Chapter 13

The next week proceeded as if nothing was amiss: House continued receiving poems and would always drop by her apartment to either complain or discuss them…or, quite simply, just to be fed. He wouldn't mention the poem; he'd just give her his pathetic "I'm hungry" look. She'd roll her eyes and they'd go inside. It was always platonic and there was never any physical contact…much to their mutual chagrin.

Unbeknownst to either of them, their feelings for each were growing, despite what was said (on his part) or what misunderstandings lay between them (again, that was mostly him). Both found themselves looking forward to the next time they'd see each other. And for House, their nightly routine became the one thing, other than medicine, that he looked forward to each day.

And Romoly thought that with all the poems and all the discussions that she was finally making some sort of progress with him. But the day before the Pediatric Cancer Event kicked whatever was between them into high gear.

Romoly still hadn't told House she was going with Wilson to the event (something she planned never to do) and, from what she could tell, Wilson hadn't told House either. Otherwise, she just knew he'd be badgering her about it…probably forever. Romoly already knew he'd be pestering her about the party so why prolong the torture?

That Thursday night before the party, House had arrived home the same time Romoly stepped out of her apartment to take out the garbage. "Excuse me," she smiled, trying to slow the fluttering in her heart when she saw him. Maybe there was something wrong with her…it had been increasing lately and she was getting concerned. Funny how it only happened when he was around. She walked around him and he watched her walk away, something he didn't get to see as often as he'd like and thoroughly missed. When she returned a couple moments later, House was standing outside his apartment, reading her latest poetry installment:

The story of your life

Isn't what you see all around;

It could very easily change…

What if it brings you down?

This life you are living;

The finish won't necessarily be good.

So do what you can

And don't live your life misunderstood.

My dear doctor and neighbor,

Striving for what you think's needed.

I'm here to tell you

You won't know unless you've heeded.

Heeded to your friend's warnings,

Heeded to their warnings without bias.

Their devotion to your feelings

Has become overwhelming and almost pious.

You are an extraordinary man:

Very smart, intuitive, witty and great.

Of whom I care much,

More and more, certainly of late.

I'm not a person's happiness;

Happiness is more than a feeling.

But happiness begets a beginning,

A foundation for a new healing.

I'm not telling you what

You should do or should say.

I'm just telling you what

You could do or could say.

You can say what you

Would like for me to know.

I will certainly be here

For whatever you'd like to show.

The care you have provoked

Isn't from a wife or lover;

It's the care a friend

Has to give to one another.

You don't need a lover,

You need a kind word said.

You need a safe touch,

Where tears will not be shed.

Dr. House, you've shown me

How to be what I want.

Now let me show you

What you strive to be sought.

Romoly

House looked up and didn't say a word; simply watched Romoly as she stood beside him. "What is the meaning of this?" House was getting angry, an emotion she definitely didn't expect to get from him.

"It's your poem for the evening." He narrowed his eyes and she stepped back a bit. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'What?'? I think you just called me pathetic."

Romoly tilted her head and looked at him. "No, it was never intended like that. I was just telling you that I like you and that I hope you'd heed the warnings and suggestions of others. I just wanted you to know that life changes and isn't always good but if we listen to others, the changes will grow and strengthen us."

"But that's not how I am."

"What's not how you are?" Romoly was going to make him work for this.

House rolled his eyes and, moving to the doorknob, unlocked the door to his apartment while Romoly stood outside. She was afraid to move, lest she get sucked into the lion's den. House reappeared from inside the apartment. "Well, are you coming?"

Romoly didn't know where this was leading but her curiosity was getting the best of her. "I don't know…is it safe?"

House smirked but it never reached his eyes. "Nope."

"Ok." Romoly shrugged and followed House inside the inner sanctum. It was quite a milestone; after all, they were always either in the hallway or at her apartment. And what she saw gave her a better understanding of who he was: very masculine furnishings and decor…but very juvenile, rebel clutter: countless musical instruments; medical journals and Playboys were strewn all around. There was just a general sense of clutter about the apartment, not unlike the clutter in his life. She'd found, during her travels on the journey of life, that personal and habitation appearance was always a very good sign of the person and what's going on in their life. With House he looked like he'd never had it cleaned. He probably threw stuff on the floor the moment he moved in, she thought, stepping deeper into the lair.

"Dr. House, what's the problem?"

He waved the poem. "This. I really liked the other poems: they weren't centered on my personal flaws and problems. Now?" He looked down and balled up the paper, sending it hurdling through the space of the apartment. "Now you've got me looking pathetic because I'm wallowing in my "inner demons" and that my life sucks unless I listen to others tell me how to live. And what's this caring crap? You don't want to be my lover but you "care" enough to want to cure me?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm not telling you what to do; it's your life. But your life could be better if you took other people's advice."

He watched her then limped closer to her. "Right now I really hate you."

*****

And Romoly didn't know what to say. That was certainly not what she expected to hear. Confused, she looked at him with wide grey eyes. "Hate me? Why?"

"You make absolutely no sense. Everything about you is a contradiction. What am I supposed to do?"

"What does it matter if you're supposed to do anything or not? And what are we to each other, anyway? I write you poetry because you won't listen to me when I tell you I'm a librarian." She might as well come out and tell him why she's doing what she's doing. "I didn't know how else to prove that to you. And you should be grateful…no one else has ever read my poetry." She paused. "I work in a library; you think I'm a virgin; and you're mad because I don't want to be your lover…"

(Oh Romoly, she rebuked herself; she was hoping that lie at the end would sail right through him, that he wouldn't notice that she was trying her hardest NOT to be his lover. The last thing she needed at the moment was to become his plaything. Or so she thought. You're such a liar.)

"…when you've given me absolutely no sign you even want me for a lover other than all the sexual comments you feel are necessary. I don't sleep with just anyone…" Now she was getting mad because he so obviously didn't believe a word she was saying; it was the goofy shaking of his head that tipped him off. "…you still think I'm a virgin, don't you?"

"Sweetheart, I don't believe a word you say; your lips say you don't want me but your flushed cheeks, heaving breasts and defiance tells me otherwise. You probably dream about me, don't you? In the comfort of your bedroom, as you sleep amongst the wittle bitty stuffed bears and the oh so handsome stuffed orangutan, you dream of what I can do to make you a woman; of where I can touch you; where I can kiss you. Thirty-five years is a long time to go without sex; I usually can't go thirty-five hours. And I can spot a virgin a mile away; you give off this desperation signal, very similar to the Bat Signal. Men of my caliber can spot it a mile away."

She knew he'd torment her about her sexual prowess (or, if you asked him, her lack of) and that no matter what she said he'd disregard it. Quickly, and seemingly imprudently, throwing caution (and her good sense) to the wind, Romoly marched up to him and grabbed his face with both hands. She didn't know what she was doing but she couldn't stand it anymore; she had to do SOMETHING, anything to shut him up, anything to convince him she wasn't what he was saying. Quickly marveling at the tingling his whiskers sent through her fingers, Romoly's eyes devoured his face as she whispered, "Would your definition of a librarian do this?" She stood on her toes and covered his lips with her own, her tongue begging entrance to his mouth.

House failed to respond for several nanoseconds, so in shock was he. But it didn't take long for him to drop his cane and wrap his arms around her trim waist. It was the feel of her lithe body in his arms that involuntarily released the groan he'd kept pent up the entire time they'd known each other. And it was true: he'd wanted to touch her from the moment he saw her half-naked and wet…but when he discovered she was a librarian? She'd become even hotter to him, that almost forbiddance was enough to keep him in agony at night, thinking about her, despite everything he said about "librarianism". It was simply a façade for the real issue.

House's mouth quickly granted her tongue access to his, thereby giving her the lead. After all, Romoly needed to prove, on his level, that she was what she said.

The kiss quickly intensified as she moaned and pushed herself closer to him, grinding against his tall frame. House was totally on autopilot: he couldn't have had a coherent thought, even if someone was having the thought for him. Romoly suddenly turned up the heat as she began swirling her tongue slowly, languidly over; under; around his. The agonized gasps he emitted told her she was doing something right.

At long last (it had really only been a few moments), Romoly disentangled herself from him and stepped back a good five steps, shaking like a sapling in the springtime breeze, breathing heavily from the severe lack of oxygen. She briefly wondered how much brain damage she'd suffer from that lack of oxygen.

Truth be told, she'd never been kissed like that (and she'd had her fair share of kisses); he was quite amazing with his tongue. The whiskers helped as well, even though she'd never been a whisker lady.

"Well? Would she?" Romoly panted, hoping to get him to answer her question. All he could do was gasp for breath as he stared, glassy-eyed, at her.

House shook his head as he also attempted to catch his breath. "Not even my hookers have kissed like that…I guess they would if I let them kiss me on the mouth."

And that killed the mood for her.

House, still trying to shake off the passion that lingered, narrowed his eyes with disbelief and a slight twinge of betrayal. "I am now convinced that you're lying: you can't be a librarian. Librarians don't kiss like that."

Romoly's mouth dropped. She couldn't believe how obstinate and childish he was being about this whole thing: he wasn't going to believe her no matter what she said. 'Fine,' she thought. 'I can only do so much.'

Romoly became sarcastic. "Dr. House, you caught me; you are so right about me. I'm actually a library groupie. We're a tiny, rather obscure band of prostitutes that go from town to town, library to library, scouting out the best sights for mad, literary, library sex. I mean," Romoly rolled her eyes then started fanning herself melodramatically. "The sight of row after row of books gets us hot; we dream of where in the library the best sex can be had…"

"Oh, that's easy: library's employee lounge. They always have a couple of couches perfect to maneuver on," House expertly interjected.

Romoly wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. "Goodbye Doctor House." She turned around and walked out of his apartment, slamming the door close when she left.

"Oh he makes me so mad!" She muttered, almost tripping over her feet as she raced back to her apartment, the tears blinding her every step. She'd had enough; if he wasn't going to listen to her, fine. Maybe she didn't need him after all. She was so furious she didn't hear House's door open until "HEY! Where are you going? You can't just leave me hanging…that was an amazing kiss."

She stopped and turned to find him about three feet from her. Romoly pulled herself up tall and glared at him, her eyes blazing with fury. "If you still want the full use of your good leg, you will not talk to me for the rest of the night. I have nothing more to say to you. There's obviously nothing I CAN say to convince you of who I really am. I've tried with the poems; you've been to my workplace. If you just can't accept it, fine. I don't even want to LOOK at someone who holds me in such little regard as you do me. In fact, if it didn't cost me an arm and a leg I would get of out my lease tomorrow." Romoly studied him, her anger subsiding a bit with her yelling. She could see he was really listening. "You have insulted me in every possible way and I will no longer stand for it. As of right now, any association we once had is hereby dissolved." And, with that, she marched to her apartment. But House was quick and he caught the door as she was slamming it shut.

Pushing his way in, she watched as he strode to her and took her mouth with his in one fluid motion. Any resistance she even dreamt of putting up became lost in the feel of his hands on her face, neck, down her arms and settling on her waist; of his lips nibbling hers, coaxing her tongue with his. She became so weak she almost fell to her knees. He's so good at this… The kissing became a game of tug-of-war with the power, each one dominating the other for a time. When it came back to her Romoly stepped away and, catching her breath, closed her eyes, resting a sweaty palm against her forehead. He had to leave.

"You don't mean any of that," he croaked, every emotion a different cadence in that single phrase.

Heaven help her, Romoly knew he was right. In fact, she was no longer mad at him; she just wished he'd kiss her again. But she couldn't afford that. "Please, Dr. House…just go. Leave me alone."

House watched her as he fought to regain his own composure. He didn't want to hurt her; he wasn't that sort of a jerk. He just couldn't help himself.

Coughing he nodded. "Fine." And, with that, he turned and hobbled out the door, leaving a lonely Romoly wondering what happened…and why she suddenly felt so alive, perhaps for the first time in her life.

*****