Author's Note: This is it folks! The final proper chapter of Behind the Scenes and what a beast it was! Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. If you've been lurking or just saving up your comments for the end, please drop me a line, annoyance, praise, whatever, everything's very welcome. There's going to be a short epilogue to tie up a few loose ends- hopefully in the next few days as I'm about to leave the country for a few months. Again, feedback much appreciated. Thanks.
Deus Ex Machina:
1. an improbable character or event used to resolve a plot
2. in ancient Greek and Roman theater, a god introduced to resolve a complicated plot
Another Note: This whole story is a bit of literary joke really, it relates to the title of this chapter- special prize to the first one to get it. There's also a little joke in the previous chapter "…Or something" related to the actor that plays Wilson.
And now I've just become one of those writers that makes ridiculously long notes… and yet I'm still writing it… happy reading!
Behind the Scenes: Deus Ex Machina
Sunday 4 pm
"There were people in the stands- that much has changed." It was four in the afternoon when House and Cameron left Princeton's athletic complex. "Twenty years ago, most people didn't know what lacrosse was."
"I still didn't." Cameron admitted. "It looks painful."
House shrugged, remembering how his shoulders never got sore until a few hours after the last goal he'd scored. "So, do you research everyone you know or just your devilishly handsome bosses?"
"Excuse me?" They'd made it to the parking lot and House's motorcycle but he wanted to hear her answer so he put a restraining hand on her helmet so she couldn't put it on.
"Please." He rolled his eyes to put the focus on her mildly stalker-ish knowledge instead of on his interest in her interest. "You knew I played lacrosse. You know how I like my sandwiches. You knew my birthday. And I've heard you rattle off your little findings about my character to Foreman and Chase. Did you conduct interviews on everyone who's ever known me or is there a page on me at Wikipedia?"
She was probably regretting, now, that she'd thought to go to the game, that she'd thought to do something nice for him. And that was too bad. But if she was regretting it then maybe she'd never do something like this again. The whole afternoon had been like a bizarre meeting of two worlds. Lacrosse, meet Cameron. It had been his old life- when he was young and healthy and, well less jaded meeting, now when he was weathered and broken and miserable
It'd been like finding out that his new friends actually liked his old friends and maybe liked them better than they liked him. Well that metaphor didn't really work since both of those would be Wilson…. But he'd watched a lacrosse game- one of the most bittersweet activities he could possibly engage in- and Cameron had been there- one of the most infuriating idealists he'd ever met- and somehow the default feeling for the situation was happy. House just wasn't used to his default feeling being happy. He blamed Cameron. After all, lacrosse couldn't possibly be at fault.
But when House's metaphorical fit passed Cameron was smirking. "You're not the only one with astute powers of observation. You used to have a lacrosse ball," she said, "but it disappeared the same day one of the glass panes in the door to your office mysteriously shattered. Then you got the big tennis ball. Chase figured it was compensation. You know- old age, shrinkage-"
"Ok. Enough." He swiftly put her helmet over her head and though it was visorless it achieved the desired effect.
The sky as they drove was perfectly blue and the air was pleasant. So, naturally, after five minutes on the interstate House felt the first raindrops sting his neck. Minutes later the sky seemed to open up and they were pelted relentlessly with water. House felt Cameron hold on tighter and shrink behind his back.
At the next overpass, he pulled over and parked the bike on the shoulder. "Gotta wait it out." He told Cameron as he brushed water from the shoulders of his leather jacket.
They climbed the slopping slab of concrete that rose from the shoulder to eventually meet the bridge overhead and sat back where the passing cars wouldn't spray them with dirty rainwater. Lightening flashed across the sky and thunder followed on its heels. Cameron sighed, "I lo-"
"-love thunderstorms," House finished. "You would."
"I hate when you finish my sentences." She said.
"I hate when you're boring." He countered.
"That's why I hate when you finish my sentences!" She answered. "Don't cleverly tell me I'm boring you- just tell me."
"Well did I finish it correctly?"
"Yes," she said grudgingly. "Because I'm a romantic and great stories start on dark and stormy nights. Because you never know what's going to happen in a thunderstorm and that should be scary but it's really kind of thrilling."
He could have told her that he already knew that about her but instead he said, "That's the thing about romantics. You go on about your feelings and your passion and then… go off chasing after windmills because you read about it in some book. And everyone's supposed to think that kind of delusion is admirable. Do you always rely on stories and ideals to tell you how to… feel?" He watched a tractor-trailer pass instead of looking at her.
"Yes," she said and for the first time that weekend, something like weakness crept into her voice. "I always did. When I was a kid and when no one would be my friend and when I married Luke and he died. And when I liked you too." She drew a breath and looked him in the eye, he had to give her that, she looked him in the eye. "I've always gone for the extremes in everything because- I guess- I always thought I'd come out changed and- I don't know, heroic."
"Like someone in a story."
"Yeah. And, you know, when Luke died, even then- it hurt but there was a part of me going 'so this is what grief really feels like' and there was another part of me already in love with his best friend."
House couldn't quite keep a look of surprise from his face and seeing it, Cameron looked ashamed. "And that right there is why I finish your sentences," He said before she could cry or change the subject or combine the two and start ranting about the workings of the tear ducts. "I like to be able to predict you because eventually you go and say something like that and…. I always think there's a science to you. You're the constant. You're the idealist. The moral one. The romantic. But then you go and do something that doesn't fall into a category. Like falling for your dead husband's best friend." He tapped his cane on the concrete, thinking out loud, "I can't predict you. You're not like Stacy." He didn't wonder if it was a mistake to say that because he didn't make mistakes, he did things to provoke reactions and if he was ever going to get a reaction out of Allison Cameron this was the way to do it.
"I don't know what to do with that," she said and her eyes bulged slightly in their sockets. "Am I supposed to find some kind of compliment in there?"
"You're not supposed to do any-"
"I mean, did you think I was?" Her eyes glanced wildly at his leg, "She- I could never-"
"She saved my life." He said, even though he would never say it to Stacy.
She was quiet a moment. "Like I said, I could never."
"That's not what I meant."
"But it's true," she didn't sound sad, "but I'd be good for you. Cuddy's a smart woman." She said, echoing his earlier joke, "And Freud aside- you like me." No blush, no undue emphasis in the word 'like,' it could be as innocent as either of them chose to make it.
Cameron was smiling to herself and House didn't feel much like lying right now so he just nodded. He'd meant to remind her of her promise to finish their earlier conversation about where they stood and all that jazz but, at this point, he could see that ending one of two ways. One, they would get honks from passersby, shouts to get a room, maybe a charge of public lewdness and the unique experience of concrete burn in sensitive places. Or, two, his ego would get a swift kick in the balls.
Instead House put his arm around her shoulder even though she wasn't shivering and she leaned into him a little even though she wasn't tired. It was probably as good a conclusion as they could have come to even if they'd talked until the sun went down. Anyone looking on could have taken them to be friends or lovers and would have known about as much as they did themselves.
A tractor-trailer passed by half on the shoulder and sent a curtain of dirty water high in the air. Cameron and House put up their arms to block it and shielded their faces. The action, of course, brought them into each other's personal space. Their eyes met and Cameron did that thing that women do when they know a guy wants to kiss them. "You have gravel on your face Cameron," he said, "I'm not going to kiss you." She turned away, wiping at her mouth. "Beside, that would make this whole prank thing a big lie and I'm not one to ruin my own fun. That's why I have patients. And Dr. Cuddy."
"Everybody lies," she reminded him.
"Using my own line against me. Alright Benedict Cameron, see if I ever finish your sentences again." As predicted she took a swing at him. "Ouch." He said. "I'm going to have to start going to the gym. Mobsters and angry husbands are one thing- but I can't be getting beat up by girls. It'll be blonde wombats next."
House pushed himself to his feet. "It's that or get a bigger cane." The rain had stopped.
Cameron remained sitting, looking up at him with those big blues set in a way that said she wasn't done talking. "Why can we get along just fine like this but whenever I tried before it all went to hell?" She was obviously frustrated.
"Because now you're not being the invincible Dr. Cameron, savior of the world. And you're secret identity is infinitely more interesting." He gave her his hand to pull her up. "I like thunderstorms too." He dropped her. "First one to the bike has to wear the stupid-looking helmet!"
8 pm
"That was good. I was hungry enough that tar would have been appetizing but…."
"Yeah," Cameron apologized, "sorry about the late dinner."
"It's alright. I just figured you were raising the chicken yourself." House leaned back from his plate.
Cameron stood and started clearing the remains of dinner from the table. It had been longer than she could remember since she'd had Sunday dinner, homemade, like she'd had every week when she was a kid.
Whack. House brought his cane down on the plates in her hand. "House!" Cameron said, doing her best Cuddy impression.
"Mom." House replied sarcastically.
"It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye," Cameron said in compliance with the joke.
"Yeah," he said standing and taking the plates, "then it's a new game- find the eyeball!" He carried the plates, one-handed, over to the sink. "Cook doesn't clean," he announced. Not about to argue, Cameron excused herself for the bathroom.
When she returned to her kitchen, having retrieved one of the Sandman novels from her bedroom House was not washing dishes. Instead he was standing at the open window that faced the parking lot, letting cold air and rain into the apartment. A loud blast from a truck's horn split the air. "You can take him!" House cheered.
Cameron hurried over to the window. The massive garbage truck that emptied the dumpster every week was in the parking lot. Presumably it was the truck that had produced the ear splitting noise. "Minivans's blocking the dumpster," House explained, "there's gonna be a rumble!"
The garbage truck, illuminated by a lamppost, was rocking back and forth and looked, absurdly, like a bull about to charge. "What is he hop-" Another horn blast form the truck drowned her words and House was practically jumping up and down. "What is he hoping to accomplish? Does he really think the owner's going to come running out and move his van?"
"He's just observing the rules of gentlemanly conduct of garbage truck warfare," House said, eyes still glued to the parking lot, "three warning blasts are required before any smashing."
"I must have missed that part at the monster truck rally."
The truck gave a third blast and House started shouting again. "Come on you can take him! You gave him three! Just pick him up and chuck him in the compactor, he'll fit!"
Cameron stretched out on her couch with Sandman but she didn't read much in the next ten minutes for laughing at House's continued encouragement of the enraged waste management vehicle. Eventually though, both House and the truck decided there was going to be no aggressive action and House returned to the sink.
Cameron delved back into her story and was quite content until House broke in, "So what's next on the agenda?"
"Me. Reading." Cameron replied, without looking up.
"Bored," House announced, "bored, bored, bored."
"If you're bored it's only because you're boring," she told him.
"Am not." He said obnoxiously.
When Cameron looked up his arms were wet to the elbows and he had a large soap bubble balanced on one hand and was working on another. The first one popped while he was blowing the second. "How'd you do that?"
"Elementary my dear Cameron." He said and put a soapy hand, up to the wrist, inside the bubble.
Cameron slowly made her way over to the kitchen, studying him. He had two bubbles now and was smashing them together, cheering them, much like he had the truck, until one burst. "Tough break Righty." He said.
"You're adorable." Cameron said, laughing quietly.
"I don't get that one a lot," he said, rolling his fingers through a bubble, "the working girls of Princeton aren't that cutesy. They go for 'ruggedly handsome' when they want tips."
She hated when he talked like that so she took another step and kissed him to shut him up. He didn't exactly kiss her back but he didn't push her away, maybe he would have if his hands weren't covered in soap, but still, he didn't.
When she pulled back he looked like a deer caught in headlights, a deer that was dripping soapsuds all over her floor. "Okay…."
"Okay," she said brightly, refusing to answer a question he didn't ask.
"Why'd you do that?" He said slowly.
"Because you talk too much for someone who's supposed to be a misanthrope," she told him. "And because I wanted to."
"Right." He passed the bubble between his hands with anxious energy.
"I thought you were going to wash the dishes." Said dishes were still stacked in the sink.
"I said the cook doesn't clean, it doesn't directly follow that the cripple cleans." Cameron snorted. "Wilson's maid will do them," House said.
Cameron grabbed the sponge, "Wilson's maid is not doing my dishes!"
"Suit yourself." House proceeded to blow bubbles that popped when they hit Cameron's face while she tried to fend him off and clean the dishes at the same time.
9 pm
"Sit up." House commanded and Cameron looked up at him from her reclined position on the sofa.
"Tombraider's on." She said, almost in defense.
"I told you about me and Angelina," he said in mock hurt, "do you have to rub it in?" Cameron, like Cameron would, looked remorseful, "Sit up." This time she complied and House sunk into the corner that the armrest made with the back of the couch. "Alright, come back," he said and tugged Cameron against his chest.
She leaned against him stiffly, with her comic book opened in her lap. "I thought we were reading," he said as innocently as possible. She can dish it but she can't take it.
"This isn't the first one," she said quickly and started to stand.
House held her back by the arm. "I've already read them," he reminded her.
"So I'll get you the first one if you want to read them again." She tried to stand again but he didn't let her.
"I want to read this one."
"Okay," she said uncertainly and found her place again.
He didn't hold her, didn't touch more of her than the rather significant expanse of her back that leaned against him and the back of her head on his shoulder, and eventually she relaxed. And an hour later, despite the enthralling power of the Dream King, Cameron, judging by the twitching, was asleep.
He let her sleep for ten minutes before shaking her. "Wakey wake Dr. Cameron. If you sleep here your leg will be very unhappy. No wait, that's mine."
She blinked at him sleepily and he thought someone was going to kiss someone again. But she blinked one more time and said, "Can't ruin the prank." She picked the book up from where it had fallen into her lap. "I want to finish this chapter. Death is my favorite character."
"I would have thought Delirium."
They went to bed half an hour later. While Cameron was washing up House poked around her closet and found a freshly dry-cleaned black dress. Short and strappy. "Where you going to wear this to the benefit?" He asked when Cameron reemerged. She nodded. "I'm beginning to regret this prank," he muttered.
Monday 8am
At House's insistence they left later for work Monday morning than Cameron had ever left. When she had not been high the night before anyway. When they pulled into the parking lot house said, "Ready for an Oscar-winning performance?"
"Yeah. I've always wanted an 8-inch tall, gold-plated, phallic symbol," she said.
"Me too," said House.
As planned, House headed straight for the Diagnostics Department. Cameron, instead of immediately following, rode the elevator to the top of the hospital. When the doors opened on the fourth floor, they revealed one Lisa Cuddy. "Dr. Cameron," said her boss's boss said and Cameron reflected that Cuddy's sugary sweet address was possibly more threatening than her whiplash reprimand.
"Dr. Cuddy." Cameron inclined her head in greeting.
Cuddy stepped into the elevator next to Cameron and though they both faced forward, Cameron could practically feel the other woman smiling. "Pleasant weekend."
"It was fine." Cameron tried to stop the blush that was racing up her neck even though it would play right into the prank. "You?"
"Oh, yes." Cuddy said.
Cameron had never been so relieved as when the elevator doors opened again. She made up an excuse as to why she was getting off on the gynecology floor and only realized later that the move had probably added unnecessary fuel to the fire. She opened the door to the Diagnostics Department to find, as expected, four gossiping men.
"We're caught," House said to her, "Game's up. My mother's going to be so disappointed that I didn't invite her to the wedding."
Cameron only missed a beat in which she had to stifle a laugh at the expression on her coworkers' faces, "Your mother? Mine will disown me. For marrying you," she clarified, "not for neglecting to invite her."
"Nice." House said and looked pointedly at Foreman. "Mad props for that, boo." He said, changing the focus to watered down racism. "New patient today kids and she's related to someone famous!"
Cameron had fight to keep her expression neutral as Wilson practically stormed out. Of course House would want to draw this out for the rest of the day.
4:30 pm
"Wilson's head's about to explode," House told Cameron proudly, catching her along in the lab. "He needs a little Deus Ex Machina to make the world make sense again."
"Good thing you like playing God," she said.
"Good thing." House said and headed off to his office to wait for Wilson.
Monday 5:30
House's team plus Wilson had lingered outside of House's office for half an hour, laughing and presumably discussing the events of the weekend. House preferred to revel in his maniacal brilliance alone. He could gloat to Wilson later.
There was a light tapping of House's door. Cameron entered before he answered which was a good move on her part since he wouldn't have actually answered. "There should be a hospital record of the best April Fool's pranks."
"We'd top it." House put his magazine down and crossed his hands behind his head in satisfaction even as he mentally cursed the English language and words like 'we' that implied connection between the subjects. "You make a fine super secret agent Dr. Cameron."
"You're not too bad yourself." She pursed her lips, "So what did Wilson do to deserve that?"
"Long story."
"It is not. Or, if it was you would have had plenty of time to tell me over the weekend."
House's face broke into a compulsive grin. "Let's just say that getting him back and seeing that look on his face was worth sacrificing my weekend to you."
"It was a great look." Cameron and House were both smiling like four-year-olds. They exchanged expressions. It was a great weekend.
He and Cameron had devoted a whole three days plus a week of planning to pranking Wilson. It had been fantastic joke but as Cameron held his eyes, House had the distinct impression that the joke was on them. "Good night Dr. House." Cameron said, "And you owe me a movie with fewer exploding things."
"Noted." He said, "Goodnight Cameron."
End