licenseartistic: July prompt
Title / Prompt: Coffee And Scotch/ This picture.
Character: James Wilson.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: James Wilson/Stacy Warner, James Wilson/Greg House sort of implied.
Your character's fandom: House, M.D.
Word count: 2,400.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own James Wilson, much as I wish I did.
“Thanks for meeting with me, James.”
Wilson was sitting opposite Stacy in a brightly lit, almost empty coffee shop, a cup of black coffee in front of him and a cup of white coffee in front of her. Not that he wanted coffee, and from the way she was restlessly fiddling with her cup, neither did Stacy. In the other far corner of the shop was a couple huddled close together, talking under their breaths as they drank coffee, and behind the counter the waitress was counting the money, getting ready to close down for the night. It was late -- almost 10pm -- and he knew he and Stacy would be kicked out shortly, into the cold night.
He offered her an uncertain smile. “No problem.”
Stacy smiled back at him, a tired smile, and Wilson could see faint wrinkles around her mouth, as though the stress of the last couple of years was paying its toll heavily on her. Wilson watched her look down to her coffee cup, her hands around it and heard her give a weary sigh. He wasn’t going to push it; whenever she felt like talking, she’d talk. She hadn’t invited him out for nothing. Judging from how bloodshot and puffy her eyes were, Wilson could tell she’d been crying and he knew that this meeting she wanted with Wilson had something to do with House.
In the coffee shop, sounds that signified it was closing up for the night echoed around the place. Chairs scraped over the floors as they were pushed in, the waitress’ shoes scuffed over the tile floor as they moved from table to table, quickly wiping down the tabletops and somewhere in the kitchen out the back Wilson could hear dishes being washed and stacked away. He let himself be distracted by what was happening around, watching a blonde waitress furiously wiping a table down. Nice ass. Nice legs, too, from what he could see. He caught her glancing at him, and he gave her a quick smile before looking away. Though, when she moved back towards the kitchen, Wilson let his eyes wander back in her direction, snatching another glance of her ass before she disappeared behind the counter.
“I left him.”
Wilson snapped back to attention, looking back to Stacy. He’d been expecting to hear that. Yet, even though he was, it was still a surprise to hear Stacy say it. He instantly thought of House, what state House was, what stupid things he was possibly doing to either numb the hurt or punish Stacy with. He instinctually reached for his cell phone but decided against it. He’d call him in a little while. “You… you did?”
Stacy nodded quickly, face still down-turned to her coffee, and Wilson saw her press her lips together, like she was struggling to keep control of herself. “Yeah,” she replied, her voice wavering slightly.
Wilson sighed. This wasn’t the first time Stacy had come to him, talking about House. Ever since the infarction he’d become increasingly difficult to live with, Stacy had told him. House had been continually pushing her away to the point where it was wearing thin on her nerves, and it was only a matter of time before she broke it off; Wilson knew that. But that didn’t lessen the impact of hearing her say it out loud.
For something to do, he drew his hands to his coffee cup and pointlessly fiddled with the handle. Running his finger over the shape of it before he began to trace the rim of his cup. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he offered.
Stacy shook her head. “Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”
Wilson opened his mouth to tell her that he didn’t mean it like that, but then closed his mouth again. He saw that she was wiping quickly at her eyes, wiping away tears that she didn’t want him to see, so he remained quiet. Chairs scraped on the floor of the coffee shop and Wilson glanced up to see the couple across the other side of the place getting up. He watched the man wrap his arm securely around his female partner’s waist and give her cheek a kiss. They exited the shop and it suddenly felt even emptier.
He looked back to Stacy again, who was still staring down at her cup. “Do you want to… go somewhere else?” he asked.
Stacy seemed to be thinking about this before she nodded and without a word she pushed her cup away and scooted her chair back. Wilson copied, quickly paying for the drinks by dropping some money onto the table and after he rugged himself up with his thick overcoat and his scarf, he led Stacy out into the frosty evening.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked, his breath billowing out into the cold air in white clouds.
She tucked her arms across her chest and her hands into the crook of her elbows. “Somewhere. Anywhere. I don’t know.”
“My place?”
Stacy sighed and then gave a mirthless shrug. “Got nowhere else to go right now.”
“My place, then,” Wilson replied as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. He switched the alarm off and got into the car, and the ride home back to his place was silent. She didn’t speak, and he didn’t ask questions.
It remained that way the entire time he led her up to his apartment and when he closed the front door and started to shrug out of his coat, he said, “Coffee?”
“Got anything stronger?” Stacy asked without missing a beat, likewise pulling her coat off.
“Uh…” Wilson hung his coat up on the rack by the door. “I’ve got whisky, and--”
“That’ll do,” Stacy replied.
Wilson took her coat and gave her a brief smile. “Straight?”
“Make it a double.”
“Gotcha,” he said, hanging her coat up next to his. He then gestured to the sofa. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a moment with the drinks.”
He went to move off when Stacy stretched her hand out, clutching his arm. “James,” she said, stopping him. She looked up at him and he studied her face as she gave him a tired smile. “Thanks.”
“I told you, no problem,” he murmured back to her, and he patted her hand before moving off towards the kitchen. He was quick in fetching the drinks, pouring a whisky for her and a making a coffee for himself, and when he returned to the living room, he saw Stacy sitting perched on the edge of the sofa, staring down at her hands. She looked lost, lonely, like she’d lost a huge part of herself. She looked vulnerable.
Wilson felt something stir in him. Something… needy. He cleared his throat and made his way around the coffee table towards her.
“Here,” he said, pressing the drink into her hand.
“Thanks.” He sat down next to her as she drew the drink to her lips, and he watched her take a large sip, which resulted in her coughing sharply at the liquor’s fumes. “God,” Stacy croaked, clutching briefly at her throat.
“Go easy,” he remarked, setting his coffee on the coffee table.
Stacy cast him a grateful, sideways glance. “Haven’t had this stuff in a while. Haven’t had a need to.”
“It’s not the best thing to turn to when things are…” Wilson gave a mild gesture with his hand. “You know. Hard.”
Stacy nodded, pulling her lips into a tight, thin-lipped smile and Wilson could see she was struggling to hold it together. She stared down at her drink, stared down hard, and then next thing Wilson knew she’d propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and covered her face with her hand.
“Oh, god,” she quietly sobbed.
Wilson wasn’t sure what to do -- whether to touch her supportively, whether to sit there and just be a silent presence, whether to say anything. Not that he had to wonder for long, because suddenly Stacy was leaning in against him, face pressed against his shoulder, as though she just needed some form of comfort. He and Stacy knew each other well, and they trusted each other -- Wilson didn’t see any problem in what she was doing.
“Hey,” he said quietly, stretching an arm around her shoulder. “Come here.” She responded by huddling in against him, pressing her face in against his neck, and she started to cry quietly.
Wilson rubbed her arm with his hand as he stared across the room, wondering what state House was in right now. God, he dreaded to think what mess House was in, if he’d drunk himself into a stupor, taken too many pills, trashed anything. Wilson closed his eyes and pulled Stacy more firmly against him.
“I… I just-- I just couldn’t take it anymore,” Stacy explained in a hitched sob against his throat. “He was so cruel to me. I was so sick of how cruel he was.”
“I know,” Wilson replied simply.
She sniffed and he felt her hands clutching at his shirt, like he was the only thing she had left to hold onto for support. It made that thing stir in him again, flare up, that sense that she needed him. He responded by tightening his grip around her shoulders.
“It-- It was another fight, a stupid fight,” Stacy managed. “I-I don’t even remember what it was that started it, but… but th-the next thing I knew he was saying these cruel, horrible things to me and I suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. I was packing my bags and he was shouting at me to get out of his life, and--” She cut herself off with a sharp sob and her fingers tightened on Wilson’s shirt, gripping like she was in pain.
“It’s okay,” Wilson murmured, reaching his other hand up to her head to stroke her hair back. He cradled her head in his hand when she gratefully burrowed her face firmer in against his neck, and he found himself leaning down to lightly kiss her forehead. “It’s okay,” he murmured again, and he kissed that same spot once more. That thing in him, that satisfying feeling of being so needed and depended on swelled and Wilson found himself then pressing a kiss against her cheek.
It was just to soothe her, that’s all it was. Nothing more, nothing less. Just to comfort her, because she was so upset, and they were good friends; she knew and trusted Wilson. And he didn’t want to breach that trust. He just wanted to make her feel better, and maybe, maybe he wanted to cling onto that feeling of being needed because it had been a while since anyone had depended on him like this. He couldn’t seem to resist her vulnerability and as she wept quietly against his throat, Wilson found his lips starting to kiss softer, slower kisses against her cheek. As if he was coaxing her to try and meet his mouth with hers.
“James,” Stacy said in a cracked, though slightly alarmed voice when his lips started to move down to her jaw. He should’ve pulled back, because he was starting to overstep a boundary here; a big boundary, purely for his own selfish needs. Because he felt needed, because she was making him feel needed. Because he craved it.
“James,” she said more firmly and it was only when he felt her hand against his chest, pushing him back that he stopped what he was doing. Wilson pulled back, his pupils dilated and a sinking feeling of rejection quickly settling in. He studied her tear-streaked, tired face, and he could tell that she didn’t like what he was doing. He wasn’t sure if he felt guilty or if he felt irritated at being turned away.
“Stop it,” she said in a hushed voice.
Wilson licked his lips and reluctantly pulled his arm free from around her shoulders. No sorry, nothing like that. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d been trying to manipulate her into a kiss, perhaps into something more, because of how attracted he was to her vulnerability. No, he just let her go and silently sat there, uncertain where to look.
“I… I was going to ask if I could stay the night, but I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Of course you can stay the night,” Wilson promptly replied, sounding slightly distracted. He picked his coffee up from the table and studied it like it was fascinating. He didn’t like feeling rejected, even though he knew he had no reason or right to feel like that. “You can sleep on the sofa. I have some spare pillows, spare comforter. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You sure?” Stacy asked; her voice was still wavering from crying.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, setting his coffee back down onto the table. He almost felt… cold towards her now. Stung, perhaps, that she’d rejected him. He reached a hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed it before he stood up. Facing her, he gave Stacy a brief smile. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll… get the pillows.”
She nodded at him, wiping her tears away with her thumbs, and Wilson set about busying himself with the task at hand, fetching pillows and a spare comforter from the closet. He’d call House once she was settled. Call him and see if he was alright. Sure, Stacy needed him, but she was too independent for his likes. She was vulnerable and she needed his help right now, sure. But she wasn’t needy, not the way Wilson liked it. House, on the other hand -- he was needy, in his own screwed up way. Vulnerable, too. In his own screwed up way.
That, Wilson preferred.
After he gave Stacy the pillows and tucked the comforter around her, he took his phone into his bedroom to phone House, and when he heard House’s tired, gruff and bitter voice, vulnerability and neediness laced into the short, hostile words he was snapping down the phone, Wilson smiled.
Yes. This, he preferred.