FIC: Lead Me Upstairs (21/?)
Title: Lead Me Upstairs
Author: nomad1328
Rating: T
Warnings: House/Stacy, spoilers up to Season 2
Summary: Stacy's forced to work with House and it dredges up some of the crap that he used to put her through.
Thanks to joe_pike_junior who does all my beta work. This has been a long time coming (I know). What can I say? Real life has precedence?
She's climbing artificial stairs in a cramped gym on the top floor of the athletic club. Her hands are set, white gripped around the bars in front of her and a red electronic read-out displays her progress towards the inevitable goal of “stop.” Sweat has built and dropped from her exertion reddened skin and she works tandem to the pounding rhythm in her headphones, trying to forget, trying to move past, but it isn’t working.
Greg has always been an asshole, born and bred, for whatever reason: his genes, his family, his will. But this stunt has gone beyond the realms of decency. Stacy doesn’t know why she’s surprised. Greg, for all intents and purposes, has always been extreme and has always put his needs before the need for moral righteousness. To invade her privacy though, to steal from her private counselor, and use her innermost fears loosen her up. She’d been convinced that he understood her and in being so, had nearly been persuaded that she’d made a wrong choice, that she belonged with him instead of Mark. Moreover, she’d been reminded of how good it could be with Greg. And his admission was a reminder of the opposite. Greg was the most difficult person she’d ever met.
Even before the fiasco with his leg, he was always stubborn, always getting it his way, however he had to do it. There were patients that he’d badgered into treatment. Several had even taken him to court over his antics. And there’d been the time that he’d been arrested. All those, however, were in the name of patient care. Doing what was right to save the patient’s life.
There had been times, though, that he’d nearly driven her away. A month after she’d moved in with him, she got up in the morning and he was gone. There was no phone call, no note, no explanation. She’d found out from James that Greg had called in sick to work. She’d almost filed a missing persons report, but she found his overnight backpack gone, along with his toothbrush and razor. For three days, she’d gone to work, told everyone he was sick, and she had not worried about it. On the fourth day, she came home from work and he was asleep on their couch in his jeans, his backpack, still zipped up, next to the hallway closet. Even asleep, she could see the smudges beneath his eyes. Initially, she couldn’t help the swelling of sympathy in her belly. He looked exhausted. But then she’d grabbed his hand and seen the two bruises marring the crook of his elbow. Pinpricks.
“Greg.” She’d stood then, crossing her arms. “Greg!”
His eyes opened, bleary at first.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Work…” He shut his eyes, turned his head on the pillow.
“You called in sick.”
“From the hospital. Still working though.”
“Working on what?” She hadn’t yet been ready to accept the possibility that he was even crazier than she’d heard.
“Projects.”
“Greg…”
“Trust me.”
“You can’t just disappear…”
“Sorry.” He rolled over and was asleep again before she could tell him she was going to leave. So she didn’t.
She’d thought about it for a few days, sleeping in the bed while he took the couch. They didn’t talk. He’d gone back to work after two days, she’d decided to stay after four days, mostly because she wasn’t sure where else she was going to go. She wasn’t going to leave… yet. He’d never told her exactly where he’d gone, or what he’d done. But almost six months to the day, she’d spotted a letter in the mail from University of Maryland’s School of Medicine. She’d steamed the letter open and found a letter thanking him for his participation, telling him how to get detailed information regarding the experiment, and a check for two thousand dollars. She’d sealed the letter back up and drank a glass of wine, wondering where the money would go. It had been six months and their relationship was on the upward. She didn't want to push it, so she didn't ask. He didn’t disappear ever again, but there were other things. She came to an understanding that he was going to do these things. He came to understanding that she would expect them.
The Stairmaster begins slowing and Stacy grips the towel on the rail and wipes the sweat off her face. As her heartbeat slows and the sweat dries, she calms, relaxes as endorphins from the workout flood her body. Along with them, she remembers the days when Greg would come bounding in from a run, alleviated from his sometimes cynical, depressive demeanor by the endorphins. How does he manage that side of himself now? There's no peace for her in that line of thought, and she can't blame him. It's her fault too. She still loves him, or at least loved who he used to be. She’s willing to accept his motions toward reunion for a reason.
As the machine stops, she lowers her head, pulls off her headphones, and sighs. It isn’t easy, this thing between them. But it doesn’t have to be this difficult. All she has to do is pretend none of it matters and just do her job.
Ten minutes later, her shoulders and neck relax against the cedar planks of the sauna. Thick, luxurious steam fills her nostrils and she’s thinking of what she and Mark will have for dinner, the malpractice suit against Johnson, and calling their landlord about the water heater. She misses the house in Short Hills and longs for the day when they can go back to it and its warmth, hardwood floors, and lush greenery. She misses the gas stove.
“Chase and House are getting sued.”
Her reverie is broken by the matter-of-fact staccato of Lisa Cuddy, but Stacy keeps her eyes closed. She’d nearly forgotten that she'd invited Cuddy to join her. The company sounded good at the time, but now it’s an annoyance. Her workout has almost been for nought. Her anger rises again and she hugs the towel closer to her chest.
“Maybe a lawsuit will keep him occupied for a while.”
“Patient’s family hasn’t filed yet. We’ll need a preliminary settlement and probably a disciplinary. See if they take the bait.” She senses the shift in the air as Cuddy sits on the bench beside her and there’s a soft thunk as her head rests against the wall.
“Uh huh.”
“I need you to walk them through this.”
“How many times has House been through this?” Stacy opens her eyes and tilts her neck to look at Cuddy a moment. Her lips are pinched, her hair wet from her work-out and the steam in the room. She looks different with no make-up, older, wiser. “You and I both know that House can walk himself through this.”
“And he’ll be sued for a million bucks and lose his job if he does. I need your schmoozing to work for us, not against him. And Chase has never been through this.”
“I’ll work with Chase.”
Stacy feels Cuddy’s resigned sigh and tries to slip back to that peaceful place without Greg House.
“I thought you two were getting along?”
“We’re not.”
“You’ve worked together when you were fighting before…”
It’s been a long time, Stacy thinks. And even then, her participation was limited by the simple fact that she shared an address with the defendant. She’d assisted with the case, provided support when House had reached over ethical boundaries and received gratitude followed by anger. It had happened to coincide with yet another fallout between them. She’d turned the tables on him and disappeared for a night. It was harmless, a getaway, but she used it every way she could to get back at him. Of course, back then make-ups were the best part. Now there's nothing but anger and more anger. Blame usually, at the end of it.
“It’s not the same,” Stacy says, just a bit wistful. She regrets it immediately. How had that tone slipped into the conversation?
Cuddy gives a huffed laugh. “It’ll never be the same. You can’t do this job if you can’t deal with him.”
“Fine.”
“Fine, you're quitting. Or fine, you'll do it?”
There's really no option, Stacy realizes. And she realizes that this is how it's always been.
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