The Promise

Chapter Five

House was quick on his cane when he needed to be but he had trouble keeping up with Stacy on their way to her car.

"You think you know a person," she said loudly enough for him to hear her several feet behind.

"Come off it!" House snarled. "You've always known that I have a very liberal and broad view on sex and sexual identity. I never hid anything like that from you."

"You told me stories of college parties that became little more than orgies," Stacy agreed, reaching her car and yanking open the driver's side door. "You never mentioned the part where your proclivities included being attracted to men as well as women."

"I never said they didn't, either," House answered as he reaching the car. He sounded slightly winded and looked at her over the roof of her car. "You never asked, I never told."

"Hm, gee," Stacy retorted with mock-consideration, "it occurs to me I've heard a certain cynical bastard proclaim in the past that omission is still a lie."

"I also said that everybody lies," House pointed out.

Stacy rolled her eyes and made a frustrated sound as she climbed into the driver's seat and slammed her door shut. House quickly climbed into the car, half expecting her to drive away without him if he dallied.

"What are you so angry about?" he asked her once they were on the road. "I never cheated on you when we were together, with a man or a woman. So I'm bisexual but I never came out and said the words. Would it have made a difference in the way you felt about me? Would you have avoided becoming involved with me had you known? Is Stacy Warner little more than a bigot?"

"You know damned well I'm not a bigot," she insisted angrily, keeping her eyes glued to the road. "But sexual identity is a big deal in a person's life. We were together five years and not once didn't you trust me enough to tell me the whole truth about yourself. What other important facts about you did you fail to tell me? It makes our relationship a lie."

"Our relationship was never a lie," House insisted steadily, staring at her with piercing blue eyes. "At least, not until after the infarction. And don't tell me that there are things about yourself that you haven't kept hidden from me. Everybody has secrets. Everybody." He paused a moment before venturing forward with, "I wanted you. That was never a lie."

He watches her; Stacy's face tells him all he needs to know about the emotional conflict taking place inside her at that moment. Reluctant acceptance seemed to win the battle.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you and James ended up together," she admitted grudgingly. "I sometimes wondered about him."

"Didn't we all," House commented, and it made her smile with reluctant amusement.

They drove in silence for nearly a half an hour before Stacy broke it.

"So…what was it like…being with Wilson in that way?" She stole a curious glance in House's direction.

"What do you mean, 'what was it like'?" House responded derisively. "What do you think it was like? We fucked each other, Stacy. I'm certain you're not so sheltered as to have no idea about the logistics."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "Not the actual sex. I'm talking about the other aspects of a relationship between two people, and you know it. So no omissions. Tell me."

House shook his head, baffled. "What do you want to know?"

Sighing, Stacy stopped the car at a red light and took the opportunity to look at him. "Was it just sex between James and you, or was there emotion as well?"

"Are you asking me if we were in love?" House demanded sardonically, interpreting.

"Yes," she answered plainly. The traffic light turned green and she returned her attention to her driving.

House was hesitant to answer. What he and Wilson had…there weren't words to properly describe it. "I was," House settled on at last. "I think he was, too."

"Didn't he tell you?" Stacy asked almost cautiously.

"Words…words are meaningless," House answered, looking out the passenger's side window as he spoke. "Actions are what count."

"And did his actions tell you that he loved you?" Stacy asked.

House was growing annoyed with the entire topic. Just talking about Wilson was like having someone plunge a dagger into his chest all over again.

"His actions," House said tersely, "were enough." With that he was finished with that topic. His hands held the cane resting between his legs with a white-knuckled grip. He started slightly when he felt Stacy's soft, manicured hand touch his briefly in what he assumed was her attempt to comfort him. He didn't want her pity or her comfort.

When they arrived at his motel in Trenton, Stacy told him, "Pack up your stuff. You can stay with me at my place until you turn yourself over to the police. My guest room is a hell of a lot cleaner and more comfortable than this dive."

"I don't know," House said with a wag of his eyebrows, "people might talk."

"Who gives a damn?" she replied with a small smile. "What I do and who I do it with is nobody's business but mine."

"Are you saying that we're going to be doing something?" he asked with a leer.

"Not the something you're thinking about," Stacy replied, still smiling. "Now let's get you packed up and checked out already."

After House was settled into Stacy's guest room he realized he hadn't eaten all day and was famished. He was pleased when he left his room and ventured toward the kitchen; the smell of something delicious cooking met his sensitive nose. Stacy had always been a good cook.

He found her standing at the stove, her back to him, stirring something in a pot before replacing the lid and lowering the heat of the burner.

"Let me guess," House said. "Pot roast soup."

"Good guess," Stacy acknowledged, turning to face him. She wore a white apron over a casual shirt and pants. Her deep brown hair was pulled back from her face and secured by a simple elastic. "I made it often enough when we were together."

"Every time you had something you wanted from me, because you knew I couldn't resist it," House recollected, approaching her. He reached around her to lift the lid off the pot to take a look at the contents. Satisfied, he replaced the lid. "So what do you want from me now?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

Stacy rolled her eyes at him. "I don't want what you think," she answered, heading for the cabinet to grab a couple of bowls and two bread plates; she'd prepared cheese biscuits in advance and had warmed them to eat with the soup. "I just want to know what you plan on doing once you've served your sentence, whatever it may end up being."

"Oh, is that all," he replied sarcastically.

"Surely you have something in mind," she said, setting the kitchen table for the two of them. "I don't expect your answer to be written in stone."

"I'll have plenty of time to make up my mind while I'm rotting away behind bars," House said, trying to sound blithe but there was an edge to the tone of his voice that belied his dread. "I have nothing in particular planned yet." He took a seat at the table, glad to be off his aching leg.

"You'll end up back in medicine, won't you?" Stacy asked, returning to the stove to dish soup into their bowls. "It's your gift."

"I'm not certain medicine wants me back," House replied grimly. "Getting a new job as a former dead man and fugitive as well as ex-con is highly unlikely, at least in this country."

Stacy brought their bowls to the table and set out the biscuits and butter as well. "Self-pity is unbecoming," she told him as she sat down at the table with him.

"It's not self-pity," House countered, frowning. "It's fact. Besides…I'm not all that certain I still have the gift anymore. I know…I'll be a piano player at a piano bar. Drunk chicks dig gimpy piano bar players."

"High aspirations, indeed," Stacy said drily before gingerly spooning soup into her mouth.

"Right now all I care about is serving my time and regaining my freedom as well as my identity," House said firmly between spoonfuls of soup. "Anything after that is gratis. Maybe I'll actually get my Ph.D in theoretical physics."

"You mentioned that to me once, a long time ago," Stacy commented. "You told me when we first started dating that you had often contemplated that field before taking up medicine. I didn't take you all that seriously then…but you are serious, aren't you?"

"Semi-serious," he replied with a shrug. "Like I said, I have nothing specific decided yet. If that high-priced lawyer you got me screws this up, I may be too old to do much of anything by the time I get out of prison."

That thought hung heavy in the room as they continued to eat in companionable silence.