Title: Three Little Ducklings
Author: Danielle
Rating: PG
Pairings: Chase/Random!girls, Cameron/Random!guys, Cameron/House (one-sided) Chase/Foreman
Warnings: Slash, angst, sort of mind games?, controlled cheating (is that really a warning? I don't know!)
Notes: Beta-ed by my friend Rachel. Who is awesome, most of the time, at finding my typos!
Cameron tends to walk first, confident in her normalcy. There's nothing wrong with her. She can care and live, love and let people love her. The patients are her family, children and aunts and parents that need her love. That's all there is to worry about. As long as they need her, as long as she is needed, everything is normal.
Chase follows, the hurried steps on his expensive shoes echoing in the noise-filled corridors. Everything is okay because he says it is. If he doesn't understand, he will. There are no unsolvable problems, untreatable patients. Anything can be done, all it takes is money and effort.
Foreman can be anywhere. He stands in front sometimes, stopping them with a glare on his face and hands in his pockets. And, from time to time, he follow at the very back. The mysteries are people to him. He has to make sure of it. House isn't what he'll become, never.
Three little ducklings all in a row, wandering the halls of a hospital. No one questions their purpose, asks them where they're going. Sometimes an overeager intern smiles at Cameron, rainbows and sunshine. A receptionist might wink at Chase, whispering to hear him question her in his accent. And Foreman gets everyone else, smiling and winking and glancing at his sneakers.
Cameron lets them down with a smile and a date or two. They always take her to the nicest places and hang off her every word. But when the conversations always turn to House, they start to back away. Her eyes shine when she talks though, so sometimes they'll stick around. A week or two and she'll take them to her apartment, smiling and laughing until they sit on her couch.
Then she'll cry on their shoulder, weep because she can't win. And they'll hold her, eyes wide. Her tears dry on their skin, leaving them itchy and cold. Rarely do they see again after that, never smiling and soon no one winks at her at all.
Chase has a different method, speaking in a low and halting voice when strangers question him. They'll back off most of the time then, giving him an odd look. But some have worked with him too long. They know his tricks and ask anyway, smiling and leaning a bit too close. He'll accept the first time they ask, nodding and walking away.
The first date is always to a French restaurant, everyone conversing in low voices over candlelight. He smiles at them with his eyes and never touches their hand. They swoon as he orders in horrible French, mangling the poor words. Servers roll their eyes and bring what he points out to them. They know by now they'll never see the poor girls again. And every night he takes them back to his apartment. What happens there he never says, but no one asks him for a second date. And, eventually, no one even glances at him.
Foreman never accepts a date from someone at work, just shaking his head and shrugging them off. They persist, pressing him for acceptance. No one ever makes it to dinner with him, even less to his apartment. And no one ever stops looking at him, smiling and winking as he gives a long-suffering sigh.
And some nights they meet together at the bar, sipping beer on uncomfortable bar stools. They go to a place out of town, where no one knows them. And Foreman's hand is always on Chase's shoulder. Cameron just smiles at them and downs a few more gulps. They don't really need to talk, murmuring nothing and watching the way people move. Sometimes they diagnose people, pointing out alcoholics and other druggies. Chase always does it, cling to Foreman's hand after two beers and laughing at a pregnant woman downing her third vodka of the night.
Other nights they sit in a park and watch people. Chase jokes they've gotten used to the fishbowl, Cameron laughs and Foreman just rolls his eyes. But they all sit too close together, almost touching and Foreman's hand in Chase's pocket. Cameron tries to sit between them, smiling with rainbows in his eyes. They never let her.
The last night of every week Cameron sits in a bar by herself, phone pressed to her ear as she hopes it'll ring. It never does. She knows Chase and Foreman are in Chase's apartment. House is at home, Wilson on his couch. And she's rejected anyone close enough to matter. So she nurses her beer until she's on call again, sitting on the uncomfortable stool and doing her best not to cry.