energetic Title: Remember
Fandom: House
Rating: 12+
Genre: General
Wordcount: 544
Summary: "I don't forget." House/Stacy
Notes: house_las round 5: Forget. This one got me kicked off, which is ironic because I thought it was my best entry. I think the formatting issues the first go round (which I don't understand, it was fine when I tried it) didn't help.
The first time she met him they were both in a bar. He was sitting by himself at the end of the bar, and she was standing at the jukebox, just having finished making her song selections. She was walking back to her seat when he stopped her.
“Pick any good ones?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. “No, I picked the crappiest songs I could find.”
“I thought so,” he replied, smirking. He jutted out his hand to her expectantly. It wasn’t an invitation to shake hands – more of an order, really. “I’m Greg House.”
“Stacy Warner,” she said, shaking his hand lightly.
“Nice to meet you, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” He took a swig of his beer, the smirk still on his face (she had the sneaking suspicion it was a permanent affliction). A Cream song she couldn’t identify by name began playing in the background. “Nice song choice.”
“I didn’t choose it.”
“Nice song anyways,” he said, shrugging. He looked to his beer and then back to her and grinned. “So are you going to tell me your number or what?”
She stared at him and crossed her arms. “I don’t have to, you know.”
“Ah,” he replied, cocksure glint in his eyes, “but you will.”
He was arrogant and rude, but as much as she hated to admit it, his self confidence attracted her to him. “Fine,” she said, deciding to humor him, “get a napkin and I’ll write it down for you.”
“Just tell me,” he stated.
“You’ll forget.”
“No, I won’t,” he responded, and for some reason she believed him when he said it.
She acquiesced and gave him her number, and after a few minutes of meaningless small talk they parted ways. By the next morning she had pushed him from her mind, knowing that logically there was almost no way he could remember her number.
Three days later he called back.
She was sitting in her office ten years later when he hobbled in without warning.
“Oh, wonderful,” she said sarcastically, not looking up from her papers. “Court order? DNR? Subpoena?”
“No, even better,” he replied, taking a seat opposite her. “Boredom.”
“Yes,” she agreed dryly, “even better.”
Suddenly a new song began to play from the speakers on the shelf behind her desk, which she’d forgotten was even on. He shifted in his seat noticeably, almost as if he was excited.
“You want me back,” he said suddenly in that cocky voice she was so used to by now. She didn’t need to look up to know he was smirking again.
“Really?” she asked. “And what’s your reasoning for that today? It had better be more creative than that crap you came up yesterday, though.”
“It is,” he replied. He pointed his cane at the CD player. “The song.”
She glanced at him quizzically. “What about it?”
“It’s Cream. ‘Sunshine of Your Love.’”
“Very good. I’m impressed. I’ll even let you borrow the album if you want.”
He smiled, ignoring her. “It was the song that was playing when we first met.”
This caused her to look up quite suddenly. “You remember that?”
“Yes,” he said simply, that stupid smile still on his face. “I told you. I don’t forget.”