Title: Hiding
Author: Sy Dedalus
Pairing: House/Stacy, House/Wilson friendship
Rating: T, TV-14, PG-13
Summary: A series of vignettes set during andafter House and Stacy's relationship.Lots of House/Wilson friendship. Probably some Cuddy. Maybe some ducklings.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. They belong to David Shore, Fox, etc. I'm not making any money. Please don't sue. My cat likes his home.

A/N: So I probably shouldn't start another fic when I've got three in progress already, but what the hey. These vignettes aren't necessarily in order and most will feature the more negative aspects of a long-term relationship. Wilson and his relationship trouble will be here too. I'm trying to keep these pieces to 500 words and they'll be loosely connected to one another at best. Please let me know what you think!

On the Roof

April 1995

House sighed inwardly and exhaled smoke into the New Jersey twilight. She would smell smoke on him and give him one of those looks—if he got home before midnight. If she got home before midnight, too, for that matter. If he saw her at all tonight.

He pulled his overcoat more tightly around his body—the April wind didn't quit—and took another long, satisfying drag. God, he hated fighting. Six months together and he felt like they'd spent half that time fighting.

But the make-up sex. Oh yes, the make-up sex. And besides that, he'd never connected with anyone like he connected with her. It was so good.

Except when they fought.

He exhaled and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the few feet of concrete that kept him from a long fall. The people on the ground: ants. The night shift had just come on and the stragglers were hurrying into the building while the last of the departing day shift shuffled away. Tiny ants rushing toward other tiny ants. His first impulse was to start dropping loose change, but instead he took another drag and flicked the ash over the edge.

The night shift already. He fingered the pack he'd bought this morning through the lining of his coat. Two left. Even when he'd been a smoker, he had never smoked an entire pack in one day. Ugh. She was driving him to it.

His gaze shifted to the quad. No students playing Ultimate Frisbee or touch football this late in the day. The entry way was empty too. Everyone was somewhere except him.

What to do…

He could stay here. He had patients. There was never a shortage of patients. His favorite couch had migrated to his office when she'd moved in: he had a place to crash. He could buy a bottle of something and pick up dinner and a Playboy. A big, stinky cigar too. Which he'd have to smoke on the roof, dammit. It would be bachelorhood all over again. But he didn't really want that for a second night in a row.

Go home? She'd be there eventually. It was his apartment, but when they fought he was always the one who became temporarily homeless. He wasn't ready to apologize. He didn't have anything to apologize for. He was still angry. No.

Check with Wilson? Wilson was sniffing up someone new while he waited for his divorce to go through. House had spent more than a few nights on Wilson's couch (or his floor, depending on how late they got to the apartment), but if Wilson was out tonight with her he wouldn't want a third wheel.

All the same, it was a Wednesday. A night of friendly commiseration was better than a night in his office. He'd check with Wilson.

He took the last long drag left, dropped the cigarette, and stamped it out with his foot. Was it worth it, all this fighting and smoking and standing alone on the roof in the wind?

He started toward the entrance to the stairs, thinking.

Yeah, it was.

For now.