A/N: So, we've reached House's final destination. It's New Orleans or bust :) FYI I just began working on chapter 17 so we have a ways to go yet.

Chapter Fourteen

The bright lights of New Orleans mesmerized Greg as he rode his new motorcycle through the city. It was all so overwhelming that he didn't know where to look first, where to go first. However, his rumbling stomach told him that food was a first priority so he kept his eye out for the nearest restaurant and found a hole-in-the-wall place that looked packed from the window. That was always a good sign. He made an illegal U-turn and pulled up in front of the restaurant just as a police car pulled in next to his bike and a female cop got out.

"You there," she called to him, waving him over. "Hang on just a minute."

He turned and faced the cop, looking her up and down approvingly. She was cute, much shorter than he was, but very well-built and he had no doubt she'd be able to take him down in a New York minute.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" he asked as he gave her his most charming smile. He didn't turn on the charm often, but when he did, most women fell hook, line and sinker.

The cop gave him a sidelong glance and he could've sworn one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile, but then was gone in an instant.

"You made an illegal U-turn over there," she said as she reached into her back pocket for her ticket book.

"Oh come on! You're seriously going to write me up a ticket? I'm from out of town and I'm starving. I saw this place so I turned around. Look," he said pointing to the quiet road. "It's almost midnight and the roads are quiet. It's not like I would've caused an accident."

"Rules are there for a reason Mr..."

"Just call me Greg," he said with another charming smile. He was on a mission to wear her down and talk his way out of a ticket.

"Can I see some ID, Greg?" she asked, his name dripping from her lips with disdain.

He sighed and took out his wallet, handing over his ID. "Nevada, huh? Long way from home."

Greg shrugged. "It just happened to be where I was living when my driver's license expired."

"So where are you from?"

"I prefer the term "wandering nomad," he grinned.

"I see," she said as she handed back the license. "Well, Mr. Lazarus, I'm going to let you off with a warning this time. But if I see you violating more traffic laws, I will write you up."

He nodded and tried not to look smug. "Thanks." Then he gestured to the restaurant. "This place any good?"

"The best. My dad owns it and runs it. So if it's good food you're after, this is the place."

"Good to know. So, got a first name? Lieutenant..." he said, squinting to read the name on her badge, "Lafayette?"

She smirked and flipped open her ticket book as she took a pen from behind her ear and bit off the cap.

"Yeah. It's Lieutenant."

Yes, he was definitely taken with the cop. She was definitely pretty, with strawberry blonde hair tied into a French braid that went halfway down her back and steely grey eyes that looked ice cold. She had broad shoulders and he could see from her well-sculpted arms that she did indeed workout.

"Gotcha. Well thanks for the tip, and for letting me off the hook, this time. Won't happen again," he said as he placed his helmet on the seat of his bike and headed toward the restaurant doors.

"Be sure that it doesn't," she replied as she watched him go, admiring the way his ass fit in the well-worn jeans he had on and gave her head a shake. "Get a grip, Lee," she muttered to herself as she got back in her car.

Inside, Greg found an empty seat at the bar, looked over the menu and placed an order for seafood gumbo and a beer. When his beer came, he took a long sip and relaxed. "Hey," he asked the bartender, "what's the housing situation like around here?"

The man glanced at him as he continued to clean the glasses with a rag. "Actually, someone just moved out of the place upstairs. It's been empty for a week now. Bob, the owner, has been trying to rent it but it's kinda pricy."

"How much?"

"$1100/month with utilities. Fully furnished."

"How many square feet?"

"Uh..." the man thinks, "800 or so, I guess. It's a bachelor pad. You married?"

Greg chuckled into his beer and shook his head. "Nope."

"I'll ask Bob later. In the meantime, there's a good hotel up the road if you're looking for a place to stay. I take it you're not just passing through."

"Nope. I'm planning to stay awhile."

"Well then, welcome to New Orleans! Your drinks are on the house tonight."

Greg was a little overwhelmed by the man's hospitality, but raised his glass to him in a thank-you and drained his beer. In less than a minute, there was a fresh one sitting there.

"We're also open for breakfast if you're so inclined. Ol' Bob back there prides himself on his bacon and eggs."

Greg glimpsed at the kitchen area where a much older man with a beer belly chopped onions.

"Sounds good to me."

His meal was brought out shortly after and he dug in right away. "Good, huh?" the bartender chuckled. "Best authentic food in New Orleans."
"That would explain why this place is so busy."

After he finished, he left a generous tip and made his way back to his cycle, which had something stuck to the seat. "What the..." he hissed as he grabbed the ticket. The only thing was that it wasn't filled out. All that was written was a phone number. He glanced around but didn't see a patrol car anywhere so he shoved the ticket in his pocket.

He rode down the street to the nearest hotel that looked like it might've been a plantation at one point back in the Civil War and went inside where he was greeted by a young woman who smiled politely at him.

"Welcome to New Orleans, sir. Would you like a room?"

"That's why I'm here," he said as he smiled back at her. What was it about this place? He wondered as he signed in. Everyone's smiles were infectious and they were all so friendly. It was rubbing off on him and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"It's called happiness, House," Wilson's voice resonated in his mind. Then there was a wicked chuckle. "You should try it. Eat thy forbidden fruit."

"Shut up," House thought back as the girl handed him a key on a ring.

"Down the hall, last door on the right. I gave you the suite. There's a large soaker tub in there."

"Great. Thanks."

"You're welcome...Mr. Lazarus," she smiled sweetly at him. "If you need anything else, just call the front desk."

He nodded and carried his bag down the hall to his suite, which was quite simple in its decor but very modern with chrome fixtures and clean lines. However, with a full stomach and an aching leg, he took his dose of methadone, changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

X X X

A few days later, Greg found himself back at the same restaurant enjoying happy hour that ran from four to six P.M.

He was getting ready to leave when a woman entered. There was something familiar about her that he couldn't place. She was wearing a red V-neck sweater and slim jeans with knee high boots and her hair was long and hung in curls down over her shoulders. She approached the bar, smiled at Greg as she walked past him and headed to the back.

"'Bout time you got here, Lee," Bob called to her.

"Sorry Dad. Had a situation," she shouted over the crowd as she took her place behind the bar and put on an apron. Her eyes occasionally turned back to Greg but she quickly went about her tasks, taking drink orders and filling pints of beer with expertise.

It took a couple of minutes before all the pieces clicked together in Greg's head and he realized that the blonde bombshell was the cop who pulled him over the other night and gave him her phone number. He reached into his wallet and pulled out the piece of paper. "I heard you're a cop," he said to her. "I need a number traced."

She glanced up at him, a twinkle in her eye. "I don't do that for just anyone."

"Well, here's the thing...she didn't leave her name. So I can't really call her if I don't even know what to call her. You can see my dilemma."

She blushed almost as red as her shirt and bit her bottom lip in a very sexy way. "Perhaps we can just start over from the beginning?"

"What? And skip the sexy cop outfit?"

"What sexy cop outfit?" one of the drunk patrons slurred as he turned around and stared at the two of them. "I wanna see."

"I don't think so. Behave yourself, George."

George looked her over just as Greg had, but it was much more creepy and became even more so when he grabbed her behind and gave it a good squeeze. Without thinking, she pulled back and in her efforts, elbowed Greg in the face, knocking him over.

George found it hysterical and started laughing. Lee pretended to laugh with him until she stepped on his foot and gave him a swift uppercut to the chin, knocking him out stone cold. Some of the other patrons caught him as she turned around and tended to Greg who was picking himself up off the floor and rubbing his nose which was now bleeding.

"Scrappy little thing, aren't you?" he muttered as she handed him a towel.

"Is it broken?" she asked, looking worried.

"If it is, it wouldn't be the first time. But no, I don't think so. I'll live. Just get me an ice pack, STAT."

She hurried off to get it and he sat down heavily on the bar stool, testing his nose to make sure it wasn't indeed broken. Relieved that it was okay, he took the icepack Lee offered him and sighed.

"You were saying something about starting over? Which part did you want to start from?"