Unlucky Thirteen (Illyria/House)
Not really sure who owns House MD and the delectable Miss Thirteen, sadly. And I’m not Joss Whedon or someone who might be able to legally make money off the Buffyverse. Not mine!Summary:
Thirteen's string of bad luck when it comes to her one-night stands continues…Joe's Note:
Alright, who watched S5E05? Also known as 'Lucky Thirteen'? Heh. Heh. Allllriiight. This one goes out to DreamSmith because he told me there were lesbians on House and after that, well, I couldn't resist.
Gregory House sighed as he leaned against the doorframe outside Thirteen's apartment, rapping his cane against the door itself for the third time. The fact that he was here was both good news and bad news. Good because she wasn't trying to treat herself at work again, which tended to bring Cuddy's attention her way and cause problems for him. Bad news because… well, she wasn't at work and wasn't answering her phone or beeper, meaning he had to try and track her down.
After a fourth knock with his cane, House set it down on the floor and let it rest against his leg as he fished out his ill-gotten copy of Thirteen's keys. Just as he went to slide the key into the doorknob, though, the door swung open to reveal a thin woman glaring at him. "Yes?"
"Err, hi there." Leaning to his left, House peeked over her head and then double-checked the door for extra assurance. Yep, he was at the right apartment. Then again, with Thirteen's new bad habit, he shouldn't have been surprised to end up face-to-face with a strange woman. This one… she broke the pattern a bit as far as his 'date only hot chicks to be a control freak' theory. Her eyes were an obviously fake shade of pale blue that was coordinated to match streaks in her brown hair and what he was guessing had to be some sort of body paint along her scalp, hairline, and other parts of her too-exposed body. Even as perverse and juvenile as he was, he had limits and jerked his eyes up to meet her face. Who the hell answered the door naked? Well, other than Thirteen's latest piece of strange, that was? "I don't suppose you've seen Thirteen, have you? About yay tall, likes to have angry, self-destructive sex with random women..."
The bluenette (and boy did he feel witty for coming up with that one) frowned and mouthed the word 'Thirteen' several times before understanding dawned. "You are referring to Remy." Remy, was it? Wow. She'd actually gotten to the first name stage with this one? "She is… tied up… at the moment. She attempted to eject me from the premises after our coupling was complete. I was not amused."
House looked over at Foreman, who was regarding the woman with wide eyes, before returning his attention to Thirteen's latest one-night wonder run amok. "I hate to break it to you? But she can throw you out after she's done with you if she wants to. This is her apartment."
"Yes, this is her apartment." The woman took a step backward as she looked over her shoulder, admiring the large space. "Which is fortuitous, because I do not have handcuffs at my place of residence as she does."
That was all the fodder his mind needed to wander off to a very pleasant place and House grinned stupidly. Keeping Thirteen around after that whole dead man and dog debacle was starting to turn out to be his best decision in a long time. "Dear Penthouse: I never thought things like this really happened, but..."
Bluenette's head tilted to the side as she studied him. "You're mocking me."
Gasping, House brought his hand up to his chest. "No!" After a moment, he reconsidered and held up one hand with his index finger and thumb a short distance apart. "Okay, maybe just a little." That creepy blue stare continued to bore into him and he shuffled in place. "Oh, fine, you got me. A lot."
"I see." And then, impossibly, she blurred. One moment, she was out of his reach and naked, the next she was standing directly in front of him and wearing some bizarre red, blue, black, and gold catsuit. Before he could verbalize any one of the twenty or so dominatrix jokes percolating in his mind, she grabbed a handful of his shirt, twisted, and threw him across the apartment. He sailed through the air, his progress only impeded when he ran into the brick wall and collapsed to the ground. "I am not amused."
Neither was he. House tried to take a deep breath to fill his protesting lungs, which only made the pain worse. Broken ribs. At least five, if he wasn't mistaken. He could hear Thirteen shouting from the bedroom and Foreman had his cell phone out, but all he could concentrate on was the fire in his chest. If he made it through this, he promised himself, he was going to start being nicer to women. Marginally. If they were women who could potentially hurt him.
Except Cuddy. After all, was a life without tormenting Cuddy really a life worth living?