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Spellbound and Swallowed
by Laura
Spellbound and Swallowed
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Sports Medicine
Feedback: It's my first House fic, so if you don't mind.
Summary: Beneath his fingertips he can feel blood, warm and essential, coursing through her veins. "You leave me absolutely exhausted."
:.::.::.::.:
"I'll race you to the car!"
She's faster than him, but he'll just say he let her win (if anyone asks). When he catches up to her, she's leaning against a nondescript black sedan, looking towards the sky. He sincerely hopes she doesn't plan to start waxing poetic about the solar system.
"I used to look at the sky all the time when I was younger."
He settles against the car, deciding whether he should cut her off or let her speak. She doesn't say anything else, and he never did like sitting still.
"And now you don't?"
"No."
"Well, there must be a reason."
Looking at him, she has the urge to slap the brim of his hat so it covers his eyes. Instead she looks away, and smiles into her shoulder.
"I wanted to know what was up there. It was a mystery. But now I know why the sky is blue and why stars are in fixed positions."
"Ah. So one could say you like mysteries. The exhilaration of the unknown."
Flinging hair over her shoulder, "Yes," clears her throat, "but now tell me something about you."
Brief pause, then "I've had this deep-seated hatred of rabbits ever since--"
She gives his shoulder a shove, it's not hard but was unexpected, and he drops his cane.
He glances at his cane on the ground, and then to her.
"I didn't know you were prone to violence. You must be fun at parties."
She bends down and picks up his cane, but doesn't give it back to him.
"Can't you give me a straight answer?"
"But this way is more fun."
Waving his cane in the air between them, "You're not getting this back until you tell me something about yourself. I told you something, it's only fair."
"Damn, I left my spare cane in my other pants."
He makes a half-hearted grab for his cane, but to no avail.
"If I'd known beforehand that you wanted to interrogate me, I would've brought my lawyer."
"Dr. House, I mean--"
"It's Greg. It rolls off of the tongue quite nicely."
"Greg ..."
"I love it when you say my first name. Gives me chills."
No reaction, but her eyes give her away. "Greg."
Her cheeks are slightly red from the cold weather, and he pretends that doesn't matter.
"You're not off the hook. Tell me something, it can be anything."
Pretending to brush something off of his jacket, he turns towards the car, "I like to read ... sometimes."
She grins and he realizes he's losing a game he didn't know he was playing.
"Read what?"
"Books."
He attempts to grab his cane from her again, but succeeds only in grabbing her wrist. He doesn't let go.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Beneath his fingertips he can feel blood, warm and essential, coursing through her veins. "You leave me absolutely exhausted."
"You don't look tired."
"It's a clever ruse. My cane, please?"
Shaking her head, "No. One more."
"Spit it out."
"Who's your favorite author, and why?"
"Isn't this an SAT question?"
She taps him on the chest with his cane. "Humor me."
"Aren't I always doing that?"
"I'm waiting."
Mumbling, "Ernest Hemingway."
"Why?"
"The way he writes. Terse. He uses words sparingly. Straight to the point, there's no pretty language to sift though. He's made short, declarative sentences into an art from."
"Wow."
Furrowed brow, "Wow what?"
She grins, and offers him his cane. He doesn't take it. "That's the most you've ever said to me without using sarcasm."
"I'm sure it was purely accidental," he takes the cane.
Quirking an eyebrow, "I don't think anything you do is accidental."
"Only I get to be a smart ass."
"Some people might be put off by never ending sarcasm, you know."
"And?"
"You don't worry that people won't like you?"
"Trying to get people to like you is a sign of mediocrity."
"What isn't a sign of mediocrity?"
Fingers still wrapped around her wrist, he tugs her to him. She's close enough to see the fine lines in the skin on his face; history by epidermis.
"Buying your boss a cup of coffee."
She smiles, eyelashes brushing his face, "What if I don't drink coffee this late at night?"
"I don't either," his voice lowers, "but let's pretend."
"Okay."
She moves to get into the car, and he lets go of her wrist. For now.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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