Written for the hcchallenge, prompt 1 (Hot hate is twin brother to hot love).
Hot Hate
Allison Cameron hates him.
She hates him for making her feel this way. What's worse is that she foolishly, impulsively, pathetically shared her feelings for him to him.
She foolishly thought he would reciprocate.
She impulsively figured that, since he mentioned that he liked the way she looked, something else might be bubbling behind that gruff exterior.
She pathetically assumed.
Is twin brother
Gregory House hates her.
He hates her for making him feel this way. What's worse is that he hopefully, stupidly, sarcastically told her off on that
disaster of a date.
He hopefully thought that it would make her stronger.
He stupidly realized that, though it made her a bit more distant from him than before "Vogler-Gate", he didn't want her to completely despise him.
He sarcastically told himself, "You ass."
To
Cameron is bemused.
He told her he didn't like her. He went back to his old flame even though she was already married to someone else. In so many ways, he was showing Allison Cameron that he didn't want her.
But then why did he want to know if she was going to take Dr. Sebastian Charles up on his offer of a date?
She didn't want to put her hopes up, but what was it that she heard in his voice when he asked her about it?
Hot
House is enthralled.
She told him she hated him. She went high on the little gayling's drugs and practically jumped her blond wombat co-worker. In many ways, she was showing Gregory House that she didn't want him.
But then why did she give him a peek of her smooth, alabaster-hued abdomen as she pulled out the hundred dollars she lost to him when he won their bet?
He didn't want to assume, but what was it that he heard in her voice when she said, "Ignorance is bliss"?
Love
Gregory House wakes up from a two-day coma. He had a brief recollection of the hallucination that overwhelmed him in the infinitesimal moments between the gun shots and the rush to the Emergency Room. He lingered on a particular delusion, focusing on her face, the exposed alabaster-hued midriff, the way her eyes darkened and the way her lips formed his name.
Allison Cameron stirs from the fetal position she assumed on a chair in the ICU. During the two days that she sat in this chair, taking the place of her co-workers and Wilson watching over him in shifts, she heard him murmur someone's name. She replayed over and over in her mind the way his voice caressed her ear as her first name escaped his sculpted lips as a moan.
She raises her head. He looks into her eyes.
Their assumptions have been realized.