Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing beyond this ancient laptop and a few chewed Ticonderoga pencils.
Author's Note: You, Hector, are lovely. Really. Now, I'm rather sure that's not an adjective typically associated with drug dealers, such as you yourself are, but that makes little difference. Welcome to chapter seven, make yourself at home! This chapter actually ends at a rather awkward point, but if I had tied it to the next one it would have been ramblingly long. Sit tight, I'll have another installment up toute de suite! Shout me what you think…
Chapter dedication: xxBuffyfreakxx – my first reviewer, and therefore original Hector!
If the ceiling fan had been capable of human emotion, and additionally the ability to move, it would have squirmed uncomfortably under the current scrutiny. Blue eyes stared unblinkingly upwards, blood-shot at the corners and thereby giving themselves away as to the fact that they hadn't been properly closed all night…
Greg House was lying flat on his back in the middle of his bed, counting the cracks that marred his ceiling. 3,2161…3,2162… He calculated sullenly, fingers drumming on the cool sheets. Eyes coming to rest on a particularly lumpy patch of paint, his thoughts wandered.
Hm, did that rough spot count as a crack..? Sure, it was certainly an imperfection, but did it fall into the same category? Glad of something to puzzle out at last, the lanky diagnostician readily allowed his mind to dissect the insignificant issue of said uneven surface. Maybe it was just a botched paint job, which meant that it probably didn't count. On the other hand, he supposed. It could be that the reason for the excess paint was because there was a crack that had needed to be re-covered… and if that was the case, then yes, it technically counted as a crack, if a dressed up one—Dressed up. Wedding. What was he going to wear? What was Cameron going to wear? For the love of God, why had he agreed to this?!
"Uuughh—!" House groaned aloud as the thoughts he had been trying so hard to avoid came back to him full circle. And aside from that, he had lost count of the cracks. Damnit. He blew out a breath from between gritted teeth, and allowed his head to loll to the right. It was 7:03 in the morning, or so the clock told him, and grayed light was peeking in from beneath his window shade.
House considered rolling back over and at least trying for some more sleep, but that nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that it wouldn't do any good. One large hand hit the nightstand none-too-gently and groped around blindly for a familiar cylindrical shape. Fingers closing triumphantly around the vial of Vicodin, he smiled slightly at the comforting rattle before going through the motion of dry-swallowing two white pills. 7:05… Christ.
He would get up and go to work earlier than usual—maybe catch Cameron alone and do some explaining. At least if he explained it kept him in control. Sort of. He reached over and turned off his un-used alarm, running fingers through tousled hair and contemplating the act of actually getting up before he had to. Alright, Greg—Shower. Focus.
"Oh, this is going to be bad." The statement found its way seamlessly from mind to mouth, and the diagnostician allowed himself one last heavy sigh before using his good leg to kick off his twisted comforter.
...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...
Alright. There was Cuddy, leaving her office! House quickly let go of the ficus branch he had been peering through and flattened himself back against the wall. The sound of clicking Prada heels grew louder—he held his breath—and then began to fade. Phew. Peeking out once again, he caught a glimpse of a pale blue blazer sharking off towards the Pediatrics wing.
It wasn't that he was afraid of running into his boss today, since he hadn't done anything wrong yet—more that he knew that his mere presence at this time of morning would send the Dean of Medicine into a frenzied panic. Apparently, she took lack of tardiness from Gregory House as a sign of the apocalypse.
House counted to thirty in his head, just to make sure, before stepping out of his hiding place. He checked his watch, found that it was just barely eight o'clock, and nodded in satisfaction. Wilson wouldn't be here yet, and that was a good thing. He didn't feel like explaining his wedding-brought demise to his friend, as he knew he would eventually have to. So thinking, the diagnostician limped as unobtrusively as possible across the lobby towards the elevator. On the way, he snagged a lollypop from the jar on the receptionist's desk. Hah—Cherry. He'd need all the perks he could get, at this point.
...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...
Cameron sighed, pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose, and tried to concentrate on the chart in front of her. The small writing blurred before tired eyes. This wasn't going to work… But she was going to force it to. Wrinkling her brow in determination, she hefted the packet of papers in one hand and made herself focus on the name of the patient. Unfortunately, said name was currently obscured by her thumb—one that was distractingly swathed in neon green vinyl.
SpongeBob Squarepants. House. The wedding. What exactly was going on with that? How did he expect her to act? Was she his date, or his friend? For the love of God, why had she agreed to this?!
"Oohh—" the pretty, young immunologist huffed as the notions she had been trying to stifle since yesterday afternoon caught up with her again. She had planned on arriving early to work and keeping herself busy with House's charting so that she wouldn't have to stare at her bedroom ceiling any longer… But clearly the activity wasn't as mentally occupying as she had hoped. Now sitting at the table in the conference room, Cameron nibbled on the end of her pencil and reached for her mug of tea—unaware that she was being watched.
...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...
House stood outside the diagnostics department, gazing at the only occupant, and for once glad that the walls were glass. There she was, just as he had hoped she would be. From his vantage point, he watched her take a long sip from her drink and then push her glasses to the top of her head. Allison Cameron. The girl he had posing as his girlfriend for a family wedding. She set contemplated the mug and her shoulders heaved in an apparent sigh. She looked tired.
Maybe now wasn't a good time—? He thought fleetingly, but then shook his head to clear all excuses from his mind. No, he had to talk to her before anybody else came in… and preferably before she looked up and caught him staring! With that last thought, House took a breath and pushed through the door.
"What's the story, Morning Glory?" He asked loudly, his backpack sliding off his shoulder as he entered.
Cameron jumped, and subsequently splashed tea onto the papers spread in front of her. "Ahh—!" She squeaked, glancing up at the doorway to see who it was who had startled her. Blue eyes gazed back at her, paired with a teasing grin. What was he doing there? "House—?!"
The man in question only smiled wider, and he limped over to the table, dumping his helmet and bag into a chair. "Present!" he raised one hand in salute, and then motioned towards her. "You um, you might want to get that."
Glancing down, the younger doctor noticed the rapidly expanding puddle on the chart she had been working on, and quickly leapt from her seat. She scooped up the mess and carried it to the sink, where she began blotting it with a paper towel. Huh, leave it to House to cause a mess within ten seconds of arriving. Watching all of this, House snickered at her and leaned on his beloved whiteboard. Finally, Cameron finished damage-control as best as she could, and returned her gaze to her boss.
"What are you doing here?"
"I work here. Got my name on the door and everything." He pointed towards his office, and she rolled her eyes.
"Right. Let me rephrase that then. What are you doing here so early?"
"I had a craving for good coffee… and let's face it: you've got the best brew in town, Little Missy."
The immunologist eyed him skeptically before going over and re-seating herself at the table. She pushed all of the rest of the charts out of the way and propped her chin in one hand. "First of all, nothing short of Armageddon could get you here on time, let alone early," A polite cough. "And secondly, I didn't make coffee yet." Cameron noticed his eyes dancing accusingly towards her own mug, and she shook her head. "Nope. It's tea."
Despite her proclamation, House reached out and snatched her drink, peering at the contents. He breathed it in and wrinkled his nose in distaste. Yep, it was tea. Probably that ginseng crap she was always drinking. "Ew, Cameron. You're supposed to make coffee!"
"Well, you're supposed to be late," she countered, stealing her cup back. Despite this, she nonetheless rose once more and walked back over to the sink area. Old habits die hard. The older doctor observed this with mild interest.
"What're you doing?"
"Making you coffee. You haven't decided that you want a triple cappuccino now, have you, sire? "
House couldn't suppress a smile at her words, and he watched for a moment as she busied her hands with filters and heaping spoonfuls of coffee grounds. Good old Cameron—Old habits apparently died hard. "Nope, coffee will do for now, wench." He allowed, feeling nicely comfortable with the setting of banter. Banter he could do. Put off the explaining for a few more minutes.
Having started the pot, Cameron took her seat again, but hazel eyes strayed to her boss. Maybe they should talk about this wedding thing? She thought, but ultimately decided that he should be the one to bring it up. After all, she was just the guest. With one last curious glance, she turned her attention once more to the pile of medical charts and replaced her glasses on her nose. She'd let him talk about it when he was ready.
"So. Um, why are you here so early?" he asked after a moment. His younger companion glanced up over the rims of her glasses, but only for a moment.
"What makes you think I'm here all that early? You don't usually waltz in until ten—"
"Actually, I don't typically do much waltzing at all." House cut her off, holding his cane up emphatically.
"—Fine, you don't usually hobble in until ten—" Cameron looked up, worried that she might have gone too far with the sarcastic wit, but found him giving her a sardonic, if surprised, grin.
"Nice one."
She smiled shyly, mostly out of relief. This whole back and forth teasing with House was something new—usually left to Wilson, or Cuddy. Until then, she hadn't felt like it was her place to engage him as such… but somehow, recent events had instilled a newfound confidence in that field . Briefly, she allowed herself to wonder just how long this peer-ship would last. "My point is, since you don't usually get in until after I do, how do you know I'm not here at eight every morning?"
House thought about this for a moment before fixing her with a calculating gaze. "You just don't."
"It's not—what?" Cameron had been expecting some sort of long list of evidence that would lead to his assumption, so this simple accusation caught her off guard.
"You don't."
"How can you—"
"Do you?" he asked, but it was more of a statement than a question. As expected, the younger doctor quailed under the certainty that her boss's stare held. He couldn't have known—not really—but as usual, House was right without having proof.
"I—No," she answered quietly. Damn him for knowing everything. Mercifully, the coffeemaker stopped hissing and Cameron found the excuse to avoid those blue eyes for a few more moments. Rising to retrieve his red mug from the cabinet, she made quick work of his drink—Black, two sugars. As she finished, House also assumed a seat at the table and accepted the mug with a nod of thanks.
"So why are you here so early, then?" he pressed after taking a tentative sip of the too-hot liquid. Eyeing him warily, Cameron decided to just tell the truth.
"Couldn't sleep any longer." She said, only to be mildly shocked by the reply.
"Me neither."
Drs. House and Cameron observed each other for a moment, each surprised by the other's admission, before glancing down. He had to bring it up now. He thought, and allowed for one more gulp of coffee before clearing his throat.
"So, Cameron… About this wedding."
"Yes?" she immediately straightened a bit, having wondered when it would come up. "Did you find out what sort of dress I should get?"
Oh yeah, the dress-code. Well, that would at least be a simpler way to ease into the thing—fact was something he could handle. "According to my source, it's military formal," House told her, and she raised one eyebrow at him, removing her glasses once more.
"And is your source trustworthy?"
"Not at all. Last time I saw her she put itching powder in my sweatpants," he said seriously, earning an airy giggle. "But as far as this topic goes—yes, she's reliable."
Cameron nodded, apparently satisfied despite her wondering who this prankster 'source' of his was. "Alright, so this is… a black-tie affair? I should wear a… long dress?"
"Yeah, and it can't be just any dress, Cam—it's got to be sexy and sophisticated and totally drool-tastic."
"Drool-tastic?" she echoed, amused at this word-choice, but wondering what exactly he was getting at.
"Totally. I want to make all the other boys jealous!" House informed her in a nine-year-old's tone of voice, but somehow the truth behind this statement was not lost.
He wanted to make them jealous..? Did that mean what she thought it meant? Cameron's pulse sped up ever-so-slightly at the notion of what he was telling her. She was going as his... dare she think it—date? Well, there was only one way to be sure.
"House."
"Hm?"
"Are we going as… as a couple..?" Lord, she really wished that hadn't come out as hopeful as she was afraid it had.
House stared at her for a moment, his mug half-way to his mouth. She sounded so surprised. Then again… He supposed. He hadn't exactly specified what their status would be at the wedding. Hm, sounded like he would have to explain more than he had thought.
"Yes, Cameron, we're going as a couple."
"Oh." She kept her features carefully neutral—he wouldn't have to know that she was doing an inexplicable dance of joy inside. "Well I know just the dress, then."
The diagnostician nodded approvingly, also trying not to give away that he was secretly glad for the fact that she hadn't made a big deal out of it. He certainly didn't want any shrieking or other such girly-nonsense. This was not romance, it was a business proposition and nothing more. However, if it were going to be a successful operation, he would have to give her more details.
"But I guess there's… Something you should know about this wedding," he started, choosing his words carefully.
"…What's that?"
"I'm going to this thing in order to prove a point."
Cameron wrinkled her brow, obviously still not fully-understanding. A point? What? "Sorry, I don't quite get what you mean…"
House sighed, finally coming to terms with the fact that he should just tell her the whole story, so that at least they could be on the same page. "Look, like I originally told you, I wasn't going to go. Unfortunately, due to some cataclysmic turn of events that involve my inability to keep my mouth shut, I told my cousin that I was going to attend, and that I was going to bring a hot date."
"…Why would you say that?"
"I have to win a bet," he admitted, feeling scrutinized under her curious gaze. The charts lay forgotten on the table between them. "Apparently my screwed up family has decided to place money on whether I would show up… and whether I would still be a grouchy, lonely bachelor—"
"What? That's sick!" Cameron interjected, and House glanced up at her in surprise. She seemed indignant on his behalf, and for some strange reason, it made him feel better.
"I know. So. Long story short, I'm going to go and rub it—more specifically, you—in their smug faces."
"Wait… So you're using me as a means to get back at your malicious relatives?" Her tone was unidentifiable, and he cringed inwardly.
Oops. This was the part where she would become morally outraged at the fact that he would exploit her—especially her looks. "That… that was generally the plan..?" He said tentatively, repressing the self-preserving instinct to cover his more vulnerable parts against any attack.
"Okay, but we'll have to be convincing—no offense, but going on the fact that this bet exists at all, I'm going to assume there will be a few people who'll be very skeptical of your new relationship." Cameron announced casually, scooping up both of their now-empty mugs and bringing them to the sink. "Want some more coffee?"
House nodded dumbly, incapable of anything else. She was okay with being… used?More than that—she was taking the thing seriously? He shook his head in disbelief. Allison Cameron had agreed to be his partner in crime to thwart his family. This was far better than he had hoped! Finally, the diagnostician found his ability of speech, and also got up from his chair.
"You're right, the bastards won't be easy to appease," he agreed, limping over to where she stood at the counter. "Especially since you're so obviously out of my league."
Cameron glanced up at him, eyes flashing. "That's not true."
"Oh shut up, you know that it is. Anyway, I don't feel like arguing with you about technicalities… It's all about the finesse of the operation! We're going undercover to infiltrate enemy territory, here— there can be no slip-ups!" House exclaimed, to which she nodded confidently.
"Aye, sir!" she saluted him, trying to stifle another giggle. Somehow, the idea that he thought that it was the two of them against the bad-guys made her happier than she had been in a while. He called them 'we'. They were a team.
The diagnostician began to chuckle as well, before suddenly, he stopped dead and turned to her. She looked up at him in question. Stepping closer, in the same instant he used one finger to tip her chin up and leaned down towards her, his eyes slipping shut— Only to stop with mere millimeters of space between their lips. House opened his eyes to find Cameron frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open in shock.
"You totally just blew our cover, Secret Agent Obvious." He informed her, a knowingly evil grin across his features. He straightened up, and used that same finger to push her jaw back to the normal position.
Cameron snapped to, her cheeks reddening at an alarming rate. She had been surprised by the almost-kiss, but now she understood—he had been testing her! That bastard. "Not fair, I—" she protested, but he wagged a finger at her.
"Oh come on, you just 'deer-in-the-headlights'ed it!" No way you'd be so startled by a simple kiss if were comfortably dating and in loooove!" he crooned, earning a swat from his immunologist.
"You caught me off-guard…" she said quietly, face still burning, but he shook his head.
"No excuses— you've got to get that pretty head of yours in the game, soldier! We go big, or go home!"