A/N This morning I was terribly pissed off, and this popped right out of my head, so I sat and typed it in like an hour. What if she could not take it any more? Their relationship is so complex, and also complicated, that a psychologist would live on it for a decade. I know there have been much better fics on this issue, but hey, this is my view on the subject. Sorry about creepy ending. Please review and let me know what you think!
She had woken up late. That was already a bad start. She never was late for work, never. But today her alarm clock had kept silent, and she woke up ten minutes after eight. She had no time for her coffee, or even shower. She put some clothes on, combed her hair, and fuming, called a taxi (naturally, her car was at the mechanic's).
So, she was forty minutes late, when she slumped into her chair in the conference room.
House made a point of turning back from the board really slow. He looked her up and down, the pen in his hand, his frown growing by the second. She looked at him defiantly, waiting, expecting an avalanche of nastiness, being totally sure that he would pick on her for the rest of the week.
-To see this day, oh I praise thee, Lord –House mumbled, looking Cameron in the eye. –What was the problem? Or rather, who?
-I overslept, sorry –she said simply, opening the folder with her papers and taking off her jacket.
Foreman was eyeing her from the left with an unnerving grin. Chase was snickering into his paper that he never stopped writing.
-I see. Too much charity work doesn't do you good; I will tell Cuddy she must forbid you all extra work.
House turned to his board again and started writing the symptoms to some case she had no idea about. She was so bewildered that even reading the words several times, she was totally unaware of what was to be discussed.
-Mr Foreman. Please make me some coffee. I don't trust Cameron today. She looks positively… aghast –said House pulling a face, looking at her again. She didn't know whether he was going to continue what he was doing for the rest of the day, but she was already getting tired of it. She had had a terrible few weeks; fought with her Mom over her marital status (dammit, twenty-nine is not old, she had yelled, slamming the phone down); had forgotten to pay her electricity bill, and was left without light for a whole three hours on Tuesday evening; had made a mistake when diagnosing a patient and had given the wrong medicine- only her luck saved her and her patient's ass. On top of it all, she had to put up with House picking on her, for what seemed to her no apparent reason. She used to enjoy their little game; him joking about her body, her looks versus her brain, her senitivity, her eyes, her everything; and she never gave a damn, at least, not visibly, merely smirking or retorting with something matchingly snappy.
But now, it was too much. She was in a spot where she doubted everything she was, everything she used to be proud of. She felt something was slipping through her fingers. Her work did not satisfy her. Her family was giving her the creeps. She was fed up with being alone. And her boss was giving her hell.
-Ok. Now that we have pointed out the possible maladies, Mr Chase will kindly check the patient's blood tests and her reaction to antibiotics. Mr Foreman will run the afore mentioned tests. And Ms Cameron will run an errand for me.
She was so lost in her unpleasant thoughts that she never heard what House said. He stared at her, then blinked at Foreman and Chase, and hobbled closer to the desk. He lifted his cane and pricked her shoulder, gently, nevertheless causing Cameron a mild heart attack.
-What the hell do you want? –she snapped.
House stared.
-Attention –he replied, his voice rising. He felt he was getting quite angry at her obvious unattentiveness. She used to dote on him, follow his every move, drink his every word in. She used to be the first to go and check what he asked her to. She used to be the one who defended him in front of Cuddy, when he made some stupid mistakes. Of course, he never really thanked her for any of it, so in a way, he knew he was deserving her unusual behaviour.
-Fuck you –she mumbled, then stood up.
House had big eyes. Big, blue eyes, eyes that were capable of throwing thunder and lightning at any miserable creature who crossed his path or did something against his will. Patients who had been treated at Plainsboro Hospital would never forget his glare; in fact, it would be their source of terror when trying to make their small children sleep. If you don't behave properly, Dr House will come and look at you and eat you up with his eyes, they would say. Ok, maybe not. But almost. It was very easy to imagine, and he knew he was feared for his voice and his eyes the most. And now he didn't even have to pretent he was angry. To be quite frank about it, it was more than anger; it was genuine wrath growing in his lungs, waiting to erupt and eliminate the one scapegoat he could find (and the one he always found): Cameron.
Foreman stood up slowly. He saw it fit to simply disappear without a trace, and leave these two fight it out between themselves. When he turned to Chase, he saw that the Aussie had already evaporated.
Cameron was standing at the desk, putting her files together, making tiny circles with her shoulder that was aching like hell. Probably the draught from the window she had stupidly left open for the night. She felt she couldn't care less about House or the whole day; she wanted a large cup of coffee and a good friend to talk to. Unfortunately, she had no real friends nearby.
As she was preparing to turn and leave, she felt the cane hooking on her waist.
-Oh, come on –she groaned, turning. –You probably read some pulp fiction where this was a very sexy way for him to tell her to come back. I am not in the mood for any of this, House, so just skip it.
-I am not in the mood for anything that you are alluding to –he said, and, still with his cane, simply pushed her down to her chair. –I am your boss, you work for me, I demand your obedience. What the hell made you so bitchy this morning?
-I can see no problem with that, Dr House. You like bitchy, don't you? –she asked with a naughty smile. She rose slowly, holding the end of his cane in her hand, then encircled it with her palm, and slowly started working her way up and down on it, all the time looking at him with eyes he had never seen before. They were pools of lust and want, anger and defiant hurt. She was obviously beside herself with madness and he snatched his cane out of her hand.
-I don't like to work with a whore –he hissed between his teeth.
-You don't? It's a shame –she said, walking round the desk and stepping closer to him. –You made me be one, House. With your jokes, your neglect for what I felt for you, your insensitive remarks at completely inadequate moments. You thought I was going to tolerate you forever? You thought you were safe in the saddle, and I would love you no matter what?
She was so close to him that he felt her hot breath spit on his face. He saw the anger in her eyes, and was more aroused by her than ever before. She noticed the change in his posture, and relaxed a little, but only until she happened to drop her glance.
-Oh for god's sake, you sad son of a bitch –she snapped again. –This turns you on, this? That I'm angrier than I've ever been? That I could kill you with a knife if I had it? That I despise your pitiful acts of power?
-Cameron –he said quietly, and wanted to touch her arm, but she jumped as if electrocuted.
-Go fuck yourself or your whore, whoever she is. I quit, you miserable bastard –she said through clenched teeth, her face really close to him, her eyes searching his. He had to draw his breath in, he was so surprised; he had never seen her like this, and everything was happening so fast. Did she really mean what she said? Was she right? Yes, she was right; he had thought she would stick to him through his worst moments. He had worked her for so long, and she had been so patient, that he had indeed thought she would be there forever. He took her for granted, because it was comfortable and he liked situations where no problems arose.
He didn't have time to think about all this thoroughly; she was turning away, she was leaving, she was leaving him. No, she can't do that. No one can quit on him. Not her.
His hand grabbed her arm hard, and as she felt the pain yell on her skin and in her tense muscles, she swiftly turned around and with all her might, she slapped Gregory House on the face.
The sound echoed through the conference room and in his ear. The blow was so hard that his face turned aside for a second, and instantly, he felt a stinging pain form in his cheek.
He looked back at her.
She was staring at him, her eyes large as saucers, her shapely lips slightly parted, her face flushed, as if she had received part of the slap. She stared at his cheekbone, already deep red from the blow, and his eyes, deep blue oceans of unmistaken annoyance and hurt.
The old Cameron awoke as if from a century-old slumber. All the tension that had built up in her in the past months led her to this one moment, suspensed in the air, light as a feather, uncertainty and hatred and self-doubt making way for the perfect knowledge that anything can happen. Questions, qualms, fears disappeared; her mind was soaked with clarity and blissful sureness, it was overbrimming and she couldn't contain it any longer, so she let out a deep sigh that she felt was coming from lightyears away and eternities before.
Her eyes hypnotized him. He could do nothing. He knew she would be the one to take that step, and she did.
As she kissed him, her arms didn't wait for his approval, they encircled his neck, and she clung to him for dear life. Her kiss was taking all his strength, especially since he had to drop his cane to hold her in his arms. Her tongue was pushing its way between his lips, lashing out at his own, her breath filling up his lungs, his brain, his whole being. Her lips were soft and firy, her hair felt so velvety under his fingers, her body was warm and lithe and working against his hips. He kissed her with all his might, squeezing her in his arms, feeling her ribs move slightly under his powerful embrace; for fear of snapping her like a twig, he had to move his arms, one lower, one higher. Her bottom was firm and round and her muscles tensed under the grab of his fingers. He felt her lips ravish him, lick him, swallow him, her throat giving out a raspy moan as he pulled her hips as tight as he could to his own. In no time, she sat on the desk, opening her legs, pulling him close, her legs embracing his bottom, her lips never leaving his. Her hands were pulling at his waist, grabbing his muscular butt, her front rubbing wildly at his crotch. He had no idea this was possible, but it was. He came within a mere few seconds, while still dressed, groaning into her mouth, his tongue pushing deep inside. And then, she came laughing, her head tilted back, her orgasm gurgling from the depth of her, her perfect neck arched, her small breasts taut and shapely right under his nose. He gasped and propped himself on the desk with a trembling hand, the other resting on her chest, her breast, her neck.
As she looked up at him, her eyes were full of surprise and demonic delight. She had never been this beautiful, he thought, and gently rubbed her skin above her V-necked sweater.
Her eyes smiled at him mischievously, and she slowly let her legs down to the floor. Then she leant back, her palms resting on the smooth surface of the desk, and kept contemplating his eyes.
-What was I saying? –House cleared his throat.
He looked at her, and she was sending waves of hatred towards him.
She was standing right next to him, his hand tight on her arm, the other hand on his cane. He blinked, unsure of what just happened. He licked his higher lip and blinked a few times more. She stared at him with genuine loathing and distaste. He felt cold in his pants, and realized with utter shame that he had had an accident, the kind of which he was not very sure in the awkwardness of the situation. He wondered if she had also noticed, but of course, she was much too engrossed in her act of hatred. He let go of her arm and literally pushed her away, then turned his back on her, trying to make it not look urgent.
Two seconds later she heard the door slam. Then, silence.
He sat down into his chair, utterly spent and bitter, his leg throbbing. He knew he could not make it alone to his Vicodin that was in his office.
As his hand rested on his mobile, he knew he could not postpone the call to Wilson for too long.