In which...
Just a Penniless Writer
Standard Disclaimer Applies
Author's Plea: Yes, its blah. Not nearly as snarky as I wanted House to be. And yes, Jareth really is that evil. My tenses are confused, but I just can't make myself care anymore… enjoy if you can.
I. In which House meets Someone New
When House first stirred to consciousness, he could tell by the bright sun assaulting his eyelids that he was by no means going to be arriving at work at his customary time. It was a bit disappointing, especially as he'd been going early just to throw everyone off. Cameron looked so deliciously flustered when he walked in before 10 and that combined with Wilson's shock was enough to make it worthwhile for a few more days.
Still...
He was on the verge of calling the day a waste regardless, citing leg pain even if it was his head that was on the verge of bursting, when his bed shifted.
And that couldn't be right.
Opening his eyes slowly and moving as little as possible, he soon saw the cause of the shift: a sheet-wrapped dark-haired woman with one hand and a foot thrown over the side of his bed.
Dark hair -- Not Cameron.
Straight hair -- Not Cuddy.
Long hair, no socks -- Not Stacey.
H realized quite suddenly that there were surprisingly few women in his life and that he had no clue whom this particular woman was.
The mystery of it all was killing him, even moreso than his headache.
Forgetting all about work, he slowly reached over and savagely poked the woman on her bare shoulder. The response was instantaneous. She started suddenly and succeeded in falling off his bed with a rather painful thump followed by the groan of someone who knows only that they've done something terrible.
While his 'guest' recovered, he managed to sit up and arrange his bed coverings to conceal his thighs (for protection of his dignity and not his virtue, of course). He waited patiently another minute before throwing a pillow over the edge of the bed. The woman finally rose with some caution, her hair a delightful mess and the pillow all but covering a flushed body.
He was more than a bit disappointed he still couldn't remember her because he surely wanted to. Unless he'd been bad. But why was she still here if he had been?
The time for those kinds of questions was later. For now there was only one thing he needed to know.
"So... breakfast?"
II. In which House remembers Nothing
She was eating her breakfast with enough gusto that he felt at least one of his important questions had been answered. It was soothing to know that he still had it, even if he couldn't remember the 'it' in question.
She was wearing a battered t-shirt and baggy sweatpants from his closet while her clothing went through the wash. It wasn't a bit of consideration he was accustomed to making, but as they had found her dress in the bathroom, presumably falling from the sink and into the toilet, he felt all too obliged.
They still hadn't found her bra.
Well... He had, but he wasn't about to tell her that. Yet. He figured it could be his bargaining chip if she withheld her name. As it turned out, even that flimsy excuse wasn't necessary.
"Um... I know this is a bit odd considering the circumstances..." --which was a long speech coming from a woman who had but groaned and squeaked all morning-- "but who are you?"
"Huh... That was my question."
She looked at him with some degree of concern and something entirely different that was imminently unreadable. He envied that something.
"The last I remember was the bachelorette party," she mumbled thoughtfully.
"I certainly would remember that," he replied almost regretfully. "I don't, but I certainly wish I did."
"Shhh! You shouldn't say such things!"
And that was almost as amusing as it was senseless.
"I wish I did remember this bachelorette party. I also wish I could remember who you are and how you ended up in my bed. And I really wish I could remember how great I was last night."
Her eyes were so wide with some sort of horror that he could almost concern himself about her retinal health. He didn't, but it was a bit humorous. She wasn't even concentrating on him but on some unknown thing behind him. Possibly his sink, though he supposed his microwave was worthy of a bit of terror.
Regardless of what he should or should not say or wish, he was finished with breakfast and bored with her. There may still be a bit of mystery surrounding his night, she may even bit quite a bit attractive, but he could feel the headache coming back and he was tired. All in all, he might as well go to work, or at least say he would just to get rid of her.
It was a perfect plan except for one thing.
"Your finger..."
She looked down and the appendage that she had been apparently been attempting to forget.
"It just hurts from falling off the... bed."
"It's broken."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
He sighed in long suffering, rolling his eyes to the heavens and hoping that if he had to put up with this woman he could at least remember what it'd been like to fuck her.
However... taking her to work would certainly make his staff aware that he'd gotten some. Maybe even without the aide of pity or spores.
He figured that counted as his optimistic thought of the day.
III. In which House discovers Something Awkward
That he'd arrived at the hospital before the end of the day was quite an achievement, he thought, considering the circumstances. Of course, they didn't particularly think so, even when he pulled the woman and her broken finger in front of him.
He wanted to pawn her off on some hapless clinic-duty doctor, but Cuddy managed to prod him into doing it himself. Her logic never ceased to amaze him.
"You slept with her!" she'd hissed after dragging him some distance away from his wide-eyed sleeping partner. "The least you can do after that is fix her finger!"
As if a night with him was torturous... which it could possibly have been but as neither could remember the night before, that was hardly a valid excuse for making him splint it. However, as he was not about to tell the awful truth in regards to his failed memory, he sucked it up, made a snappish remark, and dragged his woman into an exam room.
Cameron followed. Joy.
He spent the time during the initial exam and while waiting for x-rays making inappropriate jokes that had his woman looking particularly venomous and Cameron scoffing. The feminine anger in the room was quickly becoming an entity in and of itself. He thought perhaps alienating them both at the same time might have disastrous consequences for him if they put aside whatever female rivalry they were experiencing (and didn't that thought give him a boost of pride) and work together.
Still, it was eight kinds of fun to see their relative expressions when he finally asked his woman's name.
"Sarah Williams," she stated with such wounded pride and bitterness that he almost wished he had remembered the name prior to this. However, Cameron's shocked outrage more than deflated his pity.
Luckily, and House believed occasionally in luck, the break was clean and simple and he was able to splint it without much trouble. Cameron, feeling particularly duty bound perhaps, gave the usual schpiel though her eyes kept straying to what could be a love bite on his woman's shoulder.
The entire ordeal was almost complete, and conveniently enough near the end of his working day. He was quite proud of the fact that he could even make a case for these hours to count towards his clinic duty.
The woman was almost out of his hair, which was wonderful no matter how good her legs were or how nice an ass she had, because he hated not remembering and hated her confused eyes.
It was almost done which was perhaps exactly why everything went so terribly wrong. And it had everything to do with Chase which was perhaps exactly why everything went so terribly wrong.
Of course, she'd seen him earlier when they'd first arrived and explained, rather ineloquently, why he was later than even he usually was. He must have missed her reticence for the blond, and that was a fact that pained him. Usually he always noticed and reveled when someone disliked Chase.
"Your husband is here, Sarah."
IV. In which House gives up Sanity
Your husband is here, Sarah.
Such a simple statement that widened so many eyes.
Husband? Now wasn't that interesting...
"He isn't my husband, and you know that," she said vehemently. House greedily watched the play. Ah, Drama...
"Stop denying it, Sarah."
"Denying it? You're one to talk, fairy!"
The gasp from Cameron was a bit much, but then so, maybe, was his own demented grin.
"You've had your fun. This isn't the place for you anymore, no matter how you try to force it," Chase responded without so much as a raised eyebrow.
"No, I belong here. I'm not giving this up just for his pride!"
"It's not his pride, Sarah!"
Her arched eyebrow was smooth perfection.
"Maybe it is his pride some. But not all. Don't you see that you belong there, with him?"
"He can't make me. He has--"
"No power over you; yes, I know. Everyone knows. That doesn't change the fact that as equals you belong together."
"Where is this written? In what story book does the Girl marry the Evil King and live happily ever after?"
"Yours."
The silence wasn't deafening, mostly because House was doing his best not to laugh and have both of them taken upstairs to psych. And it was, of course, with this special timing that Wilson entered the scene. Unlike the rest of them, the oncologist seemed to have some idea of what was going on.
"What's going on?"
Or perhaps not.
"Runaway," Chase answered succinctly with a nod at Sarah.
"She looks fairly normal. Are you sure?"
"Sarah Williams."
"You're joking." Wilson sighed, and House thought perhaps there might be more to his friend than even he had suspected. "You're not joking. Is he here?"
"Outside. I wanted to talk to her first. She doesn't want to go."
"Because I belong here!" the woman angrily interrupted. "I don't belong there! All the silliness and bravado and mess... I belong here, where things make sense most of the time, and I can pick up a guy in a bar, and not have to worry about a royal inquisition!"
"And not remember the night with the guy you picked up in a bar? Surely you've noticed the consequences of your choice."
"But it's my choice! I can deal with not remembering sex. I cannot deal with him!"
And it was at this point that House began to really pay attention. He'd known he wasn't the only one with a memory lapse, but he hadn't guessed it to be her fault. Now that her motives and actions were coming to light, he felt a bit put out. It was perfectly fine to be used, but to deny him the memory was simply cruel.
"You can't run forever, Sarah. There's no labyrinth big enough."
"We'll see about that!"
Without further argument or adieu, his interesting bed partner straightened her back with dignity and, ignoring the looks of impatient incredulity on Chase and Wilson's faces, walked towards the back stairwell. He could only presume she was trying to sneak around whoever it was that was waiting for her downstairs under the guise of her husband. He suspected she would succeed. She looked too stubborn to fail, especially as she'd been stubborn enough to land in his bed.
He hoped she succeeded.
After all, whoever this guy was, he certainly didn't sound like the type to be altogether friendly with the man whom had slept with his woman, regardless of whether they remembered it or not. He could deal with pain, with another broken nose. He didn't think he could deal with meeting this stranger that made Chase and Wilson so abnormally mystical.
And with that thought, he called it a day.