Chapter eight- just a short one, andonly two more left after this! Gasp! Hope it's all enjoyable! Please review... if you can be bothered... Please?
CHAPTER EIGHT – ALL YOU NEED IS SCOTCH
House reclined in his armchair and stared at the ceiling. Things were not going as he had planned. It wasn't supposed to end up this way: Cameron and Wilson were not supposed to be… well… Whatever they were doing, they just weren't supposed to be doing it. Cameron was his, his employee, to look at and tease and flirt with and… maybe, possibly, eventually become serious with. She was in love with him, not Wilson, and she was meant to be around, for and with, House… not Wilson.
It wasn't fair. Wilson had already had three wives, and House had had none. How come he got Cameron as well? If you followed the law of averages, it should be his turn. Not Wilson's.
And, similarly, Wilson was his, too. Not Cameron's. Cameron had her own friends, why did she have to take his only one as well?
He grunted and swigged some scotch. He knew he wasn't being fair – it was his fault, and his completely, that nothing had happened with Cameron. He had pushed her away, and for what, or who? Stacy? They were never going to work, that had been made perfectly clear. They were both too stubborn, too unwilling to change. Plus, their track record wasn't all that great, and he wasn't even sure he really loved her anymore; it was his male need to be right and his 'if I can't have her, nobody can' attitude that made him go after her.
And now Cameron, his Cameron, was gone. Straight into the arms of his best friend. Some best friend. Wilson knew that House liked Cameron, knew that he was just (well, maybe just) waiting until he was ready before taking the plunge, but he still went ahead and…
He had probably even used his own advice to House on Cameron: 'Open doors for her, help her with her chair… comment on her shoes, her earrings, then move on to DHS: her dreams, hopes and aspirations. Trust me. Panty peeler.'
House pulled a face: the idea of Wilson—in fact, anyone else but him—peeling off Cameron's panties made him want to vomit.
Shaking his head and finishing his drink, he got up to pour another. Oh, well. Maybe it was for the best. He didn't people, anyway. If that was how long Cameron's supposed 'love' lasted, then who needed her? And if that was all it took for Wilson to disregard so many years of friendship, then who needed him? No, he didn't need anyone. All he needed was his scotch. Especially when it blocked out all the hurt.
Restless, he paced his lounge room, brow creased in thought. What would he do now? Of course, this occasion provided a million more topics that could be used to annoy the couple, but did he really want to think about that stuff? Did he want to think about the way Wilson and Cameron would—
There was a knock on his door, interrupting his train of thought. Annoyed, he hobbled to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole. It was probably just some idiot trying to make him change his phone service, or someone selling make-up, or—
He opened the door and blinked.
Or Cameron.
What will happen? Who will Cameron end up with? Tune in and find out next time in, 'The Truth About ESPN'!
