The sheets of the bed felt like the scales of fish, hell they even smelled of salt water and the lusty dreams of fisherman. Each one rose and crumbled as though drifting along with the tide and House lay upon those very nautical sheets, eyes dull and shiftless as he stared up at the ceiling. All that stared back was white bits of plaster and the slight change of the moon's light as it bounced in streaky patterns around the room. Every few moments he would grasp the fabric between his fingertips, scrambling those scales so tightly in his fists that he pretended that they would shatter at any given moment. He just had to relent, he had to let go – but he didn't want to. He wanted to wait until the last possible second; to squeeze all life out of their shape and form and just as they would fall to crack – he would save them, release them from his reddening fingertips and be praised for his judgment.
Half finished bottles of whiskey and cheap beer were scattered throughout the bedroom, pieces of broken glass leaving almost a path towards the kitchen from where he had dragged himself after the evening grew stale. He got bored of everything eventually, wandering off into his own drunken worlds – worlds where his damned leg didn't hurt so damned badly. That was pretty much his only fantasy left these days, the one thing that taunted him in his sleep as he spent the nights running and galloping about; only to wake to excruciating hurt and the need for a cane.
The clock at his bedside shone brightly, keeping his attention alert and yet unfocused all the same. He hadn't slept, he couldn't sleep. The sleepy whistles of breathing of both Wilson and Otley coming from the living room had kept him up.
"No, no it's not their fault. You kept yourself up you moron," he muttered to himself in a soft whisper, frustrated and woozy. As he shifted his weight against the sheets of imaginary scales and other aquatic nonsense, he couldn't help but replay the evening back and forth, back and forth, back and forth from every inch of his brain to the other.
"You're a sick person," Otley had playfully teased him as the three drunken souls had sat on the floor with a deck of cards, making the game up as they went along. So far, Wilson had been winning. She came across as surprisingly lucid despite practically polishing off most of what had been in the fridge, her thirst second only to House's.
"He is," Wilson had mumbled in agreement with an amused smirk as he laid his ace of spades down on top of the messy pile. "King me," he'd shouted with delight as he held his hand outstretched.
"Of course your majesty," Otley had replied with a haughty English accent, promptly refilling his glass of wine until the alcohol was literally dripping like a fountain onto the carpet below.
"At least my name isn't Otley," House had spat back. Drinking shortened his senses, made him slower. He had seemed to find himself rather hilarious at the moment, containing his own snickers from behind the rounded opening of a bottle of purple tinted tequila. "I mean, what the hell? Were your parents stoned when they named you? It sounds like a brand of tampons." His voiced had rose in pitch as he took another swig of his bottle. "Heavy flow, girls? Try the new Otley Supers. They're fucking fantastic."
"Otley's my last name dumb ass," she had retorted with a curled upper lip as she doled out two cards from her clutches, exchanging them with the ones Wilson had put down just moments ago. "I just hate to go by Virginia because everyone calls me Ginny and I just can't stand it. Especially since that Harry fucking Potter shit came out. I haven't read that shit, I don't know what a Hogwarts is or why everyone feels the need to ask me if I like it there. It's not cute and I can't stand it."
"Do you know Harry Potter?" Wilson's eyes opened incredulously as he had stared at her like an excited little child, squirming all the while.
"I find it hard to believe that a brilliant doctor would be asking me that," Otley had replied uncomfortably as she snatched House's bottle of liquor from his fingertips, placing it on the floor. "You've had enough." House quickly grabbed the bottle back, lifting it to his lips to make a gaudy show of drinking the rest.
"Well this brilliant doctor is trashed," Wilson mumbled as he spread his cards in front of him, staring at them as though he wanted to analyze each possible move he could make.
"No kidding," Otley had grinned as she gave his shoulder a light squeeze of affection. "Your cards are upside down sweet pea. You're just looking at the back now. Why don't you flip them over?"
"You're a genius," Wilson had shouted with elation as he did as Otley had suggested, gasping as each card's face suddenly became visible to his unsteady and glazed eyes. "It's like you know everything. Are you sure you're not a demon or something? I don't think House deserves to be killed by a demon, I mean he's an ass and all but if you were sent here or something to kill House he might not like it." His voice had trailed off as he continued to drunkenly babble aloud, his brow furrowing in intense yet distanced concentration.
"And this is why we don't let the good doctor drink most of the time," House had stated with a bit of a knowing smile. The tequila now drained from the bottle and coursing through his system, he threw the glass gently down the hall and listened as it rolled over each plank of wood and passing potential obstacles.
And now as House struggled between his sheets, the pillow beneath his leg feeling as though a rock at the present moment; each tendon in his knee aching and throbbing – now he couldn't stop hearing it all. Perhaps the apartment was too silent. Instead of his sneakers at the bed's end where the floor met, he kept seeing her lips curve into a look that dabbled between amused and petrified. It was odd to him, someone that lived such a bizarre and out of control lifestyle would find the conversations and events of the evening to be shocking. She was among gorillas on those tours, among boys who never had to grow up or abide to anyone's word beneath the blue open sky. There was no such thing as rules. There was no such thing as normal. Fame was the world that everyone dreamt of, but no amount of dreams could prepare for the startling truth that lies ahead.
Though, well aware it was merely a side effect of the incredible intoxication he felt at the moment, House stared in complete and utter awe as the laces of his shoes melted away into the form of her face. She didn't blink, she didn't move, she didn't do anything at all but stare – and he stared right back, his thoughts once more drifting back to the card game.
"Ginny Binny," House had derided in a bland tone. "Can you pass the frozen waffles?" She had, but with a look of utmost disgust upon her face which he was unsure if it had been due to his choice of nutrition or use of a dreaded nickname.
"I seriously doubt some halfway de-frosted bread is going to keep you from puking up everything you just drank by morning. But sure go ahead, keep telling yourself it'll help," she had said with a shrug as Wilson's eyes fluttered shut from where he was sitting. "Maybe you should lie down."
"No I'm fine," he had argued though truly too drunk to do so as his speech slurred and his eyes closed once more with a weighted yawn and tiny hiccup.
"Here," Otley had hoisted herself from the floor, her cards splaying in all directions as they fell from her lap while she loaded a few of the couches smaller pillows into her delicate arms. "C'mere and lay down at least." She scattered them about the floor, creating a makeshift bed as Wilson unsteadily made his way over. Lowering himself onto his side, he had curled his legs slightly against his chest as his head pressed into the pillow. There was a creak from the closet door as Otley carefully opened it, pulling out a few of House's warmer jackets. "And to keep you warm," she had muttered as she spread them over Wilson's frame, making sure that he was covered somehow from the neck down. "You'll come and wake House or me if you need us, right?" Wilson, however, had simply snored.
She had helped House limp to bed and disappeared to fall asleep herself, perhaps in the bathtub or on the couch he wasn't sure which. Apparently she had no trouble sleeping wherever as long as she was never alone. So here he lay, practically sweating alcohol from his pores as he tossed and turned, loopy and just barely aware that someone had stepped into his bedroom as his thoughts had been drifting. Peering towards the door, House saw a small figure looking scared and lonely as she clutched a beaten and worn doll shaped like a mermaid against her chest.
"Alright. Come here," House grumbled as though it were an inconvenience as he slid over to make room in the bed. There were a few moments of shuffling about and then everything was once again still. He could feel the stuffed fingertips of the doll pressing against his neck, as well as the occasional warmth of her breath as she slipped her tiny arms around his waist and pressed a grateful kiss along the side of his mouth.
"Can I lie on your shoulder?" she asked in the quietest of voices, barely impeding the silence of the room.
"Sure, one second." House paused as he felt the bare skin of her legs curl against his own, entwining in a way that he had only ever slept before with one person. His mind was already muddied and thick from the evening's drinks and unable to settle as even the slightest brush of her toes against his own epidermis sent trillions of signals pulsating and rocketing throughout his body, shaking him in a frightening yet enticing way. Jolts were literally pumping about from organ to organ, second to second as her small coos of comfort rattled his composure and nervous system, turning him into an anxious little child who was in way over his head.
"Are you okay?" Otley inquired as she watched him curiously. "You're not feeling sick now are you? I hate when people throw up on me while I sleep." Her nose wrinkled visbily.
Speechless, and unsure of what to say House merely nodded. "Yeah – yeah that's it. I just felt sick. I'm okay now, I think." And with a wan smile and shaky sigh, he turned to his side and wrapped a cautious arm around the petite creature that had come to slumber and dream the night away by his side.
"I told you those frozen waffles wouldn't help," she murmured with a bit of bratty tone, her eyes glancing up at him momentarily as she grinned. She yawned softly, her lashes wavering and with a gentle sigh she curled against his shoulder blade and closed her eyes. "I told you."