The next day blows in damp and cold. A low grey sky provides a watercolor backdrop for brown leaves falling onto the city sidewalks. Harding doesn't pause to glance around, just hurries into the hospital, head down, jacket collar up. Water splashes up from the sidewalk onto her ankles, and mist tickles her ears. She hardly slows her pace as she shoulders open the door, barreling into the lobby.
She's given up the flats and skirt for slim black pants and a red checked button-down. The white cuffs cover her wrists, and she's buttoned the collar. Her hair is different too: skin tight braids everywhere but the top, culminating in a messy bun. She feels like herself again.
She enters the office is a manner only slightly less quiet; what lies inside does nothing to improve her mood.
"Yeah, I'd be angry too if I left being second world champion in kitesurfing to be a social worker at a hospital," House calls from his desk.
"Congratulations, you can use Google. You want your gold star now or later?" She slumps into a chair and produces her notebook and pencil. "Now, how's Wendy doing?"
"Stayed stable throughout the night," Cameron begins. "We're running a test on-"
Chase interrupts. "Is that my jacket?"
Harding looks down. "Oh, yeah. Forgot I was wearing it." She shucks it off, and puts it on the back of the chair to dry. "You were saying, Cameron?"
The doctor looks between the two uncomfortably. "…testing her blood to see if-"
"I really liked that jacket."
"Yeah, so did I," Harding snaps. "But this is neither the time nor the place so how about you shut up about it for now and let me do my job, yeah? Cameron?" Red has spread across her cheekbones, she matches her shirt.
Cameron stutters out the rest of the information and Harding stands, snapping her notebook shut. "Anything else I need to know before I go down there?"
"You work best on the ten square metres," House says without looking up.
"Obviously. Placed the world's with that one."
She runs into Chase on her way back.
"Hey! Don't do that, yeah?"
"Do what?"
They're standing a little too close; she tilts her head up to look at him. "You know what I'm talking about. I work here same as you, all right?"
"Gee, I'm sorry Wally, I just really like that jacket," he says, drowning the statement in sarcasm.
"Look, we both know I'm a c-nt, but we can hash that out later, okay? I guess I owe you that much."
"Oh, you guess?"
"Robert."
He considers apologising, the changes his mind. "After work then?"
"Told you, I can't. During lunch?"
"Yeah, but if someone almost dies, you have to promise not to avoid me again."
"No promises, you know I'm a coward."
He almost laughs. "Most reckless coward I ever met."
The boozer's packed on a Saturday evening; it doubles as a club in this area of town.
"Here ya go." Wally plunks a schooner in front of Robert, edging in at the small table they're all crammed around with another couple. Her own is raised to her mouth; she's not one to drink slowly.
"Why are we here?" He asks in her ear, over the noise of the pub.
"Cause you wanted to get out on your night off and be seen with a hot girl?"
"And you needed someone to make sure you didn't get too rotten." It's one thing to come from a European family that applies alcohol in moderation; a fucked up one is quite a different story. And he can tell by the way she's jittering, it's not a buzz she's looking for, but a fight.
It comes too quickly. He's settled into a relaxed haze, and is leaning on the table, running his fingers between the braids on the back of her head, and twirling the wisps of hair at her nape between them. She brushes his hand away.
"Stop it."
"Or what?" he shifts to wrap around her from behind, nipping at her ear. "You'll come?" He wants to feel her relax back into him, to laugh at him and tug him back home, but instead she shakes him off. He steps back, all smile gone. "What's up, Bowen? What are we doing here?"
She's bouncing on the balls of her feet, glancing around. "Sorry, I'm just…ya know."
"Can we get out of here then before you slug someone? C'mon, I can think of better ways for you to work out this energy."
But her mind's gone; she's half tugged away from him, glaring at some bloke whose eyes have rested a little too long where they shouldn't.
"Can I help you mate?" Her accent grows when she's drunk, or ready for a fight.
The man smirks, sizing up Chase before returning his gaze to Wally. He's at least two metres tall, and fairly broad - the kind of cocky guy in his early twenties who can't seem to do anything but reps at the gym.
"Just like your shirt, love."
"Get stuffed ya fuckwit."
He laughs. "What are you going to do about it, little slut like you?"
Robert grabs her as she jumps forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Come on Wally, let's go. Not worth it."
"What, not going to defend your girl?" Cocky calls as they walk off.
Robert glances back. "Yeah, luckily for you med school taught me to keep my head."
Because if Wally at hardly 1.6 metres and 50 kilos can break a nose in one punch, Robert knows exactly where to hit to dislocate a jaw.