Thanks to both Anamin and Mel for the beta skills.
There was a devious glint in her eye…it just rarely took the opportunity to make an appearance. That tiny fleck of luminescent-reflecting moisture always shied away from the public, lingered towards the edge of her vision. On certain occasions, it would skirt to the forefront.
He had a tendency to call it out and more often than not, he called her on it.
"Are you flirting with me, Doctor Cameron?" And in her haste to hide that little twinkle of soul, she would huff and stalk off like a petulant child being sent to her room. But how else should she react? There was no other maneuver that she could think of that would throw him off the scent quite as quickly.
Cameron needed him to believe she was fed up with him, over him, done, dead, forgotten. She wanted him to believe that she had forgotten about him.
But just as the flicker of lust remained in her eyes and heart, he remained firmly seated on his throne of unassailability in her mind.
A cocky son of a bitch, a downright asshole most of the time... and she couldn't get enough. Perhaps it was because no other man had been so straightforward with her. Perhaps it was because being happy all the time got really old, really fast. Perhaps it was a simple matter of attraction...
Or maybe it was all those things combined into one.
In the beginning, he'd spurn her, burn her and she would return home to a Lifetime movie and a welcoming treadmill.
Running until she was tired she would flop down on the couch, stare at the ceiling and remind herself that she didn't have to cry every time something didn't go as she wanted it to.
As of late her diversion techniques had matured considerably. After a particularly rough day around her bitch of a boss she would retire to a loud lonely bar with one of her colleagues. More often than not her drinking companion came in the form of James Wilson-a formidable partner to be sure-and they would reside at the bar until the tender threatened them with an imminent cut off.
They shared cab rides and she would always be dropped off first. Some warped sense of chivalry, that was what she thought made him do it, made him always bark her address at the cabbie before she could get a word in. The first time he'd done so she had been surprised. A moment later she'd nearly passed out from shock when he'd rested a hand on her thigh and asked her in no uncertain terms to please not throw up on him.
That was how she continued on.
A spark of something would pass between her and House, beginning with her eyes, and she'd conclude her day watching a morose Wilson speed away in a beat-up Jersey cab.
Allison Cameron had come to believe that her life had just really never been more fucked up.
The treadmill hadn't been run in months, her slightly rounded figure a testament to that fact. 'That's what three beers a night, every day for three weeks will do to you,' her bitter demons chided as she tossed her too-expensive purse onto the couch and made her way to the bathroom.
A second man had invaded her mind in the past few weeks and though he wasn't unwelcome, Cameron wasn't sure if she felt comfortable having him bouncing around between her ears while she was singing in the shower. Accustomed to thinking of Greg-House-him, she found it rather odd that Jim had found his way into her thoughts while she was shampooing her hair.
Co-dependant, a casualty of just about every kind of affection, he'd become a hit and run, seeking companionship wherever the prospect gleamed. She, needing a rock so very badly, needing House to finally just accept more than two words that came out of her mouth... needing. They were both very needy.
The weaker part of her being wished for just one more cab ride, another tipsy foray inside of a worn, old, Lincoln with someone behind the wheel. She could see herself, as she rubbed conditioner over her tresses, spreading her thighs just a little bit, the slight movement urging Jim's hands up and under the coarse fabric of a generic wool skirt.
And then what? And then what Allison? And. Then. What?
She'd never really gotten past that point, never. Jim could slide his hand up and under and on and then... nothing.
Greg-he was always Greg in her head because that meant he was someone else entirely-was rough and thorough and left not a piece of her untouched. He took her completely and entirely, left her sore and yet begging.
Vaguely, through the dizzy downpour of her shower she heard the phone beep and wondered for a moment if she should get out and answer it. There was no point; she had no desire to speak for the rest of the evening. The only call she would answer would be that of her bed and perhaps a book.
After rinsing the cleanser from her hair and wrapping her lean body in a towel that was more akin to a giant parka, she padded out into the quiet warmth of her living room, noting the blinking light on her answering machine. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the voice she would hear would be one of the two men.
Either would be plausible... she just couldn't decide which she wanted to hear.
A dull ticking sounded at the back of her brain, the clock in the kitchen, and she watched the little red light blink in time, taunting her with mechanical persistence.
Her feet made slick little water marks on the floor and her head dripped clean little splotches on the hardwood as she sauntered to the machine and allowed her finger to hover over the 'Play' button. Equidistant from the larger grey button was the 'Erase' button, her pinky poised, ready to descend.
Two equally appealing options.
Lip caught between her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, she thought for a moment about how melodramatic she was being.
Without thinking, she slammed her finger down on the 'Play' button and cursed.
"Where are you? You're not supposed to..." A sigh, some shuffling and then, "I'm stopping by."
High school word problems bubbled into her head. If he lived roughly twenty miles away and was traveling at forty miles an hour, he would arrive at her place in nearly-
Three sharp raps at her door pulled her roughly from her stalling techniques and, in a haze, forgetting that she was clad only in thick terrycloth, made her way to the door. Fingers trembled as she reached for the dull brass, twisted and pulled.
"I called yo-" but he paused in his admonishing and stood back to take in her appearance. "Is this, a... bad time because..." Because what? 'I can leave?' 'I'm sorry?' "Because I don't really care." House pushed the door fully open with the rounded handle of his cane and barged into her apartment, not bothering to pause before he turned on her and pressed her into the door.
Upon feeling his body pressing against hers she closed her eyes and thanked whomever was listening to her thoughts for sending him to her doorstep. "Nice towel," he said gruffly. "Expensive terrycloth. Your sheets high in thread count?"
Her eyes shimmered and the glint slithered out to wink at him as she nodded.
He looked from her to the door and then craned his neck around towards a darkened hallway. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered and made his way towards the back rooms.
Cameron smiled and rubbed her hands over her eyes, following him as her eyes took on a much more devious glow.
She'd make him pay in the morning…
In the morning when the other man would be on her answering machine, asking her if she'd like to have drinks again.