Seven Kinds of Stupid, a house, m.d. fanfic

Seven Kinds of Stupid

By: Emmy

Spoilers: None, well none that aren't obvious that you shouldn't know already.

Disclaimers: I clearly don't own House, M.D. or the characters.

Summary: It's five questions asked by Cameron and seven parts of House his father hates. xOneshotx

A/N: Well, this was quite fun to write. The format and style is a bit of a nod to the Five Things that seems to be taking pretty much all fandoms by storm. This one is back in subtle territory, except a little more humorous than I'm used to. I miss angsty-ish goop. It's so much easier to write prettily when you're writing angst. I'm not quite sure how the fic connects to the quote, but this is what came out when I read it. So, you know, review if you're nice.

::-::

22. how can you have lived this long, and not give in to rage?
don't you understand; we've both outlived our age?

::-::

"How'd you meet Wilson?"

She's sitting at the table and staring at you with wide, wide eyes. Chase and Foreman haven't come back from their breaks yet and you're both waiting for them.

You turn around from where you were nosing through the cupboards looking for something edible and sigh. This is what makes what's between you so awkward. Actually, you're reasonably sure that there isn't a way for this to be anything else.

"He saved me from a fate worse then death," you tell her, because answering, really answering, is too close to defeat.

She laughs a little, pushes a piece of paper back and forth along the table. She's peaceful in the silence, and you wish you could be too. There's something childlike about her that doesn't make sense. You wish she didn't matter so you could strip her apart and work her out.

"Because you would be such a convincing damsel in distress," she murmurs, affection colouring her tone.

It's an intimacy and it isn't and you hate how hard it is to bottle up or put aside. There's no such thing as stability with you, and it's half of the attraction. Seven kinds of stupid, your father used to call you, and then he'd list them off. Curiosity was one of them and you never quite made the connection yourself.

"Clinic duty always distresses me," you tell her with a straight face that isn't straight at all.

You don't account for the damsel bit because you're far too masculine to pull it off. You never were afraid of pride, even if it's another one of the Seven.

"He saved you from clinic duty?" she asked, and you notice that she's left the damsel behind too.

Good, you think, So she should.

"Nope," you grab your cane and make your way to the door, you feel like annoying Cuddy now, and you'll leave this conversation behind if you must.

Not unfinished you finally conclude when you pause at the door, and turn to explain, even if it isn't the truth.

"He fell on me and broke my leg so I didn't have to go to Twelfth Night with Stacy."

::-::

You're playing Sodoku on your computer when she comes in. You've just started and you're already feeling brilliant. You love sodoku. Unless you can't figure it out. Then you hate it.

She opens her mouth and a noise that might have been the start of word comes out, right before she shuts it again with a click of her teeth. That was the tail end of whatever resolve she must've had about whatever that must've been. Never mind, you dismiss, She'll learn one day.

"Baileys or rum and cola?" she asks all of a sudden.

There's a second as your brain moves from the number four to alcohol. It doesn't make a connection. You don't really blame it.

"Personally I don't think either can cause absent seizures, tunnel vision and/or peripheral paralysation," you reply quite honestly.

"I'm going out with Chase and Foreman," She explains, pausing to chew her lip for a moment, "and I'm only going to buy one drink."

That's a diversion and an excuse. It's what she didn't come in to say and you can tell just as easily as she can. You aren't going to push it too hard though, because you've only got three more lines left and you like the superiority of it all.

It's funny though, she's wine and wimpy pineapple flavoured drinks. Not that her choices are especially brave. Just a little more then what you would've expected.

And then you remember husband, twenty-one and dead. It gets a whole lot easier to understand then. And you decide to take the easy way out because insensitive was part of the List too.

"Rum and cola without the cola." You smirk then and add, "Get drunk and pash a hot Swedish chick and take a photo for me."

You get a smile and a roll of her eyes, but nothing more.

::-::

"If you could ask the smartest person in the world one question what would it be?"

You're sitting in Wilson's office on his seat behind his desk. You have no idea how she found you. You thought you were pretty discreet, this is important enough to warrant it. You're conducting an experiment to see whether his seat is comfier than your's. Right now you think you have about an inch more stuffing in your's and that must be making you generous, because you think you'll answer her. Maybe not truthfully, but whatever.

"'Since when do I have a clone?'"

It's a stupid answer but it makes her laugh a little and shake her head. She walks all the way up to the desk and stands opposite to you, fingers trailing over a picture frame. It's quite an old one, the picture in it changes each time a new wife comes along. Right now it has a picture of Wilson and Cuddy in it and you're intrigued and amused both.

Wilson comes in then, and stops halfway in the doorway in confusion, he drops someone's charts and they flutter harmlessly to the floor. Cameron jumps and turns to him, clenching in on herself subconsciously. It's silent and awkward and very still as he tries to piece things together.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked carefully, eyes darting from you to Cameron and back again.

"No," she says very quickly, and you can see her blushing a little in your mind.

"Yes," you contradict.

This was your moment. When it was just you and her and a question. It isn't an admission as much as it was you staking your claim on her. Again. You've always been selfish, and you know that because you can remember the way your father used to say it. Twisting it on his tongue and spitting it out. Just like the other six.

Cameron turns to face you and this time the question's in her eyes. She doesn't stay though, just nods at Wilson and slips out into the hallway. It's a little more awkward without her, because Wilson is only polite enough to not ask questions whilst she's in the room.

"What was that about?" he asks after a beat.

"Clones," you tell him truthfully enough, "and my chair is comfier than yours."

When you leave the room you un-accidentally knock the picture of him and Cuddy over because there's power in knowledge and even more in potential gossip.

::-::

She comes in looking small and pale and far too skinny. Her top dips a little at the collar and you like the view. But in this light you can see the dips and rises of her ribs and sternum. Her hair is a little messed up and she's got her coat wrapped around her as tight as possible.

It's moments like these that you remember how tiny she is. Just a slip of thing. Sometimes you wonder why she hasn't been blown off into the sky by a breeze yet.

She has her bottom lip caught between her teeth and she doesn't say anything at all for a minute. She just breathes in steadily and blinks furiously. When she's finally ready she doesn't look you in the eye, keeps her gaze locked on your left shoulder.

"Can I have the rest of the day off?" she whispers into the silence.

This isn't strong or doctor-y or professional at all. This isn't even Doctor Cameron anymore. It's Allison Cameron and she's scared and sad and all alone. You stare at her and she still doesn't meet your eyes.

"Why?" you ask eventually.

She gets an odd desperate look about her, and meets your eyes for the briefest of moments. You see the reflection of tears collecting in her eyes and you know, know, this can't be about work. No patients to die. No patients dead in a while, actually.

She pulls her coat even tighter around herself and shakes her head. Takes a deep breath that's a half-gasp and a sniff of her nose. She's falling to pieces in front of you and it's the most beautiful thing you've seen in a long time.

"It's… never mind," she finally murmurs, turning on her heel and walking out again.

Later when Wilson is standing in front of you, alone in your office, with anger in his eyes and contempt in his voice you only hear a few words. Anniversary. Husband. Dead. Widow. Alone. You don't feel particularly mean or sorry, and you tell him exactly that. When he calls you a bastard and asks you why you treat her like dirt you don't reply and he leaves pretty fast.

You don't treat her like dirt, you've realized. You worship her, in a fashion. It's just that you aren't sure if it's her or her ghosts that you're idolizing and decide it doesn't matter.

Idolization is on the List, and your just proving your dad right.

::-::

It's another moment and a universe away from what happened last. This isn't the same and you're beginning to understand that you should expect that. Things don't just stay the same with you, and change is going to happen whether you like it or not.

You wonder if acceptance is a form of cowardice and hope that it is. You know that you aren't what your father wanted, and being everything your father classifies as stupid is your repayment. If you're going to be a failure then you might as well enjoy the burn of disappointment. You're not there yet, but it doesn't hurt quite so much.

You're teaching yourself conversion, and wonder if you can swap the drain for a rush if you try hard enough. If people can swap kinetic energy to electricity to light and heat then why shouldn't you do it.

You've decided to label guilt as potential energy, and you're waiting for the conversion.

She's got a smile on her lips today, and she's not hiding it. You wonder at her moods and their causes and decide you don't want to know why today is special. You like the results all the same, even if you won't admit to it.

You're all sitting in the conference room. Chase is on a chair and chewing on a pen. Forman and you are too, sans the chewing the pen. Cameron is sitting on the table in between you and Foreman and looking at you curiously. You've all just had a break and today is not only the day after a successful case but a Friday.

"Want to come to Benny's with us?" Cameron asks all of a sudden.

You give her a look and try not to be offended when Chase and Foreman do too. Benny's is the bar where all the hot young locals go to get smashed and dance like idiots. You've seen enough photos to know that. You haven't been. Wilson has, and he picked up both times too.

"Will you find a way to merge a strip tease and a lap dance and perform it to me exclusively in my office?" you return, because sarcasm is your automatic response to uncomfortable situations. And it's number seven on the List.

The mood in the room quickly shifts to a mixture of disgust and embarrassment and you bask in it. She laughs though, and Chase snorts a little. You notice a bit of extra pink warming her cheeks and you get quite distracted and find that your mouth is mysteriously dry.

They leave an hour later and you stay in your office and open a word document. You type in stupid and look up synonyms. None of the List is there and you feel a little freer for it.

Ghosts are ghosts, you decide, and lay one to rest.

::-::

.end.

::-::