A/N: Not a long chapter, and no smut, but I hope you have a few chuckles. Oh, and to Alex, the chapter starts out with House and jewelry, so there!
Disclaimer: Don't Own, Except OCs
The next day was eventful. House and Ann started with some sex, of course, and then they showered and ate breakfast.
The track didn't open until one p.m., so Ann suggested a brief stroll downtown. House was hesitant. He knew they were in a resort area and he assumed there were several jewelry stores on Broadway and the surrounding side streets, and it turned out he was right. He felt bad about not getting Ann an engagement ring, and he didn't want any window shopping to remind her of his lapse.
Of course, Ann hadn't said a word about it. House never found out if her first husband bought her an engagement ring and what had happened to it. He'd searched her closets and dresser drawers when she was out, and couldn't find it. Her ex was an accountant, and he'd probably been too "value-oriented" (read: cheap) to get her one. Or even worse, from what House knew of the guy, he probably insisted it be returned when the marriage broke up. Since Ann seemed to have little to no emotional attachment to her ex, it probably wasn't traumatic, but if the ex had wanted the ring back, it was at least tacky. It made House hesitate to get her another one. He didn't want to dredge up any bad memories.
He didn't need to worry about Ann dragging him to any jewelry stores. They went to gallery-type gift shops, and to this really cool toy store called G Willikers. They spent a good hour in there, ostensibly to look at "educational" toys for the baby, but House had a blast playing with all the stuff on display.
Ann just loved watching him. She could imagine that with the constraints John must have imposed upon him, there probably weren't a lot of toys or fun times when he was a child. Ann could see House having a second chance at enjoying being a kid with his own son, and it pleased her.
They brought their purchases back to the inn and left for the track. Even with paying for some parking near the front gate, it was still a fairly lengthy walk in. Ann had had made reservations for the clubhouse because it was air-conditioned. She had considered the grandstand, but in order to get a good view, it was necessary to be on the third level, and she didn't really think House would want to walk up all those flights or fight the crowds for one of the few elevators. If House did have the strength to walk, it was better to be in the clubhouse, anyway, because it was only a short walk to either the betting window or to the rails.
House had purchased a couple of racing forms on the way in and was assiduously studying them when the waitress came by to take their order. Ann insisted the one thing they had to get were the potato chips.
"We can get chips anywhere," House noted, with a hint of frustration in his voice. "Why do we have to pay this much for them here?"
"It's a tradition, seeing as how potato chips were invented in Saratoga."
"They were?"
"The story is that sometime during the nineteenth century, some well-heeled matron at one of the local restaurants kept sending her French fries back to the kitchen because they were too thick. After this happened several times, the chef got frustrated and decided to cut the potatoes as thin as possible before he fried them to stop the complaints of his wealthy patron. Thus, the potato chip was born."
"No wonder we get along so well. Your head is almost as full of useless crap as mine is."
"But, you use that crap, um, knowledge, in your job. It makes you great that you can make so many connections."
"Well, you have to connect things to design systems don't you? At least systems that work."
"I guess."
"Of course you do. And now that we've successfully refuted your imagined inadequacies, I have to go bet on the first race. You want me to put anything down for you?"
"Not right now, thanks."
House limped over to the betting window and returned just as the basket of chips with the dipping sauce arrived.
"I can't believe I'm paying fifteen bucks for the equivalent of a bag of chips and French onion soup dip. It's an exorbitant amount of money for a flashback to a forty-year-old bad experience."
"Let me guess, you were twelve when you smoked your first joint and ate an entire bag of chips and a whole container of sour cream and onion soup mix. Between your being sick and eating all the hors d'oeuvres, I bet it ruined your mom's bridge night."
"Luckily, John was away or I would have received a serious beating for that one, or worse."
"If you don't want to talk about this, I'll understand, but what was worse than a beating?"
"I already told you about the ice baths. Although he had stopped doing those by the time I was twelve. I was getting taller and it was harder for him to hold me under the water. Plus, I'd passed out once, and I think that scared him. He hated me, but he didn't want to do time for me, either."
Ann hoped her shudder wasn't too obvious. She reached for House's hand and began to stroke it.
"He'd started to do things that were more psychological by then. Making me sleep outside wasn't tough physically, unless it was really cold out. And most of the places we lived had warm climates. So that was at least as much about tapping into any fear I might have of the dark or the unknown. He also liked to take away things he knew I loved or needed. He'd call it 'removing privileges.' Like he would return the piano my Mom had rented. That gave me more pain than any beating. Although he wasn't a musician, so maybe he didn't know how much it hurt not to be able to play."
"I bet the bastard knew. At least you had your guitar."
"He even took that away once. He padlocked it in a shed outside. I think it was some locked he lifted from the base. You couldn't get that thing open with explosives. Believe me, I tried."
"Was that the guitar that Sam . . . "
"Yeah. Luckily, it was when we were living in Egypt. It was so dry that nothing happened to it – no warping or anything."
"Is that why you got into studying mummies?"
"I guess. It was fascinated by the science of it. And it was a good distraction when I couldn't play any music. I couldn't even sing. He'd threaten to hit me across the mouth if I 'didn't stop that damn caterwauling.' I wasn't even that I cared about the actual hitting, either. I was a teenager by then and I was too self-conscious to go to school with a fat lip or a bruised cheek."
Ann closed her eyes. Her mother never had a problem with Ann either practicing her instruments or her singing, not that she was helpful or supportive. And even if her mother had had a problem, Ann's dad would have stepped in and let her do it. She said a silent "thank you" to having at least one parent who cared enough about her to protect and support her.
"Hey, those were good chips," House commented as he pulled Ann out of her past. "Not worth the price, but not bad."
"You don't go to the track to save money," Ann noted.
"Let's see if I can make some," House said as he got up to bet the second race. "Have any picks for this one?"
"Not yet." There were ten races and Ann was concerned about the effect of all the up and down on House's leg, especially knowing that they had a fairly long walk back to the car. Maybe he'd skip a race or the rest in-between would be enough.
By the time House had returned from betting, their entrees had arrived. They were very good, but House continued to grumble that they were not worth the price.
Ann reminded him that with the exchange rate, things would be a lot cheaper in Canada. This seemed to pick up his mood quite a bit.
After the fifth race, Ann was still refusing to wager. House became curious.
"How come you haven't bet on anything yet?"
"I'm not very good at it," Ann responded.
"I could help you, if you like."
"I know, and thank you for the offer, but it's not something I do."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. Gambling just isn't my thing."
"Then why would you want to come here?"
"To watch the people and see the horses."
"I don't get it. It's like buying a pack of condoms when you have no partner and you're too cheap to pay for a hooker."
"That's quite the metaphor."
"What metaphor? I lived it. Except I was willing to pay for the hooker."
"I know, baby." Ann leaned in and kissed him softly.
House was surprised at her reaction. Most other women would not be sympathetic about his needs and the way he chose to fulfill them; they'd be jealous or squicked out or angry or have any number of negative reactions. Once again, House could only marvel at his good fortune in finding someone who understood. Maybe it was all those years she was alone herself. She personally knew that deep ache. He leaned in to return the kiss.
House suddenly thought about something. "What do women do?"
"What?" Ann asked in confusion.
"You know, about, needs. You can't really pay for it, what with the male hookers being gay and all."
"Some women go to bars and pick up men. Not something I could do, at least after I was in recovery."
"It was what, five years from your divorce until you met me. How did you deal with it?"
"Well, there was Mr. Right."
"Who?"
"Not so much a 'who' as a 'what.' "
"Huh?"
"It was my nickname for my vibrator."
"Really? How come I've never seen him, uh, it?"
"Well, he was packed away in my moving boxes, and before I got the chance to unpack him, I met and fell into bed with this tall, lean, muscular, beautifully-aged, gorgeous man with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen and who fulfilled every one of my physical needs and then some. Needless to say, Mr. Right is still in a box somewhere."
"Oh. Um, thanks."
"You're welcome. My pleasure. My intense pleasure."
House had always taken great pride in his ability to please the women he was with, even the hookers, but this much praise was making him uncomfortable, so he went back to his original quest. "Well, I can see your implement helping with the basic physical release. But what about the need for contact?"
"Well, between my ex's merely adequate performance and the rape, I really wasn't inclined to miss the physical presence of a man for a couple of years after the divorce."
"What did you do after that?"
"What could I do? I threw myself into my work and learned to live with the loneliness."
"I never thought about . . . God, I'm such a selfish bastard. I knew about my own pain and need. I never thought about yours."
"It doesn't matter. It's over now. And, it wasn't a totally bad thing."
"What? How is that?"
"It made me appreciate us. What a rare and wonderful gift I've been given. If I believed in reincarnation and karma, I'd say I was a saint in my previous life in order to earn what I have in this one. I'm so, so, so lucky to have you, Greg. And the baby."
House pulled Ann's chair close to his on his side of the table. She put her head on his shoulder and he put his arms around her.
After a few minutes, Ann remembered something. She lifted her head up and looked at him. "Aren't you missing betting on a race?"
"I didn't have any idea how to bet the last one," House claimed, "And the horses I was going to bet on are scratched in the next one."
Ann wasn't sure she believed him, but she decided to just enjoy sitting close to him.
They stayed for the rest of the meet and House bet a few more of the races. By the end, he was up about six hundred dollars and considered it not bad for an afternoon's work.
They went back to the inn and decided not to go out to dinner because they were still full from lunch. They used the whirlpool tub to ease House's leg, which was cramping because of all the walking.
They had a pizza delivered about eight o'clock. This innkeeper wasn't quite as accommodating as Hale, and made them promise not to "mess up the room." House made a comment about bodily fluids and the mattress, oh, and was that really an antique lamp on the nightstand, because it would be a shame if it were, and then the broken chair leg, but you know what can happen when the sex gets rough . . .
Ann assured the astonished innkeeper House was just kidding as they took their pizza upstairs.
"You really shouldn't piss her off," Ann noted as they entered the room and put the pizza on the table. "This is high tourist season here, and if she decided to kick us out, there wouldn't be any place else to stay."
"And she shouldn't be in the hotel business if she's going to be so anal about the neatness of her rooms. People stay here and make messes. And we don't even have any kids. Yet."
"This inn doesn't allow children under fourteen."
"Because teenagers are so respectful and neat. Hear that, Davy?" House questioned Ann's abdomen. "We won't be able to stay here again for another fifteen years."
"Why do you think I booked this place? After he's born, it'll be a while before anyone will take us but a Comfort Inn."
"She's a moron. She knows we're on our honeymoon. She has to know that, at the very least, the bed will be drowning in spunk by the time we leave. And that assumes we're not into the rough stuff."
"She might have thought we'd hold back a little, what with my being pregnant and all."
"So, she doesn't mind using the kid while he's in the womb, but once he's born, she wants nothing to do with him. Must be a Republican."
Ann smiled. "We should get ready for bed. We have another long drive tomorrow."
After fulfilling House's promise to get bodily fluids on the bed, they fell into a restful sleep.
House and Ann got a fairly early start from the inn. Since it was a weekday, they didn't hit much traffic traveling north, except around Montreal. They made it into Quebec City in about five hours, which was excellent time.
They found the hotel easily - it towered over every other building in the walled part of the city. Its gothic exterior gave House the briefest of flashbacks to Mayfield, but it passed quickly after they went inside and saw the lobby, replete with silk covering the walls, overstuffed chairs, and huge crystal chandeliers.
Their room was also large and elegant, with a balcony overlooking the Saint Lawrence Seaway. When Ann noticed the Fleur-de-Lys over the door frame, House told her it was the French-Canadian equivalent of a mezuzah.
Their days were idyllic. They would get up, shower together and thoroughly please each other. It was something that House had wanted almost from the day he met Ann. To say she seemed to enjoy it was an understatement. House was just glad the rooms appeared to be soundproof.
Then they would find a café in the old town and have a late breakfast or an early lunch, and wander around either the stores or one of the museums during the early afternoon. They would then return to the hotel for a swim in the pool, more sex, and then take a nap. They'd have dinner in the early evening, allowing them to return to their room to sit on the balcony and watch the sun set. They would then find themselves in bed for at least an hour of pleasuring each other, and then they would fall asleep.
House had always believed he would be bored very quickly without his diagnostic puzzles. This week had proved that wrong. Although he knew they needed to go back to "real life," he dreaded it. This was perfect and they were free of any responsibility, except to each other, which provided nothing but contentment. No dying patients to lie to him and lead him to dead ends. No difficult employees, or paperwork, or pain-in-the-ass bosses.
House knew it wasn't reality. They would return to the tedium and excitement of their jobs, and before they knew it, they'd be losing tremendous amounts of sleep, and not finding the time to shower for days on end.
And that was the good stuff. The resolution of the lawsuit and any developments in the criminal case would turn out well, he thought, but you could never be sure. House decided that he couldn't worry about it. It wasn't like worrying would change anything, anyway.
Their two-day stay in Williamstown was great. House had taken his woman to the theatre, and, as a reward for that, he'd gotten laid, and a blowjob, too. He'd never admit that the play had been interesting and that he'd been impressed by the actor who was the lead. What was his name? Robert something-something. Anyway, House had heard everyone had a doppelganger, and this something-something guy was certainly one for Wilson, other than the actor looked younger, more casual, and much more heterosexual. Whatever.
They returned home and resumed their routines. At the end of August they got the amnio results and the baby was fine. It was what House had expected based on what he saw on the ultrasound, but it was good to have a definitive result. So, he and Ann were relieved and happy.
And yet. House knew they were avoiding a whole group of problems that Down's Syndrome children had, but, he was almost ambivalent. He had never treated a person with Down's in his practice, but he'd certainly seen many of them in the clinic. He'd remembered a teenaged boy who had come in several years back. The kid was quite the charmer, and had gotten into the pants of several of his special ed classmates. Since he had Down's, he was sterile, but the mother had brought him in for condoms, just to make sure he didn't catch anything. House was impressed with the kid's ability with women. The boy even flirted with some of the clinic nurses, who proclaimed him "adorable."
But, the most memorable Down's patient House ever had came into the clinic a little over a year ago. She was five, she had fallen off a swing at school, and she needed to have her arm set. For some inexplicable reason, she took a liking to House, and since she wasn't very verbal, she kept kissing and hugging him (with her not-broken arm).
At first, it made House uncomfortable. She was so effusive, he wondered if she had been subjected to some kind of sexual abuse. Of course, it only took a moment for House to remember that most kids who were victims of abuse were actually withdrawn and fearful, not open and demonstrative. And her behavior wasn't anything overtly sexual; she was just affectionate. House realized the problem was his discomfort with PDAs rather than anything that had happened to the child.
The kid even kissed him after he pulled her arm into place. He had been careful and had given her a local anesthetic, but, still, it had to hurt. Yet, she seemed grateful, or something.
House had no idea what possessed him, but he gave her a lollipop when she left. You would have thought he'd given her a million bucks, they way she hugged and kissed him. And since she didn't appear deprived, House was forced to conclude she had just been happy. With such a little thing. God, he'd felt like such a sap afterward, but while she was there, he'd actually been a little less miserable.
House realized something as he thought about the girl. The day he saw her in the clinic was the day he met Ann. He had felt more crappy than usual being alone in the cafeteria that day, and had been more receptive to a friendly stranger than he had been in a long time.
Could encountering that child have opened up his heart just enough to be willing to try to let someone in? House pushed the idea out of his head because it was hopelessly emotional, and he didn't do emotional.
Still, it made him think that there were worse things than being the parent of a child with Down's. Especially if she had Ann's eyes.
