Disclaimer : the characters in this story do not belong to me, they're amazing creations of David Shore

Greg started visiting often after their talk. At first, Stacy thought it might just be a fleeting whim—a rare, fleeting moment of guilt or sentimentality. But the visits kept coming. Almost every day, there he was: leaning casually against her doorframe, a bag of takeout in hand or some sarcastic remark on his lips.

He didn't make a big deal about it, and neither did she. But his presence began to feel like a lifeline. Billy was relentless—crying at all hours, demanding her every ounce of energy—and Greg had a knack for stepping in at just the right moments.

One evening, Billy's cries had escalated into a full-blown meltdown. Stacy, overwhelmed and near tears herself, was bouncing him in her arms when Greg strolled in unannounced.

"Sounds like someone's auditioning for a horror movie," he quipped, setting down a bag of Chinese takeout on her kitchen counter.

She glared at him, her patience thin. "Greg, I swear if you don't—"

Before she could finish, he gently plucked Billy from her arms. "Relax. You're wound tighter than my thigh muscle."

To her astonishment, he started humming—terribly off-key but oddly soothing—and Billy quieted, staring up at him with wide eyes.

"How—?" Stacy began, dumbfounded.

"Turns out, I'm not completely useless," he said with a smirk, carefully lowering Billy into his crib once the baby's eyelids began to droop. "Also, he probably just wanted a break from you. No offense."

The nights started to blend together. Sometimes Greg stayed late, lounging on her couch with a beer while she fed Billy. Other times, he'd show up just as she was about to collapse, taking over with the baby so she could get a few hours of precious sleep. One night, after a particularly rough day, he even ended up crashing on her couch.

"You know, this thing is about as comfortable as a slab of concrete," he muttered the next morning, stretching his legs and rubbing his neck.

"I'm sure Billy would let you borrow his crib," Stacy teased, pouring him a cup of coffee.

He raised an eyebrow. "Tempting. But I think I'd rather keep my dignity."

One quiet evening, Stacy found Greg sitting on the floor with Billy, trying to make the baby laugh with exaggerated faces and occasional commentary. "Kid's got a decent smirk," he muttered. "Definitely mine."

Stacy looked up from the dishes, freezing. "What did you say?"

Greg turned to her, his face uncharacteristically serious. "I said, he's mine. And don't bother arguing because we both know it's true."

Her breath hitched. For weeks, she'd wondered if Greg would acknowledge it or if he'd keep dancing around the truth. Now, the weight of those simple words made her eyes sting.

"Greg..." she started, but he cut her off.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, standing and dusting off his jeans. "But let's not pretend. I'm the father, and I'm here. Deal with it."

She laughed through the tears that suddenly welled up. "That's the most Greg House thing you've ever said."

"Good," he replied, picking up Billy and holding him awkwardly but securely.

A few weeks later, Greg was leaning against her counter, flipping through a medical journal while she tried to coax Billy into taking his bottle.

"You should move in with me," he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

Stacy froze, blinking up at him. "What?"

"You, the kid," he gestured toward Billy, "all your stuff. Move in. My place is bigger, closer to the hospital, and I have way better snacks."

She stared at him, unsure if he was serious. "Greg, that's... not exactly a small ask."

He shrugged. "You need help. I'm there anyway. Might as well save me the gas money."

Despite the casual delivery, Stacy could see something deeper in his eyes—something that told her this wasn't just another one of his impulsive ideas.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he said, looking straight at her. "I was wrong before. You're not better off without me. And maybe... I'm not better off without you either."

Her heart ached at his words, the raw honesty in them. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. But then Billy let out a small coo, breaking the silence.

Stacy smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Okay," she whispered.

Greg smirked. "Good. But just so we're clear, I'm not changing diapers at 3 a.m."

"Sure you're not," she said, laughing as she leaned back against the wall.

Stacy stared at him for a long moment after his words settled, her mind trying to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions she felt. Greg House—acerbic, unpredictable, impossible Greg—had just said the most vulnerable thing she'd ever heard from him.

And she believed him.

Before she could overthink it, Stacy set the baby's bottle aside, stood up, and crossed the small distance between them. Without a word, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug unlike any she'd given him before.

Greg froze for half a second—always caught off guard by genuine emotion—but then he relaxed, his arms coming up around her. She buried her face against his chest, his familiar scent—soap, faint traces of cologne, and something uniquely Greg—overwhelming her.

Sure, they had dated for years, and she knew him better than almost anyone else in the world. But this? This felt different. For Stacy, there was no place more comforting than Greg's arms. Here, for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel alone.

"You good?" Greg mumbled after a while, his voice muffled against her hair.

She didn't answer immediately. "Yeah," she said quietly, her voice steady.

He gave a small grunt, like he wasn't entirely sure what to do next. "This is, uh... longer than the standard hug duration."

"Shut up, Greg," she murmured, not moving.

He didn't reply. Instead, he shifted his weight slightly, his arms tightening just a fraction. The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was something else—something neither of them could fully name.

When she finally pulled back, she looked at him, her expression calm but tired. "Thanks," she said simply.

Greg tilted his head. "For what?"

"For being here," she said, brushing a hand over Billy's blanket in the crib.

He shrugged. "Don't make a big deal out of it," he said, stepping back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I won't," she replied, her lips curving into the smallest smile.

Billy stirred in his crib, letting out a soft whimper, and Greg glanced over. "He's still your problem," he said, jerking his chin toward the baby.

"Good to know," she said dryly, turning to pick him up.

Greg lingered by the counter, watching her settle Billy in her arms. He didn't say anything else, but the way he stood there, not leaving, told her everything she needed to know.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy. But it was a start.

-A FEW WEEKS LATER-

'BACK TO WHERE IT ALL BEGAN'

The move was unceremonious, like most things with Greg. He showed up in his car—an assortment of boxes crammed haphazardly into the trunk and backseat—and waited while she finished feeding Billy.

"You pack like a raccoon digging through a dumpster," Stacy said, standing on the curb with Billy in her arms.

Greg leaned against the car, unbothered. "I'll take that as a thank-you for doing all the heavy lifting."

He rubs this thigh after placing the last box in the trunk, a reminder of the pain he'll have for life.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she secured Billy in his car seat. The drive to his apartment was quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the engine and Billy's occasional cooing from the back.

When they arrived, Stacy hesitated at the door for a moment. The apartment looked exactly as she remembered it—messy, lived-in, undeniably Greg. Her hand lingered on the doorknob before she pushed it open, stepping inside.

It smelled the same, a mix of coffee, faint antiseptic, and something uniquely him. Her eyes traveled over the familiar space: the worn couch where they used to sit watching old movies, the bookshelf stuffed with medical journals and random knickknacks, the piano in the corner.

It hit her all at once—the years she'd spent here, the fights, the laughter, the quiet mornings when everything felt right. She'd loved this place, and for a long time, it had felt like home.

Greg walked past her, dropping a box onto the coffee table. "Nostalgia hitting you already?"

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "It's like stepping back in time."

"Great," he said, plopping onto the couch. "Now you get to relive all the parts where I'm annoying."

She laughed, shaking her head as she set Billy's car seat down near the couch. "At least I'm prepared this time."

Greg smirked, watching her as she moved around the room, adjusting to the space again. "You'll get used to it," he said, almost casually.

But Stacy knew this wasn't just about her getting used to the apartment again. It was about them—about figuring out if they could make this work.

She turned to him, her smile softening. "I already have."

Without giving herself time to second-guess, she stepped closer and leaned down, brushing her lips against his. It wasn't hesitant or rushed; it was steady and deliberate, full of things she hadn't said out loud.

Greg stiffened for a fraction of a second—surprised, maybe—but then he kissed her back, his hand resting lightly on her hip. When they pulled away, his blue eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn't make a snarky comment or push her away.

Stacy straightened, feeling her cheeks warm. "For the record," she said quietly, "I missed this place."

He tilted his head, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "Yeah. Me too."

Billy let out a small whimper from his car seat, breaking the moment. Greg sighed, leaning back on the couch. "Kid's got terrible timing."

Stacy laughed, picking Billy up and cradling him in her arms. "Guess he takes after his dad."

Greg snorted but didn't argue, his gaze following her as she settled into the space again. It wasn't perfect, and it wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in years, things felt right

[Pls let me know if you liked this chapter and if I should change/add anything]