A/N: Ok, I know I promised this a long time ago, but c'est la vie. Please remember, this is strictly a humor piece (based on a similar event I witnessed) as I'm all out of doom and gloom fiction ideas. Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter and put it on alert. Don't forget to review this one too, as I love constructive criticism. Far fetched idea? Sure. But it sure is a hell of a lot of fun! Next chapter is a short one, and will come tomorrow.
CHAPTER 2 – SATURDAY
You're standing in front of your bathroom mirror applying makeup on Saturday afternoon when the phone rings for the first time. You answer it, and hear breathing, but then the click on the other end signals the other person to have hung up. Wrong number, you suppose, and move on to fixing your hair.
Three minutes later, over the loud noise of your blow dryer, you hear the phone ring again.
You look at caller ID this time, and see a number you THINK you recognize, but you aren't quite sure. A quick hello, and the phone disconnects on the other end before any answer is spoken. A bit annoyed now, you figure it's either Robert trying to ask you back, or a kid up to no good. You decide to ignore all further phone calls, and continue with your hair.
At five o'clock, you decide you look good enough for a night out – all signs of double shifts no longer showing on your face – and gather together your purse and coat. Throwing them into the passenger seat of your car, you set your GPS to the shopping mall you agreed to meet your friends at, and set off. You're still a bit tired after a week of hell at work, but you're looking forward to seeing your friends, and reconnecting with the outside world for a change … an outside world that didn't involve stabbings, bleeding lacerations and children with explosive bowels.
You smile as you pull into the parking lot and immediately recognize your friend Natalie, who is leaning against a shiny, silver Mercedes.
Natalie squeals so loudly several people exiting cars in the parking lot turn to stare. You grab your purse and charge out of the car, throwing yourself into your friends waiting arms.
"Nice ride Nat! I see medical school paid off!" You smile at your friend.
"Tell me about it! No more Ford Pinto and leaking oil every two minutes. So how are you? I still can't believe it's actually YOU. You must be one hell of a devoted doctor, since none of us have seen you in about a million years."
You blush, and tell her that you've just been really busy.
"Yeah, well, we'll get it all out of you at dinner. The girls are waiting for us in the restaurant with a table." She grabs your elbow and leads you along to the bright lights of The Cheesecake Factory a few yards ahead.
An hour later, as you sit around the table with your best friends, you know you won't be able to go so long without seeing them again. You haven't had this much fun in YEARS, and you're glad you decided to get yourself out of the house and have some fun. You're having such a good time you completely ignore your vibrating phone in your purse – you aren't on call at the hospital, and there is nothing that would need your attention – and continue to engage yourself in a retelling of your days with the infamous Dr. House.
"Ohhhhhh Allie. You're telling me you didn't hook up with this guy because … WHY?"
"He was my BOSS, Angela!" You cross your arms and try to look serious.
"It sounds like he wanted it to begin with," Natalie replies, staring at you incredulously.
"You should have hooked up with him … totally!" The teenager waiter who is currently cleaning up your dessert dishes looks at you and winks.
Mortified, you tell your friends that the conversation is now terminated, and if they don't cut it out you're going to ditch your share of the check and let them pay for torturing you. They all laugh, and you relax a bit, knowing the subject will move from the one man you don't really want to go on discussing right now, especially on your night off.
"So, it's only nine o'clock! We're not going home yet, right?" Natalie looks at her watch. "I didn't take the entire weekend off to go back to the hotel and watch television. HEY, how about we go to a movie? Something incredibly corny and we can work off these drinks in laughter?" She notions to the dozen or so empty liquor glasses currently being removed from the table.
Ten minutes later, you're standing in front of the giant AMC Multiplex just down the way from the restaurant. You all look at your watches, the movie selections, then at each other at the same time. Each clutching a ticket to "Mamma Mia!" the Sing-a-long version, you make your way into the theatre.
Giggling from a slight amount too much in the alcohol department, you make your way with your friends into the darkened theatre, the previews already rolling on the massive screen in front of you. The theatre being pretty much full, you and your friends take the only available seats left in the front row of the balcony.
Fifteen minutes into the movie, and you're laughing too hard with your friends to care that the movie is pretty corny. Your friend Natalie, who had a few too many more than the rest of you, is singing along to every song. You haven't had this much fun in years, and you are one hundred percent certain now, that you made the right call – you really, REALLY needed this.
Suddenly - from the back of the theatre - as Meryl Streep launches into her rendition of "Mamma Mia!" you hear a loud male voice laugh, and begin to sing along … loudly. People around you are laughing at the exaggerated vibrato and pitch, as whoever it is tries to imitate a woman. You are certain now, that you and your friends were not the only ones who decided to see this film after a few drinks. Something about the voice sounded familiar to you, but you think nothing of it and go back to laughing at your still singing friend.
A bit later into the film, as Amanda Seyfried launches herself into song with her fiancé, you hear a loud voice shout through the theatre.
"I WOULD SO HIT THAT. JIMMY, WOULDN'T YOU HIT THAT????"
You stand up in your seat, completely stunned, as you now realize why the voice sounded familiar.
You excuse yourself from your friends in a whisper, and make your way up the stairs to the upper levels of the stadium theatre seating. When you reach the last row, you see them.
Slumped down into a seat, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, is Dr. Wilson. He's trying to hide his face, and messing around with his cell phone. Standing up next to him, is your cantankerous former boss, who is currently donning a bright pink feather boa.
"CAMERON!!!!!!!!!" House shouts at you, slightly slurring his words, and begins to sing Abba's "Lay All Your Love on Me" at you.
You stare, completely dumbfounded, as Wilson notices you, and pulls you down into an empty seat in the very corner of the theatre. Still trying to hide himself from those around him, he leans in and explains to you.
"Not only did he have one too many to drink, he's stoned. He was doing that weird silence thing after work today, so I knew there was something bothering him. It was only after we headed to the bar that he spilled his guts about how Cuddy stood him up when she asked him out, and something about getting stood up by somebody else earlier in the day. He kept drinking, and when I was going to take him home, I found him getting high in the bathroom."
You nod at Wilson, and look back up at House, who is still singing and dancing.
"Please tell me this movie was YOUR suggestion though? He doesn't strike me as the musical type." You look at Wilson.
"Oh no, no, no. I was leading him out of the bar when he spied the theatre, and he took off limping at light speed towards the ticket line. Before I could do anything, he had two tickets in his hand and he was drunkenly dragging me into the theatre. I figured I should just humor him – I mean, I've never seen him like this before – and let him get it out of his system. I actually kept calling you because nobody else would answer … I thought you could help me drag him home?"
"Oh!" You pull your cell phone out of your purse and notice you have ten missed calls and numerous text messages. "Sorry!" You look at him sheepishly.
"Are you with somebody?" He looks apologetic, yet curious.
"I'm here with some of my girlfriends, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I left with you guys. We've had a long night out, and they were going to head home after this anyway."
"Just let me go down and watch the rest of the movie with them, explain that I'm going to leave with you and I'll meet you back up here when the film is over."
"Thank you Cameron. This is the last time I go with him anywhere."
You laugh, and head back down to your seat.
Houses loud singing and the complaints of others in the theatre continues all the way into Christine Baranski's solo on the beach. Suddenly, the singing stops and you hear several "THANK GOD!" comments come from other movie patrons.
You continue to watch the movie, and when Meryl Streep finishes her solo to Pierce Brosnan's character, and charges up the side of the hill to the church above, you hear House shout once again.
"THAT IS SO LIKE A WOMAN, ALWAYS RUNNING AWAY!!!!!!"
Your friends are giggling beside you, and you pretend you have no idea what the hell is going on. You continue to put on the act until the credits are rolling, and your friends have disappeared from the theatre after a round of hugs and promises of phone calls in the morning. You had quickly and quietly explained to them that you'd run into a friend in the lobby when you left, and you were going to go home with him.
Theatre now devoid of almost everyone – sans the last minute stragglers who apparently liked to watch the credits – you make your way up to the top of the theatre and burst out laughing at what you see.
Asleep on Wilson's left shoulder is a now passed out House. The pink feather boa is wrapped around Wilson's neck, and he looks ready to kill his best friend. You continue laughing through his glare, and you both manage to poke House awake.
Now looking embarrassed, he drunkenly walks off ahead of you.
"Do you want to take my car?" You untangle the boa from around his neck as you start your walk back to the parking lot (a pilfered item from a bachelorette party at the bar, you learn). "I'm not back on until Monday at the hospital, and I can drive him home. I figure you want to get good and far away from him as quick as possible, judging by the look on your face, and there's no way he'd agree to get into my car."
He looks at you gratefully and tosses you his keys, thanking you, as he has an early shift in the clinic tomorrow morning.
"I'll drop him off, and then drive back to your place to pick up my car."
Plans made, you follow Wilson's directions to his car, and find House sitting on the hood of the car. Right as he asks you where the hell Wilson is, you see Wilson zoom by in your car, honking and waving as he drives by.
House looks at you, plops himself in the passenger seat of the now unlocked car, and passes back out into unconsciousness (or pretending to, you wonder, to avoid conversation). You start the car, and drive the familiar route to House's townhome.
You pull up outside House's place, and realize he's awake and staring at you.
One question is all he offers, and you're pretty sure it's not a redundant one. You stare at him and shrug.
"Wilson needed my help because you did drag him into a totally idiotic situation … oh wait, let me rephrase that. You had a night out. Besides, believe it or not, I was already in that theatre when I heard you trying to compete with Pierce Brosnan's vocal skills."
He snorts and you think you hear "Figures."
"I didn't care. I was on my way home anyway. I'd like to think you'd do the same for me." You grip the steering wheel and pointedly avoid his gaze, as you see him swallow a few pills in your peripheral vision.
"I like you." He still slurs his words a bit. "You're much less of a bitch than Cuddy."
You turn to look at him, and find his lips crashing against yours in a kiss. You taste the residue of scotch on his lips, and smell the faint traces of marijuana on his clothes. Despite these two factors, you find it impossible to ignore the rapid beating of your heart. Common sense comes calling a moment later though, and you pull away.
"Goodnight House. I'll see you at work on Monday." You unlock the doors and attempt to make it clear that the conversation is over, and you're leaving.
"Oh you know you liked … it. Me …" He whispers the last part.
"GOODNIGHT HOUSE." You pull away from the curb as he shuts the door. You don't know what to think, but you do laugh as your last glance of him in Wilson's rearview mirror is that of him throwing up his insides into the gutter of the street.
Hours later (after dropping off Wilson's car), home and changed into your favorite pair of pajamas after a long bath, you have a chance to contemplate the night's events. You smile as the picture of a carefree, dancing House floods your memory. You smile even more as you think of him kissing you, and the seriousness in his eyes.
You then decide it was nothing but drunkenness, and you're probably better off ignoring the entire ordeal. House surely would, and would more than likely avoid you for the next few weeks to make sure you forget.
You sigh, and open up your laptop to finish some of your charting before bed. You plan on spending the entire day being lazy on Sunday, and figure charting would be best taken care of now, rather than later. It's a fruitless effort however, as you find yourself surfing the web for random nonsense ten minutes later. Your mind is on one person, and not your work.
You randomly sign onto YouTube, and randomly type in "Mamma Mia" to see if you can find anything funny on Pierce Brosnan, as you found his singing abilities completely laugh worthy.
You're in the middle of watching an outdated David Letterman interview with Piece, when you see something that makes you stare in disbelief, off to the "related videos" section of the website. The grin on your face grows, as you realize exactly what you are looking at.
"Giant dork embarrasses self in movie theatre!"
You are pretty sure you are about to tear something in laughter, as a widescreen video of House dancing and singing along to "Dancing Queen" fills your computer screen. You figure somebody found his behavior a bit too irresistible to NOT film, and put it up as soon as they got home.
Suddenly, going to work on Monday doesn't seem like such a bad idea after all.