Rating: T
Disclaimer: I claim the rights to my own insanity. Nothing else.
Author's Note: Dearest Hector: As you read this, imagine me hanging my pathetic head in shame. It has been a ludicrously long time since my last update, and there is a reason. In all reality, last week one of my friends needed to borrow a notebook and I unwittingly handed him the one in which I write this story. Sadly, he did not rememeber to return it until two days ago. In light of this, I apologize profusely for my oversight and humbly beg for your forgiveness. As a bit of atonement, this chapter is a good 1,000 words longer than usual... and I hope you enjoy it! ReviewsDrugs, Hector, and based on my dangerous relationship with the drug of caffeine, I'm guessing that pretty soon I'll be full-on JONES'N for your feedback!
Chapter dedication: mishy-mo, who consistently keeps it short and sweet with a :)
"So, how's the hangover, man?" Eric Foreman asked brightly as he spotted his rather bedraggled-looking colleague just inside the entrance.
"Uuugh…" groaned the man in question, sparing the new-comer a tired glance. Robert Chase scrubbed a hand across his face, falling into step with the neurologist as they walked across the lobby.
"Can't believe you actually took those girls up on drinks last night," Foreman commented with a smirk as they entered the elevator. Not receiving any reply aside from the rattle of aspirin as the intensivist tossed back, he continued. "You better hope House doesn't notice—you'll be wiping runny noses and prepping old guys for surgery until that sweater-vest goes back in style."
Chase made his patented 'annoyed face' and snorted derisively. "Shut up. Your shoes are ugly."
In reality, there wasn't anything ugly or otherwise about the plain brown footwear, but he needed to say something that would detract from the fact that Foreman was right—he'd be doing the dirty work for weeks if their boss found out about the Wednesday night binge… And frankly, hoping that something like this would go unnoticed by the hyper-observant Gregory House was like hoping Dr. Cuddy would abolish the policy of wearing itchy white lab coats.
The Australian sighed and combed fingers through his blond hair. "I'm—"
"Screwed? Yep." The smile from Foreman was patronizing at best and Chase scowled, still fighting back the bleariness of last night's over-indulgence.
A light bell heralded their arrival to the correct floor, and the two members of the diagnostics team disembarked without further conversation. Upon reaching their department only Cameron was immediately visible, and for a moment Chase dared to hope. Maybe House wasn't in yet, and with a few cups of coffee he'd be okay—"
The fleeting optimism burst like a soap bubble as a distinctive, gravelly baritone erupted from the adjoining office.
"Allisonnnn, did you move my Nintendo adapter?"
"Nooo, Greg," the immunologist called back without looking up.
Suddenly, the hang-over issue seemed less occupying. Foreman froze with his hand on the door handle and shot his companion an incredulous look. "Allison..?" he mouthed in silent question.
"Greg..?!" Chased mutedly replied, his own features contorted into one of comic confusion. What the Hell..?
The two of them pushed through the glass portal just as their boss entered from the other room. Greg House stood with his hands on his slim hips, a whine stretched across his face.
"But I can't fi—" he began, only to stop short at the sight of his other two fellows in the doorway. Somehow, he gathered from their expressions that they had arrived in time to hear the latest conversation. Oh boy, explaining time again already?
Cameron, whose back was to them, still hadn't bothered to pause in her paperwork. "Well, have you tried looking with your eyes instead of your mouth?" she teased in response to the adapter accusation. Not receiving a smart-aleck retort, she finally glanced up to find House staring past her with a funny look in his eyes. Uh-oh, what was he—?
"We're not… interrupting anything, are we?" Foreman asked slowly, Chase standing at his shoulder, and already Cameron felt a hot flush rising at her collar as she shook her head hastily.
"Oh no, of course not!" she exclaimed a bit too zealously, and her voice cracked an octave. The other two exchanged a glance at the awkward noise. Wow, way to be casual, Allison! she scolded herself, noticing as House rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in similar exasperation. Jeez, she certainly did need the practice with that poker face!
Mercifully, it was at that moment that the four-way staring contest was interrupted by a shrill beeping noise. Now all eyes went to the head diagnostician as he fumbled with his pager.
WEDDING CONSULT flashed on the LCD display and House smirked in relief. Good old Wilson—this was his escape cue! He glanced back to the expectant gazes of his team and held up the small, black device.
"Ruh-Roh—Raggy's in 'rouble!" he announced in time-honored Scooby-Doo fashion, earning a short laugh from Cameron and odd looks from the others. "Wilson needs a consult."
And with that, he pivoted on his good leg to go. Cameron, realizing that she was about to be left by herself with a veritable Princeton-Plainsboro Inquisition, let out a squeak of protest. "Hou—!" A pointed look. "I-I mean… Greg…"
He smiled a wolfish smile. "Yes?"
"What're you—where're you—" she stuttered, and Foreman and Chase's eyes shifted from their boss to their immunologist as if watching a volley. House's grin widened. He was enjoying this, the incensing bastard!
"All is not well in Baldy-Kid Paradise, got to give Captain Cancer a hand," he explained cheerily, patting her on the shoulder before continuing his departure. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a bit, Lovechop!"
Cameron made an odd strangled noise and stretched out a hand after him, but he had already gone. The glass door swung shut with a soft whoosh, and suddenly she was acutely aware of the fact that she was now alone with her two male colleagues. Oh crap…
The rounded on her slowly, gray and brown eyes wide with accusing bewilderment.
"Lovechop..?!"
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"Why Jimmy, you're having wedding issues too?! It's not another of yours is it? Sarah from book-keeping? Already? Last I heard you were discussing billing practices!"
Wilson nearly leapt out of his skin as his office door exploded inward heralded by a loud barrage of accusing questions. By the time he settled down from the flurry of papers, racing heart and askew green tie, the intruder responsible for the shock was seated in the chair opposite him. Dr. Gregory House made an exaggerated conspiratorial wink and reached across to pinch the oncologist's cheek.
"James, you scallywag!"
Recovering from the initial shock, Wilson swatted at his friend's hand and stared at him in annoyed bewilderment. "House! What the Hell are you taking about?"
House only continued smiling that infuriating knowing-smile. "Your fourth wedding!"
"My what—?! House, I don't even have a girlfriend!"
"Sarah from book-keeping."
"Who? From book-keeping… you mean Kim?"
"When did Sarah change her name to Kim?"
"It has always been Kim."
"Oh. Kim should change her name to Sarah. She definitely looks more like a Sarah, and besides—Sarah Wilson sounds better than Kim Wilson; nicer ring to it, don't you think?"
Wilson had to shake his head to clear it on the nonsensical banter, and gaped at the other man. He knew House had the tendency to invent ridiculous theories that were hard to follow, but this time he really had no clue as to what he was referring to.
"So…" the older doctor began again conversationally. "What do you need my help with? Invitations? Decision on flowers? Writing the vows? Don't know how much I'd be on the 'true love' topic, but if you want to wow her with sarcastic wit, I'm your man."
"House," the oncologist sighed, massaging his temple. "No vows. No wedding. Not even dinner with Kim from book-keeping. So what in God's name are you going on about?"
House plastered on his best look of puzzlement, which was a bit difficult in light of the laugh building at the sight of his friend's aggravation. "You mean you're not having wedding bell blues..?"
"No, I'm not."
"Oh. Well then what was this summons all about?" he asked innocently, motioning towards his pager. The words WEDDING CONSULT came up again at the brush of a button.
"I meant a wedding consult for you!"
"But I'm not getting married either, silly! I mean, yeah, I'm taking Cameron to my cousin's wedding this weekend—oh, is that the wedding you mean?"
"Yes, I—wait, what?!" Wilson's dark, expressive eyes blinked in confusion and then widened in realization. House conjured a red sucker from somewhere on his person and took his time unwrapping it. The expectant pause stretched out and finally Wilson cleared his throat loudly. "AHEMMM!"
"Bless you!" The lollypop was inserted into that smirking mouth without further ado. There was a great, heaving exhaled and the diagnostician thought he could discern the words "impossible" and "child" being muttered under breath. Oh Wilson—so easy to ruffle.
The younger doctor fiddled with his shirt cuff for a moment, settling a bit. That was the thing with House… he would spill, but only when he was ready. So thinking, he sat back and nodded noncommittally. "So, how's your patient doing?"
"Huh?" one of House's eyebrows traveled up to his hairline at this random question. "I… don't have a patient right now…"
"Oh. Okay. Hey, did you happen to catch the O.C. last night? I've been got to know what happened to Marissa!"
"Ooookay…" House contemplated his companion with more than a little skepticism. Since when did Wilson watch the O.C.? Frankly, he was shocked that the pocket-protector-wearing oncologist had known the name Marissa! Despite this, he decided to play along, if only for curiosity's sake. "Yeah, I tuned-in… Marissa died."
"What?! Oh no, that's awful!" Wilson exclaimed with as much 'distress' as he could when faced with the death of some badly-written persona on some badly-written show soap opera that he didn't actually care about. The fact that he had chosen the correct name of an apparently major character was dumb luck—he had merely heard the other man talk about the show once upon a time. "What happened?!"
"Fell off a cliff."
"Seriously? Oh man, I can't believe I missed that! House, you have to tell me what happened!"
House stared in open confusion. What the Hell..? Okay, he knew that James Wilson didn't really care about that show… so what was he getting at? His friend was supposed to be in angst over the wedding issue! He thought indignantly, and yet the oncologist yammered on.
"A cliff, you say? She fell? Did someone push her? Tell me! Damnit, why didn't you call last—"
"I Tivo'd it—shut up about the O.C.! Come on, don't you want to know what I'm doing for Mike's wedding? Details on Cameron? Where have you priorities gone?!"
Wilson froze for a moment at his friends accusing outburst, before a slow smile spread over his face. Hah—the indestructible Greg House had crumbled! He assumed an ill-crafted look of surprise. "Oh. You want to talk about the wedding?"
House realized what his friend was doing, and he cracked a wry smile. He had to hand it to the guy for playing him that way—annoying, but a surprisingly insightful method of controlling the conversation. Wilson must have realized at long last that trying to drag information from his best friend wasn't very effective, and he was finally learning to be sneaky and underhanded! The diagnostician snickered at the thought. Some of his bad-assed-ness was rubbing off on Boy Wonder.
After a few minutes of easy silence, blue eyes met brown ones with muted amusement.
"Well-played, Jimmy. Well-played indeed."
"Thanks, Wilson grinned, settling one against one elbow that was propped on his desk. "So, you gonna spill… or do I have to feign concern for Patrick, too?"
"Who is Patrick?"
"I don't know—another character from your show?"
"There's no Patrick living in the Orange County."
"There isn't? But I swear I've heard you mention—"
"Patrick lives under a rock next to SpongeBob's pineapple."
"Oh." The oncologist shrugged sheepishly and House pointed at him in triumph.
"Hah! I knew you didn't watch the O.C.!" he spouted with a barking laugh.
"Everybody lies!" Was the quick retort, and he rolled his eyes. Oh yeah, good old Wilson.
"Touché. Aww, my widdle boy is growing up!" Another cheek-pinch, but this time the younger man dodged.
"Alright, enough—'fess up about this marital mayhem. Did I hear you correctly when you mentioned the name Cameron?"
House nodded, but the scrutiny was still a bit disbelieving.
"Cameron as in… Allison Cameron, M.D.?"
"No, Cameron Diaz."
Wilson ignored this comment and barreled on eagerly. "Did you… Blackmail her? Have you got video of your immunologist withholding affection from a baby animal, or something?"
"Probably would have worked, but no," the diagnostician conceded sarcastically. "I just…asked her."
"And she said 'yes'..?"
"Well obviously."
"Wow. So how exactly are you planning on going about this thing? I mean, is she supposed to be a close friend, or—"
House sighed dramatically and held up a hand. "Okay, Wilson, I'm only explaining this once," he warned, and the oncologist sat forward in an apparent listening pose. "I'm taking Cameron as my date, and for all pretensive purposes, as my girlfriend. It's a formal wedding, so I'm wearing a tux, she's wearing something low-cut and flowing, and I get to show her off like a playboy centerfold in a 12-year-old's clubhouse—"
Wilson opened his mouth to object at this point, but the other doctor continued on.
"—So here's the plotline: we go to Boston; we sleep in a complimentary hotel suite; we go to the ceremony; we turn a few heads and cause the other boys to get jealous; I collect my hard-won pride and money… and we're back to sweet, solid reality by Monday morning." Here he stopped and shifted his attention back to the shiny red lollypop.
After a moment, his friend ended the pregnant pause between them. "…Simple as that?"
"Yep. Simple as that," House repeated glibly, hoping that he would let it go at that and they could go back to banter.
"Funny, that doesn't sound very simple at all."
Apparently, there would be no such luck. Damn, he should have known that Wilson would be all… Wilson-y! Knowing that he was about to be invasively questioned and ranted at anyway, the diagnostician dropped his head into his hands in defeat. From there, his voice was muffled as he spoke. "Why not?"
"Well, first of all because there's the very obvious reason of: you're taking your junior immunologist to a family wedding where she will pose as your girlfriend… which I'm not entirely sure you didn't use disreputable methods to coerce her into." Wilson pointed out, to which he got a sour look in return. "And even if she did agree to it… there's still the matter that you're taking your junior immunologist to a family wedding where she will pose as your girlfriend."
"Is there an echo in here? Where's the problem, exactly?"
The oncologist eyed his friend with open incredulity. "Uh, where isn't the problem? There are a million and one things that could go wrong in the span of just a few days! Even the relatively small issue of a hotel room is dodgy—are you sharing a room? What about a bathroom? What about a bed?!"
As the younger doctor carried on, House couldn't help but swallow hard. He hadn't thought of that, yet… Uh-oh, there were a lot of things he hadn't thought about yet! "We…"
"What about transportation? What about Cuddy and her employer/employee policies? What about names? Are you going to call each other by your last names—?"
"Already worked that out!" he broke in, relieved to answer at least one of the accusations of unprepared-ness. "She's calling me 'Greg.'"
Wilson's gaze was as of yet, still skeptical. "You don't think that she might slip up? House, what about your parents? Have you even told them you're going to go..? How do you even manage to get yourself into these things? You've got to realize that you're totally and completely screwed—"
"ALRIGHT!" the lanky diagnostician protested, holding up a hand and sending the other doctor a peeved glare. "Well, thanks for that input. You've been wonderful, Jimmy—just what a guy needs from his best friend in a time of crisis!" he stated, sarcasm dripping from his words as he stood and made his way over to the door. "We'll send you a post-card from Boston; I hear the swan-boats are lovely in pictures."
"House, hang on a second!"
"What?"
James Wilson met his friend's icy blue eyes with amused exasperation. "Have you got a suit to wear?" Since the other man was half-in and half-out of the office, he had to crane his neck just so to catch sight of the reluctant head-shake. He sighed. Leave it House, all right. "Yes, I supposed as much—alright, meet me back here at lunchtime."
"What for? Are you trying to woo me with food to make up for your lack of loyalties? Think I can be so easily bought, Benedict Wilson?"
"Yes, but that's not the point… We're going tuxedo-shopping."
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"Listen, I've got to get down to the lab—"
"Cameron, you've got to go to the lab for what? We don't have a patient!"
"Extra tests for nephrology. See you guys later!"
Allison Cameron scurried as quickly as she could out into the hallway, and didn't slow her brisk pace until she was around the corner. Once she judged herself to be far enough away from the diagnostics department, she stopped and leant against the wall for a moment. God, that had certainly been something she didn't want to do again for a very long time—Chase and Foreman had been rather thorough in their dissection of the "Greg/Allison" incident.
Of course she'd had to explain about the wedding thing—having reasoned that they would find out anyway… and it'd be better to give them the real story rather than some butchered tale of smut that would arrive through the rumor mill. However, her colleagues had been more than a little bit cynical about the small amount of detail she had given them; obviously not believing that she didn't know anything else either.
"Where are you staying? How are you getting there? What are you telling people as a back-story? What about his parents—will they be there? Do they know?" Those questions plus a million more like them had been fired at her like paintballs, and the result was just as messy. Now, the immunologist was standing in the brightly lit corridor with her eyes shut and hands clasped in front of her. What on earth had she gotten herself into..? Unnervingly, the answer to that question was that she didn't know.
"What happened, Allison? Didn't the other kiddies want to play nice?"
Cameron's eyes fluttered open at the sound of her boss's voice, and she turned her head to the right to catch sight of him limping towards her. Immediately, her nose wrinkled into a blaming scowl. "Oh I don't know, Greg, can you think of any reason why they wouldn't?" She slapped him admonishingly on the arm as he drew within reach. "I can't believe you left me for a third-degree from Chase and Foreman!"
"Again with the domestic violence!" House feigned anguish, defeating that effort as a sophomoric grin broke through. "Hey, if you actually can't believe that I'd do something like that, then we've got more work ahead of us than I thought—leaving you to the dogs is definitely something that I would do." He patted her rather condescendingly on the head.
"You're right. Don't know what nice guy I had you confused with," the pretty, young doctor sneered in apparent irritation.
"Well you know, if you thought I was so bad you shouldn't have gotten me drunk at the Christmas party and had your wicked way with me in the stairwell."
"What?!" it came out as more of a squeak than anything else, and House could barely suppress a laugh at the bug-eyed expression that had cropped up on her face.
"You got me rip-roaring wasted off of spiked egg-nog and dragged me off to some undisclosed location for some non-G-rated fun, remember?"
"Excuse me, I did no such—!"
"You're right, you didn't really… But that's what I'm telling everyone at the wedding if they ask how we met."
Cameron opened and closed her mouth a few times without any sound coming out. He wouldn't dare, would he? Yes, yes he would. Ohh, well then two could play at that game… She smoothed her features carefully and gave him a nonchalant smile. "Oh yeah, I remember now. We hooked up on the stairs… and the next morning you surprised me with Godiva chocolates and a cute little Labrador puppy with a bow around its neck! It was so sweet, and definitely the first time Greggie showed his hopelessly romantic side!"
At this, a decidedly horrified grimace overthrew the diagnostician's smirk. "What?! I am not a hopeless romantic! No way, nobody will ever believe that!" she only smiled at him and shrugged innocently.
"You're the one who maintains that they won't believe that you managed to land a girl like me at all—if that's the case, then why is romance such a stretch from there? Who knows, you could just be a closet case of sensitive with a gruff exterior to protect your fragile self."
This time it was House who gaped wordlessly. She was probably… right. Crap, when had Cameron learned to one-up him?! Finally, he lowered his head in a defeated glower. "Fine. We went out for drinks after a conference and discovered that we had stuff in common."
"That's what I thought." Cameron grinned triumphantly and stretched way up on her tip-toes to return the previous gesture of the patronizing hair-ruffle. The tall diagnostician swatted her hand away and pouted for a minute, blue eyes narrowed playfully. Goddamn, he was cute…
"Alright, back-story aside—get ready for round two!"
"Round two of what?" she blinked confusedly as he grasped her arm and began tugging her in the opposite direction.
"Of the Inquisition!" he exclaimed, letting go of her elbow as she fell obediently into step beside him.
"What?"
"We have to go talk to Cuddy."
"Talk? Dr. Cuddy? Why?!"
"Because we need to get tomorrow afternoon off in order to have ample driving time—Boston's something like 5 hours off, isn't it?" Cameron came to a stop, and House had gone a few more paces before realizing that she was no longer at his shoulder. "C'mon, it's not the end of the world."
At his rather insincere reassurances, the younger female doctor began walking again, but noticeably slower. "Why can't you just ask her? You're the head of the department, aren't you?"
"Yes, but you're forgetting one very important thing, Snuggles: our favoritest, cleavage-sporting Dean of Medicine, for some strange reason, isn't in the practice of just taking my word for it." he assumed an air of injured innocence before going on. "Somehow, I don't see her readily believing me if I say that I want the afternoon off to take you to my cousin's wedding. Therefore, your presence and confirming opinion would add just a touch of earnest to the argument."
By the time he had finished making his point, they were standing in the Clinic, staring at the glass French-doors of Lisa Cuddy's office. Sitting at the desk within, the Dean herself could be seen rifling diligently through papers. House saw this and his Cheshire cat grin returned full force. This was going to be good—barging in on Cuddy was always fun, but this particular request promised to get quite a reaction.
"…What're we going to…" Cameron wondered from somewhere beside him, and he glanced down at her with a wink.
"Just follow my lead." Princeton-Plainsboro's most infamous doctor grasped both door-handles and all but threw them inward whilst projecting a very loud stage-whisper. "HURRY UP, ALLISON—WE'VE GOT TO HAVE SEX ON THE DESK BEFORE CUDDY GETS BACK!"