"Dr. House, you have a visitor."

House was sitting on his bed, lost in a book he had been reading. He hadn't seen his roommate since breakfast and he loved the peace and quiet. It only occurred on Sunday's that his roommate would leave him alone, usually because he would get visitors. Sunday was the only day Mayfield allowed visitors onto the grounds, although the time with visitors was limited. House didn't look up at the orderly, who was standing in the doorway. "I am not expecting anybody." He continued reading, uninterested in whoever was here to see him. He had made it clear to Wilson that he didn't want anybody to visit him. And so far, they had all listened. But it had only been 5 weeks since he was admitted. One of his overly concerned co-workers was bound to get anxious and come see him anyway.

"Whatever you say. But I'd check it out if I were you. Ooh boy, she's hot!" The orderly waited a moment for House to look up before he was gonna tell the beautiful woman House was not receiving people today. The orderly's rude comment did get House's attention and House looked up. There was only one woman he could think of that would come visit him and he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with her yet. Cuddy had been on his mind for weeks and he still hadn't figured out what to do about her. House's heart rate increased a little and he scolded himself for getting nervous, constantly battling for control of his emotions.

He put the book down and lifted his leg over the edge of the bed. The pain shot through him and he could feel it all the way in his back. Being at Mayfield meant he was still able to take Vicodin, but his intake was being monitored. Just 4 pills a day and that was it. Right before House was admitted to Mayfield, he would easily take 8 pills a day, 10 if he was up all night. But the minute he had stepped foot into the psychiatric hospital, those days were over and he had to rely on his treating physician to give him the painkiller.

Taking a deep breath, House got his walking stick and followed the orderly out of the hospital, onto a small gravel path into the visitor's garden. The hospital was located on a small hill and the visitor's garden was just down a small slope. It was late June now and the weather was lovely; the temperature not high enough to burn your flesh, but just warm enough to make you feel a little more at ease. A soft breeze made the leaves on the big oak tree rustle softly. It almost seemed like nothing was wrong and this was just a normal day. But then he saw her form sitting on a bench under that big oak tree and he knew this was no ordinary day. House stopped dead in his tracks and for a moment he lost his resolve. Of all the beautiful women he knew, she was the last one he had ever expected to see here. He quickly composed himself, before taking a deep breath and announcing his presence.

"I told Wilson I didn't want any visitors."

Stacy sat with her back to him and his voice startled her. It had been so long since she had heard his voice. Three and a half years had passed since that night he had told her she would be better off without him; that he couldn't make her happy, because he was unwilling to change. And she had tried to forget about him, their kiss in Baltimore and the night they shared together, but she had been unable to shake the memories. And it had cost her. A lot.

When Stacy looked up, House was looking off into the distance, avoiding her gaze. The orderly interrupted: "You've got 45 minutes," and then left.

Stacy got up from the bench and waited for House to look at her. "I know. That's what he told me." House finally met her eyes. What the hell was she doing here? For a moment fear shot through him, afraid that what was happening wasn't real. But he hadn't had a hallucination in four weeks, there was no reason for them to return now. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind.

"And you chose to ignore him." He wasn't surprised. Stacy always did what she wanted. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but he felt the need to protect himself. Stacy didn't answer. Instead she looked at him and it struck her how much older he had gotten over the last few years. The gray in his hair and beard was much more visible; the lines in his face were a little deeper and he was leaning on his walking stick like he could hardly put any weight on his leg. But his piercing blue eyes were still as penetrable as always. She remembered the times when she would just get lost in them, smiling a little at the memory.

"Stacy?"

"I'm sorry. James told me what had happened and I wanted to see you." She didn't say how much she knew about the events that had lead to House being admitted to a psychiatric facility and that unsettled House.

The pain in his leg intensified for a moment and House held his breath until it passed. Stacy saw him close his eyes and knew he was in pain, a flashback of the aftermath of House's infarction flashing before her eyes. Ten years had gone by, but she remembered it all too well.

"Please, let's sit." She gestured for him to join her on the bench. House couldn't argue. His leg was killing him and he had another hour to go before his next dose of Vicodin. But he hated that she saw him like this.

House made sure he sat to Stacy's right, a habit he had picked up over the years, just to avoid anybody accidentally bumping into his bad leg.

"What happened to your shoelaces?" Stacy noticed the lack of laces in his Nikes.

"Lethal weapons. Can't trust a crazy person with them."

"You're not crazy." She said matter-of-factly.

"How would you know? You do realize this is a mental hospital, right?"

"Well, I know you, Greg." She almost sounded condescending.

"Maybe I've changed." Two minutes together and they were already bickering. It all felt too familiar. He looked at his shoes without laces, his head swimming with emotions, both good and bad. The internal struggle was giving him a headache.

"I highly doubt that." Stacy noticed the emotional barrier Greg put between them. He had done it often before and she recognized it immediately. This man didn't change.

Neither of them said anything, both listening to the wind caressing the leaves of the oak; watching the other patients and their families as they met again in the garden. Stacy waited for Greg to say something, anything, but he kept staring at his shoes. Up close, the lines in his face were even more visible and he looked tired, like he hadn't slept in months. After a while Stacy couldn't take it and she reached for his hand. "You know I'm here if you wanna talk."

Greg was startled a little at the contact and stared at her hand in his, feeling her squeeze him softly as she spoke. He shouldn't be surprised. Stacy always broke through whatever barrier he put up, not caring what his reasoning was for putting it up in the first place. It was a trait he used to love about her, the way she saw through him, the way she always saw him for who he was, not who he pretended to be; the rude cripple with a hatred to people in general.

"What did Wilson tell you exactly?" He needed to know.

"He told me you were hallucinating, probably because of the Vicodin."

"Did he tell you what I hallucinated?"

"He told me about Amber."

"And?"

"And that it was so bad, you couldn't tell the difference between the hallucinations and reality." Stacy had been shocked when James had told her that.

"He didn't tell you I hallucinated having sex with Cuddy? I'm surprised." The words came out like they had no meaning. This was just House bating her, trying to get a reaction out of her. And it worked. Stacy was stunned.

"Greg, I had no idea." She didn't know what else to say. She could only imagine the fear Greg must have felt when he realized he had been hallucinating. Not being able to trust his own mind, that what he values most in his life, must have been the most terrifying feeling he could ever experience.

A silence fell between them. Greg was satisfied that he had been able to shock Stacy into silence. But that was the only reaction he had gotten out of her.

"Does Lisa know?" How would she react to this?

"I don't know. Wilson is the only one who knows about it. He might have told her. I don't know."

"Are you in love with her?" She wanted to know, because it might just change things completely.

Greg's voice changed and was barely audible. "I thought I was. Now I'm not so sure anymore." His honesty shone through and it touched Stacy.

"I'm so sorry." God, he had been through a lot.

"I don't need your pity, Stacy."

"I know, Greg. I know." Instead, she just caressed his hand, wondering when the last time was that someone had held his hand. She was also surprised that Greg hadn't pulled back yet.

He gazed up into her eyes and gave her an almost apologetic smile, like he knew she still loved him, just as he knew he still loved her on some level. That feeling had just become a part of him, buried deep inside, only rising to the surface when they were together. It had been like that 4 years ago when Stacy had come to Princeton Plainsboro with her husband and it was the same now. And he knew she felt the same. He didn't need her to say it. It was there in her eyes, in her face, in the way she held his hand.

They both sat on the bench, lost in thought. Time passed by, but neither of them was keeping track. House's head was hurting, but it was momentarily drawn out by a piercing pain in his leg. He let go of her hand, bending over his leg in agony.

"Damn it!" He clenched his teeth, rubbing his right leg with both hands.

Stacy was startled by the outburst and was momentarily at a loss for what to do.

"Where's your Vicodin? I mean, do you still take that, or is there something else?" Worry sounded through in her voice. She hated seeing him in pain. She couldn't count the moments she had wished she could bear the pain for him, take it all away.

House was taking deep breaths, eyes shut again, massaging his leg. "Monitored dosage. I only get one pill once every 6 hours."

"Well, how long until your next dose?"

"Less than an hour." He was looking forward to it.

"Can't they give it to you sooner? I could ask…" The negotiator in her surfaced. It was so natural for her to try and take control over a situation.

"No! Forget it." House interrupted her, rubbing his leg even more frantically, like the stress of her presence was causing his pain to increase. "There's no breaking the rules here. Trust me, I've tried." Stacy knew she was on his turf. She had never been in a situation like this and yet she couldn't help but be her audacious self. "I'm sorry," she said softly. She didn't know what to do. Stacy never really knew what to do when House was in pain. So, instead she just rubbed her hand over his back softly, hoping the action would distract him.

Stacy didn't know how long they sat there, but some time passed before House settled down a little and his breathing returned to normal. With her right hand still on his back and her left hand in her lap, she saw him looking at her hand and she knew he was staring at one finger in particular; one that used to have a ring around it. She stopped her ministrations and absentmindedly folded both hands in her lap. Greg stared ahead again and Stacy waited for him to speak, knowing he couldn't help himself.

"What happened to Mark?" There was no gloating in his voice, but he didn't look at her.

"It didn't work out. We got divorced about six months ago."

"Is that why you're here?" He didn't care why they split up. He was looking at her now, curiosity getting the better of him.

"No, it's not."

"Dr. House! You're time is up." The orderly had returned and evidently 45 minutes had passed. House and Stacy stared at each other. Greg wanted to ask her why she was here, but their time was over.

Stacy walked up the gravel path with House, knowing the slight incline would be painful for him. There were still so many things she wanted to talk to him about, so against her better judgment, she asked: "Is it okay if I come back next week?" She stopped walking and Greg turned around to face her. The question had caught him unawares. She wanted to come back? He hadn't even thought about next week. He was living day-to-day these days, but the fact that she wanted to see him again intrigued him, even though he was too proud to ever let on about that fact. And he did want to see her again. He always did.

"Do whatever you want."

Stacy watched as Greg retreated inside, orderly at his side who was holding the door open for him. There were no goodbyes, no hugs, just an empty feeling and a thousand words left unspoken.

It was just like Greg to act indifferent and let her make the decision, so that if things didn't work out, he had her to blame. But she really wanted to see him, because her life was about to change dramatically and she wanted nothing more than to be around the people who knew her best. She wanted to be around the people she loved, no matter how screwed up that love might be. Stacy checked her watch. Tomorrow around this time, she would have the test results. She would decide then if she would come back here or not.

When House got back to his room, his roommate was nowhere in sight. 'Thank God', House thought. House wanted some time to himself. Stacy's visit had shaken him more than he was willing to admit to himself. Not being able to trust your own emotions was the most frightening thing one could ever experience. And House had been experiencing it for months: the weeks leading up to his admittance and now he still struggled with it on a daily basis. Stacy's appearance was probably more than he could handle. Seeing her again had brought back feelings he thought he didn't have anymore. Did he still love her? Wasn't he in love with Cuddy? Was he even capable of love after everything that had happened? He was such a mess. But he also knew that Stacy was probably the only person in the world that could help him through this, because she was the outsider looking in, looking into his life with a different point of view. And she most likely knew him better than anybody, including Wilson and Cuddy.

Not long after House got to his room, the doctor in charge came by with his Vicodin. Because of the lower dosage and the minor detox House went through when he first came to Mayfield, the pills had regained some of their original strength and the pain in his leg soon diminished. House laid back on the bed and replayed the afternoon over and over, imagining Stacy's hand in his again. How long had it been since he had been touched by anyone? He hadn't even hugged Wilson when his friend had dropped him off at Mayfield. To be honest, he shied away from human touch, knowing that whoever came too close would end up getting hurt and he was afraid he would get hurt as well. But he craved it. Maybe more than anything else. He had been denying himself for far too long. For a while he thought that Cuddy might be the one to fill the emptiness, but he had pushed her away, too. She was probably too scared now to come anywhere near him. He didn't blame her. And again, Stacy was probably the only one who didn't care about getting too close. She would just push her way in. And maybe that was exactly what he needed right now.

He closed his eyes and let the Vicodin take over, clouding his mind, easing his thoughts and relieving the pain as he drifted off to sleep until those 45 minutes he'd spent with her almost seemed like a dream.