So--This chapter is pretty much just a jumble of things. And I'm not so sure I like it. So could you just let me know what you think? I am definately sure that I know where this is going now. And I'm sure a lot of you will be surprised. But it must be done. Anyway, my point is that this sequel is going to be fairly long...I hope. OK, I'm rambling, Just read the chapter and tell me what you think? Thanks much.
House sat on the couch, his elbows propped up on his knees and his chin resting in his hands. He could hear water running in the bathroom, suggesting that Cameron was now washing her hair. A part of his brain, a rather large part, was screaming at himself to get back in there with her. But something about the pregnancy freaked him out. He'd never been a father-to-be before, and he felt the over-protectiveness that went with fatherhood already setting in. Cameron would figure that he was losing interest in her, but he wanted to be gentle. No risk-taking.At least notuntil they were able to talk about it together.
Thehesitant knocking coming from his front door was all too familiar. So many times he had heard it, and it had always been followed by crazy apology sex. This time, he was proud to say, he'd be able to resist. House pushed himself to his feet and limped without his cane to the door. He mentally congratulated himself on being right when he opened the door to reveal Stacy Warner. Her hair had fallen out of the clip at the back of her head, messily framing her tear-streaked face. Housemoved backso that she could step inside. It was amazing how quickly she made herself at home, kicking her shoes off and settling down on the couch.
"Can I…" House started, waving his hands vaguely in front of him.
"Mark's gone." Stacy said softly. Her back was to him, but he knew she was crying,
"How'd he manage that?"
There was a definite intake of breath, as though he had drenched her in ice water. The sarcasm had been a mistake.
"Hekilled himself, Greg." Her words were icy and weak at the same time; trying to show House that he'd been wrong in trying to tease her, while also telling him how upset she was. "An OD of his pain meds. He didn't even…even leave a note or anything. I just found him, slumped over in his wheelchair when I got home from work." There were no tears behind her words now, only unrestrained shock. Stacy opened her mouth to say something else, but snapped it shut when the sound of the bathtub draining could be heard through the walls. She turned in her seat to look at House, her eyes narrowed into a menacing glare.
"You have company?" The way the question fell so easily out of her mouth suggested that she knew that wasn't the case. House shook his head, almost cringing when he heard Cameron's voice floating down the hallway.
"House, where's the black shirt?"
"I hung it up on the hook in the bathroom," he answered, ignoring the incensed look taking over Stacy's face. "Didn't you see it?"
"Oh, I see it," she hollered back. "What the hell is that?" There was a pause before she continued. "Oh, jeez, House. You couldn't wash it after last night?" The humor so obviously coating her voice did nothing to soften the agitated look on Stacy's face.
"I came here, expecting some comfort, Greg. My husband is dead. I didn't come here to play second fiddle to some whore." The anger was so sudden and so violent that he would not have blamed himself if he'd hurt her. But he stepped back, opening the door.
"Get out."
"What?"
"Out." He was shaking despite his desperate attempts to control himself. "Don't you ever call Allison Cameron a whore. Ever."
"Allison? You mean to tell me that Dr. Allison Cameron, Fairy Princess of Princeton Plainsboro is your new fuck buddy?" she asked, a wicked smirk playing across her lips. "What a surprise."
"Now, Stacy. Before I can no longer be held responsible for my actions."
Stacy sighed, sliding back into her shoes. Her husband was gone, and the only other man that she could see herself with for eternity had moved on. Something she'd always thought him incapable of doing.
Cameron stopped in her tracks when she heard a woman's voice mingling with House's in the living room. She held onto the doorframe, trying to control her breathing. She knew that voice. And it had always meant trouble. There was pure vehemence in House's voice.
"Don't you ever call Allison Cameron a whore. Ever."
Stacy had called her a whore? She silently promised herself that House would be getting a reward for sticking up for her later.
"What a surprise."
Cameron was sure that they were discussing her and House's relationship, and didn't want to be around to hear anymore. Apparently, Stacy could be a bitch when she wanted to. She stepped back into House's bedroom and clicked the door shut without a sound.
When news of Mark Warner's suicide got around the hospital, there were staff-wide betting pools going on how long it would take House and Stacy to get back together. Of course, there were four people who knew that this would never happen, and two others who, if they had to make some educated guesses, would say that it was unlikely that House would be back in Stacy's arms anytime soon. But the rest of the hospital was surprised when Stacy quit her position, and moved across the country to Washington. House hadn't even noticed. He had impending fatherhood to deal with. Which, in turn, meant that Wilson was going to deal with it with him.
Wilson was sitting at the bar, spinning the mini umbrella between his thumb and finger. House had promised he would meet him there by six, and a quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was nearing seven. He was on his third drink of the night. He had just reached for his coat when a burst of warm air blew through the doors, accompanied by an annoyingly familiar thumping.
"Scotch on the rocks," House snapped at the bartender as he eased himself onto the barstool next to his friend. "You look trashed," he commented, looking Wilson over.
"And you are late," Wilson pointed out, slurring slightly. "So what's the big emergency? You said that if I didn't get here immediately you might do something drastic." He screwed up his face in thought. "But you were late. I'm confused. Is it an emergency or not?"
"Don't think too much," House said, clapping Wilson on the shoulder. "I don't want you to hurt yourself." He sighed as his drink was slid in front of him. He took an eager drink before he started what was sure to be a long and difficult conversation. "It's an emergency." Wilson looked at him expectantly. "I think Cameron's pregnant."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh." He took another drink. "But she won't tell me." Wilson looked up, brow furrowed.
"Then how do you-"
"It doesn't matter how. What matters is what I'm going to do. To get her to tell me."
"Why don't you just tell her that you know?" Wilson suggested. House looked at him, rolling his eyes.
"Look," he said, sliding of the stool. He picked up his glass, draining it of the last few drops of the amber liquid. "You're obviously too drunk to be of any help for me tonight. Call me when you've gotten some coffee in you." He turned to leave, slightly embarrassed at what he'd confided in Wilson.
"House," called Wilson softly. House stopped, looking at him over his shoulder. "You're going to be a daddy. I think I'm going to cry." His face gave way to a big drunken smile, and House felt the corners of his own mouth turn upwards.
"It's a frightening thought."
