Chapter 1: Uninvited Guest

*BANG* *BANG*

A loud knock startled Olivia out of her brooding period. She'd been sitting hunched over her desk, staring at a half-filled mug of cold, black coffee. The morgue was quite as usual, except for the knocking and the hum of the broken fluorescent lights overhead.

Her office wasn't large—it was huge! But most of the space was taken up by the lockers and drawers. Her personal space was cramped, really cramped, with a wooden desk, a worn-out office chair, and a small TV perched on a shelf of outdated medical journals. She liked practicality, to the point it felt cold-blooded to work with her. At least she had a personal coffee machine.

"Hold your horses,"

Olivia muttered under her breath, stretching her stiff shoulders out as she reluctantly stood up. She had barely moved from her chair in hours. The festival season didn't mean anything to her, she was working a morgue in a hospital's basement.

She reached for the coffee pot, tempted to take another cup of lukewarm brew, wondering if it was worth the inevitable heartburn. The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a loud 'THUD.' In limped the last person she wanted to see today. 

Dr. Gregory House.

"You ever answer the door, corpse lady, or you figured the stiffs don't need to hand in their discharge forms?"

Hous equipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm as usual. He was leaning heavily on his cane, limping through the doorway.

Olivia sighed, bracing herself for a long conversation she didn't have the energy for. Without a word, she poured a second mug of coffee. If she was going to deal with House, she needed the caffeine. She slid the half-empty mug across the desk toward him, her expression deadpan as the bodies she worked with.

"You're not a stiff... yet,"

She replied flatly, her eyes meeting his.

"So what do you want, House?"

House grinned, his blue eyes lighting up dangerously.

"I need a body,"

He asked, casually, as if he was asking for an extra sugar clump in his coffee.

Olivia pursed her lips,

"Of course you do,"

She muttered, leaning back in her chair, unimpressed. She took a long sip of her coffee, hoping the caffeine would slow down the headache coming her way.

"This isn't a drive-thru. You want a body? Get me the paperwork."

House didn't bother sitting. He stood in the middle of the room, surveying it as if it was his first time there, well, first time without breaking in. 

"Of course, I know how much you love the paperwork,"

He said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Just figured I'd ask you to send them in later."

Olivia's eyes narrowed. She didn't trust House in her office. Not even for a second. His reputation for bending, breaking, and setting fire to the rules and ethical practices was well-known, and, well, she didn't have quite as good a friends as he did.

"Cute,"

She deadpanned again.

"Let me grab the forms."

House faked a look of utter bewilderment, tapping his cane harshly against the floor as he swayed gently. 

"You want them now!? The patient's a little girl. We need a guinea pud to know if she'll survive the experimental treatment, and I know you just happen to have one sitting in your drawers."

Olivia raised an eyebrow, already picturing what was going on. He wanted to know if his stunt would kill the patient or not.

"Sounds like a you problem. Come back when you have the paperwork signed by Cuddy."

House's mock expression of being wounded by her distrust made her roll her eyes, he had done that one too many times already.

"C'mon, a little girl's life is on the line here, all you care about is a sheet of paper? Bureaucracy is killing people!"

Olivia shrugged, slamming a stack of forms on her desk with a loud thud.

"I'm a mortician, House. You know the rules. No paperwork means no body."

The diagnostician's gaze drifted over the room again, landing on a variety of clippings and articles pinned to a corkboard. He tilted his head slightly, feigning interest.

"Nice décor, very warm and fuzzy."

He mused, stepping closer to inspect them.

The clippings were carefully selected, each piece of a far larger puzzle. The headlines ranged from 'Howard Stark's Mysterious Accident' to 'Meteor In Kansas' to 'Bruce Wayne Returns' to 'Oscorp's New Asthma Drug Strikes Controversy.' Beneath that, there were articles about mutant laws and political movements, lab accidents in California, and weird metrological patterns. 

"You've got a real variety here—billionaire playboys, mutant politics... is this your usual 'hang in there' motivational poster?

Olivia shrugged, uninterested in his nosy behavior,

"Got bored of the usual stuff."

House's eyes shifted to the small picture frames on her desk. They contained photos of Olivia and another woman, both deadpanning at the camera. He picked one, his eyebrows shooting up as though he was looking at a particularly intense medical chart.

"Not a lot of men in your life, but you've got a wedding ring. Let me guess—post-marital lesbianism? You realized men weren't your thing after getting married and decided to swing the other way around?"

Olivia gave him a cold stare,

"What. Are. You. Doing?"

House ignored her question with a smug grin on his face

"Or maybe..."

He continued, his smile broadening,

"You went Scandinavian. Real progressive."

"Observant,"

Olivia answered, her voice flat as she snatched the photo back from his hand.

House chuckled as though he was just getting warmed up. 

"No honeymoon photos, no 'just-married' vibe,"

He remarked, leaning on his cane,

"I'm guessing you've been hitched for... four, maybe five years? How close am I?"

Olivia didn't bother answering. She set the photo back down and reached for her pen, flipping through the paperwork that House still hadn't bothered to fill.

"Do you practice being this annoying, or is it just natural talent?"

House chuckled,

"Does your wife know you spend all your time with corpses? Must make for some interesting dinner conversations."

Olivia ignored him, scribbling something down on the forms,

"Unless you have something signed and stamped, you can get out."

But House wasn't done, oh no, not by a long shot. He tilted his head thoughtfully,

"You're wife—Scandinavian, real estate mogul, judging by the designer clothes in that photo,"

He said, laughing from his eyes.

"No way a morgue doctor makes enough to afford that gorgeous '69 Shelby GT500 sitting outside. So, I'm guessing she's the breadwinner?"

Olivia set down her pen sharply.

"What I drive is none of your business."

"Touchy,"

House mused,

"But hey, it's a beautiful car. Bet it gets a lot of attention. Just like your wife. You sure you're not a little insecure about—"

Olivia cut him off sharply, slapping a signed form onto the desk.

"You said you had paperwork?"

With a triumphant grin on his face, House finally pulled a folded sheet from his jacket pocket, handing it out to her,

"Cuddy signed this three months ago. Good enough for you?"

Olivia snatched the document and scanned it,

"Good enough for me,"

She replied, opening her computer to start filling out the necessary details. 

"You'll have the body by the end of the day."

Satisfied, House leaned against his cane, watching her type.

"You're a weirdo,"

He said thoughtfully after a moment of silence.

"Married to a gorgeous real estate queen, living the suburban dream, and yet you're working in a morgue. Why?"

Olivia didn't look up.

"Why do you care?"

House shrugged.

"People like you either love it or despise it. You look like you're just.. waiting for something."

Without acknowledging his statement, she handed him a printed copy of the form.

"And you look like someone who doesn't know when to shut up. Now get out."

House grinned, taking the paper and stuffing it in his jacket.

"Right, right, the papers. How could I forget?"

He asked with mocking sincerity.

"Thanks, Dr. Knight. Or is it Sir Knight?"

"Just get out."

House limped out of the office, chuckling to himself. Olivia let out a long exasperated sigh.

|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|*_*|

The next day, Olivia was making her way to the hospital's underground garage after a rather exhausting shift despite not having done much. 

As she approached her car—her prized '69 Shelby GT500, a gleaming black beauty stranded in a sea of bland sedans—she fumbled with the keys in her coat pocket.

She just wanted to go home, curl up under a blanket, and forget the day. But of course, she heard the familiar raping of a cane against the concrete floor.

House.

"You've got good taste,"

House said, leaning casually against her Mustang's fender, his cane propped against her leg.

"What do you want, House?"

Olivia sighed, not even bothering to look up.

"Nice ride,"

House commented, running a hand over the polished hood.

"Not too flashy, but it stands out. Not something you'd see in a Clinic Staff parking lot."

Olivia rolled her eyes, tossing her bag into the passenger seat.

"Are you here to tell me how much horsepower it has or something?"

House scoffed.

"Just thought I'd let you know—the patient survived. The trial worked."

Olivia didn't stop to congratulate him, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction. That was poetic.

"And..."

House added, his eyes furrowing as he scanned her face more closely than she was comfortable with.

"You should come up for air sometimes. You're starting to look like one of the stiffs downstairs."

Olivia frowned, catching her reflection in the car window. Dark eyes, pale skin, and greenish veins highlight, and a general look of wanting to murder someone. He wasn't all that wrong.

"That's rich, coming from you."

She shot back, though rather half-heartedly.

House gave her a small, knowing smile. Then, without another word, he limped off.

Olivia climbed into her car, her body sinking into the leather seat as she started the engine. As she pulled out of the parking lot, House's words repeated themselves in her mind.

She did look lifeless. But she knew what would cure it all...