Chapter 1
AN: So, this is my 2nd fanfiction ever written and 2nd Hameron fanfic but it is my first ever posting. I know Hameron is basically dead but I want to put this out there because I can God damn it. I don't own anybody or anything in this story. Mad props to David Shore and the other writers though. Writing's hard. Enjoy the show.
As she stared at the seat opposite of her, she pondered her love life or
lack thereof. She did this every Friday night, in the same seat, with the same
drink of the night, at the same place. She didn't have a social life; she didn't
want one without him.
She was sitting in her booth with her right elbow propped up on the table and
her hand completely blocking out everything in the dim bar, except for the seat
in front of her, from her sight. Although this cut her off from most of the bar
activities, this didn't stave off potential suitors. She wondered how many would
sit in his seat tonight. She thought of it as his because she hated the idea of
another man in it. Never mind the fact he had never touched it. She had an odd
quirk of never sitting to a side of the middle of the booth but a little to the
left of the seat.
She waved her left hand high and her usual waitress brought over a glass of
Jack or beer or whatever she was having that night, all the while never taking
her eyes off of his seat. She heard the glass being set down with a thud and the
other one slide across the table before it was taken away.
She sighed before taking another sip and then pondered work life, it seemed
her work and love lives were intertwined now. She strived for his affection and
was shot down. Sip. She strived to move on and he ridiculed her. Sip. She
strived to make him jealous and he was indifferent. Why? Gulp. She was beautiful
and smart, he said so himself, sort of. Their banter always left certain
electricity in the air and they were always sneaking glances at each other when
they thought the other one wasn't looking. Was she really that dull to misread
every encounter they've had? Sip.
She thought back to his answer when she asked if he liked her. She scoffed
out loud. She shouldn't have back him into a corner like that, he was scared off
easily. She smirked at this thought; she was talking about him like he was a
wild animal now. Steve Irwin narrated in her head, "And here we have the great
House. He's a beut but be careful, back him into a corner and he'll attack. His
usual choice of defense is biting sarcasm." Maybe she had too much to drink.
She took a long sip.
When she started this habit a couple of months ago, she would stare at the door
willing him to walk through it. But as the months went on, she knew better than
to expect that from him. Hell, even to expect anything from him. Even if he did
like her, he wouldn't do anything about it.
At this thought she took a long gulp. She was no longer actively chasing after,
vying for, advancing on, or even flirting with him anymore. It hurt too much
when he rejected in any way possible. Now, she just sulks in silence while
acting indifferent and detached at work. She had become indifferent about
everything nowadays. And that's good. Isn't it grand? Isn't it great? Isn't it
swell? Isn't it fun? Isn't it? But nothing stays.
Great, now she was spewing musical lyrics into her thoughts. She took another
drink and found herself at the bottom of yet another glass. Had she already
finished another glass? What was that her fifth or sixth? She forgot how many
she downed and didn't care to remember. She waved her hand and soon the almost
comforting sound of the glass sliding across the varnished wood reached her ears
yet again.
After she had settled into her glass, she felt someone slide into the booth
beside her. Well, this one is very forward, she thought. Never in all of the
Fridays has anyone sat next to her. Plenty of guys saw a sad, pretty girl and
knew of at least three ways to cheer her up. But she always shot them down no
matter what age, size, height, income, clothes, car, or house. She was never
impressed. No one compared to him in the slightest way and she only wanted one
House.
After the Chase debacle, she tried a variety of guys. None of them held a candle
to House. She eventually gave up looking and went back to sitting alone, for the
most part; which brought her back to the bloke sitting beside her. She caught a
whiff of him and noticed he smelled like House did. She knew what he smelled
like because he seemed to go out of his way to stand uncomfortably close to
people. Why does he have to do that? It's as if he wants me to sniff him.
Suddenly, she felt the heat of an intense gaze and stopped her people sniffing
thoughts. She had planned on just ignoring him but he obviously didn't get the
hint. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds as she lowered her hand to the
table. She only opened them before she swiveled her head like an owl to the
intruder, ready to attack this intruder until he begged for mercy or ran away
with his tail between his legs. Her eyes too were like an owl's then because who
other to sit beside her than the object of her musings?
"House. What are you doing here?"
"Can't two colleagues have a drink together," he asked in his "innocent" voice.
"I didn't know you were the type to do such a thing." She took a long sip.
"Usually, I'm not. But I saw you through the window." He shrugged like that was
a valid enough excuse.
She rolled her eyes and finished off her glass. "So what pulled you out of your
den this evening," she asked as she waved her hand high.
His eyes followed the bob in her throat and then the semi-graceful wave of her
hand. "There was supposed to be a rave down the street but I guess the police
busted it before I could get there."
She let out an unladylike snort. "Of course."
"I'd like a scotch please. No rocks." As Cameron grabbed her drink again, the
waitress walked away to fill House's drink order and he turned back to her, "And
what about you?"
She paused, as her brain was confused for a second. She was about to ask why he
would wonder what she was drinking when it was right in front of her. She then
realized his train of thought and replied, "I come here every Friday night."
"No friends to drink with?" She ignored him and took a drink. So he continued,
"Weird. You look like the type to have a group of friends that go out every
Friday, to the same place, you all order the same thing, play darts, get drunk,
and end up sleeping with one of the guys. They're always in a rotation to keep
it fresh."
"And you look like the kind of guy who sulks around his apartment every night
drinking the same thing, playing the same notes, and passing out. Where is
always in rotation to keep it fresh; looks like we're both wrong." She hides her
astonishment since she didn't know the true meaning of liquid courage 'til now.
She saw him smirk out of the corner of her eye. "I guess so."
"Shouldn't you be with Wilson or something?"
"Shouldn't you be with the Wombat or something," he mimicked her with that high
voice.
"The Wombat and I haven't been together for a while."
"Sorry, it's hard to keep up with you two nowadays."
And that's-"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
Oh she say that out loud? "Nothing."
"How many drinks have you had, Cameron?"
"Four."
"Uh huh, sure. I guess your waitress is working here to pay for schooling since
her math is off. She said you've had nine."
"What do you care?" She never thought she would ever say or think this but she
wanted House away from her. If she couldn't have him then she didn't want him in
her sights. It made her think about him a little bit less.
House sat up a bit straighter, "What do I care? I always care about everything,
Dr. Cameron. You should know this by now. I'm a doctor! Doctors care."
She scoffed and adopted a Southern belle voice, "Oh, howevah could Ah forgat?
The great Doctah House is the epi-toh-meh of cah-ring. He nevah complains about
clinic dooty and remembahs all of hees patients' names, Ah do declare!"
House actually smiled at that. He never saw Cameron let loose like this before.
It must have been the alcohol. Cameron went back to nursing her drink as House
pondered what a pretty thing like her was doing drinking alone every Friday
night. She had to have men tripping over their feet to get to her.
Cameron looked at her watch and saw that it was around midnight. Usually she
stayed 'til closing time at 1:30 but she decided to call it quits. "Well, it's
been fun House; a real ball. But I need to get home."
"To what?" Cameron hated to admit it but that cut her deeper than he would ever know. She
finished her drink and shoved at his shoulder. "I would like to try and sleep
tonight so I'll self-medicate at home. That way you don't see my mug on the
morning news and you'll have someone to boss around and make your coffee on
Monday."
House barely even budged at her drunken attempts at violence. He looked at her
face closer and noticed the heavy bags under her eyes for the first time that
night. They almost matched his own. What is keeping you up babe?
He slid out of the booth without a word. As she moved to get out of the booth,
someone tilted the floor and she stumbled straight into House.
"Cameron, I thought you quit throwing yourself at me. Let's not start that
again." He up-righted her but held onto her elbow.
"I never threw myself at you," she said with a huff.
"You can't drive home like this." Cameron laughed at his comment. Funny how much
the tables have turned. He was mother henning as she destroyed herself.
"House, I'll be fine." She jerked away from his grasp and almost fell again if
it wasn't for House grasping her upper arm. Cameron closed her eyes. Of course
he shows up when she's at her most drunk.
"That's it, you're riding with me."
Cameron sighed in a mix of frustration, relief, and tiredness. "Whatever. Can we
please go now?"
House let go of her and walked towards the bar to pay his tab. After she did the
same, she followed him outside and groaned. There in the handicap parking spot
was a bright orange bike. How could she forget about the bike? She was certain
if she rode it, she would puke everywhere. That was definitely not what she
wanted House to see her doing.
Meanwhile, House was oblivious to Cameron's plight as he handed her his helmet,
got on, and started the bike. He looked back at her and yelled over the roar of
the engine, "Well? Are you coming?"
Cameron bit her lip. Might as well get it over with. I'll just close my eyes.
She threw on the helmet and hesitantly put her leg over the seat. Her liquid
courage opted for her to put her hands around his middle, willingly this time,
as she laid her head against his back and closed her eyes.
House smiled and drove off into the night.