A/N: For barefootpuddles', Literary Drabble Challenge at sick_wilson. Prompt, "I am very sorry about this, but in all the circumstances there is no choice." Taken from Hinge of Fate Winston Churchill.)
This is a very diluted interpretation of the theme, "Choice." It's similar in the same way diluted liquid soap resembles a cleaning product.
Disclaimer: [H]ouse is not mine and never will be.
.
He thought it would be as simple as handing over his key…
.
"Dahling, call me Liz," she drawled, sweeping past him as he opened the door. "Gorgeous space, Dahling. I know people who would kill for this space, Dahling."
"Really?" He said, coolly, recalling how he scooped Cuddy, and the pranks that followed.
His jaw clenched as she fired off Dahlings with the speed of a journeyman carpenter shooting a nail gun, pinning each wall, window, and surface with a "Simply gorgeous, Dahling" or "Absolutely dreadful, Dalhing."
A dull pain simmered behind his eyes.
When she spied the poster buried behind House's clothes, she said "For shame, Dahling. Do come out of the closet."
His headache escalated to nuclear proportions.
He managed to escape to the coffee shop around the corner by signing a contract. The fine print swam before his eyes. He might have made her executrix of his will or promised his body to science. He didn't care. One more Dahling, and blood would leak from his ears.
Unwinding under the influence of a cappuccino he regretted his decision to hire a decorator. Abdicating his right to choose was no more than a shortcut dressed in sheep's clothing.
In response to his epiphany, the air boomed with a vigorous melody, Lady of Spain.
He massaged the tightening muscles in the back of his neck. He had forgotten the organ store was located next door.
.