Reluctance
Chapter 2 – Damn the Women
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If thou must love me, let it be for naught
Except for love's sake only.
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Oh, how he hated this day, with a passion as big as Cuddy's funbags! Damn the woman; she had given him clinic duty on his birthday. His protests and complaints hadn't swayed her decision either. He suffered through four hours of runny noses, upset stomachs, and kids crying for their mothers. He wished he had a rock to rock some of those kids to sleep!
Step-thumping away from the clinic as quickly as possible, Dr. Gregory House made his way to his office. He pulled open the heavy glass door, balancing his weight on his good leg. Limping behind his desk, House fell into his chair with a sigh. The days in the clinic were always the longest. Grabbing a couple of painkillers, House swallowed them dry.
There were few things in life that made him happy. Four things he could name for sure; Wilson, good old Wilson, his Game Boy, his Carmen Electra desktop wallpaper, and his music. Currently, House was doing three of the four. Metallica, his current favorite angry music, was blaring from his stereo. Carmen Electra, in all her sexiness, stared at him from the screen of his computer. Mario was exceptionally good today; House was already on level ten after playing for a mere half hour.
Reclined in his chair, feet on his cluttered desk, eyes closed, House was oblivious to the presence of Dr. Allison Cameron. The loud music covered up her entrance, and she was able to walk across the floor to stand across from him before he even looked up. Yawning, House paused his game of Mario and looked up at her. Cocking an eyebrow, he silently asked what she wanted. Cameron folded her arms across her chest, glaring at him as she tapped her foot against the floor. Getting the hint, House flipped the switch on his stereo, killing Metallica and leaving the room silent.
"You're such a killjoy, Dr. Cameron. This better be good," House said.
Cameron, like always, ignored his comment. Uncrossing her arms, she produced a small white envelope from the pocket of her lab coat. Tossing it on the desk, she turned to leave. House watched her retreating form, gaze lingering below her waist. He couldn't help it, but it wasn't every day he saw an ass like hers. It wasn't his fault that she practically flaunted it in his face either.
Pausing at the door, Cameron turned around slightly, catching him. Smiling to herself, she reached for the doorknob.
"Happy Birthday, Greg," she said.
The door closed with a soft whoosh of air, leaving House staring at the place where Cameron had been only moments before. He decided that only she could do that to him; make him feel, perhaps even want.
After a few moments, House's gaze fell on the envelope Cameron had practically thrown at him. His name, in Cameron's curvy handwriting, graced the front. House looked at it, sitting so innocently on his desk. She would never know how much a simple envelope made him weak in the knees (that is, if he had been standing up).
House reached for the envelope, tearing the seal, curious as to what was inside. The card he pulled out was blank; no designs or decorations on the outside, just how he liked them. Something had fallen from the card onto his lap, but he ignored whatever it was for now, enthralled by the words Cameron had written to him.
Dear House,
To me, old age is 15 years older than I am. Happy Birthday.
Oh, and take Wilson.
Love, Cameron
Cameron was 30, House turned 45; fifteen years between them. How dare she call him old? House knew this was one of her little pranks. And she thought she was funny… ha.
House smirked, pondering her words for a moment. Take Wilson? What did that mean? He made a move to stand from his chair, perhaps to seek out Cameron to ask for a translation. However, he never made it out from behind his desk.
When he stood, something fell from his lap onto the floor. House bent to retrieve the fallen object. It was another envelope, much smaller than the last. He reached into it, pulling out a pair of tickets. Tickets? He racked his brain for possible bands performing, but came up empty. Finally, he squinted at the small print, nearly recoiling with shock as he read the words.
New Jersey Jazz Fest – one night only – Saturday the 15th – 7:00 pm
House could only think of one thing; Wilson hated jazz.
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But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.
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Author's Note: Thanks for the great reviews! I decided to continue this. Criticism is appreciated, please and thank you. Oh, this chapter is set one year later than the last one. It's House's next birthday.
