Rating: T
Disclaimer: I've got absolutely nothing you'd want. However, if someone would like to give me money...
Author's Note: TO HECTOR: So I realize that you probably think I went and died. I'm generally happy to say that this is not the case, despite the fact that during my most recent dastardly Graphics assignment I did happen to think about ending it all in the bathtub once. Maybe twice. Anyway, that's beyond the point. The point is that right now I'm ducking behind an upturned tableas I admit to you that despite the fact that I promised a car-trip in this chapter, it has been shoved back to the next one. SORRY! There are reason's for this, but you probably don't want to hear them. What you might want to hear is that I'm not beating around the bush in the next chapter with what goes on during the last half-day of work on Friday, but am instead hopping right in at the point where Cameron shows up at House's place for the trip to Boston. Please don't hate me, Hector, I couldn't bear it! As always, oh dealer of mine, I'd appreciate your thoughts. Anyone got any fun ideas for House and Cameron stuck in a car for five hours..? Heh heh heh.
Chapter dedication: Rock'in Socks who shamed me into getting my butt back in gear and posting!
Lisa Cuddy didn't gain her position as one of the female Deans of Medicine in the country by slacking off—a fact demonstrated even as she sat behind her mahogany desk on that early morning, persevering through the endless paperwork. She clicked her pen absently whilst holding up the next item… A letter of complaint regarding the horrendously inexcusable bedside manner of one Gregory House, M.D.
Cuddy let out a snort, not of surprise, as she skimmed over the particulars that seemed to be centered around a few comments made that pertained explicitly to the patient's sexual relationship with her husband. Not even lunch and already a formal allegation—par for the course as far as House was concerned. She thought with a sigh, but that didn't make it any less aggravating from day to day.
Speaking of House… The Dean let the piece of paper fall back amongst the other mail and consulted the wall clock. 9:48 AM was most likely too early for him to be in, but she had heard it through the grapevine that the caustic diagnostician bad been sighted by the elevators as early as quarter past eight! Not only did that thought provoke confusion, but it was also alarming—the bastard could get into enough trouble between the hours of eleven and three!
As that particular warning from the nursing staff reoccurred to her, Cuddy instinctively shot a furtive glance towards her office doors. Hmm, not a can, nor a Nike in sight! Certainly an unusual happenstance, but if he by chance was already at the hospital, she could simply wonder at small miracles that he was playing quietly… And if he wasn't, then what the Hell was she worrying about?
She sighed and chuckled dryly to herself upon examining the thought process, realizing that only House could manage to occupy her attention when he hadn't even shown up yet. Vowing not to waste another moment thinking about her most bothersome employee, Princeton's Plainsboro's diligent administrator retrieved her pen and focused on the next hospital invoice. The peace of atmosphere and mind was to be tragically short-lived.
"HURRY UP, ALLISON—WE'VE GOT TO HAVE SEX ON THE DESK BEFORE CUDDY GETS BACK!"
The doors burst inward, mail flew everywhere, and even before recovering fully from the shock, Dr. Cuddy had let out an angry shout. "Uugh—HOUSE!" she slapped both palms flat on the desk and leveled a frigid glare at he who had just barged in so explosively.
House, who was no standing in the middle of the office, managed to look sheepish, which of course caught her completely off-guard… until she realized that he had turned to his previously unnoticed companion.
"Scratch the quickie—she's actually here," he pouted, before raising a lecherous eyebrow at his employer. "…Unless Mistress Cuddy would like to join in the festivities?"
Cuddy groaned and rolled her eyes. So much for a productive, sarcastic-cripple-free morning. "House, it's not even ten yet!" she half-snapped, half-pleaded. "Clearly you're suffering from some sort of lapse in time awareness, so listen: I'm going to just forget that we've had this encounter. Go back home and don't come in for another hour, like you usually do."
"Ohhh Cuddy, you card!" the diagnostician laughed cheerily, winking as if the two of them were sharing an inside joke. He overlooked the flat 'I'm completely serious' expression and turned to Cameron, who was looking quite clearly as if she would rather have been anywhere at that moment than blushing in the presence of her boss's boss. "Don't worry—she only likes to play hard to get. We'll talk her into it."
"Shut up, House!" Cameron blurted hotly, at the exact moment that Cuddy ordered the same thing.
For his part, the lanky doctor smirked as he glanced between the two women. "Synchronized shut down? Very cool!" he exclaimed, catching daggers from two pairs of eyes. "Been practicing that long?"
Pointedly ignoring the previous comments, the Dean of Medicine rubbed at her forehead and sighed. Too early for a headache. "Alright, out with it, then: what're you doing in my office this early?" he opened his mouth for what promised to be an annoying retort, so she cut him off with a clarification. "—and I mean what're you doing besides making me completely miserable?"
"We need to leave work early tomorrow."
Cuddy raised an eyebrow curiously at this request before narrowing her gaze. "We? Where are we going? I'm going nowhere with you after what you pulled last time I gave you a ride to the airport—"
"Aw, I can't believe you've still got your lacy under-things in a twist about that!" House needled with a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth at the very memory. In all actuality, he could believe that she'd still be sore over the cavity search that she'd been subjected too after he had 'accidentally' been overheard whilst accusing her of smuggling opium in various bodily orifices… "I thought Olga was pretty gentle with your sensitive parts."
Shaking her head and holding up a hand before he could say anything more, Cuddy closed her eyes and tried to re-block out the images and sensations that had been created during said invasive encounter with a burly she-male customs officer. "Okay, I get that you thought it was perversely funny and do not harbor any regret over what you did, so let's get back to topic—why do we need to leave work early tomorrow?"
The diagnostician smiled in what he considered to be a 'sweet' manner. "Well I'm flattered that you think of us as an item, dear Cuddy, but when I said 'we' I was referring to myself and Allison."
"Yourself and who?"
"Allison." He motioned towards Cameron, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable and appeared to be trying to become part of the carpet. At this admission, the Dean of Medicine cocked her head to the side. Allison? Since when did House refer to his juniors by their first names?
"Alright then, why do you and Allison need to leave?" she asked, deciding to just go along with him until she figured out the motive—by now she was aware that it was entirely a waste of energy to try to guess what Greg House was thinking at any point.
Deciding that giving her the truth would probably cause an interesting enough reaction in itself, House shrugged and told her exactly why they needed to go. "My cousin's getting married in Boston this weekend and Allison's my date. We need to leave early in order to have time for the drive and checking into the hotel."
His boss stared at him wordlessly for a moment, before letting out a chuckle. House chuckled too. Obviously she didn't believe him—not that he had imagined she would. "Good one. No, really, why do you need to leave early? I'm not letting you off of Clinic duty so you can corrupt Dr. Cameron with junk food and Playstation."
"You're right; I was kidding. The real reason we need to go is because we've started a band and we're going on tour," he said sarcastically, glancing at his immunologist with a wink. Cuddy dead-panned.
"A band." It was a statement, not a question.
"Uh-huh."
"Just because I'm sure you've gone and invented some ridiculous name already and I haven't had a good laugh this morning… What is your band called?"
"Uncle Greg and the Low-Cut Tops."
From beside him, Cameron let out a snort that she didn't even have time to disguise as a cough. What the Hell?! Obviously he was making the typical lewd remark about their boss, but you had to hand it to the guy for originality. Still, for good measure, she smacked him in the arm and shot him a reproving, albeit amused, look.
"Ow!" he yelped, rounding on her and rubbing at the offended area. "You're even hitting me in front of our employer now? Where is the line, woman?!"
"I think you crossed it when you named our imaginary band 'Uncle Greg and the Low-Cut Tops,'" she retorted, and they were interrupted with a loud "AHEM." Each turned to look at the Dean, who was looking rather unreadable from where she was sitting behind the desk. Cameron cringed a bit and wrung her hands. The reaction from Cuddy had the potential to be angry, and already the younger doctor was feeling self-conscious.
"First of all, how long have you been waiting to use that particular jab?" the other woman asked dryly, and the tall diagnostician shrugged unabashedly.
"A few days—I was inspired on Monday by that ravishing pale-blue blouse of yours with the plunging neck-line."
"Right." In all of her well-composed neutrality, Cuddy suddenly allowed a smile to creep over stern features before replying. "Well, it was pretty good."
"Thanks, I thought so too." House grinned and held up a hand. "Air-five me!"
The young immunologist could only blink in bemused wonder as the hospital's typically iron-fisted administrator laughed and raised her palm so that one sophomoric doctor could over-exaggerate a high five. What happened? Shouldn't Cuddy have been at least miffed by the insult..? Cameron shook her head and shrugged mentally, conceding a slight giggle at the ludicrous situation. Once upon a time she had been told that despite their quarreling, Cuddy and House did not hate each other and had once upon a time been college friends—but that didn't mean she could understand moments such as these that seemed almost teasing and companionable.
"So," Cuddy mused after the moment passed. "Hypothetical musical groups aside—"
"Yes, we really do need the afternoon off," House cut her off knowingly, and answered her next question before she had a chance to voice it. "I was actually wasn't lying when I mentioned the wedding thing."
The next expression to grace her features was one of pure incredulity. "You. Wedding. What?" She managed, but he didn't offer any more information so attention was turned to the younger woman in the room. "Dr. Cameron—is this true?"
Cameron nodded, almost apologetically and that tell-tale pink made an appearance in her cheeks. "I—Yes. Dr. House's cousin is getting married in Boston on Sunday, and he asked me to accompany as a… a…" She groped for the right word, not wishing to seem presumptuous by referring to herself as his date. She needn't have worried.
"As a trophy date," the diagnostician supplied helpfully, dropping an arm around her waist and dragging her closer emphatically. "You know, got to keep up my 'mad pimpin' appearances for the relatives, and what better way to do it than strolling in with this nubile, young thing on my arm?" He made a show of looking her up and down approvingly, and she shoved him away with a grimace.
Lisa Cuddy took in the two doctors contemplatively for a moment before leveling a sympathetic gaze in Cameron's direction. "Oh you poor thing—he's not blackmailing you into this, is he?"
House made a face. "What is it about the idea that is so horrific that everyone thinks I've forced her into it?!" he demanded sullenly. The question was obviously rhetorical, but still the Dean of Medicine smirked and opened her mouth to reply. "Oh shut up, Cuddy. ANYWAY—" he insisted loudly. "Details are insignificant, and if they're not they're at least something that you can get from Wilson instead of me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is: Can we go Mom? Can we can we can we? Pleeeease?!" The pleading was accompanied by clasped hands and puppy dog eyes that would put any tearful toddler to shame.
Cuddy crossed her arms in front of her chest and fixed him with a thoughtful stare. House was being House— carrying on the way the way a child would— and Cameron… She let her eyes drift over to the young woman who was standing as unobtrusively as possible to the side.
Well likewise, Cameron was being Cameron—unsure of herself beyond pleasing everyone. When next to each other, Cuddy couldn't help but notice that the two were polar opposites. They both had certain defining qualities that were wonderful if they hadn't been so extreme. For example, House's tendency to speak his mind was all well and good… until his mind came up with things that just shouldn't be said. In the same way, Cameron's tendency towards compassion was admirable, until it kept her from seeing reason.
Princeton-Plainsboro's administrator nodded her head to herself and allowed for a wry smile. Yes, she would allow them to have the weekend off, and maybe, just maybe… They could teach each other a little something and come back a little more even-keeled.
"Yes, kids, you can go."
"THANKS MOM! WE'LL BE GOOD, PROMISE!" House yelped, grabbing a startled Cameron by the hand and turning to drag her back out of the office. "C'MON ALLISON!"
Cuddy winced as the door slammed behind the two, and she was left shaking her head at the hasty retreat. Hopefully they wouldn't kill one another— Allison Cameron was a useful doctor with lots of potential, after all— it'd be a shame to lose her.
...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, how about this one? House..? House!" James Wilson disentangled himself from the rack of tuxedos he had be sifting through and gazed around to locate the man who should have been the one searching. Shock of all shocks, said individual was spinning lazily in circles on a revolving stool.
"Whaaat?" Greg House sent his friend a long-suffering glance, clearly conveying that he didn't want to be anywhere near a tuxedo shop at that very moment. Damn Wilson and his insistence on the common sense of getting a tux for the wedding.
The oncologist straightened up and planted the hand not holding six tuxedos on his hip. "Okay, I don't even know why I'm here doing this for you…" he mumbled. "I'm going to smell like mothballs for the rest of my born days."
House smirked and hefted himself up to wander over to where the other man stood. Leaning close, he took an exaggeratedly deep breath. "You're probably right, but to tell you a truth it's a definite improvement from that aftershave you usually reek of. Hey, hey you know what? Let's play hide-and-seek!" And with that, the tall diagnostician ducked behind a rack of jackets and cummerbunds.
Wilson rolled his eyes and instead of answering, simply dragged his immature companion out from his hiding place and dumped the load of black suits into his arms. "You know what? I'm doing you a favor, as usual, and I'd appreciate it if you could at least grow up and cooperate a little, tiny bit.
"You really are zero fun, you know that, Jimmy?"
"Yes, you constantly remind me of it. Now—" the younger doctor swiped a pair of black shoes from a nearby shelf, plucked a bowtie from the counter display, and tossed them on top of the growing pile in House's arms. "Get into that damn dressing room, find one that doesn't look deplorable, and we're getting out of here."
House glared mutinously at his best friend, but nonetheless began making his clumsy way towards the changing rooms at the back of the store. "'One that doesn't look deplorable'— what is that supposed to mean? Aren't I supposed to get one that makes me look dashing?"
"Usually that would be the case. However, I hold no delusion as to how dashing you can look, Mr. Band Tee." Wilson retorted, pushing the other man into the stall and dragging the curtain across the rod. "Just hurry up, I've got a dinner to go to."
Inside the small cubicle, House dropped the armful of tuxes unceremoniously on the bench. "With Sarah?"
"It's Kim. And no, with my mother."
"Figures, the only woman who doesn't care that you wear purple ties and sweater-vests."
"Shut up— you're spending five hours in a car with Cameron tomorrow. Maybe she'll nice you to death and save us all a lot of future grief."
For once, House didn't have a countering remark, and instead had to resort to grabbing the first pair of pants off of the pile in an irritated manner.
...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...
Wilson glanced at his watch for the third time in two minutes and rapped on the side of the stall. "Having zipper problems? What're you doing in there?!" He called in annoyance, loud enough to attract the attention of an elderly woman who was looking at some tuxedos nearby.
"First time tuxedo-wearer?" She asked kindly, motioning towards the closed curtain. Realizing that she was referring to House, the oncologist's cheeks reddened slightly and he cleared his throat.
"Oh um, not his first time, no—Not that you'd know it from the way he acts," he forced a smile and looked anxiously towards the strangely quiet dressing room. Damn his inherent politeness! He just wanted to ignore her, grab House, and get the Hell out of there!
"Your son?"
"Hm—what?" Wilson glanced back at the woman, and had to stifle a snort as her words registered. House, his son?! HAH! "Oh, oh no, he's not— I mean, we're just—" he began, only to be cut off as the curtain shot open.
"DAAAD! IT'S ITCHYYY!" House stood there, dressed to the nines, his fists on his slim hips. Wilson immediately covered his face with one hand, and the nice old lady appeared nothing less than taken aback. She glanced between the two men in startled confusion. The taller, scruffy doctor smiled innocently and tugged at his friend's sleeve.
"Daddy, why do I have to wear this lousy suit?"
Wincing at the diagnostician's usual disregard for what others thought, Wilson shot the woman an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, he's just not… he's not right in the head," he explained weakly, giving the other man a shove that sent him back into the cubicle and wrenching the sheet/door closed again, effectively hiding him from sight.
"OOF—!" Went House.
Understanding dawned on the woman's face and she gave him a sympathetic nod. "Oh that's alright, dear, I myself have had experience with the mentally disabled—bless your heart for donating your time." And with that, she patted him on the arm and went off towards the front counter.
Shaking his head in bemusement, Wilson turned back around to be met with the less than pleased features of his friend.
"I can't believe you told her I was retarded," he accused, poking the other man none-too-gently in the chest.
"Obviously it wasn't a stretch—she didn't question the fact that you might not be," the oncologist shot back with a short guffaw. "Anyway, it's not my fault you give no thought to social norm," he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Know what? Took you long enough to get dressed—just get out here and let me see what you look like."
Still grumbling under his breath, House nonetheless took a limping step out into the open to be scrutinized by his best friend. Frankly, at that point, he just wanted out as well. "It's a monkey suit, Wilson," he insisted as the other man walked around him. "They all look the same."
Wilson habitually reached up to straighten the bow-tie that hadn't been put on right. His hands were met with a swat and a horrified expression.
"What're you doing, wifey? God, no wonder people think we're gay!"
He immediately recoiled and looked slightly sheepish. "Sorry, habit—"
"Suuure," House smirked, as he fruitlessly tried to adjust the accessory. Giving up after a moment, he raised an eyebrow. "Alright, Jimmy, since you'd know… Does this look slightly less than deplorable?"
Casting a practiced eye over the caustic doctor's form, the oncologist's expression became one of light surprise. "You know, House… To be completely honest, you don't look half bad."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the other man replied sarcastically.
"No, I mean it—you actually look sort of… handsome." And he did. Wilson was a bit shocked to admit it, but House actually looked pretty good in a tuxedo. He was tall, and black was a good color on him. Hell, even his salt-and-pepper scruff looked sort of dignified above formal-wear. Apparently, the guy had the hidden capacity to clean up nice…
However, at another alarmed glance, the younger doctor quickly changed tactics. "No, no, not… I didn't mean…" he sighed and rolled his brown eyes towards the ceiling. Leave it to House to be put off by a compliment."Never mind, just—well, that tux is fine. Let's just rent it and get out of here."
House chuckled and stepped back into the changing room with a knowing half-smile. "Yes, dear."
...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...
"Can I help you, Miss?"
Cameron was startled from her reverie at the sound of a nasally voice at her elbow. Glancing to the left, she was met by the blindingly white smile of a whom she could only assume was a saleswoman. "Oh, yes please" she recovered, returning a smile that wasn't nearly so offensive to look upon. "I'd like to see that dress in a size four, please."
The sales associate, whose nametag declared her to be 'Janice,' looked to where the young doctor was pointing. "Ah, that's not a dress, Miss," she simpered.
"I—what? It isn't?" Cameron's face was the picture of polite confusion as Janice shook her head patronizingly. It definitely looked like a dress to her.
"Oh no, that," the woman went on with a dramatic sweep of her hand. "is so much more than a dress. It's the Faviana Empire Gown."
Cameron had to fight back the urge to snort and roll her eyes. Oh God, not one of these women… Instead of giving into an urge that she would classify as Housian, the immunologist politely disguised her laugh as a cough and decided to play along. "My mistake, then. May I please see that gown in a size four?"
Janice nodded. "Why yes, you have impeccable taste. I'll be back in the flashiest of flashes with your request." And with that, the saleswoman didn't so much as walk, as whisk away towards the back of the store.
Once she was out of earshot, Cameron let out the sigh she had been holding in. "Dear God…" she mumbled, wondering at the disgustingly cheery and somewhat robotic demeanor of sales people these days. Back in the flashiest of flashes..? she shivered at the sugary memory of the woman's pitchy voice, and consoled herself only with looking upon the dress—no, gown—she had pointed out.
The Faviana Empire Gown, as it was apparently called, was a beautiful wine-purple halter-top piece of formal-wear that admittedly, she had been eyeing for the past few weeks every time she walked past. Up until then, however, she had had absolutely no excuse to purchase it. Cameron smiled a more genuine smile as the reason she now had as an excuse re-surfaced in her mind. Wedding date to accompany Gregory House, and they were leaving... tomorrow.
Her eyes widened at that revelation. Holy crap, she had to get home and pack! She had to make sure everything was in order, and probably call him to get some final details. Oh God, this was so last minute... But, if absolutely nothing else... there was the promise that things would be interesting.