Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

Wow, work really piled up on me, so much so that I didn't have half an hour to write one of these. I've got four of these in the pipe, though, and I'm only about a good hour of writing away from the next chap of Intervention, so it should be a good weekend/week despite the rerun. :)

Note on the date: House's birthday takes place during The Socratic Method episode. There's no indication of which month it takes place in and the air date/production date discrepancy makes it tough to guess when he was born, though I think it's safe to say that he's a late fall/winter baby—sometime between November and February. (The discrepancy: Damned if You Do takes place around Christmas; Socratic Method aired after it but was taped before it: hence the problem.) I'm going with November because I want the next b-day to take place before he and Stacy call it quits. Just to let you know…

Note on House's age: He's 45 or 46-ish, right? I'm going with 1960 for the year since it's the easiest to add from. (Anyone have proof here?)

Hope you like this. Number 39 is next. :)

A/N Update: Someone has found out House's birthday is Dec. 21, 1959, so I've fixed all the dates.

39

December 1998

"Hey," House said, stooping to kiss her cheek before he sat down across from her, "sorry I'm late. Have you ordered yet?"

"No," Stacy said. "Just filling up on breadsticks."

"Sorry," he said again. "Traffic." He opened the menu and beginning to peruse. "So," he said, "what's the occasion? I know it's not our anniversary and it's not your birthday, but I had to wear a tie, so it's important…" He lifted an eyebrow. "Did you get a raise?" he guessed.

"No," Stacy said. She looked at him questioningly. "Your mom didn't call you?"

House looked up from the menu, his forehead creased with confusion. "Why would she call me…"

Then he realized what day it was.

"Oh," he said.

"Yes," Stacy said smiling sardonically at him. "'Oh.'" She laughed. "Did you do this when you were a child?" she teased. "'Who's that cake for, mommy? Why does it have eight candles?'"

House rolled his eyes. "They didn't let me forget," he said, picking a breadstick out of the basket and glancing at the menu again. "I've been busy." He shrugged. "It's not like it's important."

"So you don't want the present I got you?" Stacy asked playfully, letting him see the colorfully-wrapped box she'd been hiding in her lap. "James would probably like it," she said reflectively.

"Just because I don't think the world should stop spinning…" House started to say when the waiter appeared.

He contented himself with a 'you're being silly' look while the waiter took their orders. She leaned across the table toward him after the waiter left.

"It's important because you're important," she said. "To me." She mock-glared at him. "Let me do something nice for you. It makes me happy."

House held up his hands in concession. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" He paused, trying to find the right words. "People make too much of birthdays. It's just another day, really."

Stacy sat back and contemplated the package. "I think James would like it," she said.

"Aww, come on," House sputtered. His mouth hung open for a moment while he figured out what to say. "I mean, thank you for remembering and going to the trouble of getting me something," he said.

"See?" Stacy said. "That's all you had to say." She handed him the box with a smile. "Wasn't that easy?"

"I guess so," House pouted. He brightened as he took the box and smiled. "Thanks," he said. "Open it now…?"

"Go ahead," Stacy said. She dropped her voice and leered devilishly at him. "You get your other present later."

"Other present," House echoed lustfully, his eyes shining with desire. "I think I like this birthday thing."

"If you like it now…" she said suggestively, her eyes flitting down to the cleavage her little black dress revealed and back at him.

"You get something special?" he asked, eyebrow raised. It took every ounce of his will power keep himself from taking his eyes off hers and glancing down too.

"Maybe I did," she said, leaning forward and nearly spilling out of her dress.

House turned his eyes upward toward the ceiling to avoid looking at her chest. "Why is it that if I look, I get in trouble?" he asked. From the way he was positioned, he appeared to be asking God.

He saw her shrug out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't moving back to a safe position, though. Damn.

"Okay," he said uncomfortably, eyes still turned upward. "Why is it that you get something new on my birthday?" His voice cracked on 'birthday' and he swallowed. "That seems unfair."

Stacy finally leaned back, a smug look on her face. "You think lace lingerie is comfortable?" she said.

He could look at her now and did. She was indignant yet amused, and pleased at having made him squirm. He liked that mood. Good things happened to him when she was in that mood.

"I won't even start on the—" She stopped herself and smiled wickedly. "Well. You'll see." Her smiled disappeared just as quickly and she glared at him. "If you can keep your foot out of your mouth."

House gulped and started wishing he'd worn tightie whities instead of boxers or jeans instead of trousers. "Forget I said anything," he squeaked.

He fidgeted and glanced around the restaurant, trying to find a waiter. "You know, I'm not that hungry. I think we can skip dinner. Waiter!"

She grabbed his hand as he tried to hail the waiter. "Greg," she chided, "be patient. You haven't even opened your present yet."

"I'm trying to open my present," House said distractedly as he tried to catch the waiter's eye, "that's why I want the waiter."

She tugged at his hand to get his attention. He stopped and looked at her.

"Later," she said. "Open the one wrapped in paper first."

"I can't meet you in the bathroom real quick?" House whined.

"The more patient you are, the better it will be," Stacy said with a grin that was positively evil.

"Stop that or I'm going to have to go to the bathroom by myself," he said.

"You're so prurient," Stacy said. "Open that one now. I spent a lot of time—"

"Okay, okay," he said. "But you know what you do to me."

She leaned closer to him. "Yes, I do," she said in a low, silky voice.

House squirmed. "You're doing it again," he said.

She smiled. "I know."

House shuddered and tore the wrapping off of his gift for the sheer distraction it provided. He admired the watch and Bob Dylan box set, nearly choked as he wolfed down his dinner, and later that night, began to wish every day was his birthday.