Here is the much-awaited (hopefully) chapter in which things actually happen =)

"Coffee?" Remy asked the two men, extracting herself from the couch around 10:00.

"Sure, thanks," Stephen agreed.

"Real or that decaf shit?" House grumbled. She waited - he knew she didn't do caffeine. "I guess."

Almost comforted by his customary rudeness, she headed into the kitchen and poured three cups of already-brewed coffee. Stephen took his black, and she remembered House did too, so she added cream only to hers and gave it a stir. Picking up two cups with one hand and one in the other, she turned to go back to the living room.

Crash.

The next instant, hot coffee and ceramic shards exploded across the kitchen floor.

Stunned, Remy stared down at the shattered mug, then at her left hand still holding two others. One cup of coffee doesn't slip. Even as she began to put together what happened, Stephen flew through the doorway. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer, both hands trembling now. "Hey, it's okay. It's just a cup of coffee." He bent to pick up some larger shards, then caught a glimpse of her face. "What's wrong?"

Clunk-slide. Clunk-slide. Instead of meeting Stephen's gaze, she flicked her eyes to the door just as House stepped into view. He stood and took in the scene - mug on the floor, two others in one hand, her standing shaking and scared in the middle of the kitchen. By the time his eyes met hers, she had all the confirmation she needed. He didn't switch my decaf for regular this time. And he knows it didn't just slip.

Stephen spoke, still concerned. "Remy. Talk to me. What's wrong?"

For another moment, her gaze remained locked to House's. Then he gave a slight nod, and she thought she saw a glimpse of near sympathy there before he turned. The click of his cane told her he was retreating to his room.

Left alone with Stephen, she glanced down disbelievingly once more at her hands, then finally met his eyes. Guilt stabbed at her; they were full of concern and fear. And this is the least of what I'll do to him. Her heart ached at the thought of dragging him into her impending fate. Run, Stephen. Get as far as you can from this sinking ship.

But instead, he stepped carefully around the mess on the floor and pulled her closer. Gently prying her hands from their rigid position in front of her, he tugged her in and wrapped his firm arms around her. Staying just far enough to see her face, he whispered, "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

The quiet assurance was enough to make tears well up in her eyes, and she suddenly clung to him and ducked her head to his chest. Hiding her emotion was futile; soon the sobs shook her body against his. I'm sorry, Stephen. I'm not strong enough to do this on my own. Too selfish to send you away. She gasped out the word without meeting his eyes. "Huntingtons." I'm so sorry to do this to you.

She was silent, and seconds passed like years. Say something. Anything, she begged him silently. "It's a degenerative neurological disease," she explained. He knows what Huntingtons is. Shut up. But she continued just to avoid looking at him. "Hereditary. No one knows when the symptoms will set in, but once they do...there's no cure. It starts with muscle weakness and spasms, then increasing lack of control..."

She faded off as she felt him began to shake with tears. "Oh, Remy." And he clutched her tighter, nearly suffocating her with his grip. "I'm sorry. So sorry. No one deserves this less than you." Crying again now, she shook her head wordlessly. "You should have told me."

"There's nothing you can do. I'm already in a clinical trial, my third. Obviously, it's not working as well as they thought..."

His voice shook. "Friday mornings."

"You suspected," she said, not surprised.

"Not this. Never this. I knew there was something...Maybe nothing serious, or maybe even cancer. But I never thought this."

"Now you know," she said quietly.

He paused, then gazed down at her. "Hereditary. That means..."

"My mother." Please, not now. She couldn't do a long, detailed life story right now. Suddenly exhausted, she leaned her head down against his chest and closed her eyes. She felt a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair in a way she found strangely comforting.

They stayed that way until she lost track of time and both their quivering sobs subsided. When he finally leaned back just slightly enough to look at her, she met his eyes almost fearfully, not sure what she'd find there. Instead of grief, distance, or even anger she expected, he looked pensive.

"You've been hiding this for three years." She nodded in answer to the simple statement. "House knew..." he murmured. "Did everyone know in Princeton?" Another nod. He studied her a moment. What is he thinking? "And that's why you left."

She hesitated. "Not exactly. Maybe. I don't know. Everyone there saw me as the beautifully tragic young doctor who unfortunately wouldn't ever be able to take advantage of the job opportunities my fellowship with House would open up. Between House's constant abuse and Eric's overbearing concern...I couldn't deal with it myself. I needed to start over."

Abrupt pain crossed his face. What? What did I say? She didn't understand until he spoke. "So now that I know..."

And she knew what he was asking. Will I leave again? Pick up and move? It wasn't something she wanted to do. I'm happy here...I WAS happy. What if this changes things? She pulled back from his arms. "I don't know, Stephen. I don't know." Suddenly she needed space, needed time to assure herself she wasn't going to drown in pity again.

She felt him study her, silently reading her as always. "I should go," he said quietly. "It's late, you're tired." He paused, which she knew was to measure her reaction. The relief must have been evident on her face, because he stepped back looking slightly stung and ran a hand through his hair. "Remy..." But instead of completing the thought, he turned and walked to the door.

Instead of the freedom from suffocating concern she expected, she felt as if her only source of air had been snatched away. No. Don't do this, don't hurt him. "Stephen," she called, and he glanced over his shoulder. Come back. I need you. Don't go. "Neither of us work tomorrow. I'll call you?" she said lamely.

He gazed at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to blurt out all the things whirring through her head. Please understand, she willed him silently. But he simply nodded. "Of course. Goodnight, Remy." Then he was gone.

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