Cooper walked down the long hall to the Lucky 38's penthouse, his resolve unwavering. A man with enough power and influence to secure his family's survival had done this much for nothing in return--what would he do if incentivized? Despite House's insistence that he wasn't 'a crazed fan', he most certainly was. Cooper knew a star-fucker when he saw one.
Robert House had called himself a 'pinko sympathizer' and less-charitable press had labeled him a 'confirmed bachelor'. Cooper believed the rumors now, having encountered House in a men's room alone and spoken to the man who referred obliquely to 'fulfilling his needs'.
Barbara had been prepared to get her hands dirty, ready to pull the trigger on whatever was necessary. She did not flinch when she found Hank MacLean drugged and unconscious in their room, she had plunged the needle into his neck without hesitation.
Cooper stepped through the door and approached the gilded balcony overlooking a vast array of security monitors. The cowboy greeter was somewhere below, Cooper heard its mechanized drawl faintly in the distance. House was sitting at his desk, but gave no indication that he knew Cooper was there.
"Robert," he called down to him.
House swiveled in his chair and gave him a curious look.
"How many Houses am I talking to?" Cooper asked, leaning his hands on the balcony railing.
"Just one," House answered.
"Good, I was hoping I'd get you alone," Cooper said with a smile.
