Remy awoke to the sound of her phone, the persistent beep nudging her awake through her hangover. She groaned quietly, heel of one hand pressing against the pounding in her temple, and pushed herself up on her elbows slowly. Her unfamiliar surroundings slowly came into focus as she blinked, wincing at the feel of dried out contact lenses in her eyes as they were slowly rewet.
The beeping continued. Remy shook her head, hoping to relieve herself of the cobwebs, as she shuffled over to the chair in the corner where her bag and clothes sat neatly with Megan's coat and scarf from the night before.
She paused, her fingers unconsciously brushing down the length of the cashmere scarf that was draped carelessly over the back of the chair, before locating her phone. It flashed indignantly at her, indicating a message from the hospital. Groaning, she threw the phone on the bed. The last thing she wanted to do was show up at the hospital disheveled, hungover, and in her clothes from the night before. House would have a field day, Foreman would have a cow, and Cuddy—if she was there—would probably have a coronary and demand a drug test.
She took a deep breath, pushing her hands through her hair, before quickly dressing, thankful her clothes didn't smell too much like smoke. She borrowed Megan's hairbrush to straighten her hair, and washed her face. As she wiped the water from her face, she noticed a familiar bottle of perfume on the shelf—the same scent she wore most of the time. Sending up a prayer to whatever deity would claim responsibility for the stroke of luck, she sprayed some on. She made the bed as neatly as she could in a hurry as her phone beeped at her again with another message from the hospital.
Quietly, she tiptoed out of the bedroom and towards the front door. She paused once more, seeing Megan curled up on the couch in the living room, fast asleep. The walls of the living room were covered in bookshelves stuffed to bursting with vinyls and CDs; the overwhelming amount of music making Remy itch to ignore work and stay there all day, raiding the collection and blasting the speakers. Instead, she dug a piece of paper out of her bag and scrawled a note of thanks to Megan, returning to the bedroom to leave it on the bed, and then made her way out of the apartment.
As she called a cab on her way out of the building, she memorized Megan's address.
The third time she spoke to Megan, she was sober and nervous. She had spent all of her Saturday in the ER, along with every other available doctor in town (save for House), dealing with a college house party that had gone bad when the second floor collapsed, thanks to extensive termite damage and someone throwing a bottle of champagne into a fireplace. Sunday she dragged herself out of bed to run her weekly errands and, after those were done, to go see Megan.
She stood outside of the hazily familiar door, hands clenching at the bag in her hands, working up the courage to finally knock. When she did, she immediately wished she hadn't, finding herself completely unprepared for it to open.
Before she could escape, however, it did open, revealing a surprised Megan, barefoot and in a t-shirt and yoga pants.
"Hi," Megan said uncertainly.
"Hey," Remy said, her voice equally uncertain. "Am I…interrupting?"
"Not really," Megan replied, one hand smoothing over her t-shirt nervously. "Just yoga… it's a hobby." They both fidgeted minutely, mutually awkward.
"So, what's up?" Megan said with forced cheer after a few seconds. She stood to the side, allowing Remy room to walk in.
"Well, see," Remy started once she was inside the front foyer, standing uncomfortably. Megan's shyness felt infectious, Remy casting her eyes down at first her shoes, then Megan's feet, to avoid looking the redhead in the eye. Delicate ankles and painted toenails with a dusting of faded bruises. "What I mean is, I wanted to thank you for letting me crash here last night. I feel really bad for falling out on you in the car and making you take care of me, and what you did was completely unnecessary, but I still really appreciate it." She paused, shaking her hair out of her eyes. "So, thank you, Megan. I owe you."
"It's no problem," Megan said. She stood, much like she had the night before beside the park bench, arms wrapped around herself, almost protectively. "You looked like you needed some help."
"Yeah," Remy murmured. "I guess I did." She relaxed minutely. Her grip on the bag in her hands loosened, causing the paper to wrinkle loudly.
"What've you got there?" Megan asked, seemingly desperate to change the subject.
"Oh," Remy said. She smiled and held the package out to Megan. "For you. To demonstrate my thanks."
Megan stared at her, flushing lightly beneath her freckles. "You really didn't have to do that. I mean—"
"And you didn't have to give me a ride last night," Remy interrupted. "Much less let me sleep in your bed." She stepped closer to Megan, pushing the package into Megan's hands. "And really, don't get flustered yet. It might not be anything you actually want, you know," she added dryly.
Megan offered her a half-smile, accepting the package. Slowly, the slid the record out of the bag, her eyes widening as she did. "Oh my God," she breathed out. "Is this real?"
Remy laughed quietly, pleased that the gift was going over well. "Very real," she said. "The obi strip is still together and everything, see?"
"Whoa," Megan said, eyes still wide as she traced her finger over the familiar album cover. "My Generation," she mumbled. "Just…wow."
"So, you like?" Remy said quietly, hoping that the uncertain, hopeful note in her voice wasn't as obvious as it felt. She'd stumbled across it at a thrift shop a year ago, buying it for a twentieth of its true cost from a clueless store clerk, and had wondered what to do with it—she wasn't one for memorabilia, but she loved the Who too much to pass it up. She had almost given it to House the previous Christmas, but was suddenly extremely pleased that she'd passed him over.
"I love it," Megan said. She looked up from the album cover, the first truly happy smile Remy had seen from her gracing her lips. "I mean, are you kidding? This is incredible! It must have cost a fortune!"
"Actually, no," Remy said, ducking her head modestly. "I found it at this secondhand place a while ago, and the kid at the store had no clue how much it was worth. He gave it to me super cheap. I think that he thought it was some crappy old Japanese record, nothing more."
"What an idiot," Megan said emphatically, fingers sweeping over the obi strip.
"Glad you like it," Remy said. She tucked a strand of her hand behind her ear to busy her hand, feeling suddenly too close to Megan. Her fingers twitched unconsciously, and she shoved her hands in her pockets.
"Wow," Megan repeated, voice hushed. She looked up, meeting Remy's eyes. "Thank you again."
"No worries," Remy said. She smiled at her and stepped back. "Anyways, I wanted to drop that by, but I have to head out… weekend's errands, you know." She fumbled with the buttons on her coat, pulling it tightly around her waist.
"Yeah, I know," Megan said. She shuffled past Remy, pausing to set the record gently on the kitchen counter, and opened the front door. "Thanks again."
"Really, it's not worth that much gratitude," Remy said, pausing in the hallway and facing Megan. She pulled her car keys out of her pocket and offered her a rueful smile. "I'm sure I'll see you soon."
"Most likely," Megan said softly. "Have a good night."
"You too," Remy said. With a quiet nod, she started off down the hallway.
"Remy," Megan called out suddenly.
Remy paused, turning around slowly. "Yeah?"
Megan flushed, standing motionless in her doorway, mouth half open. "I…" she stumbled over her words. "Never mind," she said finally. "I'll see you later."
"Okay," Remy said slowly. "Bye." She continued down the hallway, head bowed tiredly.
That was the third.