Ok, this is long and I'm afraid a little boring, but this sets up the past relationship between Fifi LaRoo and House. But please don't skip because there might be some vital info in here.

AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO ARE REVIEWING AND POSTING. That makes my day. :o)

CHAPTER SIX

After lunchtime, or should I say after he stole lunch from Wilson, House headed back to his office to make the phone call he didn't want to make. Well, he wanted to make the call but he didn't, not under these circumstances. He just didn't really know what to say to her. He hadn't heard from her in how many years? 'Man, 20? No, wait, it wasn't that long ago; okay, a little over ten years. I've just known her for almost 20 years.'

His mind wandered back to when they first met…FLASHBACK – June, 1987, morning time

28 year old Greg House is driving his baby, Priscilla, to his hospital that morning. It is the first time he's taken her out for a jaunt in months, and it feels good; good to be out of the house, good to be flying. It is the first warm day of the spring and he is taking every advantage of it.

Driving his motorcycle has always made him feel free, alive, and invincible. He tries to figure out just exactly what the reason is for his lack of fear, for anything. The boy (okay, man) has always had a taste for life that thrills his senses, and brings him just on the edge of death. Speaking of which, he's made two additions on his life list of 'Things to Do, Before I Die': "bungee jumping and parachuting out of a single engine jet. SIDENOTE: If that is totally cool, take up flying lessons"

He is sitting at an intersection at 50 and Pinehurst, watching the cars pass and cursing the light to change in two seconds or else; he's being saying that for four years now, but he was just never in the mood to define his 'what else' threat. He looks in his right side mirror and sees a car coming up beside him but never slows down for the red light. The closer the car gets to the intersection the wider his eyes get at the thought of the car tearing through the intersection and possibly hitting another car. He looks at the light to see if it has changed then to the intersection to see if any cars coasting by.

Out of the corner of his right eye he sees the car rush past him and BAAAMMMM! The sound of metal twisting, grinding against metal, glass breaking, and tires squealing to a halt pierces into him. He hesitates to look at the intersection itself, afraid of what he'll see…and sure enough the scene is a mess.

He doesn't even think, and the next thing he knows is he's pulling Priscilla over, cutting her engine and running to the scene, screaming that he's a doctor. Without even checking on the condition of the idiot that ran the red light he went directly to the other car. He sees the girl behind the wheel, who's conscious but appears to be in shock from the gash in her left temple. He tears off his shirt, rumples it up and applies pressure to the wound until the paramedics arrived.

Almost a later on a Friday night, after the week has been especially tough for him, he decides to go to McDonough's Pub on Riverside on his way home from work. As he walks to the bar he listens to the band cranking Tush; the beat of the drums, the pounding of the keys on the electric keyboard, smooth strumming of the guitar and hard licks of the bass guitar, his stress instantly leaves his body.

But music has always done that to him, even when he was 10 and decided he had a natural talent for guitar and keyboard (ok, admittedly his parents forced him to play piano but he never let them know he liked it) and joined Pete's Pirates, playing for school functions and then during college at the local hangout.

He walks over to a corner of the room sipping his drink to scout the place out for chicks. As it turns out there wasn't a good selection on that particular night so he decides he'll critic the band. 'Not bad, but the lead needs to project her voice just a little…'

Then he notices the drummer, a girl. 'A GIRL? Oh, please,' he thinks to himself. But then when he actually listens to her play she is in reality very good. A smile curls up the right side of his mouth as he looks her over. But she looks familiar to him. He's seen her somewhere but he can't place where.

All of a sudden he feels as if he is being watched, which by this time in his life he is used to that, and the drummer catches his eye. It's her that's staring at him, with a smile on her face and her arms flying hammering the tom-toms in a rhythmic spasm with the bass drum. He's not sure how to react because he was used to be the chaser, not being looked at like he was Hugh Laurie and the woman wanted to rip his clothes off.

The song ends and the band members slowly leave the stage, all except the drummer who remains behind the drums and continues to stare at him. He sees her finger point upside down at him and curl up in a 'come here' motion and he looks around him to see if she's actually staring at him or someone around him. He reluctantly walks toward the stage, scooting around dancers in the middle of the dance floor.

"Hey! You wanna play keyboard?" She yells over the music. He frowns at her, bewildered that she knew he plays keyboard. "Come on, Darren said you could use his," she says, almost begging. He wasn't quite sure how to take it.

"No, no, really, I couldn't," he declines.

"Oh, come on! I know you know Hotel California," she says as she stands up, places the drum sticks on the floor by the stool and meets him at the edge of the stage. She jumps down to the floor and continues to badger him. By this time he is completely freaked out.

"How did you know that?" He asks.

"Let's go outside. I need some air," she says as she walks away.

"What makes you think I'll meet you out there?" He challenges her.

She stops, turns around and looks him right in the eyes. "Because, I know you are curious as hell," she grins at him and walks away once more. He stands there, staring at her with his hands on his hips and shaking his head. He smiles.

'She's right. But how does she know me and I don't know her?' He can't take it anymore so he proceeds to walk out into the cool spring night air. He sees her leaning against the wall of the building smoking a cigarette, but her back is turned so she doesn't see him approach her.

"Smoking is bad for you," he says as he stops and stands beside her.

"So is riding a motorcycle," she answers. "Did you know there are more deaths contributed to bike accidents than there are on a plane?"

He is taken aback by her forwardness; he wasn't used to being the cheese, he much preferred to be the mouse. "How did you know I play keyboard? I don't know you," he finally says.

She turns to look at him. "But I know you," she simply says, almost in a flirtatious tease.

'Well, I still don't know you but I think I like you already,' he thinks to himself. 'Alright, I'm up for this game.' "Did we know each other in a previous life?" He asks.

"Yeah, I was the snare drum and you were the stick."

"Ok, now, you're starting to freak me out. Have you seen me play somewhere?"

A huge, wide smile crosses her face and she laughs, loud and boisterous, yet feminine. "I'm sorry. I like messing with people," she says as she flicks the cigarette butt to the curb. "My cousin knows you and I snuck into a bar with him in high school when you were playing," she answers, still with a smile on her face.

He smiles back at her and nods his head. "We didn't…uh…you didn't…there was no hanky panky…" he mutters

and she cuts him off with another laugh.

"No, dude! I was 15!"

"Then why do you look so familiar to me?" He asks.

She looks at him, pulls her hair back with her left hand and he gasps at the scar her hair hid. On her left temple was a vertical scar about 2-1/2 inches long.

Suddenly everything fit into place. "Oh, you were the girl in the car that day?"

She smiles and nods her head. "Docs said if you hadn't applied pressure I would have bled to death right there in the car."

"But you…you never looked at me then."

"The funny thing is, Greg, my Uncle was the E.R. department then, before he retired and my cousin went to school with you. Tony showed me your high school picture so I knew it was you just now. My name is Fifi LaRoo."

FLASHFORWARD TO THE PRESENT

"Hello? Hello? Hello?" Came an impatient voice over the ear piece of the phone; he'd forgotten he dialed the number and drifted off in his thoughts.

"Oh, uh, Laura Walton, please," he said, swallowing hard in nervousness.

"I'm sorry, she's off on a world tour with Genesis filling in for Phil Collins," the woman said in total seriousness.

"Oh, oh, ok. Uh, than…" Greg stuttered then a loud, boisterous laugh came out of the phone.

"Greg! You dork! This is Laura!"

And they both bust out laughing, in a way House hadn't laughed so hard many years, from so many memories, so long ago, with her.

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