House ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He'd been at the hospital for more than 72 hours straight and was still no closer to a solution. He'd been sure – positive! – that it was an infection, but no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into his system the guy just kept getting worse, one organ system failing after another. At this rate, he had less than 24 hours to solve things or this guy's two little moppet daughters were only going to remember their father from photo albums.
In a fit of desperation he'd gone down to the patient's room, standing, staring at the guy's pale face and the monitors proclaiming his dwindling life signs – like advertisements of House's failure.
"Are you Doctor House?"
An attractive, brunette woman in her late thirties entered the room. The wife, he thought, great, just what he'd been wanting to avoid.
"Yes. Just checking his status." He picked up the chart from the end of the bed to give him a reason for just standing in the room staring – he imagined that the wife would view that as somewhat suspicious.
"Please, is he going to be okay?"
The tears welling in her eyes and the pleading tone were not what he needed.
"We're doing everything we can." It wasn't like him, but he settled for the vague platitude to give him thinking space, hoping she'd take the hint and shut up, give him some silence to think.
"Gary and I met in college you know."
Like he cared.
"We've got two beautiful girls now and he was just made manager at work."
Yeah, so? They'd already ruled out workplace toxins.
"I just don't know what I'd do without him," she continued, oblivious to his clear disinterest. "We're not just husband and wife. He's my best friend too."
He'd often heard couples say that, but never really believed it. It hadn't been like that with Stacy. They were sexual partners, that bit had always worked fine, but they each sought their friendships elsewhere. He would never have described her as his best friend.
The wife took a seat next to her husband's bed, clutching his hand in hers, obviously no longer caring that House was in the room.
"He's my best friend," she repeated to the room at large, "my husband and my children's father."
"But not your lover?" House asked, putting down the chart, his interest piqued.
She turned, startled.
"What do you mean? Of course he's my lover!" She was clearly insulted by the inference.
"It's just that when people do that list it's always best friend, husband, blah, blah, blah and lover. You missed that one."
She flushed with indignation. "I don't know what you mean! He's been a bit stressed lately, but he was always a gentle, thoughtful, caring lover."
Something in her tone made him pause. "Was gentle? But not recently?"
"We still have sex just as often as we always did." She looked away, giving House just the answer he needed. "His job is very stressful," she said finally.
"Well the good news is that your husband doesn't have an infection, but the bad news is that he has a brain tumour."
"What?" The wife clasped her hands to her chest in horror.
"I'll have someone come and take him for a CT to confirm."
Proud of himself, House turned and left the room.
His team were still huddled in the conference room where he'd left them, pouring over the patient's history and file notes.
"Someone go CT his brain." House announced as he walked back into the room.
"Don't be ridiculous. We have already scanned his entire body. And is brain is the one organ that's actually still working." Thirteen was the first to pour cold water on his diagnosis, as per usual.
"Ah, but I just got the inside running from the almost-widow," House said with a wink. "Their sex life hasn't been all wine and roses recently."
"But erectile dysfunction is more likely vascular," Taub interjected. "And that goes with the heart attack. Maybe we should…"
"Oh you young people," House waggled his finger at them, interrupting. "Always thinking the love is about the hokey pokey. What about the seduction? The romance? The wife says there's no problems with lift-off."
The four people sitting around the conference table stared at him with frank astonishment.
"Romance? House, what on earth are you talking about?" Foreman finally intervened.
"His personality has changed," House explained with a 'duh' tone in his voice, disappointed that he'd actually had to spell it out. "Go CT his brain, and look really, really carefully for a microtumor – or two, or three. And let's all hope that the wife hasn't secretly been enjoying the new rough and tumble."
Foreman gave him a sideways look but then shrugged.
"Okay people, let's do as the man says."
As the team left to do his bidding House's thoughts turned to his own sex life. It had been three days since he'd seen Jen, but she'd never been far from his mind. Although he'd been absorbed by the case, she'd kept popping into his thoughts. And last night, when he'd caught a couple of hours' sleep on the sofa in his office he'd almost embarrassed himself when Kutner had woken him to give an update on the patient's condition. He'd only just nodded off and was immersed in a half-dream, half-memory from the weekend, so when the warm hand pressed on his shoulder he'd been sure it was Jen's. Thankfully he'd bitten off groaning her name just in time.
And now that he was feeling so pleased with himself, so full of his own importance, she was who he wanted to see. Wanted to be with. Wanted to show her his importance, up close and personal.
"Shit." He swore under his breath as he checked his watch. He'd promised he'd call her. And he'd really meant to, as soon as he had a break, but he just hadn't had the chance. Now it was late on Wednesday night – she'd probably be in bed. And leaving it to call on Wednesday? Wednesday was when you called if you were vaguely keen. If you really cared, you called Monday. Especially if you were dealing with a girl like Jen. By now she'd probably decided he'd booty-called her for the weekend. Some repayment for her scraping his stupid drunken ass out of that bar.
Without waiting for confirmation from the team – so completely sure he was right – House packed up his things, turned off his computer and before he knew it, was on his bike headed for Jen's place.
His knock on the door was answered by Sarah, who stared at him with unconcealed dislike.
"Jen's in bed."
"I know, it's late…" House said apologetically, suddenly feeling like a teenager confronted by his date's parents, disapproving and reluctant to let him inside. He mentally reminded himself that he was at least fifteen years older than this woman and had no reason to shirk from her.
"So can I come in?"
Sarah shrugged, but opened the door wider and turned and went back to watching TV on the sofa. It wasn't the warmest welcome he'd ever had, but at least she hadn't closed the door in his face.
He walked into Jen's room and she was sleeping on her side, her hair spread over the pillow, her cheeks lightly flushed. He undressed as quietly as he could and crawled into bed beside her, hoping he wouldn't startle her. Pressing against her back gently, he swept her hair from the pillow and lay down behind her.
Inevitably, she woke and twisted around to look at him through half-lidded, sleepy eyes. He instantly had a moment of doubt – was this a good idea? Would she give him a hard time for not calling? Think it was unforgivably presumptuous of him? Was it too much to hope that she would understand that this was what his life was like?
Then she smiled. "Is everyone all better now?" she asked sleepily.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Yes, all better."
"Good." She cuddled into him, resting her head into the crook of his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her.
The idea he had about showing off, telling her all about his success faded. He was still horny as hell, but the exhaustion of three days almost non-stop working was also making itself felt. More than anything he felt comfortable and content as he glanced down at her small hand lying on his chest over his heart.
Suddenly he stiffened. Coming over here for a post-diagnosis-high, get-your-rocks-off shag was one thing, but this was something different. Comfortable? Content? These were not words in the Greg House adjective list.
"Sleep," she mumbled, patting him lightly on the chest having obviously felt his change in mood.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Yeah, sleep.
--
The next day
Cuddy looked up as Wilson walked into her office, a pile of papers in his hands.
"Here, these are the board papers that needed to be signed. I think that's everyone except you." He handed them across to her and she looked over the cover sheet nodding.
"Thanks, appreciate you following that up for me."
"No problem."
She expected him to leave, so when he sat down instead, she stared at him.
"What's up?"
"House has a woman in his life."
Cuddy blinked. "Really?"
"Yep, pretty sure. I went over on the weekend and she was there."
"A real live, actual woman?" She didn't mean to sound so surprised.
"Yes and I'm pretty sure this one was there of her own accord. Not as part of a financial agreement."
Cuddy grimaced, she didn't need to know stuff like that.
"What was she like?"
Wilson hesitated. "Not what you'd expect. Pretty, but…"
"But?"
"I don't know. Kind of frumpy."
"Frumpy?" Cuddy couldn't imagine it. House had very particular taste in women and frumpy was not on his menu.
"No, well, that's probably a bit mean, just…short. And a bit…" he held out his hands to indicate size.
"Oh. Well, I'm sure she's…" Cuddy had no idea what to say. She had no idea why any woman would want to be with House. Go to bed with House? Sure. She got that. But be with him? No…
Wilson's face suddenly lit up.
"You should make him come to the fundraiser on Friday and bring her. Then you could check her out yourself."
"No. That's mean. To me and to her. I'd have to put up with him complaining for a start and he'd want something in return."
"Just swap him some clinic hours."
Cuddy eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you so keen to see her?"
Wilson looked uncomfortable. "I'm not. I just thought it would be interesting…"
"Why don't you just invite them on a double date with you and Amber?" Cuddy asked mischievously.
Wilson shuddered. "Oh…no…Can you imagine?"
Cuddy chuckled. She had no idea what House's woman might be like, but she couldn't imagine anyone enjoying socialising with House, Wilson and Amber.
"What's her name?"
"Jen."
Cuddy sat back in her chair. It might just be fun to watch. And she had to admit, she was intrigued. The first woman to snare House since Stacy. She'd like to see that.
--
House looked up from his computer screen as Cuddy strode purposefully into his office.
"House. Friday night's fundraiser. You will be attending." Her tone brooked no argument.
"No, I will not be." His tone was just as firm.
"You will be if you wish to continue working in this hospital. All heads of department are expected to attend hospital fundraisers and you have not been to any this year. In fact you have not been to any since we held the casino night, and that has been brought to the attention of the board. So, unless you want to front up at the next board meeting and explain why your busy social life has kept you unavailable every Friday night for the past two years, you will be there."
"Cuddy…" he whined.
"Look House," she dropped her voice to a more pleading tone. "Just turn up, have a drink, say hello to a couple of people and leave. It's not hard."
"And what's in it for me?"
"Your job."
He sighed, the heavy sigh of the martyr.
Cuddy decided to leave before the conversation got into the bargaining stage as it normally would at this point.
"Wear a tux and be there on time." She turned and walked out of the office, pausing at the doorway. "And bring Jen."
She didn't see the daggers look House shot at her back as she left.
--
"Hi." As soon as Jen saw who the caller was, she'd motioned to one of the other coaches that she'd take the phone outside. Standing in the corridor with the noisy classroom behind her, she couldn't help smiling and her fingers fluttering around her neck as she answered.
She'd left him in her bed that morning, sound asleep, obviously seriously exhausted by his work over the previous three days. She had hoped he'd call, but wasn't sure if he'd be back at work, busy again.
"You at work?" she asked.
"Yeah, briefly, then I'm going home for more sleep." He still sounded tired.
"That's why I let you sleep this morning, you seemed exhausted." It felt like a really intimate conversation, something couples would discuss.
"Mmm, I didn't get much rest over the past few days."
"No I guess not." He was silent and Jen was at a loss for what to say. All she wanted out of the call was to know when she'd see him again, but she felt like she couldn't ask. That was something he had to do.
The silence stretched until finally he cleared his throat. "How's your day going?"
Small talk? Not what Jen expected. But she'd play along. "Fine. Busy day today with back-to-back sessions. And it's mostly writing coaching today which is what I like the best."
"Oh good."
"You?" Jen asked and then cringed. He'd already told her he was going home.
He ignored her question. "Are you busy tomorrow night?"
Yes! I'm going out with you! Jen stopped herself from doing a dance of celebration at his question and took a deep breath, trying to ensure she sounded calm and not too desperately eager.
"Friday? Yeah, I think I'm free."
"Well, there's this thing. A hospital fundraiser thing. I don't want to go, but I have to. I thought maybe we could turn up and be there long enough for me to placate my boss and then we could go do something else."
"Oh, okay, that could be fun."
"It's one of those black-tie things. At the ballroom at the Hilton."
"Oh." Jen's smile faded as she mentally flicked through her wardrobe. Nothing. She had nothing to wear. But at least he'd mentioned it. So many men would forget that detail and then wonder why women turned up wearing jeans.
"I can pick you up, though."
"That'd be nice. Probably in the car, though, not sure I could do evening wear on a motorbike."
He laughed softly. "Oh, I don't know. You'd have to hitch your dress up and wrap your bare thighs around me. That has something to recommend it."
Jen drew in a breath, instantaneously aroused. A comment sprung to mind and she bit it back, wondering if she was brave enough to say it to him. But then she reminded herself that she was now wanton-sex-goddess Jen, not check-out-a-new-library-book Jen.
She looked around to make sure no one could overhear and whispered into the phone. "You just made my nipples go hard saying that."
He chuckled, low and sexy. "I look forward to doing that in person tomorrow night."
Jen took a deep breath, trying to remind herself that she was at work and that she needed to go back to teaching a twelve-year old sentence structure in a minute.
"Okay, what time should I be ready?"
"It starts at seven. So I'll pick you up at eight."
"What?" Jen was confused.
"I've been told to be there and be on time. I'll do one, but not the other."
"Right." This man had serious problems with authority. "Well, see you then. Sleep well."
"Thanks."
He hung up without saying goodbye, but based on previous phone conversations she'd observed, she figured that was his standard procedure.
She stared at the phone for a while and then dialled her sister.
"Sarah? Is your shop open late tonight? I need your help."