Allies, Chapter 2
Lisa Cuddy sits at her desk, rubs the back of her neck and debates getting up for her fifth glass of water of the morning. In truth, there would be no debate about it if not for the fact that her nausea has finally started to subside and she fears that it may return if she stands up. God I'm an idiot, she thinks. Where the hell was my head, going out drinking with those two on a weeknight? I'm entirely too old for this hangover business. Concentrating on her physical symptoms, she tries not to think about the odd, unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach. It's a feeling she remembers well from her college days, the feeling of having done something to embarrass herself the night before but not quite remembering what. Oh well, she thinks, I'm probably better off not knowing. I just hope House is feeling as lousy as I am.
That hope appears to have been in vain because at that exact moment, the door to her office slams open and crashes into the windows behind it.
"Hey boss, how's the head?" House shouts at her.
"For the love of God, would you keep your voice down," Cuddy pleads.
"So, not good," he surmises. She glares at him.
"Go away."
"Gladly. Just as soon as we're done."
"We are done. Bye." She waves. He sits down.
"I'm not leaving until we talk about last night."
Cuddy freezes. Uh-oh, she thinks, what the hell happened last night that he thinks we need to talk about! She does what she has been avoiding all morning and starts running through the night in her mind. Drinks, a plate of nachos, more drinks, an argument about House's last case, Wilson leaving, even more drinks, a kiss…Oh right, we kissed! He must be freaked out about that. "House, it was just a kiss. We agreed it wouldn't work, so forget it. Everything is fine; go back to work."
"What? No, not that. I mean we need to talk about our agreement. You're not getting any younger, you know. We need to get this show on the road if you ever want to have any little Wilson spawn."
"Agreement? House, what the hell are you talking…" she starts to demand when suddenly it all comes rushing back. Trying to convince him to ask Cameron out, agreeing to set up an opportunity for him to do so. And then – Oh God! – asking him to do the same for her and Wilson. She rests her head in her hands. "What have I done?" she moans.
"Just remembered, huh?" He smirks. "Don't worry; I don't have to keep my end of the agreement if you don't want me to. Just as long as you keep yours."
XXXXXXXXXX
A short time later, House is back in his office plugged into his iPod. Despite the fact that he was able to persuade Cuddy to go ahead with their deal, he's not convinced that the whole scheme isn't going to backfire spectacularly. He has, however, come to realize that Cuddy had been right the previous evening. Maybe his newly uncovered almost-feelings for Cameron are merely a case of the grass being greener. But the only way to find out for sure is to spend some time with her. Probably I just need a few hours to remember how annoying she can be, he decides. Maybe I won't even need to ask her out for a drink.
"Hey," Cameron says, walking into his office. "I've been told I'm all yours for the day."
Pulling out his ear buds, he replies, "Excellent! Christmas must have come early. Come over here so I can unwrap you."
"Ha-ha. Cuddy wants me to catch up your paperwork again. Must be another inspection on the horizon. Seriously, House I can't keep doing this for you. Assign one of your fellows to help me. Then they'll know how to do this stuff and I won't have to keep coming back here."
"No can do, they're all busy."
"Doing what? You don't have a case right now."
"Clinic duty."
"All of them?"
"Yup, I'm really, really behind on my hours. Stuff's over there on the desk." Looking down at the floor he adds "Oh, and Cameron, you…you look nice today." Couldn't hurt to try and not piss her off today, he thinks, in case the drink thing does seem necessary later.
"Um, thanks," she says giving him an odd look. "I guess that's one benefit of spending the day with you. I get to wear my own clothes instead of boring old scrubs." She sits down at the desk and opens a file.
"Is that the only benefit?" he asks.
"Well, that plus the fact that probably no one is going to bleed or vomit on me up here."
"I wouldn't be so sure; I am a little hung-over today. I'm going downstairs for a coffee. Want anything?"
"Um, yeah thanks, I could use a coffee. Are you okay?"
"Sure, why?"
"You're being…nice. "
"Am not!"
"Are too! And I gotta tell you, it's kind of freaking me out."
So much for that approach. "Just shut up and do your, er, my job," he growls and stalks off.
Grinning widely, she calls after him, "that's more like it!"
XXXXXXXXXX
By the end of the day, Cameron has finished transcribing all of House's patient treatment notes. She's forged his signature in the appropriate places and sent off the necessary copies to Cuddy and other referring departments. Then, for good measure, she has answered all of House's outstanding mail, both the electronic and the paper varieties. All that remains now is the filing.
Throughout the day, the man himself had wandered in and out of the office looking like he had something to say to her, but he had never actually said much of anything. He would come in, stare at her for awhile, grab a cup of coffee or a textbook and head back into his office. At first she tried to encourage him by making small talk but when that seemed to make him even more uncomfortable she gave up and started ignoring him. If she's learned one thing about him in the years she's known him, it's that there is absolutely no rushing him when he's trying to work up to something. Still, she wishes he'd said something because now she was going to be driving herself crazy trying to guess what he was thinking. Again. He'll have one last chance, she thinks, maybe he'll come out with it when I go in to say goodnight.
Humming to herself, Cameron gathers up the completed files and sets them on top of the filing cabinet. She opens the top drawer and thumbs through looking for Baker, Paul's proper alphabetical spot. Spotting a file with the same label as the one in her hand, she thinks, that's funny; House has already had a patient called Paul Baker. She stuffs the file in, closes the drawer and opens the next one. What the hell! There's already a Dimitroff, Maria too! That cannot be a coincidence! Starting to smell a rat, she pulls the file and starts flipping through it. The file contains treatment notes signed off in a bold scrawl she recognizes as belonging to House. The signature isn't the only thing she recognizes; the symptoms, the diagnosis and the treatment are also very familiar. Familiar because she just finished typing them out herself. Sonofabitch! What the hell kind of game is he playing!