Truth, Chapter 2
Truth, Chapter 2
The first thing he became aware of was the sound of somebody breathing beside him. For a second, he let himself believe it was Cuddy sleeping next to him, and that it was his bed he was lying in.
Alcoholic vapours of the night before hung in the air and that had him feeling the first queasy warning deep in his belly. He sat upright glad that his nameless companion seemed to be out for the count and hunted around him in the dim light for his pants and shirt.
Lifting his leg over the side of the bed he braced himself on the bedside table as waves of dizziness had his perception of the right way up swaying violently back and forth. Sure he was just about ready to hurl, he rose carefully and staggered out of the room in search of the bathroom - still unsure as to where exactly he was.
His head pounded along with each step and House clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hold back the vomit rising already in his throat.
With what must have been nano-seconds to spare, a final lurching step brought him close enough to the toilet bowl to release the contents of his gut. His eyes watered and his throat burned as he puked over and over until there was nothing left for him to get rid of.
He fumbled blindly for the toilet roll to blow the vomit from his nose and dab at the corners of his mouth then stepped more cautiously toward the sink to wash his face.
Just as he had the night before in his own apartment, he avoided the mirror lest some sort of miniature Wilson shaped cricket should start nagging about responsibility and the path to sobriety. Still, the water felt good and the chill of it cleared the worst of the hangover from his pores. He grabbed a towel from the rack beside him and then going on the monogram stitched into the corner and the stash of mini toiletries, was genuinely surprised to find himself in a seriously good hotel.
His leg burned a passive warning that House knew all too well and he sat back on the edge of the tub as images from the previous night came back to him one agonizingly tiny piece at a time. Still, it was enough to make him pretty sure that this was in fact his hotel room and actually, that was just what he needed today, a little anonymity and a little peace to get on with whatever lay ahead.
Heading the warning from his leg and helpless to fight against it, he headed back toward the bed to find his pants. When he picked them up, sure enough he heard the familiar and reassuring rattle of Vicodin and he couldn’t stuff two of them quickly enough. Knowing the pain was largely in his head didn’t make it any less painful. Giving into that knowledge was what had him reaching down to the mini-bar and throwing a miniature JD down his neck, and then another.
‘Hey’ the woman hidden under a pile of brown hair muttered.
‘Hey yourself’ he replied, forgetting for a minute that he had company of one kind or another.
She turned the watch on her wrist around and blinked at it, trying to make her eyes focus, ‘You still have a couple hours left, you wanna..?’ her raised eyebrow told him everything he needed to know.
House, feeling the burn of the whiskey kicking in just nicely, could only nod his assent as she pulled at his pants and motioned for him to join her back down on the bed.
He relaxed into her efforts and despite the gaping hole in his memory, smiled, closed his eyes and let himself be taken along for her very professional ride.
The first thing he became aware of was the sound of somebody breathing beside him. For a second, he let himself believe it was Cuddy sleeping next to him, and that it was his bed he was lying in.
Alcoholic vapours of the night before hung in the air and that had him feeling the first queasy warning deep in his belly. He sat upright glad that his nameless companion seemed to be out for the count and hunted around him in the dim light for his pants and shirt.
Lifting his leg over the side of the bed he braced himself on the bedside table as waves of dizziness had his perception of the right way up swaying violently back and forth. Sure he was just about ready to hurl, he rose carefully and staggered out of the room in search of the bathroom - still unsure as to where exactly he was.
His head pounded along with each step and House clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hold back the vomit rising already in his throat.
With what must have been nano-seconds to spare, a final lurching step brought him close enough to the toilet bowl to release the contents of his gut. His eyes watered and his throat burned as he puked over and over until there was nothing left for him to get rid of.
He fumbled blindly for the toilet roll to blow the vomit from his nose and dab at the corners of his mouth then stepped more cautiously toward the sink to wash his face.
Just as he had the night before in his own apartment, he avoided the mirror lest some sort of miniature Wilson shaped cricket should start nagging about responsibility and the path to sobriety. Still, the water felt good and the chill of it cleared the worst of the hangover from his pores. He grabbed a towel from the rack beside him and then going on the monogram stitched into the corner and the stash of mini toiletries, was genuinely surprised to find himself in a seriously good hotel.
His leg burned a passive warning that House knew all too well and he sat back on the edge of the tub as images from the previous night came back to him one agonizingly tiny piece at a time. Still, it was enough to make him pretty sure that this was in fact his hotel room and actually, that was just what he needed today, a little anonymity and a little peace to get on with whatever lay ahead.
Heading the warning from his leg and helpless to fight against it, he headed back toward the bed to find his pants. When he picked them up, sure enough he heard the familiar and reassuring rattle of Vicodin and he couldn’t stuff two of them quickly enough. Knowing the pain was largely in his head didn’t make it any less painful. Giving into that knowledge was what had him reaching down to the mini-bar and throwing a miniature JD down his neck, and then another.
‘Hey’ the woman hidden under a pile of brown hair muttered.
‘Hey yourself’ he replied, forgetting for a minute that he had company of one kind or another.
She turned the watch on her wrist around and blinked at it, trying to make her eyes focus, ‘You still have a couple hours left, you wanna..?’ her raised eyebrow told him everything he needed to know.
House, feeling the burn of the whiskey kicking in just nicely, could only nod his assent as she pulled at his pants and motioned for him to join her back down on the bed.
He relaxed into her efforts and despite the gaping hole in his memory, smiled, closed his eyes and let himself be taken along for her very professional ride.