A/N: A oneshot completely unrelated to any of my other stories (finally, hah). Don't ask me how this popped into my head ... seriously, because I have no idea. Figured it's a nice change from the massive piles of angst I've inflicted on you previously. I'm a whore for constructive criticism, so don't hesitate. This writing thing ain't so bad!
"Victoria's Secret"
You're standing in the middle of the blasted video arcade at the mall, wondering how any child (or yourself for that matter) can leave here without a grand mal seizure. You don't normally do much on Sundays ... some whiskey, football, making fun of Wilson ... but around two in the afternoon you realized tomorrow was your parents millionth wedding anniversary.
You wandered through a few shops, wondering if your parents would care if you sent them just a card (because after all it's the gift that keeps on giving) so you could just avoid any thoughts of sentiment you'd have to put into a gift.
After a lot of grumbling and weighing pros and cons, you figured you'd better just take the easy way out.
You tried, you really did (for about two minutes), but stormed out of "Things Embroidered" after two minutes with an idiotic saleslady, asking if you were there to buy something for your grandkids. You doubt your dad was much of a hand-embroidered blanket guy anyway.
So that's how you wind up in the video arcade (you contemplate handing your parents a handful of game tokens and a wish for a nice day, then hightailing it out of there, back home to your booze) hogging the Street Fighter video game, much to the protest of a group of teenage miscreants. You've just managed to scare them off when you hear a familiar voice.
You duck behind a large guitar hero game in just enough time to see your immunologist pass by, a sticky handed little boy in tow.
You watch her walk up to a group of parents, talk a few moments with a woman (who looks like she's spent half her life eating Cinnabon rolls in the food court), and tell her she'll see her same time next week. You roll your eyes and figure Cameron, queen of the do-gooders, would spend her day off babysitting.
You watch from your hidden location as she walks towards the arcade exit, checking her watch in the process. You've never been the stalking type, but seeing Cameron outside of work has jumpstarted your curiosity.
You hurriedly limp out of the arcade and keep some distance back as you watch her wade her way through the afternoon crowds and walk up to the entrance of Victoria's Secret.
She walks in and slowly walks around the store, picking up items as she walks around. You try your hardest to keep yourself from fantasizing as she picks up a lacy black number and adds it to the growing pile of stuff she's collected.
You watch her talk to an employee and walk back into a dressing room with a pile of underwear in her arms. You briefly think it would be funny if you walked in there as she's about to try on something that wouldn't cover a damn Chihuahua, but knock the thoughts out of your head quickly.
You're not really the voyeur type (though with Cameron, you'll gladly learn).
Your attention is drawn back to the store as she comes out of the back dressing room area to exchange some items for a few more out of a nearby pile. She stops for a moment, and walks back to the employee and you see her exchange a few more words.
A few moments later, you feel a sharp tap on your shoulders and you jump back from the window, startled, and turn around to face one of the mall's security guards. You're not so nicely informed that mall security got a call about a strange man peering into the windows of Victoria's Secret for over fifteen minutes.
You're trying to think up an excuse for your behavior, as he asks you to leave the property, but rethink your decision and just decide it's one of those times when you should shut your mouth and cooperate (you'd never live it down if Cameron walked out of the store and right into the commotion).
People watch as the security guard escorts you through the mall and outside, but you really don't care at this point. You hop on your bike and take off home, (the pimply faced rent-a-cop completely ruined your fantasies) forgetting all about your parents, the gift and everything else in the process.
You arrive to work the next morning (after a long night of some very pleasant dreams) and throw your crap down on your desk, followed by your ass into your chair. You're in a pretty good mood (Cuddy hasn't found you yet) and are about to reach for your Ipod, when you notice a small post it note stuck to your computer monitor.
"In case you were wondering, I decided on the lacy black one."
You immediately shut your office blinds before someone can see the smile that has erupted onto your face.