The Real Thing
Just a small chapter one to a fic prompted by the Princess Rainbow Puke. House meets a strange woman in a bar and, well, you'll see. . .
House was bellied up to the bar at Sullivan’s when a woman walked in that caught his attention. First off, she was different from most of the other barflies who hung around this place. She was wearing expensive clothing and gave off the distinct whiff of private schools, of good breeding. Two, she was basically his type: Brown hair, slim but curvy, intelligent looking. Three-and although he couldn’t quite put a finger on who-she reminded him of someone he knew. Maybe an old college girlfriend? Or an actress he had lusted after? Whatever the case, this strange familiarity gave her even more allure.
Something about the way the woman neatly folded her coat on the barstool next to her and sat up straight in her seat, made House feel that she wasn’t used to coming to bars by herself.
He tried to listen in on her conversation with Dex, the bartender, but he couldn’t make it all out: She was newly divorced. Her ex was watching the kids. Then she said some more things that he didn’t quite catch.
“Ask him,” Dex said at one point, gesturing to House.
The woman looked over at House-and gave a demure smile.
“Ask me what?” House said.
“The lady here wants to know the secret to being comfortable alone at a bar. I figure you have lots of practice.”
“I do, in fact, know the answer to that question,” House said, with a knowing grin.
“But you’re not going to tell me?” the woman said, with tentative flirtatiousness.
“Not without a price,” House said. “I mean, a guy’s gotta have his secrets.”
“Excellent point,” she said, loosening up a bit. “Would another round work as remuneration?”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
The woman ordered House’s drink (scotch) and another white wine for herself and slid a few barstools down to be next to him.
“So what’s the secret?” she said.
“It’s simple,” House said. “Be a dude.”
“What?” she said, slapping his arm playfully. “That’s not helpful!”
“It may not be helpful, but it is, in fact, true. I can sit here at bar and not be hit on all night-well except for right now, of course.”
She laughed.
“I’m not hitting on you!” she protested.
He winked at her.
“You, on the other, have had at least 10 different guys leering at you in the last 20 minutes. It was just a matter of time before one of these dime-store Casanovas made his move.”
“Lucky I’m with you now then,” she said.
House smiled, pleased.
“Indeed,” he said, taking a big swig of his drink.
Then he squinted at her.
“The beauty of coming alone to a bar is you can be whoever you want to be,” he said. “Complete reinvention. No one needs to know about your recent divorce or your child custody battles with your ex.”
“Hey, you were eavesdropping!”
“Sound echoes in here.”
“Suuuure,” she said.
He leaned toward her.
“So, what’s your story, strange lady I’ve just met in a bar?”
“Well, I’m an int-”
“Uh-uh-uh. Reinvention. Not biography.”
“I’m an. . .” she thought it over for a second, “. . .international jewel thief.”
House grinned. Now this was going to be fun.
“Wow. Sounds interesting. So what brings such a specialized professional such as yourself to Princeton?”
“See that woman over there?” she said, pointing to a pudgy, middle aged woman playing Keno. “You might surprised to hear that she’s has millions of dollars worth of rare jewels stashed in a safe in her home.”
“That is surprising,” House said.
“Yes, so I’ve been following her, getting to know her habits. I’ve already cracked the code on her safe. It’s ‘I HEART CATS’ by the way.”
“Naturally,” House said.
“Next step, putting on my jewel-thieving outfit.”
“Skin tight?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Of course! Black leather. And I’ll be slinking into her house to steal the jewels.”
“Sounds hot,” he said, leaning toward her. “Then what?”
“Well, I have to dodge the invisible lasers. She has those set up all over her house.”
“Who doesn’t?” House said.
“Exactly,” the woman shrugged. “But my many years studying mime, kabuki, and . . .belly dancing have helped me be very flexible.”
“Belly dancing, huh?”
“It’s really all in the hips,” she said.
“I would like to see that one day.”
“I’d let you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said, emboldened by the look of amused approval on his face. Then smiling triumphantly, she said: “So I showed you mine. What’s your line of work?”
“Security,” House said. “I’m the one who set up Cat Lady’s lasers.”
“Uh oh,” she said. “Busted.”
“Yeah. So I’m probably going to have to have you arrested unless. . .”
“Unless what?”
“Well, if you come with me immediately, I think we can make alternate arrangements.”
She squinted at him, clearly unsure. She was a good girl at heart, he could see this. Flirting with a strange guy in a bar was one thing. Going home with him was something else completely.
“I guess you leave me no choice,” she said, grabbing her coat.
######
She followed him back to his place-then seriously considered gunning the accelerator and driving away.
His motorcycle had freaked her out. That was a bad boy thing, right? But he lived in a nice part of the city. That was comforting. And, let’s face it, he was sexy as hell. She wanted to sleep with him. It was just that she had never done anything like this before. (Since she got married right out of college, she never even had a chance to go through the rebellious “sleeping with guys I picked up at bars” phase.) Yes, it felt a little dangerous, transgressive: But she had promised herself after the divorce went through that she was going to be less afraid of . . . everything.
So she parked her car and followed the strange man into his building.
He looked pleased, and possibly a little surprised that she had gone through with it.
He pulled his keys out of his leather jacket, opened the front door to his apartment.
More comforting thoughts: It was tastefully decorated-masculine, understated, clean. There was even a nice piano in the corner.
“You were drinking white wine?” he asked her, politely. He seemed, much to her surprise, a little nervous himself.
But before he could even turn toward the bar, she dove for him. He kissed her back and pulled off her coat-it dropped with a thud to the ground-and his hands were roaming her clothed form and she felt turned on in a way that she hadn’t felt in, well, possibly ever.
I’m doing this, she thought. I’m really doing this.
They made their way to his bedroom and he had his hands up her skirt and he was kissing her throat and his mouth was beginning to migrate toward her breasts when she said, “Wait!”
He stopped, already hard, and slightly out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” he said, exasperated, but obedient.
“I just. . .I don’t do this.”
“Neither do I,” he said sincerely.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. . .” she admitted.
“Good,” he said, going to kiss her again.
She pushed him off for a second.
“But I. . .think we should at least introduce ourselves first, right?” she said, sheepishly. “I mean, like, our real names?”
“You mean you’re not an international jewel thief?” he joked. “How disappointing.”
She smiled at him.
“It’s just that I . . .I know nothing about you,” she said.
“I’m a doctor,” he said. “Does that help?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What hospital?”
“Princeton Plainsboro.”
She laughed.
“Then you must know my sister. . .”
And then, like a thunderbolt, it hit her: The stubble, the limp, the cockiness. She’d heard stories about him so many times.
“Oh shiiiiit,” she said, turning white. “I know who you are.”
“Good! Can we have sex now?” he cracked.
“You’re Gregory House.”
He recoiled a bit.
“How on earth do you know that?” he said, narrowing his eyes. Then, cautiously: “Wait. Who’s your sister?”
And before the words had finished forming in his mouth, he knew. Her laugh, her eyes, her posture. The woman she reminded him of was none other than Lisa Cuddy. She was like Cuddy, only with the volume turned down-everything he liked about Cuddy, only less so.
“You’re Julia Cuddy,” he said, his jaw dropping.
“Afraid so,” she said.
“Holy fuck.”
She noticed that he was no longer hard, or out of breath, or excited. It literally felt like the air had been sucked from the room.
“Obviously, we can’t. . .” he said, backing away.
“Not, definitely not!” she agreed.
He thrust out his hand:
“Nice to have met you?” he said.
“Same.”
Awkwardly, they shook.
He showed her to the door.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, as she gave him a half-hearted wave goodnight.
######
House didn’t get any sleep that night. He was officially freaked out. Freaked out that he almost slept with Cuddy’s sister. Freaked out that Cuddy herself might find out. Freaked out, that anyone might find out. And mostly freaked out because he knew, deep down, that Julia Cuddy was just some sort of temporary stand-in for Cuddy, herself. It was like his subconscious was telling him something he had refused to acknowledge in waking life. That he wanted to be with Lisa Cuddy so he had grasped at the next closest thing. And somehow he sensed this wasn’t going to be the last he heard of it.
On Monday, he saw Cuddy in the hallway and had a completely irrational panic reaction-he literally turned and began walking in the opposite direction, which of course made him look more suspicious.
“Hey!” she said, rushing to catch up with him. She grabbed his arm to stop him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said, guiltily.
“Then why are you trying to avoid me?”
“I. . .wasn’t,” House said. “I just remembered that I left my, uh, phone in my office.”
“Your phone is in your back pocket, like it always is. I noticed this when you were running away from me.”
“Stop staring at my ass!” he said, trying to approximate his normal behavior. “I’m a man, not an object!”
She ignored him.
“House, what did you do wrong?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“You know I’m going to find out eventually.”
And House gulped.
To be continued. . .
House was bellied up to the bar at Sullivan’s when a woman walked in that caught his attention. First off, she was different from most of the other barflies who hung around this place. She was wearing expensive clothing and gave off the distinct whiff of private schools, of good breeding. Two, she was basically his type: Brown hair, slim but curvy, intelligent looking. Three-and although he couldn’t quite put a finger on who-she reminded him of someone he knew. Maybe an old college girlfriend? Or an actress he had lusted after? Whatever the case, this strange familiarity gave her even more allure.
Something about the way the woman neatly folded her coat on the barstool next to her and sat up straight in her seat, made House feel that she wasn’t used to coming to bars by herself.
He tried to listen in on her conversation with Dex, the bartender, but he couldn’t make it all out: She was newly divorced. Her ex was watching the kids. Then she said some more things that he didn’t quite catch.
“Ask him,” Dex said at one point, gesturing to House.
The woman looked over at House-and gave a demure smile.
“Ask me what?” House said.
“The lady here wants to know the secret to being comfortable alone at a bar. I figure you have lots of practice.”
“I do, in fact, know the answer to that question,” House said, with a knowing grin.
“But you’re not going to tell me?” the woman said, with tentative flirtatiousness.
“Not without a price,” House said. “I mean, a guy’s gotta have his secrets.”
“Excellent point,” she said, loosening up a bit. “Would another round work as remuneration?”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
The woman ordered House’s drink (scotch) and another white wine for herself and slid a few barstools down to be next to him.
“So what’s the secret?” she said.
“It’s simple,” House said. “Be a dude.”
“What?” she said, slapping his arm playfully. “That’s not helpful!”
“It may not be helpful, but it is, in fact, true. I can sit here at bar and not be hit on all night-well except for right now, of course.”
She laughed.
“I’m not hitting on you!” she protested.
He winked at her.
“You, on the other, have had at least 10 different guys leering at you in the last 20 minutes. It was just a matter of time before one of these dime-store Casanovas made his move.”
“Lucky I’m with you now then,” she said.
House smiled, pleased.
“Indeed,” he said, taking a big swig of his drink.
Then he squinted at her.
“The beauty of coming alone to a bar is you can be whoever you want to be,” he said. “Complete reinvention. No one needs to know about your recent divorce or your child custody battles with your ex.”
“Hey, you were eavesdropping!”
“Sound echoes in here.”
“Suuuure,” she said.
He leaned toward her.
“So, what’s your story, strange lady I’ve just met in a bar?”
“Well, I’m an int-”
“Uh-uh-uh. Reinvention. Not biography.”
“I’m an. . .” she thought it over for a second, “. . .international jewel thief.”
House grinned. Now this was going to be fun.
“Wow. Sounds interesting. So what brings such a specialized professional such as yourself to Princeton?”
“See that woman over there?” she said, pointing to a pudgy, middle aged woman playing Keno. “You might surprised to hear that she’s has millions of dollars worth of rare jewels stashed in a safe in her home.”
“That is surprising,” House said.
“Yes, so I’ve been following her, getting to know her habits. I’ve already cracked the code on her safe. It’s ‘I HEART CATS’ by the way.”
“Naturally,” House said.
“Next step, putting on my jewel-thieving outfit.”
“Skin tight?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Of course! Black leather. And I’ll be slinking into her house to steal the jewels.”
“Sounds hot,” he said, leaning toward her. “Then what?”
“Well, I have to dodge the invisible lasers. She has those set up all over her house.”
“Who doesn’t?” House said.
“Exactly,” the woman shrugged. “But my many years studying mime, kabuki, and . . .belly dancing have helped me be very flexible.”
“Belly dancing, huh?”
“It’s really all in the hips,” she said.
“I would like to see that one day.”
“I’d let you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said, emboldened by the look of amused approval on his face. Then smiling triumphantly, she said: “So I showed you mine. What’s your line of work?”
“Security,” House said. “I’m the one who set up Cat Lady’s lasers.”
“Uh oh,” she said. “Busted.”
“Yeah. So I’m probably going to have to have you arrested unless. . .”
“Unless what?”
“Well, if you come with me immediately, I think we can make alternate arrangements.”
She squinted at him, clearly unsure. She was a good girl at heart, he could see this. Flirting with a strange guy in a bar was one thing. Going home with him was something else completely.
“I guess you leave me no choice,” she said, grabbing her coat.
######
She followed him back to his place-then seriously considered gunning the accelerator and driving away.
His motorcycle had freaked her out. That was a bad boy thing, right? But he lived in a nice part of the city. That was comforting. And, let’s face it, he was sexy as hell. She wanted to sleep with him. It was just that she had never done anything like this before. (Since she got married right out of college, she never even had a chance to go through the rebellious “sleeping with guys I picked up at bars” phase.) Yes, it felt a little dangerous, transgressive: But she had promised herself after the divorce went through that she was going to be less afraid of . . . everything.
So she parked her car and followed the strange man into his building.
He looked pleased, and possibly a little surprised that she had gone through with it.
He pulled his keys out of his leather jacket, opened the front door to his apartment.
More comforting thoughts: It was tastefully decorated-masculine, understated, clean. There was even a nice piano in the corner.
“You were drinking white wine?” he asked her, politely. He seemed, much to her surprise, a little nervous himself.
But before he could even turn toward the bar, she dove for him. He kissed her back and pulled off her coat-it dropped with a thud to the ground-and his hands were roaming her clothed form and she felt turned on in a way that she hadn’t felt in, well, possibly ever.
I’m doing this, she thought. I’m really doing this.
They made their way to his bedroom and he had his hands up her skirt and he was kissing her throat and his mouth was beginning to migrate toward her breasts when she said, “Wait!”
He stopped, already hard, and slightly out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” he said, exasperated, but obedient.
“I just. . .I don’t do this.”
“Neither do I,” he said sincerely.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. . .” she admitted.
“Good,” he said, going to kiss her again.
She pushed him off for a second.
“But I. . .think we should at least introduce ourselves first, right?” she said, sheepishly. “I mean, like, our real names?”
“You mean you’re not an international jewel thief?” he joked. “How disappointing.”
She smiled at him.
“It’s just that I . . .I know nothing about you,” she said.
“I’m a doctor,” he said. “Does that help?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“What hospital?”
“Princeton Plainsboro.”
She laughed.
“Then you must know my sister. . .”
And then, like a thunderbolt, it hit her: The stubble, the limp, the cockiness. She’d heard stories about him so many times.
“Oh shiiiiit,” she said, turning white. “I know who you are.”
“Good! Can we have sex now?” he cracked.
“You’re Gregory House.”
He recoiled a bit.
“How on earth do you know that?” he said, narrowing his eyes. Then, cautiously: “Wait. Who’s your sister?”
And before the words had finished forming in his mouth, he knew. Her laugh, her eyes, her posture. The woman she reminded him of was none other than Lisa Cuddy. She was like Cuddy, only with the volume turned down-everything he liked about Cuddy, only less so.
“You’re Julia Cuddy,” he said, his jaw dropping.
“Afraid so,” she said.
“Holy fuck.”
She noticed that he was no longer hard, or out of breath, or excited. It literally felt like the air had been sucked from the room.
“Obviously, we can’t. . .” he said, backing away.
“Not, definitely not!” she agreed.
He thrust out his hand:
“Nice to have met you?” he said.
“Same.”
Awkwardly, they shook.
He showed her to the door.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said, as she gave him a half-hearted wave goodnight.
######
House didn’t get any sleep that night. He was officially freaked out. Freaked out that he almost slept with Cuddy’s sister. Freaked out that Cuddy herself might find out. Freaked out, that anyone might find out. And mostly freaked out because he knew, deep down, that Julia Cuddy was just some sort of temporary stand-in for Cuddy, herself. It was like his subconscious was telling him something he had refused to acknowledge in waking life. That he wanted to be with Lisa Cuddy so he had grasped at the next closest thing. And somehow he sensed this wasn’t going to be the last he heard of it.
On Monday, he saw Cuddy in the hallway and had a completely irrational panic reaction-he literally turned and began walking in the opposite direction, which of course made him look more suspicious.
“Hey!” she said, rushing to catch up with him. She grabbed his arm to stop him. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he said, guiltily.
“Then why are you trying to avoid me?”
“I. . .wasn’t,” House said. “I just remembered that I left my, uh, phone in my office.”
“Your phone is in your back pocket, like it always is. I noticed this when you were running away from me.”
“Stop staring at my ass!” he said, trying to approximate his normal behavior. “I’m a man, not an object!”
She ignored him.
“House, what did you do wrong?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“You know I’m going to find out eventually.”
And House gulped.
To be continued. . .