For the next week, House had three successive patients that kept him fully occupied at the hospital. He and Lara spoke on the phone occasionally, she was back at work and on a medically supervised medication regime, but he didn't have time to actually visit. At least, that's what he told himself.

The following week Lara went on a book tour with an author – her first since she'd been back to work. It was only to the west coast, just for five days, but House couldn't believe how often she was in his thoughts. He worried about her travelling, he worried about her medication, he worried if she might be working too hard and stressing her still-recovering body. When she called the afternoon she got back, sounding tired but bright and bubbly, House was so relieved he had to cover it by being extremely curt on the phone. He told himself not to think about her, but the more he told himself that, the more he couldn't get her out of his mind.

That evening he went over to her place unannounced and she was clearly happy to see him. They ate an average dinner of Chinese takeout while Lara told him all about her trip, and then sat on the sofa to watch TV. After a while House began to relax and it started to feel like one of those peaceful nights they'd shared so many times before. He remembered how they'd got here, the fact that he liked this . . . this almost domestic arrangement.

He liked her.

Then, without warning, Lara went down on him, finally giving him the blow job he'd requested almost a year earlier. It was good, very good, and House fisted his hands in her hair and called out his release in a loud, guttural cry, which surprised the hell out of both of them. Lara declined a reciprocal performance, claiming she wanted to wait until she was on a lower dose of meds and felt more aroused. That made House feel all sorts of uncomfortable emotions, the primary one being guilt, and his previous sense of calm deserted him. Not long after he got up and left.

It was another week before they saw each other again – both claiming work pressure, both, House thought, probably lying. At least he knew he was.

Larissa and Paul had invited them to dinner at their place. House had no interest in being part of some couples-dinner-party-scene, but when Lara called and invited him to come along, saying Paul and Larissa had specifically asked him to come too, he found himself saying yes. That night he picked her up and when she got in the car, his anxiety and confusion settled for a moment, as if her mere presence was some kind of balm.

Her smile was radiant; House couldn't help thinking that it was Lara from the wedding getting into his car.

"Hey handsome," she said with a cheeky grin, tucking a bottle of wine on the floor near her feet.

"Hey," he said in reply. He'd been expecting an awkward greeting, accusatory silence about his absence from her life for a week. But then he realised that she didn't know that he'd been lying about being busy; that he'd really been sitting at home alone on his sofa feeling like crap. She could well have been busy herself and trustingly and naively accepted his invented, but desperately ill, patient.

She leaned over and kissed him, starting with a quick peck before putting her hand to his neck and delving into his mouth. House, shocked, sat still for a moment before responding, his tongue seeking hers, his hand leaving the gearstick to squeeze her thigh. He felt like a teenager, necking in the car, and it was the best feeling, the happiest he'd felt in weeks. He wondered why on earth he'd been staying away from her. What was it that made him suspicious of anything that made him feel good? He realised belatedly that her declaration that she'd cut down her meds because of him had affected him more than he'd first thought. It meant she was thinking about him, making decisions based on him being part of her life. It had spooked him. But now, with her kisses, her hand resting lightly on his thigh, he rapidly got over it.

Eventually she pulled back. "I knew there was a reason I hadn't put my lipstick on yet," she said with a giggle.

"I knew there was a reason I didn't want to go to this dinner," House said, turning off the car's ignition. "Come on, let's go inside, give your new libido a test run."

"Now Greg," she said, waggling a finger at him, her tone mock schoolmarm. "We promised Larissa and Paul we'd have dinner with them."

"I did no such thing!" House protested.

Lara leaned in and kissed his ear. "I'm feeling better," she whispered. "Much more like my usual self. I'd really like to explore how much, but after dinner. I'm hungry." She sat back and gave him a wink.

House groaned. "You really want to go to this dinner?"

"Yes, come on, we'll be late."

Reluctantly House restarted the car and followed Lara's directions to the Kimbles residence which turned out to be a very large faux-Georgian, McMansion-style home. House shrugged. There was no accounting for taste.

His good mood lasted all the way inside, through the greetings and even to sitting at an overly done-up table, white taper candles and all. But when he saw Larissa Kimble pour herself soda water, his contentment vanished. He instantly realised why they were having this meal and why he'd particularly been invited.

It was going to be his job, tonight, to clean up the pieces.

He groaned inwardly. Was he going to be paying for one night of careless sex for the rest of his life? The answer came deep and resonant. Yes.

As evenings went, if House hadn't been so preoccupied with waiting for the announcement that would confirm his suspicions, it would have been classified as pleasant. Lara gave him the occasional odd look, wondering why he'd become so quiet, but other than that, it had all gone smoothly. Then, having organised coffee for everyone, Larissa sat down at the table again and took her husband's hand in hers. They shared a glance and House knew this was it. He resisted the urge to put his head in his hands.

"Well," Larissa cleared her throat, she was obviously nervous. Her hand shook a little as she picked up her drink and took a sip. "We've got something to tell you and it's really difficult . . ."

Lara frowned, but then gave her friend an encouraging smile. House saw the realisation begin to dawn across her face.

"I know the timing's not great, but then we weren't sure if it was going to happen at all," Larissa continued, babbling. "After that night at your place – you remember, when we watched that TV marathon and drank all that wine? We think that's when it happened, either that or on our anniversary night, we got home and—"

House couldn't hold in his groan of disgust, he did not want to hear the details of the conception. Larissa looked at him sharply and broke off.

"Well, anyway. I had it confirmed this week, and I'm due on the fifth of June. Of course it's still really early and we'd prefer it if you didn't tell anyone else for a while just in case, but I just couldn't wait to tell you."

House had to hand it to her, Larissa had managed to make her announcement without once using the words "pregnant" or "baby".

Lara's eyes filled with tears but she smiled broadly. "I'm so happy for you," she said. "For you both."

The women got up and hugged and then Lara hugged Paul. House figured he was new enough to their friendship that he could get away with sinking sullenly into his chair and frowning at them all.

His frown lasted all the way through another thirty minutes of polite conversation before Lara yawned and nudged him. "Time to go home?"

House didn't miss the grimace Paul Kimble gave him when they shook hands in farewell. It was clearly a sympathetic smile laced with a strong "glad I'm not you"flavour. Bastard.

--

Lara was subdued in the car on the way home. They walked inside and House waited for it – screaming, crying, yelling, whatever it was going to be.

"Would you like some tea? I can't handle more coffee, but I'm going to have some tea," Lara asked, kicking off her heels and bustling about in the kitchen.

"Sure," House said, settling on the sofa. "But I'll have a whisky on the side too." He'd been thinking about dropping Lara off and not even coming inside. But something, perhaps manners, perhaps plain old curiosity, compelled him to park the car. Then something dawned, a further deepening of the realisation he'd had in the car, knowledge that he'd been avoiding getting specific about. He actually cared for Lara and wanted to make sure she was okay. That was the feeling that had confused him after her serotonin syndrome attack, the reason he'd worried about her while she was away, the thing that made him feel a sense of guilt about the pregnancy, its affect on Lara's health, Grace, her death. If he didn't care, it wouldn't matter. None of it.

Shocked, he sank heavily down on to the sofa and shook his head. For someone so clever, sometimes he could be really dumb.

After a few minutes organising their drinks, Lara sat down on the sofa next to him. She'd poured them each measures of Scotch and made a pot of some kind of minty-smelling tea.

House downed his alcoholic drink in one and the alcohol helped to calm his stunned amazement at his own mental revelation. "So, how are you?" he asked, shifting his focus to Lara.

"Good." She smiled, a fake, bright smile.

"Bullshit."

Lara shrugged and let the false expression fade. "Okay, less than good. I wasn't expecting that."

"No kidding."

"And I am happy for her, and for Paul, genuinely. It's just . . ." She sighed.

"Are you gonna cry?"

"I might," Lara said, her bottom lip trembling. "Will you leave if I do?"

"How long do you think it'll go for?"

Lara managed a weak laugh. "It's hard to say."

"Do you think you'll feel like some horizontal mambo afterwards?"

"I doubt it. Sorry." A couple of tears broke the wells in her eyes and traced down her cheeks. "It's okay, you can go." She smiled at him, a watery half-grin this time. "I know this isn't what you signed up for."

House was astonished by the swell of emotions he felt. She was letting him off the hook, letting him out of doing the very thing he despised and dreaded. And because she had, he realised he couldn't. He couldn't walk out on her.

"Nah, it's okay. Off you go."

Having been granted permission, Lara crumpled into a sob. She buried her face in his shirt, grabbing bunches of it in her fists. Without disturbing her, House leaned forward and picked up the whisky she'd poured for herself and then sat back and began sipping it. Lara cried into his chest, and he stared at the darkened television screen, waiting it out. Every now and then his hand would find its way to her back and he'd rub her gently, realise what he was doing, and stop. But somehow his arm kept forgetting that he didn't know how to comfort someone who was crying and kept doing it. Her sobs were harsh, the kind he knew would leave her with a headache and sore throat, and – from the feel of his shirt – dehydrated too. Once she calmed down he'd get her some water, a couple of Tylenol, put her to bed and maybe he'd watch some TV until he was tired enough to sleep.

After about five minutes Lara sniffed loudly and House could tell she was trying to get control of her breathing – it had been far shorter than he'd expected. He noticed a box of tissues on a nearby table and with a long stretch was able to grab a handful and hand them to her, just so she didn't use his shirt instead. Tears were fine, he figured, snot was not.

Lara took the tissues and cleaned her face, sitting up again, her breathing hitching. She reached out for the lukewarm cup of herb tea and drained it before collapsing back on the couch.

"You know . . ." she began, but then her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat and blow her nose again before she could continue. "You know how people say a good cry can make you feel better?"

"So I've heard." House wasn't much of a crier. He in fact, couldn't clearly remember the last time he'd honest-to-God cried. It would have been in the early days after the infarction, because of the pain, and crying would have done absolutely nothing to lessen that.

"Well, I've never thought that was true, except for now. I actually do feel better."

Lara sat back into the sofa and curled her feet underneath her, lost in thought. For the first time since Grace's death, she'd cried about something, let it out, and it was gone. She checked the back of her mind for the cruel, shadowy thing, the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm her and leave her without any shred of herself left. It wasn't there anymore. Sure, there were clouds, there would always be a dark patch in her life because something had happened to her that shouldn't happen to anyone. But for the first time she could remember, she felt a sense of lightness, as if there was no longer a large black dog draped over her shoulders.

"That's good," House said.

"It's changed," she said, wondering how to explain what she was feeling.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . I can think about Grace, now. At first I couldn't think about her at all because it hurt so much. And then when I didn't think about her, that hurt. But now I feel like I'm . . ." she searched for the right word, ". . . integrated. Like she's part of me, and we can exist together like that."

House frowned at her and Lara noticed his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She wondered about his grief, about how he was feeling. Had his pain been anything like hers? Had he come to this same sense of calm already? Ages ago? She knew, somehow, that he wouldn't tell her if she asked. It was something he'd have to volunteer.

There was one thing that still ate away at her. She wasn't sure if confessing it would make it easier to bear, and wondered if he was the right person to be seeking absolution from anyway. But, as if a damn had burst, Lara couldn't hold the words in.

"My biggest sadness – biggest regret – is that I wasn't there when she died. I'd been with her that whole morning because they were concerned about her breathing, but then she seemed to be doing better so I went back to my room to take a nap. I'll never forgive myself for that. I was looking out for myself, yet again. I was so tired."

"Lara," he said, clearly exasperated. She wondered if she'd pushed his unusual show of patience too far. "Of course you were tired. You'd just given birth; you were stressed out by Grace's health. It's perfectly acceptable for you to want to take a nap. And just in case you were wondering, I am not going to spend all night here justifying your actions to you. It's boring and unnecessary."

She ignored his last comment. "She was alone. That's all."

House sighed. "I was there," he said quietly.

Lara's head flicked up in surprise. "What?"

"I was there; I was in the NICU when . . . when she died."

"Oh God," Lara felt her throat constrict and she couldn't help the sob that escaped her lips.

"I wasn't treating her; there was a whole team of doctors around her, trying to save her. But I was there. I . . . watched." Lara was so caught up in his revelation, she missed the tone of derision in House's voice. He sounded disgusted with himself.

It had never occurred to her that that might have been possible, that Grace's father had been there, with her, in the last moments of her life.

"Greg," she said, her voice a whisper. "You were with her."

"I wasn't holding her hand or anything."

"No, but you were there for her." There was someone with her, someone who loved her, even if he hadn't realised it at the time. He'd never say it, but she knew he did, with a certainty that she could only describe as mother's instinct.

Lara's eyes pooled with tears again and her breath caught. She knelt up on the couch and leaned into him, pressing her lips against his in what was sort of a kiss and sort of a desperate prayer of thanksgiving. His lips parted and Lara felt his chest hitch, and then they were kissing, desperate and hungry, and Lara was sure it wasn't just her face that was wet.

The next morning when Lara woke up with House by her side, she felt a sense of peace that had been missing from her life for a very long time.

--

A/N: This is the second last chapter! Thanks so much for your lovely reviews -- they keep me writing!