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Unforgiven
by machka
"Get a hold of yourself! This is ridiculous..."
She stared at her hands, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Inhaling deeply, she willed her fingers to relax their grip, and turned off the ignition. The fluttering in her stomach could not be stilled, however, and she cursed softly, finding her hands trembling slightly as she grabbed her briefcase.
She glanced quickly at her reflection in the rear-view mirror. Pale skin, worry lines, darkened eyes, tightly-drawn mouth... she looked terrified.
"This is no big deal, just dinner between friends..."
She'd always been a terrible liar - she couldn't even convince herself.
With another deep breath, she pushed herself out of the car onto shaky legs. She leaned against the door for a moment, fighting for composure.
"It's just James. I can do this..."
Tightening her grip around the briefcase's handle, she squared her shoulders and strode quickly toward the entrance.
James rose from his seat just inside the doors, a small smile crossing his lips as their eyes met. She halted in front of him, frozen... and then his smile deepened, reaching his eyes. She stepped forward into his out-stretched arms, tilting her cheek for the kiss he offered as her arm slipped around his waist.
"Stacy..."
"Hello, James."
They stepped back from each other, smiling, his hand pressed to her lower back, propelling her forward and steering her to their table in the back.
Playing the gentleman, he held the chair for her to be seated, and she acknowledged that with a stiff nod and a tight smile. Their initially stilted conversation became idle chatter after the wine arrived, and she relaxed enough to tease him about his tie. He laughed easily, and it began to seem like old times.
Over appetizers, they traded bad jokes and swapped stories, each filling in the other on several years' worth of living, the conversation slowing only when their dinners arrived. Stacy fell silent, lost in thought. James waited patiently, studying her face carefully.
She nodded to herself, a decision made. Glancing up at James, she said, "I didn't come here strictly for a social call." She paused, waiting for a reaction.
He smiled. "I didn't think you had."
She looked away quickly. "You know me too well, Jim..." She cleared her throat nervously. "It's Mark..."
He narrowed his eyes, thinking quickly. "What's going on?"
She groped for her briefcase, scuffling inside it to bring out a file which she pushed across the table at him. "He's sick, Jim, and nobody seems to know why..." She swallowed hard, eyes closing briefly. "I thought you could take a look at his records... maybe give some suggestions..." Her voice trailed off as she caught his look.
"Stacy... does he know you're talking to me? If he doesn't, I'd have serious doubts about the ethics involved here..."
She shook her head, eyes troubled. "He thinks I'm here on business. I didn't tell him whom I'd be meeting..."
She reached across the table, stopping him from pushing the file back. "James, please." Her voice held a hint of desperation. "We've run out of options. His doctor thinks he's a hypochondriac, refuses to run any more tests... I trust you. Could you just take a look, and give me your medical opinion, as a friend?"
He scrutinized her a long moment, sighed gustily, and took the record from her. She leaned back in her chair, evidently relieved.
He scanned the file carefully, noting the differentials, the diagnostics, the diagnoses, and the treatments. He frowned slightly, and she felt her stomach flutter again. "Everything seems to be in order, Stacy... really, the test results don't show anything glaringly abnormal, they ordered all the tests I would have, but then, I'm an oncologist..." He paused, and she sensed the presence of another, looming large in both of their minds. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I really don't think I'm the best person to review this."
She glanced away again, chewing on her lower lip. "Do you think he'd help?" she asked quietly, fighting the sinking feeeling in her gut. When he didn't reply immediately, she turned back, searching his face.
"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "So much has happened..."
She smiled without mirth. "Don't I know it." He made no reply.
"Does he know you're here?" she asked impulsively.
He leaned back in his chair. "I didn't tell him you'd called," he admitted. "He had tickets for a Monster Truck rally tonight, but I told him I was speaking at the oncology seminar..." The corner of his mouth quirked upward, wryly. "I don't know how he found out I was lying, but he did..."
"Was he angry?"
James snorted softly. "Only because I had lied to him, not that it was you." She regarded him skeptically. "No, Stacy, honestly. He was more surprised than anything, I think... A little sad, maybe, I don't know..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "He said he didn't have a problem with this, and I should tell you 'hello' for him. So, 'hello'."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I'd have you tell him the same thing, but I don't think he'd want to hear it from me." She leaned forward. "Is he seeing anyone?"
James eyed her warily. "No... One of his fellows, Allison Cameron, went with him to the rally tonight, but according to him, it's not a date - she went as a friend, to take my place. He hasn't dated at all since... Well, since then..." He grimaced slightly. "But is that really any of your business?" An unspoken accusation hovered in the air between them.
"Point well-taken..." She sent him a withering look, then pushed back in her chair. "Well, what about his department? How is that going for him?"
"He's got the three fellows working for him now: Cameron, Robert Chase, and Eric Foreman. They work incredibly well together, and Greg seems satisfied with the way things are going... He takes only the cases he wants to take, and gets the fellows to do all his legwork..." He paused awkwardly, and Stacy visibly flinched at his word choice. "He's doing alright," he finished quickly.
Bracing an elbow on the table, she propped her chin in her hand, staring at him. "Tell me the truth, Jim - how is he, really?"
He tilted his head at her, frowning. "He's Greg - brilliant, frustrating, sarcastic, rude, bitter..." Seeing her wince, he stopped.
Her gaze dropped to the table in front of her. She said nothing, beginning to push her food around the plate with a fork. The silence stretched out uncomfortably. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Is he still in so much pain?"
James sighed again, softly. "Yes, constantly."
She blinked her eyes against the sting of tears. "It's my fault."
"Stacy..."
"I didn't want to lose him," she interrupted. "I loved him. I wanted to help, I wanted what was best for him. In the end, it didn't matter. I lost him all the same." Her voice trembled slightly.
James' mouth twisted. "Stacy, you shouldn't blame yourself for everything that happened..."
She cut him off sharply. "Why not? He did."
He shook his head, lost for words.
She remained silent for a moment, studying her hands on the table.
"Does he hate me?" she asked in a low voice.
"I'm sure he did at first," he murmured. "He's angry, he's bitter, he's in pain, he hates himself for what he's become... but I don't think he regrets being alive. He's lost what little faith in humanity he had, he's put up that thick, towering wall so no one gets close enough to hurt him... but I don't think he hates you - now. I don't know if he thinks about you at all."
Her throat tightened. "I did that to him."
"Yes, that you did," he said flatly.
She smiled sadly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" she asked, her voice hollow in her ears.
"That," he replied heavily, "Only he can say."
She nodded slightly. "It wasn't easy... to do what I did..." she said haltingly. "I did it because I loved him, Jim."
"I know you did, Stacy. I understand."
"...Does he?"
Again, he had no answer for her.
They sat in strained silence for a while, only speaking in monosyllabic words and terse sentences until the waiter brought the bill. She insisted on paying half.
She retrieved the file, tucking it carefully into her briefcase before rising from her chair. James jumped to his feet, slipping a hand beneath her arm as they walked to the parking lot. She kept her head bowed, avoiding his eyes until he lifted her chin gently. She gazed back with a mixture of sadness and defiance.
"Stacy," he murmured, "You've got Mark to take care of - he needs your love and undivided attention now."
She stared at him, tight-lipped and silent.
"Don't worry about Greg," he continued. "I'm keeping an eye on him. He won't push me away. He'll be alright." He studied her eyes carefully. "I promise."
Not trusting her voice to remain steady, she nodded her understanding.
He smiled tenderly. "Keep in touch, okay? Take care of yourself, too," he said gently.
Rising to her toes, she kissed him gently on the mouth. "Thank you, I will..." she breathed. Backing away quickly, she turned before he could see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She drove away, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel once again...
Wilson never told House what they had discussed.
And House never asked.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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