Having an Issue (PG)
Posted to house_wilson and house_slash
Title: Having an Issue
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 3431
Summary: Stacy stops by.
Notes: Takes place about five years after "No Reason." Part of the “universe” of My Fathers’ Son but can be read stand-alone. Thanks to daisylily and fallen_arazil for the beta, and to clayworshippers, favyan, and the rest of the capslock crew for help on scents.
House’s head was hanging low over his desk when he heard the door open. He had turned the journal first 90 degrees and then another 45, hoping that a different perspective might make this latest article by McKay make any sense at all. Maybe it was a Magic Eye. So far no luck, but House continued to stare, figuring that Wilson would explain himself without House needing to look up.
“Greg?” the figure inquired by way of greeting, and damn, Wilson was getting much, much better at his imitations because that sounded quite a bit like Stacy.
“Greg.” More insistent this time, the stop on the sentence half-way between a period and an exclamation mark. Then he caught the scent of perfume, Chanel No 5, and had to conclude the figure was definitely not Wilson (some sandalwood and ginger thing, with Wilson smell underneath).
“Stacy,” House replied, just to get her to stop saying his name. He didn’t look up; in fact, he briefly debated ducking under his desk until she left of her own accord. It had been over five years since he’d seen her last, and another five, or fifty, or forever, would suit him just fine.
Stacy slid a wrapped box over McKay’s article. “Happy Birthday, Greg.”
“Yeah,” he said as he lifted his head and sat back in his chair, ignoring the silver package on his desk. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” She looked the same as she had five years ago, smooth, striking. He tried to remember how to read her moods, but found he just couldn’t be bothered to recall.
In the silence, she grew restless and drummed her fingers lightly on his desk. “I’m separated from Mark,” she confessed. “The divorce will be final soon. I’ve been thinking of you and wanted to see how you were.”
House wondered if his face expressed just how little he cared. He’d pushed Stacy to the back of his mind after she’d gone home to Short Hills with Mark, and in the past few years, with everything with Wilson, she’d completely faded away as any kind of ongoing presence. She was - behind him.
“I’m fine,” he said, and gave her the dismissal nod that made his fellows scurry. She stood there, staring back, and they might have lasted all night if Wilson hadn’t popped in the door.
“House, you ready?” Wilson began, and then caught sight of Stacy. He stopped abruptly and froze in place, and House wondered for a second if he would topple. Wilson recovered, however, touched the knot of his tie briefly, and greeted Stacy with a curt, “Hello.”
Stacy turned away from House and regarded Wilson with a gleam that was affectionate but almost predatory - the way a small child would ogle a cat before attempting to squeeze the stuffing out of it.
“James! So nice to see you. It’s been ages. Did you get my last card?”
“I’ve moved,” Wilson replied simply, “so maybe the card didn’t get to me.” Maybe it didn’t, or maybe House had found it in with the recycling, unopened.
“You used to be better with correspondence,” she teased, and touched him lightly on the arm.
“Well.” Wilson moved a half-step away and grabbed the ball from House’s desk, squeezing with both hands. “The past few years have been very busy.”
He turned to House. “If you want a ride, come on now. I have to stop by the pharmacy for Jack.”
House was out of his seat before Wilson was done talking. He grabbed his bag and rounded the desk. “Stacy, our little chat has been wonderful. Good luck with that divorce thing.” He patted her shoulder patronizingly and headed to the door, with Wilson in tow.
Stacy truly hadn’t expected anything from Greg. She’d hoped that maybe there was some spark still there, but she knew better than to expect anything.
James, on the other hand, was disappointing her mightily. She understood how hectic life could be, but surely he could have spared her a brief word over the past few years. And now, he was walking out the door without even so much as a goodbye.
“James,” she called. He seemed to hesitate a moment but he did stop, did at least give her the courtesy of another moment of eye contact. “What’s the real reason you haven’t been in touch with me lately?”
James opened his mouth slightly, bit his lower lip, and stared at the carpet. Then he brought his eyes to hers, and said, “You’re... not relevant.”
The words stung like a slap across the face. She could only blink, stunned, as he and Greg walked out the door, leaving her behind.
It took her a few minutes to recover; nothing about this encounter had gone the way she had planned. She was about to leave when a young (oh, so young) doctor came in the door, looking around as if someone or something might be hiding. She was so tempted to snap, “The walls are glass. What do you think you missed?” but restrained herself.
Little Miss Doctor asked, “Is Dr. House here?” and once again Stacy had to restrain herself from snapping at the girl.
“No,” she replied with as much patience as she could muster. “He just left with Dr. Wilson.”
“Oh,” was the very intelligent response. “I was actually looking for Dr. Wilson, but I thought he had already left. His son was running a fever.”
Stacy ran back over the conversation with James, and it clicked. “You mean Jack?”
Little Miss Doctor beamed. “Have you seen the latest pictures of him? Very cute, and he sounds so smart for not even being two yet. But anyway, Dr. Wilson really needs this file, so I guess I’ll drop it off at his house.” She turned to leave.
The decision was made without even thinking. Stacy slid the present off Greg’s desk before lightly catching the doctor’s arm. “You know,” she said sweetly, “I had brought a present for Jack, but James forgot it. I could take the file over for you with the gift.”
Little Miss hesitated. “It’s a patient file.”
Stacy smiled; this was hardly a problem. “I used to be an attorney for the hospital; I know all about confidentiality. Pop it in an envelope, put Dr. Wilson’s name and address on it, then sign across the seal of the envelope. Everything will be fine.”
“Oh. Yeah, that sounds fine. I do have plans; I’d hate to be late. OK. I’ll be right back.”
As she waited for the doctor to return, Stacy contemplated this news. James with a child; unexpected and interesting. That certainly explained the “busy” excuse, but it didn’t explain his rude dismissal of her. She was determined to find out the cause behind that.
***
It had taken Stacy quite a while to find James’ address. This was a relatively new subdivision and seemed to have been laid out by Escher. She was here, though, on a cul-de-sac in upper-class suburbia. James’ house was... typical. Gray Hardie Plank siding, stone and brick. Tasteful, but almost bland. Its one distinguishing feature was its height or, rather, lack thereof; it was a one-story house in a two-plus-story neighborhood.
She put her house analysis aside and opened the car door. She was halfway out when she remembered the envelope with the patient file; mustn’t forget her pretext for showing up at James’ door.
Finger almost on the doorbell, Stacy hesitated a brief moment. This was perhaps an invasion of privacy. She squashed that thought firmly. James was a friend. She’d shared so much with him, before Greg, and during Greg, and after Greg, and always he’d stayed a loyal friend. She deserved to know why he’d turned his back on her now. She pressed the doorbell just a bit harder than was necessary.
Footsteps behind the door and a fumbling with the lock. “I’m taking” - that was Greg’s voice, how? - “the last twenty” - the door began to open, definitely Greg, not looking at her, yelling to an unseen person inside the house - “from your wallet!”
Greg looked directly down at the cash in his hand, and Stacy had an instant to ponder just how unlike Greg that sentence had been. Not the taking of the money, obviously, but bothering to inform the other person that there’d be nothing left. It was... thoughtful. Domestic. A thought, unformed, was sloshing in her brain, sending electrical pulses to her heart and her gut.
“Eighteen fifty, right?” Greg said and then finally looked up, into her face, and maybe she looked shocked but he looked like he’d been punched in the head.
He stared; she stared; and then a thought came racing in with a Xanax and a glass of water: It’s just dinner. James’ wife is away, maybe, and Greg’s come by for dinner. He looks so stunned just because he thought I’d left. That’s it, clearly.
She found her voice. “Greg, hello again. One of the doctors at the hospital asked me to bring this file by for James. Can I talk with him?”
Greg looked down at the money in his hand again, or maybe at his sneakers, which were rather ugly. Nike seemed to be on an ugly kick this season.
“He’s busy,” Greg told his sneakers and then reached out to grab the envelope in Stacy’s hand. “I’ll give him the file.”
Clutching tighter, she replied, “Sorry. I promised I’d deliver it to him and only him. I can wait until he’s free.”
He didn’t try to grab the envelope but didn’t move to let her in, either. They were at a standoff again, and might have stayed there for hours, but they were interrupted, again, by Wilson, or more precisely Wilson’s voice.
“House! He’s escaped!”
Greg looked to his left, where Stacy couldn’t see, and then stuck his cane out behind him. A few seconds later, he brought it back forward, with a squealing, wiggling, wet mass of toddler attached to it.
“Daddy!” yelled the little boy delightedly, releasing the cane and attaching himself to Greg’s right leg instead.
“Jack, c’mon,” Wilson said as he came into view, his work attire replaced with a t-shirt and shorts and a ducky towel draped over his shoulder. “Get off Daddy’s -” He cut himself off suddenly when he saw Stacy there.
Stacy was too astonished to care. The idea of James with a child was interesting. The idea of Greg with a child was frankly unbelievable.
Greg spared her a smirk before reaching down to the little boy. “Jack, up?” he asked. When the boy nodded, Greg smoothly executed what seemed as though it should have been an awkward move. Keeping his right leg straight and his right hand firmly planted on his cane, he bent his left knee, dipped down to Jack, grasped him about the torso with his left arm, and swung back up to standing. Jack ended up on Greg’s left hip, with his arms on Greg’s neck, smiling as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
That made it hit home to Stacy. There was no way that maneuver hadn’t been practiced at least a hundred times. This was Greg’s son, the one she’d never imagined would actually exist. She brought her hand to her mouth, amazed, as Jack said, “Hi, Lady,” and Greg smirked at her again.
“Speaking of ladies, Jack and I have been talking about animals a lot lately.” Greg looked over his shoulder briefly at James and then back at Jack. “Wilson, get this. Hey, Jack, what’s a lady horse called?”
“Mare,” Jack replied proudly, smiling at Stacy.
“What’s a lady pig called?”
“Sow.” Still smiling.
Flicking his gaze back to Wilson, Greg continued, “What’s a lady dog?”
Jack positively beamed at Stacy, his blue eyes wide and happy. “Bitch!”
Oh yes, Greg with a child. Such a good idea, James.
James seemed to be agreeing with her as he groaned, “House.”
Greg smiled, ignoring him, and told Jack, “You, my dear boy, are a genius.” His expression changed abruptly to concern, and he looked down to his side. “A genius who is pissing down my pant leg.”
Stacy stifled a laugh, then decided stifling wasn’t necessary. She laughed openly at him, while little Jack continued to beam, happy with the attention.
Greg twisted around toward James. “This is why we have to get the diaper on him right after the bath.”
“Yes, yes, I know. What do you think I was trying to do?” James replied, exasperated. “Here, give him to me.”
Greg turned back around, almost curled around Jack. “Nah, I’m already wet; I’ll get him. Stacy wanted to talk to you, anyway.”
As he stepped away with Jack, James flung the towel over Greg’s free shoulder. Another domestic move that looked very well practiced. The pain that had somehow been held at bay started to stab at her. A scene that she’d barely dared to dream for, never held out real hope of actually getting, and it was James of all people playing her role.
He was rubbing the back of his neck. There was something he was keeping in but wanted to say, but screw him, she needed to know.
“How long?”
“What?” Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated that to be her first question.
“This, you, him, together. How long?”
He stood straighter and put his hands on his hips. “It’s none of your business.”
Stacy shook her head and clutched the envelope a little tighter, like a shield. “If my lover was cheating on me with my good friend, then, yes, it’s my business.”
“If instead of me it was Cuddy standing here, would you ask that?” He glared at her, and honestly, what did he have to feel wronged about? James continued defensively, “He never cheated on you. He would never have done that.”
He paused, dropped his arms, and then blurted out, “What do you want? Scratch that; I don’t care what you want. What do you think you deserve from me, and will that be enough to make you go away?”
She had known, far too well, how easy it was for Greg to raise his walls and throw firebombs over the top. She’d never seen James do it before, never seen him be so effortlessly callous to her feelings.
She tried to reach out, to connect with the friend she’d once had. “You have to understand that this is hard for me.”
“You made it hard by coming back.” His arms were crossed across his chest; he was giving no quarter. “If you hadn’t come back, you’d never have known, and it wouldn’t be hard.”
It finally hit her. James was jealous. Of her, of what she’d had with Greg. She was Wife Number 1; he was Wife Number 2. She wondered briefly if Greg was jealous of Mrs. Wilsons 1, 2, and 3, but she knew of course he wouldn’t be. He was too self-centered to think anyone else could supplant him.
This jealousy thing worked, of course, both ways. “Why you? Why this - lifestyle? I know he had those flings in college, but -”
“Once again, it’s none of your business.”
Stacy shifted. She’d feel more comfortable if they sat, but clearly that was not going to happen. “Would you prefer I ask Greg about this?”
“I’d prefer that you go away. You want to ask about me, what I think, that’s fine. Don’t ask about House.” James’ eyes were as cold as she’d ever seen them.
“Fine. For you, why Greg?”
“Because I love him. Because it’s right when we’re together, and it’s wrong when we’re apart. That’s all you’re getting.”
The walls were still up, icy cold, and by now she was grateful. It gave her distance, allowed her mind to take over fully from her heart.
“You want to play it that way? Fine. You and I had a lot of private conversations. What have you told Greg about that?”
“I’ve never told House what you said. Ever. I keep my confidences, and he knows not to pry. That statement does come with a big ‘however,’ so please listen carefully.”
James shifted his stance and leaned in toward her just slightly. “House and I aren’t out, not really. Cuddy knows, but as for everyone else at the hospital, Jack is the son I adopted, and House is my friend. If you tell any of this, if you even hint to anyone about this, your secrets will no longer be safe. I don’t think you want House to know some of those things, and I really don’t think you want to be disbarred.”
Stacy’s jaw dropped slightly. Of anything he could have said, this was - astonishing.
“James! When did you develop this nasty side of you?”
He leaned back, brought his hands to his hips again. “This side of me has been here all along. I protect what’s important to me. When you were my friend, you benefited from it. Now you’re just my partner’s long-gone ex-lover, and, yeah, not so relevant to my life any more.”
They stared at each other a long minute, and then Greg was back, holding Jack by the hand. Stacy looked at the boy again. He was so vibrant; he had Greg’s eyes, both the brilliant blue and the spark within. He was dressed in pajamas with a cute design - dogs in airplanes, flying among the clouds.
Greg poked James lightly in the side. “I got his pj’s on him, and brushed his teeth, but he wants you for stories.”
At this, James’ demeanor changed, and he seemed to dismiss their discussion entirely. He smiled warmly down at Jack and scooped him up, holding him on his hip in a parallel of Greg’s earlier position.
Jack giggled and proclaimed, “Kiss, Pop.” James gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Kiss Daddy,” Jack continued. Greg leaned in toward him, but Jack pushed him away with a little hand.
“No,” Jack protested. “Kiss Daddy.”
Greg leaned in again and was pushed away again. Jack touched James’ lips, and then pointed to Greg. “Kiss Daddy,” he repeated.
Greg laughed. “Well, that was our trouble, Jack. You switched from subject to object without letting us know.” His eyes met James’, and Stacy might as well have been back in Short Hills for all the notice they had of her now.
James shifted Jack and leaned into Greg, pressing his lips to Greg’s. Greg’s eyes slipped closed, and Stacy found her hand was at her mouth again. Jack began to clap, and James and Greg both pulled back, smiling.
“Yay!” Jack added, and another little stab hit Stacy’s heart.
“Bye, Lady!” She realized with a start that Jack was waving to her as James carried him away. She lifted her hand briefly and tried to smile.
“Bye, Jack. Nice meeting you.”
“OK, then,” Greg said to her when James and Jack were gone. “Everything settled with Wilson, I assume, so once again, good luck on the divorce thing.”
“It’s -” she began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a harried-looking delivery person.
“You’re late,” Greg snapped at him.
“This subdivision sucks,” was the sullen teen’s reply.
“Not as much as eating cold food does.” Greg held the money back.
“It’s warm, promise.”
Perhaps having empathy with the sullenness, Greg handed over the twenty, and the teenager fled.
“Bye now,” Greg said, and started to close the door.
She realized she still had the envelope for James in her hand.
“Wait!” She thrust the envelope forward, stuck it under Greg’s right arm. “Make sure James gets that.”
“Sure.”
The door was moving again, and Stacy grasped at her last chance for connection with Greg, saying the first thing that popped into her head. “He’s a philanderer.”
She shook herself mentally. What a tactless thing to say. But on the other hand, her subconscious did seem to know best, because monogamy was one thing she knew Greg felt very strongly about.
He smirked. “It’s touching that you care. But I know him. Better than you do, in fact. I need him, and our son needs him, and that’s enough for him. Goodbye.”
The door was firmly, conclusively closed, and Stacy had lost a close confidant and the love of her life, all in one fell swoop. She stumbled once, walking back to her car, but quickly recovered.
Twenty minutes down the road, doing seventy with the radio blasting, she threw Greg’s present out the window.
Title: Having an Issue
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Words: 3431
Summary: Stacy stops by.
Notes: Takes place about five years after "No Reason." Part of the “universe” of My Fathers’ Son but can be read stand-alone. Thanks to daisylily and fallen_arazil for the beta, and to clayworshippers, favyan, and the rest of the capslock crew for help on scents.
House’s head was hanging low over his desk when he heard the door open. He had turned the journal first 90 degrees and then another 45, hoping that a different perspective might make this latest article by McKay make any sense at all. Maybe it was a Magic Eye. So far no luck, but House continued to stare, figuring that Wilson would explain himself without House needing to look up.
“Greg?” the figure inquired by way of greeting, and damn, Wilson was getting much, much better at his imitations because that sounded quite a bit like Stacy.
“Greg.” More insistent this time, the stop on the sentence half-way between a period and an exclamation mark. Then he caught the scent of perfume, Chanel No 5, and had to conclude the figure was definitely not Wilson (some sandalwood and ginger thing, with Wilson smell underneath).
“Stacy,” House replied, just to get her to stop saying his name. He didn’t look up; in fact, he briefly debated ducking under his desk until she left of her own accord. It had been over five years since he’d seen her last, and another five, or fifty, or forever, would suit him just fine.
Stacy slid a wrapped box over McKay’s article. “Happy Birthday, Greg.”
“Yeah,” he said as he lifted his head and sat back in his chair, ignoring the silver package on his desk. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” She looked the same as she had five years ago, smooth, striking. He tried to remember how to read her moods, but found he just couldn’t be bothered to recall.
In the silence, she grew restless and drummed her fingers lightly on his desk. “I’m separated from Mark,” she confessed. “The divorce will be final soon. I’ve been thinking of you and wanted to see how you were.”
House wondered if his face expressed just how little he cared. He’d pushed Stacy to the back of his mind after she’d gone home to Short Hills with Mark, and in the past few years, with everything with Wilson, she’d completely faded away as any kind of ongoing presence. She was - behind him.
“I’m fine,” he said, and gave her the dismissal nod that made his fellows scurry. She stood there, staring back, and they might have lasted all night if Wilson hadn’t popped in the door.
“House, you ready?” Wilson began, and then caught sight of Stacy. He stopped abruptly and froze in place, and House wondered for a second if he would topple. Wilson recovered, however, touched the knot of his tie briefly, and greeted Stacy with a curt, “Hello.”
Stacy turned away from House and regarded Wilson with a gleam that was affectionate but almost predatory - the way a small child would ogle a cat before attempting to squeeze the stuffing out of it.
“James! So nice to see you. It’s been ages. Did you get my last card?”
“I’ve moved,” Wilson replied simply, “so maybe the card didn’t get to me.” Maybe it didn’t, or maybe House had found it in with the recycling, unopened.
“You used to be better with correspondence,” she teased, and touched him lightly on the arm.
“Well.” Wilson moved a half-step away and grabbed the ball from House’s desk, squeezing with both hands. “The past few years have been very busy.”
He turned to House. “If you want a ride, come on now. I have to stop by the pharmacy for Jack.”
House was out of his seat before Wilson was done talking. He grabbed his bag and rounded the desk. “Stacy, our little chat has been wonderful. Good luck with that divorce thing.” He patted her shoulder patronizingly and headed to the door, with Wilson in tow.
Stacy truly hadn’t expected anything from Greg. She’d hoped that maybe there was some spark still there, but she knew better than to expect anything.
James, on the other hand, was disappointing her mightily. She understood how hectic life could be, but surely he could have spared her a brief word over the past few years. And now, he was walking out the door without even so much as a goodbye.
“James,” she called. He seemed to hesitate a moment but he did stop, did at least give her the courtesy of another moment of eye contact. “What’s the real reason you haven’t been in touch with me lately?”
James opened his mouth slightly, bit his lower lip, and stared at the carpet. Then he brought his eyes to hers, and said, “You’re... not relevant.”
The words stung like a slap across the face. She could only blink, stunned, as he and Greg walked out the door, leaving her behind.
It took her a few minutes to recover; nothing about this encounter had gone the way she had planned. She was about to leave when a young (oh, so young) doctor came in the door, looking around as if someone or something might be hiding. She was so tempted to snap, “The walls are glass. What do you think you missed?” but restrained herself.
Little Miss Doctor asked, “Is Dr. House here?” and once again Stacy had to restrain herself from snapping at the girl.
“No,” she replied with as much patience as she could muster. “He just left with Dr. Wilson.”
“Oh,” was the very intelligent response. “I was actually looking for Dr. Wilson, but I thought he had already left. His son was running a fever.”
Stacy ran back over the conversation with James, and it clicked. “You mean Jack?”
Little Miss Doctor beamed. “Have you seen the latest pictures of him? Very cute, and he sounds so smart for not even being two yet. But anyway, Dr. Wilson really needs this file, so I guess I’ll drop it off at his house.” She turned to leave.
The decision was made without even thinking. Stacy slid the present off Greg’s desk before lightly catching the doctor’s arm. “You know,” she said sweetly, “I had brought a present for Jack, but James forgot it. I could take the file over for you with the gift.”
Little Miss hesitated. “It’s a patient file.”
Stacy smiled; this was hardly a problem. “I used to be an attorney for the hospital; I know all about confidentiality. Pop it in an envelope, put Dr. Wilson’s name and address on it, then sign across the seal of the envelope. Everything will be fine.”
“Oh. Yeah, that sounds fine. I do have plans; I’d hate to be late. OK. I’ll be right back.”
As she waited for the doctor to return, Stacy contemplated this news. James with a child; unexpected and interesting. That certainly explained the “busy” excuse, but it didn’t explain his rude dismissal of her. She was determined to find out the cause behind that.
***
It had taken Stacy quite a while to find James’ address. This was a relatively new subdivision and seemed to have been laid out by Escher. She was here, though, on a cul-de-sac in upper-class suburbia. James’ house was... typical. Gray Hardie Plank siding, stone and brick. Tasteful, but almost bland. Its one distinguishing feature was its height or, rather, lack thereof; it was a one-story house in a two-plus-story neighborhood.
She put her house analysis aside and opened the car door. She was halfway out when she remembered the envelope with the patient file; mustn’t forget her pretext for showing up at James’ door.
Finger almost on the doorbell, Stacy hesitated a brief moment. This was perhaps an invasion of privacy. She squashed that thought firmly. James was a friend. She’d shared so much with him, before Greg, and during Greg, and after Greg, and always he’d stayed a loyal friend. She deserved to know why he’d turned his back on her now. She pressed the doorbell just a bit harder than was necessary.
Footsteps behind the door and a fumbling with the lock. “I’m taking” - that was Greg’s voice, how? - “the last twenty” - the door began to open, definitely Greg, not looking at her, yelling to an unseen person inside the house - “from your wallet!”
Greg looked directly down at the cash in his hand, and Stacy had an instant to ponder just how unlike Greg that sentence had been. Not the taking of the money, obviously, but bothering to inform the other person that there’d be nothing left. It was... thoughtful. Domestic. A thought, unformed, was sloshing in her brain, sending electrical pulses to her heart and her gut.
“Eighteen fifty, right?” Greg said and then finally looked up, into her face, and maybe she looked shocked but he looked like he’d been punched in the head.
He stared; she stared; and then a thought came racing in with a Xanax and a glass of water: It’s just dinner. James’ wife is away, maybe, and Greg’s come by for dinner. He looks so stunned just because he thought I’d left. That’s it, clearly.
She found her voice. “Greg, hello again. One of the doctors at the hospital asked me to bring this file by for James. Can I talk with him?”
Greg looked down at the money in his hand again, or maybe at his sneakers, which were rather ugly. Nike seemed to be on an ugly kick this season.
“He’s busy,” Greg told his sneakers and then reached out to grab the envelope in Stacy’s hand. “I’ll give him the file.”
Clutching tighter, she replied, “Sorry. I promised I’d deliver it to him and only him. I can wait until he’s free.”
He didn’t try to grab the envelope but didn’t move to let her in, either. They were at a standoff again, and might have stayed there for hours, but they were interrupted, again, by Wilson, or more precisely Wilson’s voice.
“House! He’s escaped!”
Greg looked to his left, where Stacy couldn’t see, and then stuck his cane out behind him. A few seconds later, he brought it back forward, with a squealing, wiggling, wet mass of toddler attached to it.
“Daddy!” yelled the little boy delightedly, releasing the cane and attaching himself to Greg’s right leg instead.
“Jack, c’mon,” Wilson said as he came into view, his work attire replaced with a t-shirt and shorts and a ducky towel draped over his shoulder. “Get off Daddy’s -” He cut himself off suddenly when he saw Stacy there.
Stacy was too astonished to care. The idea of James with a child was interesting. The idea of Greg with a child was frankly unbelievable.
Greg spared her a smirk before reaching down to the little boy. “Jack, up?” he asked. When the boy nodded, Greg smoothly executed what seemed as though it should have been an awkward move. Keeping his right leg straight and his right hand firmly planted on his cane, he bent his left knee, dipped down to Jack, grasped him about the torso with his left arm, and swung back up to standing. Jack ended up on Greg’s left hip, with his arms on Greg’s neck, smiling as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
That made it hit home to Stacy. There was no way that maneuver hadn’t been practiced at least a hundred times. This was Greg’s son, the one she’d never imagined would actually exist. She brought her hand to her mouth, amazed, as Jack said, “Hi, Lady,” and Greg smirked at her again.
“Speaking of ladies, Jack and I have been talking about animals a lot lately.” Greg looked over his shoulder briefly at James and then back at Jack. “Wilson, get this. Hey, Jack, what’s a lady horse called?”
“Mare,” Jack replied proudly, smiling at Stacy.
“What’s a lady pig called?”
“Sow.” Still smiling.
Flicking his gaze back to Wilson, Greg continued, “What’s a lady dog?”
Jack positively beamed at Stacy, his blue eyes wide and happy. “Bitch!”
Oh yes, Greg with a child. Such a good idea, James.
James seemed to be agreeing with her as he groaned, “House.”
Greg smiled, ignoring him, and told Jack, “You, my dear boy, are a genius.” His expression changed abruptly to concern, and he looked down to his side. “A genius who is pissing down my pant leg.”
Stacy stifled a laugh, then decided stifling wasn’t necessary. She laughed openly at him, while little Jack continued to beam, happy with the attention.
Greg twisted around toward James. “This is why we have to get the diaper on him right after the bath.”
“Yes, yes, I know. What do you think I was trying to do?” James replied, exasperated. “Here, give him to me.”
Greg turned back around, almost curled around Jack. “Nah, I’m already wet; I’ll get him. Stacy wanted to talk to you, anyway.”
As he stepped away with Jack, James flung the towel over Greg’s free shoulder. Another domestic move that looked very well practiced. The pain that had somehow been held at bay started to stab at her. A scene that she’d barely dared to dream for, never held out real hope of actually getting, and it was James of all people playing her role.
He was rubbing the back of his neck. There was something he was keeping in but wanted to say, but screw him, she needed to know.
“How long?”
“What?” Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated that to be her first question.
“This, you, him, together. How long?”
He stood straighter and put his hands on his hips. “It’s none of your business.”
Stacy shook her head and clutched the envelope a little tighter, like a shield. “If my lover was cheating on me with my good friend, then, yes, it’s my business.”
“If instead of me it was Cuddy standing here, would you ask that?” He glared at her, and honestly, what did he have to feel wronged about? James continued defensively, “He never cheated on you. He would never have done that.”
He paused, dropped his arms, and then blurted out, “What do you want? Scratch that; I don’t care what you want. What do you think you deserve from me, and will that be enough to make you go away?”
She had known, far too well, how easy it was for Greg to raise his walls and throw firebombs over the top. She’d never seen James do it before, never seen him be so effortlessly callous to her feelings.
She tried to reach out, to connect with the friend she’d once had. “You have to understand that this is hard for me.”
“You made it hard by coming back.” His arms were crossed across his chest; he was giving no quarter. “If you hadn’t come back, you’d never have known, and it wouldn’t be hard.”
It finally hit her. James was jealous. Of her, of what she’d had with Greg. She was Wife Number 1; he was Wife Number 2. She wondered briefly if Greg was jealous of Mrs. Wilsons 1, 2, and 3, but she knew of course he wouldn’t be. He was too self-centered to think anyone else could supplant him.
This jealousy thing worked, of course, both ways. “Why you? Why this - lifestyle? I know he had those flings in college, but -”
“Once again, it’s none of your business.”
Stacy shifted. She’d feel more comfortable if they sat, but clearly that was not going to happen. “Would you prefer I ask Greg about this?”
“I’d prefer that you go away. You want to ask about me, what I think, that’s fine. Don’t ask about House.” James’ eyes were as cold as she’d ever seen them.
“Fine. For you, why Greg?”
“Because I love him. Because it’s right when we’re together, and it’s wrong when we’re apart. That’s all you’re getting.”
The walls were still up, icy cold, and by now she was grateful. It gave her distance, allowed her mind to take over fully from her heart.
“You want to play it that way? Fine. You and I had a lot of private conversations. What have you told Greg about that?”
“I’ve never told House what you said. Ever. I keep my confidences, and he knows not to pry. That statement does come with a big ‘however,’ so please listen carefully.”
James shifted his stance and leaned in toward her just slightly. “House and I aren’t out, not really. Cuddy knows, but as for everyone else at the hospital, Jack is the son I adopted, and House is my friend. If you tell any of this, if you even hint to anyone about this, your secrets will no longer be safe. I don’t think you want House to know some of those things, and I really don’t think you want to be disbarred.”
Stacy’s jaw dropped slightly. Of anything he could have said, this was - astonishing.
“James! When did you develop this nasty side of you?”
He leaned back, brought his hands to his hips again. “This side of me has been here all along. I protect what’s important to me. When you were my friend, you benefited from it. Now you’re just my partner’s long-gone ex-lover, and, yeah, not so relevant to my life any more.”
They stared at each other a long minute, and then Greg was back, holding Jack by the hand. Stacy looked at the boy again. He was so vibrant; he had Greg’s eyes, both the brilliant blue and the spark within. He was dressed in pajamas with a cute design - dogs in airplanes, flying among the clouds.
Greg poked James lightly in the side. “I got his pj’s on him, and brushed his teeth, but he wants you for stories.”
At this, James’ demeanor changed, and he seemed to dismiss their discussion entirely. He smiled warmly down at Jack and scooped him up, holding him on his hip in a parallel of Greg’s earlier position.
Jack giggled and proclaimed, “Kiss, Pop.” James gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Kiss Daddy,” Jack continued. Greg leaned in toward him, but Jack pushed him away with a little hand.
“No,” Jack protested. “Kiss Daddy.”
Greg leaned in again and was pushed away again. Jack touched James’ lips, and then pointed to Greg. “Kiss Daddy,” he repeated.
Greg laughed. “Well, that was our trouble, Jack. You switched from subject to object without letting us know.” His eyes met James’, and Stacy might as well have been back in Short Hills for all the notice they had of her now.
James shifted Jack and leaned into Greg, pressing his lips to Greg’s. Greg’s eyes slipped closed, and Stacy found her hand was at her mouth again. Jack began to clap, and James and Greg both pulled back, smiling.
“Yay!” Jack added, and another little stab hit Stacy’s heart.
“Bye, Lady!” She realized with a start that Jack was waving to her as James carried him away. She lifted her hand briefly and tried to smile.
“Bye, Jack. Nice meeting you.”
“OK, then,” Greg said to her when James and Jack were gone. “Everything settled with Wilson, I assume, so once again, good luck on the divorce thing.”
“It’s -” she began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a harried-looking delivery person.
“You’re late,” Greg snapped at him.
“This subdivision sucks,” was the sullen teen’s reply.
“Not as much as eating cold food does.” Greg held the money back.
“It’s warm, promise.”
Perhaps having empathy with the sullenness, Greg handed over the twenty, and the teenager fled.
“Bye now,” Greg said, and started to close the door.
She realized she still had the envelope for James in her hand.
“Wait!” She thrust the envelope forward, stuck it under Greg’s right arm. “Make sure James gets that.”
“Sure.”
The door was moving again, and Stacy grasped at her last chance for connection with Greg, saying the first thing that popped into her head. “He’s a philanderer.”
She shook herself mentally. What a tactless thing to say. But on the other hand, her subconscious did seem to know best, because monogamy was one thing she knew Greg felt very strongly about.
He smirked. “It’s touching that you care. But I know him. Better than you do, in fact. I need him, and our son needs him, and that’s enough for him. Goodbye.”
The door was firmly, conclusively closed, and Stacy had lost a close confidant and the love of her life, all in one fell swoop. She stumbled once, walking back to her car, but quickly recovered.
Twenty minutes down the road, doing seventy with the radio blasting, she threw Greg’s present out the window.