Smirking to himself as he gleefully watched Cuddy's departure, House picked up the clinic files, cocking an eyebrow upwards as one of the name labels caught his eye. From a smirk to a smile in a flash, House turned around and was thinking as fast as he walked, speeding down the corridor, working his cane into fifth gear, downshifting as he rounded the corner, heading toward the clinic at top speed. Arriving, he picked out the one file that had caught his eye, opened it and scanned to the bottom, taking it all in, then, hand on the doorknob, House made his choice. He went in. A high, musical laugh greeted him as he knew it would. "Greg, it's been so long. You look fine. I think I, um, need you. Can you help me?" House stared, slack-jawed, and stumbled into the room. Was her beauty making him stupid or was it something else?

"Hi Stacy. What is it this time? Is your cat acting like a dog but won't admit he's sick?"

She flashed him a brilliant smile, the same one that had at various times in the last 15 years convinced him to paint her toenails, eat sushi, and seriously consider buying a yellow VW Bug. He could only guess what she had in store for him now. "Greg...I'm pregnant." "Obstetrics is not my specialty. You know that." "I know, but I think something's wrong with the baby."

"Oh God. Here we go again. I really don't care. Go have the devils' spawn at Princeton General." *leaves exam room* "Wilson! Where is my ride?"