Author's Note: A mid-day update - won't happen often but the boss is away and I can't seem to concentrate on my job today! I still own nothing related to House, hence the day-job. Thanks for all the reviews - they're better than chocolate!
House felt drained. It had taken everything he had in him to admit that he needed help, to ask her to dispose of the pills. He could hardly believe it when she'd done it. When she'd left to take away the empty bottles, he'd figured that was the last time he'd ever see her. He couldn't understand why she'd come back.
When she'd asked him to come with her, he'd followed her because he couldn't think of a reason not to. He was numb. What little of his brain was working was moving in slow motion. He'd locked his door on auto-pilot and followed her across the hall into her apartment.
The gate was up and he waited while she moved it aside. The dog was barking and wagging her tail in excitement. He looked at her, thinking that it was obvious what she was thinking. Her new toy was back. He moved to the couch and she leapt up beside him, putting her front feet on his good leg. He rubbed behind her ears and she lay down beside him, pressing as much of her body as possible against his leg. He kept petting her, running his hand down her side.
"Do you like old movies?" He looked up at Sarah, surprised by the query. He'd been expecting a lot of questions but that was not one of them. Surely she wanted to know why he had so many pills and why he'd wanted her to get rid of them.
"That's really what you want to know?" he asked. She dropped onto the couch beside him, the dog between them.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious," she told him. "But I thought maybe you'd prefer a distraction."
"I'd thought my…friend had cleaned the place out after… after I left," he said.
"Do you want to call him, let him know you're here?" she asked. He shook his head.
"He knows." Her eyes widened a bit at that revelation. He wondered how much she'd figured out.
"Ok," she said. Her expression was neutral, save for her eyes. He could tell that she was thinking, revising her assessment of the situation. Suddenly that distraction sounded like a good idea.
"How old?" he asked and it only took her a second to catch on.
"Black and white old," she replied. "I have quite a selection." She got up and moved toward the bookcase closest to her tv, which contained an assortment of dvds. "We've got westerns, screwball comedies, film noir – any of that sound good to you?"
"You pick," he said. He wasn't really interested in watching a movie. It was just a good way to stop this conversation.
"Ok. How about a Road movie? There's not much plot to speak of but Hope and Crosby are great together." He shrugged, leaving it up to her.
She put in a movie called Road to Morocco and returned to the couch. He could feel her watching him from time to time but he kept his eyes on the screen. She was right; the two actors were funny together. Insults and one-liners flew back and forth. The film was half-way over when he realized that he was reminded of bantering with Wilson. He wondered if the younger man would have enjoyed the movie. What was he doing right now? Was he talking to Amber in the rest of the apartment now that House was gone, or did he still have to retreat to his bedroom for that?
It was all she could do not to gasp when he told her that his friend knew he was here. What sort of a person, she wondered, would let his addicted friend return from rehab to an apartment full of drugs? Clearly he wasn't much of a friend.
She hadn't been surprised when Greg had jumped back to the movie idea. As much as she wanted to know more about what had happened to him, she was afraid to push. She'd gotten pushy with the laundry the night before and he'd fled. She was determined not to do that again.
He hadn't wanted to pick so she'd chosen an old favorite. A Road movie never failed to distract her. She loved to watch Hope and Crosby try to top one another's jokes. She darted glances at her neighbor as the movie played. He kept his eyes on the screen, his face showing no reaction to what he was watching. Perhaps this wasn't the best choice, she thought. Maybe something with a more involved plot would have been a better distraction.
Something changed about half-way through the film. The defeated slump of his shoulders, which had eased once he'd sat down with the dog, returned. His brow furrowed. She was certain that he had no idea what was happening on the screen anymore. He was lost in his own unhappy thoughts again. She wanted to reach out to him but she remembered him shying away from her touch the night before.
Maggie had no such inhibitions. She moved on the couch, putting her front feet onto his good leg and looking up at him. Her tail wagged hesitantly and she squeaked. He glanced down at her and her tail moved faster. She moved up onto his chest, leaning into him, continuing to look up at him.
"What does she want?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the dog.
"She's hugging you," Sarah said. "She doesn't have arms so she just…leans." He nodded, still looking at the dog. He shifted his arm around, trying to find a comfortable position for it now that the dog had moved and finally wound up putting it around her. Maggie laid her head against his shoulder and sighed.
The movie had ended five minutes ago. Sarah had turned off the tv but House was still sitting on her couch. The dog was pressed up against him and he could feel her heartbeat, more rapid than a human's, against his chest. His neighbor had gone into her kitchen and he could smell chili cooking.
Part of him wanted to move, to get out of there, but he didn't know where to go. His apartment seemed cold and dark. Wilson wasn't speaking to him. Cuddy was with Lucas and Rachel; she wouldn't want him there. His team thought he was evil.
He'd been staring at the floor but when he heard Sarah returning he looked up. She sat back down on the couch and looked at him. She gave him a small smile but her eyes were worried.
"I've got a pot of chili on the stove. Are you hungry?"
"No," he said.
"Ok. It'll keep. There's plenty there if you get hungry later."
"You don't have to feed me."
"I know." She looked away, and he studied her. Her hair was loose today, tucked back behind her ears. It was a rich brown and fell past her shoulder blades. Her eyes were also brown. Yesterday he'd thought she was in her mid-twenties but studying her up close he could see faint lines around her eyes that made him think she was older than that. She had on a long-sleeved aqua-colored v-necked shirt and jeans. She wore no jewelry other than a small diamond on a chain around her neck. Her nails were unpainted and he didn't see a trace of make-up on her face.
He shifted his gaze from her to the room. Her apartment's layout was a mirror image of his own. A desk sat in the corner where his piano was, turned at the same angle as his piano. Her couch was turned to face toward the door. She had two wing-backed chairs sitting at right angles to the couch. There was no coffee table but there were suede-covered ottomans, one by each chair. They were bright red and on wheels. A sofa table sat behind the couch. He couldn't turn to look with the dog on him but he remembered that the back wall of the room was lined with book-cases, all of which were full. The light colors made the room seem larger than his living room.
His gaze came back to his hostess and he found that she was watching him. He suddenly felt trapped, pinned beneath the dog and her gaze. He shifted on the couch.
"Can I move her?" he asked.
"Of course. Here, I'll get her." Sarah moved over to lift off the dog. Her hair swung forward, and he caught a whiff of her shampoo's scent. She moved back, dog in her arms, and he got up, hobbling at first as his leg adjusted. He went to her bookcases and started studying the titles.
There was an entire five-shelf case full of books related to the US Civil War. Two shelves in the next case seemed to be different editions of Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes' stories, and the shelves beneath those contained Holmes novels from different authors. There was a Persian slipper on the middle shelf, sitting in front of the books, and House picked it up for a second. There was only packing paper in the toe; no tobacco. The third case contained more novels. He recognized a few of the author's names: Rex Stout, Margery Allingham, and Raymond Chandler, amongst them. He moved over toward her desk. Its surface was mostly bare, save for a laptop resting in the center and a pencil cup on one corner.
He turned to look back to the couch, where she was watching him.
"What do you do in the history department?" he asked.
"I'm the administrative assistant to the department chair and the office manager."
"Do you like it?"
"It depends on which faculty members I'm dealing with. What about you? Do you like being a doctor?"
"I like puzzles."
"What kind of doctor are you?"
"I run the Diagnostics department. We get cases that have stumped other doctors."
"And you solve the puzzles. That must be exciting."
"There's a lot of waiting to see what happens next." He didn't want to talk about the hospital; that would make him think about his team and that would lead to thinking about Cuddy and Wilson.
Sarah had watched while he'd done a tour of her living room, scanning her bookshelves and winding up by her desk. He'd asked her about her job but tensed up when she asked about his. She was trying to think of a safe topic but was coming up empty. Maybe the best thing to do was be direct. She got up from the couch and moved around so she was standing at the end and leaning against the arm. She didn't want to crowd him.
"Can I ask you something?" she said. "If I'm out of line, just say so and we'll drop it."
"What do you want to know?" he asked.
"What's wrong with your leg?"
