Chapter 2
House was sitting in his office, feet up on the desk, bouncing his tennis ball and thinking. He had woken up early from a bad dream with his leg hurting. He couldn't remember the dream exactly, but knew it had something to do with Stacy and Cameron. He knew it wasn't that sort of dream - he woke up feeling anxious, not happy. Besides, he'd had that dream before.
He felt eyes on his back and turned to see Cameron staring absently at him, a vacant expression on her face. He tossed the ball at the wall, startling her. She quickly looked away, blushing, and he smirked. He knew she'd been mostly likely thinking about the kiss. It had been a pretty great kiss, apart from the needle. He'd made light of it, of course, but a part of him had wanted her to come back without the needle.
He knew nothing good could come of sleeping with Cameron. She liked broken people because she wanted to fix them, to take care of them. Well he was broken…but he sure as hell didn't want anyone taking care of him. She wanted to change him, change who he was…but that didn't mean he didn't want to sleep with her or didn't think about it. He was only human, after all.
His tennis ball had bounced away when he threw it at Cameron so he turned to the computer to occupy himself. He glanced at Cameron. She was absorbed in her paperwork - his paperwork, technically, but he never did it because he knew she eventually would. She always did.
As he browsed computer sites, playing games, he found himself glancing over at her and thinking about the kiss. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. Deep down inside, he felt bad - though he'd never admit it to anyone, not even Wilson. He knew he shouldn't have faked cancer. It was a stupid thing to do, he knew that, and he wasn't so surprised that it hadn't worked out. But he hadn't meant for Wilson or the team to find out.
The door between the two offices opened and House glanced disinterestedly up at her as she put a stack of paperwork on his desk.
"I'm finished," she said softly. "You can turn those in to Cuddy."
"Still mad?" he taunted, ignoring the paperwork.
"Yes," she said, crossing her arms. He knew that tone, though, the look in her eyes, the pout of her lip. He stood.
"No you're not," he said with a smirk, walking around the desk. She took a step backwards, putting her hands in her pockets, looking down at the floor haughtily.
"What rationalization have you told yourself?" he asked mockingly, taking a step towards her just because he knew it would make her uncomfortable.
"…You're depressed. It makes sense that you'd want to-"
"I'm not depressed," he scoffed. "I'm bored."
She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining with a familiar light.
"However you want to rationalize it," she said, slightly mocking. She took a step closer to him and he felt his breath hitch.
"What are you doing?" he said, the same thing he'd said the first time.
"If you don't know by now…" she said, then she stood on tiptoes to kiss him.
He let her, for a minute, savoring the feeling, trying to burn it into his memory. Then he took her by the shoulders and pushed her back a little more roughly than he meant to.
"This isn't Grey's Anatomy," he said somewhat harshly. "I'm not your McDreamy, McSteady, McMuffin-"
She smiled a bit, which totally threw him.
"What? Why are you smiling?" he asked, frowning.
"I love Grey's Anatomy," she said.
"Figures," he scoffed. "It's a chick show. It's all about sex."
"It's not - well, yeah, it kinda is. But it's still better than your little sitcom. Although I do think Brock is hotter than Derek Sheppard…"
"You watch because you like or because I do?" he asked and her slight blush told him the answer. "Of course. Stupid question."
"Maybe we could watch together sometime?" she said a little too quickly. He could hear her voice trembling and knew she was plucking up all of her courage.
"I don't think that's a very good idea," he said, sitting back down in his chair.
"Why not?" she asked boldly.
He tried to think of a good answer, one that wouldn't hurt her feelings or make him look weak.
"I can't think of a good reason," he said.
"Then I'll see you tonight at eight," she said. "Your place."
Then she walked out of his office before he could say anything else.
He sat there in silence, feeling stunned. He'd been told what to do…by Cameron, of all people. A dozen scenarios ran through his brilliant mind in the space of a minute. He thought about not being home at 8. He thought about ignoring her if she came to the door. He thought about just watching the show with her, then kicking her out. …And, of course, he thought about jumping her bones the minute she opened the door.
Wilson came into his office to find him staring hard at the wall.
"I know that look. That's your 'plotting' look. Nothing good can come of that look when you don't have a case," Wilson said.
"…What?" House said, pulling his thoughts back from Cameron.
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
"It's all the same, isn't it? Blah blah blah, caring, blah blah blah sad cancer patients, puppies and rainbows," House said dismissively.
"Why do I even try?" Wilson wondered aloud. "Well, I came to see if you wanted to watch Monster Trucks tonight, but-"
"Can't," House said. "I've got plans."
"Renting a hooker isn't a plan."
"Technically it is, sort of a plan," he reasoned. "But- not that it's any of your business- it isn't a hooker."
"Really? Care to share?" Wilson asked.
"Not really. I'll let you know how it goes, maybe. Especially if it goes really well. Then you can just read about it in my letter to Penthouse."