A/N: Yet another two or three shot to sate me through the holidays. I promise that I am working on In The Still Of The Night, but it's a tough road to hoe. Or something. Anywho, this will be continued and I know it's rather short, but I was/am too tired to compress it into a oneshot. Please forgive me? Cameron in the story is a bit...different. Not OOC, but different. I hope y'allz like it. I know I do. Reviews are my anti-drug, so review, or I may go back to the pipe. Please, save the fanfic authors. Don't let us do cocaine. Review. That is all. Enjoy!
She went through hobbies like other women went through shoes. It was a character flaw, she supposed, but keeping busy was something she had always done. At the hospital, when they didn't have a patient, there was a reason why she did paperwork or House's clinic hours instead of twiddling her thumbs like the other two: she had to stay busy.
She was much like House in that sense. When he thought, he fiddled with his cane or died in his video game. Of course, she usually occupied her mind so she wouldn't think, but the similarities were there.
Sort of.
From the common hobbies (knitting), to the nerdy (stamp collecting), to the truly rare (spelunking), Allison Cameron liked to try it all. Her closets were packed to bursting with equipment she didn't use and projects she never finished. Contrary to popular belief, she was not a perfectionist. Well, okay, she was, but only about things other people would see. No one had ever seen her partially painted self-portrait or the cactus she'd tried to coax out of the dirt last spring, and no one ever would. Those things were secret, just like the adventurous side of her personality. In the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, she was timid, obedient Cameron. Whilst scaling Mount Washington alone, she was dare devilish and mildly ADD Cameron.
She sat at a pottery wheel, hesitantly poking at the lump of brown clay that the instructor had plopped down in front of her. Every time she pressed lightly on the pedal underneath her foot, the wheel would spin wildly, sending bits of clay flying everywhere and earning her dirty looks from the rest of the class. Cameron sighed and tried holding the lump like the others were doing before putting weigh on the pedal. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the clay did not project itself into the air, and began to shape it into a suedo-pot…thing.
It was Wednesday, and for the time being, Wednesdays were Pottery and Karate lessons at seven and eight, respectively; if House hadn't paged her by then, she would also sneak into Porter's and antique-hunt. Undoubtedly, this would change as soon as she gave up on pottery or earned her red belt.
Antique hunting, however, was never added to the ever-growing list of hobbies that had been tried, enjoyed and subsequently dumped. No, she would always love antiques. Cameron wasn't exactly sure what drew her to them, what possessed her to stop at every shop she passed, or why she never actually bought anything. If she had to guess, it would be that they were old and full of memories, memories she wished she had or could be present at. She liked to ask the shopkeeper about the pieces, reveling in the tales described of the couch that had made its way across all seven continents to the china doll dressed in a flannel skirt that bore the pattern of Robert the Bruce's clan. It was fascinating and frightening at the same time.
It made for a wonderful escape.
Eight o'clock came and went, and, sweaty from the karate, Cameron decided to forego the stop at Porter's. As she stepped from the dojo, the skies opened and began to drop a week's worth of condensation on her head. She sprinted to her car, yelping when acorn-sized bits of hail started pelting her body. That's gonna leave a bruise, she thought.
The unexpected hailstorm brought traffic on the roads to a screeching halt. Cameron swore viciously and turned onto a side street. A sign caught her eye. The gold lettering glistened in the rain. 'Bartholomewe's Antiques,' it read.
"I've definitely never seen that before," she muttered to herself. Dodging flying pellets of ice, Cameron ducked into the dusty old store. A bell tinkled above the door; particles of centuries old grime drifted towards the low ceiling, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting that emanated through the cracks between the furniture and other assorted odds and ends, her mouth dropped at the sheer size of the place. What had appeared to be a tiny country store from the street was really a behemoth! Aging wood and unpolished metal tumbled out from every available crevice. Oriental rugs adorned the creaking floors, headless mannequins were dressed in nineteenth century royal gowns, the walls were plastered with colorful oils and swirling patterns.
"May I help you, miss?" a seedy voice whispered from beside her. She screamed and instinctively jumped into fighting stance. Damn karate. The man who'd spoken hardly flinched, as if he saw soaking wet women crouch and fling up their fists everyday of the week. Barely five feet tall, his head looked about three sizes too large for his body and his feet stuck out at weird angles from his legs. Her eyes ran over the strange gentleman, the picture becoming more comic as she went. Straight from the 1930s, he was dressed as a young newspaper boy, complete with shined black shoes to the checked shirt and pageboy cap that barely contained erratic sprouts of red hair. Sheepishly, Cameron lowered her hands. This man was no threat.
"I'm quite sorry if I startled you." He spoke in a soft, nasally tone, a defined lisp obvious with every word he whispered.
"A little," she admitted. "You must be Bartholomewe?"
"Yes, I am, but not the one you are thinking of. The Bartholomewe that lent his name to this store was my grandfather."
"Oh. How…interesting," she offered weakly.
Bartholomewe nodded and leaned in closer. Okay, personal space, buddy, she thought. The man grinned widely when she stepped back, baring a set of supremely screwy teeth that poked out just like his feet.
"What was it that you were needing?" he murmured finally.
"Nothing in particular. Just browsing." Cameron began edging away.
And then he was gone. A beam of light shone through a window, illuminating a large bookshelf to her right. She ran a finger over the volumes' titles.
In what seemed like hours later, a voice drifted to her ears. She looked up.
Oh. Shit.