Disclaimer: I still don't own House, nor do I own Empire Records nor 'V for Vendetta'
Spoiler Warning: Anything up until the current episode of House is fair game. Also bits of 'V' are hinted at.
Author's Note: Here it is, part two! Thanks to blackcherrys, silver-screen-953, jenloveshouse, drama-freak-cism, kaiselin, Nikelodean, Mione's Phantom, AtreidesHair, ellipsis…ellipsis, Sadina Saphrite, and SimpleNClean92 for your kind words on part one. Special thanks to AtreidesHair who also put up with 'Pyrrhic Victories' in the time between parts one and two. So without further ado…
Behind the Scenes: …Or Something
Saturday 12:00 am
They wandered around the lot of Johnny's until midnight when House's cell began to ring. House and Cameron grinned together when Wilson's name appeared on the display. "That's our cue. Let's blow this popsicle stand."
Such a classic line in such a classic place. Cameron smiled. "You know," she said, "every time that line's used in a movie it's right before the heroes go off to some exotic location for mindless sex."
This was very likely false but if House had been drinking his root beer he would have choked. She has to stop doing that. Someone's going to lose an eye. "There's no talking to you," he said. "My townhouse is not exotic. No comment on the sex part. But you wouldn't want to go 0 for 2, would you?"
They got to his townhouse and, thankfully, there was no sign of Wilson. House had planned to be back before Jimmy started calling but the Friday night car show always sucked him in and Cameron had proved to be surprisingly pleasant company. She just shuffled around in those ridiculous slippers and left him alone to look at the cars.
Now they needed to get in and out of the way- Wilson could be home any minute. House put his keys on the table along with the ticket stubs he'd kept. Cameron was rooting around his fridge. She came up with two bottles of Mike's, popped the caps and poured them into glasses. "You want one of these?" she called. House made a face. "More for me," she said. "Scotch on the rocks right?"
"Yep." House said and hung up his coat and Cameron's. Since House never hung up his coat that would be another little hint to the identity of his "guest." Cameron had found the scotch and two tumblers. She put ice in one and filled it with the amber liquor, adding just a splash to the other and running a handful of ice cubes under the faucet before putting them in the second glass. She put the empty bottles and tumbler of watery scotch with its melting ice on the coffee table.
House watched her work, amused. "Devil's in the details," she reminded him.
"That she is," House agreed and wondered if she had one of those headbands with the horns on it and if she owned and what she'd look like in a red dress. He picked up the three full glasses that Cameron's bottles of Mike's had produced. "Bedroom's this way," he said, "better hurry up or we won't have time for a quickie before Dad gets home."
Cameron surveyed the living room one more time just in case any detail had escaped her. Who does that remind me of? Then she grabbed a little black knapsack she'd taken from the car and the full tumbler of scotch and followed House to his bedroom. She tossed her bag on the lazy boy.
House saw an obvious flaw in the charade. "How could I forget Steve!" He said like Armageddon itself was occurring and hoisted the rat and his cage from its place in the corner of the room. "You know the rule," he told the rodent, "no public shows. If I get lucky, you're gone."
"You talk to your rat?" Cameron asked, as if the conversation itself was more disturbing than the content.
"Yes!" House called back. "I bet you know at least one woman who talks to her cat and you never faulted her for it."
"But that's a cat," her voice sounded farther away, she was probably in the bathroom, "Steve is a rat."
House set the rat in question down in plain sight in the living room and searched the fridge for munchies- this could be a long night. "That's rodentism," House yelled so that she could hear him over the now running water, "I'm sure I'll be able to fire you for that by 2010!"
He found the taco dip Wilson had made earlier that day and a bag of tortilla chips in a cabinet. "Nice." Then he thought he heard a car pull up outside so he limped quickly back to the bedroom. He shut the door to his room just as he heard the front door to the house opening.
"House!" Wilson called and the door slammed shut.
Oh he's curious, pissed but curious! "Busy!" House yelled and punched up the volume on the remote to his stereo. As the bass picked up Cameron gave a well-timed giggle from the bathroom. When House turned from the stereo her head was peeking out from the narrowly opened bathroom door. She said something that he couldn't hear over the stereo. House approached the bathroom and Cameron drew the door further closed, threatening to crack her own jaw in the process. "What?" He asked as quietly as was possible with the stereo blaring. It was a good thing the couple that lived next door to the one side was in Hawaii and the woman on the other was deaf.
Hair, dark and damp, clung to her face. "I said I didn't bring a towel."
How does a woman who thinks to melt ice forget a towel? "Towel's are out there." He jerked his head toward the living room. "So's Wilson. Use mine. Or the bathmat if you prefer."
"Ok." Cameron shut the door and House rooted through her bag for the comic book she bought rather than thinking about her following his suggestion. He was starting to regret how pleasant the evening had been. Perhaps he should have declared it a date then it could have been sufficiently painful for both of them and he could be thinking about how to tell her to jump out his window and walk home instead of thinking about her using his towel.
Saturday 1 am
When Cameron came out of the bathroom around 1 am House was on his bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt, laying on his stomach like a little boy and reading her comic book. "Hey! You can't read that. I haven't read it yet!" House didn't respond, either because he couldn't hear her over the stereo or because he was ignoring her. Probably the latter.
She climbed up on the bed next to him. "I'm not really reading it," he claimed, "I just flipped to the middle. So it doesn't count." He relinquished the book to her and rolled over, climbing out of the bed. He took his turn in the bathroom.
By the time he'd finished Cameron was halfway through the first chapter. She thought he'd turn on his TV now and tell her to move to the leather armchair. Instead, he climbed right back on the bed and complained that he'd missed the beginning of the story. So Cameron flipped back a few pages and let him catch up and wondered if he always slept in a t-shirt and sweat pants and if he was trying to scare her with proximity. They read like that for almost three hours with Cameron turning the pages when they were both finished and House shoving her with his shoulder now and then and telling her not to hog the book.
Around 2 am House produced taco dip and chips. "Don't get crumbs in my bed," he said and turned his attention back to V, grumbling that the Evey in the story didn't look anything like Natalie Portman.
During the three-hour read, both of them figured out the best method for drinking their respective alcohols while on their stomachs and one of them always called a stretch break when a chapter ended. Spines that were over ten-years-old did not tolerate being arched for long periods of time very well (not even for comic books). They mocked each other for their respective expressions of euphoria as joints popped and muscles relaxed. More than once Cameron almost made the obvious point that they'd both be more comfortable on their backs. But somehow that would seem too much like cuddling.
With anyone else this whole scenario would not have been anything to bat an eye at. Two people, fully clad, individually reading a comic book and eating luke warm taco dip with a stereo blaring. But with House it was practically lovers reading sonnets to each other and feeding one another chocolates while something smooth and jazzy played softly in the background. Cameron tried not to think about that and told her vertebrae to shut up. "Did you fill your page turning quota for the year?" House asked, breaking into her thoughts, or non-thoughts. Whatever.
Cameron turned the page and tried to bring the colored panels of the book back into focus. Her Mike's was making her sleepy, that and the fact that it was pushing 4 am. The next frame in the comic was dark… no the whole page was dark. Are my eyes open? Something jarred her shoulder. No. "Cameron, your face is interrupting my story."
Cameron groaned and picked her head up off the book, levering herself up on her elbows. "Selfish," she muttered.
"Hey," House said, "you could drool in your sleep. I might have just saved your very first comic book from a watery grave. Beside," he reasoned, "you were going to sleep through the end. I can pinch you if it helps."
"Thanks." She rubbed her eyes. "I'm awake." In the middle of the final chapter she started to nod off again and, as promised, House pinched her. "Ow!" She punched him in the arm.
"Shhh!" House cautioned, "If you wake Wilson up and he swoops in to rescue you it'll all be wasted. Reading isn't that scandalous." He seemed to consider the statement. "Unless you're an Afghan woman caught with Virginia Woolfe."
They finished the book. When she managed to convince House that she wasn't crying and that she was not going to cry House said, "When I die that's how I want to go. Viking style. Dunk me in Nitroglycerin and wheel me into Cuddy's office on a gurney."
"'Damn the man,'" Cameron quoted and rolled away from House to her side. "'Save the Empire.'"
"Good movie." House said.
She was half asleep but she could feel him looking at her. "I'm not moving," she mumbled.
"Did I ask you to?" House said and clapped twice. The lights went out. He would have a Clapper. Cameron, well on her way to dreaming, began singing the Clapper theme in her head. "You are an amusing sleeper."
Cameron woke up at that. She must have been singing out loud. She turned to face him. "Sorry," she said and closed her eyes again.
"You know of all the times I pictured you here- it was never the pajama party scenario. This is the closest you've come to getting into my pants," House said, sounding like he was falling asleep too, "and you're going to sleep right through it."
Cameron fell asleep laughing.
This isn't romantic. Not even in a weird House kind of way. If it were romantic it would be awkward. This was just she and House figuring out that when circumstances required, they could be friends… or something.
Saturday 11am
House woke up a full four hours later than he planned. They were supposed to be awake and gone before Wilson woke up. But then again he hadn't planned on being awake until four in the morning either but he wasn't one to leave things unfinished, especially comic books. Actually he had woken up at six and plenty of other times too but each time his body quickly decided he was wrong, it was not, in fact, time to get up. He had gotten unused to sleeping with someone else in his bed and Cameron apparently slept in the fetal position. Every time he moved he bumped into her and they both woke up. It wasn't his fault really, he just had to sleep on the inside corner of his pillow, that's all.
Anyway, Cameron was a good sport. She never complained. House only knew he'd woken her up because her limbs twitched as she fell back to sleep. Left arm twice then left leg then right leg to finish up. It was funny. House woke her up twice on purpose just to watch.
At ten he stayed awake. His leg, as a general rule, tolerated no more than six hours of sleep. He took his morning dose and gave it fifteen minutes to kick in, staring at the ceiling and listening to Cameron's breaths. The curve of her spine was against his ribs and he could feel every inhalation.
Soon he was comfortable. At least as comfortable as he ever got. So, of course, he got anxious and considered waking Cameron. If he'd had a wet dream about her last night he'd be fine. If he'd woken up with her ass pressed against him and had to dope himself up so he could go whack off in the bathroom that would have been just fine too. But this... The part of his brain that was still pleasantly sleepy had gotten together with the part that had soaked up the Vicodin and they were conspiring against him, whispering how this was nice and how he could get used to this.
She was wearing cotton pajama pants and one of those little tank tops that seemed innocent but by that very fact was actually very sexy. But she had commandeered his sheet and wrapped herself in it very thoroughly so there hadn't been any skin on skin contact to make him rethink their sleeping arrangement.
Plus, she didn't smell all Cameron-y for once. He breathed in. She actually smelled like something that made House feel very clean and relaxed. Then he realized that it was his shampoo that she smelled like and had to get up and go to the bathroom. At least that fixed the situation. This was how he was supposed to be reacting. She was hot and she had been in his shower and slept in his bed.
When he got out of the shower (refusing to think about her using his towel) and dressed again, she was till asleep. There was no point in waking her up. Wilson would definitely be awake and until he left they were stuck in here. House sat in his chair and put one earphone of his iPod in, leaving the other out so he could listen for Wilson.
He didn't have to wait long. Wilson knocked on the door and House swore the sound was in stereo. Cameron muttered and rolled over. House levered himself up, cursing Wilson silently. If he'd learned anything last night it was that a tired Cameron lacked control over her vocal chords. If Wilson woke her up she might give herself away. And then, he reasoned, Wilson would know that House knew that Wilson knew that Cameron was there and he would confront House about it. And that would ruin the plan. It was only logical.
Wilson knocked louder. House wrenched the door open just enough to let his friend see his infamous 'get the hell away' expression. "What?"
"Breakfast?" Wilson offered, baiting him, with the scent from the kitchen.
"Sleep." House answered and shut the door in his face.
Saturday 2 pm
"You're not prone to sea sickness, air sickness or any other motion related puking, are you?" House asked from behind her as they approached his motorcycle.
"No."
"Good. Stop walking." Cameron stopped at the sheer oddity of the request and felt a piece of cloth being wrapped around her temples and tied so she couldn't see except for an annoying sliver of nose and cheeks.
"What are you doing?"
"I know your teachers probably all told you that there are no dumb questions but they were wrong," House answered.
"Why are you blindfolding me?" she amended.
"Because I owe you a good weekend and I have no intention of accruing interest on this debt," House explained and lowered a visorless helmet over her head. "You get to wear the stupid looking one and get bugs in your teeth."
"Okay, so you don't want to spend any more time with me than is strictly necessary. No need to rub it in." Cameron was only half kidding but she was proud that she didn't sound like a pathetic child like she would have last year. "Did you have to bring the motorcycle?" She had been all too excited to ride it earlier when he brought her back to her apartment for a change of clothes. But now was a different story. And they couldn't take her car on the off chance that Foreman or Chase decided to check on her and found House's motorcycle in the parking lot but not Cameron's car. They might get suspicious. Like House would ever let her drive him somewhere, given the option.
"Scorned lovers do not storm off in Corvettes when they have motorcycles," House said and tightened the strap on her helmet.
"How very dramatic," Cameron snorted.
"Details, details, Agent Satan." He shook the helmet and her head by default, no doubt to "test" it. "Perfect."
"I think you must have been a thespian in another life," she said.
"How very clairvoyant of you, I played Puck once to pass a fine arts class, the stage loves me. I hope you were a lesbian in another life," he paused, "or in this one. How's my ESP?"
She ignored him. He was mocking her but he was also being nice. "Wilson must have gotten you good."
House led her to the motorcycle and let her go to climb on himself. She heard his cane snap into place. "Yeah, that's a good story." He said sarcastically, "Sadly, you can't tell stories on motorcycles moving at high speeds. Get on and hold on."
She fumbled around, finding her seat and then wrapping her arms securely around House's waist, too scared and excited to be uncomfortable. "This cannot be safe."
"Riding on a motorcycle is not safe!" House yelled as the engine roared to life. "Suck it up. And smile so people don't think you're being kidnapped!"
She smiled, squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against his shoulder. She didn't care if she was crossing some invisible line because all she could see if she cared to look was pavement going by much too quickly.