Disclaimer: I do not own House MD or any of its characters. The ones you don't recognize belong to me. This is purely fictional and there's no need to sue, as I am not making a profit out of this. I do, however, own Housekeeper girl (or Stella).
A/N: The end was hard to write, I tell you! But don't worry, nobody is going to die! And thanks for happy response to sequel idea! That'll come soon after this one is finished or so I hope:) if you like, review afterwards and tell me how you like the end of this! Happy reading!
He didn't tell me if he liked the stew or not. All he did was ask (order, command, whichever you prefer) for another bowl of it. I think I kind of took it as a compliment, but then he told me, sort of harshly, that if I thought that as a compliment on my food, I was actually more stupid and ignorant than I looked.
"What's wrong with it then?" I sort of shook it over his head (not with the bowl upside down and its remaining contents falling out on him, though I was tempted to, mind you).
He raised his eyebrows. "I could tell you, but that would be stating the obvious, and that's just as irritating as unnecessary. Just fill another bowl up. Go do that now."
The tone of his voice was less bossy then ever; I figured he must be tired. Nevertheless I got him that second bowl of other (before eating up my own while in the kitchen).
"Took you long enough… no, no wandering back to the safety of my kitchen, sit down, kid… once again the lack of Wilson will cause you to be my source of… amusement.." House turned his attention to his new bowl of other.
I didn't like it when he said that. Everything was so awkward (and from my side, forced). I never thought of anything good to say (something told me that this was not the guy for general, or sick for that matter, fun facts).
"Are you doing something this weekend?" I managed to force out, having held it in for when he was soon to be finished with eating the stew.
House suddenly stopped eating, the fork just outside his mouth. He looked at me suspiciously before answering. "Why does that interest you?"
I sighed, knowing if I didn't place my words right, he would take it as an insult, or worse, intrude. "I… uh, have to clean more, you know… like, the state of your bathroom is… filthy, and I should overlook the oven. I would probably just get in your way by doing, err… all of this," I waved my arms wildly in the air for emphasis, "and you would surely find the noise of a vacuum cleaner highly annoying if you… err," I desperately searched for something for him to do that could easily be disturbed by the sound of just that, "listened to music…"
This seemed to amuse him. The creepy grin was once again on his face, and I didn't like it. He put the bowl down on the table (I guess he was done with it) and locked his gaze with mine. "Work on your manipulation," House said. It felt like he was scanning my thoughts like an anti-virus program on a computer, checking for stuff he didn't like. "You're worse than Wilson, you know that? Always going around stuff instead of confronting… ah, well, I guess you could improve, but it's too late for Wilson… But don't worry," he said, smirking again, "I don't have any plans. Cuddy had another customer I'm afraid... oh, I forgot, she prefers to call them 'clients'..."
"I wasn't trying to mani-" I began, although a rather meek defense.
"Oh yes you were; you're talking to the master of the matter here, so don't try to pull anything off."
Not wanting to make this into an argument (I would lose anyway) I got up and went into House's bedroom. I had not been able to clear a pathway to… well, anything in there before we left for the clinic this morning and as an excuse to leave him in the living room, I decided to do it now.
I picked up most of his books, almost falling over on the bed by doing so, and tucked them away wherever there was space. After that challenging task, I attempted making his bed. The covers were as unruly as ever.
"Don't," I heard House behind me (had he been there the whole time?), "I'm going to bed soon, so there's no need. Go do something else, like putting your head into the oven and closing it and see how many degrees it cooks on."
I tried to just ignore it, but I was tired as well. "Please," I muttered, rubbing my eyes with my hands, "I'm really, really tired and…"
"Aw, poor you, did you have a bad day?" He said, mocking me with more sarcasm like that. I tried to get out of there. When I stepped towards the doorway, where he was standing, he seemed to want to block it more, but then he moved from it.
"What," I said when I passed him. He looked at me sort of weird, like he wanted to say something. "I think I'm gonna go to bed too, if you don't mind…"
He raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything.
He had trouble sleeping, for what seemed like (and probably was) the millionth time this month. This night it was especially irritating; instead of reading a book and other methods for trying to get drowsy, he listened to the wretched girl talking in her sleep in the other room. She was talking about something obscure, like "a piñata and the woman with the pink bow". Then she switched to just saying, over and over again (House heard it, although it was just a bit more than whispering): "Stop looking at me… what I have done? Listen, I don't like that stuffed animal more than you, and I agree that House really shouldn't, but…"
House sighed; it was all so… random, although it was a distraction from thinking too much. He still had a faint idea that Wilson had not told him everything when he was confronted, not even after he took a beating from that girl.
"Oh God not that stuffed thingy again…"
He wondered about how to shut her up. Shortly after thinking that, he fell asleep.
I normally had weird dreams from time to time, but what I dreamt the night to that Saturday topped everything; one of House's lackeys, Foreman I think, was trying to get House out of beating a piñata up with his cane. The poor piñata was shaped like a big pig, but reminded me strangely of the Australian at House's office. Then the woman Cameron came and closed it all up by screaming to me that she didn't like the shape of that piñata. It was all very disturbing.
What was more disturbing was that my boss told me he had heard me say something random about a piñata and him in my sleep. I blushed up like a tomato, and handed him the plate with his omelet without saying a word.
"Avoiding?" House asked, seemingly discovering that I held my tongue more than he thought usual.
"I… uh, didn't sleep well," I tried brushing it off, while giving him some cheese for the omelet from the fridge, "Lots of birds outside… they wouldn't shut up, you know?"
House smirked. He must know something I don't, I thought. He didn't elaborate on the subject though, so I thought he smirked just to make me uncomfortable (which he perfectly did without the grin as well).
Later the same afternoon…
House had the girl cornered. She was currently cleaning out the old closet, throwing away stuff like papers from last year and the like, and he knew that if he just closed the door behind her and locked it from the outside, she would not have any ways to exit. And then she would have to answer his questions without fail, without going around the subject, for him to let her out.
Okay, so he did have more devious plans, like drugging her down with his own Vicodin, tying her to a chair and then question her like in a movie or play, but he figured he had been in court enough for the accuse of abuse (threatened to be sued by patients who thought he had used unusual methods of curing them… well, at least he had cured them! They should be happy they weren't dead!). He didn't need another court order.
Deciding that this minute was as good as ever, he got up from the couch, and hobbled over to the closet. The girl hadn't noticed anything. House grabbed the key from the lock on the inside, then slowly closed the door and turned the key in the lock.
She noted quite quickly that she was locked in, because she banged on the door for quite a while.
"Hey! Let me out! Let me out, what the hell House?!"
"Listen, I want you to… wait, SHUT UP, WILL YOU?!"
It took him a while to get some words out; she was clearly sort of panicking in there, shouting and banging on the door like she was trapped in a tomb and not a closet.
"This I clearly very painful for you, so I suggest you listen to me and you'll be out of there in no time… Understood?"
Inside the closet…
That bastard! Locking me inside his closet!? He was insane! And now he told me to listen to him… why should I? This was very, very… annoying.
"Yeah," I said, trying to control the amount of anger in my voice. "Start talking."
I heard a sigh on the other side of the door. "Good. Now, what's with the low rate? And honesty this time, mind you."
This time it was my time to sigh. Seemed like I didn't have much choice. "Fine. When Dr. Wilson saw my ad, he didn't like the original charge… he said you would never keep me if I charged that much, so he changed it and said that even though it was cheaper, I still got a place to live, and I eat the same stuff as you, so you pay me for cooking and cleaning, and that's not really a lot is it? I mean, it's still you who pay for the groceries... and the cleaning stuff…" I stopped, lifting a very heavy box away from the shelf that was about two minutes from falling down. "So I think I got myself a pretty good deal."
House was quiet for some time (he didn't open the door, that bastard), leaving me to do some work again, but then the lights went out and I had to sit down in order not to trip on something disturbing while moving cardboard boxes all around. "And, let's say you're telling the truth, why didn't Wilson tell me this… even when he was beat up oh so gruesomely?"
I coughed, not wanting to remember that violent scene of the week. "Um, he said something about wanting to know himself that he somehow got you. That he won."
I heard him chuckle. Not out of amusement though; it seemed as he had figured out something I had not. "I don't... well, Wilson is Wilson...
"I'm not sure i just heard that... did you just sorta admit it?" I asked in astonishment. It didn't seem like House was the one to admit stuff like that (I didn't know what he was talking about, but I played along anyways).
The creepy diagnostician avoided the question entirely. House obviously hobbled away from the closet door, and I heard him take his jacket and keys. Then I thought of something; I was still inside the damn closet. "Hey! Wait! I'm still in here!"
He chuckled. "So you are. I'm hoping you'll be in there as well when I get back."
"No, no, no! Please, come on, let me out!" I heard myself pleading him to open the door (I found it extremely pathetic, but what can you do when locked inside something?). "Where are you going anyways?!"
"Why should i tell you? fine, fine, it's got something to do with Wilson..." A click from the front door. That was it, he'd left me. Or so I thought, because ten minutes later he returned and opened the goddamned closet, before ordering something spicy for dinner. I sighed and wrote a list to take with me when I shopped for groceries. Being House's maid was a pain.
Well, there it is; THE END. Haha, this was a fun story to write! Thanks to all of you who read it, and especially thanks to everyone who reviewed it and came with suggestions you're fantastic people all of you!
Be sure to look for the sequel… coming to a fanfiction site near you… Love, Sora:)