sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 08:39 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 08:39 am
Can't Last; G-rated.
Summary: Stacy knows it can't last. Vignette-length. Set pre-infarction.
Warnings: None.
Also available at AO3.
***
The fences in their neighborhood weren't actually designed to block anyone's view of anyone else; it was all very communal, and Greg hated it, but Stacy kind of liked it and besides how often did he spend any time in the backyard?
He put one hand on the low brick fence and vaulted over it easily, walking calmly across the Fernimans' back lawn to the covered patio, where a barbecue grill and an enormous bag of mesquite charcoal sat. He picked up the bag and carried it back, offering it to Wilson as if it were a chest of gold.
"You are cheap," James said, but he took the charcoal and piled it up in the chimney-starter on the grill, dusting his hands on a rag when he finished. Greg dutifully carried the bag back and set it in the exact same spot while Wilson lit the paper under the starter.
"When the apocalypse comes, you'll need my skills," Greg said, dropping into one of the lawn chairs and basking in the late July sun. "I'll steal the food, you cook it. It's a perfect system."
James retorted something about who'd be first up against the wall when the time came, and Greg grinned and bickered back. Stacy watched them from the living-room window, feeling pleased. James was smiling again, which only Greg ever managed these days, though she liked James and knew he liked her too.
All that was missing was Helen. But then Greg hadn't liked Helen and Stacy had...
Stacy didn't know how she'd felt about Helen. She'd tried to get along with her because she was James' wife, but Helen was so complacent, so unambitious. So content to spend James' money. Stacy was relieved that Helen had left him, but she was upset that she'd also crushed him.
She hadn't known Greg very long at all before she'd moved in with him, but she knew that he understood people better than they did themselves. If he didn't choose to wield that understanding very often, well, that was Greg. If the breakup had been different, if James had acted differently, Greg would have been harder on his friend, crueler, in order to get James to lash back and be angry, which James never was. But James was hurt, and knew he couldn't even be hurt because it was his own damn fault for sleeping around. So Greg was being kind and boyish and twelve years old, and James could smile a bit again, because twelve-year-olds don't have two ex-wives, a house payment, and a broken heart.
Besides, she got a bonus out of the deal; pretty James Wilson, being charming to her and cooking for both of them, making Greg happy and relaxed.
She'd left them alone for a while with the excuse that she had some briefs to prepare, James in the kitchen making an enormous amount of food for the grill, Greg heckling. Now she was enjoying watching them.
James opened the sliding glass door and leaned in, cocking his head at her. "Coals'll be ready in about twenty minutes. Coming out?"
She smiled at him and followed him out, sitting down at the patio table next to Greg. James had pulled one of the chairs over by the grill and was absently spinning a skewer in one hand.
"You'll put your eye out," Greg said, indicating the sharp end.
"Might put yours out," James replied.
"Boys," Stacy murmured, and was rewarded with two innocent, conniving grins.
It was too good to last. She knew that. Stability was not something you got in relationships to high-strung, highly-intelligent people like Greg and James. But, just for the afternoon, it was still good.
"Hey, by the way," James said, "My niece is in town tomorrow and I wanted to take her to do something fun."
"I told you, no more nine-year-olds in the autopsy room," Greg said.
"Funny. You guys want to go mini-golfing with us tomorrow?"
END
Warnings: None.
Also available at AO3.
***
The fences in their neighborhood weren't actually designed to block anyone's view of anyone else; it was all very communal, and Greg hated it, but Stacy kind of liked it and besides how often did he spend any time in the backyard?
He put one hand on the low brick fence and vaulted over it easily, walking calmly across the Fernimans' back lawn to the covered patio, where a barbecue grill and an enormous bag of mesquite charcoal sat. He picked up the bag and carried it back, offering it to Wilson as if it were a chest of gold.
"You are cheap," James said, but he took the charcoal and piled it up in the chimney-starter on the grill, dusting his hands on a rag when he finished. Greg dutifully carried the bag back and set it in the exact same spot while Wilson lit the paper under the starter.
"When the apocalypse comes, you'll need my skills," Greg said, dropping into one of the lawn chairs and basking in the late July sun. "I'll steal the food, you cook it. It's a perfect system."
James retorted something about who'd be first up against the wall when the time came, and Greg grinned and bickered back. Stacy watched them from the living-room window, feeling pleased. James was smiling again, which only Greg ever managed these days, though she liked James and knew he liked her too.
All that was missing was Helen. But then Greg hadn't liked Helen and Stacy had...
Stacy didn't know how she'd felt about Helen. She'd tried to get along with her because she was James' wife, but Helen was so complacent, so unambitious. So content to spend James' money. Stacy was relieved that Helen had left him, but she was upset that she'd also crushed him.
She hadn't known Greg very long at all before she'd moved in with him, but she knew that he understood people better than they did themselves. If he didn't choose to wield that understanding very often, well, that was Greg. If the breakup had been different, if James had acted differently, Greg would have been harder on his friend, crueler, in order to get James to lash back and be angry, which James never was. But James was hurt, and knew he couldn't even be hurt because it was his own damn fault for sleeping around. So Greg was being kind and boyish and twelve years old, and James could smile a bit again, because twelve-year-olds don't have two ex-wives, a house payment, and a broken heart.
Besides, she got a bonus out of the deal; pretty James Wilson, being charming to her and cooking for both of them, making Greg happy and relaxed.
She'd left them alone for a while with the excuse that she had some briefs to prepare, James in the kitchen making an enormous amount of food for the grill, Greg heckling. Now she was enjoying watching them.
James opened the sliding glass door and leaned in, cocking his head at her. "Coals'll be ready in about twenty minutes. Coming out?"
She smiled at him and followed him out, sitting down at the patio table next to Greg. James had pulled one of the chairs over by the grill and was absently spinning a skewer in one hand.
"You'll put your eye out," Greg said, indicating the sharp end.
"Might put yours out," James replied.
"Boys," Stacy murmured, and was rewarded with two innocent, conniving grins.
It was too good to last. She knew that. Stability was not something you got in relationships to high-strung, highly-intelligent people like Greg and James. But, just for the afternoon, it was still good.
"Hey, by the way," James said, "My niece is in town tomorrow and I wanted to take her to do something fun."
"I told you, no more nine-year-olds in the autopsy room," Greg said.
"Funny. You guys want to go mini-golfing with us tomorrow?"
END
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You write House and Wilson so well--I can see them like this. Too bad it couldn't stay this way.
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relationships with?
Lovely, as usual. Yay for first names! Also all the shippy vibes. :D
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I think you left out the ominous Bum-bum-BAH! that usually comes there.
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How do you even DO things like that? Just stomp on my heart, why doncha.
*has secret glee that Sam is writing house!fic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
*okay...not so secret*
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Besides, plenty of time and plotbunnies for that later, eh?no subject
On a side note...I don't remember seeing your icon in the series. Is that "Cake or Death" photoshopped in? Or do I just have a really bad memory? The comedian Eddie Izzard does a skit about cake or death, so I was just wondering...
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And I love Greg being twelve to make Jimmy feel better.
Fic: Can't Last
Great Stacy voice.
And House stealing the coals like that was great, with the having to vault the fence.
Lovely moment.
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He put one hand on the low brick fence and vaulted over it easily, walking calmly across the Fernimans' back lawn to the covered patio, where a barbecue grill and an enormous bag of mesquite charcoal sat.
just breaks my heart. I can easily see him being completely manic and energetic and easily physical before the infarction, but that just drove it home. And it's such a simple action too, it's odd the things that strike you...
I apologize, I'm babbling. I just meant to say it's a lovely sweet fic, and perfectly done. ^__^