He had expected her to wait for him when he got home in some sexy new underwear, an inviting smile on her face. But when he opened his door and limped into his living room he saw a sleeping person on his couch, in jeans and one of his old Lynard Skynard T-Shirts. She was hugging a pillow, the TV showing one of the cartoons she always seemed to be watching and he couldn't help but feel that this sight was everything near to perfect. He stayed on his place near the piano for some seconds when she started to move and slowly opened her eyes.
"You returned to quitting at 4:30", she stated, lifting herself from the sofa, blinking tiredly.
"Wilson will come over again, so I thought I'd get a little before I'm too drunk", he replied, winking at her.
She smiled and stood up from the couch, approaching him.
"Lucky me", she said before closing her arms around his waist, kissing him softly on his lips.
His right hand continued to grip on his cane firmly while he used the other one to slide under the shirt and caress her bare back.
"No bra?"
"Nope…"
"Are you trying to kill me?!" He pulled her towards him, letting her feel the growing bulge in his jeans.
"You have been a bad boy today. Starting phonesex with me and then you kicked me out of the line. Telling me that I was not allowed to play with myself", she answered in a hoarse voice before kissing him more harshly.
"I have a real good photo of Foreman's stupid face, though", he shot back with a grin, and then tried to pull the shirt over her head with one hand. She helped him and giggled when his left hand found its way easily to her right breast.
"The other one's getting jealous."
His tongue moved from her shoulder to her neck when he whispered "Don't trust my leg right now…"
When she pulled back a little, he groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Aw, come on, don't start to play doctor when we're actually… well, playing doctor!"
"How bad is it?"
"Not so bad that I would stop right now!" he growled, pulling her towards him again.
"And I had a good cause to tell you that you were not allowed to play with yourself."
Sitting down on the bench of his piano he dragged her along until she was standing between his legs, the cane now gone. Both of his hands now roamed over her body, also caring about the jealous breast.
"What cause?" she whispered, when his fingers reached the top button of her jeans, yanking her hips towards him.
"I want to play with you."
He opened the first button slowly, being greeted by the sight of bare skin. The next button was opened faster, being followed by the third and the fourth really fast.
"No panties?!" he groaned, locking his deep blue eyes with her black gaze.
"Thought you might as well have easy access while playing with me", she answered, her fingers caressing his slightly curly hair, letting go off it when he shoved the jeans down on her legs. After stepping out of the bundle of fabric she kicked it towards the entrance, walking back between his legs again.
"What will you be playing?"
He watched her, naked from head to toes, for a while, before placing a soft kiss on her stomach.
"Tell me when your legs get wobbly."
Her fingers went into his hair again when he started to kiss her stomach again, circling his tongue around her navel, his hands caressing everywhere he could reach.
"I've been fantasizing the whole afternoon about those black panties you mentioned…" he groaned when his fingers slid over her hips. It had helped him to forget about Foreman's weird glances towards Cameron everytime she complained how long the tests took.
Running his thumbs over her hipbones he left a hickey next to her navel and then had to grin about himself.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Greg House, marking his territory…
When his forefinger wandered over the small line of hair between her legs she sighed silently and moaned a little louder when he touched her with a feathery movement.
"Already wobbly?" he asked with a grin.
"You're not playing with me, you're teasing."
At that he slid his forefinger between her wet folds, pressing it firmly against her clit.
"How about now?"
She placed her hands on his shoulders, grinning back at him when his eyes focused on her breasts.
"Make me come. I won't collapse.
His mouth closed around one hard nipple, teeth slightly biting on it, sucking on it while he started to move that finger and she knew that she'd been wrong when he entered her in a swift motion and her hands had to grip firmly at his shoulders.
"Wanna bet on it?"
She shook her flushed face at that.
"I won't", she insisted.
He bit down on the nipple a little harder, accelerating the movements between her beautiful legs. He had her moaning in no time, now using two fingers expertly, while the other hand was playing with one breast so that it wouldn't be jealous of the other one that had the attention of his tongue.
And yes, he definitely loved those two.
"Greg…"
"Hmmm… busy here…"
At that she climbed onto the bench, her knees next to both of his thighs and ripped his jeans open.
"Me too. Lift your hips."
"Man, what a bossy place", he grinned, doing what she said so she could shove down his trousers and boxers.
His back crashed against the piano and he was happy that the cover of the keys was down or their lovemaking would have been accompanied by some very weird sounds.
Now it was only their moans that could be heard when she closed her legs behind his back, crashing her lips onto his.
She queezed his waist with her thighs a little, panting a "not wobbly, see?" before she started to move her hips, making him forget the sarcastic remark that had been already on his tongue.
He was leaning against his piano for quite a while afterwards, with her head on his shoulder before he could string words together to real sentences again.
"They got wobbly."
"Didn't."
She tried to climb off him but he held her in place, liking her weight on his lap, her sweaty body pressed firmly against his.
"Greg, Wilson's coming over. I need a shower."
He still didn't let her go, looking at her with a serious expression.
"Why do you love me?"
She frowned at him.
"I haven't made a list. Isn't it enough for you to know that I do?"
He kept his expression.
"Why?"
"Because… you are you."
This time he frowned.
"I'm eleven years older than you. I'm not the most handsome guy on earth. I'm gruff, grumpy… a pain in the ass. And not to forget: I'm damaged."
She kissed him before she answered.
"Eleven years is nothing. And you are handsome, you look even better with that stubble than without."
At that he had to grin, flattered.
"Nice is boring", she continued, her voice getting more silent when she reached the last part of his monologue.
"And I'm damaged, too."
He watched her intently, looking a bit confused when she concluded.
"What kind of warrior is afraid to fight?"
He let her go this time, watching her disappear into his bathroom with the jeans and the T-shirt under her arm.
After hearing his shower come to life he got up from the bench too, carefully balancing most of his weight on the left leg when he pulled his pants up from around his knees.
The one step for his cane then was nearly fatal, sending him down on the bench again when pain coursed through his thigh, making his knee bend.
Cursing under his breath he was almost glad that Hannah hadn't bothered to remove his clothes. Fishing for the tube he growled silently at the limb, massaging it lightly at the same time.
He had wanted to keep it, now he had to live with it. And it wasn't the leg's fault that is was hurting.
What kind of diagnostician could not diagnose an aneurysm when he was experiencing it?
On the other hand… these dumbass doctors would have let him die if he hadn't known what the colour of his pee meant…
When Hannah returned to his living room, he was still sitting at the piano, massaging is thigh, the closed Vicodin-tube in his other hand.
"Are you okay?"
"Can't walk right now."
She hooked her thumbs onto the pockets of her jeans, obviously thinking.
"Where do you keep your morphine?" she asked then.
"Are you just being polite, or didn't you snoop around like every other woman would have?" he asked back.
She didn't move.
"I don't have to snoop around. I know where the fridge is, I know where your shirts are. I wouldn't invade your privacy unless I'd really, really had a cause for doing that."
His gaze rested on her for a while.
"You can't be that perfect", he said then silently.
"I'm far from being perfect. I just don't snoop around. Where do you keep your morphine?"
"I don't want it."
"You're in pain."
"I don't want it."
He expected her to get angry because he was being that stubborn. He was surprised by himself saying that. The evening before she woke up again he didn't hesitate.
And she surprised him by making "Hm" and walking to his side, sitting down next to him and putting his right arm over her shoulder.
Counting to three she stood up with him ignoring his protests that he was to heavy.
She made the way to his bedroom without even pulling a face once and sat him down on the bed, facing him again.
"Has the overload made you feel better or worse? And I want an honest answer."
He studied her face for some seconds.
"Better. It started to hurt more again after the shooting. Jeez, I've been down already on 45 mg, and then this bastard had to come…"
"Do you want me to do it again?" she interrupted him.
"Yes."
She kept biting her lower lip while she looked at his fingers that still were clenched around the Vicodin-tube. Then she looked into his eyes.
"It will really hurt", she whispered.
"Already does", he whispered back, catching one of her hands.
A soulshattering scream let Wilson forget that he was polite enough to actually knock although he knew House never locked the door when he was home.
Running to the bedroom he found the source for the noise, seeing his friend laying on the bed, his body stiff with pain, hands clawing into the mattress.
Hannah was kneeling next to him, her hands on the bad leg.
And her movements were the obvious cause of the pain.
"Are you crazy?!!! Let go off him!!!"
He tried to grab her but she ducked out of his arms, once again pressing her palms against the sides of the thigh, causing House to grunt into his pillow.
The second time he got a firm grip, pulling her off the bed, leaving her somewhere on the floor when he took his place next to the side of his friend, feeling his pulse, frowing at the look of House in pain. Serious pain.
"What did you do to him?!" he shouted at the woman, not waiting for the answer but turning back to a panting House.
"Where do you keep your morphine, Greg?"
The man on the bed just grunted something, turning his head to one side.
"Greg!"
Furious by now the oncologist turned to the woman again who was still stitting on the floor.
"You will pay for that!" he hollered before getting up and starting to dig into one of the wardrobes.
"Where do you have it, Greg?"
"Don't want it", was the faint answer from the bed.
"Greg, you…"
"He said he doesn't want it", it this time came louder from the floor, causing Wilson to spin around.
"You hurt him! I never thought you could do that consciously. And now you are telling me not to help him?" he ranted, ignoring the blue signs that were already forming on her upper arm, showing precisely all of his fingers.
"I asked her to…"
Wilson narrowed his eyes onto the person on the bed whose breathing had gotten slower.
"You asked her to", he repeated, unbelieving.
House slowly opened his eyes again, gratefull for the numbness in his leg.
"I just wasn't prepared for that much pain."
"Neither was I", a silent voice from the floor said and House turned his head again, trying to catch a look at her.
"What are you doing down there?"
"I pulled her off you! She was…", Wilson started, finding himself in an angry, blue stare.
"Helping me for God's sake. She knows a pressure point that works wonders!"
"And hurts like hell!" Wilson added, averting his gaze to the woman.
"We weren't prepared!" House hollered, sitting up, kneeding some life into his bad leg with Wilson looking at him really confused.
"That… doesn't hurt?!"
As if to prove that it didn't House scooted off his bed, making some steps towards Hannah who by now was holding her arm.
"You okay?"
"Hmm…"
At that the diagnostician turned around, facing his friend again.
"You hurt her!"
"I was trying to protect you!"
"By hurting the woman I love? You could have asked what was going on!"
Wilson opened his mouth at that, then closed it again. House still was staring at him, so he had to say something.
"See… I'm sorry…"
"Don't tell me, tell her!"
Behind him Hannah had gotten up from the floor, not looking at them.
"I think I need to go to the bathroom", she said silently, leaving the bedroom.
House sighed loudly.
"Great. This is just fucking great."
"House… she was hurting you… I saw her, and I heard you scream, and…"
"You just attacked a woman who is suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder! Do you think this will do any good?!" House exploded.
"Only soldiers have…"
"Yeah, she's an Ex-Marine. You're lucky that you are still alive!" the diagnostician snapped.
"And how should I have known? You didn't exactly scream 'Medical treatment by traumatised Ex-soldier'!" Wilson snapped back, making House's eyes narrow on him.
"That I didn't", he then admitted, somewhat softer.
"Can we cancel our date for tonight?" the head of the department of diagnostics asked his friend then.
"I'm really sorry, Greg", Wilson said, watching him go to the bathroomdoor. There still was a little limping in his steps. But he didn't need the cane…
"I know. And I also know that you will appologize to her. But right now I need to find out how much damage you caused. And you won't tell anybody!"
He found her sitting on the floor next to the tub, her arms folded around her knees, Wilsons fingers showing on her upper arm.
At least she didn't sit there, murmuring some kind of mantra. She locked her eyes with his the moment he entered the room
"You okay?" he asked and she looked at him confused.
"I should ask you that."
"But I'm asking you."
She averted her eyes, laying her chin on her knees.
"See that shrink again", House said then silently, not surprised that she didn't react.