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04 November 2011 @ 11:55 pm
Who: House and Cameron
What: Having just encountered his dead-slash-retrograded girlfriend after six weeks, House returns to his apartment with an understandably addled preoccupation; Cameron should be a very effective distraction
Where: 221 B Baker Street
When: A few hours following this
Warnings: Likely scenes of a BDSM nature; otherwise, you're forewarned


It's dark by the time House's motorcycle rambles up to the curb. Fall, and the days are getting shorter; when he leaves the hospital the streets are already dark. Winter is coming and House can already feel the throb in his leg, where the pain is almost already constant. He holds his gloved hand over his thigh for the entire ride home. His chapped cheeks are red when he pulls the helmet from his head, upsetting a cowlick of brown-ginger at the base of his neck. His eyes are tired. His body, doubly the cheat of those baby blues, makes its way to the top of the stone steps and forces he key in the lock.

He wants nothing more than the dark and the anonymity it brings. Cameron is somewhere inside, he thinks, or she's got a late shift at the hospital. Her growing responsibilities at work have meant a slight kink in their kink at home; he has had to handle himself more than a couple of times this week, in her absence. And yet she's happy -- and he finds himself strangely happy for her. It's a new feeling, and one that will take some getting used to. He drops his keys into the bowl when he steps in the door, noting the faint chase of candlewax scent as he steps into his den.

He wants this day to be over.
 
 
24 October 2011 @ 01:28 pm
Who: Stacy and House
What: a little visit
Where: Dept of Diagnostic Medicine at PPTH
When: early fall
Warnings: possibly for language [no guarantees of anything at this point]

It's been over a year since she was transferred to PPTH and still, venturing far from the familiarity of her room causes her some anxiety. Some days it's worse than others. She doesn't like it, but she can't do anything about it, except take her meds. She doesn't mind the anti-anxiety meds as much as some of the others they have her on, but they won't let her take just the ones she likes. (Which she finds ridiculous.)

Today, however, she cheated. She's only taken the anti-anxiety meds. The rest she dropped into her pocket. If she decides she needs to take them later, she will. For the moment, she's content as she is. Her head is clear and she wants to take a walk. She doesn't know where she'll go, but she'll figure it out.

When she leaves the psychiatric ward, no one stops her - she did have to sign out, but that's all. As she rounds a corner, she nearly collides with a blond doctor. Blinking, startled, she brushes hair from her face and glances up at him. A vague sense of recognition passes through her mind. She apologizes softly and ducks past him. The way he's staring at her makes her nervous.

He didn't seem to take the hint. He steps up next to her as she's walking to the stairwell and asks if she knows where she's going. She does and she tells him so. He continues to try to tag along until she fires off that she'll report him for harassment and file charges if he doesn't leave her alone. Yes, it was more harsh than she needed to be, but it's hard enough for her to just be walking around the hospital on her own. Unsolicited aid is unwelcome.

She pushes into the stairwell and leans into the corner, breathing for a moment to collect herself. Fourth floor. That's where she's going. It's what she focuses on. Up the stairs, through the door, into the corridor.

Crap.

It's not where she thought she'd be. She wanders the corridors, around corners. down long hallways, past patient rooms and waiting areas. An older gentleman reading a chart piques her memories - much the same as the blond guy, but less intrusive feeling - and she approaches him to ask where Dr. House's office is. His smile is much warmer than she was expecting, and he points down the corridor. She's nearly there. With a nod of thanks she completes her trek. She doesn't know why she wanted to come up here, other than to get out of the psych unit for a little while. And, House hasn't been by to talk to her in a few weeks. She assumes he's been working, but the cabin fever set in harder than she thought. His office is wide-open and easily viewable from the hallway... and empty. He's not there.

She doesn't want to go back downstairs. Not yet. So, she sits on the bench across the hall from his office. She'll wait.
 
 
04 January 2011 @ 10:03 pm
Who: Connor MacLeod and Greg House
What: man talk over alcoholic beverages
Where: The Grey Horse
When: a few nights after House and Cameron are released from County lock-up
Warnings: only if they get drunk and swear


The bar's not doing badly, business-wise, though tonight's a little slow. There aren't typically many customers wandering through on a Tuesday. The number of customers never matters to Connor. He runs the bar because he likes it - better than the antique store, even if he'd never tell Rachel.

He's stocking the shelves and being amused by the randomness of the jukebox. It was playing the Stones a moment ago and now it's playing "Moondance".
 
 
12 December 2010 @ 03:48 pm
Who: Stacy and House
What: meeting? appointment? something?
Where: Psychiatric Unit of PPTH
When: late fall / early winter
Warnings: possibly for language


Her potted plant sits on the shelf near the only window in the room. Her roommate is in art therapy, so she's alone for a bit to read or write in her journal. For the moment, she's opting to read. Fiction even. She's had enough of non-fiction and law books for now.

She's been out of law school for nearly a year, and as much as she wants to go back, she's not ready.

On the bed next to her is a bottle of water and a small stuffed horse. She doesn't know who the stuffy is from; it was on the bed when she arrived.
 
 
26 November 2010 @ 08:52 pm
Who: House and Cameron
What: Homecoming
Where: House's apartment
When: Follows this thread.
Warnings: Almost a guarantee at this point

Baker Street is dark by the time the cab pulls up to the curb. It's six forty-five. House doesn't remember the street lamps coming on this early before he left but, then again, it seems as if a whole epoch has passed between the time he boarded a plane to Durham and this dark, muddled twilight. The cabbie parks close enough to the curb that House doesn't have to lunge for the sidewalk, but he doesn't offer to handle the luggage out of the trunk. Not that House has a lot of luggage in the first place -- a carry-on with a couple of wadded t-shirts, a book and a couple of orange pill bottles -- but the strap cuts a pink welt across his palm when he finally lifts it over his shoulder. The cab puffs away and House puffs too, his breath coming out in a thin dragon stream. It is a few moments before he wills himself to look up at 221B's windows.

Light leaks through the shades. Someone is home. That in itself is a strange circumstance; House does not remember the last time he went away, only to come back to someone waiting for him. He has a sudden mental flash of Cameron's good, soft hand soap and feels his chest tighten with something he cannot explain.

He mounts the steps and turns his shoulder to the wind while fishing for his key. The wind stings his wrists above the cuffs, but he doesn't hurry. 'Always gives her a little time when he's at the door, just in case she needs it. He also does it for himself: the anticipation of seeing her again is at turns maddening and delicious.
 
 
 
13 September 2010 @ 12:16 am
Who: Stacy and House
What: meeting? appointment? something?
Where: Psychiatric Hospital in Durham, NC
When: late summer
Warnings: hopefully not, but anything's possible


She doesn't know exactly when it happened, but it happened. It hadn't been easy dealing with the abrupt lack of noise in her head, but she'd tried. For weeks. For weeks she had tried to cope with the silence, but her psyche wasn't strong enough to handle the change.

She remembers being in class one Thursday and noticing the distinct lack of extra noise. That became her sole focus. For the rest of class, she was so distracted by the sudden silence that she was nearly dismissed from class for being unable to respond to questions.

She remembers completely bombing her mock trial because of an inability to focus on the task at hand. Her mind suddenly open to things she didn't have the mental energy to notice before, she had difficulty focusing on the more important things - like class.

She doesn't remember when she started slipping past the point of sanity. When her mind stopped focusing on much of anything at all.

She doesn't remember when she first started insisting that Dr. House was the only person she would speak to. When she was driven to the hospital and tucked away in the white room with the soft walls.

She doesn't remember when they first brought her the little pills and the tepid water to wash them down with. Or when she started sitting in the corner, hiding from the world.
 
 
15 December 2009 @ 02:29 pm
Who: House and Cameron
What: A night at the theater
Where: All over town
Warnings: No telling at this point


House only owns one tie. The severity of his neckwear drought had never bothered him before, especially when he had lived with Wilson and it had been Tie-O-Rama whenever he'd needed one. Now, trying to fit the faded, moth-eaten tie through his collar, House kind of wishes that he'd retained a couple of Wilson's ties for prosperity. He tugs the ends of the thing from around his neck with a grunt, balling it up in his fist. Forget it. Leaning forward in the mirror he skims his knuckles over his thinning red-gray hairline. 'Winces. This is what getting older amounts to: wrecked ties and bald spots. Someone'll probably see he and Cameron at the theater and think that she's escorting him around on behalf of a senior citizens charity.

He shoves his feet into a pair of sneakers and slides his keys into the pocket of his trousers. No tie, but a white button-down oxford open at the collar, silver-studded belt around his hips. He's even got his "dress cane" at the ready -- it's not coattail weather, but House probably wouldn't look too bad in a top hat.

'Quick check of his watch. It's almost seven. He slumps into the living room to wait for her to finish getting dressed. Connor attends him from his place on the floor, chewing contentedly on the oversized dog bone Cameron let him unwrap early.

He glances at his watch again. 'Turns a look over the back of the couch.

"At this rate, we'll be seeing The Iceman Goeth. What are you doing in there?"
 
 
11 December 2009 @ 02:13 pm
Who: House, the "team" (NPC) and Cameron
What: Christmas traditions
Where; House's office
When: Mid-afternoon
Warnings: None, probably

The holidays are slinking closer and closer. It's impossible to walk five feat without smacking into the Season. Cuddy's practically gift-wrapped the entire lobby -- House has to step over three plastic sheep and a manger on his way to the elevators -- and every nurses station radio is tuned in to one of those twenty-four-hour Christmas line-ups. House heads toward the comparative Christmas desert of his office (wisely, no one since Cameron has ever tried to hang stockings over the sink) and bumps his way inside, slinging his bag onto the chair at the head of the conference table.

-- Which is covered by a Christmas table-runner. House glances steelily at the other end of the table where Henry's parked himself, a Christmas tie splashed down the front of his shirt.

"You do realize I could have you executed for this," House says blandly, sweeping the table runner onto another chair.

Henry shrugs. "You hit, I hit back. I thought the office could use a little Christmas cheer."

House climbs out of his coat and retreats to his desk, slapping old messages out of the way. "Take it all down."

The older man smirks and points at a bundle of mistletoe hanging directly above House's head. "Even that?" he asks.

House glances up. "Especially that."
 
 
01 December 2009 @ 02:34 pm
Who: Connor - open
What: tending bar
Where: The Grey Horse
When: all day and all night
Warnings: probably not, but things can change (though more likely for language than sex in this case)


Connor's wiping down the bar, dusting off the piano, clinking glasses into their racks, turning bottles to be label-side out, making sure the soda dispensers are full and ready and generally, just doing various house-keeping things in the bar. It doesn't yet have a holiday feel. No one's been by to put up decorations, though he's not going to go out of his way to find someone to remedy that. It's a bar. Booze and paying customers is about all it needs.

And the piano. For some reason, the piano adds something to the atmosphere. Makes it more friendly and 'old tavern'-like. He's not much of a musician, but he likes the piano.
 
 
19 October 2009 @ 01:04 am
who: Stacy Radburn, probably Greg House, Stacy's roommate (NPC)
what: unexpected house call
where: Stacy's campus apartment
when: near the weekend / Friday mid-morning-ish, before Stacy goes to class (?)
warnings: well, Stacy won't be happy at the delay / interruption, from there, who knows what could happen.


She woke up late - again - dammit. She managed to get a shower in and twisted her hair up off her neck so no one would notice that she hasn't washed it in a couple days. That's penciled in for this weekend and how sad is it that she has to schedule things like that to keep up with school? From the 'clean' side of the closet, she found a navy pantsuit that she hasn't worn in months because it was too big and never did hang right on her. All the walking and running she's been doing must be paying off, because it fits properly now. She has to wear a dark blouse under it because the white ones are all on the 'dirty' side of the closet and she hasn't managed to schedule 'laundry' in yet this week. She'll have to check her calendar when she has a spare minute.

Her room is a disaster - typically it's not this bad, but she has a test next week that she's scrambling to get ready for and she has books and notes everywhere - and she can't find her copy of the case for today's class. Taking a deep breath, she puts her things on the end of the bed and starts at the door, scouring each available surface for the case in question.

She hears her roommate zoom past her room toward the kitchen, but doesn't even stop to look over her shoulder. She has to find this case text.