Disclaimer- It's my birthday soon, it'd be nice to wake up and find that they were mine, but sadly they're not
Cameron's apartment 11.47pm
House languidly reclined on the sofa. Glass of single malt in hand, noisy spinning little people in his head. Cameron sat before him on the edge of the table, her back towards him as she tried unsuccessfully to clear the messages on her answerphone.
'Beep-it's me Foreman, you hiding that antipodean a$$hole there? Pick up, I wanna talk to the fool...beep- Ally, it's Laurie, just wondered how you were. Must be out with Tony, lucky girl. Speak to you tomorrow. Loves ya pumpkin...beep-Alllllllllison, it's the Chase-ster here, want me to come over? You know you SO do. Call me back when you've stopped fantasising about my huge... (loud hiccuping, followed by a dull thud)...beep- Foreman again, Cameron pick up, Indy's worried about you, did House take you home? You sobered up yet? If that Aussie muppet's there, I'm gonna be real...beep-Allison, just wanted to make sure you're tucked up in your PJs, see you tomorrow Princess...beep-End of messages...'
House swirled the whisky around in the tumbler, especially irritated by the last message. Princess? Was he for real? As for Laurie, sister? Friend? Friend with benefits? He smirked at the sordid mental image that had just scampered suggestively through his head. Nope, the voice sounded too much like Camerons for it to have any sapphic significance. Sing-songy almost, a proper girly-girl. Unlike the Cameron he was alone with now.
A Cameron who wouldn't have looked out of place in a Rolling Stones video (Love Is Strong came to mind immediately), hair tousled, make-up barely clinging to her face, low-riders fully living up to their name as she leant away from him towards the phone. Blessing him with a mental image that he hoped would remain burnt onto his retinas eternally, one he would delight in recalling when they next faced each other in their more familiar sterile environment, her sitting stiffly upright in her starchy lab coat, hair scraped back into her best attempt at a no-nonsense ponytail. Glaring indignantly at him, defying him to imagine her as anything other than a professional counterpart. One who would never admit that she had thrown caution to the wind and held his hand tightly in the back of the cab, whilst drunkenly revealing that she found his limp strangely desirable. And not because she wanted to fix it.
She stood up and slowly turned towards him. 'Want another?' she enquired, nodding at his almost empty glass. 'Or do you have to be somewhere?'
He looked firstly at his glass, then at her standing before him, bottle of Glenfiddich in hand. 'Where I am now is just fine,' he drawled, extending the glass in her direction. Thinking as he did that the only place he'd rather be at that precise moment wasn't usually where a decent man would suggest leading his impressionable young co-worker to when she was so markedly inebriated. And cursed himself silently, for still having some moral fibre even under the influence of an almost obscene amount of whisky.
She filled the glass three-quarters full, placed the bottle down on the table and tried her hardest to create an illusion of sobriety as she wobbled off in the direction of the kitchen. Returning with another glass, she promptly filled it with the dwindling supply of scotch and sat beside him.
'Some night, huh?' she said, as she tucked her feet beneath her.
'Well, personally, I would have had an even bigger blast if I'd been there to see how Chase ended up with Foreman baying for his blood, but knowing how Chase operates, there will always be a next time.'
Cameron laughed. 'I can't believe he tried his luck with Indy, grabbing her butt like that in front of Eric. Guess drink makes people do the craziest things, eh?'
Awkwardly smiling, he realised that was his cue, his window of opportunity. It'd be so easy to blame it on the drink tomorrow if it all went horribly wrong. Or time to savour the start of something very pleasing if it didn't. A method of pain relief available without prescription, but just as addictive.
He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, aware that his leg was reminding him of an interminable period since it's last Vicodin boost. And on repositioning himself, he realised his good leg was firmly pressed up against hers. It seemed appropriate to leave it there. She didn't seem to mind, after all she'd been the one impulsively grabbing his hand less than thirty minutes ago.
"I was much further out than you thought, not waving but drowning," he said in hushed tones, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
'Sorry?'
"Not waving but drowning," he repeated, a little louder this time. 'Stevie Smith. Kinda sums things up nicely, don't you think? For both of us I mean.' It was feeble, he knew it, but in the words of another, his inner voice found an outlet.
'We're drowning?' she said, desperately trying to unravel the riddle he'd just idly tossed in her direction. 'Want to run it by me again, literally this time?'
'Nope.' He knocked back the last of his whisky and placed the glass down heavily. 'You oughta know by now I love the use of metaphors, and at least this one doesn't have sporting connotations.'
'I don't want to drown.' Pausing to allow the literal meaning of his aside sink in, she continued, 'How do we grab hold of the life raft?'
He smiled at her, her face a little closer than he'd realised, cheered that she'd finally got his literary allusion. 'I think drinking the distillery dry may have helped us somewhat.' Frustrated that he would have to interrupt the decidedly easy flow of conversation, but aware that his bladder would seriously disgrace itself if he didn't, he pushed himself up off the sofa. Leaning heavily on his cane as he felt giddiness wash over him. Regaining his composure, he made his way around the couch, stopping momentarily to lean back towards her. Placing his hand lightly on her left shoulder, he brought his mouth down close to her ear and whispered softly, 'I like you. You said you had to know.'
As he shuffled off to the bathroom, Cameron felt her jaw drop. Had he just said what she thought he'd said, or was the drink really screwing with her mind? She felt her chest tighten and her eyes smart with disbelief. She snapped them shut, trying to keep reality out, to concentrate her mind on the words just spoken, the closeness of his breath against her neck. She had spent oh so long imagining what it would feel like, to hear him admit what she had always secretly hoped to be true, that he had feelings for her. She never seriously thought she'd live long enough to see it actually happen though. She kept her eyes shut as she allowed her mind to drift.
Returning from his brief interlude, House decided to set the wheels in motion, but in doing do was unable to look her in the eye. Not through fear of rejection or seeing disinterest on her face, he was well aware she wanted this as much as he did. But he was stepping boldly into the unknown. With only one good leg. Significantly increasing the likelihood of a fall eventually. So, he found himself halfway between the bathroom door and the back of the couch, two Vicodin firmly lodged in his throat, as he began to speak.
'I'm drunk, nervous and most likely about to make a total a$$ of myself. But what I said before, was true. Just took me a little while to get used to the idea, that's all. Better late than never, huh? And if my memory serves me well, I seem to recall you mentioning that you may not think I'm altogether repugnant to you. Which means at least we have some common ground, 'cause I'm not totally repugnant to me either!' He paused. 'So, I suppose that means we have more going for us than some married couples, we both have something we agree on.'
His revelations not having been met with laughter or scorn, he began edging towards the back of the sofa, hesitantly. 'I have no clue what we do next, I don't know where this will go, I don't even know if it's a particularly good idea. But something had to give. In the battle of raging hormones versus common sense, it would appear testosterone scoops the gold. So, I was thinking'- he gently ran his long fingers beneath her hair, allowing them to brush the nape of her neck lightly- 'maybe we could go out on a limb, no pun intended.'
He felt his spirits plummet dramatically on realising his heartfelt monologue had all been for nothing. That Cameron wasn't so much asleep, as deeply unconscious, four hours of relentless drinking having finally got the better of her. He allowed his fingers to remain entwined in her locks a moment longer, before leaning over and kissing the top of her head tenderly. Laughing weakly to himself, having failed to get even his most ardent groupie, paralytic or otherwise into the sack.
He removed the empty glass from her grasp, filled it with the last of the scotch and sat down beside her, wishing that the contentment evident on her still features was something he would one day find within himself.