Author's Note: I'm surprised there's not more of the House/Stacy pairing out there. People must really hate her. Short, little drabble-y chapter. "If you're a bird…" line borrowed from The Notebook and Postcards is Margaret Atwood's.
Outside the window
they're building the damn hotel,
nail by nail, someone's
crumbling dream. A universe that includes you
can't be all bad, but
does it?
Margaret Atwood, "Postcards"
With the advent of the telephone, there came the discovery of conversation without faces. People thousands of miles apart could talk to one another and never have to see each other's faces. With the start of the Internet, faceless faded into nameless and a loss of humanity, some might say, began.
So, here's another conversation filled by the overlying fact that the speakers cannot see one another's faces. Thoughts and feelings are expressed through words, but in this instance, a seemingly integral part of the process is missing—
The ability to read the unspoken feelings, the gestures of human nature.
The phone rang and through the dark House was able to grope for it and answer.
"Hello?"
"I can't do this anymore."
"Stacy?"
"I can't."
"Where the hell are you?" He knew this had been coming. He saw it her face this morning when she had left, but he hadn't actually thought she would do it.
"Greg, I've…it's too much. I have a job and you're just too taxing. I love you. I do…"
"Then, come home?"
"It's not that simple."
"Yes, it is that simple. Just get that cute little ass of yours home."
"I'm not coming home."
"Who's there with you?"
"No one."
"Where in God's name are you calling from?"
"The office."
"Liar."
"Everyone lies."
"Damnit, Stacy! You can't do this to me!" There was righteous indignation in his voice—the leg and Stacy would be all too much to handle.
"Yes, yes I can. You've done it to me. There isn't room for me."
"Room for you? I've given you everything I've possibly could. I can't walk…Jesus Christ, you would think that would be enough for you?"
"No, there you go again! It's all about that damn leg. Hell, Greg, you weren't easy before the leg, but it worked because I'm not easy. But now—you're insufferable."
"You've always been a bitch."
"And you a bastard."
"No, you're not only a bitch, but you're a coward. I like how you break-up with me on the phone. That's an especially nice touch, don't you think?"
He heard her cover the mouthpiece of the phone and tell someone in the room with her that she'd be a few more minutes, that he was a bastard, and that this was a ridiculous exercise in stupidity.
"Someone else is in that room, Stacy. What man? Who'd you cheat on with this time, coward?" Jealously ran rampant through his mind.
"I never cheated on you. And if I'm a coward you're a coward."
If you're a bird, I'm a bird.
"I'm not the one who can't face me."
"I can face you, but I'm at the office! Hell, Greg, I'm still working here. I'm not the one who hasn't worked in nine months!"
"Coward." The word slipped out of his mouth. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to see the word affect her. He wanted to see her eyes flicker and her mouth tug downwards minutely.
She laughed. It was a rousing, bitter laugh and had she been in the same room, he knew he would have walked out of it.
"We're both cowards if you haven't noticed my darling—" he noticed how sharp and terse the word darling had escaped from her lips…darling used as a derogative term of endearment.
"Both of us? Really?" He could do sarcasm just as well as her.
"We're both cowards. The whole world is made up of a bunch of cowards. You and I—we can't face anything. You're right—I'm a coward for not being able to face you. If I faced you I wouldn't be able to go through with this whole thing. But you're a coward, too, for not being able to face your leg. We're cowards—we're all cowards, Greg! Humans are born cowardly. It's the genetic mutation in some people that makes them brave. Greg, you're a doctor, you should understand. We're all cowards. All of us. Me and you and James and Lisa…I don't know, I don't know. But I know in spite of all my cowardliness, I know one thing. I can't do this with you anymore," House could hear the tears in her voice and knew how hard it was for her, but he couldn't see her face and his sympathy was none.
"If you're aiming to get off the hook easy, you'd have a better chance if you actually showed up. Crying women make me all warm and fuzzy inside."
"Greg—"
"This is funny. You taping this to sell to somebody?"
"It's all a joke to you isn't it?"
"You betcha."
"That's the sad part, then, Greg, that you think this is funny. It's over. Somebody will be over to get my stuff. I just can't do this stupid twisted tango with you anymore. Somebody wants to use the phone. I've gotta go. Goodbye."
The line died. His face contorted and a crashing sadness suffocated him in the darkness.
"Stacy, please don't hang up. You know that in my mind we're perfect for each other because we're alike. We couldn't get along with anyone else because we'd kill them. But with us…it works. Don't you see? It works. I forgave you for the proxy decision. I forgave you. I forgave you. It works, don't you understand? It works!"
"Error number 234: user is not available. Please try again later."
He thought about pleading with the robot on the phone, but he couldn't do it. He pleaded to no one—an empty telephone line, perhaps, but not to a person. There was nobody on that line—no one to listen to how damaged he was.
"Goodbye, Stacy."