Title: The Touch - Chapter Seven – Weekend Plans
Author: Linda/Brynna/Brynnamorgan
Rating: M for Graphic Language
Categories: Romance/Supernatural/AU
Characters: H/OC
Spoilers: None

Summary: "And your point being? No, wait, let me guess. Our methodology in getting patients all better improves and there's something wrong with that. Congratulations, Dr. Foreman. You've managed to reverse everything medicine stands for in one statement."

Lyrics Credit:

"Never Going Back Again" – 1977 Lindsey Buckingham, Fleetwood Mac
"Let Me Touch You For Awhile" as sung by Alison Krauss and Union Station, 2001

"She broke down and let me in
Made me see where I've been
Been down one time
Been down two times
I'm never going back again."
Chapter Seven – Weekend Plans

Sabrina blinked her eyes open to find herself stretched out on the sofa and daylight shining in her eyes. She'd slept the evening and night all the way through? she wondered as she stretched, then winced. Tucked all around her were afghans from the room, pillows under her head, supporting her legs. Her eyes fell on the coffee table and widened a little as she picked up the origami rose lying there. Dammit, she didn't want to start crying again, she told herself firmly as she traced the outline of the carefully constructed blossom.

"You awake, hon?"

Elaine walked over to the coffee table and set down the tray laden with her breakfast on it. "Thought you'd be hungry," she offered by way of explanation. "Feeling okay?"

"I-I think so." Sabrina slowly sat up, repositioned the pillows and propped herself against them.

"Good. Greg said if you so much as left the house today he'd personally turn you over his knee. I'm with him."

"He was still here this morning?"

Elaine nodded. "Said he had to go home and get ready for work." The housekeeper grew silent then added, "I served him coffee and breakfast in the kitchen. Said he didn't think he'd be comfortable in the dining room by himself. We talked. Or at least he had me doing all the talking. A good man, Sabrina. A bit rough about the edges, but a good man."

"A bit rough?" She chuckled when the housekeeper grinned at her. "Greg's not exactly the most socially graceful person I've ever known."

"Doesn't matter, does it?"

Sabrina shook her head. "Actions speak a lot louder than words."

"True. He left this to give to you."

Greg's business card, she thought, tracing the outline of it. Dr. Gregory House, MD, Department of Diagnostics. Phone number beneath it, and scribbled below that another number… his home number.

"So I took one of yours, wrote your personal number on it and gave it to him. I didn't think you'd mind," Elaine added mischievously.

Mind? "I don't. Did he look happy to get it?"

"Are you kidding? He had a 'look at what I scored' expression on his face."

"That's Greg," she said with a soft laugh. Good. Maybe he'd call her and they'd go out, take in a movie or something that two normal people did. After all those years on the road, normal sounded really good.

Another day, another case, another differential diagnosis, Greg thought as he paced before his ducklings. He knew he looked a little more frazzled than he usually did, and the hickey beneath his ear didn't help. He didn't care. He felt more alive than he had in five years.

Once having gone over symptoms and possibilities, he sent the team off in different directions and settled behind his desk, Gameboy in hand. Think, play, think, play, his usual method for coming up with answers to puzzles. Turn the symptoms over in his mind, what they'd done, what they could do. Occasionally his mind would drift back to the session of heavy breathing he'd had with Sabrina the previous evening and he'd repress a grin. Later, lover boy.

"House?"

He glanced up from the game to see Foreman standing in front of his desk, then went back to his game. "I thought I sent you down to the lab to run those tests," he replied without missing a beat.

"There's something we need to discuss first."

"Make it second." Damn, Foreman wasn't moving. "Okay, you have to get this off of your chest. What, dealing drugs out of the pharmacy with your street buddies?"

"Right." Foreman bit back his annoyance. "We… noticed something yesterday after your… run-in with Sabrina Wallace. You weren't in pain."

"I was still recovering from having a hot babe in my arms." Nope, didn't work.

"So we decided to check into some things. Statistics. They all seemed to point to Pediatrics." Foreman tossed a very thick file on his desk. "How right after Sabrina Wallace moved to Princeton the survival rate went up along with the success rate of diseases and disorders improving or going away entirely in patients. Oddly enough, the amount of admitted Pediatric patients increases proportionately. Word gets out."

"And your point being? No, wait, let me guess. Our methodology in getting patients all better improves and there's something wrong with that. Congratulations, Dr. Foreman. You've managed to reverse everything medicine stands for in one statement."

"You wouldn't happen to have personal reasons for ignoring this, would you?" Foreman looked at Greg's neck pointedly.

"No, I'm ignoring this because it's coming from you. Now, run off and play like I told you to."

Foreman stomped out and he let out a sigh of relief as he saved his game, then set the unit on his desk. He looked at the phone, started to reach for it, then stopped himself and turned to his laptop instead. After a couple of well-placed searches, he found what he wanted, leaned back and grinned. Not too far away, thoughtful, and a fun time for all concerned. He was losing it. Wilson would never let him hear the end of it. He was acting like a teenaged kid, full steam ahead without thinking of what…

Suddenly he froze for a moment, gripping the edge of his desk tightly. What am I doing? Feeling, you fucking moron. He closed his eyes tightly, the doctor inside analyzing even as the man inside shook. All those damn walls he'd worked so hard to erect were crumbling and it frightened the holy hell out of him. Damaged. He was damaged goods, leg, soul, everything. She'd discover the extent and hurt him. Just like Stacy. Or want to fix him like Cameron.

No.

He forced his eyes to open, aware of the cold sweat that had broken out all over his body. Damn.. Focus. Don't lose sight of what you can have. With an abrupt movement, he reached for his bag and pulled out the CD boxed set that he'd purchased on his way in. SwwS – As Time Rolls On – A Collection - 1983 – 2006 was the title, and on the cover was the band dressed in vintage 1890's attire, the photograph in sienna tones. They were standing on a train platform, with a conductor off to one side checking tickets. His fingertips traced her picture, his eyes drinking in the sight of her attired in a period traveling dress, complete with a bustle and parasol. Deep breaths. She's not Stacy. He extracted one of the CDs and slid it into his laptop. She's not Stacy. Music rose up and he closed his eyes again as Sabrina's breathy soprano filled the room.

I don't really know you,
But I'd be willin' to show you,
I know a way to make you smile
Let me touch you for awhile.

Focus.

Just let me whisper things,
You've never heard before.
Just let me touch you, baby.
Just let me touch you for awhile.

Her voice faded out and he sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. He could use a drink right then. No. Not down that road. Face it sober like a goddamned man.

Another move found the phone receiver in his hand; his fingers paused over the keys (drop a set, House, and do it, for chrissakes), then he dialed the number he'd committed to memory.

"Yes?" Sabrina's voice was a balm to his soul. No more fucking panicking, you motherfucking idiot, he groused at himself.

"Hey, bluegrass lady." His voice came out gravelly and he cleared his throat. Get this one right, dipshit.

"Hey, cranky doctor."

He couldn't help but smile then. Cranky doctor? "Guilty, as charged. Good to hear your voice again."

She was blushing. He knew it from the giggle on the other end. "Why, it's good to hear your voice again, too. Oh, and Greg?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you called. Now I can stop pacing by my phone."

A chuckle escaped him. "Glad to know I'm good for something. Have a question for you."

"Question away."

Deep breath, then, "What does your weekend agenda look like?"

The silence on the other end made him start to wonder if he'd done the right thing before she finally spoke. "Weekend? Well, let's see, I'll have to cancel that appearance in the White House, my audience with the Queen of England…"

"Ha ha. Very funny."

That soft giggle went straight to his heart by way of his crotch. "Why, got something cooked up? It's Labor Day, you know."

"Really?" He listened to her giving him the raspberries and laughed. "How does the Delaware Valley Bluegrass Festival down in Woodstown grab you?"

Another silence. A long silence. Damn, he'd wanted to blow her mind, not her circuits. Finally, "You mean that? I've always wanted to go, I mean, I've always been too busy on tour to go, and now…"

"So…"

"YES!"

He held the phone out from his ear as she made some very loud happy noises. "Glad to know my idea is appreciated. Oh, and I've never heard of them, but the headliner is The Del McCoury Band." More happy noises. "This is a good thing."

"Yes. Sorry. Del and I go back some. Good to see an old friend again."

"So, do you want to camp or get a room?" There, couldn't be any plainer about his intentions.

"Oh, definitely get a room. One room." His heart did double-time. "One bed. Get my point, cranky doctor?"

"Yeah, I get your point, bluegrass lady." He could feel himself start to get aroused and forced it down. "Definitely get your point."

Once they'd ended the call Greg propped his feet up on his desk and stared at the computer screen. One room, one bed…

"Did I hear that conversation right, or are you taking Sabrina to a bluegrass festival for the weekend?"

Wilson! he thought, grumbling out loud. "Fuck, Wilson, next time I call someone I'll make sure you're sitting next to me so no one can accuse you of eavesdropping." He avoided his friend's gaze as the other man came off the balcony, pulled up a chair and propped his feet up on the same desk.

"Don't avoid the question." Jimmy's eyes were twinkling with mischief. "You're taking Sabrina to a bluegrass festival."

"So what if I am?"

"With Sabrina that's a guaranteed panty-peeler. Although," Jimmy looked at the love bite on Greg's neck, his grin widening, "Maybe that's already happened?"

Greg snorted. "No, it hasn't happened."

"Strike out?"

He looked at his buddy witheringly. "Do I look like a man who 'struck out' last night?" A pause, then, "So what brings you here, anyway?"

"Well, we have trouble. Your ducklings are getting curious about Brina."

"Yeah, I just shooed Foreman out of my office." He indicated the unopened file. "Which one came running to you?"

"Chase."

"Figures. What did you tell him?"

"That I'd take care of it."

"And?"

"I'm taking care of it." Wilson's smile widened.

"By..."

"Doing absolutely nothing."

"Ah."

"Cuddy and I have Sabrina's back. Stacy, on the other hand…"

"Sabrina won't be doing this much longer anyway," Greg stated abruptly. "Hopefully my ducklings will be good little loyal kids and keep their mouths shut."

"Yeah, we've seen that in the past, haven't we?" Jimmy said dryly. "Stacy shouldn't be too much of a problem, though. She does work for Cuddy."

"Huh."

"There goes that trust thing. Then again, where she's concerned..."

"No lectures, Wilson."

"Not going to give you any. Except for one teensy thing."

Sigh, then, "Shoot."

"Sabrina's not Stacy."

Christ, had Wilson been crawling around in his head earlier? "Really? I could have sworn that Stacy disguised herself as Sabrina to try to get back into my life again. It's all the latest rage. Women will do anything to get into my pants."

"Must be that charming bedside manner."

"Or at least my charming in bed manner."