back now, so I'm starting Monday. Starting to get a little bored around here too. There's only so much crap daytime television you can watch."

"Blasphemy!" he muttered, tugging on her arm. She obeyed, twisting around in the bed to cuddle next to him. "Wash your mouth out."

They lay quiet again for a while and Lara wondered if he'd fallen asleep again.

"Lara?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Just so you know, I didn't plan this."

Lara tried hard to reign in her instincts, telling herself to stay calm. "Are you saying you regret it?" she asked, proud of how her voice stayed steady.

He paused. "Do you?"

"No." Lara figured it was easier to be honest.

"I don't either. I just didn't want you to think that the past weeks, my visits, have been some kind of elaborate . . . seduction."

She couldn't help grinning. Greg House planning an elaborate seduction? Why did the very idea seem preposterous? "Ah, so now I know why you put up with the crying. All for sex," she said teasingly.

"What do you think I really meant by giving you a box of tissues?"

Lara gave a little laugh. "I'd think that if you wanted to get laid there are easier and quicker ways than being my babysitter for two months."

"Possibly."

"Definitely."

"Well I do like you better since you started showering regularly again. And I like you much better since you stopped crying every five minutes."

"Oh." Lara had no idea what to say. She wasn't about to apologise for crying over Grace – her little girl deserved every tear she had and more.

He must have registered her change in mood, because his arms tightened around her. "Got any bacon?" he asked lightly.

"No, but there's a diner round the corner. They do great omelettes."

"Let's go."

--

House was enjoying his week. He'd spent the rest of the weekend with Lara, eating Chinese food, watching television and they'd had sex once more. He couldn't wait for her to become more comfortable with it and get back the energy and passion he remembered. Making love slowly and sweetly was very nice, but he was aching to do it hard, desperate and frantic like they had in the hotel room.

As planned, she'd gone back to work on Monday and he'd checked in with her that evening to see how her day had gone. She sounded tired, but relaxed, and had told him that it had all gone as well as could be expected.

For now, he was planning to continue his visits to her apartment just as he had been – dropping in unannounced every few days – only he hoped that from now on they'd more frequently end up in bed. Beyond that, he didn't want to think further.

He was in the conference room with his team working on their latest patient when his easy week came to a screeching halt.

Their patient was a middle-aged father of three whom House had initially been convinced was suffering the same kind of infarction he had had. Only he wasn't, and now more blood clots had started appearing. It had been absorbing his every thought to the point that he hadn't been home for more than twenty-four hours, working non-stop, consumed by diagnosing. So much that he hadn't yet returned the call to the paediatric cardiologist in Japan – the latest cardiac specialist he had contacted for a consult on his "patient".

Deep in diagnostic discussions with his team, a vision of Paul Kimble, flustered, nervous and clearly deeply disturbed, rushing into the conference room, at first didn't register with House.

"House?"

"Go away, we're busy," House dismissed the interruption without even turning around. "Chase, what about the x-ray?"

"We've already looked at the x-ray a million times," Foreman said with an annoyed sigh.

"Yes, but—"

"House!"

House spun around, irritated beyond belief by the interruption. "What?" It was only then that House realised something serious must be going on. His "What?" had been enough to cause most mere mortals to spontaneously combust and turn into ashes on the spot. Paul Kimble simply stood there, bouncing on his heels, clearly anxious beyond the reach of House's reprimand.

"Need to talk to you, outside," he said.

House frowned. "I'm busy." He dismissed the other doctor with a wave of his hand.

"It's important."

House wavered. If it was important enough for Kimble to stand there, confident in the face of House's disinterest, perhaps it really was worth taking a minute to find out what the man had to say. He tossed the whiteboard marker to Chase. "Back in five. Don't stop thinking."

Once they were in the corridor – House had learned that conversations out there were far more private than ones in his office – Kimble began talking in a rush.

"Larissa's at Lara's place. She's really worried – wants us to come over straight away. Apparently Lara's frantic, she's tearing the place apart, saying that she's lost her baby. Larissa thinks she's having a breakdown."

"What? Lara's back at work."

"It's seven pm, House. Larissa said she dropped in for dinner after work and found Lara emptying all the shelves of the bookcase."

House felt simultaneously worried and dismissive. "It's nothing, she'll be fine."

"I don' t think so House. Larissa sounded really freaked out and she asked me to bring sedatives." He displayed a couple of pre-drawn syringes in his pocket.

House had no idea why he decided to get involved, but about thirty minutes later he found himself walking into Lara's place with Kimble, having sent his team off to try a contrast MRI on their patient. He didn't know what to expect, but when they walked in, Larissa was sitting on the sofa, drinking a cup of tea. Lara could be heard in the bedroom, rummaging around as if she was packing a suitcase. The apartment looked disturbed, as if everything in the place had been picked up and put back again in a slightly different position. The bookshelf had been particularly messed up, with books still lying in piles on the floor.

Kimble rushed over to Larissa, but instead of being upset, Larissa looked angry and shook off his embrace.

"I can't do this anymore Paul. I can't. She's lost it." Her voice was a furious whisper. "I can't put myself through—" She broke off, slumping back into the sofa cushions.

Kimble looked over at House uncertainly. "Do you want to go in there, or will I?"

House shrugged. Kimble was still wearing his neatly pressed lab coat. He had a pocket protector, just like Wilson's, which made House wonder if they were some kind of departmental emblem. If it came to mollifying a disturbed patient, Kimble certainly looked more reassuringly like a doctor.

"You go," House said. "I'll block the doors in case she makes a run for it." He meant it as a joke, but no one laughed.

A moment later, Lara and Paul's voices could be heard. From the living room, it sounded like they were having a pleasant conversation. After a minute, Lara appeared, looking around the living room before picking up a shoebox that had been sitting on the table.

"Hello Greg," she said. Her voice sounded normal but her eyes were bright, an agitated intensity House had seen before in patients suffering from delusions or mania. She might look okay, but she clearly was anything but.

"Hi Lara."

"Paul wants to give me a sedative. That's fine, but I told him he has to wait until I find her." She moved restlessly, her whole body seeming unable to stay still.

"Okay," House said, still standing just inside the door, watching as she flitted around the room with abnormal, skittish energy.

"Is it a psychotic break?" Paul Kimble asked House quietly from across the room. "PTSD?"

"I can hear you," Lara said.

"I know Lara, we're just worried about you," Kimble answered.

Lara opened the shoebox that she was holding, had a quick look inside and, seeming satisfied, headed back into the bedroom.

"I thought she was getting better," Larissa said from the sofa. Her anger seemed to have dissolved and the anxious tone was back in her voice. She looked at House. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be angry, I'm just so worried . . ." House gave her a short nod to show he understood. He knew very well that Larissa's unconditional support had been a major contributor to Lara's recovery and he also knew it had come at a cost for the other woman.

House and Kimble followed Lara to the bedroom, watching her from the door. She emptied the contents of the box on to the bed which was already covered with papers, sorting through a pile of what looked like mostly receipts and bills, and although the task required only her hands it seemed like every muscle in her body twitched with the activity.

"What are you looking for?" House asked.

"Grace," Lara said simply.

"I don't think you'll find her in that box," he suggested.

Lara snorted. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Good mothers don't keep their babies in shoeboxes." Halfway though examining the stack in front of her she moved over to another pile of papers that had been upended on the bed, sifting through them frenetically.

"I saw on her Sunday, just four days ago, she was fine," House said quietly to Kimble, frowning. The woman he'd eaten omelettes with in a diner had been mentally stable, making surprisingly lewd jokes about the cute young waiter who'd served them, not someone on the verge of a psychotic breakdown.

"Larissa saw her last night, she said she was a little quiet, but otherwise fine."

"I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine," Lara parroted from her position next to the bed. She continued jiggling up and down on the spot as she started on a photo album, pulling photos from their plastic slots. "Except Grace," she added gravely.

"What do you mean, you can't find Grace?" Kimble asked gently.

"She's missing."

"She died, Lara," House said firmly.

"I know that."

"So what's missing?" Kimble pressed.

"Her baby."

"Grace's baby?" Kimble asked.

A frown crossed Lara's face and she pulled her hair back from her shoulders, clearly irritated and confused.

"What meds is she on?" House asked Kimble.

" A pretty hefty dose of Zoloft, but Larissa said she'd told her last night that she was feeling well enough to start cutting down. I haven't—"

"I want to have sex with you again," Lara announced, giving House a quick glance. "Only next time I want to feel it properly. I need to feel. I want to feel." She walked over to her dresser, pulled out a heavy knit sweater and put it on. "Cold," she said, and shivered.

House sighed. "Lara please don't tell me you stopped taking your meds this week because you want to have better sex."

"Of course not, I didn't stop, I'm not an idiot." She went back to her pile of papers and picked up a stack, sitting down on the floor to sort through them again. "Got to find Grace," she muttered.

To his credit, Kimble didn't say anything about what Lara had just revealed. "I just refilled her prescription on Friday," he said. "I'll go check the bathroom to see if she's stopped taking them."

House nodded. He walked over closer to Lara and sat on the bed in front of her. "What are you looking for Lara?"

"Grace," she replied again, stubbornly.

"What about Grace?"

"Her baby . . . I mean, my baby . . . no." Her confusion was clearly growing and she was becoming more agitated. "The thing. When you have a baby . . ."

"House," Kimble called from the doorway. He held up two lots of medication. "Looks like she cut back, not completely but at least by a half. And she started taking this instead." He held up a large brown vitamin bottle.

House groaned. "St John's Wort?"

"Yep. Is it serotonin syndrome? Should we take her to the hospital?"

"Lara?" House reached out and took hold of her chin to force to her to look at him. "Did you cut back on your antidepressant meds?"

"Yes, but gradually. Only a little. Like you're supposed to." She sounded like a petulant child.

"Did you start taking St John's Wort?"

"Yes. In the night time, I took them both and this morning too. Lots of that one. St John, Saint John," she babbled. "Saint John. Saint George. Saint Paul. Saint Ringo. Did he have a dragon? George had a dragon." She looked at House hopefully. "Maybe the dragon can help me find Grace's baby?"

"Lara! Do you know you're not supposed to take them together?"

"They don't go together? The girl in my yoga class said it was good for you. Huh. You'd think they'd be best friends seeing as they do the same thing. Although Larissa and I are best friends but we don't do the same things. She gets married. I don't."

House sighed and let her go – she immediately jumped up from the floor and ran over to the other side of the bed to keep sorting through her papers.

"I think once the meds clear her system she'll be fine," House said tiredly to Kimble. "What meds did you bring? Benzos?" he nodded towards Kimble's pocket.

"Yep, lorazepam," he said, reaching into his pocket.

"Better get that into her, keep her warm, and we need to keep an eye on her blood pressure."

It took them a few minutes, but eventually they got Lara to stay still enough for Kimble to give her the meds. Lara refused to be put into bed, so Larissa made up a nest of pillows and blankets on the sofa that Lara reluctantly crawled into but only as long as Larissa lay with her. Paul went to the car and grabbed the kind of well-stocked medical kit that House wouldn't have dreamed of owning, pulling out a blood pressure cuff and quickly slipping it on Lara while Larissa held her arm still.

"Blood pressure's low, but not seriously," he announced. "We probably need to keep a check on it for the next few hours."

Larissa sat on the sofa with Lara in her arms. Lara was slowly calming down but had begun shivering, her teeth chattering.

"Settle down, honey, you'll be fine soon," Larissa said soothingly, rubbing Lara's arms to help keep her warm. "Paul, she's shivering."

"I know." Kimble answered. "It could be a kind of hypothermia from the drug interaction or it might be trembling from the meds we just gave her. Either way it should wear off soon. Try to get her to drink some water before she falls asleep and I'll warm up a couple of heat packs," Paul suggested, heading off into the kitchen.

Larissa nodded and held a glass of water to Lara's lips, making her sip.

House collapsed into the armchair, exhausted. He realised he'd been holding himself tensed since Paul Kimble had entered his office and his muscles were almost quivering with effort.

"I was l-l-looking for something," Lara said, her voice starting to sound drowsy.

"It's okay," Larissa said. "Drink some more."

"I've had enough." Lara pushed away the glass with a shaking hand."Need to find Grace."

"I know honey, you want Grace back."

"No. Grace's . . . picture."

House felt a sudden dip in his stomach. The ultrasound photograph. It was, at that moment, lying in a drawer of his desk.

"You lost Grace's picture?" Larissa asked.

"Uh-huh. I lost it on her birthday."

"We'll find it together tomorrow, okay sweetie? Sleep for now."

"Okay."

The room was silent for several minutes apart from the sound of Lara's breathing, made jagged by shivering. Once it was clear she was asleep, Larissa carefully moved herself out from the sofa, resettling her friend gently on the pillows.

"It's three months today since Grace was born," Larissa said softly.

House nodded. He knew that – he wouldn't be forgetting the date anytime soon.

Kimble walked back into the room with heat packs and tucked one near Lara's feet and the other against her back.

"Should we take her to hospital?" he asked, straightening. "She's going to need hourly obs of her blood pressure at least for a while."

House didn't want to take Lara to the hospital. For one thing, she'd have to be admitted as a psychiatric patient and that would mean a lot of explaining. His personal life, something that had so far been kept nicely quiet at the hospital, might no longer be quite so private. It also would also most likely mean the return of Dr Collins to his life. After Grace's death she'd dropped into his office every day, encouraging him to seek counselling which of course, he had never done. She'd given up after a couple of weeks, and now when he saw her in corridors or the cafeteria she gave him a pathetic, pitying stare that House hated.

"Let's wait it out and see what happens," House said.

"Okay." Kimble nodded and House was glad that Kimble seemed to be accepting his authority unquestioningly. In his mind, House thought of Kimble as a young doctor, but he realised that he was probably the same age as Wilson, in his mid-forties, no more than five or so years younger than he was himself. House no desire to battle for position as the alpha male, but it made things so much easier when he was accepted as such without query.

"You look really tired," Larissa said to him.

"Shit." House grabbed his phone. "Patient," he said as if that would explain everything.

Foreman answered and said he'd been just about to call. The patient had died before they could get him into the MRI – they were guessing that a blood clot had caused a massive stroke. Oh well, House thought, at least Mr Somethingorother wouldn't be going anywhere that night. The puzzle of what had actually killed him could wait for the morning. He told the team to go home and not worry about coming in til later the next day.

"Is your patient doing better?" Larissa asked when he got off the phone.

"Yeah, if 'dead' counts as better," House answered bluntly.

"Why don't you go grab a few hours sleep," Kimble said, nodding a head towards the bedroom. "We'll take the first shift, and then I'll wake you around midnight and you can take over."

House shrugged, it sounded like a good idea to him. Feeling exhausted beyond belief, he limped into the bedroom and swiped the stacks of papers covering the bed on to the floor. Striping to boxers and a t-shirt, he crawled under the covers and was asleep almost instantly.

--

"Greg, I mean, House, I mean . . . shit. I don't know what to call you. But you have to wake up, it's your turn."

House slowly came to as a female hand gently shook his shoulder. The events of the previous night flooded back and he was suddenly awake.

"What?" he said, sitting up, peering at Larissa Kimble in the darkness. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Paul's been checking her and her blood pressure is better." Larissa sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's 2am and we have to go. We've both got to be at work tomorrow. You've had almost five hours of sleep, is that enough? Can you do the rest of the night?"

House yawned, remembering that it had been his idea not to take Lara to the hospital. Back then he hadn't been thinking about this moment, or the fact that at some point he'd have to wake up every hour to take her obs. Truthfully, he had thought that the altruistic Kimbles would see through the night.

"Yeah, I guess," he said reluctantly. "Any chance of bringing her in here? At least then I don't have to get out of bed."

Larissa made an irritated noise and rolled her eyes at him, but left and a moment later, Paul Kimble was carrying an unconscious Lara into the bedroom. House pulled back the covers and helped him settle her into the bed and then Larissa walked in with the blood pressure cuff and handed it to House.

"She was at one-ten over seventy – I just checked," Kimble said.

"Okay." House grabbed his cell phone and set an alarm for an hour's time.

"Good night." The very tired-looking couple left the bedroom and House heard the front door close.

An hour later, he was rudely awakened by the shrill tone of his phone. He dutifully checked Lara's blood pressure and, seeing as it was exactly as it had been an hour previous, decided that she was out of danger. He didn't bother setting any further alarm, simply snuggled himself around her soft body and went back to sleep.

He woke up again when the sun was streaming in between cracks in the curtains and realised it must be well into the morning. He stirred in the bed and it took a moment for him to remember where he was, what had happened and why he still felt like he needed a week's worth of sleep. A moment after that he realised that the severely drug-affected Lara was no longer in bed with him.

As quickly as he could possibly move first thing in the morning – which wasn't particularly fast, especially not with the floor littered with slippery papers – House got up and made his way into the living room. Lara was lying on the floor, face down, curled up in the fetal position.

His stomach dropped. If she was still psychotic, he'd obviously been wrong about the drug interaction explaining her behaviour – it was something much worse.

"Good morning," she said, her voice muffled by her position.

"What are you doing?" House asked, frantically trying to remember where he'd left his cell phone.

"Child's pose," she answered. "And, salute to the sun." She stretched her body up on to all fours, arching her back like a cat, and then straightened one leg out into a lunge, her head thrown back to look up at the ceiling.

"What the hell is that?"

"Yoga."

"Fuck," House muttered under his breath, the fear he'd felt instantly transforming into anger. He had no idea what to do with it, so he went into the kitchen and abused the coffee maker, both physically and verbally, into making him a cup of extremely strong java.

Lara joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later.

"I don't remember much of yesterday and I feel all spaced out. What happened to this place? Who made all the mess?" Lara asked, helping herself to a cup of coffee.

"You did. You need to call in sick and go see your psychiatrist."

Lara sat opposite him, looking a hundred times better than she had the day before, although he could tell she was still a little vague from the injection Kimble had given her.

"Why?"

"You gave yourself serotonergic toxicity by taking St John's Wort with your Zoloft, that's why. And you shouldn't have been cutting back the Zoloft without medical supervision," House said, his voice hard and snappy.

"Oh." Lara was clearly too zoned out to be affected by his snarl.

"Don't take any more meds – and don't take any of that herbal shit – until you've seen your doctor. Tell them what you did with your medication and that you started taking the herbs. Oh, and that Kimble gave you a shot of lorazepam."

"Were Larissa and Paul here?"

"Yeah, you've got better friends than you deserve," House muttered and Lara immediately looked hurt. He waved a hand dismissively. "I didn't mean that. All I mean is, go to the psychiatrist. Okay?"

"Yes." Lara wandered off and House heard her call and make the appointment and then heard her calling work. House wondered what he should be doing – what he was doing there in the first place. Should he be the one to make the appointment? Should he be calling her work for her? Should he be taking the day off to go with her to the psychiatrist's? The coffee felt curdled in his stomach and he didn't know why.

"My boss said she sent me home early yesterday because I got very upset about someone stealing my stapler," Lara said when she returned to the kitchen.

House snorted a laugh and Lara giggled a little. "It does sound kinda funny," she admitted. "I don't remember it at all."

"I have to go to work. Can you get yourself a cab to and from the hospital?"

"Yes. And it looks like I'm going to be cleaning up here all day too."

House got up and got dressed, realising that he'd have to go home again before going in to the hospital – he'd been in the same clothes for almost forty-eight hours.

"Lara?" he asked, just as he was leaving. He hadn't kissed her or hugged her, but she hadn't seemed to notice. "If you're missing the ultrasound picture of Grace, I just wanted to tell you that I have it."

"You've got it? Why?"

"I took it to see if I could find out what was wrong with her heart."

"Oh." Lara gave him a sad smile. "And did you?"

"Not yet," he muttered.

"It doesn't really matter does it?"

"I guess." He shrugged and left.

Later that afternoon, Lara called and apologised, thanking him profusely for what he and the Kimbles had done. The psychiatrist had given her a serious talking to about her carelessness with the drugs. And, she told him, had helped her work on a schedule for reducing her antidepressants so she could start feeling like herself. And start feeling like feeling him too, she added, in a way that under any other circumstances would have had his blood pumping.

House hung up the phone and sighed.