Title: Leitmotif
Author: Ellie
Rating: PG13
Summary: Twelve song titles are the basis for a series of 100-
word drabbles. Written for the HouseficPens Clinic challenge.
Not songfic.
Notes: Song titles are not included in the word count. While I
took the first ten songs the iPod shuffled up, I ended up
changing the order around to make them flow better.

---

When You Were Young

"Greg, for the last time, we cannot take Spike to Egypt!" The
screen door slammed behind his father’s retreating form, and he
was left kneeling on the lawn next to the German Shepherd.

Swiftly he rose and ran as fast as his eight-year-old legs could
carry him, tennis ball in his trailing hand to entice the dog to
follow him down Eisenhower Road. The dog caught him in one
final, joyful bounce, knocking him gently to the ground by the
edge of the parade ground.

Tossing the ball, he looked back down the street to see his
mother’s silhouette, watching.

---

Ambulance

As the left door swung shut, the driver glanced back at Robert.
"You coming, kid?"

He knew he should, but he wasn’t sure wanted to. Glancing
through the door, he saw his mother, deathly pale and still. With
a nod, he hoisted himself up to join them, watching the
technicians working over her.

"Do you know how long she’s been unconscious?" The query
was brisk but gentle.

"She was fine when I left for Mass at eight." She’d snapped at
him for waking her, and he’d slipped out quietly, glad to be
gone. "She was fine when I left her."

---

Science vs. Romance

"You should really talk to him about that now," said Lisa,
reluctantly, glancing nervously through the glass at Greg.

"We have talked about it, and he’s not happy about it. He also
knows I have power of attorney while he’s under," Stacy replied
in her best closing-arguments voice.

"He is on a lot of painkillers right now, Stacy. Are you
absolutely sure he understands the full implications of—"

"I’m the lawyer, Lisa, let me worry about that. He understands
what he’s asking for."

As she returned to the room, Stacy barely heard Lisa whisper,"I
hope that you do, too."

---

Too Far Gone

The pain was like a living thing, undulating, writhing,
constricting until he thought it would kill him. It had, for a
moment, overwhelming his mind and overburdening his body.

Greg knew that things could not continue this way. His
estimations had been off; math was never his strong suit. Now
he was paying for his terrible miscalculation, and was willing to
make one final gamble to see if it would all pay off.

He’d never liked gambling when he couldn’t control the odds.

For one last chance, though, he was willing to take the odds and
roll the dice.

---

Straight, No Chaser

Returning home from another day’s vigil at the hospital, Stacy
shed clothing and shoes like a snake before reaching the kitchen.
They never had much in the cupboards, but the liquor cabinet
was always stocked.

She found a glass and rifled through the bottles, clanking softly
before she found the one she wanted. The amber liquid glittered
like ice and burned her throat as she gulped down half of it at
once. The remainder sloshed in the glass as she collapsed onto
the couch, lost in thought.

The bourbon couldn’t tell her what Greg would say when he
regained consciousness.

---

Down by the Riverside

Allison stared down at the pewter urn in her hands, for a moment
wondering how she came to be here with it. The wind rustled the
leaves, and with faltering steps she followed the path between
them down to the large maple where they’d had a picnic their
first date. Under it’s leafy shelter, she looked down to the river,
deceptively still here before the rocky rapids just around the
bend.

It took more effort than she expected to open the urn. It seemed
to take no effort for her arms to quaver, shaking ashes free to the
west wind.

---

Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime

His first week back was rougher than he’d expected, with too
much sympathy, too many patients and too few interesting cases.
Walking the hard floors occasionally sent sparks of pain arcing
through his thigh, and he’d taken it out on everyone around him.

Returning Friday to find her clothes gone and a note on the
kitchen counter didn’t surprise him, not after months of anger
and recriminations and no makeup sex. The hurt surprised him,
cutting deeper than anything in his leg.

When he slammed his cane down on the counter, it ripped the
note and shattered the wooden cane.

---

I’m Coming Over

"House? Are you busy tonight?"

"The game’s on at eight. Then I’ve got a full night of brooding
ahead of me. I have to keep in practice, you know. Use it or
loose it."

"I doubt there’s any danger of that happening."

"Still, I try to keep in practice."

"Twenty bucks says Philadelphia over Boston."

"I’ll take that bet."

There was an awkward pause, then, "Michelle kicked me out. Is
your couch free?"

A sigh echoed across the line. "This is the second time this
month."

"It’ll be the last time."

"Stop and pick up some beer on your way."

---

I Could Have Danced All Night

His mother turned up the music on the radio, moving in a
shuffling sway to Duke Ellington’s rollicking orchestra. She
remained spry for her age, an odd grace to her movement.

"Dance with me like you used to, Rodney," she said, extending
her arm to him.

For a moment, Eric hesitated. "I’m….I’d love to," he said
finally, standing and taking her in his arms. She had taught him
to dance as a boy, said he was a natural.

Bending his arm, he twirled her in a spin that left her laughing,
dancing in a Harlem music hall he couldn’t see.

---

Off the Record

He gathered the pieces slowly, but methodically. A spare syringe
here, a tourniquet there, a handful of alcohol wipes from the
clinic. The morphine was trickier, prescriptions complicating
matters. But supplies were supplies, and at the end of the day, no
one liked checklists enough to keep close tabs.

All of them went in the box, much easier to procure than its
contents. Hiding it away was hardest still, not because anyone
would look, but because stowing it was nearly beyond his reach.
He downed more Vicodin and Scotch, and unsteadily heaved it
atop the bookcase in case of emergency.

---

Ode to Divorce

Wilson stared down at the folder before him, Mont Blanc poised
over the proverbial dotted line. It was easier this time, but more
regrettable.

The third time was supposed to be the charm, and it had seemed
that way in the beginning. They’d gone away for weekends at
the shore, theater at Lincoln Center, snowy evenings in front of
the fireplace.

He’d always been a baseball fan, and understood that with the
third strike, he was out. All it took was one firm stroke of his
pen, ink smudging under his hand, and he was out of this
marriage, too.

---

Diamond Sea

When her grandmother died, Lisa was twelve. Her mother had
inherited the jewelry, but offered Lisa and her sister each one
piece. Beth, then eight, had taken a gaudy brooch, because she
loved cats, and this one had sparkling green eyes.

Feeling older and superior, Lisa had pondered her options.
Eventually she selected earrings, antique pearls suspended from
tiny diamond studs. For her college graduation, her parents
bought her a matching necklace.

Sitting on the edge of her tub, waiting on the pregnancy test, she
toyed with her earring and wondered if she would have a
daughter to wear them.

---