Chapter 2

Introductions

Dreading the evening, House vowed that he would resist valiantly and not let Flynn pull him into the web of her life. After all, he had his own mind, he could resist. It would be hard. Flynn could liven up a State Funeral. She was captivating, charming, funny, albeit self-deprecating and self-destructive. Watching her in action was like watching 9/11, you could tell it was a disaster in the making, but you couldn't bring yourself to turn the television off.

He started to put on a t-shirt and shirt, but he found himself turning around and going back into his room, rummaging through his closet for something less mundane. He took off the un-ironed shirt and t-shirt, grabbing his merino wool sweater in rusts and blues. He had bought it in Italy when he was there eight years ago for a conference. It not only looked good on him, the colors made the blue in his eyes look even lighter, clearer. Switching out the jeans for his black Italian slacks, House combed his hair and even plucked a few stray hairs close to the bridge of his nose before grabbing his black leather jacket and scarf, catching a glance in the mirror by the door.

Why am I doing this? Who am I trying to impress?

House wanted to turn around, call everyone, tell them he was sick, but it was too late. When he arrived at the hotel, she wasn't out front. He parked and looked inside the lobby, but she wasn't there either. House punched the elevator button, hoping that when the door opened, she'd be inside, ready to go, but she wasn't. Frustrated, he cursed under his breath and took the elevator up, knocking on the door to her room. Seconds later he heard the click of the door opening and her face pop around the side of the door.

"Come in, I'm almost ready…just watch some tv."

He walked in, eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room. The bathroom light was bright, but the rest of the room was illuminated only by the television. He could smell the scent of shampoo and soap from her shower. It masked the underlying odor of hotel cleaning products. She ran around the room in her matching underwear, a demi-bra laced in black and red with matching boy shorts. The thigh highs were a textured pattern, making her look like the sweet 'hooker-next-door.'

"Greg?" She stood in front of him, putting her earrings in. He had a hard time looking at her eyes, "Who am I meeting?"

House shook his head, "You do realize you're standing in front of me in your underwear? Lacy, sexually stimulating, underwear?"

Flynn shuddered, "Ewww." She slapped him upside his head, "You're a doctor, you see bodies all the time, and you're my cousin. Besides you've seen me in my undies before." Turning she wiggled her hips in his face.

"Yeah, but you were six."

"Bull!" She shook her head at him, "Now, stop making me blush and tell me who we're meeting."

House knew that Flynn wasn't blushing one bit; there was little that made Flynn blush. "You're meeting my boss again; she has a little girl crush on you. You're her favorite author."

She grabbed her dress and bent over, causing House to follow her breasts as they dangled, barely keeping in their cups. House couldn't help but notice that the small sized C's were a milky white with blue veins crossing over the sensually ripe and round mounds. She pulled the dress up and turned around for him to zip her up. Once zipped, she straightened up.

Smiling, she opened her arms to show her dress off. "Well? How do I look?"

He didn't want to say it, but it slipped out, "Hot."

She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on his cheek, "You're so sweet. You know just what to say sometimes."

House wanted to tell her that he wasn't sweet, never had been sweet, never would be sweet, but he knew it would go in one ear and out the other. Flynn had her own, unique interpretation of behavior. She didn't really judge people, never quite mastered the ability to call a bastard a bastard. The only person she was hard on was herself.

She ran over to a box sitting on the floor and grabbed two books out of it. "I'll autograph my new book and give it to her."

House leaned forward, "You have a new book?"

She stopped in the middle of the room as she put on her shoes, "Duh, yeah! I'm a writer Greg, what do you expect me to do? Design furniture?"

He got up, "I just…didn't know."

Flynn rolled her large eyes, "Sorry, forgot to send you the galleys for approval. But here, here's a copy for you."

"What makes you think I want it?" He said as he took the book from her hand. Walking to the door he yelled over his shoulder, "Come on, get your coat, we're late."

"Wait!" She ran up to him, "Greggie, baby, you're lookin' mighty fine too." She pinched his nose and then delicately placed a piece of paper between the door and the jamb, closing it as she left.

"Why do you do that?"

"I like to know if there's been someone in my room. If the paper is gone or on the floor, then I know."

House frowned, clearly thinking she was crazy.

They got into the elevator with several other well-dressed hotel patrons. Flynn grabbed House's arm, "Honey, do you think the kids will be alright by themselves? I mean Jeffie is only six."

House stared up at the ceiling and shook his head.

She continued, "But then again, Mary is a pretty mature four year old."

The elevator reached the bottom floor. As they got out House could hear mumbling and whispering. Several people took off for the front desk as House hurried Flynn out to the parking lot.

When they got outside he shook his head as he climbed into his car. Flynn jumped in, giggling.

House put the key in the ignition and scolded her, "You know they're going to break into your room to check on the kids."

"Yeah, wait until I get back and raise a fuss over the fact that someone's been in my room! They'll be comping me all kinds of stuff."

House chortled.

"Greg, you're a doctor, can't you afford a better car?" She looked at the massive late eighties monstrosity that House had purchased new when he got out of med school.

"There is nothing wrong with this car…it's a classic."

"Classic crap. Buy a real car."

He snorted. There was a silence while Flynn signed the book.

"What's her name?" She asked.

"Lisa."

She scribbled something, slammed the book shut and said, "There. I've saved your job for you."

"My job was never on the line."

She tilted her head and sneered. "Oh, Greg. Your job is always on the line."

He started laughing; there was some truth to what she said. She had a look of the devil in her and he wanted so much to tweak her nose like he used to do. But, they were no longer young kids and he really needed to keep his distance.

As they turned into the parking lot, House could see Cuddy's car, a new Lexus, parked a few rows from the entrance. Pulling into the handicapped spot next to the door, he glanced over at Flynn who had just popped something into her mouth.

"What did you just take?"

She shrugged, "Just a few xanex."

"A few?"

"Okay, two, maybe three."

House jerked around, "Christ Flynn! What do you need two xanex for?"

"I'm meeting your boss."

"So?"

"I always get antsy when I'm supposed to meet someone important."

House shook his head, "She's just my boss, she's not important."

"Oh Greg, you know what I mean. She's important to you…to your livelihood. If I screw up, it might hurt your chances."

"I've already screwed up a million times and she keeps me around. We even dated, she dumped me and we still work together."

As they got out of the car, Flynn fidgeted with her dress. "Do I look okay?"

"For God's sake Flynn, you look like a two bit hooker ready to meet her John."

Flynn's jaw dropped and her eyebrows went up, "Really? But, you said I looked good."

"I said you looked hot, not that you looked appropriate." He stopped, grabbed her hand and started to drag her into the restaurant.

She tried to pull out of his grip, "Greg! Here, take the book. You can tell her that I got sick…that I'm sorry, but…"

He pulled on her hand as she tried to go back to the car, "Flynn, don't do this. You're fine, you look great." He pulled again, "You look great."

She seemed to relax a little and started to nod. "Okay." Continuing to nod as if she was trying to convince herself, she kept saying, "Okay, okay."

"Damn, Flynn, when did you get so worried about what others think?"

She winced, "I don't know. I just don't want to screw it up for you; that's all."

He put his long arm around her boney shoulder and hugged her, "You aren't going to screw it up for me, at least not as much as I will. We're just having dinner."

"I don't know Greg, when it comes to you, I don't want to screw things up."

"Come on."

They went inside and House saw Cuddy waving from a booth. He was shocked to see Wilson and Chase sitting with her. "Okay, are you ready?"

Flynn took a deep breath and smiled up at him with the same look he remembered from when she was a toddler-a look of unflinching trust. They started to walk to the booth. Cuddy jumped up and put one hand on Flynn's shoulder.

Cuddy's flawlessly manicured fingers pressed into Flynn's nail-bitten hand, "I so excited about meeting you. I loved, Dancing in Dante's Inferno."

Flynn smiled graciously at her and then handed her the book.

Cuddy took it with a puzzled look, "What's this?"

"It's my new book, Finding Home."

Cuddy had already opened it, reading the inscription. Her mouth dropped open as she looked up. "This isn't published yet is it?"

"It will be out in time for Christmas."

Cuddy looked at Flynn with genuine appreciation, "Thank you so much, I can't tell you what this means. What is the book about?"

The waitress interrupted, taking the drink orders. House ordered a Scotch, Flynn and Cuddy ordered Mojitos, Wilson and Chase beers. When the waitress in the short skirt and white blouse left the table, they turned their attention back to Flynn.

"It's a fictionalized memoir."

"So, it isn't true? "

Flynn looked around nervously, "No, I'm afraid it's mostly true. Names and some locations have been changed, but it takes place ten years before Dancing in Dante's Inferno takes up."

Cuddy wrinkled her forehead, "Dancing takes place when you, I mean the character, turns 24, right?"

Flynn nodded, "Dancing starts when she graduated from college. This story has a few early childhood memories, but takes place mostly from the time I, I mean, the character, turns thirteen."

House sat quietly listening, feeling sick at the thought of those years being committed to paper. He was grateful when the waitress brought the drinks. As she handed House his scotch, he grabbed the waitress's wrist, "Bring another." Everyone in the booth turned and stared at him. He was grim and nervous, turning away from their curious looks.

Flynn put a hand on House's. "Do you want me to drive? I'll stop at this one." She nodded at the Mojito in front of her.

He shook his head. "Wilson can give us a ride home or we can take a taxi."

She said calmly, "Okay."

Cuddy interjected excitedly, "I can't imagine any book more riveting than Dante's. How do you feel about this one?"

"Well," Flynn stopped to think, "I think in terms of what makes good drama, you'd have to give that award to the new one. My youth was pretty disastrous and the book is a close facsimile to my life."

Cuddy shook her head, "Wow! Then this must make good reading." She laughed, "You do know that you've just ruined my sleep tonight."

"I did?"

"I'm going to start reading it as soon as I get home." She smiled, handed the book to Wilson, who read the jacket, handed it back, and then started looking at the menu.

Over the next two hours, Flynn relaxed, realizing that she was among people who were more nervous about being around her than she was them. Cuddy, Wilson and House threw barbs back and forth at each other in good fun. Chase left about half way through the evening, indicating that he had to pick up his new girlfriend. He smiled and shook Flynn's hand in earnest, asking if she would mind if he bought one of the new books off of her.

"Please, don't insult me. I'll send in copies for you and Jim with Greg tomorrow. Okay?"

"Thank you. I hope to see a lot of you while you're here in Princeton. It isn't very often that we get to meet one of House's relatives."

"Good night, Robert." Flynn smiled.

By the end of the evening, everyone was laughing, including a somewhat inebriated House, at some of the events not printed in Dancing in Dante's Inferno. House marveled at how charming Flynn could be. His friends were entranced, hanging on her every word as she told tale after tale of her escapades over the last fifteen years. When it came time to leave, Cuddy almost begged for Flynn to come and stay with her.

"I'll think it over. I need to find somewhere to live by the end of the week. If I don't, perhaps I could stay with you until I find something?"

Flynn was sober enough to drive, so she took House home and then took a taxi back to her hotel. Looking at the clock in the lobby, it was only ten thirty. She knew it would be hard for her to sleep. If she tried to go to bed this early there would be too many dreams to keep her awake. She'd wait until midnight, take her sleep medication and try then. Trying to sleep in a new environment was always hard for Flynn, despite the fact that she had moved around all of her life. Opening the door to her room, Flynn noticed the paper missing and found it several feet inside the room on the floor. Smiling to herself, she went back down to the lobby to complain that someone had been in her room.

House woke at three, frustrated when he looked at the clock. He was almost sober now and it was too late to start drinking again. If he went to sleep the dream would come back. He could feel it tickling the edge of his brain. The book was on the desk in the living room where he had placed it. Getting up, House made his way down the hall, paused and looked at the book.

Did she remember? Is it in the book?

Swiping the book off its perch, House went back to bed, fluffed the pillows and put on his reading glasses. Swallowing hard he turned the book over and read the short biographical spin on Flynn, then opened the front of the cover and read the inscription on the third page, the one normally saved for the author's agent.

To Sarah, Greg and Blythe, ab imo pectore.

He stared at it; his stomach was churning, his head throbbing. 'From the bottom of my heart.' Why did she include me?

House reached for the water on his night stand and took a long drink. Turning the pages he looked for a chapter, a passage, a few words about what happened that day. He finally found it. Settling down to read, he felt his heart tighten into a ball, staying that way until he finished the passage.

House was shocked. She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember why she was at the store, what she was doing before she got into the car. If only she would remember, maybe then she'd punish me, then maybe, just maybe she could forgive me.

Dear Readers: Thanks for reading. Like I said, this is a different story. Sometimes both House and Flynn are not on their best behavior in this story and so they're not always 'likeable.' I hope you still enjoy it.