Rating: T
Disclaimer: Yep. I'm a Borrower through and through. Who remembers that movie?!
Author's Note: Feedback from you kids is like really good drugs. If you guys were collectively a dealer on the corner, I'd say that your name was "Hector." So, Hector, I hope you enjoy this next installment-- I've tried desperately to return House to character! Let me know what you think, in an eight-ball of reviews and a dime-bag of comments. Heh!
He sat quite still and blinked. Didn't say anything, didn't move; just blinked. Let's face it: aside from the glowing scrutiny in those blue eyes, he may as well have been the Goddamned Mona Lisa. Minus the hair and enigmatic smile. And aside from the whole woman thing. Okay, so Gregory House was no DaVinci masterpiece, but he was sitting rather still and gazing rather fixedly.
So fixedly, in fact, that it was only a few tense moments before Cameron shifted awkwardly and let out a polite fake cough to cut into his apparent daydream. What was his problem now..? She wondered nervously. Hadn't she said yes—? Oh, oh no… Maybe this whole thing was just some other stupid test of his, one of those signature House traps, and she had fallen right into it. Again.
As this revelation came to mind, a knot simultaneously formed in her stomach and she unconsciously wrung her hands, eyes falling to her lap. Here it comes, then— She knew, fighting back the heated blush that already threatened to rise in her cheeks. The "Cameron you're pathetic" speech… And he'd be right this time. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wouldn't she ever learn..?
It was somewhere around that time, however, that House happened to snap from his daze and he couldn't help but notice the very visible signs of inner-turmoil that had suddenly seized his pretty immunologist. Unbidden, his own thoughts started racing. Oh God, she had said yes, but now she was reconsidering. That original reply had been impulsive and she was going to take it back! He thought with discontented surety. Fuck. Now what was he going to do? He didn't know anyone else with breasts—! Well, unless you counted Cuddy…
The diagnosticians expressive eyes widened at the very thought of what the Dean of Medicine's reaction would be to such a request. Not that his boss wasn't attractive, or intelligent—she certainly was—but… given their history of interaction, one of them might die in such confines that a long car-ride could provide. He would have smirked at the thought, had he not been quite so alarmed. Besides. There was no way Lisa Cuddy would leave her beloved hospital unattended for three days on such short notice— Mercifully, Cameron's voice broke into his rather panicked musings.
"Alright, House," She all but sighed. "I've braced myself, so go 'head and say it."
Having anticipated what her words would be, House launched into his airy dismissal before registering what she had actually said to him. "Yeah, forget it, I didn't think—" He paused here as her previous sentence sunk in, and wrinkled his forehead in mild confusion. "Wait, what?"
"What?" Cameron echoed in an apparently equal amount of surprise.
"No, hang on—what did you want me to 'go 'head and say'..?"
She narrowed her eyes, half-suspiciously and half-inquisitively. Now what? Was this just another trick to get her to let the defenses down before slamming the punch-line home? Hah, she wouldn't put it past him. So thinking, the younger doctor resolved to at least let him know that she wasn't going to bite again.
"That I'm pathetic. That you can't believe I went for that again," Cameron said dryly, trying to appear bored and nonchalant about the hurtful words. "You know. Tell me I'd make a good puppy and that now Dr. Wilson owes you fifty bucks because 'she took the damn bait for the hundredth time'!" She blew out a breath softly and dropped her gaze to avoiding his calculating stare—the one that she felt sure was condemning her even at that moment. "Yeah, yeah… Gullible Cameron. I know."
"Oookay. Well… Have you finished beating yourself up like a piñata yet?" he asked slowly after a moment.
"Why, so you can have a go?!" She demanded with more tangible venom than she had intended. Hazel eyes flashed as they fell upon the cane that was leaning against the desk. "Know what? Here—" Cameron grabbed the wooden walking stick and thrust it into her boss's startled and nerveless grip. "Have at it."
House sat quite still and blinked. Didn't say anything, didn't move; just blinked. Well that was certainly… Interesting. And to think he hadn't considered Allison Cameron capable of such acerbic witticism—especially with the cane thing! The corners of that typically snide mouth curled up even at the thought. Damn, he'd have to give the girl a bit more credit every once in a while… And on the brighter side: it looked like he was wrong about her taking back her response to the earlier question! Feeling better, and certainly more like himself, than he had all afternoon, House leaned back a bit in his chair and regarded the woman opposite him with an amused gaze.
"Oh I don't know about that… Is candy going to fall out if your arm snaps off?" he remarked seriously. Cameron shot him a look that reminded him vaguely of that one time Wilson had frozen all of his boxers as payback for the laxatives. "Or… Maybe this whole 'cane' thing is just something you're into." He shrugged his shoulders, rolling the mentioned object between his fingers languidly with a growing smirk. "Don't really know… but I've got the whole weekend to find out, eh?"
There was one heart-stopping moment there when House was sure she was going to dive across the desk and attack him. And for that one heart-stopping moment, he was unsure as to whether that would be such a bad thing—Angry Cameron throwing her body on top of him? What guy wouldn't secretly enjoy that? However, it seemed that he wouldn't find out because in the next second, her mouth had fallen open and the outrage at his comment had seemingly dissipated from her features.
"This weekend..?"
The diagnostician's smile only widened and he nodded indulgently. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already?" A blush crept back into her cheeks and he felt himself soften, if only a little bit. "C'mon, Cameron… Maybe I'm an underhanded bastard, but this whole invitation thing wasn't a trick. I actually do need you to come with me," he offered, drumming absently on the desk.
"Oh," Cameron mumbled lamely, feeling a bit ridiculous as per her over-reaction. "Right, well I'd be happy to—" She started, brightening considerably, only to be cut off.
"But don't take this for something else, alright? I'm not 'bringing you home to meet the family,' and this isn't a weekend-long date. Like I said, I need you to come with. Not want, not long for, but need," he almost warned her, his tone and gaze brooking no argument. "Just so you understand."
She nodded quickly, eager to let him know that she recognized the difference between the scenarios he was giving. "I understand, Dr. House." Somehow, her humbled tone and bringing the formal title back into the conversation seemed to diffuse it, if only a little bit, and his eyes bespoke an easier mood. "I just want you to know that I'm flattered you would ask me."
"Don't be—Cuddy's the only other person with breasts that I know, and I'm rather attached to my head, thank you very much."
Cameron laughed, still a bit nervously, but in a manner that House definitely considered an improvement over the previous tension. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and stood, stretching to adjust her spine.
"Whoaaa Cameron—Cover yourself up, woman, for God's sake! There'll be enough time for that later!" he exclaimed, slapping both hands over his eyes dramatically as his female underling assumed yoga-appropriate poses in her lab-coat-less state.
Looking down and noticing the provocative nature of her stretches for the first time—not to mention the way her already-clinging shirt was riding up a bit—Cameron let out a small squeak of embarrassment and immediately straightened up and snatched a file from his desk, clasping it in front of herself like a screen.
House nodded knowingly and favored her with an exaggerated wink. "That's right, Eve, you keep yourself covered with that leaf—you'll have the Adams all flustered if you don't!"
"Was there anything else you needed, Dr. House?" she asked almost exasperatedly, ignoring that last comment with nothing more than a small shy smile.
"Aside from you standing in for Julia Roberts in my Pretty Woman weekend, which you already so foolishly agreed to?" he asked rhetorically, earning another peevish glance. House smiled too, if a bit wolfishly. "Nope."
"Fine, then I guess we can smooth out details later, right?"
"Right."
Dr. Allison Cameron, file still clutched to her chest, offered one last half-smile before turning to leave the room. She had to get out of there and think about what the Hell she had gotten herself into… But for the second time in the last twenty minutes, his voice drew her back before she could escape fully.
"Oh, wait, Cameron—!"
Damn. "Yes?"
"There's one more thing… I mean. I-I need another… Uh, there's one last favor I need to ask you…"
She glanced back at her boss, who was gazing at her beseechingly once more. He was going to ask for something else..? Well, whatever it was, this time she wouldn't be so moronic and presumptuous. The immunologist promptly turned on her heel and strode back to the chair she had been seated in. "What is it?" She asked gently, leaning forward and doing her level-best to appear interested and non-judgmental. Wow, he looked really nervous about this one—Aww, his lip was quivering! "Don't worry, you can ask me, remember?" Allison Cameron was the embodiment of reassurance as she soothingly spoke these words.
"I need… I um. I need…" House struggled for the words, shaking his head and swallowing nervously in an obvious way. She leaned even closer, once again reaching out and touching his hand. This time he allowed it.
"Whatever it is, it's no problem," she cooed, and he took a deep breath as if to steady himself.
"I need… I need you to…to do…" he mumbled, glancing up to find her face rather close to his own, giving him a steady motherly gaze. Jeez, she really was going for supportive… "CLINIC HOOOUURS!" He wailed suddenly, burying his face in his hands and fairly quaking with what appeared to be hysterical sobs.
Cameron was around the desk and at his side in a heart-beat, her hands resting consolingly on the poor man's shuddering frame. "Oh, no, House, don't—" she launched into her comforting babble, but suddenly, something occurred to her. Wait. Did he just say… Clinic hours..? It was then that she realized that he was indeed trembling—but it definitely wasn't from crying.
"Now that was a Classic Cameron," House lifted his face from his hands to reveal a smile that could only be described as the Cheshire cat grin. His shoulders shook with none-too-well-contained laughter. Realization dawned on those sympathetic features, only to be replaced with what looked suspiciously like—
"HOOOUUSE!" Yep, it was anger again! She smacked him in the arm and stomped her foot.
"Oww—HEY!" He countered, fending off what might have been another attack, still chuckling. "You don't hit cripples! C'mon, you were melting all over me a second ago!"
"Oooh, you're impossible!"
"Can't believe you fell for that!"
"I'm going back to the lab."
"No wait, I actually do need you to do my Clinic—!" But the glass door had already swung shut in the wake of her blustery exit. House sighed melodramatically to nobody, undermining the forlorn sound slightly with the fact that he was still snickering to himself.
Oh that Cameron… She was kind of funny. Not on purpose, mind you, but still always good for a laugh. He admitted to himself with a smirk as he dug around for the prescription bottle in his pocket. Fingers closing around the orange vial, he made deft work of the cap and shook two tablets into the opposite palm. As the soothingly bitter tang of Vicodin hit the back of his throat, the diagnostician tilted his head back and shut his eyes. Maybe the weekend wouldn't be quite as catastrophically bad as he had originally thought. Now, where was that video game..?
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
"DR. HOUSE!"
The man in question ducked his head as if someone had taken a swing at him and froze in his tracks. As far as he knew, only two people in his whole life's history could wield his own name like a whip. One was Mrs. Crimble, his second grade teacher, who had made one whole year of his life a living Hell of time-outs and revoked playground-ball privileges. However, as he guessed she was probably dead, or at least deaf as a cod by now, that only left…
"Why Dr. Cuddy, you're looking ravishing this afternoon!"
The Princeton-Plainsboro Dean of Medicine strode up to him in a flurry of maroon power-suit and madly-clicking Prada heels. "Save it, House," she snapped, latching onto the sleeve of his leather jacket and re-directing him to one of the empty exam rooms. He sighed and cast a longing glance at the glass doors he had almost made it through. Damn—so close to freedom!
"Ooh, in the mood to play rough, are we?" he needled, if only for the sake of habit. Predictably, she huffed and ignored the comment, preferring to launch right into his latest offense to the hospital.
"Why do you make it your life's mission to torture me?! Why do you do these things?!"
"Which things?" House asked innocently. "You'll have to be a bit more specific, I'm—" He stopped short and covered his head as he saw Cuddy wind up as if to throw something violently at him. He'd already had enough trouble with petite females and high-speed projectiles today, thank you very much! This time, instead of an exploding box of SpongeBob band-aids, something small and rectangular bounced harmlessly off of his chest. Lowering his arms sheepishly, the diagnostician glanced down to investigate the object.
"I thought you might actually need that, sooner or later," Cuddy stated dryly, tapping her foot with impatience.
Meanwhile, House had identified the missile to be a name-tag. More specifically, his name-tag. Oops. "Wow, I've been looking frantically for this all day! Aw, you're too good to me—" he started, only to have her cut him off with a loud snort.
"Right. House, are you incapable of even doing your job? First you've got Dr. Chase down here, pretending to be you with an Australian accent—"
"It's the accent that gets the positive patient reviews!"
"—and then," she continued, ignoring his interjection with the ease born of long experience. "Then I find out that when I tell you that Chase can't do your Clinic hours anymore, you go and get Cameron to take over! So wait, you've got Cameron pretending to be Chase pretending to be you?" Cuddy crossed her arms tightly and House didn't fail to notice what this did for the woman's cleavage.
"I can't even keep up anymore! If you put half the energy you use for thinking up these elaborate escape plans into actual work… You'd be the Dean of Medicine, and I would be out a job!"
The diagnostician seemed to contemplate this for a second, before smiling at her angelically. "Oh, Cuddy, I could never do that to you! Besides, my assets aren't even close to as perky as the ones you've got…" He took a moment to pointedly drag his gaze down to her chest and back up again, where he fixed her with an even more indulgent grin and a conspiratorial wink. "No worries, boss, I'll keep my brilliance on the down-low so that you can keep the girls decked out in Armani."
"Oh God…" she mumbled, those fingers creeping once again to that pulsating temple vein. A loud and exasperated sigh. Dealing with Gregory House was like dealing with a non-house-broken cocker spaniel… if cocker spaniels could provide devastatingly sarcastic remarks after being scolded. "You know what? Just go home, House. Get out of my hair for the rest of today, and I'll deal with you tomorrow."
House nodded happily and made his way over to the door. "Always happy to oblige, O Captain My Captain!" he conceded, turning the doorknob and stepping out. Cuddy was left in the middle of exam room one with a headache. Suddenly though, he poked his head back in. "So glad we chatted— I love girl-talk!"
...x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x. .x.x.x.x.x...
"Dr. House!"
For the second time, he stopped walking and made a face at the sound of a female voice calling his name. Damnit, couldn't he just leave already?! He turned his head around to the left to catch sight of Cameron walking towards him, also dressed to go home. "What is it, Care Bear?"
The immunologist rolled her eyes, slowing her pace as she caught up with him while they crossed the lobby. "Nothing. Wanted to see if your little boy stuttering had gone away," she shot back sweetly, zipping up her thin jacket against the still-chilly Spring air.
House sent her a curious sideways glance. There it was again—that elusive witticism! It always seemed to appear at random moments, make him think that finally she was growing a spine, but then fade back into timidity again before he could blink. Speaking of timidity, though… He stopped short and it was a few more steps before she realized it and looked back questioningly. "Hey, Cameron, about earlier and this whole favor that you're doing for me…"
"What about it?"
"I um. Well, you're really bailing me out and I. Uh. I don't know if I said tha—" Dear Lord, was he back to the stumbling and bumbling again?! Cameron, however, once again cut him off.
"Yeah, don't mention it," she said, offering a small, knowing smile. House blinked. He had been about to thank her… And she had stopped him.
Cameron patted him on the arm. She understood that he was trying to say' thank you,' and also that it was obviously difficult for him to do. The truth was, if that was the case, then she really didn't need to straight out hear the words.
"Oh okay," he said slowly, noting the unspoken understanding that had somehow been reached between them, and wondering how it was that such a thing had happened. She had let him off the hook. Damn, he almost felt like he should thank her for not making him thank her! Frankly, all of the thank-you-ness was making his head spin. No wonder he avoided doing it whenever possible!
The pair of them reached the parking lot and shielded their eyes against the natural light. There was silence, but it was almost companionable. Almost friendly. Keyword: Almost. As it was, Cameron was the first to speak up.
"Alright, well have a good evening, House," she said easily and began to walk away towards her car.
"Yep. You too." Obviously having parked in the handicapped lot, he was already very near his motorcycle, and turned pensively to start up the engine. He was interrupted in this as her voice floated back to him one more time.
"Oh, Dr. House!" she called, and he looked up from what he was doing. "I was just wondering if you could maybe find out about the dress-code for this weekend… You know, it might be nice to have at least a day to get an appropriate outfit!"
House stared at her dumbly for a moment, wondering what she was talking about, when his mind floated back to the whole wedding scenario. "Dress-code," he repeated and she nodded. "Right. I'll get on that."
Cameron chuckled, her hazel eyes bright and cheeks a bit pink in the cool sunshine. "I'm glad. Okay, Goodnight again!"
"'Night…" The bike roared to life beneath his fingers and he leaned down to snap his cane into place. Now there was something else tickling at the back of his mind. Dress-code..? Crap.