Chapter Three - Fizzing
Six corridors and five floors. That's what it apparently took to find a set of working vending machines that did not read either out of order, out of stock or correct change only. The elevator opened into a sort of letter T shape with the corridors to her left and right snaking their way to parts unknown. Directly in front of the elevator doors was a sort of off cut from the main corridor which ended in the stairwell door and held only the required vending machine and a three seater sofa sort of thing. Arin walked towards the humming quarry and stopping stared at the device in front of her, something stirred deep in the recesses of her memory. Coins in one clenched fist she ran the fingertips of her empty left hand over the vending machine case tracing the white on red lettering and listening to the gentle hum of the refrigeration units.
She frowned and pushed the wet hair back out of her eyes as she tried to remember why this felt so familiar, slowly tuning out all sounds beyond the harmony of the machines.
Beyond the sphere of Arin's shrinking world the elevator door binged its arrival and smoothly slid open to reveal a tall man dressed in a crumpled blue shirt and walking with a cane.
From inside the wood paneled box, Dr House stepped out into the T junction corridor, still fuming from the most boring morning of stuffy noses, watery eyes, sunburn and generally annoying whining idiots that the streets of Princeton could muster. In addition, the apparent inability for the air-conditioning in his office to work had necessitated the hunt for something cold to drink. Even in that respect, he had lucked out, for the machines closest to his office were out of order and the next set were out of things to actually vend. He limped his way across the deserted hall into the junction and stopped in front of the first of three vending machines, finally grateful to have found one that both worked and had stock.
His leg burned from the added strain of his hunt. He inserted a couple of coins into the machine and hit a button with the handle of his cane. The rumbling as it produced his drink also seemed to stimulate a response in the only other occupant of the corridor.
The dark haired girl to his left jumped slightly as though only just noticing he were there. She dropped a quarter and bending to pick it up, brushed against the flowerpot housing the ghastly orange plant things Cuddy was using as 'ambient decoration'. The girl stood up and quickly put a series of coins into the machine, randomly pressing her hand across three buttons. They lit up and went out one by one as cans of soft drink were dispensed. He watched, noting two things that piqued his interest. Firstly she was soaking wet, as if she had recently been swimming and was waiting for the sheer heat to dry her off, but fully clothed. Secondly... he cast his eyes at her wrists she didn't seem to be wearing an sort of wrist band. Not a patient then. Thoughts of taking his hard won drink back to his office faded as he considered how she came to be in a hospital five floors up in her current state, but without any sort of obvious injury or sign someone had actually seen to her. He back peddled slowly and sank down onto the leather sofas opposite, watching her.
Arin sighed. She couldn't remember what she was supposed to be remembering. Her mind ticked back to the task at hand, and she scooped up her drinks without really looking to see what she had selected. She walked over to the sofa opposite and, observing social convention, threw herself down into the end seat its soft expanse feeling oddly comforting. The skin under her soggy blouse itched as it dried. She gently plucked the sheer material up and gave it a light shake to free it from the areas it stuck to her body. Looking down she noted for the first time that her bra was basically on view for the world. She flushed then feeling the heat rise up into her face. Well it wasn't like she could do much about it now.
How had she ended up here Arin wondered. The day had gone drastically askew. She should be either still at the mall having a pretzel or helping Robyn sneak her purchases into the house via the back door. The thought of Robyn made her eyes prickle. With a sigh she brought the soda can in her right hand up to the nape of her neck and the one in her left to her forehead. She hissed slightly as it touched her forehead and caused a stab of pain but it was gone as soon as it had come and swallowing she sat there, her eyes closed enjoying the silence and ignorant of the man sitting beside her.
The man, however, did not seem to be ignorant of her. She felt his weight shift as he turned towards her and then an awkwardly upbeat voice stated, "you know, they stopped making that stuff in the mid nineties after they realised what the long term effects of radiation was on the Chernobyl babies."
Arin slowly opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to look at him a bemused expression crossing her features, " Sorry?" She asked.
"It's like those pots of botanical nightmares over there..." He gestured towards the plant pots and waited. The girl blinked at him as if unsure what to say to such a statement and followed his gesture to look at the offending items herself. "... both relics of the USSR's nuclear programme."
A smile now played across her features and she turned to look at him. Taking in his crumpled shirt and jeans she made eye contact and blinked at the starling blue colour of his eyes above a tentative smile. It was almost, she mused, as if he wasn't used to making jokes. Or...he wasn't used to making jokes that didn't get him slapped. Taking the can away from her forehead she looked at it closely, "Sunkist?"
"Yeah," her companion agreed. " That thing almost contains enough waste for it to eat through the can."
He watched her as she turned the soda over and read the ingredients list. The corners of his mouth twitched as she made a face of disgust. "Be warned not all mutations grant super powers. Take my advice, toss that one in the trash."
The girl seemed to contemplate this a moment looking at the trash can nearby. She bent and put the soda down on the floor at her feet. Unopened. "Thanks for the tip," she said. Her voice sounded slightly hoarse.
Taking it as an opening, House shifted across the sofa and extended a hand. "Greg House. Archeologist, excavator and fellow seeker of the elusive cold beverage."
Arin watched him somewhat warily move himself towards her and then blinked at the proffered hand. Years of social training took over; she smiled lightly and took it in her own. He had a strong grip. "Arin Rae. I thought they had scrapped the male role when they decided to go for Lara over Lawrence."
The girls fingers felt cold, though given she had been holding a chilled soda and recently went for a 'swim', it was not surprising. "Even the greatest female tomb raider of all time learnt from a man."
Arin laughed. Then stopped as though she were afraid she would be caught doing something inappropriate. She glanced around and blushed slightly. Self consciously pushing her dark hair off of her forehead and behind her ears.
House watched the girl as she shifted a clump of hair away from her damp forehead, revealing a laceration about the length of his fingernail centred around a darkening bruise. He frowned. Even in today's safety mad society, that cut did not merit a trip to the ER. Nor did the bruise. Though he could not rule out a concussion at this stage. This puzzle would require a bit more poking.
"So, what happened to your head?"
Arin frowned her expression becoming confused. She reached a hand tentatively up to the area and pressed. A stab on pain rewarded her prodding and she hissed through her teeth, withdrawing her fingers and looking at them it wasn't bleeding now but given the rough feeling she associated with dried blood it obviously had been under her hair.
" I'm not sure…" she said slowly.
Great, House thought. kid doesn't even realise she's knocked a chip out of her skull. That meant she had either been in too much shock at the time to notice the injury, suffered short term memory loss and forgotten about it, or was a troll, and would have suddenly noticed it in about two days time. Either way, it helped him naught. Perhaps he should ask his next question using words containing only one syllable and a lot of grunts.
As her new companion considered her she thought back to the events of the mall and of finding Robyn. She paled slightly. "...There was an accident. It all happened so fast." She turned to look at him. Her eyes shiny as though she were trying not to cry. She turned away again and looked at her feet.
House took a long drink from his soda, only vaguely aware that she had spoken. Fishing in his pockets for his Vicodin netted him only a roll of Mentos and an empty orange bottle. Bastard! He'd swallowed the last of it while enduring the whingings of that idiotic gardener. His thoughts immediately drifted to the stash in his office. He was currently two floors and several corridors away. His leg would not cope with that trek without at least another fifteen minutes rest. Cursing his continued streak of bad luck, House unwound the loose paper of the mints and popped one in his mouth.
Minutes passed. "Lost something?" Arin asked. Composed for now she leaned back into the sofa and tilted her head at him ponderously.
House turned to face the girl, not allowing the 'caught with his pants down' look to show. The discovery of having finished his Vicodin had almost caused him to forget his dry docked water baby. "Grown up stuff," he replied, intending to close the matter before it even opened.
If his response annoyed her she didn't show it. Instead Arin placed the can of Diet Coke on her forehead again and sighed. "Do you ever look around yourself and wonder how the hell did i get here?" She asked glancing at him.
"I'd say all the time, but mostly it's at 3am."
She chuckled again and took another deep breath letting it out slowly. " I think i may be too young for that particular reference."
House gave her a sideways look. "What self respecting teenager hasn't been wasted at 3am and went for a dip in the neighbours pool at least once?"
Arin turned to look at him fully, making eye contact. Brown eyes to blue. " That's not what happened if that's what you're getting ready to segue into. Just so we are clear." Her tone was slightly clipped. " It was an accident." This guy was weird she thought, no doubts about that. Watching his eyes while he formulated his response Arin had the sudden and unnerving feeling that he could see through her, like she were being x-rayed.
House smirked to himself and resisted the bait she offered to divert his segue. She deserved points for recognising it, but he would not be deterred by a damp teenager, no matter how skimpy and see through her attire. "So…." he elongated for effect. "What kind of accident are we talking about here? One with copious amounts of water I'd wager."
"Wow...you must be like some sort of detective or something," she retorted. "The real question you want answered isn't what sort of accident. Rather, why is there a girl soaked from head to toe standing in a hospital five floors up from the ER with no obvious injuries or sign she has actually come in via the ER. That's the real noggin' scratcher right?" She frowned at him expectantly.
"I thought that one would have been obvious…?" For the second time House left the door ajar for a response.
Arin shook her head and looked away towards the vending machines. All she had wanted was five minutes of peace.
It almost disappointed House when none came; this girl had been doing so well too.
"...looking for soda." Arin said without looking away from the machines as though they had jogged the thought loose in her mind.
House smiled to himself as the words were snatched from his lips. Perhaps there was hope for this one yet. Quickly he prepared a second ball for service. "I suppose your point about obvious injuries would call into question your wider health. Given the fact that you were so oblivious to that chip in your skull." He managed to suppress a smirk. Lets see how she handles that he thought.
This caught her attention. She raised one dark eyebrow, on her uninjured side, in an arch that would have made Mr Spock jealous and considered him. " Wider health Doctor House?" She asked with a genuine note of curiosity in her tone.
House studied each an every twitch in her face and body language. Searching for any sort of boby pin that would help him pick this particular lock. When she spoke he maintained his infamous poker face. Well, she was better than the rabble he'd dealt with down in the clinic, though that wasn't saying much. Then again it could simply have been a wild punt upfield. His comment about 'wider health' hadn't exactly been subtle. Still, why not throw a dog a bone. They had a tendency to do more tricks that way.
"You've suffered head trauma that could have caused more damage than a simple laceration and bruising. Some form of concussion would not be surprising. You should really get it checked out downstairs."
Arin smiled as her suspicion was confirmed and brought her hand back to her forehead as he spoke. She shrugged. "You and I both know that it's not that bad. Some ice and Tylenol is all I need. And that can wait."
House laughed internally. Whenever he encountered someone so apathetic to their own health, he was reminded of a lung cancer patient who had felt 'fine' only a month before dropping dead. In his experience such stupidity only lead to a premature grave. However, the girl beside him did not seem the sort to be swayed by a 'prophet of doom' charade. Instead, he elected to try a rarely used tool in his arsenal, concern.
"Look," he began, trying his best to sound as if he genuinely cared about the girls wellbeing, "while you're not likely to bleed out from such a small cut, the bruising around it indicates that the trauma would have been sufficient to cause concussion. While I understand that you're concerned about your friend, you should at least make sure that your not going to collapse the second you walk out the door." House paused for a moment before realising he had forgotten something. "It's what he/she would want."
The smile that stretched across the girls pale features was a mixture of amusement and something else. She turned to face him again and looked him up and down as if sizing him up for the first time. "Actually that's not at all what they would want." She paused as if considering. "What they would want is for me to get a hairbrush and a hell of a lot of conditioner, and to make sure that her Grandmother didn't see the…" she trailed off considering. What the hell had they done with the bags? She couldn't remember. She had just followed the paramedics and sat down in the ambulance. If they had tried to ask her to leave she didn't remember either. Zen had followed in his car...arriving ten minutes or so after Arin had sat down in the waiting area. Maybe he had them.
"So it is a friend who's holled up downstairs in the ER and a girl friend at that," House interjected. The girl had done well not to betray the sex of the individual, however, had slipped up with the grandmother comment. Or maybe he was simply feeling for resistance that did not exist.
She looked down at her clothing wondering how many of Robyn's new purchases she would need to lay claim to in order for her friend to stay out of trouble or if the whole near drowning thing would mean she didn't need to do that at all. She ran her index fingers along the edges of the denim shorts pulling it slightly free from her thighs. These were very tight uncomfortable shorts. She surveyed her legs but the tightness wasn't the worst thing.
"You know what the most stupid thing about these shorts is?" she asked House as she observed a few scrapes and some bruises that certainly hadn't been there that morning.
"Major wedgies?"
With a shake of her head Arin gave him a would be withering look. "No. It's that they don't give enough protective coverage." She rubbed her hand gently up her calf and then felt a surge of guilt. Here she was sitting talking to this random stranger and complaining about some stupid superficial bruises while Robyn was downstairs having almost died. Arin huffed a sigh and shuffled her feet, eyes casting about the corridor as if taking in the place properly for the first time. She hated hospitals, hated the way they looked and the way they smelled. Like a swimming pool, but instead of excitement and fun the smell evoked a sense of loss and a kind of trapped feeling that, if she let it, made her feel physically sick.
Taking the comment as an invitation to leer, House allowed his gaze to trail down her thin, pale legs to a pair of ruined, well-worn red converse. He cocked his head upon noticing the stitched star and scuffed text on the outside of the left shoe. Those babies were limited edition and would have cost at least $350 new… if they were genuine.
"Are those custom stitched 2001 converse ex13-bright stars?"
Looking at her shoes Arin clicked the heels together and considered them. They had been a gift bought for her 15th birthday from her Grandfather...more likely purchased by her Grandfather's assistant. She hated to admit that she hadn't really questioned the shoes origins rather just delighted in the fact that they were so comfortable and right up her street. Harrison really did his job well she mused. "Probably." She admitted out loud to House. "They were a gift."
No surprises there then, House thought. Only the really rich brats would get away with downing that much on one pair of shoes. Still, her family most likely had money or one of her friends was very generous. For a moment he sat and pondered. The name Rae rang some sort of bell down in the dark and dusty depths of his mind, however, he had never been interested in New Jersey genealogy. On a related matter there had been something bothering him about the girls attire that he had put down to the damp. Yet having now given it headspace he realised he had in fact missed a trick.
"Those clothes don't belong to you," he said matter of factly, then added, "unless of course you have absolutely zero fashion sense… by Jersey standards."
"Really?" She asked him. "And how'd you work that out?" She didn't deny the claim.
"Those shoes are both well worn and you've admitted to being the owner. However, in no world of fashion do they match the shorts and peasant blouse ensemble." He gave her a devilish smirk. "Or is there a thing going on amongst the upper classes where they try to get in touch with their working class side."
Tilting her head she considered him again, "Ok…" she started. "You get upper class from the rarity of the converse. Assuming they are genuine of course. But what if I'm not. What if they were a gift when my gambler mother won it big or my father got a huge settlement for an accident on the construction site?" She smirked, was she enjoying this random interlude into the weirdness of the day. " It's a flimsy premis to go on if you ask me, half guesswork and half assumption. I thought doctors dealt in fact."
If House was taken aback any by her ballsiness, he did not show it. Though it was not often someone, other than one of his team, tried to call him on his deductions. He gave her a smile. "It's the accent, or lack thereof." He raised his eyebrows knowingly. "We're in Jersey."
"You are making the assumption that regional dialects are synonymous with social dialect. Lower classes tend to speak non standard dialects, upper classes to speak standard dialects. That's what you are working with. But what about middle class. Which my previous points would put me in, the dialect could still be standardised there as many working middle class families do speak more of a standard class dialect as they hope to one day move up and it makes them more acceptable." She gave him another smile. "Still a pretty flimsy premis."
House's smile widened and he waited a moment to see if the girl would notice that she had fallen squarely in a pitfall trap that Team Rocket would have been proud of.
Arin watched him, noted the grin and looked confused a moment before she rolled her eyes and sighed. Her smile gone. "I just played your hand for you didnt I?" she asked.
"More that you've placed your cards face up on the table, but thanks for playing."
House gave her a moment to reevaluate the situation and helped himself to another mint and mouthful of coke, enjoying the fizzing sensation on his tongue when the pair unceremoniously collided.
She smiled and shook her head again. "You know, you are possibly the strangest person I have ever met." She leaned back into the sofa and pinched the bridge of her nose as if her head hurt. "It's been a very long weird day." She added softly.
House resisted the urge to say, 'I get that a lot, I don't know why'. Instead he swallowed the remnant of his candy and decided to bring the conversation back to the point at hand,specifically the accident that led to the girl sitting on a sofa soaking wet, five floors up and conversing with an old drug deprived doctor.
"So what happened to your friend to land her a spot downstairs?"
Closing her eyes Arin drew in breath as if to explain then stopped. Silence for a few heartbeats. "I don't really know." She said finally without opening her eyes. "Long story short, she fell into a fountain…"
House considered things for a moment. He was beginning to see how this so called 'concerned and caring' attitude worked. Was this what it felt like to be be Cameron? No, he reasoned. There was a distinct lack of whining and breast tissue for that. He turned back just in time to hear the word fountain. He racked his brain. Teenage school kids spending the day together somewhere that had a fountain large enough for a girl of about 5"7' to go for a swim in… "The John McPhearson Mall," he then said aloud.
Unaware that House was soul searching by her side Arin furrowed her brow thoughtfully and continued, eyes still closed. "... the real question is how the hell did she get in the fountain to begin with. I think she took an asthma attack and passed out. She must have been sitting on the upper pool or something. I don't know if she hit her head or what but I think she was unconscious by the time we noticed her…" she trailed off. " I mean if she had been taken an Asthma attack and fell in the water it would stop right? Isn't that a thing.. divers reflex?"
Well, that spoiled the fun, House thought, feeling slightly cheated. If he'd wanted the particulars laid bare he could have called down to the ER and had the attending fill him in. It wouldn't have been difficult. How many soaking wet teenagers could they have gotten on a day like this?
Arin seemed to be recounting the events of the accident. In her head she replayed Robyn's skirt askew, the hair trapped in the stupid pump thing...what would have happened if they hadn't got the power off when they did. And the sight of her when she lay on the ground. Lips blue, skin pure white and makeup running while the woman tried to resuscitate her. It took Arin back to another sort of half memory that she tried to suppress...of someone else pale and lifeless while desperately someone tried to resuscitate them...alarms blaring. The noise echoed inside her head and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her, her palms grew slick and an acidic taste like bile filled her mouth. She swallowed hard and tried not to throw up.
When neither party bothered to continue the conversation, House turned to look at the girl. Her cheeks had gone pale and her eyes, while not quite glassy, seemed to have zoned out. Doctor mode kicked in and he instinctively delved into his pocket for his penlight. Reaching out with his left hand, House took hold of her chin and gently turned the girls face towards him and shone the bright, white light into her eyes.
"You ok?" he asked, the feigned concern dropping from his tone as he reverted back to House classic.
At first there was no response from her. Her pupils constricted under the light. His words seemed to rouse her in a sort of dazed delayed reaction. She blinked hard then screwed her eyes up at the light and pulled her head away from his grasp. "What are you doing...?" she demanded weakly.
She looked around and drew a shaky breath. "I need to go." She said more to herself than him. She pushed her hands into the sofa, scooped her soda up and stood. The momentum seemed to carry her further than she meant however and she swayed slightly as the nausea was replaced with a wave of dizziness. She slowly lowered herself to the seat again.
House reached up and taking hold of her arms, helped guide the girl back down to the sofa. From the brief glimpse he had gotten of her eyes and the clear sudden onset of dizziness, he could tell that the bonk to the head had indeed rendered her with some form of concussion. Taking her wrist between his thumb and forefingers, he looked at his watch and began to count.
After exactly a minute, he announced, "your tachycardic and are suffering bouts of vertigo when you try to stand up. You've got a concussion and need to take a trip back downstairs." On hearing his own words, he thought for a moment. "In fact it's probably best if you don't use the stairs… or go by yourself."
With his free hand House reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open he scrolled through his contacts until he found Foreman's number and hit the call button. It rang three times before the irate voice of his lackie answered.
"House, what do you want?"
Arin sat with her eyes closed willing the dizzy feeling away. She was only partly aware of House while she focused on getting herself under control. As it ebbed she moved her arm and felt both pressure over the pulse point in her wrist and resistance to her movement. Her eyes flew open and registered House holding her wrist, his phone in his other hand and the fact he were speaking to someone else just as he said…
"I need a wheelchair up on floor five. The vending machines in that alcove opposite the elevators."
Panic, sudden and sharp hit her heart, she blinked furiously and pulled sharply at her assailant as he held her. Her breathing hitched up a notch and unable to free herself she did the only thing that came to mind. She reached over, grabbed the phone from his unsuspecting hand with her free one and snapping it closed, tossed it towards the end of the sofa. It sailed through the air and came to a stop on the leather arm rest before falling onto the floor with a small clatter and sliding out of reach.
Both House and Arin watched it in the sort of stunned silence that follows such an act. Arin stared at her hand as though shocked at what she had just done.
"Hey!" House exclaimed, his tone a cocktail of anger, annoyance and surprise.
The shock wore off and she pulled her hand again trying to free it from his grasp. "Let me go!" She stated as she struggled.
Inadvertently acquiescing to her request, House let go of her wrist. Casting his gaze across the polished floor to where his cell phone lay, he groaned internally. The damn thing was out of reach for both his arm and cane. Cursing under his breath, he turned his attention to the aforementioned stick of wood that sat between him and the now vandalous little pixie. Gripping the handle firmly in his right hand, he maneuvered the tip to hover above her left foot. Pushing down with all his weight, House used the cane to help him rise.
Pain flared in her foot and she yelped. "Ow!" Her attention immediately turned to her foot and then looking up at him she glared. Her cheeks flushing in anger. "What the Fuck!?" She demanded. "What did you do that for?!" She too got to her feet her earlier difficulty apparently forgotten. The fingers of her right hand clenched on the single can of soda that had rested against her leg, her knuckles had turned white, her breathing slightly ragged.
House ignored the outburst and, completely oblivious to the daggers she was now staring at him, stepped forwards a few paces and bent down to pick up his cell. Continuing to blank her, he shuffled backwards and sat back down, carefully turing the device around in his hands to check for any damage. Kids these days were so darn disrespectful of other people's property.
Arin scowled and shaking her head looked away at the elevators. " You know what fine…"
The words her brain supplied helpfully from the list of appropriate things to say like 'Sorry,' and 'I shouldn't have thrown your phone.' Or even ' I will pay for that if it's damaged.' Refused to leave her mouth as if she were physically unable to state them to this man. She closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on herself. Instead what came out was. "...Forget it." And she moved in front of him to get by. She had enough of this, heart hammering in her chest and throat now feeling dry she kept her hands clenched, one around the soda can and one in a fist.
The movement of the girl eventually registered in House's brain and he pocketed his cell. Regardless of her hoodlum-esqu behaviour, she was still in need of medical attention. Something that, somehow, he was sure she would not go get if he allowed her to walk past him and to the elevators. Cane still firmly in his hand, House quickly shoved it between her legs and twisted trying to redirect her momentum back towards the sofa.
Arin took one step, collided with the wood of the cane and yelped again as it jarred her shin. The twist propelled her back as if she had been pushed, causing her to automatically step backwards to try and regain her balance and for her heels to make contact with the edge of the sofa. With nowhere to go she wobbled and then fell back into the middle cushion with a slight 'oof', once again, By the irate Doctor's side.
"What's your problem?!" she demanded sounding winded.
"Idiot's that ignore good medical advice grind my gears," he replied with mock offence. "Now, why don't you sit there while my underling fetches you a nice, safe wheelchair." His words may have held a hint of humor, however, he was through with joking. This mild case of concussion could very well get him out of clinic duty for the rest of the day if he played his cards right.
Scowling darkly Arin pushed her free hand into the sofa again and got to her feet. "I didn't ask for your help. I don't want your help. And I don't need a wheelchair." She stated her tone verging from indignant to defensive.
The girls attitude reminded House of exactly why he disliked the gentry. Though come to think of it, he did not know for certain that she belonged to it. Perhaps it was a subconscious recollection of something he had encountered regarding the family name, Rae. Regardless, it made no difference. They had all that money, yet the one thing they couldn't buy was common sense… and there she was trying to get up again. House rolled his eyes, stretched out his arm and caught her trailing hand. With a quick tug he hauled her back down towards the brown leather.
Arin yelped out loud and snatched her hand away from his towards her chest as if his touch had burned her. "Don't touch me!" She spat at him. " Let me go."
House brought his piercing blue eyes up to meet her deep browns. Locking her gaze he took in her pale features. Her palm felt sweaty in his firm grip. He didn't need to touch her pulse point to know that her heart rate had shot up to new heights.
"All the colour has drained from your face," he began, using his authoritative doctor voice. "Your palms are sweaty and your heart rate has increased again. Right now, for some reason which I am sure there is a fascinating explanation for, you're beginning to panic. I'd even go as far to say that your displaying symptoms of paranoia."
That last comment may have been a stretch but she didn't need to know that. The more unusual her symptoms, the less likely it would be that Cuddy would detect he intended to use the kid to skip out on clinic duty.
Arin stared at him, she could hear her heart beating in her chest and the blood it pulled rushed to her ears. Like a small roar. She struggled against his grip again and felt a surge of adrenaline. Why she fought him, she herself did not know. All she knew was that this man had hold of her and intended to take her somewhere she didn't want to go and do...god knows what. She felt confined and unable to breathe.
He continued to watch her, blue eyes boring into dark browns once more. "Look," he tried to reason." I'm a Doctor, I want to help you. I'm not going to hurt you, idiot."
His eyes, brilliant blue commanded her to look at him, to see sense and listen to him but they unnerved her in a way she more felt than understood. She wasn't listening to anything he said. It just sounded like noise. It was fight or flight time and she had no way of escaping and nothing to fight him with. Unless...she glanced down at the soda can she still clutched in her free hand and manoeuvring her thumb popped the lid. It resisted a second then depressed with a short hiss. Starting to hyperventilate and desperate to get loose she brought the can between them both and upturned it into his lap.
House noticed too late what the girl was doing. In a vain attempt to evade the gush of liquid, he shifted as far back into the couch as he could, to no avail. The soda splashed over his lap and he instinctively released his grip on her hand and batted at the freefalling can; it bounced off his knee and fell to the floor. Oblivious to what the girl was now doing, House stood up and tried to brush what little standing liquid that remained from his crotch.
Arin fled up the corridor and towards the elevator. The adrenaline rush giving her speed. She slid to a stop at the doors and jabbed hurriedly and repeatedly at the button to summon the behemoth of escapism that it now represented. "Hurry up, hurry up!" She bounced on the balls of her feet. Like a smoke grenade, that can wouldn't keep him busy for long and she had to get away.
By the time House realised that there was nothing more he could do for his juiced jeans, the girl had already made it halfway down the hallway. The moment of surprise and shock had already ebbed, but the sight of her fleeing had replaced all thoughts of helping her with just one, vengeance. Taking in the large bottle of soda on the front of a vending machine, he felt the faint lingering taste of mint on his tongue when he rolled it around his mouth. He smirked to himself. Time for that bitch to get a taste of her own medicine. He was only vaguely aware of the irony of that sentiment as he quickly formulated a plan.
Cane in hand, House quickly crossed the short distance between the sofa and the machines. Stuffing his hand inside his pocket he pulled out a fistfull of coins and hurriedly shoved them into the solitary machine that vended bottles; not giving a wooden nickel about correct change. Come on, come on, he cursed as he waited for his weapon of choice to fall. The loud thud of the bottle landing filled the hallway and House quickly bent down to snatch it. Limping as quickly as he could, he set off after his prey.
The elevator binged it's arrival and Arin roughly shoved her way in before the doors were even fully open. Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered her Grandmother teaching her she should always wait for the elevator to fully come up and open to make sure it was actually there and she wasn't about to step into an empty shaft.
Thankfully the elevator gods were kind it seemed and she spun around desperately seeking the buttons to get her out of this corridor. She hit one and risked a look at House and the corridor she had just vacated. She frowned at what he was doing in confusion.
House could only watch the girl scurry into the elevator. There was no chance he'd make it to the door before it closed and the carriage departed. With only a split second to choose, he stopped dead with about eight feet to go and hurriedly unscrewed the bottle cap. Pulling the last of the Mentos out of his pocket, he looked up at her and smirked.
"Fire in the hole," he declared, as in one fluid motion he dropped the candies into the bottle and lobbed it into the elevator. The chemical reaction took hold mid-flight, the air turning the bottle neck upwards towards the lift just in time for the main geyser to burst out spraying into the carriage.
Arin yelled and cowered from the fizzy onslaught as she was sprayed. The bottle then landed at her feet, clearing the closing door just in the nick of time in a move that Indiana Jones himself couldn't have achieved. It lay still for a split second as if in shock then erupted, spitting, fizzing and hissing like an angry cat.
"Bullseye!" House declared. He did a fistpump as the doors closed. That would teach the smart-mouthed, punk-assed, ragamuffin a lesson. Physics always wins. Now to get back to his office and change before someone saw him and started spreading gossip about him pissing himself.
Arin screamed and closing her eyes shrank against the wall of the elevator where she slid down to her haunches on the floor as if that would save her from some of the mess. She was, for the second time that day soaked. This time large dark stains covered her light blouse and shorts. Her yells echoed up the shaft to her assailants waiting ears as the black bulb of the camera in the corner dripped quietly observing all.
A slight squeaking sound announced an arrival into the corridor just as one left. Eric Foreman stood behind an empty wheelchair frowning quizzically at his strangely happy looking boss.
"Uh…" he began looking from House to the closed elevator doors and drippings of some sort of liquid. "...what are you doing?" His tone was mildly exasperated, mildly intrigued. " What's up with the wheelchair...have you actually got a patient?" He looked around for some in the otherwise empty junction. Then frowned, screwing his nose up.
"Are your pants wet?" He asked sounding mildly disgusted now.
The untimely arrival of his underling deprived House of both his quick getaway and time to relish in his victims echoed screams. Still, such a performance demanded some form of good exit. Jabbing the call button with his cane, House shot Foreman a mischievous look with one eye.
"You were getting lazy sitting in that office while the rest of us were out hunting for patients. I thought you could use the exercise."
Anger flared across Foreman's features. " You mean to say you called me to bring you this when you didn't actually need it?" He turned around and shook his head.
"No… I inferred that you were getting fat. That labcoat really is starting to look a bit tight."
"Oh yeah real mature House. And here I thought you actually needed help. Your mother never teach you the story of the boy who cried wolf?"
"She did," House conceded. "Only when she told it, the boy had a crossbow and shot the wolf dead. He made a pretty penny selling the pelt. That's capitalism for you."
Foreman muttered darkly, head shaking incredulously and spinning on his heel marched off leaving the wheelchair with House. "Chase is doing crosswords!" He yelled over his shoulder without looking back. "Next time bother him." He turned left and vanished.
"Wrong again," House called after him. "My patients about to drop in on Cameron. Make sure your good and ready for diagnosing after lunch. Or it might be your pelt we end up selling."
The apparent victor in two rounds against two opponents, House smirked to himself as the doors to the elevator on the left binged open and greeted him with a soda free carriage. He limped in, pressed the cane into the button and waited. Time for lunch.