Downing half of his bottle of Vicodin, House nervously walked down the halls towards the ICU. He looked to his left and saw the other woman who was involved in the crash walk slowly towards him. What was her name? Lisa? Laura? She looked better, but obviously in pain and this after almost two full days here. He meant to look away and walk on, yet her slow shuffle actually made him fear for Stacie. She was injured far worse than Liz. Liz? That was it. Was Liz's pain actually causing him to feel worse for Stacie condition itself, or had it rekindled his feelings for her? He was jolted out of his thoughts as he approached room 3.

"Good luck with that bitch, doctor," Liz whispered, as she continued her slow shuffle down the hall, "you'll need it." House was beginning to like her. Maybe if Stacie moved out, he would move in next door to this little firecracker. Maybe if she makes it.

"Stacie?" House whispered.

"Yes, Gregory?" came her voice from behind the curtain.

House straightened up and tried to calm himself. "You know nobody calls me that," he stated in a tone that suggested uncertainty, as he pulled aside the fabric that surrounded her bed. When House saw the fragile body curled up under the blue hospital blanket, he didn't know if he wanted to cringe, or cry.

"What's wrong with you?" Stacie giggled. "I'm the one injured here, remember?" She lifted her left arm, purple with bruises, but still out of a cast, and put it on House's shoulder, pulling his face close to hers. "I know you never liked my husband and me in turn for that, but he's dead now, and… and… I want you back." She pulled him onto her frail lips and kissed him. House attempted to be delicate, but her fervency kept him from pulling back.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!" House gasped as he pulled away from her pale lips.

Stacie began to tremble and cry. "I… I just don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, or maybe I'm just sick, or maybe I'm going to die. I have no clue. But… that… that's why I'm here, right? That's why you're here," she stammered, staring at him with glassy eyes. What on earth is wrong with her? House slowly pried her delicate hand from his shoulder and stumbled over his cane while he staggered to his office.

XXX

"What happened to you?" Cameron gaped at the disheveled doctor.

His curt and simple answer was enough to turn the heads of those crowded around the glass top table. "The bitch."

"Is Stacie toying with your emotions?" Wilson laughed at House. The glare from the frustrated doctor was enough to shut everyone up.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" he muttered under his breath. "She acts like she wants me. She acts like doesn't care that her husband is dead."

Wilson played the House for a moment, "What if she doesn't? What if she wants YOU?"

"She hasn't had a seizure since she came into the clinic." He sighed, and erased the symptom. This threw off all of their tests. Chase, not wanting to work with simply one warning sign of something possibly serious, took the dry erase marker and wrote 'seizure?'

"How the hell do we work with a question mark?" Foreman narrowed his eyes.

"How the hell do we work with one symptom?" Cameron stated with concern. Stacie was a personal friend and, for Allison, it almost became a personal case. She couldn't just discount something that may be relevant.

"HOW THE HELL DO WE WORK WITH YOU TWO CONSTANTLY ARGUING?" House shouted, infuriated at the frivolity of the disagreement. "She thinks she's crazy." House sighed disgustedly at the white board and scowled.

Wilson hated that look. He scoffed with sarcasm, "Maybe you should just cross off all the symptoms and redo her entire history, I mean it's not like she's goin' anywhere. Start with a clean slate—whiteboard."

One swipe. "Good idea. Cameron, redo her history. Foreman, redo her tests, except the EEG… and the… ahh, never mind. Just sit in here and look pretty. Chase, you redo her hoo-hoo."

Cameron and Chase stalked the halls to room 3, again. When they opened the doors, Liz, eyes twinkling excitedly, pointed to the other bed. The other, empty bed.