James entered the apartment as quietly as possible and shuffled into the kitchen, intent on finding the coffeemaker. He had a full schedule ahead, the usual Saturday stuff—shopping, laundry, a little cleaning if he could manage it. House was worse than a cat about the vacuum cleaner . . .
To his surprise, the carafe held fresh hot coffee. He stared at it, then did a slow turn. There was a box of doughnuts and pastries on the counter, as well as two grocery bags placed side by side next to the fridge. James paused. He moved forward, peeked inside one of the bags. It contained various non-perishable items and a bag of coffee. After a moment he went back into the living room.
House lay on the couch. Spooned in front of him was Dana. She was asleep in House's arms, her face tearstained and swollen, but with an expression of peace James hadn't seen for a long time. House glanced up at him but said nothing. He looked both anxious and content.
James made his way back to the kitchen. He scratched his head, yawned, grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. As he stirred in creamer and sugar, he reassessed his agenda. Clearly there'd been a major sea change. Cleaning was out, for the moment at least. So was shopping; the fridge now held some fresh vegetables, fruit, meat and dairy, enough for the next couple of days. House still needed dry goods like toilet paper and laundry soap though, so a trip to the store later on would be worthwhile. No doubt the two cuddled together in the living room would require some time alone.
With a quiet sigh he sipped his coffee, opened the box and snagged a doughnut, diet be damned, and went off to update his shopping list.
Later he considered the situation as he ambled around the local Acme. It was clear the impasse had been broken somehow, but the outcome was still in question despite the apparent breakthrough. House's capacity for self-sabotage was immense, and Dana's ability to forgive . . . well, no doubt it had limits. She'd been ready to move out just a couple of weeks ago. But she had also forced House to come to her first—no mean accomplishment.
Maybe that's part of the deal when you're a dominatrix, bending everyone to your will. James snorted at the thought and grabbed an economy jug of laundry detergent. Both parties were stubborn as hell, and he wasn't about to get between them any more than necessary. He glanced down at his list and paused, struck by another realization: he'd have to go back to his place if he didn't want to listen to a couple having sex all weekend. Unless . . . "I should buy some noise-canceling headphones," he said aloud, and decided to make a stop at the electronics store on the way home. He didn't want to admit even to himself that he intended to stick around in case the big reunion went south.
The apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door and brought in the bags. The couch was empty; presumably both parties had decamped to the bedroom.
But he was wrong. When he came into the kitchen, it was to find Dana setting up what appeared to be a sort of informal buffet. House sat in his wheelchair—a sight so rare James blinked. That earned him a glare.
"Never seen a cripple before, I take it." House tossed the oranges he'd juggled back into the bowl on the island.
"I'm . . . surprised to find brunch on offer." James kept his tone neutral.
"Uh huh. Go bring in the rest of your bargains and maybe by the time you're done, there'll be something left over."
Dana glanced over at him then. She looked a bit better than she had earlier. She said nothing, just smiled a little, a silent reassurance.
When he returned, a plate had been set out among the covered dishes. Both Dana and House were gone. James availed himself of still-hot food and took a seat at the island. As he ate, he considered the situation once more. To his secret shame, he'd bought the headphones. Of course it would be wiser to just go home, but the reasons to stay that he'd come up with at the store still held true: if Dana decided the relationship was over, House would need someone there to pick up the pieces.
I have confidence in Dana, James thought as he polished off the last of the scrambled eggs. But she's up against House's fatalism. I hope she can get him to listen to her.
After he'd cleaned up the kitchen and put the leftovers away, he opted for a spot on the couch with remote in hand. It had been a while since he'd had the tv to himself; he could catch up on a couple of his shows or look for some sports. He settled on a channel and was out cold in less than five minutes.
("You never could resist a nap after shopping." Amber offered him a smirk, brows lifted. "No staying power."
"Bite your tongue." He paused. "Wait. You're . . . you're –"
"Dead." She sat back, arms folded. "Trust you to state the obvious."
"What are you doing here?"
"Just checking in." Her pale gaze glittered with humor. "You could use some help."
"Not me," James said in protest. "House—"
"Pfft." Amber looked down her nose at him. "Handy excuse. What's in this for you?"
"Me? I'm—I'm doing this for House—"
Amber's smile faded. They sat in silence for a moment. "Try again," she said finally.
"Are you suggesting this is prurient interest?" James felt that familiar combination of annoyance and affection.
"More like vested." Amber stretched a bit, and gave James an amused look when she caught him watching her breasts. "You've put a lot of time and effort into House. It's only right you should get some payback."
"I don't . . ." James trailed off. "You really think that?"
"Some part of you does." She sat up and pressed her lips to his, a fierce yet tender kiss that made his heart ache with remembered joy and pain. "Live your own life," she whispered, and then she was gone. )
He left them a note—the old-fashioned paper kind, since House had a tendency to delete texts without reading them.
Enjoy your weekend. -W