The ghosts of Christmas crack 3c
Apologies for the tardiness in posting. I made sure this was worth the wait.
Peering in front of him, House found the backs of his remaining team members sitting around a coffee table. To be more precise, they—and around eight other hospital personnel—were leaning forward, shaking in silent laughter and looking on as a similarly amused woman with tinsel in her black hair and a piece of paper stuck on her forehead was staring at the crazy antics of a bespectacled resident.
"Uh—Janet Jackson?" the nurse asked. The resident shook his head, putting a hand on his forehead. A woman standing near him handed over a glass of ruby-colored liquid, which he accepted gratefully.
Gabe pressed a few buttons on the remote; the phantom sofa moved until they were facing the real life sofa and the couple playing charades. The resident then sat on the edge of the coffee table, made to open an invisible car door, and swung his right leg wide.
"Damn it, George! I don't know any sumo wrestlers!" the nurse complained.
"Time's up!" a plump nurse called out, holding a wristwatch in her hand.
George stood up in a huff. His partner removed the paper from her forehead.
"Britney Spears?!"
"Yes, Britney Spears," George said in frustration, square glasses askew on his thin face. "I don't know any of her dances, and all I can recall about her are those pictures from 'Inside Edition' where she wasn't wearing any underpants. I can't believe you don't even remember that, Carol."
"Well, she certainly didn't raise her leg up like a dog about to piss on the fire hydrant, that's for sure," Carol sniped back, crumpling up the paper and tossing it in George's direction.
"Alrighty then," said the nurse with the watch. "Next up are Doctors Foreman and Cameron!"
The doctors looked sheepishly at each other. Foreman raised a closed fist. "Rock, paper, scissors?"
"Sure," Cameron muttered, raising a closed fist. They shook their hands three times.
Foreman swore softly when he saw that his rock was defeated by Cameron's paper. "Still don't get why paper beats rock," he grumbled.
"Get used to it," Cameron and phantom-House said at the same time. Gabe looked between Cameron and House, a small smile lighting up his broad face.
"What?" House muttered. "She's predictable!"
"O-kay, Doc," Gabe said good-naturedly. Too good-naturedly.
The stopwatch nurse handed out a bowl filled with folded paper to Cameron. Cameron put her hand in it and swirled the pieces around three times before holding one up. The nurse took the paper, removed the plastic off the double-backed tape and placed it on Cameron's forehead.
Cameron raised a delicate auburn eyebrow at the nurse; the nurse was trying—and obviously failing—to keep a straight face.
"That bad, huh?" Cameron asked dryly.
"Oh yeah," the nurse said between her teeth. Over Cameron's shoulder, Foreman stared at the nurse with his own eyebrow raised.
"If he's not careful, that would become permanent," House said softly, accepting the large mug of cocoa Gabe handed to him. Looking down at the steaming mug of liquid, House asked, "Where'd you get this?"
"Starbucks," Gabe answered.
"Riiight," House muttered, blowing on the mug before sipping carefully. "Good stuff."
Cameron had taken the chair in front of Foreman by this time. Foreman stared at his co-worker's forehead, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop from their sockets. "You really know how to pick 'em Cameron," Foreman muttered.
"Damn!"
House turned to his seatmate. "You bribed me with chocolate and made me miss seeing Cameron's paper!"
"Shut up and enjoy the show, Doc," Gabe said, sipping his cocoa with his left hand and aiming the silver remote at House with the other hand. House glared at the thing before turning his gaze back at the game.
Foreman raised two hands. Cameron said, "Two words."
The neurologist nodded, then pointed at himself. "A person?"
Foreman nodded—then breathed in deeply.
The doctors and nurses had already seen what was written on Cameron's paper and were hiding their smirks behind their glasses of wine.
Foreman began to lean on his right and hobbled back and forth. He stopped for a while to open an imaginary bottle of pills and popped two into his mouth, thrusting up his chin and swallowing dramatically. Then he leaned on his imaginary cane, looked at Cameron, and dropped his jaw. He made it bob up and down; the overall effect making him look like he was partially stunned and partially gagging.
"Dr. House?" Cameron ventured sardonically. "Gregory House."
"Yes!" Foreman shouted. The audience on and around the sofa—and Gabe—began clapping and laughing.
"How the hell did she manage to guess with his crappy acting?!" House cried indignantly. "I don't walk like I've got a permanent wedgie in my boxers."
"Gotta give him credit for getting the rest of you right, though," Gabe said admiringly, wiping tears from his eyes. "Even the last bit."
"Well, I've never choked on my Vicodin pills, so I have no idea how they attributed that to me," House scoffed, finishing off his cocoa in one scalding gulp. Gabe turned to House and eyed him speculatively as he quipped, "But that's not what Foreman was acting out, wasn't it?"
House stared back at Gabe with a cold, neutral expression on his face. Gabe stared back, fingering the silver remote on his right hand in lazy circles.
"No," House said in a strained voice.
"I'd like some more details," Gabe said, leaning over the bag of popcorn. Steve poked his head out and looked at the confrontation between the men.
"I'm not sure I—"
His leg began to ache.
"—remember all that much from the Oncology Benefit."
"I'll get back to you on that; looks like the little lady is doing some damage control," Gabe said, nodding in the direction of the heckling medical staff. House followed the direction of his gaze, rubbing the ache returning gradually to his bad leg.
"What was the last one about, Dr. Foreman?" George the resident asked loudly. He had drunk too much red wine and his nose, cheeks, and forehead were now stained similarly to what he imbibed. "Did House choke on something, or was he watching some heavy porn?"
George's seatmates snorted into their wineglasses.
Foreman shrugged, still grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He plopped back down on the sofa next to Wendy the nurse, who placed her blond head on his shoulder. "He saw something that made him lose concentration for a while. We were all there."
He smiled; Cameron—still sitting on the chair—grinned like she found it just as funny and as painful.
Snuggling against George, Carol the nurse leaned over and tugged at Cameron's dark green sweater. "Didn't you go out on a date with Dr. House, Dr. Cameron? Did you guys get to do it?"
The entire room became silent. On the other side of the room, House was holding on the cushions of the sofa in a powerful, vise-like grip. Gabe leaned forward, staring at the action in front of him. Steve left the safety of the popcorn bag and scurried to the top of Gabe's head, holding on the whitened head for dear life.
But, Cameron rolled her eyes and said lightly, "We did, but nothing happened." She nodded towards Foreman and continued, "We did talk about work and the rest of the team—man, did we make fools out of ourselves in that restaurant! I'm not sure we—he'll be returning there after the racket we made."
The audience began to chuckle, looking slyly at Foreman. Wendy was giggling like crazy into his shoulder. Foreman glared at Cameron as she nonchalantly stood up and headed for the refreshments table.
House released the breath he'd been holding since Carol asked that incredibly nosy question. He noticed that Foreman had disentangled himself from his hysterical girlfriend to follow Cameron to the refreshments table.
"What are you, comatose?" House hissed at Gabe. "Follow them!—Ouch!"
Gabe swatted House with a leather-bound throw pillow before maneuvering the sofa to the refreshments table just as George was restraining Carol to the sofa, who nasally whined, "But I want to ask her if House also nailed his ex!"
Foreman followed Cameron from the refreshments table—she grabbed a bottle of beer from the table—to the 50's style jukebox on the other side of the room, far away from the charades area. Behind Foreman was the phantom sofa with its phantom occupants and a phantom bag of popcorn.
Cameron stood in front of the jukebox and bent her head down over the selection. Her pose didn't fool Foreman in the slightest when he stood next to her.
"Ignorance really is bliss," Cameron said stuffily. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a hanky to wipe her nose with. Turning to face Foreman, she continued in a low tone, "What a year, huh?
"What a year," Foreman parroted softly. He stood next to Cameron, also pretending to look at the selection of oldies. He placed a hesitant hand over her shoulder.
"Do you still have—you know—feelings for him?" Foreman whispered.
"Let me check—hmm—no," came the flat reply.
Behind them, Gabe went "Oooh" and House snorted.
Foreman seemed to be attuned to House's disbelief. "Uh—weren't you the one who invited House to this thing?"
"Moment of insanity," Cameron muttered. "I was pulling an overtime shift and didn't get my standard shot of caffeine." She bent over the jukebox until her smooth forehead touched the glass. "I was at my lowest then. You've got your ammo for future put-downs, happy now?"
Foreman shook his head. "No."
Cameron raised her head up from the jukebox to sip some of her beer before putting her forehead back on the glass partition. Foreman just looked in front of him.
"Some days, I wonder why I made myself return to work for House," Cameron mused against the glass, her beer-infused breath fogging it a bit. "You remember, after Vogler left with his cold hard cash?"
Foreman nodded. "You'd have been spared from getting lethal doses of his witty personality and his charming ways. Now look what happened: thanks to that thing with Tritter, he hasn't spoken to Wilson, Chase has been doing everything to get reassigned in the hospital, I'm the butt of most of his jokes because I'm dating a white woman, and you've gone from sweet and caring to sour and pickled."
"I'm not pickled," Cameron said thickly, raising herself up again to take another swig of beer. "I'm—I'm—not sober."
She looked up at Foreman and they both laughed.
"Its House's fault," Foreman said, placing a quarter into the jukebox and selecting a Ray Charles song.
"Well, he does some good—even with that attitude," Cameron mused, turning to flatten her left cheek on the jukebox and look up at the man beside her. "He turned into a royal asshole when the ketamine thing wore off and he went back to using his cane and popping his Vicodin."
"So, what was he before?" Foreman asked. "Just your regular, run-of-the-mill asshole? Listen, one of the attending in that Hartman case overheard House and Cuddy arguing in the shower room. What he said—I'm surprised Cuddy hadn't fired him then."
Cameron stood up at attention. "What did he say to Cuddy?"
Foreman shrugged. "Nurse didn't get all of it—something about it being a good thing Cuddy didn't become a mom, because she sucks at it."
"'Didn't become a mom'? What a sec—that crack about Tritter being one of Cuddy's sperm donors…"
Cameron and Foreman looked at each other, seeing the other's shock mirrored perfectly. House slapped a palm against his forehead.
"You are in so much trouble!" Gabe hissed in glee. He grabbed the leather-covered pillow and leaned as far away from House as possible.
"Do dead men feel pain if they get kicked in the nads? I wonder…" House snarled.
"Wow," Foreman said, rubbing his forehead with his hand. "That was low."
"Yeah," Cameron said, using her hanky to wipe off the fug from the jukebox. "He was detoxing then, right? We were all afraid to write him a scrip for his pain medication because of Tritter."
"I can't believe you."
"What? I only said…"
"After everything that happened, you still defend his ass! You still love him!"
"See this bottle? I can give you a concussion with this," Cameron said frostily. Foreman backed away, holding up his hands and fighting not to laugh.
"Go Cameron!" House called out. "Fight for my honor!"
Gabe and Steve McQueen snorted beside him.
"Okay—peace! It's Christmas time—peace on earth and all the love," Foreman chided her. "I'm going to collect Wendy and leave—need a lift home?"
"Nope," Cameron replied, peering back down into the jukebox. "I'll call a cab; I'm good."
"Merry Christmas, Cam," Foreman said, patting her on the shoulder.
"You too, Foreman."
When Foreman left, Cameron reached into her pocket for a quarter. After slipping the coin in the slot, the pretty brunette made her selection. She stepped back from the jukebox as the chords of Dean Martin's rendition of "Baby Its Cold Outside" replaced Ray Charles' music. A couple of catcalls resounded from the other side of the room.
"Merry Christmas," Cameron whispered before she finished off the rest of her beer.
Before House could stop himself, he found himself answering back: "You too, Cameron."
"Sweet," Gabe said mockingly. "Time to move on our merry way, Doc."
It took House an inkling to realize that something was off. For one thing, the sofa moved past the door of the bar and moved fast in the direction of PPTH.
"What happened to the flashy lights, Gabe?" he asked. "Special effects problems?"
"No," Gabe muttered. Turning to Gabe, House saw that the other man's hair was now completely white.
"Change of plans, Dr. House," Gabe said, almost apologetically, as the sofa approached the covered parking lot of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. "It's almost 1:00 AM—the other guy's waiting for you here."
"Other guy?"
The sofa parked itself near a pillar. Gabe pressed something on the remote that sent House jumping out of his seat. Gabe plucked Steve out of his hair and handed the rat over to a mystified House.
"The third visitor is going to meet you here. Hope you've digested your food well."
With that, Gabe and the sofa began to fly up, up, and away, fading from House's sight.
Comments are much appreciated. Care to guess who's the third visitor?