Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.
Yet another sorta inspired by "Hunting" that I like to think I would've written anyway. ;)Glad you guys liked the last two. :)
Stitches
January 1997
"Greg?" Stacy called from the foyer of their apartment. None of the lights were on and at six p.m. it was already dark outside. "I saw your car outside, are you—" She flipped a light switch. "—there you are."
Of course the huddled form on the couch could be no one else. The ice pack he held pressed against his face told her all she needed to know. She turned on the lamp next to the couch and his face contorted.
"Who did you piss off this time?" she asked mildly, rounding the couch to look down at him.
A bruised eye fluttered open, squinted at her, and squeezed itself closed. "Kill the light," he mumbled.
She sat down next to him instead and tried to pry the ice pack off his face.
"Let me see," she admonished when he resisted. He grunted with displeasure and reluctantly gave her access.
Stacy whistled at the inflamed tissue crisscrossed with black stitches.
"How many?" she asked.
"Seven," House answered, still cringing in the light.
"Ooo, two shy of the record," Stacy teased. "You must be so disappointed." She paused and looked closer at his cheek. The injury looked odd in a way she couldn't quite place. She traced the outline gently with her forefinger. "How'd you manage that?" she asked curiously.
"Retired naval officer," House began, wincing slightly. Talking pulled at the stitches. "He had one of those big class rings." House gestured to the gash. "Wasn't too keen on me telling him his thirteen year old daughter tested positive for Chlamydia and gonorrhea." He took the ice pack from her and pressed it against his cheek. "You'll be happy to hear I didn't hit back."
"You and your smart mouth," Stacy said. She gently touched the skin around his black eye.
"Hey, watch it," House said, jerking his head back. "I've been poked enough for one day."
Stacy smiled at him. "Now for the eternal question," she said. "Lawsuit. My desk. Tomorrow morning?"
"Given that it took four people to restrain the guy, I'd say no," House said. He opened his mouth and moved his jaw back and forth, wincing. "Nearly broke my jaw," he said. "I should charge him with assault."
"How much mouthing off did you do first?" Stacy asked skeptically.
House said nothing.
"I thought so," she said smugly.
House grunted. "Are you finished?" he asked with annoyance. "I was almost asleep."
Stacy looked down at him with a long-suffering smile and turned the lamp off. "I'll get you some more ice," she said.
House felt the couch cushion rebound when she got up and smiled to himself in the dark. He never intended to get into fights but what were a few bruises when it got him the next morning off and a truckload of sympathy from his very sexy girlfriend? He'd seen her expression: you naughty boy, what am I going to do with you? He knew exactly what that meant. His groin stirred in anticipation. She loved a rebel.
Yes, he thought, grinning inwardly as she pressed the new ice pack against his black eye, works every time.