Hello, everyone. If you've been wondering just WHERE chapter 5 of Chipped is, let me tell you: I've been working on this fic, and it's pretty much consumed my whole brain, stopping me from doing anything else. But now that it's finished, I should be able to get back to work on it. So my apologies if you've been waiting.
Also, this IS a House/Wilson/Cameron (mostly House/Wilson, though) fic, but if you're not into that, PLEASE don't read, because I hate getting reviews that just tell me that you're not into that. So please, spare me the redundency? Much thanks.
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It was Julie's scarf. Wilson couldn't pinpoint the exact day, the very second that it had become his, but it had. In all eventuality, he had known that something like this would happen; some small, insignificant thing would lose its identity as Julie's or James', and at the last expected moment he would realize that he was not the owner. And it would feel as though he had committed a sin.
The scarf was green – the same god-awful color as his tie – and it was soft, made out of a special yarn, maybe. He tried not to think about its origin, because if he did, the guilt would be even worse. Because who wants to think about a grandmother, slaving over the very scarf that had found a home, wrapped around the delicate neck of the wrong woman? It was all so wrong. And what was even worse, he didn't seem to care.
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The very first snowflake fell in mid-October. It was a little too early for snow, and much too early for digging out her winter gear from the box in the hall closet. Cameron sat at her desk, a mug of freshly reheated coffee in her hands, watching the first snow of the season fall from the thickly grey skies. The clouds looked so soft to her, and all she wanted to do was curl up in them and take a little nap. House had – finally – solved their current case, setting up the older man on a never-ending string of medications. House was out on the balcony, chatting a little too closely to Wilson. Cameron had heard the rumors, and no matter what House said, she wasn't naïve enough to not find the tiniest bit of truth in them. There would be times that she would look at them – like now – and think They are so doing each other, while other times she would see the way House simply looked at her with enough intensity and hidden desire to make her skin tingle.
Foreman and Chase were gone, had been since the case had been finished up. Cameron would've gone home too, but to what? She'd much rather be sitting here, drinking stale coffee and watching as Wilson tried his best not to leap over the low wall out on the balcony at House. They hadn't noticed her, she knew, and briefly thought about going to end her boredom and talk with them, when Wilson – finally? Had she been expecting it? – leaned forward, quickly meeting House's lips with his own. Even from where she sat, Cameron could tell how uncomfortable it had made House. He'd taken a few steps back, glaring defiantly at Wilson's triumphant – lustful – gaze. It was when House turned around, catching sight of her for the first time, that her heart skidded to a chilly halt. His cerulean eyes narrowed, and he continued into the office, the cane hitting the ground violently.
"Not a word," he said vehemently, looming over her desk. She was still peering out the window, where Wilson smiled back at her sheepishly. The familiar sound of his lopsided footsteps faded into the hallway, and moments later Wilson turned back into his office, presumably to let House in. When she had first thought that something was going on between them, Cameron had been heartbroken, but now she had made the giant leap to not caring if she was with House, just so long as he was happy.
It was late, nearing six-thirty, and Cameron was still at her desk, skimming over House's e-mail inbox. She didn't quite remember when she became his personal secretary, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why she hadn't refused, gotten in his face and told him to read his own goddamn mail.
House hadn't come back to the office after he'd left, and she was beginning to think that maybe he had left with Wilson. She was just putting the empty mug in the sink when he hobbled into his office, and she didn't even have to turn around to tell how agitated he was. He paced around, his cane practically stabbing the carpet. It was quickly decided that she would leave before he had a chance to curse her with his clinic duty for the next week. She'd gotten her bag packed and was nearly to the glass doors when she heard the door that connected his office to the conference room swing open slowly. Keeping her back to him, she closed her eyes; silently praying to a god she didn't believe in that he wasn't going to scold her staying late.
"Don't be late on Monday." His voice was so gentle, that she was tempted to turn around and see if he was alright. Instead, she simply nodded, and continued on her way out of diagnostics.
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Wilson could admit that he'd seen Cameron in the conference room that afternoon. He could admit that he'd kissed House to shock her as much as for his own benefit. House was plenty good at surprising people on his own, but Wilson had been able to pull his own stunts every now and then too. He now sat on House's sofa, contemplating the cool bottle of beer that was dripping condensation all over his hands. The owner of said couch had been particularly pissed about the kiss, and had caught a cab from the hospital, instead of riding home with Wilson. He hadn't been there when Wilson had arrived, and still hadn't shown up. The clock on the wall was ticking nearer and nearer to one in the morning.
It was three thirty before the slamming open of the front door jerked Wilson from an unsettled sleep. The cane made harsh connections with the wood floor, so Wilson decided not to sit up and greet House. Luckily – or unluckily – for him, House broke the silence.
"That wasn't fair to her," he said quietly, with less anger than Wilson was expecting. He didn't need to ask for clarification; he knew exactly what House meant.
"I thought you didn't care about what she felt."
House sighed heavily, bringing a tired hand across his eyes. "I don't. But if she feels the way she does about you…It isn't fair to her." House leaned his fists against the back of the couch. Wilson knew how badly he had taken Cameron's declaration of her hatred towards him. Though, it seemed that everyone except House knew that she would never be over him. Even if she had claimed that she now had a thing for Wilson. Whatever it was that she felt, Wilson was sure that it really did affect House.
"I'm not going to say that she likes you –"
"She does not," House cut in.
"- Because you'll just deny it." Unsteadily getting to his feet, Wilson made his way around the couch to where House was standing - slouching. His arms wove around House's waist, holding his lover tightly against him. "But don't you think it's possible for her to like us both?" He gave House a mischievous smirk.
"Jimmy, you naughty boy." Wilson broke out into a grin; House had said it with close to no apprehension.
"I'm just saying," Wilson started again, moving his mouth closer to House's. "If she likes either or both of us, why not together?"
House pulled back, seemingly thinking seriously about what Wilson was implying.
"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" He'd tried to hide the slight excitement that had crept into his voice, but judging by the way Wilson's grin grew wider, his attempt was lost. "What if she gets hurt?" he asked. Wilson's fingers had pulled the t-shirt from the confines of his waistband and were roaming over the soft skin of House's stomach. With an extraordinary amount of self-control, House back away, breaking off any connection. Glaring at Wilson, he said, "Don't you dare say that. Don't think that, just because you're getting bored."
"Greg!" Wilson shouted, shocked at the sudden change in House's perception of the offer. But, House was already retreating down the hall towards the bedroom, and Wilson knew he'd be reacquainting himself with the sofa.
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"Differential diagnosis, people, for fever, chills, aches, and kidney failure." House rambled off the symptoms tonelessly as he scribbled them down on the white board. Monday had rolled around so much faster than he would have liked. He and Wilson had not spoken much about what passed between them so early on Saturday morning, but it had made happenings in the townhouse rather tense. Now, House was doing his best to avoid all contact with Cameron.
"Influenza?" she suggested, staring down into her black coffee.
"Wouldn't explain the kidney damage," Chase pointed out.
"A UTI?" Cameron tried again.
"Dr. Cameron," House said sharply, half-turning to meet her eyes. "If you're going to waste our time by suggesting diseases that we've already tested for, then I'd rather you spend the morning covering my clinic hours." He turned back to the board, effectively missing Cameron's death-glare. "Get some blood, check for parasites, and maybe a CBC while you're at it. And I want a better history; there's no chance in hell this woman is a CEO who spends her free time helping orphans in South Africa."
The three fellows left to do his bidding, which gave House at least an hour to think. This, of course, was the moment Wilson chose to step into the diagnostic office.
"What are you doing?" Wilson demanded.
"Saving lives," House answered, his back still to his friend. He held his cane loosely, tapping the handle against the slick white plastic. "It's actually very rewarding."
"I meant about-"
"I know what you meant."
Wilson sighed behind him. "I just saw Cameron running into the nearest bathroom."
"You're going to blame her bladder problems on me?"
"She was crying, House." He took a few steps closer, and House was sure he could feel Wilson's words pricking his skin. "What the hell did you do?"
"Is there any way I can end this conversation?"
"Tell me what you did to reduce Allison to tears."
"Allison, now, is it?" House tilted his head so he could glance at Wilson. "You should have told me you two were so chummy." Wilson shook his head ruefully, lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn't going to be getting anything out of House at this rate. Without a parting word, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
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The family waiting area on the fourth floor was almost always empty, because the families of the diagnostic and oncology patients could usually be found in the rooms. This was why Cameron preferred it to any of the others, even if the sofas were uncomfortable and the coffee was always stale. It didn't bother her that whenever Wilson passed by he'd shoot her a pitying glance, because they both knew that House was the only reason that she would be driven to hide out in the waiting area in the first place.
This time, however, she did not see Wilson. In fact, she was pretty sure that she saw him leaving the hospital after a run-in with House. And despite how hard she'd spent the last hour telling herself otherwise, she was fairly sure that they had been arguing about her.
Chase and Foreman had let Cameron disappear to the waiting room while they went and did the blood tests. Normally, she would have refused their patronage, but the weekend had not been kind to her. After her unfortunate 'meeting' with House on Friday, she had gone home to an empty apartment. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Wilson had glanced right at her before kissing House, and the tone of House's voice as she left played over and over in her head, haunting her as she tried to sleep. What was going on between those two, besides the obvious? House had been bitchy all day, and Wilson had left work early.
"Cameron."
She glanced up at the sound of her name, more surprise than she should've been at finding House peering at her from behind the door. Getting to her feet, she watched as he came into full view. He looked tired, as though he hadn't slept all weekend, which, now that she thought about it, was probably true.
"I need whatever is going on between you and Wilson to stop," he said sternly, holding her gaze.
"House, what are you talking about? I never – "
"I'm sure you think that it's not really an affair if he isn't married, but let me tell you something." He took a step towards her, never glancing away. "It still causes the same pain. And he doesn't like you." It was said with enough conviction for Cameron to think it was true, but she was too busy trying to figure out what the hell House was talking about to care.
"House, I don't know what it is you think I've done, but really. Nothing is going on between me and Wilson." Finally breaking eye contact, House scoffed, clenching his fingers around his cane.
"He talks about you." The very thought made her stomach do backflips, but she felt herself leaning closer so as to hear what he was saying, and even she could detect the note of sadness in his voice. "When we're in bed. He says we should invite you over some night." His eyes closed and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed back whatever it was he wanted to say next. Then, looking her in the eye, he said, "I don't want to lose him." It could've meant anything. Cameron had thought that she had been cleared of his suspicions, so he wasn't telling her to back off. Her question was answered by what he murmured as he left the room.
"We'll be expecting you tonight at six."
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Wilson was relieved when he arrived at the townhouse to find House waiting for him. Of course, he had been ordered to make dinner – for three? – mere seconds after he got inside. But, House was talking to him again, which was what mattered most. Even though the mention of a third party did quicken his heart rate; he had a very good idea of who would be joining them that evening.
By five to six, House had become tense and nervous, and had taken to pacing around the living room. Wilson sat on the sofa, idly sipping his glass of red wine, and when a hesitant knock came from the front door, he went to the kitchen, allowing House to greet their guest (and maybe give her the chance to back out).
He heard her voice before anything else. It seemed to float on top of the baritone notes of House's. Her perfume was next. Something faint but rich – much like her – and not something she had been wearing earlier at the hospital. And then the voices became clearer, louder and they were standing in the kitchen with him. House had already visibly relaxed, his hand on the lower back of an extravagantly beautiful Dr. Allison Cameron. She was wearing jeans and a well-fitted black sweater, and her hair was down, curling in just the right way. Wilson could tell how nervous she was, and he knew that nothing big would be happening tonight.
"Hello, Dr. Wilson," she said politely.
"James," he corrected with a smile. He glanced quickly at House, who at least wasn't scowling.
"Jimmy," House drawled. "Why don't you get our guest some wine?" He smirked, but Wilson barely caught it as he moved towards the wine bottle he'd left on the counter. House led Cameron to the table – which he had actually set, after Wilson had threatened to beat him with his own cane – pulling back her chair and helping her into her seat. If Wilson had seen this display of gallantry on House's part, he probably would have run screaming from the apartment. Wilson appeared with two glasses in his hands, setting one in front of Cameron, and the other beside the plate House had claimed.
"The chicken is nearly ready," he told them, avoiding all eye contact. "It'll be another minute or two." He returned to the kitchen, leaving House and Cameron alone.
"You can stop clenching," House stage-whispered, leaning across the table towards Cameron. She didn't meet his eyes, but she let her shoulders drop, and relaxed the deathgrip she'd had on the seat of her chair. "We're not going to hurt you."
We're not going to hurt you.
The words drifted into the kitchen, mingling with the sound of the white wine sauce bubbling in its pan. House's voice was tinted with faint notes of predatory amusement and gentle uncertainty. It didn't take a genius to know just how uncomfortable House was with the whole situation. This was Cameron, and no matter how fervently he'd denied it, Wilson knew his lover had feelings – however dim – for her.
Wilson shook his head, trying to clear the sudden jealousy that had flooded him, and grabbed the three plates – each holding a perfectly grilled chicken breast, drizzled in the creamy sauce – to bring to the table. Cameron was blushing, and Wilson tried to keep his mind from jumping to conclusions. Besides, this was not his night, nor was it House's. It was theirs to share and enjoy, whatever that might mean.
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All throughout dinner, House found it next to impossible to keep his eyes off Cameron. It was becoming distinctly clear that he was not simply gay, and that single thought made him physically hurt. He loved Wilson, even if he couldn't admit it. But what Cameron did to him – he told himself that it was purely sexual.
Nothing beyond flirtatious smiles and the occasional knee-brush happened, and House was slightly thankful for that. He still wasn't sure how he felt about a threesome relationship – whether only physical or otherwise – but he knew he didn't want to rush into anything.
When Cameron got up to leave after a few drinks, Wilson softly kissed her on the cheek turning to clear away the plates so House could show her out. It might've been awkward, had it not been for the three and a half scotches he'd recently downed. His inhibitions had been numbed by the alcohol, and he felt sure enough to press Cameron flush against the wall in the entryway and place a series of fleeting chaste kisses along her collerbone. Wilson was in the next room, scrubbing at plates in the sink, and House found himself praying that they couldn't be heard over the spray of the water.
Cameron's head went back, allowing him more access, as her body strained against him in a quest to somehow get them closer together. Her fingers danced along the waistband of his jeans, and suddenly he was gone, a good put three feet between them.
"Thank you for joining us tonight, Dr. Cameron," House said professionally, as though they had not just been a mere breath apart.
"Good night, Dr. House," she said curtly, stepping through the door he had opened for her.
"And don't be late tomorrow morning," he called after her, as though she needed the reminder to get in before noon.
House had to pause before entering the kitchen so he could wipe the stupid grin off his face. Which instantly made him sick again. He loved Wilson. He didn't want to think if it was possible to love two people at once.
"That wasn't hell, was it?" Wilson asked, after he noticed his lover standing in the doorway. House considered his answer for a moment. He had spent much of the evening in a guilty turmoil, but they had had fun.
"No," he replied cautiously, vaguely wondering where Wilson was going with this.
"We should have her over again?" It wasn't a direct request, but House could still detect the hopeful note in Wilson's voice.
"Jimmy," House growled softly, moving so that he was directly behind his lover, pinning him against the counter. "Are you asking if I want to watch you fuck my intern?" His voice was thick, and his hips ground against Wilson slightly.
"No," Wilson whispered back hoarsely. From his vantage point, House could see Wilson gripping the counter tightly enough that his knuckles had gone white. "No, I'm wanting to watch you fuck your intern." A sharp groan escaped House's mouth, and he involuntarily pushed Wilson closer against the counter top.
"Why, Jimmy," he intoned huskily, as his fingers probed beneath Wilson's thin t-shirt, savoring the soft skin he found. "I never pegged you for a voyeur." Wilson shuddered against him, causing House to smirk; it was too easy.
"She's coming back?" Wilson asked quietly, and House knew that it was because he didn't quite trust his voice.
"Yeah," he answered, moving his mouth to Wilson's neck. "I think she is."
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There had been one night, before Davey had gotten too sick, that things had gotten slightly out of hand. Davey had had Joe over for a drink, which quickly became four drinks. Surprisingly, it had been Cameron who had suggested it, though she later blamed it on the copious amount of alcohol coursing through her veins. Davey was all for it, but Joe, on the other hand, was worried what it could lead to, the emotional damage. But he'd gone along, and soon they were all collapsed, spent, in Davey and Allison's bed. That had been the only time she'd done anything with two men, and it had left her feeling hollow.
After the night with House and Wilson, she had felt excited and curious, and, if the feeling was mutual, she'd definitely be interested in sleeping with them.
When she went to work on Tuesday, there had been a small white envelope sitting on her desk. There was no label, but she still knew who it would be from. She was surprised, when she picked it up, to find that it was slightly heavy, and when she opened it, she discovered a small key, as well as a note, and in House's messy scrawl it read,
We'll be late tonight. Let yourself in.
Cameron smiled, and her heart began hammering inside her chest as she thought about what that night could hold.
House came in around ten-thirty, and didn't so much as glance at Cameron as he fixed himself a coffee. The patient was fairly stable, though 'stable' was a relative term. The kidney function was rapidly decreasing, despite the several treatments they had already tried. House was determined to fix the kidney problem first, because that was what was going to kill her. House's best guess so far was a kidney infection, but at the rate the kidneys were shutting down, it seemed unlikely.
"Dr. Cameron," House said, loud enough to pull Chase away from his crossword for a moment. Foreman was down in the clinic covering House's hours. "In my office." Chase smirked, but knew it was far safer to keep his eyes on his puzzle. Cameron sighed, and followed House into the office, leaning against the wall that was just inside the door.
"The patient's-"
"In about two minutes, you're going to be paged for a consult," he interrupted, his words falling from his mouth easily. "With Dr. Wilson. He'll want you to-" His words were cut short by the shrill voice of Cameron's pager. "Idiot," House mumbled. Cameron turned the pager off, and looked up expectantly at him. "Exam room two." He turned to his TV, and Cameron took that as her cue to leave. Still clutching the bit of plastic, she headed downstairs to the clinic.
The clinic was busy that morning, overflowing with sniffling toddlers and their mothers. Cameron saw Foreman at the nurse's station, filling out a chart. He nodded at her as she passed, but didn't seem curious as to why she was down in the clinic when she wasn't scheduled for duty. The door to exam room two was shut, and she knocked, even though she knew it would only be Wilson waiting for her.
"Come in," came the muffled reply. Cameron opened the door cautiously, stepping into the room before shutting it swiftly behind her. Wilson was seated on the rolling stool, looking at some files he had spread out on the exam table.
"You wanted to see me?" she asked, moving to the far wall so she could face him.
"Yeah," he breathed. He gathered the papers into a pile, which he tossed unceremoniously on the counter. "You got the key then?" he asked nonchalantly, shifting on the stool.
"I suppose that's House's way of telling me I wasn't bad company?"
Wilson blushed slightly. "Mine, actually, but I just let him think it was his idea. And you know, House didn't mind having you over last night either." He smiled knowingly, and Cameron's skin felt as though it were on fire.
"What time-" She paused to clear her throat, finding her voice had gone hoarse. "When did you want me over?" Smiling, Wilson pushed himself to his feet, sending the stool rolling into the corner. He came towards her, and Cameron felt her heart pounding out of excitement. He pinned her to the wall aggressively, and she thought it was not unlike the way House had done the night before. There were differences, of course. Wilson's mouth was much rougher against her pale skin, and his hands found no trouble in touching her, making her squirm.
"After work," he whispered. "Don't bother going home." Cameron's slender arms wove around his waist, encouraging him closer. She wanted to feel his heart beating against hers, wanted to feel his pulse quickening.
She moved her mouth to his ear, her breath hot on his skin. "I'll be waiting for you."
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Sometimes, Wilson found himself hating his office, because on the occasion that he did not think it beneath him, House took to spying on his lover, which sometimes resulted in awkward conversations later.
That afternoon, after Cameron managed to leave the exam room, he couldn't decide what his feelings toward the room were. From his desk he had a clear view of House's office, and whatever his lover did during the day. House's office was dim, and Wilson suspected the blinds had been shut, and the doors locked. House was at his desk, feet propped up on the desk. He was watching something on the TV, even though it was too late for General Hospital.
Wilson was about to turn back to his work when something caught his eye. Light danced across the wall of House's office briefly, as someone entered the room. House barely looked up at his visitor, but he did flick off the television and eased his legs off the desk. Wilson couldn't see who the visitor was, but he had a pretty good idea.
Cameron crossed in front of the glass door, stopping in front of the low bookcase beside the wall. As she gazed out the window at the falling snow, House moved behind her, pinning her to the bookcase as he had pinned Wilson to the counter the night before. One strong hand caressed her shoulder, while the other skirted across her hip. Wilson watched, unable to tear his eyes away. There was no jealousy in what he felt, and he knew that there would be a voyeur in the bedroom that night.
Cameron had her head back against House's shoulder, and Wilson could see her pushing back against him slightly. House whispered something into Cameron's ear, which caused her to giggle quietly. Smirking, House moved his hand from her shoulder to the front of her slacks, and he began work on the button.
"Fuck," Wilson whispered to his empty office as Cameron ground back against his lover with a moan he imagined he could hear.
House had Cameron's pants open, and the hand Wilson had so often felt on him, bringing him to release, was playing across the delicate flesh of her inner thigh. His hands busy, House whispered again into Cameron's ear, but this time there was no giggle. Cameron froze, as a small smirk played across her lips. Eyes slipping closed, she ground back against House again, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Then, as she reached down to claim one of House's hands, those radiant blue eyes snapped open and suddenly they were matched with Wilson's. And he was thankful that he was sitting as she led House's hand to her breast, helping him knead it gently, all the while holding Wilson's gaze.
Cameron said something to House, who was busy exploring the creamy skin of her neck, and even though Wilson couldn't hear it, looked suspiciously like voyeurism it is, accompanied by a slight chuckle. And the electric blue gaze that met him then made Wilson's pants start to feel funny.
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Stupid Wilson had insisted on stopping on their way home to buy candles, for God's sakes. And now House was in a slightly less euphoric mood than he had been since his meeting with Cameron. If all had gone well and according to plan, she would be waiting for them at his apartment, and his night would not be one of idle chitchat and awkward silences.
To his great delight, House saw Cameron's little Subaru parked along the curb outside his apartment. He parked the 'Vette behind it, trying to ignore Wilson's giddiness.
"Do you hear that?" Wilson asked as he slammed the passenger door shut. House paused in front of the hood and strained his ears against the seemingly still night air. It took a few minutes, but he heard it, the haunting notes marring the silence.
"I didn't know she played," House mumbled, more to himself than to Wilson. A smile crossed his face, and he and his lover went up the steps, entering the apartment.
After Stacy left, the place seemed to have forever lost its former life. Then Wilson and his suitcase came along. The light the apartment had once seen seemed to have been restored. House knew now that he had been sorely mistaken. Cameron was seated with her back to them at the piano, fingering out a mysterious melody he'd never heard before. The only light in the room came from the lamp in the corner, and it seemed to make every strand of hair on her head glow. She'd never been so beautiful.
"When you say 'late,'" Cameron said lightly, the notes still flowing smoothly from her fingertips. "It usually means by more than three minutes." Wilson snorted softly as he pushed past House into the living room.
"Wilson had to get…something," he explained lamely, but his words had lost their defense. Her slight back was drawing him in, mesmerizing him as he watched her muscles ripple delicately with every note she played. He was sure he forgot to breathe as she leant into the crescendo, filling the room with a heart-stopping finale. The brilliant chords left to echo through the apartment, Cameron pushed the bench back – the sound of scraping wood juxtaposed with the lingering notes – smirking playfully at House, whose jaw seemed to have fallen to the floor. With an air of refreshed determination, she crossed the room, her bare feet thudding against the floor. House felt himself relaxing, willing himself to enjoy himself.
Her skin was becoming familiar to him, every rare imperfection recognized by his fingers. He was used to the way she pressed against him, begging for more contact. The scent of her hair was comforting, the taste of her mouth welcomed.
And it should've felt wrong to him, but it didn't.
Cameron backed House up against the door, quickly seizing control. Her fingers tangled in his hair, encouraging his head back farther. The moment his hands captured her waist, urging her between his legs, she called Jimmy, their voyeur. Who came into the room in nothing but his boxer shorts.
And House felt all his blood leaving his brain for someplace further south.
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Cameron had always imagined House's (and Wilson's) bedroom as untidy, much like a nine-year-old boy's. But in reality, it was immaculately clean, and she humored herself by convincing herself it was all Wilson's doing. And she was sure that in all the instances she imagined herself seeing the bedroom, none of them ever involved being carted in by Wilson, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. She couldn't quite say how she had gotten from decidedly letting Wilson watch to attaching herself to him. At least House hadn't been complaining (other than Fuck. My leg hurts. Someone find my fucking pills before I decide you have to die.).
The bed was a lot more comfortable than she would've expected. She'd always perceived House as the type of person who simply craved pain. It seemed that she was going to have to stop assuming about him (she didn't want to join his stupid club anyway).
The bedspread was soft against her skin (when had she lost her clothes?), which was a nice contrast to House's calloused palms. Wilson was lying beside her, transfixed by House's movements as his own fingers traced incomprehensible patterns along her ribcage. The elegant pianist hands expertly ghosted over her skin, raising goose bumps as they went. With every second that passed, House's body grew slightly more rigid as his leg protested the activity.
So, Cameron found it in herself to forgive him when he suddenly pushed into her, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she fought the urge to scream. Wilson groaned in her ear, and even from the corner of her eye, she could see that he was touching himself. She didn't tear her eyes from House's though; those cerulean eyes bore into hers, seemingly growing more intense with every thrust. It shouldn't have shocked her when she felt Wilson's hand between them, fingers trailing through House's sparse chest hair.
The three of them hit their high within seconds of each other, and Cameron found herself closing her eyes, feeling the electricity course through her body.
"Fuck," she gasped, bring a hand to her forehead. Her eyes opened briefly and she saw two pairs of beautiful eyes on her. "Oh, get over yourselves." But the intended tetchiness was lost among the pure satisfaction that seeped into her voice.
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For the first few weeks after Wilson began sleeping with him, House had been the epitome of the crazy jealous boyfriend. He went postal every time he spotted Wilson talking to one of the nurses, or even for smiling at Chase. So, Wilson had been shocked when House had willingly invited a third into their partnership.
They were all crumpled together in a sated heap, and all Wilson wanted to do was reach out and touch Cameron. Her chest heaved in a steadily decreasing pace, the creamy skin glistening. He wondered how House would react if he reached out and let his fingers trail over each breast as they moved with every breath. It probably wouldn't be received too well; Wilson was the voyeur, after all.
"Jimmy," House grunted weakly. He was on his back, bad leg stretched out over the edge of the bed. Lifting his head, Wilson could see that House was smirking despite the obvious discomfort he was in. "Your turn." Closing his eyes, House waved a hand toward Cameron.
"Are…are you sure?" he stuttered. House was going to share, and watch Wilson fuck someone who was not him? Wilson was sure he'd misunderstood.
"For God's sakes," House groaned, lolling his head to the side. "I didn't want her all to myself." Wilson glanced over at Cameron, barely catching the eye-roll she had possibly picked up from House himself. "You're not the only closet voyeur in the room." Cameron looked like she was about to say something to that, but Wilson cut her off with a harsh kiss. He didn't want to hear that she got off on watching as well.
He attacked her mouth, and he could've sworn he felt his lips bruising. Cameron's body was flush beneath his and he reveled in the sensation; he'd nearly forgotten what a woman's skin felt like when it seemed to melt into his. Strands of auburn hair grazed his chest, and he already felt himself stiffening again. Apparently Cameron felt it too, because she pulled back, fixing him with a mischievous smile before flipping them over so he was on bottom.
As she moved herself between his legs, she said, "Don't worry. I'm a doctor," which earned a hearty chuckle from House. Wilson forced himself to breathe, to remember that this was not House sparking the electricity inside his veins. But all rational thought burst from his mind the moment Cameron's hot mouth closed around the tip of his erection.
"Shit, Cameron."
House's voice echoed in his ear, sending chills down his spine. He wanted desperately to touch House, to feel those strong hands caressing him. But with Cameron's mouth on him, he felt immobilized on the mattress. Hands grasping blindly at the sheets, he felt himself getting close as Cameron started working her tongue harder.
"Cameron."
House's voice was like the calm of a raging storm. She pulled back, and Wilson felt icy cold air engulf him, and it was almost painful. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, so he missed the look that passed between his two lovers – was that supposed to come so naturally? – before Cameron eased herself off the bed, allowing House her spot.
"James," he said sharply. Wilson opened his eyes, seeing that House was between his legs now, grim determination set on his face. Wilson knew that look, and he definitely knew what it meant. He felt the scream building in his throat, but he forced it down; House's fingers had delved deep, stretching him, making sure he was ready. The room was silent, save for their labored breathing and the faint crinkle of a condom wrapper.
"Greg," Wilson moaned. He had been close. Why did House insist on tormenting him?
House swiftly cut off his thoughts, easing into him gently. Wilson felt his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to break free. A glance to his left, and he saw Cameron with her hand between her legs. "Shit," he growled softly, once House was deep inside him. He enjoyed this feeling of fullness, this connection between him and House.
"You going to come for me, James?" House taunted lowly. "You gonna scream my name?" His thrusts were slow and deliberate, mercilessly drawing it out.
"Hell," Cameron groaned beside them, and Wilson could see her arching into her own hand as she climaxed.
"For me, James. Come for me." He was growing steadily faster, his hands tightly gripping Wilson's shoulders. "I want to hear you scream my name."
All it took was one final push, and Wilson was gone. House knew how to work him, how to control him. And hell if he didn't fucking enjoy it.
----------------------------
Wednesday. It was the middle of the week, and the conference room should have been busy while House and the fellows went through the differential. Their patient, the saint (because, as it turns out, it was possible to be a CEO with a generous heart), was steadily getting worse, and House only had a few ideas of what it could be. For the moment, they had her on every prescribable medication for the plausible diseases she could have, and she'd either get better, or they'd kill her. House was simply waiting to find out which.
After their rendezvous the night before, Cameron had been unusually quiet, even for her. House had been terrified into thinking that they'd hurt her somehow. But then she'd flashed him a devilish grin when she headed off to the lab, and he suddenly felt better about the whole thing.
She'd left the townhouse around two that morning, stealing a kiss from him on her way out. He wondered if this was how it would be; a really great fuck between the three of them every now and then, ending with him and Wilson holding each other in bed while Cameron drove home in the dark. He'd thought briefly if the setup bothered her, but apparently, it hadn't.
"Greg." House glanced up, only slightly surprised to find Wilson poking his head around the glass door. "Need a consult."
"Do you really, or do you just want to get me helplessly trapped in your office?" he asked with a smirk.
"No, I really need a consult," Wilson replied seriously. His face was grave and House suspected something was truly wrong.
"Give me five minutes."
Wilson nodded and left in the direction of his office.
"Shit," House whispered. The last time Wilson 'needed a consult' it was so he could tell House that he was engaged. Something was nagging at him to not be so paranoid; Wilson wouldn't leave him, not after what they'd started.
House waited around for a few minutes to see if Cameron would come back. He wanted some way to vent his current anxiousness – though, as he'd found earlier that morning, berating her wasn't nearly as fun after having slept with her. When she didn't turn up, House got to his feet and slowly ambled towards Wilson's office.
The oncology ward was set right next to diagnostics; in fact, it was more as though the diagnostics department was a second thought, added on to the oncology ward. Normally it would have bothered House that his department wasn't important enough to have its own hallway, but this particular arrangement meant that Wilson's office was conveniently close.
He knocked once on the door emblazoned with Wilson's name, and didn't wait for an answer. At first, he thought that maybe Wilson wanted to see him in the clinic, because he obviously wasn't in his office. But he decided to wait there anyway, and when he shut the door, Wilson sprang from apparently nowhere, backing him against the wall with enough force to threaten House's balance.
"Bastard," House mumbled half-heartedly as Wilson dragged his lips along his stubbled jaw. "I really fucking thought there was something wrong." Wilson lifted his head, easily raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. That's why it took you twelve and a half minutes to get here," he guessed with a smirk.
"You were counting?" House barely bit back the exasperation that threatened to crack his voice. "And I was waiting for Cameron." Which he realized was probably not the right thing to say, right before Wilson stepped away, hands on his hips.
"You didn't see her?" Though, the tone in his voice suggested he already knew the answer.
"No…"House replied apprehensively. "Why? What's wrong, James?"
Wilson shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "She's uh…got a bit of abnormal bruising on her-"
"You idiot," House broke in, attempting to sound genuinely pissed off, but the smirk that snuck onto his face betrayed him.
"How do you know it was me?" he asked, though his face had already flushed bright red.
"Because, you're always giving me hickeys."
"Am not."
Rolling his eyes, House tossed his cane on to the couch so he could unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing a dark bruise along his collarbone. "Christ. There's no way I did that," Wilson said, uneasily eyeing the mark.
"Right," House snarked, buttoning his shirt back up. "I gave myself a hickey. On my neck."
"OK. Fine. I gave Cameron the hickey, alright?" he admitted, pointedly ignoring the triumphant grin House was displaying. "I just didn't want you giving her crap about it. Especially in front of everyone."
"That's my Jimmy, always looking out for the defenseless." And ignoring the venomous glare that overcame his lover's face, House turned on his heel and limped back to diagnostics with somewhat of a spring in his step.
-----------------------
It was huge, and it spread from just below her right shoulder to the center of her collarbone. She could remember a mouth there, sucking and teasing, but she just couldn't put the rest of the face with it.
Cameron glared at her reflection, hands gripping the cool porcelain sink tightly. The mark was so obvious, like a wine stain against white satin, and no amount of concealer could hope to hide it. Wilson had unceremoniously handed her a hideous green scarf when he'd spotted the bruise that morning, but even considering the cold outside, she couldn't go around all day wearing a scarf. She'd just have to ask House if she could go home. Surely, after their night together, he'd give her some slack; especially if it was him who'd given her the hickey.
As she left the restroom, Cameron bumped into Foreman – literally – who seemed to be sprinting in the direction of their patient's room.
"Foreman!" she called after him. He skidded to a stop, barely taking the time to acknowledge her before starting off again.
"Come on!" he shouted as he rounded a corner. Cameron followed, finding it hard to stay upright while running in her heels.
Cameron was somewhat shocked to see that House was in the room when they arrived. He leaned against the wall, cane bouncing lightly on the floor in front of him.
"What's the emergency?" Foreman asked urgently, his breath coming heavily and ragged. House glanced at the patient, who scowled at the wall when the two other doctors made their presence known.
"I've decided that you're not allowed to take patient histories anymore," he said calmly, smiling blandly at Cameron.
"What – why?" she breathed.
"Tell her why, Sarah," he said condescendingly to the woman in the bed. It looked like it was all she could do not to flip him the bird.
"People get bit all the time," she mumbled quietly. "There was no reason I should have thought-"
"It can cause renal failure," Cameron interrupted as realization hit her.
House nodded, and pushed himself away from the wall. As he moved past her and Foreman, he said, "I want you to start her on an antimalarial before it gets real nasty and kills her." Foreman followed him out of the room to retrieve the medication.
As Cameron moved to leave the room, the patient – Sarah – spoke. "I haven't been back there for months," she said quietly.
"Malaria can take up to ten months to present," Cameron told her kindly. "You'll be fine now. Just get some rest." And before Sarah could say another word, Cameron was out the door, and headed for House's office.
---------------------
"Jesus. It looks like you tried to draw blood."
Wilson glanced up, unsurprised to see House back in his office.
"Jimmy, you little perv," he mock-scolded, takng a seat across from Wilson.
"Fuck, House. What did you say to her?" he asked worriedly. House could be a total bastard when he put his mind to it, and Wilson could only imagine what might've come spilling out of that mouth in front of Cameron.
"I told her I'd put you in your place," House said nonchalantly, lifting his feet up onto the desk. "I also sent her home. I really don't need an investigation of my department." He smirked, as though the thought of having his department investigated amused him. "I also might've mentioned that you'll be cooking again tonight, and that she was welcome to join us."
"And?" To House's furrowed brow, he added, "Do you think she'll come then?"
"I could say something-"
"Yeah, I know," Wilson cut in, holding up his right hand. "Please don't."
"Killjoy." House brought his feet down to the floor and massaged his leg for a moment before he stood up and went to the door. "Yeah. I think she's coming." He left the office before Wilson could add another word.
Replaying the conversation over in his head, Wilson smiled; never before had he felt so much like he was back in high school.
That afternoon, House left early, leaving Wilson behind at the hospital to drive himself home. Wilson had some filing that needed to be done, but he got off around four, and left for home in his Volvo around quarter after. He was hardly surprised to see Cameron's car parked along the curb, and he found himself wondering how long it had been there.
The air was silent that evening, and Wilson missed the haunting notes that had danced around his head the night before. The living room light was on, and though the snow that fell from the sky distorted his view somewhat, he could see dark shadows flitting along the inside walls. That looked like Cameron's agile figure moving about the room, and if he had to guess, Wilson would say she was…
"Good lord," he chuckled to himself as he shuffled up the icy steps. When he opened the door to the apartment, he smiled at the sight before him: House was sprawled out on the sofa, a cold – and probably not his first – beer in his hand as the New Yankee Workshop played on the television. Cameron, on the other hand, was busy tidying up the space, tossing old food cartons and putting all of House's textbooks back on the shelves. He noticed she was still wearing the scarf, the dark green sharply contrasting against her pale skin. It was then he remembered the first time he had seen the scarf; Wilson had taken Julie ice skating, and he'd spent most of that day making sure she left with all of her bones intact. Now, the scarf was making another appearance, hiding the hickey he'd given to the wrong woman. It was ironic, in a sick, taunting kind of way.
"Hey, Jimmy," House said casually, never tearing his eyes from the screen.
"Cameron, what are you doing?" he asked incredulously, tossing his coat in the direction of the closet and earning himself an annoyed sigh from Cameron.
"I've decided that if I'm going to be coming by like this, I'd have to clean up. You two live like a couple of teenage boys." House snorted from his position on the couch, but Cameron wisely chose to ignore it. "I've almost finished. Get yourself a beer, James. Relax. I've got dinner covered as well."
Wilson obeyed, all the while smiling to himself. It felt strange to not have to be the 'wife' in the relationship, and he found it adorable that Cameron had even taken charge.
"How long has she been at it?" Wilson asked in a whisper once he'd gotten a beer and forced House to share the sofa.
"Ever since I got home," House informed him distractedly. "She was vacuuming then, but I told her that if she didn't quit before my show started, I'd set Steve McQueen on her."
"You sure know how to handle 'em." Wilson deadpanned.
Twenty minutes later, Cameron emerged from the kitchen, two of House's oversized cereal bowls in her hands. By that time, the TiVo had switched over to The OC, and they were both so engrossed in it that they'd hardly noticed the deliciously thick smells coming from the kitchen.
"Here you are," she singsonged, lowering the bowls under their noses.
"What is it?" House asked distastefully, glancing down at his meal.
"Wild rice soup." House glowered at his bowl before taking a wary bite. "How is it?"
"It's not horrible," he admitted reluctantly. Cameron smiled, and went to retrieve her own bowl.
They spent the night like that, the three of them nestled together on the sofa eating wild rice soup and watching The OC. The atmosphere carried a sense of familiarity about it, and if someone had walked in, they may've guessed that things had always been this way. Though Wilson knew all too well that things this perfect never lasted.
----------------------
Cameron smelled nice, House decided. With her head resting against his left shoulder, it was fairly easy for him to discreetly lean over and fill his nose with the sweet scent of her shampoo. Her soup bowl was precariously set upon her lap, and with every breath she took, House expected it to fall to the ground and smash. Wilson was asleep against his right shoulder, the younger man's snores reverberating around the room.
"Does he always do that?" Cameron asked groggily.
"Do what?"
"Snore like that."
House chuckled lowly, trying not to disturb Wilson. "I'm afraid so."
"God. It's going to get real annoying." The comment made House smile, but he felt his stomach churn at the permanency of it. He hadn't put much thought into the future of this thing the three of them had. He didn't see it lasting until forever, but he knew he sure as hell didn't want it to end.
"Christ," Cameron moaned, sitting up. "It's nearly midnight. I've really got to get home."
"You know you can stay here," House said in a voice he knew was not his own. Cameron smiled at him, brushing her slender fingers over his lower lip.
"Yeah," she sighed, the barest hint of regret in her voice. "But I should go home." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping Wilson, and he knew what she was getting at. This thing –whatever it was –was House and Wilson plus Cameron, and she was too nice to want to impose herself upon their privacy.
Running a lingering hand down his chest, she pressed her lips fiercely against his before mumbling, "Night, House," and quickly pecking Wilson on the forehead. She was almost out the door when House thought to call, "Good night."
The TV screen cast an eerie white-blue glow over the still room, and House had the bizarre feeling of being in a horror film.
"Jimmy," he whispered harshly, shaking the shoulder that pillowed Wilson's head. "Come on, Jimmy, wake up." Wilson abruptly lifted his head, squinting in the dim light.
"Greg?" he mumbled. "Shit, what time is it?"
"Midnight. Now get the fuck off of me before my arm falls off." Wilson stared blearily up at him, until House's meaning became clear.
"Oh, God. I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Wilson asked worriedly. It was clear he was still half-asleep, and House thought it might be fun to mess with him a bit.
"No. Do you have any idea how much it's going to cost to get these fucking drool stains out of my shirt?"
"Christ, I'm sorry, Greg. I'll pay for it, if you'd like. And-"
"Jimmy," House said, stopping the rambling. "Shut up and get your ass in bed." Blinking in confusion, Wilson got to his feet and stumbled towards their bedroom. House flicked off the TV, made sure the door was locked, and followed after him, laughing softly. It shocked him that he was actually happy, and what was more, he was shocked that he felt he actually deserved it.
--------------------
Three weeks had passed since Cameron had first caught House and Wilson smooching on the balcony. Three weeks filled with stolen glances, secret smiles, quiet dinners, Monopoly, and the best sex of her life. She was enjoying herself with them, and she even flattered herself by thinking they enjoyed her company as well. But it was all like a fire, the intense heat slowly dwindling until nothing remained but the smoldering ashes.
Cameron sat in her dark living room, sipping some hot tea and watching the Wheel of Fortune. It was one of the few nights she'd spent at home in the last three weeks. She could already feel the chasm between her and her boys growing, as well as the need to end this thing before it had the chance to hurt anyone.
The phone rang, nearly scaring her out of her skin.
"Hello?" she said into the phone, her voice gravelly from the lack of speaking.
"Come open the door." Of course, it would be House.
"Why can't you just knock?" But she was already on her feet and moving for the door. On the other side, she saw House with his arm lazily snaked around Wilson's waist. "You just can't go one night, can you?" she asked playfully. Wilson broke free of House's embrace, so he could capture Cameron in his own arms, moving his lips over her smooth skin.
"Jimmy was horny, and I just wasn't doing it for him," House said, and Cameron thought he sounded only half-sarcastic. He had plopped down on her sofa, immediately becoming absorbed in the television program.
"Did you want some wine?" she asked softly into Wilson's neck.
"No thanks," Wilson mumbled, his words vibrating against her lips. "And I think it would be better if we didn't put more alcohol into Greg." Cameron had noticed this about them; whenever they were alone, it was always Greg and Jimmy and Cameron. She wondered vaguely why it was this way, but was saved the introspection by House's annoyed grunt.
Cameron really began to wonder why they had decided to come over that night when ten minutes later they were all huddled together on the sofa watching Wheel. Wilson was snoring on her shoulder, her own head resting against House's right shoulder. She knew something needed to be said, as far as the direction they were headed in was concerned. She just didn't want to have to be the cause of any pain amongst them.
"House I-"
"He loves you."
Cameron blinked, completely stunned. "What? Who does?"
"Jimmy." House paused long enough to let a humorless laugh escape his lips. "Sometimes I think maybe more than he does me."
Cameron felt her heart sink, and maybe disappear altogether. She remembered the discussion they'd had before any of this had started. I don't want to lose him, House had said. Was she the only one that hadn't expected it to evolve into this?
The room fell silent, save for the fake sounds of the TV. She wanted to relieve the tension that wound around them, suffocating them.
"I think it's time we end this," she said quietly. And the moment the words left her mouth, she knew it was the right thing to do. As hard as it would be to give up what they had, she knew it needed to be done, sooner or later. And Cameron was always one for sooner.
"Why? Because I said-"
Cameron steeled herself and said the very first thing that came to her mind. "What am I supposed to say to my family when I go home for Christmas? 'Am I seeing anyone? Well, actually, Mom, I've got two boyfriends.'" She smirked in the darkness, imagining how that particular conversation might go over with her mother.
"So…You're backing out because you can't think of anything witty enough to tell your parents?" Shaking her head, Cameron sat up carefully, aware of the snoozing man on her shoulder.
"We've had fun," she told him quietly, meeting his icy blue gaze. "But where did you see it going?" House was quiet for several minutes, and she was sure he was going to tell her that she couldn't leave now.
"You're right," he whispered hoarsely. He said nothing more, but got slowly to his feet, moving to wake Wilson. "Come on, Jimmy," he said softly to the younger man. Wilson sat up slowly, eyes widening slightly when he realized he was not in his own home.
"Night, Cameron," Wilson slurred tiredly, placing a sloppy kiss just below her ear. And then House shepherded him out the door, mumbling a sincere thank you before closing it behind them.
And Cameron watched as the 'Vette's headlights cast an iridescent glow over the dark, snow-covered neighborhood as her boys left her for the last time.