storypaint | Broke (House/Stacy)

Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: Gregory House/Stacy Wagner
Title: Broke
Author: rhap_chan
Prompt: house_fest: 4. In 2x10 'Failure to Communicate,' House mentioned that the pipes once burst in the apartment he shared with Stacy. What did they do after their home was flooded?
Rating: G
Disclaimer: House, M.D. is the property of the Fox Network. All fanfiction archived here is a derivative of canon material that is not my property. I do not profit from these writings. The opinions and actions expressed in these stories are not necessarily the views and beliefs of the original author or me.

Excerpt: As if the Accident wasn't enough (and why not capitalize in her head? Greg did-- it certainly wasn't something simple to him), the pipes broke the day after he came home.

As if the Accident wasn't enough (and why not capitalize in her head? Greg did-- it certainly wasn't something simple to him), the pipes broke the day after he came home. Stacy was beginning to wonder if someone was out to get her.

"It's wet in here," Greg observed. He was still getting used to the Vicodin but once in a while his biting wit emerged in the form of sarcasm.

"Yes, Greg, I've noticed," she said. She always gave what she got. That was how she'd managed to put up with him all of this time. That was why he liked her in the first place.

She'd noticed it this morning in the shower. She usually got up first so Greg could have plenty of time to manage his bath. Sometimes it took an hour. Maneuvering in the apartment wasn't easy for him yet. She'd talked about going to the landlord and asking to have handicapped bars installed, but he'd refused. He'd refused to agree with anything she'd said since the infarction. She knew he was in a lot of pain, so she tried to stay positive, but his newly worsened attitude was really getting on her nerves.

So she'd been in the shower at five a.m., trying not to wake him, because he was sleeping so lightly in-between the pills (she'd taken to sleeping on the couch herself, when he was gone, not wanting to tuck herself into a lonely bed, and when he came home, it seemed easier than attempting to lay still and not touch his leg). When she got out of the shower she thought that maybe the shower curtain had been loose but as she dressed she watched the water puddle spread across the floor.

She'd thought it was just a leak somewhere behind the wall-- something to call the landlord about, but no big deal considering-- but as soon as Greg had made it into the bathroom there had been a huge crash and she'd come running, sure this time that he'd managed to fall and hurt himself. But no.

The light fixture had fallen from the ceiling, almost into Greg's lap, actually, and there was a lot of water slipping into the bathroom. She reached behind the room and handed Greg the cane he hated to use, and he didn't protest too much when she helped him out of the bathroom. The ceiling was bowing in dangerously. It was no surprise that the fixture had fallen.

And here they were, in the living room, watching water swiftly spread across the floor. Greg reached out with his cane and began to draw patterns in it.

Childish, like always, she noted, picking up the phone to call the landlord. Of course, this was the weekend that he was out of town... His wife had no idea what to do. She went down to the lobby and looked through the directory to find out who lived above them, figuring it was their leak, but the apartment was empty. If she called a plumber, it would break the rules of their lease.

Stacy sighed.

She went back into the living room where Greg had gotten bored with the water and had propped his leg up on the coffee table and was counting ceiling tiles again. He was wearing a glazed look and she wondered if he had taken a few Vicodin when she was downstairs trying to figure things out. She was starting to worry about his Vicodin consumption as well (as if she didn't have enough to worry about these days). He seemed to be fleeing into the temporary high these pills gave him. She'd seen addiction-- one of her best friends had OD'd on cocaine when she was in high school-- and she knew it was a dark and lonely road.

"Stacy," Greg said, still focused on the ceiling. She was standing there with her hand on the phone, contemplating who to call next, but he was insistent. "Staaaacy...."

"Yes?"

He focused on her and for a moment his old smile graced his lips. There was always mischief afoot when Greg wore that grin.

Moving faster than she expected him to, he picked up his cane and used it to fling water on her. For a moment she was upset-- who knew where it had actually came from, after all? But then she laughed. She had to laugh. She would have screamed, otherwise.

She grabbed the vase off of the coffee table and used it to return the favor. After that, things just degraded further into a water fight that her little brother would have been proud of. The goofiness ended abruptly when House banged his shin on the coffee table and had to sit down. There was the armchair ruined, not that most of their furniture wouldn't be when this was all over.

"I say it's about time we blow this popsicle stand, hmm?" Greg said, lifting his eyebrow and then holstering an imaginary gun. Stacy nodded. She fished her suitcase out of the bedroom closet-- noting that water was beginning to discolor the ceiling nearest the bathroom-- and threw some clothes in for her and Greg. Then she called her mother and they made the drive, sopping wet. The first few jokes Greg made about wet t-shirts were almost funny, but after a little while he fell into a moody sulk (she wasn't sure where the exaggerated mood changes came from, he was on so many pills) and he was silent for the rest of the drive.

Much later, when they were clean and the story had been told to her mother, peppered with Greg's sardonic remarks, Stacy managed to get ahold of the landlord and explain the problem. He promised to take care of it when he got back from Tahiti. Jerk.

Much later she was trying not to move, with her back pressed lightly against Greg's. He was snoring lightly, his leg carefully arranged around pillows, and she wondered how she could be laying here next to him and feel so lonely. This hadn't been easy on any of them-- Greg had spent a great deal of time in the warm bathtub, working the kinks out of his leg (he hated to ride in cars now, because he cramped so easily). Her mother had given her the usual lecture while he was in there-- why was she dating such an angry man, he had no future, there was a handsome man she met at the township hall last week... Stacy did her best to block it all out and sleep.

She clutched at her neck, searching for the familiar weight of her crucifix, but found nothing. In their rush to leave she had left it on the bureau. Who knew if they would find it when the cleaned up the apartment. Her mother would be crushed.

So would she. It had been quite a source of comfort in these dark days.

The next morning she drove out to get it, leaving Greg to entertain her mother with gruesome stories about the cases he worked on. Stacy battled through the flood-- the apartment was almost eight inches deep now, and the landlord had called again, promising to get someone in, but they weren't there yet. The dirty water pooled around her ankles but she hardly noticed, heading straight for the bedroom and that polished silver crucifix. It was a comforting weight in her palm that far outweighed her soggy shoes.

Years later, years later, after all was said and done and there was Mark, now, and she could stay with him, no matter what (but ohgodpleasenonotagain), Greg noticed that the crucifix was gone.

"Why no wading today?" House asked, his eyes challenging, and she was surprised that he remembered the day their pipes broke, but she didn't have a real answer, diverting the question, knowing it would come back again.

There's some things stronger than faith, and Stacy Wagner is one of them.