He was sleeping, one arm draped across my chest, chin digging into the crook of my neck. Greg's sleep habits being as erratic as his personality, he could be wide awake in five minutes or he could keep me pinned to the bed for the next five hours. I couldn't get up without disturbing him and since the building wasn't on fire I didn't really have a reason to move anyway.
It was all about control. He has to feel like he's in control. The month Foreman was put in charge of his department I sat back and watched as Greg was climbing the walls, three seconds away from strangling Foreman with the yo-yo string. It's very easy to trace it all back to the roots–Stacy. She chose the fate of his leg without his consent and now he'll live with it for the rest of his life. He'll be damned if anything like that will ever happen again. I suppose in many ways I can't blame him for his borderline control-freak ways .
Of course I'm not going to operate on his leg, but this current situation has brought out the fact that Gregory House is just as vulnerable as the rest of us mere mortals. Not that he would admit it in so many words. His manhandling of me before I barely crossed the threshold of the front door, not letting me look at him until he was damn good and ready speaks volumes by itself.
But I have to admit those hands of his can do some amazing things.
A sudden low grunt and Greg was moving, turning over and muttering incoherently. I was free to move again. No food in my stomach since lunch, I realized I was starving. Blindly navigating to the dresser, I tried my damndest to be careful and still smacked my toe hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I managed to pull on a pair of sweatpants without killing myself, then felt my way to the door.
"Jimmy."
I stopped and waited. Nothing except the whispery sound of his breathing.
"Greg, you okay?" I said softly.
Silence.
My hand found the hallway light switch and flipped it on. In the pale light Greg didn't stir. He was on his side with his back more or less to the door. He was sound asleep.
Just hearing things. I closed the door.
Before dinner I made a pit stop to the bathroom. In the mirror I could see the right side of my face and neck looked like it had been attacked with a belt sander, punctuated by a hickey just high enough so it couldn't be camouflaged by a shirt collar. Great.
My coat, suit jacket and tie were still in a heap by the front door. I brushed them off and hung them up, my tie joining the keys in the coat pocket.
Ninety minutes and two roast beef sandwiches later I was sipping a beer and flipping through the channels when the bedroom door creaked open. Greg squinted in the light, then limped over to the couch. Baggy pajama bottoms were all he was wearing, and I'm pretty sure he didn't nearly trip and break his neck trying to find his way around in there. Without a word he sank in the couch and put an arm around my shoulder.
"You hungry?" I asked just to say something, wondering what was on his mind.
"Ssh, I'm enjoying the moment," he said quietly, sinking back into the cushion. "Just let me sit here a while."
His earlier aggressiveness seemed to have packed it up and called it a night. Greg appeared as relaxed as I'd ever seen him. But I suppose great sex can a have a nice calming effect on a person, especially if he has every reason to be wound up to begin with.
After a few minutes he said in the same quiet voice, "If you could heat some water for coffee, that would be great."
Hardly able to say no, I filled up the kettle and put it over the flame. Back in the kitchen doorway I looked at the couch and was met with his cat-that-swallowed-the-canary gaze.
"What?" I stopped and leaned in the frame.
"You are cute when you're all hot and bothered," Greg smirked.
"Is that with or without the choke hold?"
"I didn't hear you complaining. I thought all you nice Jewish boys liked it a little rough."
"Is that what you call this, a little rough?" I pointed to the whisker burns and hickey.
He snickered at the big purple blob on my neck. "I guess it could be called 'collateral damage'. Again, I didn't hear you complaining since you were too busy yelling out my name."
"You hollered out mine more than a few times," I pointed out.
"I never said I didn't," he responded with that calm voice that let me know he was still in control of his domain. "Maybe next time I should gag you with that tie."
"You have to catch me first."
"I caught you before, and something tells me you're not going to try too damned hard to get away."
I had to laugh. He was right, of course.
Glancing over at the stove, I said, "The water's boiling."
