What Happened in the End? Chapter 8.
Title: What Happened in the End? Chapter 8.
Author: orange450
Pairing: House/Stacy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Although this story takes place in the future, it was originally written in mid-S3, just after the Tritter arc. It contains some earlier canon references, but takes no account of canon from that point on.
Summary: It's a little over four years since House parted from Stacy in her office at PPTH during "Need to Know". Mark has died, and fate (in the form of Wilson) will place House and Stacy back in each other's orbit. Stacy has an adopted daughter, and House has a new puzzle to work on.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did.
Notes: The action takes place four years out from the start of S3 (at the end of a mythical S6), and forms part of how I'd like to see the series end. It was written at a simpler time in the House-verse, and may feel somewhat dated after the S4 finale, but who knows what could happen in two years? I'm trying to make the chapters feel like they could be parts of episodes, and to keep the personalities as in-character as possible.
Eternal gratitude to sassydew for encouraging me to write this story 1.5 years ago. And also for explaining how to bring it over to LJ!
Chapter 8. Are We There Yet?
Greg comes out to Short Hills mid-morning on Sunday, figuring that there won’t be much traffic on the roads at that time of day. He knows Stacy is a good driver, but still, it’s his Corvette. Isabella isn’t home; she’s spending the day at a friend’s house.
Stacy comes out to meet him. She offers coffee, but he knows a perfunctory offer when he hears one. She can’t wait to get into the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” he says as he pats the hood. “They told me this thing is a total babe magnet, and I see it’s the truth.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” she returns merrily. “You could have stayed home. I just want the car.”
He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the hit.
“Your chariot awaits, Madam.”
She sits down gingerly in the driver’s seat, as if she’s sitting on eggs. She tosses her hair back over her shoulders, shakes out her wrists, and rubs her hands together. She takes a deep breath and turns the key in the ignition, shivering with ecstasy as the engine comes to life.
Greg isn’t sure if she’s pretending or not, but either way, he hasn’t seen her having fun like this in a very long time. She seems to be channeling her inner Mario Andretti, someone he never realized was in there, and a bubble of laughter starts to form in his chest.
They take off. She’s in heaven, driving as fast as the curves of the road will allow. Her face has that sixteen year old look again, the one he saw in the fencing team picture. He has an urge to reach over and tickle the back of her neck, but he suppresses it. No telling how she’d react. And he doesn’t want to end up wrapped around a tree, literally or figuratively.
She’s humming a tune, and the bubble of laughter inside him grows bigger. He recognizes “Baby Driver”, an old Simon and Garfunkel song from way back in the early 1970s. Music he and she grew up on, an anthem of their very early teenage years. He hasn’t heard it in a long time, but he remembers the words. He joins her, and together they belt out the chorus at the top of their lungs:
“They call me Baby Driver, and once upon a pair of wheels
Hit the road and I'm gone, ah, what's my number
I wonder how your engine feels?
Ba ba ba ba
Scoot down the road, what's my number
I wonder how your engine feels?”
When they get to the line
“I'm not talking about your pigtails, but I'm talking 'bout your sex appeal”
he reaches over this time, and he gives her hair a yank. It seems like the obvious thing to do.
Her smile is pure bliss, and the bubble inside him bursts. He leans back and laughs. She’s acting like such a kid, and he wonders if having a kid of her own has something to do with it.
“Okay, you passed,” he grins. “Let’s hit the open road. Head for the highway.”
They’ve been on the turnpike for a few minutes, and Stacy is fretting at the speed limit when Greg starts to whisper.
“Mama,” he says softly, turning his head away from her. “I have to go …”
It’s a very faithful imitation of Isabella asking for the bathroom. He’d seen her do it often enough at the monster truck show.
“You should have gone before we left the house,” Stacy deadpans, trying to sound stern in spite of the laughter that threatens to overcome her.
“I didn’t get anywhere near the house, if you recall,” he answers her dryly. “You were in too much of a hurry to step on the gas. Let’s stop somewhere for lunch.”
Grumbling, Stacy exits the turnpike, and they find a place to eat.
Lunch is relaxed; they’re in the kind of mood where almost everything is funny, and they’re more comfortable in one another’s company than they’ve been so far. Both remember the last time they sat across a table from each other, and each privately wonders what the other is thinking right now.
Stacy takes the wheel again on the drive home, and Greg looks out the window. It’s just like pizza, he thinks. His favorite food, but in between pies he forgets how good it is. The next time he has a slice he always says ‘Oh yeah, I remember now. I really like this.’ He wants to spend more time with her. It’s funny how he feels like he’s just getting to know someone he used to know really well.
Before they get back to Stacy’s house, Greg tells her that she has to try his motorcycle at least once.
“No bike, no more Corvette.”
She refuses in no uncertain terms.
“You don’t want to be the last kid on the block to get a ride, do you?” he coaxes.
She gives him a caustic look, but he continues to try and persuade her.
“Allison’s been on it. Cuddy arm-wrestled me for ‘drivers’. She won. I had to ride behind her if you can picture that. Actually, it was kind of fun. Interesting position. Jimmy’s been the last hold-out so far. He’s such a girl.”
Greg casts a sharp look at her as he mentions Wilson, but she doesn’t notice. He hasn’t forgotten last week at the hospital. Why would she have been talking to Wilson and not let him know she was there? He can only think of two reasons, and he doesn’t like either one of them.
They pull up in front of Stacy’s house. She gets out, and Greg shifts himself into the driver’s seat.
“No back seat in this one - no kids,” he says. “There’s a minimum age. Just like a bar.”
“I guess you’re right,” Stacy agrees. But as they say goodbye, she sounds more subdued than she’s been all day.
As he drives, Greg wonders why Stacy sounded like she did. All he’d said was that the Corvette is no place for a kid’s car seat. Is she so wrapped up in Isabella that she can’t imagine doing anything without her? He thought they’d had a good time today, and he wants to see her again. But does she have room for anyone else in her life right now?
As she goes into the house, Stacy wonders why Greg said what he did. What was he telling her? She thought they had a good time today, and she really enjoys spending time with him, but she knows it’s always been hard enough for him to let even one person into his life, and she’s a package deal now. Could someone like him ever make room for two?
Inside, she picks up a picture of Mark and Isabella and looks at it for a long time.
Mark’s little girl, she thinks. Mark’s little girl. How he had loved her, and now she’ll barely remember him. Isabella had been so important to him. How can she, Isabella’s mother, even imagine being with anyone who wouldn’t understand what that meant?
She’s not sure what’s on Greg’s mind, and she wouldn't know how to go about asking him, but maybe there’s another way to find out.
TBC
Author: orange450
Pairing: House/Stacy
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Although this story takes place in the future, it was originally written in mid-S3, just after the Tritter arc. It contains some earlier canon references, but takes no account of canon from that point on.
Summary: It's a little over four years since House parted from Stacy in her office at PPTH during "Need to Know". Mark has died, and fate (in the form of Wilson) will place House and Stacy back in each other's orbit. Stacy has an adopted daughter, and House has a new puzzle to work on.
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did.
Notes: The action takes place four years out from the start of S3 (at the end of a mythical S6), and forms part of how I'd like to see the series end. It was written at a simpler time in the House-verse, and may feel somewhat dated after the S4 finale, but who knows what could happen in two years? I'm trying to make the chapters feel like they could be parts of episodes, and to keep the personalities as in-character as possible.
Eternal gratitude to sassydew for encouraging me to write this story 1.5 years ago. And also for explaining how to bring it over to LJ!
Chapter 8. Are We There Yet?
Greg comes out to Short Hills mid-morning on Sunday, figuring that there won’t be much traffic on the roads at that time of day. He knows Stacy is a good driver, but still, it’s his Corvette. Isabella isn’t home; she’s spending the day at a friend’s house.
Stacy comes out to meet him. She offers coffee, but he knows a perfunctory offer when he hears one. She can’t wait to get into the driver’s seat.
“Hey,” he says as he pats the hood. “They told me this thing is a total babe magnet, and I see it’s the truth.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” she returns merrily. “You could have stayed home. I just want the car.”
He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the hit.
“Your chariot awaits, Madam.”
She sits down gingerly in the driver’s seat, as if she’s sitting on eggs. She tosses her hair back over her shoulders, shakes out her wrists, and rubs her hands together. She takes a deep breath and turns the key in the ignition, shivering with ecstasy as the engine comes to life.
Greg isn’t sure if she’s pretending or not, but either way, he hasn’t seen her having fun like this in a very long time. She seems to be channeling her inner Mario Andretti, someone he never realized was in there, and a bubble of laughter starts to form in his chest.
They take off. She’s in heaven, driving as fast as the curves of the road will allow. Her face has that sixteen year old look again, the one he saw in the fencing team picture. He has an urge to reach over and tickle the back of her neck, but he suppresses it. No telling how she’d react. And he doesn’t want to end up wrapped around a tree, literally or figuratively.
She’s humming a tune, and the bubble of laughter inside him grows bigger. He recognizes “Baby Driver”, an old Simon and Garfunkel song from way back in the early 1970s. Music he and she grew up on, an anthem of their very early teenage years. He hasn’t heard it in a long time, but he remembers the words. He joins her, and together they belt out the chorus at the top of their lungs:
“They call me Baby Driver, and once upon a pair of wheels
Hit the road and I'm gone, ah, what's my number
I wonder how your engine feels?
Ba ba ba ba
Scoot down the road, what's my number
I wonder how your engine feels?”
When they get to the line
“I'm not talking about your pigtails, but I'm talking 'bout your sex appeal”
he reaches over this time, and he gives her hair a yank. It seems like the obvious thing to do.
Her smile is pure bliss, and the bubble inside him bursts. He leans back and laughs. She’s acting like such a kid, and he wonders if having a kid of her own has something to do with it.
“Okay, you passed,” he grins. “Let’s hit the open road. Head for the highway.”
They’ve been on the turnpike for a few minutes, and Stacy is fretting at the speed limit when Greg starts to whisper.
“Mama,” he says softly, turning his head away from her. “I have to go …”
It’s a very faithful imitation of Isabella asking for the bathroom. He’d seen her do it often enough at the monster truck show.
“You should have gone before we left the house,” Stacy deadpans, trying to sound stern in spite of the laughter that threatens to overcome her.
“I didn’t get anywhere near the house, if you recall,” he answers her dryly. “You were in too much of a hurry to step on the gas. Let’s stop somewhere for lunch.”
Grumbling, Stacy exits the turnpike, and they find a place to eat.
Lunch is relaxed; they’re in the kind of mood where almost everything is funny, and they’re more comfortable in one another’s company than they’ve been so far. Both remember the last time they sat across a table from each other, and each privately wonders what the other is thinking right now.
Stacy takes the wheel again on the drive home, and Greg looks out the window. It’s just like pizza, he thinks. His favorite food, but in between pies he forgets how good it is. The next time he has a slice he always says ‘Oh yeah, I remember now. I really like this.’ He wants to spend more time with her. It’s funny how he feels like he’s just getting to know someone he used to know really well.
Before they get back to Stacy’s house, Greg tells her that she has to try his motorcycle at least once.
“No bike, no more Corvette.”
She refuses in no uncertain terms.
“You don’t want to be the last kid on the block to get a ride, do you?” he coaxes.
She gives him a caustic look, but he continues to try and persuade her.
“Allison’s been on it. Cuddy arm-wrestled me for ‘drivers’. She won. I had to ride behind her if you can picture that. Actually, it was kind of fun. Interesting position. Jimmy’s been the last hold-out so far. He’s such a girl.”
Greg casts a sharp look at her as he mentions Wilson, but she doesn’t notice. He hasn’t forgotten last week at the hospital. Why would she have been talking to Wilson and not let him know she was there? He can only think of two reasons, and he doesn’t like either one of them.
They pull up in front of Stacy’s house. She gets out, and Greg shifts himself into the driver’s seat.
“No back seat in this one - no kids,” he says. “There’s a minimum age. Just like a bar.”
“I guess you’re right,” Stacy agrees. But as they say goodbye, she sounds more subdued than she’s been all day.
As he drives, Greg wonders why Stacy sounded like she did. All he’d said was that the Corvette is no place for a kid’s car seat. Is she so wrapped up in Isabella that she can’t imagine doing anything without her? He thought they’d had a good time today, and he wants to see her again. But does she have room for anyone else in her life right now?
As she goes into the house, Stacy wonders why Greg said what he did. What was he telling her? She thought they had a good time today, and she really enjoys spending time with him, but she knows it’s always been hard enough for him to let even one person into his life, and she’s a package deal now. Could someone like him ever make room for two?
Inside, she picks up a picture of Mark and Isabella and looks at it for a long time.
Mark’s little girl, she thinks. Mark’s little girl. How he had loved her, and now she’ll barely remember him. Isabella had been so important to him. How can she, Isabella’s mother, even imagine being with anyone who wouldn’t understand what that meant?
She’s not sure what’s on Greg’s mind, and she wouldn't know how to go about asking him, but maybe there’s another way to find out.
TBC