Darling, I Have Something to Tell You Pt. 1
Summary: You were never meant to come to such a lavish Las Vegas corporate event. Your presence boggles House, a variable he never accounted for. He knew all the players at the table, every one of them except for you.
He simply has to know who you are.
Pairing: Robert House x Fem!Reader
Warnings: None that comes to mind
Author's Note: So seeing the difference between Fallout: NV's House and Fallout: TV's House, I genuinely had a "Oh nooo, he's hot" moment. But also, jeez Christ dude, how could Cooper let House stand so close to him in the toilet? Not Beta Read... the bits never are. Pre-War. Let's say 10 years before the bombs drop. Bobby Apartment is Bobby Loft (as much as I love the name Bobby Apartment, Bobby Loft struck me more).
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8
Acrid smoke spilled from his lips, dissipating several inches into the Vegas air. He had been nursing that cigarette for the better part of a half hour. Another fifteen, and the orange glow of the embers would soon reach his fingers. Moving to dispose of his cigarette, that's when he noticed you sitting at the end of the outside bar. Elbow on the top, your head leaning into your supporting hand.
Unlike your colleagues who were fawning over his double, you were simply reading and making notes every so often. Curious, though, everyone in attendance was selected to fulfill a purpose, but you- you, he most certainly did not account for, "Not keen on joining your peers?''
A small chortle escaped you, your eyes not bothering to leave the page, ”Not necessarily- I'm not one for parties...or kiss asses for that matter."
“Is that so?” House grinned, extinguishing the nub in the porcelain dish. Walking towards you, he looked you up and down. You weren’t one to stand out. Plain clothes, none of the name brands your bosses wore. Though, he doubts the salary you were on could scarcely afford any luxuries.
Room 642. The key hung from your pocket. A mental note he would store for later.
Just before House got too close, he offered his hand, “Robert Hughes.” His long time alias. Their histories were close, but different enough that people were otherwise none the wiser.
“Y/N L/N,” you introduce yourself, “a pleasure, Mr. Hughes.”
“Likewise, Ms. L/N."
A moment passed before you realized he wasn’t prepared to leave anytime soon. Closing your book, you give him your attention... something that enticed him. He didn't just have your attention, you're seeing him for him. There is no purpose to the conversation to ensue, no pre-assigned role. This was a feeling he didn't think he needed, and now, he's yearning for it, “So… you come here often?”
House nearly guffawed at the question as he took a seat next to you, “In a manner of speaking.”
For several minutes, you and House traded dialogue. Your book now long forgotten. It was a natural flow from topic to topic- everything from occupations to hobbies enjoyed during free time. You learned that he did indeed live in Las Vegas and that he worked in Marketing. He learned that you were an editor, but during your free time you did studies on classic literature. Your latest piece was feminism perspective in John Keats' "La Belle Dame sans Merci".
Despite the avid conversation, you noticed that his eye contact was unwavering. Never once did he stray from your face. He was looking for something, though you weren't sure what. It almost felt... revealing might not be the word for it. Exposing, perhaps? Peeling back layers that you didn't even know existed. You're an equation waiting to be solved, and he's identifying the factors involved.
"Y/N," the faux jovial tone of your boss rang out breaking the conversation between two. The self-insertion was vexing to House to say the least. "Got yourself a friend I see! God knows you can use one to loosen you up."
Vulgar. House thought.
The look was shared between you two- the message sent, but nothing said.
With that, you two broke away, creating distance and reluctantly so.
That amused glint he originally harbored in his eye instantly disappeared, replaced with… malice? He no longer radiated enthusiasm. The smile was still there, but it was far from meaningful. He shook everyone’s hands, introducing himself and effortlessly greeting each person one after the other.
“Well, Mr. Hughes, I hope Y/N here hasn’t bore you to death,” Alan Korody, the CEO of the Nevada News, patted House on the shoulder and aggressively so. Alan was not a tall man by any means as he was only shoulder height with House, but he was certainly a large man. A jolly-faced boulder would have been too kind of a description.
House smiled, hands now shoved in his pockets to hide clenched fists. The flesh in his palm nearly gave way to the nails as they dug in. Compared to how he was several minutes ago, the change was almost unsettling, “Contrary to belief, Ms. L/N has been pleasant company by far.”
"So, Bobby, you with the company?"
This seemed like an opportune time to leave. Book tucked under your arm, you made for the hotel elevator. House's smile faded as soon as you disappeared.
House's Double- Bobby Loft- followed his boss's gaze. For as long as he worked for House, this was new. In all his years, Loft doesn't believe he's ever seen House look simply lost. Occasionally things stumped him- simple occurrences or events he hadn't accounted for, but nothing like this.
Several hotel employees gave you polite nods and you did in return. Though, as you neared the elevator, a sultry voice rang out to you, “Leaving so soon?”
“Oh,” you had seen him in magazines, but nothing really compared to seeing him merely feet from you. Bodyguards stood on both sides of him. If he hadn’t spoken up, you wouldn’t have noticed him beyond the blockade of individuals. “Mr. House. Yes, I was just retiring to my room, but I’ll be back down later.”
“Of course, I imagine the day has been fairly busy for you.” Loft noted. He took a puff of his cigarette, taking in your appearance. Perhaps House did have more lavish tastes in anything other than suits after all, “See you at dinner.”
You hadn’t been in your room for more than a few minutes until you heard firm knocking at the door. Robert. "Mr. Hughes," you leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, "I don't believe I ever told you my room number."
He smiled, almost Cheshire-like, “I hope you don’t mind, your room key was peeking out of your pocket- I’d like to invite you to dinner. You fled before I could ask.”
“I’d say no, but I don’t think you would take no for an answer,” A joke that House found a semblance of truth in. You weighed the harm in accepting his invitation, "How about you be my date for my dinner later? See you at 6:45?"
“Excellent. I will see you then."
A date it is then. "Wear blue. Formal."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."