Title: The Five Stages of Denial
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
Ratings: PG-13
Disclaimers: I'm not really sure who owns House M.D., but I know it's not me.
Spoilers/Continuity: After Words and Deeds and before Insensitive.
Pairing: Wilson/Cameron
Summary: There's always a House Factor.
Completed: April 7, 2007
Notes: I've noticed that no matter who I pair – House/Cameron, House/Wilson, Wilson/Cameron – the third party always makes an appearance.
I owe it all to the power and patience of my beta earlwyn – without whom, this would have been a steaming pile of hasty crap.
The first time, it was chance.
It was late. It was cold. And most of the staff at Princeton-Plainsboro had left hours ago. Dr. James Wilson was just making it to the parking lot, and it seemed he wasn't the only doctor stuck with a late night.
He found Allison Cameron standing just outside the front doors.
"Shouldn't you be out of here by now?" Wilson stopped beside her.
"Yeah," Cameron gave a tired sigh, "I've been waiting for a taxi for the last forty minutes." She shifted from one foot to the other in an attempt to alleviate the cold that had seeped into her pump covered feet. "My car died on me this morning, as I was trying to leave for work. Just up and died! And I don't have any time to get it fixed until Monday – assuming I actually get my day off for once. And the whole thing made me late today, and I'll have rearrange my time schedule for the rest of the week…" She turned to look at him, a tired smile on her face. "Sorry," she apologised for laying her little rant out on him. For venting at him.
He shrugged. That was the most she had spoken to him, that wasn't direct hostility, for a very long time. "Let me give you a lift home," he offered, jingling his keys. It was a small step to smooth things over between them. After all the hospital wasn't that big and most working relationships are better when they're pleasant.
"I should wait for my taxi. If anything, for the principal of the thing," She pulled her coat tighter around herself; she wasn't dressed to be standing around in the sudden cold.
"Come on," Wilson tilted his head, "There's no point in you to be standing out here for who knows how much longer. I don't think you'll win any points by waiting out the cab-company."
She gave another tired sigh, the wind whipped around them. She nervously glanced between him and the empty parking lot. "Okay," she sounded defeated.
- - -
The car was cold. Not much warmer in it than outside, but at least that would change. It was sheltered here. Just close confinements.
Wilson turned on the ignition and waited for the heater to kick in and fill the space with warm air.
And waited.
"You do realise, you're going to have to tell me where you live," he chuckled.
A flush of embarrassment rushed up her neck. "Right. Sorry."
The directions to her apartment building – a modest building about twenty minutes from the hospital – filled the silence of the drive.
"And we're here," Cameron watched as the car slowed in front of her building.
Only one window had a light on, and the street was deserted. Quiet and empty.
She quickly released her seat belt and had her hand on the door handle, "Ah. Thanks for the ride home."
"It was no problem," Wilson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Suddenly, he had no idea what to do with his hands.
She started to open the car door, but stopped; "Would you like to come in for coffee or something?" She seemed surprised by her own offer, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting.
"I…" he faltered for a moment. His attention was draw to her lips: the soft pink of her mouth.
But something lurked between them. Sure, something was always heated and charged when they butted heads, but this…This was different.
"I'll take a rain-check on that," his boyish charm came in full force as he flashed her a smile, "Good night Cameron."
She nodded, giving him a careful smile before stepping out into the cold night and up to her warm apartment.
Wilson sat in his car a few minutes more waiting for a switched on light to signal her safe arrival inside and a silhouette to move across the window.
The second time, it was necessity.
Wilson breezed into the conference room, planning on finding House. And essentially paying for lunch. Instead, he found Cameron. A sea of papers around her, her laptop under her fingers and a cafeteria sandwich waiting in the wings. It looked like it had been waiting there for far too long.
"It's been proven one can't survive on hospital food alone," he commented from the door.
"I thought that was how we drummed up business," she didn't even pause in her typing.
He smiled. "True. But I don't think the doctors are actually expected to eat it," he walked over to her, inspecting the forgotten sandwich – tuna salad on whole wheat, with pickles.
"At least not as a substitute for real food."
She looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "I'll have to remember to eat some real food in the near future."
"Your car still in the shop?"
As it turned out, she did get the Monday off to get her car fix, but her college classic wasn't doing as well as she had hoped. It was still going to be a few days – at the least. He'd heard all about it from House, who began to complain that Cameron was coming in late for work. Late, of course, was still five minutes before her scheduled shift. But that wasn't early enough to have the coffee ready for House's arrival. That was, on the days that his friend actually came in during the a.m. hours, of course.
"Yeah," she sighed; "I should just buy a new one…" She let that part of her thought trail off. "So, for now it's public transit and," she nudged the sandwich.
Wilson nodded along, giving a cautionary look behind his back. No one was there. But he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was looking over their shoulders.
"I still think you should eat something that isn't pre-packaged. Let's get lunch."
The way the invitation casually dropped from his mouth seemed to surprise Cameron; she looked up at him sharply. It was as if no one just causally invited her out for lunch anymore; from what he saw of their little group there was too much baggage between everyone.
"A peace offering?"
"Um…yeah, okay," she shrugged.
- - -
She looked around the quaint, little restaurant. It was just around the corner from the hospital, yet unpopulated by staff - Almost a personal hideaway.
"This place is nice," she cringed at her dull conversation the moment she'd finished saying it. "So, how long do you think it'll be before we talk about House and the hospital?"
"Too late," he smiled, and she laughed.
It was then that Wilson noticed he shouldn't go with his conversation stand-bys. Not her shoes, or her jewellery. He didn't even know her enough to go with ambitions, but at the same time he knew her too well to use that.
They saw each other everyday. They'd see each other tomorrow.
This wasn't a date.
And still, they didn't know each other well enough for this to just be lunch.
Strangers don't meet up without ulterior motives.
They would have to talk. They would have to get to know each other. Besides, she had to know about his usual tricks.
This would be complicated.
Verbally, they flipped through music, wine and weather before finding some common ground in movies. It seemed that they both had a soft spot for cult classics and horror flicks.
Cameron giggled into her napkin; "I can't help but point out how wrong they are when it comes to blood. Not to mention anatomy."
"I'd hate to see you watch all those medical dramas on basic cable," he smiled back. That earned him one of Cameron's unguarded smiles. The kind that lit up her eyes. The kind that reminded him of the woman that lurked under her usual lab coat. The kind that intrigued him.
- - -
When they stepped out of the car, they were lucky the hospital parking lot was devoid of people. The benefit of a late lunch; it ensured one a level of privacy that one doesn't usually get.
Cameron hovered around the car, unsure. "Thanks for lunch."
"It was my pleasure," he leaned in and brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. Like a reflex.
Their eyes locked.
Both were surprised, a little shocked.
They both took a step back.
Wilson sputtered something about needing something from the car and Cameron muttered quickly about needing to get back to House's files before scurrying into the hospital.
He hadn't expected that. And it appeared neither did she.
But she did look back at him and smile.
So he hide out in the clinic for the rest of the afternoon. No reason to tempt the fates. Or confront anything when it was nothing. That was the rational he was using, and he was going to stick to it.
Now though, Wilson felt childish and guilty for making up the lame 'forgot some files in the car' excuse, but would have felt worse if he walked into the hospital with Cameron at his side.
People talked. Certain people would talk.
Certain people would jump out of nowhere to corner him.
"I'm hungry," House sprang as soon as Wilson stepped out of the clinic, as if waiting for him. A pout was on his lips, but a question was in his eyes; House wanted to know something.
"Then eat," Wilson suggested, busying himself by shoving pens into the pocket of his lab coat.
"How can I do that without my best friend for company…and to pay?" House attempted to bat his eyelashes.
"And they call Jews cheap," Wilson muttered under his breath.
"Where were you at lunch anyway?" he tilted his head to inspect his friend.
"I, I had a meeting."
House narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Not yet.
Instantly Wilson regretted the lie. It was easily checked up on and disputed. The other man could already know the truth, but Wilson didn't want to confirm it. He wasn't even sure why he had lied in the first place.
He just knew that he had to.
House watched Wilson for a moment, taking mental notes before he turned away. "Come. Beer. Pizza," House had already started shuffling toward the front doors. "I'll even let you drive big man."
Wilson followed for a few steps, but stopped. "No," he looked up, surprised with his own refusal. "I don't really feel up to it tonight."
"Oh-kay," House drew out, looking the other man up and down. Scrutinising him. Studying him. Searching for that one clue.
The whole thing made Wilson squirm. "I'll see you tomorrow." He'd go back up to his office and push a few papers around until he was sure House was far from the hospital. And far enough away to stop his examination of Wilson.
The third time, it was expected.
"You're dating someone!" House barged into Wilson's office like he had solved the mystery of the universe, not that he had pieced together the reason behind Wilson's distance. You couldn't reject one dinner invitation without suspicion. Not with House.
"Ah, what?" Wilson tired to maintained his cool exterior.
"You haven't said one word about Nurse Cathie's new boobs!" House was smug. Not that that was different for him, but his stance held that self-satisfaction of solving another mind puzzle.
"I…" Wilson thought about it for a moment. He really hadn't noticed an increase in Cathie's breast size. He hadn't actually noticed any of the other female staff lately. He was, in fact, preoccupied by one woman, not that he was going to confess that. "I've been busy."
"No man is too busy to notice boobs," House dropped himself into the chair opposite his friend's desk, "Not even gay men."
Wilson rolled his eyes, attempting to focus on the file in front of him. He didn't deny it.
"That proves it! You're paying attention to specific boobs." House leaned forward on his cane to further inspect his friend.
As if on cue, a knock sounded on Wilson's door. A soft, almost hesitant knock.
At Wilson's welcome Cameron leaned her head into the office. Her lips curved up into a soft smile when she found him at his desk. She stepped the rest of the way in, only to stumble at the impetuous tapping of a cane on the floor.
Her smile shifted into shock when she found the other man in the room, "House!"
"Damn, you found my super secret hiding spot," He banged his cane on the floor, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I guess this means it's your turn to hide now." He pulled himself to his feet.
Wilson shifted in his seat. He knew the look on House's face; he could almost see new questions forming in House's mind, could almost see the wheels spinning: There was no case, and so no plausible reason for Cameron to be looking for House. And there was no consult, and so no professional reason for her to be visiting Wilson.
House stared at Cameron, watching her. "Is there a kitten stuck in a tree, and you thought you'd find the other bleeding heart for help?"
"I—um—" The years spent working with House hadn't done a thing to improve her lying skills. Not when it came to that man.
"I'm proofing an article for her," Wilson spoke up, no longer being able to watch her grasp at straws.
House kept staring at Cameron; he watched her body tense up and saw the nervousness flash through her eyes. "Seems perfectly logical," he used the same condescending tone he saved for uncooperative patients.
But she wouldn't back down from the staring contest. Wilson had to give her credit for that.
House shrugged, breaking eye contact with her, "Better than having Foreman steal another one."
Cameron rolled her eyes, finally out of her shocked stupor.
"You two can play writer later, right now we, " he tugged on her sleeve, "need to play doctors. There has to be someone dying somewhere for no reason."
Brazenly, she looked up to lock eyes with Wilson before House pulled her out into the hall.
It was three days later before Cameron had the chance to talk to Wilson alone.
New cases and late nights got in the way. And House was never far behind. Which made the whole thing harder: Wilson had been actively avoiding House, which was easier than dodging questions and accusations about whoever had distracted him from the many medically enhanced breasts bouncing through the halls of Princeton-Plainsboro. But at the same time it, it gave Wilson an abundance of time to think about a certain small pink mouth and petite frame.
"It seems I owe you for a ride home and a lunch," Cameron smiled at him, catching up with him by the elevators. "And of course for proofing that article for me."
It took a second to click before he chuckled, "Right. That article was a monster to get through." He chanced a sideways glance at her.
She smiled shyly, "I was going to ask if you wanted to check out the Sherlock Holmes film festival that the University was having, but it ended last night." Her frustration was evident in her tired sigh. "But there is that new horror movie over at The Palace."
Wilson nodded. He had heard about it. Some maniac slaughtering random teenagers for the span of ninety minutes. Classic camp.
Then he realised.
Cameron was asking him out on a date. More importantly, he wanted to say yes.
He turned to look at her. She was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, but trying to appear as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as she watched the elevator numbers light up in descending order. But something was happening. She had taken initiative, anything else that happened wasn't solely his fault now.
"That sounds good," He bobbed his head. A boyish grin lit up his face; "We should go Friday."
- - -
The movie was horrible. Even the colour of the blood was off – as Cameron pointed out, ignoring the shushing that came from the other patrons enjoying the slaughter around them in the theatre. They had giggled about that outburst all the way back to the car, after another quick stop at the concession stand.
She gave him a challenging eyebrow arch to question why he needed to pick up another box of milk duds.
"Just in case we want a snack" is how he justified it. He wouldn't share his tradition of buying the extra box of candy with her. There was no reason for her to know that whenever he went to the movies with House, he made Wilson buy him a second box on the way out. It was a hard habit to break.
Now they sat in his car, parked out in front of her apartment building.
They had been bold under the cover of darkness and flickering images in the theatre. His hand sneaking over to her knee, in search of her hand. She didn't pull back. Just smiled a secret smile and interlocked their fingers. The pad of her thumb slowly caressing the length of his index finger. A coy promise of something else. Something later. Something more.
But now it was different. Now they had the watchful eye of the moon. They couldn't hide under the fantasy shadows that being in a movie theatre cast.
This could actually happen.
He smirked, thinking how much this reminded him of high school. The time he took out his best friend's sister. They were shy. The handholding that carefully promised more, if he was patient.
Only this wasn't exactly his best friend's sister. This was House's… He wasn't going to let himself finish that sentence.
Idly, he turned the candy box over and over in his hands.
"What are you thinking?" Cameron asked in her blunt fashion, watching him.
"Nothing," he lied, but flashed her the smirk that made it all right.
"Hmm." She made a pleased little sound, and slipped the box from his hands. "We should change that."
"Should we." Patience.
He watched as she nodded, her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. Wetting it. Her right hand came up to caress and cradle his cheek. He leaned into the soft slide of skin along his jaw. But he waited, he was patient. He waited for her to make the first move, to give him permission. To take the blame.
Soon, agonisingly slowly, she leaned in that little bit more and meshed their lips together. The sinfully soft pressure of her mouth. The occasional graze of teeth.
He shifted, leaning into her in. Her hand slipped to his shoulder, to steady herself as Wilson's mouth slid down to her neck. Paced, sucking kisses trailed down the arc of her throat.
A straggled moan, which sounded suspiciously like 'James', filled the car as he moved his mouth over Cameron's pulse point. He smiled against her skin before nipping into the soft flesh at her collarbone. That would mark.
The hand at his shoulder clawed into the fabric of his sweater; she wanted to feel more. Wilson reached across for her other hand, skimming up her thigh.
The milk duds tumbled under the seat. Forgotten.
The fourth time, it was desire.
Wilson noticed that House never said anything about the subtle discoloration on Cameron's collarbone (Even if that was the only thing Wilson could think about for the last two days. He was rather proud of it). House didn't even drop some glib remarks about how she would randomly blush when lost in her own thoughts. There hadn't even been a question when Wilson bought him that rumbled box of candy that now sat, untouched, on his desk. He had kept quiet. Well-behaved.
But that couldn't last, House would say something. He would want tests run on the symptoms, on the situation. Wilson was sure of it.
And it came while Wilson was carefully waiting outside diagnostic office for Cameron. She was running late, and they were supposed to have dinner.
"Cameron, I need you," House paused, "I need you to stay late." He stopped her before she was out the door, his cane blocking her path.
Her mouth worked like a goldfish, "I, ah, I have plans." Her eyes were saucer wide, and confused.
House hobbled around to her side of the desk, "Cancel them." It was plain, and direct. Forceful. Sharing in her personal space. There was very little breathing room between them.
Wilson was uncomfortable bearing witness to this, to their tension. And yet, he was very interested in the outcome. A curious voyeur. He couldn't look away.
"I…" she shivered at having him so close after so much distance, after everything that had happened, "don't want to."
There was almost a plea in her voice. In her eyes. Desperate. Wilson felt bad for her. There she was caught between the metaphorical rock and a hard place. Only here it was two men, two friends. She could only be crushed in the end. But Wilson wouldn't think about that.
House eyes racked up and down her form, reading her, studying her, categorising her. "Go," he stepped out of her way. Turning his back on her. Locking her out again.
House wouldn't stand in her way.
Cameron failed the test.
Wilson was there in the hall, waiting to step in.
He secretly reached over to squeeze her hand and offer a smile. He knew what it was like to suffer House's dismissal.
"Let me make you dinner tonight."
---
Cameron leaned on counter in her kitchen, vacantly staring at a spot on the tiled floor. Obviously thinking.
"You seem distracted," Wilson made the veiled commented, handing her a glass of wine. "We don't have to stay in, we could go out."
"No," she smiled at him, "I'm very happy staying in…" She set the wine glass on the counter and closed the space between them, "With you."
Her breath was warm and sweet on his mouth.
She ran her hand down his smooth cheek. He wondered if she ever compared how clean-shaven he was to the other men around her. Did she compare him to House? With how unmarred and fresh his skin felt, to the other man's obvious grain.
He knew, when she didn't look him in the eye, that she thought of House. And in a few ways so did he. He couldn't help but think about his friend whenever he was with Cameron. Even when he didn't particularly like House, he still loved him. And you don't usually take things from the ones you love.
And yet, Wilson wasn't willing to deny himself all pleasures either.
He let his hand skim the inside of her thigh, brushing his fingers against the apex in her slacks; knowing House had never been there. He did it again and was rewarded when she opened her eyes to him.
He pushed her back against the counter. His hips ground into her smaller frame, seeking the sweet heat and friction from her body.
"Bedroom?" she tilted her head toward the other room.
"No," Wilson shook his head, his thigh pressed in between her legs. "Here." He'd have her here, like this, like House never could.
The fifth time, it was self-preservation.
It was lunch. And Wilson couldn't avoid House again. He didn't really want to.
"She's giddy," House grimaced.
"Horrible, nasty habit that is…" Wilson leaned across the table. "Who are we talking about here?"
"Cameron," House groaned.
"I'll alert the media," Wilson rolled his eyes, sitting back.
House glared at him, "No. She's giddy about someone."
Wilson fought the satisfied smirk that threatened to break out across his face. "You're angry that she's happy."
House just gave him a sour look, picking pickles off of his sandwich and flicking them onto Wilson's plate.
"You're upset that she's happy with someone that isn't you," Wilson looked up at him pointedly. "You get mad if anyone is happy around you. You need to stop being jealous of other people's happiness and find some of your own."
"Thank you Dr. Phil." House managed a non-committed shrug, "And now you're always busy with you're new play thing. What's a boy to do?"
"I, I could tell you to go play with yourself, but that might be taken the wrong way," Wilson pushed his tray away, a forgotten sandwich lay on the plate. He wasn't hungry now. He had lost his appetite. Actually, he hadn't eaten a full meal in days; the anxiety of House already knowing about him and Cameron made him queasy.
"Do I get to meet her? Or will I have to wait for the divorce hearing?" House narrowed his eyes. They were cold. There was an obvious challenge: Keep her or House. Wilson couldn't have both.
- - -
Cameron and Wilson sat on her living room sofa, a cushion of space between them. A movie played mindlessly on the television screen. Neither of them were really paying attention to how Holmes was solving another case, with Watson dutifully at his side.
There was a bigger elephant in the room.
Wilson had been wrestling with how to say it all night. An uncomfortable silence lingered around them, like an all too familiar cologne. That third person's presence.
"This has been really great," Cameron smiled wistfully. She fidgeted with her hands, unsure of where to put them, what to do with them. "But it's just…" she trailed off.
"Crowded," he provided. He rolled his shoulders, feeling it now more than ever.
"Yeah," she smiled sadly. He wasn't sure if that was what she was going to say, but she seemed relieved enough to go with it.
"Some things are just more important," her tongue got away from her brain again.
Wilson just nodded. He knew. There was something much more important than whatever he was doing here with her. He didn't like having House's cold stare directed at him, for one thing. And he had the suspicion that, even if she making a valiant effort, she was settling for the wrong friend. Again.
He leaned over to her: the chaste kiss landing on her forehead.
And he was gone.
There was no sixth time.
End.