"All right, see you then." Remy flipped her phone shut.

"Good God." She jumped at the voice behind her - she hadn't heard House enter the kitchen. "Snap out of it, I think I'm going to be sick."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know I'm allergic to that lovebird stuff." Here we go again. "Let me guess, Stephen?" He gestured to the phone.

She rolled her eyes and turned to put water on the stove for her tea. "Good call. He's bringing take-out over tonight to watch some basketball or something. I guess he likes you," she said with heavy sarcasm.

He snorted. "Yeah, I'm not the one who he gazes at with those eager puppy-eyes."

"Come on, House. Don't do this. I don't know how many times I have to tell you we are good friends, nothing more."

A few silent moments passed, and she thought he'd given up. Then he spoke again, quietly. "You lied."

"Everybody lies. Not nearly as much as you think they do, though. Again, what are you talking about?"

"You said you weren't running away. You said you'd let somebody take care of you."

"What? When did I say...Oh God. How the hell did you read..." She turned and fixed him with a glare just barely tinted with curiosity.

"It wasn't hard. Foreman brooded for almost a month after you left. During differentials, he'd stare into space like a complete moron, always fingering something in the pocket of his lab coat. When a poor cripple tripped and spilled his coffee on the coat, Foreman had to take it off..."

She rolled her eyes again. "And yet again, you amaze me with your utter lack of regard for personal boundaries."

He didn't want to discuss his accomplishments. "You lied," he repeated.

"I didn't lie. I'm not running."

"Stephen doesn't know."

She knew what he meant. It was true, and House knew it was, but now that it was in the open, would he spill her secret? "No, he doesn't. He doesn't need to."

"You don't think he would want to know? You don't think he would care?"

"He doesn't need to know. It would just complicate things. Look how Princeton-Plainsboro worked out."

"So what are you going to do when you start showing symptoms? When you can't write legibly on charts? Can't hold your head still while having a conversation?"

Her anger flared at his words. "Why are you doing this, House? I am fine. I don't need you, of all people, showing up and telling me I should confide in someone before I die. Please, once you tell me why the hell you're here in the first place, then lecture me about keeping secrets and the importance of connecting with other people."

Expressionless, he stared at her for a moment. Then without a word he turned and limped away.

Don't do this, Remy told herself, retreating to her bedroom. Do NOT start feeling bad for him. He has no right to say things like that. But she knew his cruel words were often a cover-up for something else. WHY is he here? Stephen's right, there has to be a reason. If he wasn't trying to accomplish something, he'd be back in Princeton already. I've been out of his life for more than three years - what could have happened to bring him here? I have no relationship counseling to offer, which he knows perfectly well. He decided to take a break from mocking me for having no friends to come to me for advice about his?

**********

The afternoon stretched on in quiet tension, and Remy spent it doing mundane housework and generally avoiding House, which was easy since he wasn't eager to see her either. Time passed slowly in the oppressive environment of the apartment, and she wished their argument could have been avoided. Still sulking slightly, she was between anger and understanding. If he would get over it and come out of "his" room, everything would be fine. Neither was the type to apologize; they would both just pretend nothing happened. What if he's pissed enough he decides not to be so tight-lipped around Stephen? He knows a few words is all it would take to throw my life back into turmoil. Surely he won't...but will he? She suspected his unexplained consideration would only extend so far.

A knock on the door around 7:30 pulled her away from her worries. On the way to open it, she wondered why Stephen bothered to knock this time. Her apartment wasn't locked yet, and even if it was, he had a key and usually just came right in. Fewer questions from House this way, I guess, if he was even out here to see this. "Hey," she greeted Stephen as she let him in.

"Hey, how's it going?"

The question was meant to be casual, but it gave Remy a decision to make. Do I tell him about our fight and just stay vague on what it was over, or tell him everything's fine and hope House acts like it? She went with option B. "Pretty good...I've hardly seen him at all." That's the truth. "He's taking a nap or something. How was work?"

If he suspected her evasion, his expression didn't show it. "Uneventful," he answered. "Two heart attacks, both middle-age men, and they were both fine. And an MVA, but we weren't really needed there."

"Good," she said, knowing that for a paramedic, boring days were the best ones. They wandered into the living room where Stephen set the two bags he carried on the coffee table. "Thanks for bringing the food. What've we got?"

"Sun Hao's," he answered, naming a fast-food Asian restaurant they frequented. "Your #4, my #2, and a bunch of random stuff - I figured one of us would take care of anything House doesn't want. He is joining us, right?"

This time she caught a note of concern with the curiosity in his voice. "When he's ready," she assured him, hoping he wouldn't push it.

Mercifully, he didn't. "Oh, he'll be ready as soon as he hears this," Stephen said, flipping on the TV and finding the Nets vs. Celtics game. "Third game."

"You're right, House wouldn't miss the chance to rub your face in third Boston defeat." The score was already 10 to 2.

"You just wait," he said with conviction. "You'll see." She smiled and shook her head. His loyalty to the pathetic team was comical, but also pity-inducing.

He pretended to pout at the condescension on her face, so she patted the couch cushion next to her for him to come sit. Feigning reluctance, he flopped down and reached for both their meals, then handed her the chicken lo mein. They ate quietly for a few minutes, both wrapped up in the game, and before long Remy heard the familiar clunk-slide of House's gait.

"Had enough yet, masochist?" he asked Stephen, nodding to the TV.

It was true, the Nets were winning by 20 points at the end of the first quarter. "I'm not giving up yet," Stephen insisted. "Food?" He gestured to the bag still sitting on the table in front of them. Without comment, House rifled through the containers and selected one, settling on the chair with it and a pair of wooden chopsticks.

The meal was quiet, but not uncomfortable. House and Stephen bantered lightly about their game, and Remy just watched, impressed. She knew Stephen was extremely easy to get along with, but it seemed even House liked him! Or as much as he likes anybody, at least. Remy let out the breath she'd been holding since he emerged from his room. If he hadn't said anything yet, chances were he was going to let their argument that afternoon stay in the past. But why the sudden consideration? She'd expected him to announce her medical status just to get back at her. Whatever. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess.

"Fortune cookie?" Stephen asked, a much-needed distraction from her thoughts.

Unwrapping the cookie he handed her, she broke off half of it and pulled out the slip of paper. Out of habit, she glanced at the generic proverb. No one can meet the needs you won't let show.

Well, I promise things WILL start happening fast, next chapter =) which will be up sooner if I get some reviews!