Author's Notes: Wow, long time since I've written anything... Been uninspired to say the least for about four months. I blame winter. However, this plot bunny ficlet started raising a fuss in my head about a week after watching The Softer Side. Don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine.
Summary: This is a missing scene from The Softer Side, told from the perspective of the hooker who watched House to make sure he kept breathing while he slept.
Disclaimer: Don't own House, and that's probably a good thing. He probably does much better in his natural habitat anyways. No money being made here.
I've gotten plenty of odd requests before. They're nothing new. So I had my mind set to just be cool with whatever the guy wanted and knocked on the door of 221 B.
He was kind of cute for an old guy, in that way that some old men can be. Then again, some guys are old men at the age of 18 and they're hardly cute. It's all in the attitude. He wasn't nervous at all when he let me through the door. He was familiar with the scenario. The agency said he's been a customer in the past, that he tips well, and that I shouldn't have much to worry about. Save of course, for the list of regular instructions that came with this client. He told me his name was Greg, but didn't ask any inane questions like I often get. "He's not one for small talk" is what the agency had warned me. That was fine with me. In this situation, I'm not much for small talk either. They also said I'd be here all night, but didn't say much after that.
I immediately noticed his limp as he headed further into the apartment, and the cane that was swinging gently off the overhang by the door. Avoiding his right leg had been among the instructions.
"Did they tell you that I need you here all night?" He asked over his shoulder, not stopping his progress towards the rear of the apartment.
"Yeah... Do you have big plans?" I asked. I heard a noise and I had to assume it was a chuckle from him. He made the turn at the last door on the right, and looked at me while he did so. He was smirking and sizing me up.
"I have fantastic plans." He said. "I'm going to have the best night's sleep I've had in years." He nodded for me to follow him into the room, and I did.
"That's as good a plan as any." I commented as I entered the room. There was an easy chair set up near the bed, with a reading lamp and a precarious pile of magazines of varying topics next to it. Everything from The New England Journal of Medicine right through to Weekly World News was represented. He eyed me up for a moment, apparently wondering if I was going to say anything more. He seemed pleased when I didn't.
"Plan is simple... Make sure I don't stop breathing in my sleep, okay?" He said after a moment of awkward silence. His words only stunned me into a moment of further awkward silence.
"...Pardon?" I finally asked.
"I need you to wake me up by any means necessary if I stop breathing while I'm sleeping." He said, speaking slowly as if to a small child.
"I got that. I was going for the why of it." I asked. "Are you high or something?"
"Sort of" He admitted much to my surprise. "Bum leg, right?" He said, pointing with one hand, and carefully moving the rumpled blankets on his bed with the other.
"I'm with you so far."
"I'm on a new medication to deal with the pain, which works really well... But, it comes with complications. I... had an incident earlier. I just need to make sure I don't bite it before tomorrow morning, okay?" He said and rubbed the tip of his thumb over his eyebrow.
"And that's all you want?" I asked.
"Not too complicated for you is it?" He said. His voice was suddenly full of irritation and growing foul temper.
"You're the boss." I said with a shrug, dismissing his mood as I've had to do with so many other irritable clients before. "But I'm not a nurse. I know CPR, but I can't really help you, you know."
"That's not what I'm paying for. Just smack me or something if I decide breathing is too much of an effort. I'll wake right up if my history says anything... Just wake me up and then call 911. That's all I need you to do." He reassured, as he slowly lowered himself on to the bed, and then set his alarm clock that looked to be older than me.
I could see that while he wasn't in excruciating pain, that he was still stiff from the grief his leg must give him. "I am here all night you know. I can do other things than just watch you... If you want." I offered. It just seemed odd to sit here and not do anything. In the softer light of the bedroom, he was quite handsome. His blue eyes were actually really incredible, but I wasn't about to tell him that.
"Sorry sweetheart. I'm fifty, I've got a job interview in the morning, and I'm on heavy opiates. I probably couldn't get a party started even if I wanted to." He said and gave a dismissing wave of his hand. His eyes held what might have been a momentary look of regret.
He swung his legs up on the bed, and pulled the covers over himself. I could already tell that whatever drug it was he was on, it was hitting him and he would be asleep soon. "There's drinks in the fridge, most of the booze is locked up but have a beer if it won't put you to sleep. 'Course you're so skinny it might do that anyways... Don't touch the piano or any of the instruments. Strange hands get them all out of tune, and it's a pain in the ass to correct. Reading material all over the place at your disposal. You up for an all-nighter, sweetheart?" He asked.
"Think I got it." I said simply.
"Good" He said. His eyes were already drooping as he settled in. "Was' your name anyways? I like to know who's smacking me if it comes down to that."
"Marianne LeSoleil Levant" I replied. I was used to most men purring and saying 'Oh, that's French right?' But I wasn't all that surprised when he snorted and rolled his eyes, instantly becoming aware for the moment.
"Like hell. But bonus points for the obscure House of the Rising Sun reference. Seems I got the smart hooker tonight. Seriously what's your real name?"
"What's your real name?" I retorted.
"Told you already, it's Greg. And believe it or not, this sorry cripple is actually a doctor." He said, and chuckled at some internal joke which he wasn't going to let me in on. Well that explained the medical journals in the heap of magazines. His client history and my own finely tuned sense of danger told me he wasn't a threat, he didn't seem like the creepy kind, and the information would mean nothing to him later, so I told him.
"Susanna" I said softly. He smiled, relaxed and his eyelids finally fell shut.
"Oh Susanna, don'tcha cry for me" He sang softly and in tune, and then an instant later was asleep.
"Yeah, like I never heard that one before." I muttered, sat down, and picked up a magazine.
The rest of the night was uneventful. I drank about four cans of diet soda while I watched his chest rise and fall in a regular pattern. He didn't move around much which I had to figure was because of his leg, and lucky for me he only snored softly. He looked younger when his face relaxed, but the deep tension lines were still there.
Judging from my short trips out to the kitchen, he was probably a perennial bachelor. The apartment looked like it hadn't had a woman living in it for a very long time. There were too many angles, and a severe lack of personal hygiene products in the bathroom for that to be possible. The piano was something to look at though. I tried to picture Greg playing it, and found that I could. I figured he had to be one of those skinny lonely musicians, who are just too socially awkward to make a connection to other people like they were able to do with a musical instrument.
His breathing didn't falter once through the night; air in and out, holding a steady rhythm until dawn.
The alarm made us both jump. He twitched a little, groaned, and slapped randomly in the direction of the clock. I started to gather my things up, and slid my shoes back on. "Morning, Susanna." He grumbled when he finally got the alarm off with a firm smack of his hand.
"Hey" I replied. "Sleep well?"
"Like the dead... Which I always thought was better than sleeping like a baby. They wake up screaming every three hours." He rambled, and I had to laugh a little at that. Clearly Greg the doctor had an interesting perspective on the world. He rolled onto his side slowly and looked at me carefully. His gaze was suddenly intense and somewhat discomforting.
"Does your mother know what you do?" He asked.
"Does your mother know that you hire call girls regularly?" I asked in response. I was used to men trying to put me off balance. I have a million smart ass answers memorized for these situations. I still don't know why he asked that, but I was starting to figure out that his mind didn't work like the rest of humanity.
"Touché" He replied, and swung his legs to make his feet connect with the floor. He dropped the subject. I guess I had given the correct answer. He was moving much more slowly this morning. He looked around, trying to spot something. "Damn" He muttered. "Can you do me a favour?" He asked.
"Sure, I'm still on the clock." I said. He grinned again.
"Left my cane out in the front room. I still need it to get going in the mornings. Be a dear?"
"You got it, Greg." I said.
The cane was still hanging near the door, and I picked it up. It was lighter than I thought it would be. I was amazed that such a light piece of wood could keep the guy upright, but apparently it did. He was on unsteady feet when I got back, leaning on the bedpost. I handed him the cane and he had another moment where his face was open to read. He looked grateful, but the expression was quickly gone again and he was lurching towards the bathroom. "You want me to put coffee on... or anything else for that matter?" I asked. I smiled and made my face that little bit seductive that drives the socially awkward ones wild. His eyes met mine for a moment. He really was good looking now that I'd had all that time to study his face.
"You mean you didn't take advantage of me while I was in an opiate induced sleep? I'm shocked." He said sarcastically.
"Well I tried, but you were totally right about that opiate thing... or is it the old part that was the problem?" I asked.
"Oh snap, sweetheart." He said, batted his eyes, and then brushed past me towards the bathroom. He was about to close the door when he faced me again. "It's okay though, I'd rather be able to remember my failures anyways. Put the coffee on and then come back... I might be able to negotiate something then." He said. This time there was a sly grin lighting up his face. "And turn some damn music on!" He barked after the door banged shut. I sighed and went to put the coffee on.
After doing the domestic thing, and then an activity that was more in keeping with my job description (while working carefully around his handicap), he was ready to go for the day. He tossed the cane aside after he was done in the shower and went back into the bedroom to dress. All the while he sang loudly along with the blues CD that had been left in the player when I turned it on. I had to admit that he was oddly endearing... Like a hedgehog... prickly, but cute. I leaned on the doorframe of the bedroom, where he was in deep contemplation of two ties. "Which one?" He asked me.
"The red one" I said. "It makes a nice contrast for your shirt... and your eyes."
"You're just buttering me up aren't you?" He said, raising his eyebrows at me again.
"Hey, I'll admit this is one of the easier jobs I've had."
"You don't mind it?" He asked.
"No, not really." I replied.
"Good. You free tonight?" He asked. He was still holding up both ties, looking at them rather than me. He was just that little bit shy to ask me and was trying to stay casual about it. Most people wouldn't notice it, but I did, because tip money is better if you're good at observing what a client needs.
"Yeah, I think so." I said.
"Good. See you then." He said. A knock at the door managed to register over the music playing in the living room. He looked over at me again. "That'll be my nanny. Would you mind?" He asked, nodding towards the door. "Feeling better these days, but still not moving that fast. Money's on the bookshelf by the desk for you."
"See you later Greg." I said, and grabbed my bag. I was trying not to smile too much. But I dare you not to smile at the next hedgehog you meet. It's impossible. I grabbed the cash, tucked it into my bag, and answered the door.
The man standing on the other side certainly didn't look like a nanny...
"Hi...Is House here?" He asked, clearly confused by my presence. So, Greg the doctor had a last name. I stored that away for later should I need it.
"Yeah, he's getting dressed... I'll be back around ten tonight!" I called out, and let my eyes drift over the man as he shuffled around me in the doorway after I invited him in. I also didn't fail to notice him looking back. So the cute older guy had a cute younger friend. I knew I was going to have to ask about him if Greg wasn't too doped up to talk later. And while I'm diligent about keeping a healthy distance from clients after the fact, I'll admit to a certain amount of satisfaction when I heard him ask "Who was she?" through the closing door of the apartment.
-Fin
Note: "The House Of The Rising Sun" (the actual brothel) was named after Madame Marianne LeSoleil Levant (which means "Rising Sun" in French) and was open for business from 1862 (occupation by Union troops) until 1874, when it was closed due to complaints by neighbors. It was located at 826-830 St. Louis St. It was brought to fame of course by the song of the same name. The melody is a traditional English ballad, but it became popular as an African-American folk song. In the traditional Folk version, the main character is a prostitute. When the band The Animals recorded it, they changed it to a gambler to make their version more radio-friendly. Info comes from