Bridget fiddled with the flap of the envelope as she contemplated the arguement she'd eavesdropped on earlier, ignoring the falling dusk that softened the crisp lines of the too-neat parlor.

"Why didn't you hand her chart off to someone else in the first place?"

"And explain it how? That I can't take the clinic because I pay her for sex?"

"You don't have a problem with spreading rumours about other people's private lives. What makes this so different?"

She shook her head, digging one finger under the flap to rip open the envelope, the ragged sound loud in the silence she cultivated so carefully. They had a business relationship. Nothing more. It shouldn't matter to him what the others thought of her. It shouldn't matter to her that he defended her, and yet it rankled. She didn't need him to protect her reputation.

She pulled out two fifties and a sheet of paper, unreadable in the dim light without straining her eyes. Bridget fingered the bills, contemplating the folded sheet for a long moment before tucking it back into the envelope, and dropping it on the coffee table unread. It wouldn't matter if she waited until morning to read the results of the test.

Padding back into the bedroom, she opened her closet, kneeling down to open the safe. A neat stack of fifties rested at the back, and she settled the bills on the top, regarding the money with a critical eye. It should have been just the money from a simple business transaction. Yet, why had she turned down other similar offers that had come through the agency before dropping it altogether? What had drawn her to House to the detriment of her original goal in signing up with the site?

Bridget scowled, closing the safe with more force than needed, the metal clanging harshly. House's off behavior of late had to have effected her judgement, to make her think that perhaps there might be more to this than met the eye. To doubt her reasons for continuing this. Money for silence and sex, that was all. No matter what small amount of caring might have arose from the close contact.

She sighed as she stood, running a hand through her hair, catching a snatch of scent on her clothing she could immediately identify as House. Shaking her head, she headed for the bathroom, peeling off her clothing as she walked. The sound of the water falling filled her mind, washing away the irritation along with the subtle scent, spicy and sharp, of House.

An hour later she wrapped her long robe around her, tossing the dirty clothing in the hamper as she made her way through the darkened house. Water took only a few minutes to boil, and the fragrent steam filled the air with the scent of jasmine and oranges. Bridget sighed softly, leaning against the arch between the kitchen and the main room, her eyes drawn to the coffee table, the envelope a pale shape against the dark wood.

She shook her head, returning to her bedroom, closing the door behind her, leaving the results unread for morning.