Thank you for all the great responses! After this chapter, the rating goes to M. Also, heads up, this is my own version of season four, since Cameron and Chase are very obviously not dating (for good reason!!)
Drowning in Blue - Chapter Three
"Stupid!" The china plates clank loudly as they are thrown into the sink.
"Stupid!" The silverware follows the same path the china took.
"Stupid!" The wineglass lingers between her fingers, the last drops sliding towards the rim, where both their lips had touched.
The imprint crumbled as the wineglass slips from her grasp and spreads across the floor.
She winces as a shard manages to nick her ankle. Cursing all the way to the medicine cabinet, she balances on one foot and reaches up into it, pulling out antiseptic and a band-aid. Leaning against her counter, she cleans and covers the cut before sweeping up the glass and throwing it away.
She pauses now, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself.
"This is stupid, Allison. You don't care about him. Let it go," she says to herself.
She hangs her head, watching as blonde locks slip past her shoulder and swing before her eyes.
"I really do like your hair," he had said. She closes her eyes and picks up her cell phone from the living room table.
The next afternoon, she is sitting in a plush chair, watching her hairdresser move behind her. She is skeptical. "Hon, you're sure you want to do this? It's such lovely, long hair."
She nods firmly. "Do it." She is sick of having Chase's dishwater blonde locks, sick of dressing herself up in the hopes of catching House's attention.
When she leaves an hour and a half later, she is not immune to the stares she is getting from men. They rush to her head, giving her a euphoric high. If only he could see her now...
She can tell Matthew doesn't like it, though. In his mind, all women should have long blonde hair. This new look of hers, a medium layered cut of dark auburn doesn't match his ideals at all.
It's one of many things that leads to their breakup. That and the fact that Cameron's attitude has started a complete 180 regarding Greg House.
Two weeks later, she laughs as she sprawls on her couch, sipping a hearty glass of cool red wine. She imagines that it stains her lips, making them fuller and darker, the very promise of a kiss. It is late, almost midnight, when she sets the glass down, finds the keys to her car and drives.
It isn't long before she pulls in front of House's house. She giggles. House's house. Enough alcohol and even that's funny.
But she doesn't lie to herself. She knows how much wine she can stomach and she isn't drunk, not even close.
Instead, she studies his house. The lights are off and for a brief moment, she hesitates. She'd look a bit foolish if she had come all this way and he wasn't home.
She steps out of her car and notices that it smells like rain.
As she pauses in front of the door, she can hear the faintest strains of a piano being played. The tune is low, almost muted behind the thick door. She knocks twice and waits.
The tune stops abruptly and she hears him move, follows the thump of the cane to the door.
He opens it and cannot speak.
She pushes past him and enters his sanctuary. A glass of scotch rests on top of the piano. She picks it up and takes a sip for dramatic effect.
Slowly, he closes his door, dark eyes starting at her face and slowly working their way down her body.
Her hair is dark auburn and frames her face in loose, full curls. Her makeup is dark, not overly so, but it makes her eyes almost as blue as his. She is wearing a dark charcoal top that dips sharply into her cleavage. She thanks God for push up bras. So does he.
A tight black leather miniskirt emphasizes shapely legs and the entire outfit is topped off with a pair of four inch "fuck me" heels.
He meets her gaze and is unnerved by her blazing eyes and slight smirk.
Slowly, she stalks over to him, hair brushing her back as she moves.
The ice in the scotch clinks softly. She doesn't stop until she is barely an inch away from him.
"House," she breathes.
"Cameron," he says back, his voice a low growl.
"Why did you leave, House?"
He watches her as she takes another sip, drawing an ice cube into her mouth. It rests briefly on her lips before disappearing into her warm mouth. He watches an arrant drop of scotch waver on her lips before being herded into her mouth by her tongue.
He swallows.
"You haven't answered my question," she says, her voice low and sultry.
"And you're dressed like a hooker. What do you really want?" He says, his gaze not moving from hers.
"What do I want..." She puts one elegant finger against her mouth in mock thought.
"I want..." She moves the finger to his right thigh, slowly grazing the denim-covered scar with her fingernail.
"I want you to understand what you're toying with," she purrs.
The fingernail moves up to caress his hipbone. He shivers at the contact.
"I want you to stop pretending this doesn't mean anything to you," she says.
The nail digs into his side briefly before running up his shirt. He can feel the trail of fire she is creating move up his body, following her finger.
"I want you...to finish what you started," she whispers, moving close enough that he can feel her breath on his lips.
He dips his head to hers, eager to kiss her, eager to push past the flirting, the blazing glances and the slippery moments in a hot shower.
"But not tonight," she says, pulling back and turning, leaving his house.
He stands very still and notices two things.
It has begun to rain.
She had taken his scotch.
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