First fic, never tried this before. Inspired by this fabulous series and reading so much great fic. Pretty insubstantial and short, but needed to start somewhere.

So long and thanks for…..


Status: Work in progress
Type: Gen
Rating: Mature- Adult themes, strong language
Category: Mostly angst
Warnings: Strong language
Spoilers: First season
Summary: Three weeks after House is discharged from PPTH, post infarction.
Disclaimers: House belongs to David Shore, Fox and people with more talent than me. Title belongs to the late, great, Douglas Adams.




Chapter One

Feel like a chain store,
Practically floored

- Blur, “Coffee and TV”


It was one of those surround sound heat days, just pull all the blinds, crank up the air con and do the minimum. Minimum had changed these days, House cranked his head a little further back as he strained at the screen. He’d been lying on the floor for the last hour, head at the base of the tv unit, legs propped on the coffee table, jabbing at the game control as he attempted the third level of Sonic Triple Trouble. He’d completed this new game hours ago and to alleviate the boredom he was trying to do it again while looking up at the game from below the screen. Failing on his previous two attempts, he’d now figured out the whole left to right thing and was making progress.


Since the return from hospital, he’d been pretty much camped out in the den. Always preferred it to the lounge room, comfier couches and the tv was way better. After weeks without any respite from the endless entourage of doctors, nurses, physios, he’d been ready for it. Long stretches of quiet, no interruptions, no checks, no tense faces. Stacy had been nervous about heading back to work, but he practically begged her. They were close to fighting over it.
She’d insisted that he rushed PT, not paid enough attention to their advise. She was worried, he would try too much, wouldn’t try enough.

She was fucking worried.

She, yeah, she.

That was what it had all been about for her, and everything about her reminded him. Wanting to yell back at her, but knowing if he started he may never stop.

It was all way too much, way too messed up, distorted, bent beyond process, playing like white noise if he let himself feel.

So he’d buried himself in the den. Spent days lying on the couch, watching hours of reruns, the Bond marathon for the third time through on TNT. Playing Mortal Kombat until the ache in his hands just about beat the other pain into a photo finish. Grabbing a few hours sleep at the blissful peak of a just taken pill.

Sleep. Just thinking about collapsing into their bed had kept him going during the long, blank stillness of night after night on the ward. Moving without wires and bedrails, feeling soft, cool cotton against his skin, not the starchy scratch of too thick blankets. Feeling her. Fitful half-dreams of falling asleep in the dark, no brittle fluorescent night light imprinting its glow as he closed his eyes. Waking to natural light, stretching beyond himself to a gentle warmth.

Of her. Her body.

After the longest wait he could remember, that first night at home, back where he belonged, expectation had collapsed under reality.

Wow, Benj, wow. The detail in this is what gets me. House sprawled out on the floor, wedged between a couch and the coffee table, playing video games: perfect. The desire to be home again with comfortable sheets and peace and quiet... And I love, love, LOVE the way you treated Stacy in this bit. The way you have House think about her, "Of her. Her body." is so telling and so accurate. But of course he has mixed feelings and you bring that out well. This I especially love:

Captures his anger and his unwillingness to open himself up again emotionally perfectly. Damn. Da-amn.

And then I adore the ending:

Because, yeah. Yeah. How could anything ever be right about them again? It's just...wow. Very well done. Welcome to ficland. :)

Looking forward to more, especially because you could take this in so many directions and I can't tell which one you'd pick, so it'll be a surprise. I love surprises.

Cheers,
Sy

Very cool so far. I hope you'll be doing more, otherwise this was just a frustrating little tease of potential story.


Seems to me there's a possibility for a lot of filler stories for House's past, since I expect we'll get the official word only in dribs and drabs. And if they come up with something that doesn't fit? Who cares. Call it AU and keep going.

Just quick though:

I believe you want advice there, with a C.

Why is it that British and American spellings differ? The 'c' or 'z' instead of an 's', subtracting a 'u' as in 'advi(s)ce,' 'advertis(z)e,' and 'colo(u)r'. And there's the whole single 'quotations' vs. double "quotations" thing and then that weird whatsits the French use which isn't even on my keyboard (the 'raquo' I think it's called in HTML: »). Who knows. Bet the history there is interesting, how Americans came to alter the spelling of certain words and other points of style...stubborn yankee something something probably...crap, now I'm gonna have to look into this out of curiosity. ;)

Anyway, not a mispelling. Just a cultural difference. :D

(That was pedantic. Sorry. :unsure: I'm a language/style geek.)

(...wrong about 'raquo' - that's Danish; French use the 'guillemet'. Yeah, actually looked this one up. Such a geek, really, such a geek.)

Great work, Benj. Very nice fic debut. The small details are great, and really give the piece a claustrophobic feel. (I'm pretty sure this is what you were going for, given the oppressive heat threatening from just outside and the limited mobility shrinking his house down to one room.)

"She, yeah, she." Love it. Sums it all up. Well done.

And lets not forget the Canadians. I live in a border town, where some people drive back and forth across the river for work and home, and need to carry currency from two countries at any given time.

Which has nothing to do with the story. Sorry, Benj, but I'm still digging it, if that helps.

Benj,
I like it. Good imagery. It's a good question, isn't it, what would happen post coma?
Given the deliberately non-confrontational first meeting of House and Stacy at the begining of Three Stories, a complete and total meltdown of their relationship with fireworks, while possible, doesn't seem very likely.
Your story fits very well with my thinking.
Thanks for sharing
Luna

Much grateful for the feedback, it’s a big help and very much appreciated :D . Spelling debate is really interesting, forget how many much-used words it applies too. Its not my strongest suit, but I will ensure I’m consistent, cheers for the heads up on “advice” Sy! :)

Trying to keep this as American as I can, no taps, pavements or felt pens, but if I stuff anything up I apologise. Reminds of when I first met my South African mate- he referred to roundabouts as traffic circles, traffic lights as robots and I had no idea what he was talking about. It made for some interesting car rides.

I’m going for canon as far as is possible, but I’m fairly certain House knew Wilson for a decent length of time pre-infarction although it hasn’t been explicitly stated.

Cheers

Benj




Chapter Two

Then thank God that I’m as good as dead
Then thank your God that I’m not aware
And thank God that I just don’t care
And I guess I just don’t know
And I guess I just don’t know

Heroin- Velvet Underground


Stacy pulled into the parking lot, cursing mugginess and the stupidity of road maintenance companies who chose the hottest time of year to dig up the town.

Opening the trunk she lifted out two bags of groceries, damp with condensation from no longer frozen yoghurt. Choosing a top floor apartment had seemed a great idea, two years ago. Six long weeks of pushy realtors and six even longer weeks of Greg extracting every last ounce of joy from toying with them, before they found this place.

High ceilings, dark wood floors and a pewter framed fireplace swung it for her. For House it had been the lack of neighbours, afforded by the commercial use of the rest of the building, to complain at his choice of late night listening. Dropping the needle on Blue Öyster Cult’s ‘Fire of Unknown Origin’ for the fifth time in succession had caused the standoff with their previous neighbour to explode in spectacular fashion. Achieving even a vaguely peaceful resolution had tested Stacy’s considerable negotiating skills to the limit.

Amongst an endless stream of concerns she had about House returning from hospital, the unsuitableness of their apartment had been a recurring theme. The elevator had too many unreliable moments and the number of stairs didn’t make for a viable alternative. Just thinking about it had literally forced home the magnitude of potential problems they faced. Amidst the purgatory of the first days after Greg’s infarction she’d have given anything to be making easy calls over their living arrangements. Just living would have been enough for her, living together had seemed a distant far fetched hope.

Bags growing heavier in her arms, she looked up to the shuttered windows of their apartment. Reticence wasn’t her style, least of all where Greg was concerned, but she couldn’t ignore the dead weight of unease knotting inside her. She felt angry at the part of her that had wanted to go back to work, to escape to the easy. But leaving him each day meant coming back and that wasn’t any less hard.

Wrestling keys from her purse she let herself into the apartment and dumped the bags on the counter. Two empty packets of Kool-Aid and a half-eaten cheeseburger on the kitchen table suggested House hadn’t starved. She smiled at the pile of carefully extracted pickles he’d piled on the edge of his plate. House had always bought his own “nuke it before you puke it” meals and she’d picked the wrong brand of burger. She’d expected, hoped for, at least seem half-heated gripe about lack of sensitivity to your lover’s fast food preferences, but he’d just let it go.


Engrossed in the pursuit of a final gold ring to take the next level with maximum bonus points, House didn’t look up as Stacy entered the den. Moving to the window she raised the blinds.

Pausing the game, he stared up at her, shielding his eyes behind his arm

“Hey, don’t let all the heat in, you’ll mess with my concentration. Very important moment here, the great escape is on. Knocked this over in an hour-twenty dead” He motioned at her with an empty games box.

“People need air and light” Stacy ignored his protest, “and so do the fish”

“Didn’t want them, don’t care." House replied "Besides their supposed to be tropical, hotter the better.”

The fish had been her idea, they’d belonged to a friend who took a job out of town and needed a long term fish sitter. House whined at first about the hassle of cleaning the tank, remembering to feed them and their general lack of activity. Attending a week long conference in Washington had entailed leaving them to his care. She’d fully expected to return and find they’d met a predictable end. But House had surprised her, seizing the opportunity to spice things up the tank adding a plastic castle, a sunken ship and some dark coral. He also introduced two new fish, a black Mollie and a golden Gouramis, he named Jughead and Archie. Within days they’d shattered the tranquillity of the tank, fighting with each other and generally tearing up the neighbourhood, as House put it. Making bets with Wilson over Jughead’s culling prowess provided him with much entertainment and he’d been unable to disguise his delight when her friend asked to make the arrangement permanent.

House lay back down and turned his attention back to the screen. Shifting his right leg to a more comfortable position, he resumed the game.

“Jeff and Linda are in town over the weekend .” Stacy spoke tentatively, but he didn’t respond. “Thought we could try the new Vietnamese place, its supposed to be good and they have a table for Saturday.

“Objection” House said without looking up. “Crucial game, Saturday. Rhein Fire have it all to do to make the World Bowl final ahead of the in-form Galaxy‘s. Tricky test, seasoned pros are calling it a dead heat”. he informed her.

“If you don’t want to go, I can make dinner here.” Stacey offered “Be good to catch up, its been a while”

“No, you go“ . House countered “ say Hi for me.”

“They want to see you too, Jeff called to check how you’re doing” assured Stacey.

“He phoned to check on you.” House said cooly “ And they’re coming here to see you. Have dinner with them. I’ll be fine, beer and NFL Europe, Saturday night’s all-action fest.”

Stacy contemplated a comeback, but resisted. He knew as well as she did that his blood thinner medication prohibited alcohol. Although he wouldn’t need them forever, the doctor insisted he take them for a least three months while he recovered and the risk of further clots remained high. But he also knew she wouldn’t challenge him. Since he’d been home, they hadn’t argued. Contentious issues had been avoided at all costs. Leaving the topic for a while would be the only forward. Resigned, she left him to his game and headed to the kitchen to start on dinner.

Still digging it, and I've wondered about the blood thinner issue. Seems he must have been on it at some time.

Just a couple of quick notes, though -- and mind you, love what you're doing, just thought I'd mention. (And hey, I may be taking new work as a copy editor. Gotta practice sometime.)

First off, I've never seen Kool-Aid in bottles. But then I don't have young kids. Maybe they have them in bottles now?

And there's a comma issue here:

It reads that the Mollie has two names. You either need to separate Jughead and Archie with another comma, or perhaps try a variation on ... two new fish he'd named Jughead and Archie, a black Mollie and golden Gouramis ... or ... he'd introduced two new fish, a black Mollie and golden Gouramis, which he'd named Jughead and Archie.

Namaste- Cheers for the help- much apreciated.

Made the changes. Love sweet stuff and remembered being given Kool-Aid by an American au pair as a kid. It was made up when she gave it to us and I thought she had bottles of it stashed in her room. But as its sold in powder form that makes total sense, would have been hugely expensive to have it posted in bottles from the US. You've solved one of life's mysteries for me- thank you!

Chapter Two (cont’d)

Hearing her heels as she disappeared to the kitchen, House threw the game control at the couch. Damn her. He’d been feeling okay. Well, as okay as it got now. Absorbed in the game, he’d lost track of time for a while. Time for a pill.

He started to get up when a shot of pain gripped his right leg, he’d moved too quickly. Damn leg, it had stiffened while he played and he’d moved too quickly. Not too quickly for the rest of his body, but for his stupid, fucked up leg. Lying back, he breathed heavily, riding out the wave of pain. His whole body hostage to one limb. No matter how strong the rest of him was, he could only be what it allowed.

Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out his pill bottle. Considering for a moment waiting until he could move and find something to wash it down. Feeling the stab of pain in his leg, he dismissed the thought and swallowed it in one. Vicodin. Just about the only thing, which had touched the pain and left him able to think straight. During rehab, they’d talked about various meds. Made him try a couple of alternatives, easier on his liver had been the line they used. Really hard on everything else he’d thought. Made him drowsy or fuzzed up his brain. No way was he loosing the power to think normally, as well as loosing the power to walk normally. He’d argued his point with his doctor and they settled on a ‘limited period’ prescription. Just six months while he adjusted. “Adjusted to what?” he’d felt like saying, but knew it wouldn’t make a difference and quit while he was ahead. Nothing was going to change in six months, not in six years, not ever.

Motionless, mind focused on breathing, he felt the pain subside to its default setting, a dull ache. Gingerly lifting his right leg and swivelling as best he could, he shuffled toward the couch. Grabbing the arm frame for support, he pushed as hard as he could on his left leg and struggled onto it. The effort exhausted him. Sweat beading on his forehead, he cursed the close heat. His clothes felt glued to his body, he’d lived in sweatpants since he got home. Comfortable, but a nightmare in the heat.

Waking into a day which promised unrelenting heat, he‘d thought about shorts. He’d waited until Stacy left for work and rummaged in his closet, finding several pairs. But when it came to it, he just couldn‘t face seeing his leg. Wasted, lifeless tissue held in place with a scar. In hospital he hadn’t been self-conscious, people expect to see sick people to stuffed with tubes, looking like shit, with nasty scars. Sure, it was embarrassing to have a conversation while a bag collected your pee, but that’s what happens in hospitals. It had never made him uncomfortable to visit patients hooked up to machines and unable to control their bodily functions; it was all part of the deal. Payback with this deal, for bearing the humiliation, was either recovery and a feeling of gratitude which made the humiliation seem a distant memory, or dying.

Recovery he’d been able to deal with. Hating the hours of physical therapy and the constant backdrop of pain had been bearable, just about. It had been hard, but he’d expected it to be, he’d known it would hurt, it would be frustrating beyond anything he’d known. Pushing had given him purpose; he’d listened to the prognosis when they told him there would be limits. He was a doctor, he knew the drill with false hope, but he kept on. It was everything he was all about, doing the math, forcing his reason beyond the point other doctors stopped, believing in a solution when patients had given in. Then it hit him.

No sledge- hammer to the brain or sucker punch to his gut, just a slow, quiet, almost gentle evolution to realisation. Without drama or emotion, it slipped under his skin and he felt its truth course through his veins and settle in his mind. This was it. He wasn’t going to walk again. Sure, he’d move with a cane, manage to get around, function. Nothing more. No running after work in the rain, pounding the streets after a fight, no leaping high into the stand during football games. He wouldn’t ever force Wilson to a tiebreak after he’d been beaten fair and square or sell him the perfect dummy playing Saturday football. Stacy. Skiing off-piste when they took a trip to Nevada, carrying her on his back to their bedroom after a fight. Never going to happen again. Frustration and anger dissipated into nothing. He didn‘t feel anything. Nothing left to feel anything about, no improvements to hope for or setbacks to curse. Just the numb nothingness he was feeling now.

Skin cooling slightly, he realised he needed to pee and looked round for his cane. Where the hell was it? Even after using it for nearly a month, he still couldn’t get used to remembering it. Always so keen to let it go, he rarely noticed where it fell. Casting his eyes across the room, he saw it beside the coffee table. Within reaching distance. He grabbed it and sat up carefully. This couch was another reason he preferred the den. It wasn’t too soft and he could lever himself out of it with relative ease. The ache in his leg intensified, complaining at the partial weight placed on it. , walking like he was taking part in the three-legged race at school. .

Stacey was resting against the counter when he reached the kitchen, staring into space. She heard the soft thud of his cane and watched as he winced toward her. .

“Pasta or fish” she asked looking up at him.

“Nothing, I’m okay. Had two burgers and I’m watching my weight” he’d intended more sarcasm but it came out lighter.

She looked pale. Somewhere inside he felt a tinge of guilt. He knew she’d been through it too, but it wasn’t his fault. She didn’t need to stick around. He’d told her that in hospital, she’d done her job. Signed the papers, saved his life, and could move on to the next one. “Life-savers are in short supply” he’d quipped. “Especially ones with nice legs who love the beach. Red suit will look really cute on you; always been a big fan.” The flash of anger in her eyes had evaporated quickly and he knew how close she’d been to tears. He’d felt pleased. Watching her fight to keep control. Knew how that felt and now she was feeling it. Some part of him felt sad; he’d always hated seeing her cry. But most of him was pleased. How fucked up was that?

“Not too hungry either, cheese and crackers to share?” She smiled “I’ll let you pick the movie, but no Bond. We’re not watching ‘The man with the Golden Thumb again’ ”

“Deal.” He said and hobbled off to the bathroom. Didn’t change anything, but the smile, it hadn’t been around for a long while. Too long and the weights in his head could wait, he just wanted to be, be with her for a while.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. The pain, the anger--spot-on. This fic definitely gives me insight into how House became so bitter.

Many lines I could pick, but I think this one does it right off and really well:

"No matter how strong the rest of him was, he could only be what it allowed."

Yes. Yes yes yes.

And in the chapter before this most recent one, the fish are awesome. I can so see House and Wilson taking bets on fish fights. Jughead and Archie--mwah! Perfect.

And cheers for a mention of NFL Europe, which I've only just become aware of (American-style football in the summer? have I died and gone to heaven?). Damn my cable service for not being close to picking the games up despite my having three channels of ESPN. Watching them on the computer just isn't quite the same... Now I'm jealous of House. *jealous*

But back to the fic. House not wanting to leave the apartment is also dead-on. And I love what you've done with the atmosphere: the oppressive heat of summer in the city and the noise (and for me, the smell) of street repair. The heat's presence in this fic reminds me of The Plauge where weather is elevated to the level of being a character itself. The details make this piece great.

And Kool Aide...yup, comes in packets. Two packets = a lot of Kool Aide.

Also House getting up at the end of the most recent chapter...just excruciating. And this:

"She didn’t need to stick around. He’d told her that in hospital, she’d done her job. Signed the papers, saved his life, and could move on to the next one."

Ouch. Ouch, man, ouch. But damn good. Keep it coming!

Sy- cheers! Gotten quite into NFL Europe, its on our Sky Sports package here. Another reason to love summer, as well as Rugby League which they switched to this time of year.

On a fic note- I’ve kind of borrowed your ‘Wilson has a dog’ idea here, hope you don’t mind. Its just a very fleeting cameo and you can have him back- he does stuff on the floor.

Just an addition to the content warning - mild (ish) sex reference in this chapter.


Chapter Three

The first one will do
I'm just passing through
The second one needs more
I've been here before
I've been here before
I've been here before

“Bubbles” - Tricky/Terry Hall


Night had fallen, but the temperature hadn’t and the promised rain seemed a long way off. Sitting in the relative cool of the den, Graham crackers piled high in a bowl between them on the couch. They were the honey variety, which House loved. Loading them with cream cheese, he could eat them faster than he could put them together. Stacy had been sceptical about the combination at first, but he pleaded with her to try it out. Resistance had proved useless and he’d finally persuaded by wedging half a cracker in his mouth and refusing to eat it until she took the rest. Pretty good, in a weird way, she’d been sold on them ever since. House flipped the remote through the channels, settling on ‘Extreme Sport Re-runs’.

“I thought you hated snow boarding? Pretentious rich kids with bad hair,” Stacy reminded House. ‘Punks with no idea what punk is’ you said”

“Changed my mind, I like it now.” House explained. “They showed a tree run event from Sweden last week. Kids crashing into fir trees all the time. Beats ‘World’s Worst Wipe-outs Ever’ out of sight.”

“You’d better not tell Wilson.” Stacy warned him. “He spent a lot of time looking out that dvd for you.”

“He’ll be fine. Forget all about it when he sees this” House said dismissively, “Be great for a wager too, no way to know who’ll make it.”

“Blond kids seem to do better and the more stupidly neon the jacket, the quicker they fall, but there‘s no real form.” he advised her.

Stacy watched him more than she listened. His face looked more animated than she’d seen in a while, deep lines etching his forehead seeming to lessen.

“Not eating your share?” House enquired.

“Keeping down the crumb count.” she said.

He stuffed another cracker into his mouth. “Who’s counting?”

“Marie. You haven’t let her in here to clean for two weeks. The crumbs are turning into a beach.” Stacy pointed to the floor. “If your planning on the whole “Brian Wilson sand pit in the lounge room” look, let me know. We’ll get the piano moved in too.”

“Hmm…like your thinking. Maybe I can get Wilson over here with his dog.” House mused, “Think I’d look cute in a fire hat?” He raised an eyebrow.

Stacy grinned at him. For the first time, since he’d got home if she was honest, she was feeling somewhere nearing relaxed. If she was really honest, it had been like shadow boxing. He avoided her by spending his waking hours in the den and in the last week, nights too. Sleeping was a problem for him, she knew that. He’d refused the sleep meds the rehab doctor had suggested and wasn’t getting more than a couple of hours at a time. Sitting up playing computer games or watching endless tv until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. His decision to leave their bed hurt. She understood that he didn’t want to disturb her sleep to and found it difficult to get comfortable without waking her. No matter how hard he tried to move silently it was disruptive to have him getting in and out of bed every few hours. She’d insisted she could get used to it; it was just a bigger version of getting used to sharing a bed in the first place. Where were they if they couldn’t even sleep together?

It was part of the reason she’d moved in with him so soon after they met. He wasn’t big on tactile gestures, although they’d had sex pretty much morning, noon and night that first week. It was a way to be close to him. He’d talk to her, not just banter, opening up a little. Listening to her too, not just thinking through his own thoughts. Over the time they’d been together, they’d had their best and their worst times in bed. More than just sex, but all the things that come together to be love. Big fights over major stuff, sulks over the little, holding her in silence when her father died, making out for hours when she’d won an argument in a big case. Moving out to the den to fill the gaps in time while he recovered was one thing, but now it had stretched into sleeping there too, it was something else altogether. It scared her. She knew it wasn’t just the leg or sleep problems, he was avoiding her and in many ways himself. Avoiding the gulf between what he thought she’d done to him and what she knew she’d done for him. In some kind of messed up way, staying away from it and from each other, was keeping them together.

There had been times, in the bleakness of his hospital room; she thought she would never see him again. First, when he’d insisted that they bypass the blockage in his leg. She’d thought then she’d loose him for sure, awash with pain, but still adamant he knew best. Then she’d known, signing the consent forms for the “middle ground” surgery, that they wouldn’t have a middle ground. She waited for it to come, the explosion, the hate. Knowing he’d be weak from surgery and the battery of drugs, she hadn’t expected it to come right away. It never arrived. He was just quiet, nothing. Only one time, after his first day of PT, he’d lashed out. Even then, it was just bitter sarcasm, nothing she could fight. Not while he lay there, exhausted and vulnerable.

House polished off the last cracker. Brushing his hands over the floor, he lifted out his t-shirt and shook off the remaining crumbs. Taking the bowl and placing it on the table, Stacy moved in closer to him, slipping her hand below his shirt.

Feeling her softness against his skin, he breathed in hard, it had been a long time. Felt so good, being close to her. His heartbeat rising imperceptibly, it always did when she got close to him. She slid further toward him and he pulled her in, arm moving from the back of the couch to rest on her thigh. Still wearing her suit, skirt riding up as she curled in. He loved the way she dressed for work, just a perfect mix of beauty and authority. Kept herself fit, gym after work was a regular fixture. Reaching across him, she took the remote from his hand and turned off the tv. Warm hand tracing lightly against his stomach, delicate fingers teasing his skin, he tilted his head to meet her gaze. Something different in her eyes, desire but something else, need.

He needed too, to hold her, press against her, watch her face as he moved inside her, and feel her push against him as …..No.

“Need to stretch” he moved her hand quickly and placed his foot on the floor. House lifted his right leg awkwardly and reached out for his cane.

“Did I hurt you?” Stacy straightened, looking confused.

“No, it’s just….House stumbled to explain, “Sitting is a bitch, tightens up. I’ll try a shower. It’s so damn hot, doesn’t help”

Pushing on the cane, he lifted himself off the couch. Blood and thought rushing in his head, he moved for the hallway as quickly as he could.

“I’ll come too.” she offered “We can try that shower gel I picked up last week, its supposed to be good for tense muscles”

House stopped but didn’t turn back to her “Not a good plan” He replied sharply. “That stuff has oil in it, makes the tiles slippy”

“Okay” Stacy accepted, trying not to look downbeat, “Well, at least come and lie on the bed when your done, I’ll rub in some menthol gel, might help a bit”

“It takes me a while” House countered “You’ll probably be asleep”

“It’s not that late” She said gently.

“Shower should work, it‘ll be fine” He didn’t give her a chance to reply as he made his way through the kitchen.

Picking up the empty bowl she moved to the window. Staring into the half-light, she closed the blinds against the dark and heat.

This is really great. It feels real. You've done very well with the times that House and Stacy *aren't* snarky. Obviously there can't be snark 24/7, and you've found a tone for them that seems right.

(Small editing note: in the second installment, and especially the third, you need to put a 'the' in front of 'hospital' if you are going for American english, which I believe you are.)

All in all, wonderful. Keep it up!

Rough. She's doing her best and...just...nothing. I really, really like your Stacy. I can see it, too. Of course this is how it would be. You write them beautifully.

Two favorite moments:

"Avoiding the gulf between what he thought she’d done to him and what she knew she’d done for him. In some kind of messed up way, staying away from it and from each other, was keeping them together."

Yes. Bingo.

"He needed too, to hold her, press against her, watch her face as he moved inside her, and feel her push against him as …..No."

Yes, too, dammit, even though it hurts. Wish it wasn't so screwed up with them but of course it is. Thank you. Dammit, thank you.

And on a lighter note, I love House, Wilson, and betting on extreme sports crashes. Awesome. :)

(Re: Wilson's dog. I think it's public domain now, another fic convention for Wilson like his poor taste in neckware. So carpe canem! ...even if he is a messy pooch sometimes...that's what happens when House feeds him beer and burritos.... [A thought - House = Vicodin + cane (+job) :: Wilson = wives/women + dog (+job)? Women to keep normal, dog for support? Maybe plugging sports in where the dog is would make more sense canonwise given the sparkly state of Wilson's office, though...just a thought.])

You get Rugby now too? *kicks ESPN 1, 2, and 3*

I like this daily fic thing. I'm getting spoiled and I like it. :)

Cheers, Flannelsaurus, Sy - feedback is a massive help.

Flannnelsaurus- Working on getting the American/English right so thanks for pointing out the “the hospital room” mistake. I’m hoping to go back and edit when I hit a block.

Sy - Great point about the dog/canon. May look at this too, think my Brian Wilson analogy got the better of me, always loved that his dogs messed with the sand-pit idea. *Smacks fanboy head*.

On the sports- We get Rugby League in the summer so as not to clash with football which is great and much better than Union for me, kind of like baseball over cricket. Enjoying the gridiron summer games so much, may have to order NASN next season.



Chapter Four

Am i just a walking bag of chewed up dust and bones?

"Your Lucky Day in Hell" Eels


Outer edges of a dream still spinning in his head, House felt the cold comfort of pain jerking him back to reality. Running a tired hand over his closed eyes, he reached blindly for the pill bottle he knew he’d left beside the coach. Lying as still as he could, he shook out a pill, eyes still firmly shut, and swallowed.

Cold beneath the sweat of his skin, he pulled the cushion from behind his head and curled into it. His leg protested at the sudden movement and he tossed the cushion away in frustration. Digging his fingernails into the palm of his left hand, he lay silently, waiting for the drug to weave its course.

Checking her makeup for a final time in the bathroom mirror, Stacy grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the bathroom shelf and headed to the lounge room for her purse. Trying to focus thought on an early morning meeting with her legal secretary to hammer out a final settlement, she picked up a pile of papers from the desk. Stopping in the doorway, looking into the den she took in House, sprawled awkwardly on the couch. Unsure if he was awake or if she wanted him to be, she picked up her keys from the hallway stand.

Sunlight beat down on the parking lot as Stacy loaded the trunk with her files and briefcase. She recognised the car pulling into the space beside her.

“Hey” Wilson greeted her, stepping out his car and loosening the cuffs of his shirt.

“Hey. You got an early start too?” Stacy smiled at him warmly.

“Day off. Got stuck with a Friday, a few people away over the weekend. Just dropped Julie off at her sister’s. Six weeks of shopping to get in before the big day” Wilson replied. “You?”

“Big case, miles of litigation and no reason in sight, better get down to it.” She looked tired.

More than just over-work tired, Wilson figured. Trying not to look serious, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Okay” she tried for upbeat, “Getting around is getting easier”

Wilson knew instinctively she was covering, something he did often enough to recognise her over-bright tone.

“Not too great. I don’t know. “He’s just… I didn‘t expect him… I don’t know. It’s a mess.” She paused, “He’ll be fine with you.”

“He’s always horrible when he’s bored.” Wilson suggested without conviction, he didn’t want to push her. “ Might see if he wants to do Mr Milano’s. Just passed it and their lunch specials are back on.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Stacy lightened. “Have the ‘Big Bolder Cheese’ for me”

“Will do” Wilson smiled. “I skipped breakfast so he‘d better be up for it”

“There’s coffee, I just made it, should still be decent.” She said as she pulled a flyer from the windshield and opened her car door.

“Will do, that’s if he hasn’t discovered it first” giving her his best reassuring grin.


Wilson watched as she drove away, smile fading. Speaking to House earlier in the week had given him a fair indication that his return home hadn’t eased the tension with Stacy. Nothing he’d come right out with, House never did, but he sounded down. Even a tale about the hot intern turning out to be gay hadn’t raised much of a response; he knew it was much more than boredom.

He had no idea how Stacy was feeling. It had been hard enough for him, near enough the hardest thing he’d known, sitting in the waiting area with her. She told him what she’d done as soon as he arrived and he’d felt sick, angry and elated all in one moment. Sick with knowing how completely crushed House would be, angry with Stacy for such a staggering betrayal and elated because he knew, deep down, it would most probably save his friend’s life.

He’d wanted House to have the surgery and in truth, a big part of him thought amputation was probably the best choice. The harshest option short term, but long term it gave him the chance of a life with least pain. He watched people struggle daily with these kind of decisions and it never came down to or involved the overused and well-worn term “quality of life”. What the hell did that really mean?
House had been determined beyond any persuasion that maximising the potential use of his leg was worth risking his life. Stacy didn’t agree and had overridden him because she thought survival was the most important factor. He believed it was House’s call and couldn’t agree with what she’d done and yet he’d felt relieved and the anger he felt toward her made him feel guilty.

Waiting had been the easy part. Surgeon telling them he’d made it through and they were happy with his progress, that felt good. Beyond good. Relief caught him off-guard for a moment; he’d hoped for a split-second that somehow this would make everything better. They’d be part of the scene he’d watched more times than he could remember, patients drifting back to reality and everyone close to them offering comfort and support, whatever the outcome. He knew that wasn‘t going to happen, couldn‘t be further away. House would come back to a world he didn’t know and a life he hadn’t wanted. Seeing Stacy wasn’t going to ease or help him, it would rip apart the relationship he needed more than ever. She’d known that too. Amid his own haze of conflicting feelings and uncertainty, filling his head as they waited in near silence, he’d known it was worse for her. People thought that deciding how to die was tough, but deciding how to live was its equal.

Breaking out from his thoughts, Wilson headed up to their apartment, pushing hard against the flood of feeling.


Cigarette, just a couple of drags. House rested his elbows on the counter and contemplated idly his chances of making it to the news stand and back without incident. Going the first hour of the day without nicotine had actually helped in the first few weeks. It had provided a beautiful distraction, all consuming and selfish. Desperate for a moment alone with a decent strength Marlboro, the pain in his leg had been second place for a little while. If he started smoking again, maybe he’d get that back. Probably get a whole lot else besides, but he’d take that just to disrupt the now familiar pattern of extra hurt his leg gave him in the morning. Banging at the door interrupting his considerations, he pulled his cane from its resting place and headed down the hallway.

Really enjoying this, especially the way you're writing House and Stacy's relationship.

Thanks Auditrix. Big fan of the Fic Blog and loved your depiction of the infarction time, made me really curious about the aftermath.


Chapter Five

I've looked under chairs
I've looked under tables
I've tried to find the key
To fifty million fables

“The Seeker” - The Who



House opened the door and took in Wilson and too bright sunshine; grimacing he moved out of the way as Wilson stepped inside.

Giving House a visual once over, Wilson noted, without surprise, his “comfort blanket” uniform. He’d come up with this term not long after meeting House, during one of his week long sulks. The cause of the sulk was long forgotten, but his choice of attire remained etched in Wilson’s memory. Non-descript sweatpants with cut-off leg cuffs, at least three days unshaven stubble- nearing beard and mussed beyond mussed hair. These particular attributes fluctuated in severity dependant on the intensity of the sulk and often went unnoticed even by regular House observers. House would be described as generally fairly scruffy by most people’s standards, but Wilson recognised the subtle shift in an instant. Although if he shared the most blatant symptom it would have been obvious thereafter to even the least observant. An old faded black N.A.S.A t-shirt with a graphic depicting a satellite image of the earth and text, which read, “Don’t leave Earth without us” printed above it. This particular shirt had serious but undisclosed significance for House and it was the only item of clothing he refused to lend Wilson under any circumstances. He’d tested the theory a couple of times for confirmation and on each occasion, it had reminded him of trying to part a puppy from its favourite shoe.

It had been the first sign, for Wilson, that House was serious about Stacy. He’d dropped by late one evening and she’d answered the door wearing the shirt. Whether or not he’d let her wear beyond their apartment didn’t matter, Wilson knew House felt a lot for her. Other people had been convinced by the speed with each she moved into his apartment, but he dismissed it as typical House behaviour. It was far less effort to have her move in than continue with the formalities of dating or adapting himself to her lifestyle and routines. It had suited Stacy too, she was far too strong in personality and conviction to become subservient or dependant. She’d subtly worked on some of House’s more extreme behaviour and living habits without him being anywhere near as aware as he would have been if they’d made a more considered decision to live together and gone through the inevitable process of negotiation and compromise.

As with so many aspects of their friendship, Wilson didn’t openly share his “comfort blanket” logic with House. If House was aware that he betrayed his mood in this way, he certainly hadn’t shared it with Wilson and Wilson didn’t intend to ever bring up the subject. It was one of the things that Wilson enjoyed about their friendship even if, as with most things about House, it had a flip side. Today, with the Stacy looking so pensive and his stilted conversation with House earlier in the week, things definitely erred on the side of flip. He knew there was far more to House’s unhappiness than a relatively petty sulk and Wilson hadn’t needed to open the door and make conclusions from his clothes to know it was serious.

“What are you doing here? It’s not even eight yet?” House sounded tired and annoyed.

“Day off.” Wilson replied, unfazed by House’s less than warm welcome. “Thought I’d see what you were up to.”

“Just got back from my run, then I was thinking about sky-diving before lunch. Enough of a buzz or do you think bungee jumping is more of a thrill ?” House mocked.

Wilson looked past House to the kitchen. “Coffee will do. If you quit with the clever, we can get some before its cold.”

“You arrive at the door at this hour, walk in uninvited and you plan to drink my coffee too?” House questioned him indignantly. Pausing for a moment he asked “How come you know I have coffee?

“I don’t know I have coffee.” House answered himself.

“Saw Stacy.” Wilson added before he could comment “And you did invite me in, you opened the door.”

“I open the door to Jehovah’s Witnesses, doesn’t mean I let them in”.

“Yes you do. You love Jehovah’s Witnesses, you always invite them in.” Wilson spoke calmly, “It’s just after ten minutes of your evil world view, they don’t love you.”

House conceded the point and followed Wilson to the kitchen. They stood in silence for while; Wilson found the coffee and filled two mugs. Feeling the ache in his right leg increase to a burn, House reached for his pills and washed one down with a mouthful of coffee. Wilson pushed on before the silence got too long.

“Thought you might want a trip out.” Wilson ventured. “I don’t have to pick Julie up until four.”

House closed his eyes, waiting for the ache to settle, ignoring Wilson.

“Come on. It’s a little cooler but still sunny out there” Wilson tried to sound casual “You could use it, you’re getting pale.”

“No” House said firmly.

“We’ll take it easy,” Wilson offered, “I need to get some stuff too. It’s Julie’s nephew’s eighteenth next week and I need you to help me find something totally inappropriate.”

House opened his eyes “No and don’t give me that psycho-babble ‘you make it sound like I’m doing you a favour so I don’t realise I’m doing what you want’ shit. It’s my leg that’s fucked up, not my brain.” He glared at Wilson.

Wilson knew he was right, it was true, but that didn’t make it wrong for him to try. He sighed; he’d known this would be tough. Appealing to House’s benevolent streak hadn’t work, so it was time to go for something more reliable.

“Mr Milano’s.” Wilson offered, “They’ve got their lunch special back on. You can’t pass up on a Big Mis-Steak with extra chilli and bacon bits.”

“Not hungry” House stated, matter of fact but less edgy.

“Seriously?” Wilson said in disbelief.

“They do take out” House reminded him. “More importantly ‘Honey, My Breasts are Fake’ is on at two. Must see moment as Jeanette reveals all” he informed Wilson, relaxing slightly as he leaned back against the counter.

“Take-out doesn’t come with table soccer” Wilson countered.

“They don’t have table soccer” House resisted.

“Oh yes they do.” smiled Wilson “Dave, the English kid in maintenance, was talking about it last week.”

“Not proper table soccer” House said dismissively.

“Proper table soccer” Wilson said confidently “spring loaded steel poles, not plastic crap.”

“Bet it has the glass cover. No pizza place is going to risk getting sued when a guy gets hit in the face with one of those balls.” House insisted.

“No glass. He said it was the works.” assured Wilson. “Italians know their game where soccer‘s concerned.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” House said and paused.

“You won’t beat me.” House wavered “You just stand there and twizzle the sticks.”

“We haven’t played on a decent table since that weekend in Boston and I took at least four off you.” Wilson knew he hadn’t forgotten.

“Only because I let you play after my defender snapped.” House retorted.

“That was because you tried bending his legs when I went to the bathroom.” Wilson reminded him triumphantly.

House let out a deep breath, unsure this was a good idea but unable to resist. “You’re on.”

Wilson smiled, more inside than his face showed.

“Need to stop at K-mart.” House said reluctantly.

“Sure” Wilson agreed.

“Got to find some more of these pants.” Sounding almost cheerful he added “And some beer. Stacy’s going out Saturday night and Rhein Fire need my support.”

Wilson felt uneasy. He knew House wasn’t supposed to drink while he took his current combination of meds, but he wasn’t going make it an issue after getting this far.

Nice, Benj, nice. I love me some House/Wilson banter-that's-really-not-banter-because-of-the-serious-undertones. And bringing in foozeball (table soccer?)--awesome. I also love the 'comfort blanket' and the detail in that section--Wilson's observations. Stacy wearing his sacred shirt says so much. The description of the shirt is funny, too. 'Don't leave Earth without us'. Very Houseian.

Brian Wilson's sandpit + dog - hah, now I see. ;) Eww.

Cheers for the feedback, Sy! :) Foozeball- that’s a great name for a great game. (I made up the ‘table soccer’ translation). Table footie is wonderful and possible with a duff leg, that bit is fairly reliable, I know from experience when I broke my ankle the real thing.

Cheers

Benj




Just a slight warning to add to this chapter- its a bit of a realism minefield in terms of getting the American references right. I’ve done my best to get it close, but there is potential for stuff-ups, so I apologise in advance. K-Mart is hopefully close to the mark because I lived in a Sydney for a year and they had Big K-Mart stores and I’m hoping they are similar(ish) at least.




Chapter Five (contd)



House felt queasy as Wilson turned the car out of the parking lot. Just the effort of manoeuvring his body and leg into the car in some kind of workable union had hurt more than he’d hoped and as much as he’d feared. Wilson had watched, nervous beneath this attempt to look unconcerned, as House had given him a fierce look. He couldn’t bear Wilson offering his assistance or even worse, needing it. The humiliation and pain were enough on their own without a witness to administer the final kick. This was why he hadn’t wanted to go out, why he’d given Stacy’s several attempts to get him to leave the apartment a wide berth. The first day she’d gone back to work, he’d spent a while on the terrace below the apartment, soaking in the clean air and felt vaguely human for a while. Getting back to the apartment had chased off that lighter feeling without ceremony, as he’d struggled between the weight of the main oak door to the building, his cane and lack of balance.

“It’ll get easier. Muscles adapt. The body is amazing at adjusting “he could hear the words playing back in his head like a badly dubbed movie. Rehab had seemed an endless loop of nurses and therapists offering their overpowering enthusiasm and false-hope slogans in equal measure. “I’m a fucking doctor, I know what to expect from my body” he’d wanted to scream at them, at anyone firing off yet another round of useless, empty bullshit . Years of experience had restrained him, he knew it would only lead to more intense effort, more scrutiny and a whole lot of other crap he didn’t need or want. He’d known what to expect from his wasted leg and his weakened body as he’d tried pushing against the door without falling. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the powerful sting of tears that had clouded his eye. The difficulty he’d had in holding them back. The rage that exploded inside him as realised that not only could he not manage to co-ordinate the physical action of pushing the door, he was scared. Shit terrified that he’d fall and lie helpless. Defeated and shaking, he’d leaned against the mail locker until a delivery guy showed up and he’d followed him in. The guy held the door for him and he’d headed back to the apartment seething with shame. Pathetic, totally fucking pathetic.

Shifting his leg to yet another uncomfortable position, House swallowed hard and pushed the memory away, concentrating his gaze on the familiar route through the city.

Wilson scrabbled for a tape whilst he drove. House had tensed as they left the apartment and the silence had returned. He didn’t know what to say, so he’d tried to stay bright. Watching House struggle into the car had pulled him in too many directions. His natural instinct had been to offer help but he knew much better than to offer or even look like it was a consideration. More of him than he wanted to acknowledge hadn’t wanted to help and having to face up to the unavoidable, seeing his strong and athletic friend reduced to exhaustion from the effort of getting into a car. Finding something that felt like the Dave Lee Roth cassette he’d borrowed from House months ago and he turned up the music, hoping House would react.

“Cruising in day-light is over-rated.” Wilson observed.

House winced as Wilson turned the car sharply, sudden movement jarring his leg.

“Not if you have a cool car.” He tried to keep his voice even. “Which this isn’t. You need to sort that out if you’re getting married to Julie. No more lame Camry crap. Or better still let her have it and get yourself something really nice”

“Still paying Rachel out on the Charger.” Wilson reminded him “I’m never to listening to you about cars again. Five months I had that car and it’s going to cost me ‘til I’m sixty.

“It was great though. Fun and forgiving.” House smiled “ More than Rachel was.”

“She was some of the time.” Wilson recollected “Just not about the car.”

House added smugly “Or your choice in after-work haunt or ...”

“Or my choice of friend who encouraged me”. Wilson interrupted

“No way did I encourage you and I always said she could join us any time she wanted.” House protested.

“Was that before or after you told her she should have been a poster girl for the family planning ‘Just Say No’ campaign, I forget?” Wilson smirked.

“Old ones are always best” House smiled, remembering the pleasure of giving Rachel the very low-down on his opinion of her. He’d held off and played nice until even Wilson had acknowledged their marriage was beyond redemption.

K-Mart loomed and House felt his stomach tighten, noting the parking area and store entrance teaming with people.

Wilson parked up and started to get out the car “Might see if they have any unsuitable birthdays gift while we’re here.”

“You can stay here.” House said forcefully. “Unless you’re mistaking me for Julie, you don’t need to hold my hand while I pick a pair of pants.”

Wilson was tempted to argue but saw House’s expression wasn’t negotiating.

Steadying himself against the car, House moved as quickly as he could toward the store. The heat and exertion left him feeling a light-headed and he stopped short of the main doors, desperately trying to silence the fear growing in his head. He pushed tightened his grip on the cane and made his way toward the back of the store slowly, avoiding the congested aisle ways.

Shopping in big stores had always irritated for him, dumb-ass counter assistants or over-eager sales reps, but today they didn’t bother him at all. They were safely behind kiosks and checkouts and not in his way. Other shoppers had always been a secondary irritant but now they posed the main threat. Not because they were loud or annoying but because they didn’t look where they were going and let their kids run all over the place.

Making it to the menswear section without any near-collisions made him feel slightly more relaxed. This was the easy part, sweatpants; two pairs of grey and two black, for tall guys. Right then he could have happily kissed the ass of K-Mart’s C.E.O. for providing a wonderfully limited range of clothing choice. The pants were light enough to sling over his cane-less arm and he carried them carefully toward the sales point, finding the one that looked least infested with other shoppers. Paying up and taking his bag, he stopped in the entrance savouring the space.

He felt the pain in his leg gain more intensity and he paused a moment hoping a short break would smooth it out. Hanging the bag on a stray shopping cart for a moment, he turned his attention to a more enjoyable thought. Beer. Denny’s liquor store carried decent beer and a six-pack would more than do the honours, as he hadn’t had more than a couple of piss-weak stubbies in the last week. As he picked up the bag, his leg protested and he felt his hip start to ache. Damn it, there was no way he was going to manage the bag and beer feeling like this, not with a cane in the mix too. He stabbed the cane into the sidewalk, cringing as the pain worsened, just hoping now to make it back to the car.

His whole right side, including his arm hurt by the time he reached it and he noticed Wilson had disappeared. Where the hell was he? He needed to take the weight off his leg and was getting hot and annoyed. Sitting on the hood wasn’t a serious option but he transferred as much weight as he could and supported himself with the cane. Pushing back his sweat damp hair, he scanned the parking lot for Wilson and saw him emerge from the shadow of a delivery truck. Seeing House waiting for him, he hurried across the lot with his bags.

“Where have you been?” House asked, exasperated. “Are you turning into a girl? Unable to resist the satisfaction of an impulse buy?”

“Buying beer.” Wilson replied “Denny’s are doing six Grolsch for ten bucks so I thought I‘d stock up”
He opened the trunk and added without looking up at House “I got you six too. Can’t let a good deal got to waste.”

Instantly House felt both guilty and grateful. He knew Wilson had worked out he wouldn’t be able to carry the beer and he appreciated being helped without being made to feel like crap.

“Before we get down to the serious eating,” Wilson tossed a packet of warm donuts at House and opened in the car door, watching as House examined the contents of the bag carefully, “and don’t get any ideas about scooping the jelly out of mine just because I’m driving.”

House grinned at him and licked the sugar from his fingers.

*pokes head in and ducks flying cane* I know, I've been bad and not reviewed...*pokes self* Sorry! Wow, first off I just want to say that I love this fic! You have a great sense of House's voice, and I don't hate Stacy as much as I could...lol...I really hate Sela Ward, that might be my problem...lol, when I don't have to look at her I guess it makes a difference. I also love your Wilson...I just want to squeeze him...wow. This is great, and don't worry about the British terms, I read and watch far more European sutff then American stuff, and I didn't enev notice the go to Hospital, vs, go to the Hospital until someone else pointed out...it's a very sad thing on my part...lol!

I hope you keep writing chapters at this pace! I come online and almost every time there is something new waiting for me! Yay! It makes me much happy.

One quick thing before I go, do you want to have a page for this as it is getting done so that people can read the chapters without scrolling through our pointless chatter (well mine is pointless anyways)? If you check out what I did with Betz's fic you can see what I'm talking about, it also makes it easier on me when I have to do updates and such. KK, thanks for your time!

Taru

Taru- Much cheer for the feed back :) I’m enjoying writing this and its good its working out okay.

As for the pace, maybe now you know where House’s speed really ended up. Just kidding ;) . I have three weeks of night shifts and its been really quiet. Which is good, because I’m working at an undertaker’s now term has finished, and its means nobody died plus I am getting a chance to write while my head is full of this fic.

On Stacy, I was intrigued, more than I liked her, but I kind of like the character, if it makes sense. She interests me and so does the situation.

On posting- I’m happy with whatever is easiest for you. Just give me a shout if you need me to change where I post and I’ll do it- sorry its pretty rough!

Cheers Benj

Chapter Six

You.
In an ordinary way, you slept right down the hallway?
And all I really have to say is please don’t pass along the way
I close my eyes and turn away and all time I think of you
in an ordinary day,
you drift right down the hallway
and all I really have to say is please don’t pass along the way
the thoughts of you and me again...

“Late in the day” Supergrass



Prodding the melting ice at the bottom of his glass, Wilson felt calmer than he had all day, enjoying the feeling between nicely full and slightly nauseous. They’d made there way through two pizzas in personal record time. House had topped it off with a “Volcanio” which, despite its exotic title, had basically consisted of a huge slab of ice cream over which the waiter had unceremoniously dumped every topping he could find behind the counter. Wilson had bailed at this point and ordered another root beer, watching in awe as House shovelled away his desert with minimum effort. Undeterred, House had then spotted a table soccer game in full flow and added his fifty cents to the queue. Wilson had deduced fairly quickly that the winner stayed on and the challengers waited for their chance. Not quite the scenario he’d hoped for, but he knew House would enjoy it.

Moving as gracefully as his leg allowed, House had remained at the table since his first game. The competitive edge had spurred him onto successive victories and two kids from the kitchen had appeared to take him on. Wilson watched as House flipped his striker stick, effortlessly achieving just enough backspin to score his ninth goal and take the tie. Increasingly cocky, he offered to take a four-goal handicap when his opponent demanded a re-match.

Seeing House looking more relaxed made him feel a lot better. He knew it was a false read on the situation as a whole, but it mattered. If House could enjoy even just a few things in somewhere near the way he had before the infarction, then maybe there was hope. Nothing substantial, but proof that it was possible, if only in glimpses and that was enough for now. Wilson left his bar stool and took a seat beside the game to get a better view.

House creamed the guy with a crunching volley, smashing home the final ball of the game and offered to retire undefeated. Standing without the cane, despite the support the table offered, had taken its toll on his leg and he coudn't ignore it any longer. Shuffling slowly, he cursed as he lowered himself gingerly into the chair opposite Wilson.

“You okay?” Wilson asked gently. House looked less tense, but tiredness had replaced it and he looked weary.

“Yeah” House replied softly. “Its just…..” There was nothing else he could say. He hadn’t damaged his leg further; this was just the way it was always going to be if he wanted to do more than the minimum. Pushing it to let him enjoy even simple stuff was going to involve painful payback, he made a mental note to make sure he refined his choices to the truly pleasurable.

“Want to head back? Wilson enquired, not wanting to make it obvious to House that he noticed how tired he added. “’Honey My Breasts are Fake' should have taped and I want to see it before I pick up Julie.”

“Yeah, it’s going to be so great when she tells Ricky” House snickered “Especially when he gets the added bonus of finding out it’s because she’s a post-op transsexual.”

Wilson laughed and House limped to the bar to settle their tab. House had always been juvenile and it reminded him of the first time they’d met. An exceptionally dull week at a renal cancer conference had been transformed into one of the best Wilson could remember. He’d been hanging around outside the lecture hall and had noticed House standing around also looking bored. House had asked him for a lighter, which he didn’t have, and Wilson had offered to show him the smokers hang-out in the park. Finding a light and finishing the cigarette, they’d walked around the park discussing the Jets chances in the upcoming play-off until House spotted the children’s play area. Wilson had watched with increasing disbelief as House climbed the monkey bars and hung himself upside down. “Great blood flow encourages stellar thinking. If the guy taking us for this course tried it, I might head back” House had advised him. Minutes later Wilson found himself next to House, hanging upside down from the monkey bars, arguing about the relative contributions of Ozzy Osbourne and Dio to Black Sabbath and wondering how he’d been talked into it. He’d spent the ensuing months and years thinking the same thought on a regular basis, but he’d also had more fun than he’d known possible.

Collapsed against the passenger seat, House dug wearily into his pocket for his pills. Wilson offered him the remains of a donut, but he shook his head and knocked back the pill. The pain was filling his head more acutely than it had since the day he pushed to hard during rehab and he just needed silence and stillness while he waited for the med to provide some respite.

House gave his keys to Wilson as soon as they arrived at the apartment and leaned heavily on his cane as he dropped his bag n the hallway and made his way to the den.

“We can do this another day if you’re tired” Wilson offered, carrying House’s beer through to the kitchen.

“Need to see it now” House insisted. “Won’t be the same going back to it after the next show.”

Finding the remote under a pile of newspapers, Wilson played the tape as House settled himself on the couch, flinching as he lifted his right leg onto a cushion. The pain had become slightly more subdued as the Vicodin took effect and an overwhelming feeling of tiredness was rapidly taking its place. He knew he’d done way too much today, but it had made him feel something approaching normal for a few hours.

Glancing as House drifted, Wilson lowered the tv volume subtly and paused the tape, switching channels to a “Bless This House” re-run. He was feeling pretty whacked too, he’d been more nervous about the day that he’d realised.

Stacy felt pleased what to make of returning home to find Wilson’s car in the lot. She’d been fairly confident House wouldn’t shoehorn him out of the door straight away but he’d seemed so lethargic, she hadn’t been certain. Having Wilson around might be just what she needed too. She didn’t totally understand their friendship but she never felt she needed to. Talking to House had been so damn near impossible that if spending time with Wilson loosened his determination to avoid her, she was all for it. It didn’t matter what House told Wilson, she was okay with it, just hoping it broke the stalemate.

Wilson heard the lock turn and looked over at House flaked out on the couch, looking almost peaceful. He eased out the den quietly and stopped Stacy as she passed him in the hallway.

“He’s sleeping.” Wilson motioned to the kitchen.

“Didn’t manage to prise him from the couch.” Stacy grinned, loading the dishwasher with the used mugs from the counter.

“No, we went out.” Wilson yawned, “After a fair amount of protest.”

Stacy asked looking surprised. “Mr. Milano’s? You got him to a restaurant?”

“Not sure I’d describe Milano’s as a restaurant; you’ve only had their take-out. Believe me its not quite fine dining. “ Wilson enlightened her. “but yeah, we had pizza.”

Stacy was genuinely pleased. “Good. I’m glad you got him out of here.”

“Yeah, I think maybe we went a little far with the food” Wilson confessed “but he seemed to enjoy it”

“He always, goes too far with food, going to far is good.” Stacy stated “Its not going anywhere at all that’s the problem”

“Probably a good sign.” Wilson reassured her. “Look, I’ve got to pick Julie up.” He picked up his car keys from the counter.

“ Wilson.” Stacy turned to him and Wilson saw she was nervous. “Thanks.”

“It’s fine.” He felt guilty as he left Stacy, knowing she’d hoped that he’d tell her they’d talked or anything, which might make it easier. Looking in at House, still sleeping, as he let himself out of the apartment. Wilson knew it was going to take a lot more than pizza and table soccer to make anything better.

-Just a small warning about language in this chapter, its quiet strong at times.

I have to credit to my other half, Max for helping me out with getting the syntax vaguely right. Says a lot about the emphasis in English education that he’s Swedish and his grammar is so much better than mine. It may not be perfect, but its better than it started out. Creative writing classes were cool fun, but not the best prep for producing stuff thats readable for anyone else.


Chapter Six

I can't feel my legs, I can't feel my legs
I can't feel my legs but I don't miss them
I can't feel my head, I can't feel my head
I can't feel my head but I don't miss it

“I can’t feel my head” - Rocket From The Crypt



Stacy heard Wilson leave, feeling heavy in the silence and humidity. She was pleased they’d had a good afternoon and maybe if House got some sleep, maybe. She had case notes to catch up on and a restaurant to book for Saturday night but none of that seemed important. Maybe that was what was getting to her too. Fast-living was a cliché but it did hold some truth when she tough about how she and House lived before the infarction descended and fractured everything. Neither of them enjoyed relaxing or certainly anyone else’s idea of relaxing. They couldn’t play tennis without it becoming a war, rather than a game, in under two minutes or even take a walk without finding somewhere to go. So maybe this was just the fallout when there wasn’t anything to achieve or enjoy. At least in the hospital there had been a purpose and things to progress and achieve; now they just had each other. No way forward unless nothing to stand between them or bring them together.

Changing from her work clothes into jeans and a sweater, she picked up House’s bag from the hallway and placed the pants on their bed. His side. She’d figured out in the first month they’d lived together that the only way to avoid complete chaos was to put all the stuff House left lying around on his bed. With the exception of vinyl , he would leave anything where it fell, clothes and books carpeting the apartment. She’d tried the normal methods of persuasion without joy and had resorted to covering his side of the bed with anything she found on the floor. He’d replied by climbing into her side of the bed and insisting on sharing the remaining space. After two uncomfortable, if enjoyable, nights, he’d caved and put the stuff away.

House pushed his eyes open, disorientated from a deeper sleep than he’d had in a while. Distant noise from the bedroom indicated he was not alone and he noticed the lack of Wilson in the opposite chair. The VCR clock told him it was a lot later than he’d thought and he enjoyed the quiet for a little while longer.

“Good day?” Stacy asked, stepping into the den.

“Mmm, Yeah.” His voice raspy from sleeping.

“Wilson said you’d been for pizza so I’m guessing you’re not hungry yet.”

“Could be.” House mulled the possibilities, “Anything good on offer?”

“Any thing you like” she added, smiling, “from the freezer. There’s frozen yoghurt if you want to share”

House thought about all the ice-cream he’d eaten earlier. “Not half, but I’ll have some spoons.”

“Its late and I plan on eating it in bed.” Stacy informed him, “Joining me?”

“Yeah. But you get the spoons, I need to pee.” He peeled his arm from behind his head, sticky from the heat.

If he could just hold onto this feeling it could be okay. His leg was sore but the ache from all the other muscles he’d overused was keeping it at bay nicely. A mix of tiredness and sleep was making good work of keeping his brain fairly slow and sedate. It had taken the punch out of seeing Stacy standing in the hallway and he felt less, he just felt less.

The soft light in the bedroom was just right and he picked up the pants Stacy had left on the bed and tossed them into his closet. Food was the second best thing to have in bed. Crackers, chips, cookies, it didn’t matter, it all tasted better in bed. He’d been pretty pleased with the deal he’d struck. Only stuff which made crumbs had been banned and that left ice-cream and chocolate as more than adequate subs.

Despite involving two of his favourite things, he’d never been a fan of the whole ice-cream and sex thing. They’d tried it once but it hadn’t really worked out, ending fairly abruptly after they knocked a near full tub of M&M flavour ice cream, at a crucial moment, all over the new lounge carpet. While she ran to the kitchen for a dishrag, he‘d enjoyed what was left in the carton. Before or after was fine, but trying to enjoy both fully, required more self-restraint and economy than he was, or wanted to be, capable of on either count.

Extracting a pillow from under the top sheet, he pulled off his t-shirt and lowered himself onto the bed. Brushed cotton soothing his back, he stretched out both legs, resting his right on the pillow and closed his eyes. The bed was definitely a lot more comfortable than the coach. Feeling sleepy he relaxed and coasted on the relative calm and let himself drift.

Cold metallic touch brushing his forearm, House gasped, panic flooding his brain. An IV line? Bed rail? His heart raced as he jolted against his conscious, seeing Stacy standing beside him.

“Its okay, its okay” she whispered gently, bemused by his reaction, “It’s just a spoon. I gave it five in the freezer like you like.”

Heart pounding, House saw the spoon and felt stupid as the memory slipped away. She was right, he loved having a cold spoon run down his back when it was hot. Went back to being sick one time as a kid. He’d had a fever and the school nurse had given him a cold spoon to run against his forehead as she felt his him burning up. It felt so good, he’d tried it again the next time it was hot. He’d enjoyed it as a weapon against heat ever since and having one run down his back was one of his ultimates in the pleasure stakes. He felt his breathing slow and he moved up the bed.

“Sorry.” Stacy said sounded confused, as she climbed onto the bed. “If you don’t want me to touch you then…”

“It’s not….” He sighed, frustrated as he propped himself up against the other pillow. “ I just…”

Stacy placed her hand against his, gently. House let her for a moment and then pulled away.

“Can’t.” House said quietly “I can’t do this.”

“What do you want me to do?” Stacy not letting go, not now.

“I don’t want you to do anything. Its not about you.” House turned away.

“Greg, we live together.” Stacy stated gently “I know this is tough. Maybe I don’t know enough. But we need something to change here.”

“Change, how?” House bit, angry. “You think this is going to get easier?” He said, incredulous, “Were you too busy signing forms to hear the part about it never getting better. This isn’t a disease, there isn’t an outcome, its just like this.” Looking her in the eye, he mocked, “Its not some dumb relationship conundrum in Cosmo. Not even one of their mildly amusing questionnaire’s. ‘Your partner’s acting strangely- is he a) turned off because you’ve put on a little weight recently b- screwing your best friend or c) a bit miffed that you overrode his wishes and signed him up for the lifetime’s worth of pain club.’”

“You hate me, I get it. But I did what I thought was right, because I love you.” Stacy loosing her fight to stay calm, “I knew you’d hate me and I did it anyway. Do you really think I’m getting a kick out of this? I was thinking of myself when I didn’t want you to die?”

“It wasn‘t about love, it wasn’t your choice, dying was my call.” House sniped back, looking away.

“You wanted to die? Saying it shocked her more than she realised, she moved toward him, needing to see his face.

“More than I wanted to be stuck with this.” House knew he was yelling and didn’t care. “You seemed to conveniently forget that I knew what I was talking about. I wasn’t one of your cases, some poor vegetable- state bastard with his nearest and angriest fighting over whether or not he gets fed through a straw.”

“It saved your life.” Stacy slammed her fist against the bed, lowering her voice in an attempt at control, “If you want me to feel bad about that then I can tell you, its not going to happen. I feel bad about a lot of things, but I’m never going to be sorry that you didn’t die.”

“You didn’t know I would.” House stared at the space between them, “That’s my big point, the pearly pearl of wisdom for the day.”

He wrenched his leg from the pillow, not waiting for the pain to settle or a reply. Blood banging in his head as grabbed the cane from beside the night stand he left the bedroom with as much speed as his protesting leg would allow.

Stopping in the hallway, he felt the adrenaline start to slow and he cursed, anger orbiting the pain in his head. Why the fuck did she start that? He’d had a decent day and been feeling near neutral and she’d screwed it all up. For what? It was a fucking circle. How many times did she need to go round it to figure it out? She was a lawyer, she should know. Just stay out of his way, do some normal stuff and leave him the fuck alone.

:o


:o


:o

That was rough to come up against first thing in the morning, but...thank you. Goood. When I'm not :o any longer, something more coherent...

First thing in the morning? Sy...it's like 5:30 PM!

Great chapter as usual Benj! Loved it!

Taru

Sy, Taru - Thanks for reading :) . Sorry! I should have added a dark warning- lots of hurt and not a huge amount in the comfort stakes. This chapter isn’t any lighter but its not as punchy- nothing much happens so I hope it works.

Trying to keep within the parameters of canon as a starting point. I’m thinking that it have been a fairly horrendous break-up to have screwed House up so badly. That they thought of the sides for ep 21(I’m believing they were authentic) and went through with the aired ending, suggested that for me. The stuff of arrrggghh angst. But sorry its harsh, especially early doors. Guess that’s growing up on an overly indulgent diet of The Smiths and Joy Division. Pretentious as a teenager- not me, surely Guv? Loved it though, still do and probably still am :) .

Fixed the smilie which I noticed appeared in the Cosmo questionnaire part *yes I am also a text-speak illiterate idiot who didn’t realise a ‘b and a bracket’ would do that- face- palms*. Going back to iron out the shed load of horrible grammar/spelling mistakes in the previous chapters.


Chapter Seven

Heaven kicked you out ,
Heaven kicked you out.
Breaking up for what you never have
Loosing everything, all the things you ever had
Going nowhere
Going nowhere

“Nowhere”- Therapy?



Sinking back into the bed, sick feeling rising in her stomach. She wanted to scream, just scream at the insanity, the injustice, at the hard harshness that had taken over their lives. She wanted to scream at House because, because, damn it, he was at the centre of it and he was making it all even worse. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that, nobody asked for any of this. But she’d done what she thought was right, best.

He hadn’t been her, he hadn’t seen the person he loved more than anything in the world slipping and then running away from him. Away from life, like it didn’t matter. A damn leg had been more important than anything else. Not just love or her, she wasn’t some doe-eyed, loved-up kid, but his life. He had talent, he mocked when she said it, but he had a gift, for medicine, for thinking. He was a great guy, she thought that, she knew it, why hadn’t he? Great didn‘t mean he couldn’t be more difficult and childish than anyone she’d ever known, but she still loved him. He’d never really got hold of that , she knew that too.

He loved her, she felt it and had seen it, the way he looked at her, touched her. It was knowing that she loved him back, that she knew he didn‘t understand. She told him a lot, she’d broken her own rule and told him first that she loved him. It never seemed to really hit home, when it really mattered, in the hospital when she’d begged him to think about loosing leg. She’d made the decision because she loved him, because she loved him more than he loved himself.

She’d changed everything for him but it had changed everything for her too. Any other time she’d have followed him into the den and they would fight and argue for hours. Now there was nothing to fight and nothing to fight for. Just an emptiness that made her dizzy. It made her feel weak and useless and she had no idea where to go from here.

House stood in the den, staring into nothing until he couldn’t take the pain any longer. Shivering without his shirt, he looked around for something to put on. Going back into the bedroom wasn’t an option. The hat stand in the hallway offered a rain jacket, it was way too hot for nylon, he chose the beat-up denim jacket he’d had since college and hadn‘t worn in years. It had almost been washed out of existence, but he could still make out the faint smell of beer and cigarette smoke. The near perfect circle burn still in the sleeve, where some stoned idiot had bumped him with a spliff during a King Crimson concert. Grateful for the warmth against his bare skin, he clenched his fists around the cuffs.

Alone. He just needed to be alone. Self-pity was ugly and brutal and didn’t need an audience. He knew that and he knew he’d been its sum, screaming at Stacy. Just to get her out, out of the space he needed. He didn’t want anyone watching him, he didn’t want to break anyone else or hurt them, not even her. Especially her.

Watching a pill spill from the bottle as he shook it into his hand, he moved back to the den, swallowing it whole. His head hurt, splitting from the tension and the relentless pulse of his thoughts. He needed to stop thinking and sleep that was not going to happen, not now. Music would just intensify the thinking he didn’t want to do and tv, even good tv, wasn’t going to enough to block out this mess. Legs weren’t going to take any more standing, not either of them, so he took the coach and nothing. Feet propped on the coffee table, he let his head drop back against the coach and waited.

Hearing the light thud of the cane in the hallway, Stacy closed her eyes against the dark. She’d turned the nightstand lamp off hours ago, still lying over the sheets. Sleep eluded her, too much thinking. Needing the morning to come fast, to take her away to things she could deal with and take away the things she couldn’t.

Darkness melting seamlessly into blue, filtering though the blinds, making the world real again. House observed the shift in colour as he gazed at the ceiling. If a run had been possible he’d have taken it now or the soccer ball, hammer it against the garage for a while, waiting for feeling and time to pass. Maybe then he’d sleep and physical exhaustion would win out.

Stacy woke in a panic. Too warm to be early, she really didn’t need to have overslept, rushing around was not going to be easy this morning, then she remembered. Saturday. Unsure whether it made her feel better or worse. She paused the panic for a moment, without loosing any of the sharpness. There were too many balances she needed to make happen today and it didn’t look like anything she wanted. Reeling from House and his anger and struggling with her anger too, while the world moved on. Jeff and Linda were still going to be a the restaurant tonight and the case notes she’d been needing to look at all week were still waiting. She didn’t know what to say to Greg or have any idea if she wanted to talk. Wish fulfilment was always, always bad and hoping he would let her into his head had backfired. Knowing more, or maybe just having it confirmed, meant she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

Still awake. Forcing his eyes to stay open, House knew he needed sleep. Not just the uncomfortable drift splintered with pain, something more than the couch afforded. Their bed, as difficult as that would be, he needed to sleep there. He needed a shower too. The en-suite shower was didn’t offer anywhere near the space of the main bathroom, but it gave him something else to think about . Hearing Stacy making coffee in the kitchen, he headed off to the bedroom.

Girl stuff, her stuff. The bedroom always smelt to him, of her. Trying hard not to let it in, he dragged a towel and a new pair of his new pants from the closet. The en-suite didn’t have a slip mat, it had never needed one and he picked his way carefully to the shower. He didn’t want to think about the lack of rail or security, just the promise of warm water and release.

Yay! Another chapter! Sweet!

Again, this is amazing, and wonderful! Wow, you just have everything so right...gah!

I so look forward to reading more! You and sy have me so hooked it's sad...

Taru

Damn good solid A#1 stuff. I agree with you on the breakup: it must have been *nasty*. I'm not the type who'll stop on the highway to rake over an accident scene, but this--this I want to see. Da-amn. And a fight on a Friday, having all day Saturday to stew in the apartment and avoid each other. I need to invent an appropriate expletive for this fic lest I get too vulgar. Till then, f'in' a.

Some favorite parts:

"She’d made the decision because she loved him, because she loved him more than he loved himself."

Yes!

"Girl stuff, her stuff. The bedroom always smelt to him, of her."

F'in' a.

:)

Benj, you are a fic MACHINE! :o :o

Let me catch up. House's memory of his trip to the terrace -- whoa.


don’t get any ideas about scooping the jelly out of mine just because I’m driving. HEE!

So many lovely details -- the ice cream and the frozen spoon, House starting and thinking he was still in the hospital....

House bailing out of that little intimate moment, and then the quarrel -- ouch. And it's the same fight they've been having for forever.

And then Stacy's little reflection at the beginning of Chapter Seven: It was knowing that she loved him back, that she knew he didn‘t understand...she loved him more than he loved himself....

And this shower thing...trouble brewing... (hides eyes behind hands and then peeks....)

Taru, Sy, Auditrix- cheers for the feedback, I'm really appreciating it. :)

Sy- I agree on the rubber neck think, it not my thing either. House's comment in Sports Medicine about having no right to be angry, Wilson's hint about pushing away and Stacy being fairly tough led me to think it was ugly but compelling. I don't think it was all him, or maybe even mostly him, although it comes across that way at the moment.

Girl stuff, glad that came across okay because I'm not too up on specifics.

Auditrix- Thanks and happy the memory parts are working for you. I know there are a lot of them, but I think he had a lot of thinking time. And your right, its going to get pretty ugly in there.


Chapter Seven (contd)


Stacy looked in as she held the door ajar and walking across the room quietly. House was asleep in their bed. Sheets forming a messy diamond across his body, just the lump of a pillow outlining his head and another at his right leg. Stacy had expected to find him in the den, until the shower let her know otherwise. Picking out clothes, she left the room, closing the door silently. She didn’t want to disturb him, knowing sleep was his holy grail, but she needed a shower too. Somewhere, what she needed had to start to matter again.

The phone woke him, not the first ring or even the second, but the third time whoever it was called back. Bastard. Who the hell put a phone in the bedroom? If it was really important there were pagers. Nothing that went on a bedroom needed to be interrupted with a phone call that could always wait. House dragged the handset under the sheets.

“What?” he growled.

“Sir, I’m phoning from Bien Hoa restaurant to confirm a reservation, May I speak to Miss Stac…”

“She’ll phone you back” House interrupted the beautifully monotone caller.

“You don‘t have our number, sir” the caller advised him flatly.

“Star 69 and Yellow Pages have.”

House hit the end call button, removed the battery and tossed the phone away. Bien Hoa? Good whore? Close enough to qualify for the ‘Stupidly Named Places’ list and that would give a 52-31 lead over Wilson, he grinned, trying to hold the thought as he tried for more sleep.

Cramp woke him, an hour later. His whole right leg stabbing, he gave in. He’d had a least five hours. Must scream more often, he thought bitterly, as he took a pill and some water from the night stand. Despite the cramp he generally felt a little better and more comfortable. Maybe he’d stay here for the day. There was nothing to get up for and he could catch up on tv anytime. Most of his days were blank days for he didn’t know how long. Didn’t want to think about that now.

His nightstand drawer was full of stuff. He hadn’t opened it since before the infarction. He and Stacy had a kind of unspoken rule that they were personal. It had really surprised him when he realised that he’d never had even had the urge to rifle through her drawer. Knowing then that he’d fallen for her and not just in the “she hot and I’m having fun” way, but something real that he felt all the time, even when she wasn’t around.

Opening the drawer was tough, it was stacked out, mostly with crap, old gig tickets, football programmes, emergency cigarettes from the days he promised he’d quit and the photo. He shoved the rest back, hanging onto to it.

The backyard at Wilson’s old place. Standing with Wilson, laughing at the camera.

He smiled as he remembered the day it had been taken. It had all the potential of a total nightmare. Rachel had organised a birthday party for her sister’s boy and Wilson persuaded him to help out on the promise of heading into town as soon as they could extricate themselves. She’d left them to put trestle tables together in the yard while she picked up the kids. Then they’d discovered the unparalleled joy of Slip’n’Slide. It had taken a little while to figure out how it worked but it had been more than worth it, stripping to their jeans and forgetting the tables. Wilson had been dubious at first, but after he’d tried the full belly slide a third time he’d been totally convinced. In fact, if he recalled correctly, it had been Wilson who threw down the challenge to try surfing it backwards while drinking a beer. Rachel hadn’t been even vaguely amused when she arrived, complete with the party goers. Then Stacy had shown up, and taken the photograph.

He looked so damn happy, arm slung over Wilson’s shoulder. He never did stuff like that, the whole buddy hug, backslapping thing made him cringe. It just seemed right, standing there, soaking in the look she gave him as she told them to stand still for the photo. A happiness he couldn’t hold in. She made him feel the kind of happy he couldn’t hold it in. Nothing to think, just so much to feel and enjoy, her eyes drawing him in like nothing else existed.

She’d made him that happy.

He hated having his photo taken, he didn’t have the pretty looks or easy charm, not like Wilson with his too brown eyes and little boy grin, but she’d made him beautiful, right there, with one look. Looking back at her open and awed, a reflection, an extension of all that he loved in her.

He loved her. Took him a little while to put it together. The way he pushed beyond himself, into her, her life. Wanting her, to be part of her. Even little stuff like going to her after-work drinking places once in a while, meeting people he would have hated and giving them a go, because of her.

Still true now, it was all her. Making his head race and his chest tight, as he looked at the photo. No. Too much. He couldn’t take it, not now, not here. She. No. He pushed it back, as far as he could back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Needed to find something else, anything. He searched the nightstand shelves. Anything. Peanuts, that would do. He hadn’t read in along time and he still had three books in this series to go. Feeling himself calming, as he looked at the cover. Dog- eared with food spills, but still great. Charlie Brown and Linus never let him down.

It was quiet, when she got back, just the calm whir of the air-con. Nail girl had babbled non-stop about her kids and usually it bugged her, but she’d welcomed it today. House was probably still asleep, the couch hadn’t shown any sign that he’d gotten any there last night. It was gone twelve though and she couldn’t tip-toe around him much longer. She opened the bedroom door and found him reading. .

“Bien-Hoa called for you” House advised her calmly, not looking up from his book

“What did they want?” she asked.

“Don’t know.” he replied. It was true, he didn’t know.

“Because they didn’t tell you or you didn’t ask?”

“Both” He replied, continuing to read.

“Where’s the phone?” She asked, noticing it had disappeared from her nightstand.

House stretched across the bed and passed her the phone.

“And the battery?” She couldn’t hide her irritation.

“It ran out” House replied.

“It was new.” Stacy informed him, voice rising.

“It didn’t like the phone. They tried to work it out, but it got scared and ran away.” House smirked as looked up at her.

“Stop pissing me about and give me the battery.” He held out his hand, and she snatched the battery, turning away.

“I take it you haven’t changed your mind about tonight.” Trying to make it a question, something lighter and less tense.

“I think you’ll have a better night without me.” House focused on his book, hoping she’d take the hint and let it go.

“They’d like to see you.” Stacy pushed, trying to be gentle.

“To see what?” House put the book down and looked at her, determined.

“To see how you are.”

“Because they care? Or because they want to see the dickhead they never liked limping around like a gimp?” House asked, faking a puzzled expression .

“Because you need to get out of here and get on with it.” She snapped, determined.

House ignored her, looking her in the eye as he continued, “Or maybe they like seeing pain, maybe that’s their thing. Now that could be interesting. If their into kinky, we could get into that whole swingers thing. Sure beats an afternoon of put-put golf and shop talk. He paused , for a beat “I might have a problem with taking part though. Think they’d mind if I just watch?”

“You can make with all the lines you want. I’m not going to cry like one of your patients. Its not going t o work.” She stressed the words forcefully and slowly, “Even your best.” she paused. Which that wasn’t, by the way.”

Stacy stared back at him, holding his gaze, hard.

Oh...that whole scene with the picture was GREAT! Wow...I can so totally see that pic in my head and it makes me want to give House a big hug..

Great work as always!

Taru

SLIP 'N'SLIDE! That whole scenario was just so perfect.

This chapter really made me think about why House is still so tied up in knots about Stacy. He's usually so forgiving of other people's mistakes, and here it's like some part of him really wants to forgive Stacy, and yet he just won't let himself. Every time he comes close he does something to distract himself or stir up his anger.

Maybe it's because this time it's tied up with forgiving himself and with his anger and sorrow at what's happened. He needs somebody to blame.

Taru, Auditrix - much thanks and glad the Slip'nSlide scene worked for you.

It was one of the highlights of my six-year old life when we visited my parent's friends in Phoenix and they introduced us to it. My Mum bought us one to bring back home and we had years of fun with it, until it met its end at my 18th birthday party.


Another small warning with this chapter- There is some harsh and the odd expletive.

Chapter Eight.

I woke up this morning
To find that we have outlived the myth of trust
You woke up this morning
To the fact we've lost the things
We took for granted between us

“The Myth of Trust” - Billy Bragg



House picked up the book staring at it hard, until he heard her leave. Good. No, not good. She was right. It might work for him but it wasn’t going to work on her. It didn’t really work for him either. He felt like crap. He knew he’d gone too far, but it hurt. He wanted her to hurt too. It wouldn’t work because it didn’t matter as much for her. No way, he knew that. How could she have done this to him if it mattered? She’d said it, she knew he wouldn’t be able to take it and she’d still done it. Knowing it could end them and still, she’d signed the paper. They had meant nothing to her, so what the fuck did it matter what he did?

Stacy slammed the phone against the counter. Table confirmed, great. She was really feeling like dinner now. If it hadn’t meant escaping this unbelievable mess for a few hours, she’d have cancelled. Thinking like that made her even more angry. Running out wasn’t her, pouring it all out to a girlfriend and crying over wine and chocolate. Case notes in the lounge. She’d try to concentrate, repeating it to herself, as she grabbed the case from the hallway, still shaking.

Thirsty and hungry. House pushed back the sheets, feeling dizzy as he sat up from lying so long. He picked up the cane, and grabbed a t-shirt from the pile in closet. Hearing the tap of computer keys in the lounge room, he ventured to the kitchen. Drinking milk straight from the carton, wiping his mouth on his hand, as he binned it. If he wanted to enjoy more than one beer tonight, he needed some kind of lining. Stomach growling to reinforce the thought, he turned his attention to food. Heating anything up would take too long and promised to much hassle. He grabbed a couple of slices of bread and some butter/not butter stuff from the fridge. Sandwiches were the way forward and he poked around in the pantry until he found what he needed. Syrup, not the maple tastes like trees kind, but gooey, gorgeous, golden syrup. Piling it onto the bread with a knife then flattening it out, he added a little sugar and a top slice. He considered for a moment taking it back to the bedroom, weighing up which side of the ‘no crumbs’ rule if fell, but decided against it. He didn’t need any more crap now and syrup on the sheets would be a banker.

Stacy heard noise from the kitchen. She’d managed at least half of what she hoped to and had to think about showering and changing for dinner. Doing that from the confines of the main bathroom wasn’t going to work.

House finished his sandwich and mopped up the syrup spills and his muscles ached. Just needed to let the inevitable payback for a good day take its course. Body needed some rest from the all the strain of the previous day, he’d appeased it to some extent with bed rest, it should help it settle. That’s what you did with muscle strains, you rested them, a little menthol and some ibuprofen. When you knew that’s what it was. Not the pain that resulted from a blood clot forming in the muscle tissue. Thinking it made him seethe and shudder, he pushed against the counter, trying desperately not to focus on his body, just anything, just to make it go away.

“You okay?” Stacy stood in the kitchen doorway .

“I’m fine” he said quietly through his teeth.

“Need to get ready for tonight” she added tiredly.

“Sure” House answered, distant.

Waiting until he heard the flow of water stop, he force himself to take it slowly as he limped along the hallway. He stopped suddenly when she saw her sitting by the bedroom mirror, uncertain how to react, he froze.

Long dark hair, loose against her back, pale skin glistening with moisture. Sleek fingers teasing her hair, sweeping it into a clasp. Watching her sliding gloss over her lips, captivated by her delicate movement he couldn‘t move away, eyes following the gentle curve of her body. Never failed to turn him on, even now feeling guilty as he watched her, wanting to hold her . .

Couldn’t take it, not if he couldn’t take her, Stuck watching from a distance like some drunk guy in a strip bar… Stop. Guilty for feeling that more, more than he wanted to hold her, chase his fingers across her skin, slip his tongue .. She looked up at him, intense brown eyes searching for something, he knew she wanted something from him and he looked away.

He moved silently from the door way to the den, away.

“We don’t have to talk.” He knew she was near, closing his eyes against the light perfume filling his head, guilty.

He didn’t move his head to look at her, trying hard against the persuasion of knowing she was standing their, feeling her presence. If it could be that easy. It had always been easy, after a fight or early morning before work, no words, only need and knowing. Knowing where to touch, silently pressing, skin tender against his rough skin, her face as she came, body shaking against him, nails pushing into his back, scraping his thighs…No. His head swimming as the image fading, crowded out with doubt and fear, pulling him back to now.

The PT nurse asking if he wanted to talk about the any of the more ‘intimate’ implications of his disability, they had leaflets, maybe counselling, “You screwed up my leg not my screwing prowess” he’d muttered, shaken with embarrassment and anger . He knew he was still going to get a hard-on when he saw nice breasts or a cute ass. How the hell was any of that going to help? Did he need to fuck a counsellor or a leaflet to get his dick back into shape? Was it going to make it any less degrading to struggle out of his pants, knowing seventy percent of ‘physically-challenged’ people still manage a fulfilling sex life? Would hearing patronising platitudes take away the humiliation of having to say ‘Honey, if you’re going down on me, keep away from my leg and try not to be turned off by the scar.”? Would a gentle talk with a ‘sensitive’ stranger make him more trusting, more sure his limits would still be enough for her, it wasn’t pity but pleasure, didn’t leave her needing something else, someone more?

Stacy watched him, staring ahead as though he hadn’t heard her, she didn’t exist. Flushing beneath her make-up, angry, she turned back to the bedroom. How many times did he need to push her away to make it better for him, was that what this was? She didn’t want a deep talk, just to share something they both needed, feel closer again. They did it all the time, before, no apologies or heartfelt speeches, just the honesty of physical contact. Seeing him standing there, she’d seen the desire, why couldn’t it be simple just for a little while, she knew it wasn’t going to change anything. She wouldn’t see it as acceptance, but it could make them feel less alone, could be something. Finishing her make-up and she slipped on kitten heels as she leaned against the window, sadness and hurt mixing, trying hard to stop the tears she knew were forming.

House stabbed the back of the couch with his fist, and grabbed the remote, switching on the tv and upping the volume until he couldn’t hear his head anymore. Flicking through he found the warm-up chat before the game, an injured linebacker proffering gruff gabble about Fire’s chances. Trying to concentrate, he heard a taxi horn and moments later the slam of the apartment door. Couldn’t have expected a big ‘Dating Game’ kiss he thought ruefully as he made his way to the kitchen. He needed a beer.






* Just need to add a big thank you to my mate Marcus, for sharing a lot of personal stuff which helped to make writing this easier.

Great job as always, Benj.

House's snack - wow, sugar high.

The desire in this...just so hard to read, but so good.

Also loved the part with the pamphlets and House's anger there. So seething and biting. Just...ouch. Very well done.

You sustain the proximity/intimacy and anger/desire of their situation so well. A slow, angry boil that's always threatening to spill over but never does is much worse than a knock-down drag-out fight and you're capturing it in all its delicacy and madness.

Cheers

Sy - cheers :) House’s sugar snack is real in so far as I know people who eat it, my brother included. Too sickly for even my sweet loving teeth, but fairly commonplace in Yorkshire, home to battered Mars bars (they are nice). People wonder why we have the ‘bad teeth’ tag when we fill our filling filled mouths with this kind of junk, but maybe its all the sugar that keeps us high enough to enjoy cricket.


Disclaimer of sorts- the description of the football game (apart from the fact that I like Rhein Fire) is based on my understanding only. Reading rules or listening to other people’s explanations of sports doesn’t work too well for me, so its just based on my limited knowledge from watching. If its inaccurate or doesn’t work, please feel free to shout at me, I‘m sorry.






Chapter Eight (contd)

If you don't mind
I'll keep my thoughts to myself
If you don't mind,
you can do the other
So you want me to find a reason
find a reason
If you don't find a reason why

“Less than useful” - Ned’s Atomic Dustbin



Pulling open the stopper on a cold Grolsch, House felt cold beer hit his stomach, making him feel warm inside. Fire had their first chance of a field goal, Ricky Novac, the regular kicker had strained his calf during the first five and the new guy skewed it well wide of the post. Less than two decent plays in over half an hour, he was getting restless flicking the stopper on the bottle, as least Europeans did beer better than they did football. Trying not to think of anything other than enjoying a drink for the first time in a while, but it wasn’t happening. The image of her, in the bedroom just wouldn’t go away, he needed a proper distraction, something better than watching a third rate football game. Usually if he was alone Saturday night he’d call Wilson and they’d hit a few bars in town. He didn’t feel like calling Wilson, he didn’t need any conversation tonight. He needed to get out.

Bars in town would be too far on his own, full of annoying weekend types making the most of it, but the little place a couple of blocks away was within his reach. He hadn’t been a while, generally only used it as a last resort if he’d had a heavy day and needed to step off the world for a while before he got home. Draining the bottle, he found the phone and called a cab. He swallowed a pill and reached for his denim jacket The spiel about mixing meds and alcohol was overdramatic, he knew it all inside out and didn’t plan to get smashed. His leg actually felt better for a beer or he didn’t feel it as much because of the beer, whichever, didn’t matter.

Cab driver was miserable, which was perfect, no stupid ‘how’s your day’ crap and it was a short trip. TC’s was empty but not quiet, some kind of band were tuning up, or tuning out to be more accurate. Guitarist had a poor man’s mohican and was making a hash of a simple riff. Settling himself at the bar, he ordered a single malt. The drummer joined in, in a way out of time kind of way that made him pray they didn’t plan to sing too. Watching was the draw of this place, he’d found it not long after he’d moved to Princeton. It had no scene or discernable qualities and it wasn’t the haunt of any specific type. No more drunks than any other city bar, wasn’t a pick-up joint or home to any scene. Just a bar with people filling in the space and filling in their spaces. He’d come here a lot before; just to watch, like a film with a revolving cast. Minimum hassle, a lot of different people, doing their different things for the same reason. A guy in a sheepskin coat and Trilby took a seat near the band, House recognised him, he’d seen him all the time, back then. Sitting alone with a pint and a paper, sometimes taking in the band or just filling out a crossword, didn‘t look like he‘d changed much. The bartender approached and he held out his glass.

Easing into the evening as the wine flowed and Stacy felt the tension recede, Jeff was one of her oldest friends from her law school days and he kept things light. He briefly asked about Greg and more about her, but moved on with merciful speed. Listening to them talk about a trip they had planned to Hong Kong in the fall, renovating their new house, she felt almost envious. Something normal, nothing overly exciting or dramatic, just easy. Would have been easier is she hadn’t known that however appealing it looked from the outside, six months in and she’d be bored out of her brain. This was the part of the evening when House would start pulling at his tie and make strangled expressions at her when he thought they weren’t looking. After a few death stares he’d up his game to a fake page or claim the need for a smoke break, wait until she came to look for him. When she found him he’d start touching her in a way that meant they had to go home or face being asked to leave. There weren’t going to be any of those distractions tonight, and as welcome as the change of scene had been for a short while, she still felt the need to get out and go home.


Fifth shot and it was working, his brain had slowed a few paces and the inactivity made him feel more relaxed. Taking a trip to the men’s room had been a little fraught, the tiles had a slipstream and he’d negotiated it with as much caution as he could muster with a few drinks inside him. He’d been enjoying the feeling of being unsteady on his feet for a reason other than just his leg and mid pee when two gay kids burst in. An older guy followed them and they started arguing. Apparently one of the younger guys was being accused by his partner of giving the older guy the eye. Pleading his innocence for a while, he’d given in, the older guy left and he started begging for another chance. It amused him, watching the guy plead and be forgiven, he’d made as quick an exit as the cane and floor allowed, when the kissing broke out. Was that all he needed, if she said she was sorry, would he be able to forgive her? No thinking. No more thinking, he finished his shot, letting the warm haze fill his head, numb his body and checked his watch. They’d be on to after dinner talk by now and he didn’t need to visualise her laughing, sharing her smile. He needed more of this, he asked the bartender to call him a cab and pour him one more for the road, hoping it would be enough to make him feel sleepy when he got back.

House steadied himself between the cane and the parking lot fence. The female cab driver had been an awful mix of over perky and under bright and hadn’t taken the hint when he faked sleep. Hoping that he looked enough of a wierdo with potential that she’d be dissuaded from trying to offer him any assistance had failed. So he threw her a fifty as a failsafe, knowing her dumbness would ensure she was occupied with trying to work out his change even if it took both their lifetimes for him to haul himself clear of the car. Drunk and crippled was not a great combination and it took tolerating pain to a new level to drag himself out of the car without falling. Nearly two hours of his leg being borderline bearable had to end sometime and it had marked the event in spectacular fashion, sending a shot of searing pain as a reminder. The door to the building was way too much for even drunken exuberance to coax him into trying, so he just concentrated on staying vertical for a while. The pain in his leg had stepped up to a constant he could barely cope with. Standing was at the top end of tolerable and he thought about giving in and sitting but the possibility of not being able to get up again was worse. Shutting his eyes, he tried to erase the pain by filtering out his senses, hoping if he kept his energy expenditure to a minimum he might be able to think about moving in a little while.

The slam of car door brought him round and the sound of Stacy’s heels opened his eyes. Fuck. Anyone else, not her.

“Having fun?” she asked tersely.

“Heaps” House replied, trying not to sound slurred. “You should try it sometime, I recommend it.”

“What are you doing” Stacy asked,

He thought about treating it as rhetorical, but she didn’t move.

“Waiting for you.” he said, she didn’t answer.

“Didn’t want you getting hassle from passing bums,” He motioned with at her with his head, “looking like that.”

Stacy looked around “You’re the only one.”

“Good, because I think I overestimated and dealing with slimy letches might be a little out of my league at the moment.” he added as innocently as he could manage. “How is Jeff?”

“Jeff and Linda are fine.” she looked him over “You’re drunk.”

“Didn’t he see you home?” he looked at the ground, trying to disguise the effort it was taking to stay standing, “Shame on him and his nice boy manners.”

“Give me your hand, you‘re too drunk to walk” she held out her hand

“Too drunk to fuck. That’s a not a bad tune.” House said, hoping if he stalled enough, she’d get annoyed and leave him. Knowing she had a point didn’t make him any more predisposed to conceding it .

“Give me your hand” Stacy insisted, touching his sleeve

“Why?” House flinched, looking away, “You going to kiss it all better?”

“Because you need me.” She stated calmly.

House stood, for as long as he could he stand it, before he blanked his mind and placed his hand in hers.

I've got to find a new way of saying daa-aaamn. So good this is, so good.

I have to say again that I love the way you're drawing this out. It's dead-on realistic and just unbelievably well done. Can't wait for more!

Cheers again Sy! :) Glad the pace is working for you, I’m working a lot from the conversation in Honeymoon when Stacy says “How many time have we been through this….”, I figure it was more than once.


Sorry for the delay, cricket, playing it and watching us beat the Aussies (!). Hot weather, B) at last got in the way too and I’m excited, Glastonbury is but days away and from never seeing him perform, I get to see Brian Wilson twice in three days, because he’s playing in Liverpool too. Sorry- that’s nothing to do with this fic, but its making me so happy. Beer and Brian- too hot to handle. :ph43r:


Chapter Nine


Generally I'd try to fake it,
but these days I'd rather face it.
Caught in my shadow.
If it's not enough I gave my blood,
my sweat, my tears, and I said I would.
Caught in my shadow.

‘Caught in my shadow” - The Wonderstuff




Stacy let go of his hand and placed an arm under his right shoulder. House leaned into her, trying to make the most of the extra support, without adding his weight. His leg reacted to the movement and he tensed, digging his nails into his left leg in the feeble hope it might persuade his right to hold out. She felt so solid against him and it jarred, the ridiculous anti-reality of someone, at least half his weight, possessing twice his current strength. Taking the hand he’d placed limply around her shoulder, Stacy squeezed it lightly, damp skin lifeless, as he shivered beneath her touch. Opening the door she steadied him before releasing her support, to allow him through ahead of her. Heat permeated the entrance hall and House thought about ditching his jacket but it just