| |
Free-Floating Anxieties and the Cost of Living
by Laura
Free-Floating Anxieties and the Cost of Living
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: PG13
Spoilers: Sports Medicine
Feedback: *smiles*
Summary: "It's funny, people think they know all sorts of things. Turns out they really don't."
::.::.::
They stop moving immediately, straining to hear where the yelling is coming from.
"What was that?"
Looking towards the direction from which the shouting had come, they see a flickering light moving across the field.
"It looks like someone running with a flashlight."
Uninterested in her thoughts regarding their interruption, he turns his head slightly to smell her hair.
"What do you think it was?"
Her hands are still underneath his shirt, palms flat against his chest. With her index finger she's tumbling verse on his skin, syllables and meter that in another context would be hard to appreciate.
"It's a UFO, a mutated breed of firefly, or perhaps a cult that comes to this field every Friday night to perform an improvisational dance."
The slight shift of her pelvis recommends he stop talking. With an adamant swivel of his hips he concurs.
His breath is oppressive, ragged against her neck; it's impossible, never again will she be able to stand near him and not think of herself. Slowly, he slides his head away from the crook of her neck. Intentional, or not, the side of his face rubs against her cheekbone. As a result, a trail of sweat and angry beard burn now decorate her profile; this is too much. She shoves his hands away from her waist.
He's surprised. "Is something-"
"Quiet."
Every part of her body is trembling with knowledge of his proximity, and grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, she shoves it from his shoulders. A quick study in everything, he helps her off with her own jacket and lets it hit the ground. He leans forward again; this time she grabs the back of his head to make sure he's not distracted. Their mouths meet, it's not borderline platonic or gentle. He runs his tongue along the length of her bottom lip and then bites down on it. Hard. She hisses a response into his mouth as he presses himself fully against her. He wants her to feel everything he'll never say. The movement causes the leg that was wrapped around him to slip. It's five inches closer to the ground before his hand slides underneath her leg, fingers fierce against the inside of her thigh, and pulls it back up to his waist. The doorframe creaks in protest of the added pressure and showers them with dust. His left hand pushes hair away from her face as he deepens the kiss.
His cane is sandwiched between his hand and her waist. When his palm starts to hurt from the cane he realizes how tight of a grip he has on her. The cane hits the ground with a clatter, surprising them both in the process. They pull apart to breathe; his nose is pressed against her forehead and her fingers are wrapped around his bicep. He lets go of her leg, and trails his fingers along her jeans as it slides back to the ground. The gesture is apologetic and she feels his chest expand against her as he sighs.
"I'm sorry."
After giving it a quick squeeze, she removes her hand from his bicep.
"For what?" She hates that she has to pretend there's no catch in her voice.
"My aim wasn't to take you to a random location-"
"I know."
She crosses her arms in front of her, it's a shield if he's ever seen one, and he never wants to consider her impenetrable.
He takes a somewhat staggered step backwards. "Would you hand me my cane?"
She turns around and bends down to pick up his cane from the floor. As soon as she's bent at a ninety-degree angle, she feels something large and warm underneath her shirt, moving from the base of her spine towards her neck. A second later his hand is planted firmly between her shoulder blades preventing her from standing up, and he's now standing directly behind her, preventing her from bending down any further.
"It's funny, people think they know all sorts of things. Turns out they really don't."
"Is there a point to this? I do yoga. I can stand like this for hours."
He presses harder on her back. She grunts. He smiles. And presses down again.
"I can't. Bum leg; don't know if you've heard. My point," he presses a thumb between her shoulder blades, "is that it wouldn't be here, if it happened. You should expect more from men in general."
He runs a finger from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine; her subsequent involuntary shudder and goose bumps make him want to forget who he is. He smoothes down her shirt, and then takes a step back so she can stand.
"You couldn't say that while I was standing?"
Raised eyebrows. "I could've ... of course, you'd no doubt be staring me down and I'd have to pretend those red marks on your cheek and neck aren't from me. Most likely I'd stutter over a three-letter word. This way my dignity remains intact."
She smirks and he gets the feeling he's missed something.
"Definitely intact," she says, and hands him his cane.
She gets their coats from the floor, and hands his to him. As she's putting on her coat, she takes a few steps outside the announcer's box and looks down to the field. He stands behind her, but not close, and takes his prescription bottle from his pocket.
She hears the pill's familiar rattle, and looks at him. "Did you go to school here?"
"No."
He swallows a pill and puts the bottle back into his pocket.
"Why did you want to come here?"
"I didn't."
"It wouldn't hurt to be a little more forthcoming."
He looks anywhere but at her face.
"Sure, why not? While I'm at it, I should get fork and stab myself in the eye. Better yet, a spork. Cutting edge, I hear."
He's a bit relieved when she doesn't respond. Then her hand is on his shoulder, smoothing invisible wrinkles from the lapel of his jacket, and he will forever have trouble with things left unsaid.
"Before," gesturing to his cane, "before this I ran. I ran anywhere my legs could or couldn't take me. To get somewhere of your own volition is satisfying."
She smiles, picturing him and the ground punished underneath his feet.
"I was on the swim team."
"Oh?"
Shrugs. "I was for a while. I didn't like it."
"And why is that?"
"I love to swim but not back and forth in a pool. I hate to-"
"Stay in one place? You like to keep moving?"
"Yeah." She drops her arm back down to her side. "Is that how you felt when you ran?"
"No, it was just something I read on a bumper sticker once."
More silence.
"I felt that way sometimes. Other times I just wanted to get the hell out of New Jersey."
She laughs. It's loud and would be totally inappropriate anywhere else. The artery in the side of her neck, close to her jaw, pulsates three times before he leans over to kiss her. His mouth lands on the side of her face, in front of her ear, and lingers a few moments because the second he moves away he'll hate himself.
"What time is it?"
"About twenty after four. Why?"
"You don't work today; this I know. You need to sleep in case you get called, but first. I want to show you something."
It's contagious when he's acting like a child with a secret.
"What is it?"
"Why would I tell you? It's your choice. Are you in or out?"
"I don't know ..."
"Time, the old wench, is of the essence. Answer."
"In."
"Okay then." He slips his hand into her front pocket and takes the car keys. "I'm driving."
The walk back to the car is silent for the most part. He tells her several times to walk faster. He zooms out of the parking lot at a speed that most drivers' education teachers would frown upon.
A few minutes into the drive she realizes. "We left the food."
"Obviously we can't go back."
"Have to keep moving."
She looks at the sky, dusk fading to dawn, and knows how it feels.
Please post a comment on this story.
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.
|
|
|