Rating: T
Disclaimer: I'm completely off my rocker. If you bring me to court, be warned that I plead a very good case for insanity and you will not win.
Author's Note: Hector, my friend, you do me quite the honor. Okay, so I'm a bum that does not deserve the amount of patience that you all display while waiting for me to get my sorry behind in gear and write. That being said, here's the next part! It's 2:37AM and I have a psychology class in less than 6 hours, so I don't even have time to write the usual novel of an author's note! I will say that I'm going to enjoy the next part of this car-ride very much indeed, and once again repeat my request: does anyone have anything they'd like to particularly see happen in the confines of Cameron's practical vehicle..? I will take any and all ideas into careful consideration, and if they fit the plot and characters, have absolutely no problem including all of them! Hector, what you and I have... well, it's straight love. SPEAK YOUR MIND TO ME, WILL YA?!
Chapter dedication: the incomprable C. LeShay who gave me lovely inspiration and constructive criticism when I was annoying enough to ask.
"House, would you please stop sulking and cooperate for two seconds?!" James Wilson stood near the closet, holding up two ties. "C'mon, you only need enough stuff for two days! Why is this taking so long?!"
Gregory House sat on his bed with his shoulders leaning against the wall and both legs stretched out in front of him. Clothes were scattered over the sheets around him, and he didn't bother to soften his scowl before answering. "I dunno—last time checked I was already packed before you decided to show up!"
Wilson could only stare in that patented 'incredulous-Wilson-stare' sort of way. "Uh, yeah and it's a very good thing I did decide to show up and check on you—you had a duffle bag stuffed with logo tees and jeans!" he argued back, lobbing a wrinkled, red shirt at his friend for emphasis.
Batting the item away, the diagnostician could only shrug insolently. "Yeah, jeans and shirts are what I wear. Don't you know that by now?"
"Ohh, only too well," the other man sighed, letting the ties drop in defeat. "Alright, you know what? If you want to try to wow your high-brow relatives with the grubby twelve-year-old look, then that's your deal. However, since I was under the delusion that you wanted to impress them—"
"Alright, alright!" House interjected impatiently with a wave of his cane. "I get that the fashion police," he gestured rather accusingly towards the oncologist. "Don't approve of my wardrobe. In light of that, wifey—"
"I really wish you wouldn't call me that."
"Why ever not?"
"Oh I don't know… Maybe because I'm not your wife?"
"Well if you're going to get technical on me…" The taller doctor made a particularly offended face before simply flapping his hand. "So just make your point—what do you suggest I do?"
"Well…" Wilson couldn't help but allow himself a self-satisfied smirk at the resignation of his stubborn friend. "Folding would be a start." He plucked a rumpled over-shirt from the open gym bag and tossed it towards his companion.
House caught the item and pulled a face, but reluctantly began to shake out a few wrinkles in the fabric. "God, Jimmy, you're so cramping my style!"
"You say that as if you've got style—gimme that, you useless man-child—have you ever folded a shirt?!" So saying, the younger doctor snatched the piece of clothing back from fumbling fingers that were usually seen so graceful. Making quick, neat work of the task, he handed it back before grabbing a pair of jeans and repeating the process. House grinned petulantly. Oh how easily James Wilson could be manipulated into doing the dirty work—that Tom Sawyer had nothing on Greg House!
However, it was at that moment that further scolding and sarcasm was averted at the ring of a cell phone. The lanky diagnostician gazed at his friend expectantly.
"Aren't you going to get that?" he asked, and Wilson cocked an eyebrow.
"We have the same generic phone ring… Why are you so sure that it's mine?"
"One of two reasons. One: nobody calls me besides you and you're here. Two: my phone battery is dead."
"My surprise is palpable," the PPTH head of oncology deadpanned even as he strode quickly out of the room in search of his ringing phone. Moments later, he returned just having brought the device to his ear. "This is James Wilson."
" Hello Dr.Wilson… This uh. This is Dr. Cameron."
Obviously hearing only one half of the conversation, House shot his companion a questioning glance at the mild look of surprise that had appeared on Wilson's face. Who was calling? Clearly not Cuddy—the guy had a very specific Cuddy's-calling-face that was something akin to either 'Kill me now' if the topic was bitching about a certain diagnostician… or 'Hello Dr. Cuddy, my name is James Wilson, Sex God' for any other reason. He snickered to himself at the thought, before wondering again. It wasn't the wife either, because that expression was very clearly 'my marriage blows, but I'm not admitting it.' So… if it wasn't Cuddy or Mrs. Wilson III, then who was it..?
"Ah, what can I do for you, Dr. Cameron?" Wilson replied, and House snorted and glanced at the ceiling. Ohhh, what did the Care-bear M.D. want?
"I… Well, I apologize for disturbing you, but I was trying to reach House and—"
"And his phone is off. Yeah, has this annoying habit of never recharging the battery," the younger doctor interjected wryly. On the other end, Cameron laughed shortly.
"Hm, somehow that doesn't shock me."
"I should hope not—it's certainly not the least of the potential surprises you're in for in the next forty-eight hours or so."
The immunologist opened her mouth as if to chuckle again, but stopped short at the realization that he wasn't really kidding. Oh God… what had she unwittingly signed on for?!
"I um. Well. Right." She stumbled, and the kindly oncologist immediately took pity on her.
"Oh don't worry so much, Cameron. Just trust me when I tell you that you handle him better than most," he assured her, even while continuing to fold another shirt. "Besides—and he'll kill me later for telling—but he has a certain soft spot for you—"
"Wrong. I'm killing you NOW!" Even before Wilson had finished his sentence, House had levered himself to his feet and hop-skipped across the room with agility that defied the word 'crippled'. In another half-second he had belted the other man in the gut with his cane and snatched the cell-phone as his victim doubled over.
"OOF—!" Went Wilson, grabbing his now winded stomach.
"Turncoat!" the diagnostician retorted indignantly before drawing a breath and holding the phone to his ear. "Pay no attention to my unfortunate friend—he is mentally, and probably now physically, infirm," he announced in a somewhat strained voice. Why did Wilson always have to open his big mouth..?
Having heard the scuffle, Cameron didn't respond right away due to the fact that she had clamped a hand over her mouth in attempt to stifle confused laughter. Clearly Dr. Wilson had just been assaulted, but more interesting was what had been said before the beating and shouting… House… House had a soft spot for her..?
"Earth to Ally."
Wincing at the hated shortening of her first name, she quit wondering and noticed that she should probably take an active role in the phone conversation. Deep breath, Allison, you're dealing with House again. Clearing her throat to let him know that she was still on the line, the pretty, young doctor steeled her voice and her nerves. "What did you do to Wilson?"
House smirked, glanced over to where his friend was still all doubled up in the corner, and hopped back over to the bed to sit down. "What ever do you mean, Ally?"
"Ew, don't call me Ally. Unless you'd like to be called Greggie… Since we're going by first names, it's Allison, please."
Somewhat taken aback by her strong words, and even more by her even tone, the diagnostician blinked and thought of something blatantly unintelligent to say. "Oh. Right. Allison." Crap. There went all control over the exchange.
"Thanks, Greg."
"Don't mention it."
An awkward pause, and suddenly both parties were feeling like they had lost the upper-hand still so coveted in their interactions. Cameron was left worrying that he would change his mind about the whole thing and send her back to work, while House was pretty sure she was about to cancel on him. All in all, it was a rather tense moment of silence. Finally, and surprisingly, it was the immunologist who broke in.
"So are you ready to go yet, Super-stud?" she tried, knowing that the goofy name could either bring back some humor, or explode right in her face. Please just let him chuckle…
House let out an unwitting guffaw before he even realized doing so. Super-stud? Wow, it seemed like someone had grown a spine, and a sense of humor to boot! And just like that, the mood became mercifully lighter again. Smirking inanely as he clenched the phone with his shoulder, he rose once more and began a slightly ungainly trip over to the window. "Why? Are you waiting at my front-door with your suitcases, already?" It was sarcasm, of course, that turned to surprise as the sharp sounds of knuckles on wood reached his ears at that very moment. No way! She was… here?
...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...
Allison Cameron was wondering if she should bolt now, whilst still physically and emotionally intact. Standing in front of a green door labeled 221B, she contemplated the obvious plusses of making a break for the street—but before she could, the heavy portal swung inward to reveal a bemused House. They took a moment to size one another up. Oh boy.
"You um. You pack light, eh?" House asked at last, glancing to her sides and noticing the lack of luggage. It was all he could think of to say. "I mean, it's more than fine with me if you've decided to ditch pretense and go birthday suit for the ceremony, but didn't you at least bring a toothbrush and deodorant?"
"Pardon?" she queried, before following his gaze to the empty floor-space around her and realizing what he was referring to. "Oh. Oh no, my stuff is in the back of my car."
"You… weren't planning on bringing it with?"
"Of course I did, I just didn't see the point in dragging it out of the car, only to have to throw it back in again two minutes later."
The retorts were quick, and the diagnostician silently appreciated this new, bolder Allison. However, her latest response made him pause. "What do you mean, 'have to throw it back in again'..?"
Cameron shot him a funny look, taking a moment to sweep a few loose pieces of hair back from her face. "Well since we're taking my car—"
"Wait, what?! Your car? When did we decide that we were taking your silly, little, environmentally-friendly-soccer-mom-mobile?" House interrupted sharply, and was slightly put-off when she laughed in his face.
"Um, when you used Dr. Wilson's money to buy that orange crotch-rocket instead of a sensible car," the immunologist replied with something akin to a knowing smirk. "C'mon, Greg, you can't possibly have thought we were going to ride doubled up on a motorcycle all the way to Boston—you don't even have trunk-space!"
The gruff doctor in front of her opened his mouth immediately, as if to answer with some snappy remark, but closed it again after a few moments of looking like a fish out of water. No words were forthcoming, because Hell, she was right—it was just another of those things that he hadn't bothered to consider. Taking the bike to Massachusetts was obviously out of the question, but… Cameron's sedan?! He shifted unhappily at the very thought, and felt more than a bit stupid for not having taken transportation in stride.
"You… seriously thought we were going to take your bike?" Cameron asked again, a bit confused this time when he hadn't responded. Had he really?
"No. I just. I thought..." House stumbled, before letting out an aggravated breath between his teeth. Damnit… bumbling idiot again. "Never mind. Fine, we'll take your Malibu Barbie car, but I'm taking control of the stereo!" he announced rather petulantly, and to her credit, Cameron just shrugged and offered him a small smile.
"Okay, you listen to good music. By the way—I don't drive a Malibu Barbie car."
Right then Wilson made his entrance from the bedroom, and he smiled when he spotted Cameron in the doorway. "Hey, Cameron, glad you made it."
" Hello Dr. Wilson," she replied amicably, as he made his way over to the pair of them and plunked down the duffle bag and knapsack he had been lugging. In the other hand, he held a black garment bag, and this he draped over House's arm unceremoniously. The immunologist had to suppress a giggle at the sight—apparently Wilson played nanny to House even when they weren't at the hospital.
"So that's everything, right?" the younger man asked, planting his hands on his hips in a familiar fashion. House nodded, to which he received a skeptical stare. "Did you remember basic toiletries? How about your cell phone charger? Sneakers for walking around in? Extra Vico—"
"YES! I've got everything, for the love of God!" the diagnostician erupted, his ears reddening ever so slightly at the way Wilson was mother-henning over him in front of his… date. What was this, prom night?! Was the guy going to take pictures of them before they left?! "Leave off playing wife!"
Wilson stopped talking, but did nothing to wipe the smirk off of his features as he noticed his friend's slight embarrassment. "Okay then, just checking." He turned to Cameron with a secretive wink and a particularly maternal voice. "You know, he'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on—"
"We're going now!" House announced loudly, slinging both bags over his shoulder and grasping the tux in the other hand. Without further delay, he re-gripped his cane and pushed past Cameron to leave the apartment. Stupid Wilson…
After sharing an amused smile with a certain oncologist, Cameron turned to follow her limping travel companion. "Thanks for everything, Dr. Wilson, we'll see you on work on Monday!" she called back to the man in the doorway.
Wilson waved. "Good luck and try to have fun!" he replied, before shaking his head to himself and mumbling to nobody in particular: "And no, Cameron—thank you."
...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, what're you looking for?"
Cameron was sitting behind the wheel of her silver Maxima, staring over at her passenger with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. However, said passenger, who was currently staring intently at her radio, didn't answer. "House..?" She said again, still to no avail, and sighed. Why was he ignoring—oh. "Greg?" she tried, and this time he glanced over at her slyly.
"What's that, Allison?"
The young immunologist quirked the corner of her mouth in wry amusement at the fact that he was now refusing to answer to his surname. Good practice for the weekend indeed. "What exactly are you looking for?"
Now he was poking all sorts of buttons and knobs, and she could see a frown start to tug at his features. Uh oh, what could be wrong already? They hadn't even pulled out of the parking space yet! Finally, House let out an exasperated snort and turned his attention to her. "Well..?" She prompted curiously.
"You've got to be kidding me—you haven't got a cassette deck in this shiny heap of junk?!" he demanded, only to receive an incredulous glance as they idled away from the curb and out onto the road.
"Um, forgive me for my apparent ignorance and tell me why you would need something as close to obsolete as a tape player?"
"Because, Allison," the diagnostician explained patronizingly. "As maestro for this road-trip, I'm in need of a means to sync my iPod through your stereo—something I actually bothered to think about—" and he rummaged in his blue knapsack and proceeded to pull out a cassette adapter and wave it around in agitation. "—but I hadn't figured on the fact that you wouldn't have a tape deck in this new-fangled car!"
Cameron took in the scowl out of the corner of her eye as she navigated the still familiar streets, and shook her head. "And I hadn't figured on you whining like a two-year-old before we were out of sight of your townhouse, Greg," she retorted calmly before taking one hand off of the wheel to motion towards his bag. "I'm assuming you brought headphones—make use of them and save us both a headache."
House once again opened his mouth as if to reply, but once again found himself without a witty remark. It was getting alarming that she was gaining the ability to shut him up! He thought, but certainly wasn't about to let her know and gloat about it. With that resolution firmly in mind, the grumpy doctor began rummaging noisily through his backpack to locate a pair of suitable phones.
As he busied himself, Cameron couldn't help but sneak glances at him every few moments. She silently laughed at the way he carefully disentangled the ear buds from their snarl, inwardly smiled at the grouchy expression on his face as he inserted them, and then nearly winced as too-loud-music blasted straight down his ears.
House sat with his good leg bent at the knee and his Nike resting on the glove-compartment. The other leg was stretched out in front of him, and as he shifted a bit, she noticed that he had left a muddy sneaker-print on the otherwise immaculate dash. Even as she observed this whole scene with a warm feeling, Allison Cameron couldn't help but roll her eyes at herself and force-concentrate on the road. Oh God, who the Hell was she kidding—she still had it bad for Gregory House.
...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...
Only forty-five minutes into the five hour drive, and already Cameron was beginning to feel lonely, despite the fact that she was sitting mere feet away from her boss. The thing was that House had followed her advice about listening to his own music—advice she now regretted giving—which had been fine at first, but now left her feeling isolated from him. Shooting another furtive glance to her right, the pretty, young doctor secretly observed the man riding shot-gun.
As he had been for nearly the whole ride, House was staring moodily out the window at nothing with his music up way too loud. Even from where she sat, Cameron could clearly hear the words to "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones, and for a moment her maternal instinct kicked in. He's going to hurt his hearing permanently if he doesn't turn that down! she thought, and on a whim, reached over and brushed his shoulder.
House jumped at the unexpected contact as if she had electrocuted him, and whipped his head around in an alarmingly fast jerk. Staring into momentarily startled and unguarded blue eyes, Cameron had to consciously stifle a giggle as she motioned for him to pull the buds from his ears.
Without giving her the acknowledgement of actual speech, the caustic diagnostician merely sent her a look that very obviously said: whaaat..?!
"You should turn down the volume if you don't want to go completely deaf within the next two years," she told him, inwardly glad to have broken the silence between them at last. House, however, gazed at her incredulously without moving. Maybe he got enough mothering from Wilson
"You have got to be kidding me," he intoned slowly, after a moment's pause, but she was already reaching over and plucking the iPod from his grip and sliding her thumb around the wheel to bring the sound levels back to normal.
"You'll be able to hear Mick's wailing and Keith's riffing just fine like that," Cameron confirmed, patting his knee before returning both hands to the wheel and her eyes to the road.
House mumbled something unintelligible under his breath before turning his attention back to the headphones. She was already trying to play wife, he forced himself to think, while at the same time trying to repress the pleased wonderment at the fact that she seemed to be familiar with one of his favorite bands. He glanced over at her, taking in her petite form silhouetted against the sunshine pouring in the opposite window. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so bad… These thoughts were cut off as the air was rent with a shriek.
"EEK!" Cameron squeaked in alarm, for a chipmunk had decided to make a suicidal bid for the opposite side of the road. Predictably, the immunologist jammed the brakes and swerved to avoid hitting the small animal, pitching them both to the side within the vehicle. Oh my God! She thought, swinging the wheel again to right the car.
"CHRIST!" House yelped in response as he was jostled against the seat-belt that his paranoid companion had insisted her wear.
Moments later, the immediate danger was gone, they were back on course, and Allison Cameron let out a relieved breath. Ooh, that was close—she had almost hit the poor thing! Her mental relief was cut off by a loud, disbelieving snort coming from the man beside her. Frankly, she was almost afraid to look over at to receive the brutal accusations of 'mammal-loving,' but once again that soccer-mom kicked in.
"Are you okay..?" She asked a bit breathlessly, and upon getting no immediate response, glanced towards her passenger.
Gregory House was holding up his headphones and staring at them in something akin to horror—the jolting motion from the swerving car had caused him to tear the ear-piece clean off of the left earphone, and it was currently dangling there by a mangled wire. No more iPod for House.
"Uh-oh…" Cameron sighed softly, realizing exactly what 'no more iPod for House' meant. Not even an hour into the road-trip to a wedding, and she had managed to destroy the only thing keeping her volatile companion appeased. He had by now shifted his icy stare to her form, and frankly she could feel the frost. No more iPod for House and 'uh-oh' didn't even begin to describe it. NOW WHAT?!