Disclaimer- If he was mine, and according to the dream I had last night, he most definitely was, this is how I would have liked our defining moment to have panned out.
Wilson's car, outside Cameron's apartment 7.40pm
House rapped his fingers against the windowpane impatiently. Distinctly having had his nose put out of joint by Wilson insisting that Mr. Grouchy Hop-along sit in the back, due to Sarah getting nauseous if she didn't ride in the front passenger seat, he was most definitely not in the mood to be hanging around waiting for Cameron to finish primping and preening herself. His mood was aggravated further still by the fact it was Wilson's car and therefore Jimmy Boy had full control over the choice of music that was playing. And Wilson's taste in music, pretty much as it was with women, was indiscriminate and bland beyond belief. Hence House's ears were currently being assaulted by what House perceived to be a gaggle of chipmunks on speed, but was sullenly informed by Wilson that it was in fact the latest release from Jessica Simpson. No relation to Bart, James had added hastily.
To be honest, House was semi-relieved that Wilson had put something on the stereo, having spent far too long listening to the inane ramblings of Julie's sister. A pleasant enough woman, sure, but completely unable to talk about anything meaningful or remotely interesting to House, and her shrill tone, so similar to Julie's, was grating. As he pondered Wilson's poor judgement in spouses, he spotted Cameron making her way out of the front door. Pleased that at last the show could finally get on the road, that he would soon be able to unwind with a drink or two at his favourite haunt, he suddenly felt his relatively upbeat mood shift to one of frustration and barely repressed annoyance.
He was mad at himself for allowing his heart to miss a beat when he saw her come skipping down the steps, dressed in a little cream dress and baby blue feather wrap. He wasn't accustomed to feeling such…what was it? Desire? Lust? Passion? Well, yes he was, but he was pretty sure his fantasies about Carmen Electra and Jennifer Morrison didn't compare. He was not given the opportunity to reflect on such matters for long, as events began to take a vaudevillian turn when Allison opened the car door. As she clambered into the car, Cameron lost her balance and ended up draped across his rigid being, one palm jammed firmly against the windowpane, the other hand digging into his good thigh. His arms pinned down by her prone form, he struggled somewhat to remove the marabou wrap from his mouth, the plumage impertinently tickling his nostrils. Struggling to regain her composure, and aware one of her Jimmy Choos was dangling off her big toe, she only served further to worsen his plight when she removed her hand from the glass and slumped face down in his lap, her left elbow jabbing him firmly in his most delicate region as she did so.
House bucked violently, relieved that he hadn't planned on procreating any time soon. His head spinning with the searing pain she had unintentionally wrought upon him. The sudden movement from him threw her backwards, rolling her over onto her back, her right arm hitting the back of Sarah's seat, her left arm trapped beneath her winded frame on the painfully throbbing area she had inflicted upon him. Throbbing for all the wrong reasons, House thought, as he desperately sucked in as much air as he could, as he felt his stomach rise to his mouth.
Wilson, until now unable to assist, having been rendered incapable through laughing so much, tried in vain to restore some order by adjusting the handle on the side of Sarah's seat, move it forward and allow the odd couple a little more room. Not his wisest move, as the sudden shift in the leather caused Cameron's hand to lose its grip, as House simultaneously stretched his leg and she rolled down his shins and onto the floor.
House released a huge sigh as his thighs were freed from their restraint, and hastily grabbed his Vicodin from his jacket pocket knocking two back greedily. Only then did he lean forward to attempt to help Cameron, still scrabbling in the dark for her now seemingly absent shoe. As she scrambled onto the back seat and House fished the aqua sling back from beneath Wilson's chair with the handle of his cane, she was unsure whether to laugh or cry. Her undignified entrance, the fact that the neat chignon she had styled her tresses into was unkempt and looked like a suitable home for a flock of baby sparrows, House's obvious discomfort in the region just south of his belt and the taste of lipstick on her top two teeth, signifying that she probably also had it smeared a la Courtney Love all around her mouth, was more than enough reason she thought, to make a swift exit from the car, and apologise on her need to take an unplanned rain check. Quick, think of what to say, she panicked, as Wilson pulled away from the kerb.
Understandably she was more than a little surprised when she felt a hand on her right knee. House's hand. And as she turned her head to face him, her embarrassment slipped away instantly as his eyes offered the reassurance she needed, and he whispered softly, 'Bet you're a blast at a drive-in.'
The rest of the journey to the bar passed uneventfully, the ice having been not so much broken, as shattered, by Cameron's slapstick routine fifteen minutes previously. The plan had been for Wilson to drop the ladies at Henderson's, leaving himself and House free to continue on to Harry's Bar and quaff a few cold ones, before returning to collect Cameron and Sarah on the way back through. So Wilson was slightly taken aback by House's suggestion that all four of them just go straight to the boys preferred venue. House choosing to extend the length of the women's presence voluntarily? Guess the knock he took to his crown jewels affected his senses too, he thought, as he acknowledged the request, and took the next left at the lights.
House's impromptu request was the result of an exchange that neither of the occupants in the front had picked up on, an exchange that James would never have believed unless he'd heard it with his own ears, and one that frankly even House had to pinch himself over, to ensure he wasn't having a Vicodin-induced hallucination. As House had removed his hand from Cameron's knee, and readjusted his position to allow a more respectful distance to form between them, Cameron had leaned heavily into him, removed a stray blue feather from the three-day growth on his cheek, and whispered gently in his ear. Something he recalled, along the lines of 'How about you let me buy you a drink by way of apology. For almost turning you into a eunuch.'
And as she had pulled away from his ear, but not so far away that he hadn't still felt her warm breath against the side of his face, she had placed her tiny hand onto his chest, right in the centre, as if to put him at ease with what she clearly knew was an uncomfortable situation on his part, unaccustomed as he was to physical contact and the fleeting intimacy that she had felt burn between them.