Work Text:
Stacy had left early for work, before House had even gotten out of bed. That should have been his first clue that something was amiss. There was nothing odd at work or on the drive home, but he hadn't forgotten the strange morning.
Stacy hadn't mentioned an early meeting, or anything about road construction or bad traffic. She hadn't said anything to him at all. He knew something was going on, but hadn't been able to ascertain what.
He'd grilled Wilson about it at lunch, but had learned nothing. Not even if Wilson was hiding something. That made him nervous.
Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for sounds of impending surprise party. He didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. He opened the door, stepped inside and waited for the assault. Nothing.
He tossed his keys on the table by the door, dropped his knapsack there on the floor and pushed the door closed behind him. Though he had thought about leaving it open as an escape route, he figured he didn't need to look that paranoid.
The apartment was dark, but didn't have the heavy feel of hidden friends. At least there was no surprise party. He had no desire for a party of any kind to celebrate his aging.
"Stacy?" he called down the hallway expecting a sultry response, beckoning him to the bedroom.
Nothing.
He grunted annoyance and settled on the couch with a beer to watch TV.
* * * *
Stacy, Wilson, Wilson's wife and a couple other friends sat around a table, staring at the empty chair over their slowly draining wine glasses. When the waiter approached this time, they ordered dinner, ignoring the empty chair.
"Guess he's not corning," Wilson noted.
Stacy shook her head. "I left him two messages. He should be here."
Wilson's wife snorted. "He probably hasn't checked them since yesterday."
"I guess we'll have dinner and celebrate without him," Stacy said. "Save him a piece of cake."
"I doubt he'd want to celebrate anyway. He hates that sort of thing," Wilson added.
Stacy nodded agreement. "Which is why I didn't have a party. He never turns down a free meal."
"His loss," Wilson's wife added.
"I'll take something home for him," Stacy said, keeping up her stoic front. She was disappointed Greg hadn't met them for dinner.
When she arrived home, Greg was asleep on the couch with the TV at a low buzz. On the table by the couch was his cellular phone showing two new messages. She could only shake her head. "You moron. If you'd check your phone like a normal person you could have celebrated with a free meal and time with your friends," she muttered at him on her way to the refrigerator.
"Why," he grunted from the couch, "when I could just wait here and you'll bring me something and I don't have to talk to anyone?"
To that, Stacy could only shake her head and hide a grin behind the door of the refrigerator.