Daily Drabble #19
Daily Drabble #19
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse)
Word Count: 994 words
Stacy has not spoken to Wilson in more than six years.
When she finally screws up her courage enough to dial the phone and make the call, she is shocked to find that his voice is exactly as friendly and dryly sarcastic as it ever was, and that absolutely nothing seems to have changed between them despite their years apart and the fact that he is now her ex-lover's husband.
"You're a good friend," she tells him as they say good-night, plans already made to meet at Church's birthday party. He scoffs at this notion, but she knows that it's true. She wonders how she ever forgot it.
That is, until she sees them together.
She arrives late; she is nervous, cautious. As she pulls into the parking lot, her eyes sweep across the cars, searching for their vehicle. Nothing looks even remotely like what she can imagine House driving; she wonders idly if Wilson has somehow talked him into a minivan. She parks the car, takes a deep breath, and waits.
For what, she's not sure. A sign, perhaps. She's not a coward, not by a long shot, but there is something about this situation that has frozen her down to her marrow from the very start.
Minutes pass, and she feels more and more foolish with each one. Then, suddenly, she gets her sign.
A family car, four-door, with anti-lock brakes and safety side panels and child-proof windows and locks. A very boring, very sedate, very ordinary black car. She knows without a doubt that it belongs to House and Wilson.
She wants to laugh, but it isn't all that funny; unless you know House, that is. As they park across the lot and down a few spaces from her, she surreptitiously lowers her window. Her windows are tinted, and she doubts that they'll see her unless they're looking. However, if she knows House at all, then he already knows she's there.
As soon as they vacate the car, she can hear the bickering. Wilson exits first, closing his door with some vehemence, stalking back to open the trunk.
"It's not your fault we're late? Of course it's not your fault. It's never your fault."
House unfolds himself from the passenger seat, closing his own door with exaggerated care. "I told you that I would be late. I didn't hold a gun to your head and tell you to wait for me."
"No, you didn't," Wilson says patiently, pulling various gifts and gift bags from the trunk and setting them neatly on the pavement. "Church wanted to wait for you. I wanted to wait for you. So we waited, and waited, and...wait for it...waited."
"I have already apologized to the both of you. I don't know what you want from me, as I have very little control over the flow of time."
Wilson rolls his eyes, and motions towards the back seat. "Let him out, would you, before he pops a blood vessel?"
House plays chauffeur, releasing a very grumpy, very irritated Church. At first, all Stacy can see is a mess of brown curls, bobbing adorably between House and Wilson. Wilson gently pushes him back toward House, admonishing, "You can't look at your presents, so you can stop trying."
Church makes a face, lifting his foot as if to stamp it down in frustration, but he turns it into a puddle-stomp under the dual glares of his parents. He is wearing shiny camouflage rain boots, and he seems to remember this as soon as he makes his first splash. He is sing-songing something, but his voice doesn't carry nearly as well as his fathers'. Over his head, House and Wilson's eyes meet and they begin laughing together.
And just like that, whatever argument that had passed between them is over. Stacy feels as if she's only been listening to half a conversation; that there had been another, more important discussion being held with sidelong glances and infinitesimal nuances of tone that she could never hope to decipher.
For a moment, a wave of jealousy sweeps over her, and then, directly following it, a wave of startling realization. This silent conversing isn't something new to the both of them, a by-product of being married with a child. It had always been that way between them, as long as she'd known them, and probably for as long as they'd known each other.
She can't compete with that, she knows, and she never could. Watching the two of them with their son, she can almost feel the love that is there between them. It's a warm, palpable thing, even when they're upset with one another.
She wonders if Church will ever know just how lucky he is. If she had decided to give her all and stay with House, then she might be the one helping to raise him. His stepmother. She has a feeling that Church has never once thought of Wilson as his stepfather.
At this moment, Stacy knows in her heart that she wants to be a part of this family. Not because she still has feelings for Greg (which she doesn't), or because she doesn't want to lose Wilson's friendship (because she doesn't) or even because she wants to meet this beautiful, interesting child (who is currently engaged in sneakily splashing water 'by accident' onto House's jeans).
No, she wants to learn, to understand how such an amalgam of personalities and characters comes together; how happiness can be found in even the strangest circumstances; and how Wilson ever managed to domesticate one Gregory House.
She can't help but think that she may come to regret this, she is much too cynical not to think so. Yet, silently observing the three of them make their slow, ponderous way into the restaurant (a loaded-down Wilson unthinkingly matching House's listing gait, Church demolishing every puddle he can find), Stacy thinks that it might just be worth it.
(to be continued)
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse)
Word Count: 994 words
Stacy has not spoken to Wilson in more than six years.
When she finally screws up her courage enough to dial the phone and make the call, she is shocked to find that his voice is exactly as friendly and dryly sarcastic as it ever was, and that absolutely nothing seems to have changed between them despite their years apart and the fact that he is now her ex-lover's husband.
"You're a good friend," she tells him as they say good-night, plans already made to meet at Church's birthday party. He scoffs at this notion, but she knows that it's true. She wonders how she ever forgot it.
That is, until she sees them together.
She arrives late; she is nervous, cautious. As she pulls into the parking lot, her eyes sweep across the cars, searching for their vehicle. Nothing looks even remotely like what she can imagine House driving; she wonders idly if Wilson has somehow talked him into a minivan. She parks the car, takes a deep breath, and waits.
For what, she's not sure. A sign, perhaps. She's not a coward, not by a long shot, but there is something about this situation that has frozen her down to her marrow from the very start.
Minutes pass, and she feels more and more foolish with each one. Then, suddenly, she gets her sign.
A family car, four-door, with anti-lock brakes and safety side panels and child-proof windows and locks. A very boring, very sedate, very ordinary black car. She knows without a doubt that it belongs to House and Wilson.
She wants to laugh, but it isn't all that funny; unless you know House, that is. As they park across the lot and down a few spaces from her, she surreptitiously lowers her window. Her windows are tinted, and she doubts that they'll see her unless they're looking. However, if she knows House at all, then he already knows she's there.
As soon as they vacate the car, she can hear the bickering. Wilson exits first, closing his door with some vehemence, stalking back to open the trunk.
"It's not your fault we're late? Of course it's not your fault. It's never your fault."
House unfolds himself from the passenger seat, closing his own door with exaggerated care. "I told you that I would be late. I didn't hold a gun to your head and tell you to wait for me."
"No, you didn't," Wilson says patiently, pulling various gifts and gift bags from the trunk and setting them neatly on the pavement. "Church wanted to wait for you. I wanted to wait for you. So we waited, and waited, and...wait for it...waited."
"I have already apologized to the both of you. I don't know what you want from me, as I have very little control over the flow of time."
Wilson rolls his eyes, and motions towards the back seat. "Let him out, would you, before he pops a blood vessel?"
House plays chauffeur, releasing a very grumpy, very irritated Church. At first, all Stacy can see is a mess of brown curls, bobbing adorably between House and Wilson. Wilson gently pushes him back toward House, admonishing, "You can't look at your presents, so you can stop trying."
Church makes a face, lifting his foot as if to stamp it down in frustration, but he turns it into a puddle-stomp under the dual glares of his parents. He is wearing shiny camouflage rain boots, and he seems to remember this as soon as he makes his first splash. He is sing-songing something, but his voice doesn't carry nearly as well as his fathers'. Over his head, House and Wilson's eyes meet and they begin laughing together.
And just like that, whatever argument that had passed between them is over. Stacy feels as if she's only been listening to half a conversation; that there had been another, more important discussion being held with sidelong glances and infinitesimal nuances of tone that she could never hope to decipher.
For a moment, a wave of jealousy sweeps over her, and then, directly following it, a wave of startling realization. This silent conversing isn't something new to the both of them, a by-product of being married with a child. It had always been that way between them, as long as she'd known them, and probably for as long as they'd known each other.
She can't compete with that, she knows, and she never could. Watching the two of them with their son, she can almost feel the love that is there between them. It's a warm, palpable thing, even when they're upset with one another.
She wonders if Church will ever know just how lucky he is. If she had decided to give her all and stay with House, then she might be the one helping to raise him. His stepmother. She has a feeling that Church has never once thought of Wilson as his stepfather.
At this moment, Stacy knows in her heart that she wants to be a part of this family. Not because she still has feelings for Greg (which she doesn't), or because she doesn't want to lose Wilson's friendship (because she doesn't) or even because she wants to meet this beautiful, interesting child (who is currently engaged in sneakily splashing water 'by accident' onto House's jeans).
No, she wants to learn, to understand how such an amalgam of personalities and characters comes together; how happiness can be found in even the strangest circumstances; and how Wilson ever managed to domesticate one Gregory House.
She can't help but think that she may come to regret this, she is much too cynical not to think so. Yet, silently observing the three of them make their slow, ponderous way into the restaurant (a loaded-down Wilson unthinkingly matching House's listing gait, Church demolishing every puddle he can find), Stacy thinks that it might just be worth it.
(to be continued)