1999

House was playing golf with Stacy when a debilitating pain shot through his right thigh. He fell to the ground, screaming in pain. She called an ambulance and he was taken to PPTH. An ER doctor prescribed aspirin, heat compresses and bed rest. Three days later he was admitted to the hospital because the pain increased. Cuddy came into his hospital room to tell him he had an infarction in the main artery in his thigh. She wanted to amputate but he refused. In the end, while he was in a medically induced coma, Stacy gave the doctors permission to remove the dead muscle from his thigh. He awoke with a chunk of his thigh missing and constant, overwhelming pain. When House was finally released from the hospital, Wilson came to see him. House lay on the couch with his new cane propped beside him and a bottle of Vicodin on the coffee table.

"I wish Stacy called me when this happened," Wilson told him as he sat down in a chair.

"You were on your honeymoon," House reminded him. "Somehow I don't think your wife would be too happy if you cut that short for me. She already hates me."

"Yeah, you're probably right. So, Stacy signed off on that procedure."

House reached for the Vicodin, popped the top off and dry swallowed two of them. "Yep," he responded bitterly.

"I saw Cuddy," Wilson responded sensing that was a dangerous topic, "She said she approved your request to start a Diagnostics department."

"Yeah," House said and shifted on the couch trying to get comfortable. "I get to hire three doctors and two nurses."

"That's great."

"Yeah, I can go back to work next month. Wanna help me hire my team?" House asked him.

"Sure."

House limped out of the elevator, leaning heavily on his cane and slowly made his way to his new office. Cuddy had several offices remodeled for the new department. He passed an exam room, a large glass walled conference room and stopped in front of his new glassed in office. He looked at his name on the glass door and then pushed it open. All the furniture from his old office was set up. His framed posters leaned against the walls. His sank down in his Eames lounger and lifted his leg onto the footstool. He swung his other leg up and leaned back. He was on the verge of sleep when Wilson walked in carrying a pile of resumes. House jerked slightly and rubbed his hand over his face. He looked at Wilson.

"I need more Vicodin," he said. "Write me a script."

"Well, good morning to you, too," Wilson told him. "And I can't write you a script because I'm not your doctor."

House very carefully got up and moved to sit behind his desk. "I switched doctors. You're my doctor. Now write me the script."

"I can't be your doctor," Wilson started to protest.

"Just write me the fucking script!" House shouted. "I'm in pain and I'm out of my fucking Vicodin!"

Wilson sat down in one of the chairs in front of House's desk. Pulling out his prescription pad, he wrote out the prescription. He tore it off and held it out to House.

"Go get it filled for me," House said picking up the first application.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Wilson asked with concern.

"Only if you don't get my Vicodin."

Wilson sighed loudly and left. House flipped through the resumes until he found the three doctors he wanted. Cuddy would transfer two nurses to his department. Wilson walked in with a bottle of pills and tossed them to House. House caught the bottle in his right hand without looking up. He popped the top off and dry swallowed two of the pills. Then he shoved the three resumes across the desk to Wilson.

"I want these three," House told him. "What do you think?"

Wilson carefully read over the resumes. The three doctors House chose just finished their residencies. Eric Foreman was a neurologist. Robert Chase was an intensivist and surgeon. Allison Cameron was an immunologist.

"They don't have any experience," Wilson commented.

"Exactly. I won't have to beat any bad habits out of them."

"Then I guess they're perfect," Wilson told him as he held the resumes out to him.

House waved his hand dismissively. "Call them and tell them to be here next Monday at eight."

"In case it escaped your notice," Wilson replied. "I don't work for you. Get one of your nurses to call them or better yet, call them yourself."

House leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. "You always were a selfish bitch."

Wilson stood and tossed the resumes on House's desk. "Yes, well, at least I'm not your bitch." He turned and walked to the door.

"Lunch at one," House called out. "You're buying."

Wilson waved a hand over his head and continued out.

House leaned forward and pulled the resumes forward. He flipped the first one open and called Doctor Allison Cameron.

Over the next six months, House trained Cameron, Chase and Foreman. They only took one case at a time. He and Cuddy butted heads often about everything he did. When he realized Cameron had a crush on him, he got her to cover his clinic hours. He took great delight in making the three of them do things the two nurses should do. Eventually, Cuddy assigned the nurses to other departments. He worked long hours and began to ignore Stacy. One night he came home to find her sitting on the couch waiting for him.

"Call Reilly," she said when he walked in.

House had told her all about Reilly a year into their relationship. Stacy found a picture of them in the back of his sock drawer.

"No," he responded tersely. He limped down the hall to the bathroom. Stacy followed him and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Call her," Stacy repeated. "If anyone can help you, she can."

"I don't need help," he ground out. "I need my thigh muscle. I need the pain to stop."

"If you don't get help from someone, I'm leaving. I've been offered a job at a firm in Short Hills."

He shrugged, flushed the toilet and limped over to the sink to wash his hands.

"Do you even care?" she asked softly.

House gripped the edge of the sink. "Did you care when you ordered that hack to cut my leg apart and leave me barely able to walk and in so much pain I can barely stand it?"

"You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?" she asked in a quavering voice.

He turned to face her. "Would you?"

"If you did it to save my life, yes."

"Well that's really easy to say since you're not the one dealing with it all. So, stay or don't stay. I don't care any more."

She began to sob as he walked past her into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Stacy looked at the closed door and walked back out to the living room. She picked up the phone and called Wilson.

When he arrived, Stacy was sitting on the step outside the apartment smoking a cigarette. He got out of his car and walked across the sidewalk. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked down at her.

"What did he do now?" he asked.

She looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. Wilson sighed and sat down beside her.

"Did he ever tell you about Reilly?" she asked as she blew out a plume of smoke and then stubbed her cigarette out.

"No. Who is he?"

"She grew up with Greg. They were inseparable for twenty-six years. Their fathers were in the same Marine squadron and their mothers are best friends. They went to Langston Prep, Harvard and Hopkins together. She sends him gifts every year for his birthday and Christmas. He never responds."

She pulled a small picture out of her pocket and gave it to Wilson. Wilson looked down at it. House stood next to a beautiful redhead in a wedding gown. They looked at each other with adoration.

"House was married?" he asked in shock.

"No, that was taken on her wedding day. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two daughters. James, he won't call her. He made his mother and Reilly's family promise not to tell Reilly what happened to him. I think she can help him. Blythe told me that he changed after Reilly left. When she was with him, she could, well, control him. Apparently, she understood him and never judged him. She accepted him and Blythe said Reilly told me Greg belongs to her and she belongs to him, whatever that means. I just really think she can help him."

"And you want to call her," Wilson said.

Stacy nodded.

"Don't," Wilson sighed. "You have to respect his wishes in this."

"Unlike I did with his leg?" she snapped.

"Yes. He loves you but I don't think he trusts you anymore. I know it sounds harsh but I'm afraid it's true."

Stacy began to cry and Wilson put his arm around her.

"Then I'm leaving," she sobbed.

A week later, she moved out.