A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing and sticking with the story. I appreciate your interest.
Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore and Fox.
Thanks, as always, to NaiveEve, who continues to lend a hand even though she is so busy. Thanks for the beta!
-6-
Cameron will pay you a visit. She'll be oh, so nice, shoveling that best girlfriend crap on you. But beware-that's all it will be... crap. What she'll really want is to figure out...'why you, Myrna, why you?'.
The elevator doors slid open, causing Myrna to reluctantly look up from her work and peer down the corridor toward the sound. Her mouth fell open, the pen dropping from her fingers as the woman from the elevator drew near. Her heels clicked merrily against the linoleum. She was beautiful, dressed in simple black dress pants, scoop neck pink blouse and a blue and white blazer. Blessed with a killer smile and perfect hair, she might have just stepped off the plane from Tinseltown. A chill ran across Myrna's shoulders and down her spine, and suddenly she was not so sure if Greg was kidding when he said he could see the future.
"Hi, Dr. Cameron," Myrna said in soft surprise. She retrieved her pen, hurriedly making one last notation on the file before returning it to its folder.
"Myrna, hi." Cameron was as breathless as if she had just raced up three flights of stairs. She smoothed one hand through her hair. Shifting from one foot to the other, she seemed restless, wired. She perused the empty hallway, then gazed at Nurse Ellie and Dr. Beatty, who were seated to Myrna's right. They were murmuring to one another, jotting notes on files that were spread before them like war strategy maps.
"Is...there something I can help you with, Doctor?"
"Ah." Cameron drummed her fingers against Myrna's desk. "Well, I thought we might have a little chat."
"Is something wrong?" Myrna asked. "Have I done something...?"
"Oh, no," Cameron's chortle was a bit too loud, too bright. "Of course not. I just thought since you're getting married...we might have...a little chat."
"About what?"
"About you...getting married to Dr. House."
Cameron's voice quavered slightly; Beneath her eyes were smudges of shadow. Two carelessly applied smears of foundation makeup did nothing to hide them. There were cracks in the seams...
"Ah, I see." Myrna nodded, folding her arms.
"Yes." Cameron stopped her drumming, tensed her fingers into fists and dropped them to her sides. "If it isn't too presumptuous, I thought maybe you could use a little advice."
"Well, " Myrna pressed a finger to her chin and looked at the ceiling. "I already know about the birds and the bees."
"Oh...no." Cameron's voice was too loud in the quiet corridor. "That's not what I meant."
"I know," Myrna assured her with a smile. "I expect to say our vows, scarf down some wedding cake, head off to Canada for our honeymoon-"
"Canada?"
Myrna laughed. "Greg's never been there and I was in Toronto once for a friend's wedding. It was lovely, but since we wanted to go somewhere we had both never been, we decided on Montreal. Not your typical honeymoon hotspot, I know."
"No. It'll probably be lots of...fun." Cameron shook her head. "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come." She looked haggard and confused.
It was Myrna's turn to drum her fingers. Her eyes narrowed with concern. "Have you gotten any sleep, Doctor?"
"Well, a little," she shrugged. "Why?"
"It's just that it's 3 A.M."
Cameron made a show of checking her watch. "Is this a bad time for me to be here, talking with you?"
"No, I'm used to being up and about at...3 A.M." One side of her mouth lifted as she waggled a finger at Cameron. "You're not."
Myrna followed Cameron's gaze as it traveled to Nurse Ellie and Doc Beatty. They'd put their work on hold, and now seemed much more interested in the Cam and Myrna Show.
"Do you have a break?" Cameron asked, lowering her tone as she met Myrna's eyes.
"In a few minutes."
"Mind if I join you?"
Why you, Myrna...? Greg's question overrode all the other little musings in Myrna's head.
"No," she said. "Not at all."
"Great." Cameron hitched her thumb toward the nurses lounge. "I'll get us some coffee, meet you there."
"I...uh, don't drink coffee."
Cameron's brows knit as though she had just been presented an earth shattering dilemma. "Tea, then?"
"Orange juice, if you don't mind."
"Ah, orange juice it is." Cameron flashed that assured, sparkling grin again, turned on her heel and headed toward the vending machines.
Closing her eyes, Myrna rested one elbow on her desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could almost feel Greg hovering over her, lips quirking up in that smug, satisfied smirk, knowing he was right again.
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Myrna was like a whiteboard. Plain, unfettered, crying out for some color, some creative noodling to remedy all that blandness.
Why...you, Myrna?
The steam from her coffee tickled her nostrils, the warmth and comforting aroma worked their magic to soothe her. She took a sip, savoring the bitter taste as she observed Myrna from just beyond the door.
I can see her, she can't see me. Nyah, nyah, nyah.
Cameron almost lost it then. She half sputtered and turned away, wandering down the hallway until she regained her composure. "Maybe," she thought, padding back to the doorway, "maybe I should have called Chase instead."
But she was here and on a mission. She reminded herself of her restless half sleep, the slideshow that refused to quit. It was his fault she was here. And whatever came of this encounter would be his fault as well.
She took another sip of coffee, continuing her surveillance. Myrna was seated at the long table in the center of the room. She was reading a magazine as she devoured forkfuls of fried rice from a Tupperware bowl,
(ravenous little wench)
seemingly oblivious of the problematic life waiting for her at the other end of the rainbow. The woman was white bread, mayonnaise, fuzzy slippers and Ovaltine. Certainly no match for the brazen, caustic House. He might be wonderful to her now, treating her with the skewed Housian version of respect. Well, sure, she was the first steady bed partner he'd had since...Stacy. Of course it wouldn't last. In time he would devour her spirit and leave nothing but a shell of the person she had been. Cameron sighed, feeling that familiar heaviness in her chest.
Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. The voice of Uncle Joe, her father's brother, the man with the sensible, no nonsense advice, sounded in her head. Play this cool and you might just get the upper hand, little lady.
Cameron detested Uncle Joe. He treated all women like simpletons. But somehow he gave the best advice of anyone she had ever known. She would always follow it but wouldn't dare give him satisfaction by telling him so.
No worries, she promised herself, stepping into the lounge. She plastered her perfect smile across her porcelain doll face and set the container of orange juice on the table. "How's the rice?"
"Mmm," Myrna said, holding up a finger as she swallowed a mouthful. "So good. Greg knows the best place for take out." She closed the magazine. "Thanks for the juice."
"No problem." Cameron took another sip of coffee as she seated herself across from Myrna.
"How are you going to manage to put in a day's work after this?" Myrna shook her head, reaching for the juice. She opened it, took a sip. "You'll be exhausted."
"Oh, don't worry about me," Cameron sang. "I can crash for a couple of hours after our talk and I'll be fine."
They stared at each other. The radio in the corner had its volume turned low. The song playing was all jangly acoustic guitars fronted by an earnest folky tenor. "Sunshine" by Jonathan Edwards. Cam silently congratulated herself for remembering the tune. It had been a long time since she'd heard it. She rubbed her brow, huffed a small laugh.
"What did you want to talk to me about, Doctor?"
She sniffed and raised her head, the heaviness in her chest rising to her throat. "I've known Greg House for three years, Myrna."
"I know."
"He is the most difficult, arrogant, self absorbed person I have ever met."
The corners of Myrna's lips curled up slowly. "I know."
"And you're marrying him."
"Yes." Myrna cocked her head and responded softly, "And you must understand the attraction, Dr. Cameron. You dated him."
Cameron's mouth moved but her words stuck fast against the back of her throat. She glanced inside her coffee cup, at the stained brown bottom, the dregs. "Twice. Yes," she said, finding her voice, which was disappointingly small and hoarse.
"But you couldn't take his honesty. He's brutal." Myrna set her fork in the empty bowl and snapped on the lid. "Me? I can take it. I don't care."
"How could you not care?"
"I don't know." She raised her eyes to the ceiling, then back to Cameron. "In some respects, I've been on my own almost my whole life. I learned to exist without being emotionally dependent on anyone-a parent, friend, lover, whoever." She leaned forward, her smile never wavering. "See, I love him. I love being around him. But I don't need him to complete me." She shrugged. "Does that make any sense?"
It made a lot of sense. Need was the reason Stacy left him. If she hadn't been so emotionally reliant on House she might have still been with him. That ten ton weight in Cam's throat plunged to her stomach. She felt sick because she knew. This one had potential. This one could last.
"You okay, Doctor?"
Cameron cleared her throat. "I'll be fine."
After tucking the Tupperware into a plastic bag, Myrna wiped her hands on a paper towel. "Is that all you wanted to talk about, Doctor?"
"No." Cameron forced herself to brighten, to wrench the grin back up from the depths. "I'd...like to give you a wedding present."
"Nooo." Myrna waved her hands. "That's not necessary. Just come to the wedding. That'll be-"
"Please. This is from me to you."
"Doctor-"
"Call me Allison."
"Allison." Myrna stretched the name as if testing out each syllable. "We hardly know one another. If you have a gift it should be for Greg or...for both us."
"No." Cameron yawned and rubbed her eyes before continuing. "Oh, excuse me. No. This is specifically from me to you."
Myrna gazed at the ceiling again, as if something of great interest lingered there. "You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"
That heaviness in Cameron's gut dissipated slightly as she folded her hands before her. "You're getting married. You need to look your best."
Myrna lowered her gaze to meet Cameron's and shrugged. "I do what I can with what I've got."
"That's not good enough."
Frowning, Myrna brushed her fingers down her cheek. Her irises darkened to a muddy green and something else in them changed. A dot of uncertainty supplanted itself there, like a miniscule malignancy. With the proper care it could grow into a full blown tumor. Cam's knees trembled with excitement. She had definitely struck a nerve.
You got her now. Just play it cool, little lady...
The heaviness in Cameron's entrails disappeared, replaced by a lightness, a giddiness. She wished she could free the triumphant little whoop that was stirring restlessly inside her like a racehorse at the gate.
"What do you mean?" Worry had joined uncertainty to swim in the troubled green waters of Lake Myrna.
"Look," Cameron leaned forward, gifting her with a conspiratorial smile, "You don't have to be plain and washed out on your wedding day. Let me help you look beautiful."
Myrna touched her hair, let her fingers drift down her cheek again as her gaze traveled off to some distant place. "He doesn't have a problem with how I look."
"I'm going to be blunt here." Cameron took a deep breath, her fingers flexing against her thighs. "Because you need to hear this."
"O...kay."
"Obviously he likes your body, likes the sex, he's found some affinity with you, " she tapped her temple, "up here." But sooner or later, he'll want more. If you don't pretty yourself up, he's going to grow bored with you. Very quickly."
Myrna's look became steely, her tone defensive. "Somehow...I don't think so."
Cameron donned her best tolerant smirk. "I've seen how he looks at young, beautiful women who pass him in the clinic, on the grounds. He's got a definite eye for them. You're going to have competition, whether you like it or not."
Myrna's jaw clenched. She brushed an errant grain of rice off the table. "I don't see-"
"Some women find married men so much more desirable-"
"What are you proposing?" Myrna fixed her with glare. "Allison."
Her adrenaline was flowing now, heart pounding, pounding with joy.. She gave a little bounce on her seat. "Let me help you start this off right."
"And how-?"
"A makeover, the works. Hair, manicure, pedicure, skin treatment. I'll take you to my stylist Roberto at Sanson's. It's down in Soho in Manhattan."
"I...don't have time for this...Allison."
"Sure you do, Myrna. You have to make the time." She pressed her hands against the table and threw Myrna a conspiratorial wink. "Friday after I get off of work, we'll go, make a night of it. Then you can stay over my place-"
"Hold on."
"Myrna..." Cameron raised her brows. "You weren't planning on sleeping with him the night before the wedding, were you?" She clicked her tongue and wagged a finger. "That's bad luck."
"I don't believe in bad luck."
The quaver in Myrna's voice brought a happy little flutter to Cam's gut. This was so great.
"If you stay over, I'll be able to do your makeup Saturday morning. Then you'll be all set." Cameron flattened her palms together as if preparing to pray. "It will be beautiful, trust me. And House will be so surprised." She adored the unsure, almost fearful expression on Myrna's face. If the woman dissolved into tears, if one salty drip flowed down her cheek, it would have made Cameron's entire week. But...no. Myrna just bit her lower lip, seeming to stifle whatever emotion was pushing at her.
"Okay." Myrna lowered her eyes and studied her fingernails. "It sounds reasonable and you're more than generous."
"Of course." Cameron reached over and grasped one of Myrna's hands. "But don't tell him what we're up to."
"He'll know something's going on if I'm not home."
Cameron pondered this for a moment, her gaze never leaving Myrna's. "Just tell him what I said about bad luck." She scrunched her nose and patted Myrna's hand. "I'm sure he'll understand."
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He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the rise and fall of her shoulders, how her lips parted slightly with each breath. A soft sigh escaped her and she snuggled deeper into the comforter.
It had been an interesting day. The anticipation of partying was always good for putting people in a decent mood. And it wasn't difficult to see that Foreman and Chase were planning something devious for the evening. Was Wilson a co-conspirator? If he was, he gave no sign. House could tell by the looks Foreman and Chase gave each other that something was up: barely concealed smirks, a quick quirk of a brow, a double thumbs up when they thought he wasn't looking. They were like teenagers armed with a whoopie cushion and a joy buzzer, waiting to strike.
House could hardly wait. He could take whatever they had to dish out. But Myrna, on the other hand...
In a few hours she would be in the hands of Cameron and Cuddy. And Cameron seemed unusually chipper today, almost giddy, laughing at his jokes, throwing him odd little knowing glances. The arrogance and defensiveness of yesterday seemed to have been junked with the morning trash.
He didn't trust her.
"Hey." House drew the comforter off Myrna's shoulder and placed his hand against her warm skin.
"Mmmm." She turned over on her back, eyes still closed. "Hi."
"Aren't your pals coming to steal you away soon?"
"Mmm, soon." One hand materialized from beneath the comforter to pat the area next to her. "Lay down with me."
That familiar anticipatory warmth washed over him. It would be easy to peel the comforter back and savor the swell of her breasts beneath her skinny t-shirt. Already her scent was...everywhere, sweat and musk overriding the usual light floral scent. Very female, very good. It meant she had yet to shower, a fact which made his nether region ache deliciously. He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "If we start doing what we do we're going to lose track of time."
"Good."
He leaned over, kissed her lightly on the mouth.
They stared at each other. She whispered finally, "Cameron believes in bad luck."
Eyes narrowed, he searched for a hint of levity in her eyes, but was surprised to find none. "What does that mean?"
"She says it would be bad luck for us to sleep together Friday, before the wedding."
He scoffed. "And you believed her?"
She shrugged, her cheeks taking on a pinkish flush.
"Cameron's an expert button pusher, plus she's bitter." He paused and leaned closer, his eyes boring into hers. "You're crying."
She sniffed and rubbed a corner of the comforter against her cheek. "Yeah."
Lifting her chin between two fingers, he grumbled, "You let her upset you."
"She's beautiful." Myrna rubbed one eye with a fist, reminding House of a sleepy five year old. "She wanted to take me for a makeover, said you'd get tired of me...if I didn't...beautify myself."
He was intolerant of dramatic displays of self pity. Tears, whining, sentiments of regret all made him want to hurl. For the most part they were fake, a potent way of releasing tension while attempting to garner some nauseating sympathy and a hug.
None of that crap in your world. Isn't that right, old man?
But Myrna wasn't faking. She was not one to bellow complaints about life's unfairness. Even the mention of Frannie couldn't bring her to muster a harsh word. But Cameron. Cameron ruined her day.
"You can't let her get to you. I gave her a hard time on Monday. She's just trying to get back at me, but it's not going to work." He leaned his cane against the nightstand, kicked off his sneakers and eased himself next to her.
"No?"
"No." Turning on his side, he tugged the comforter down to her waist then ran one hand up her shirt. With his thumb he formed intricate, delicate patterns against her nipple.
"Why?" Her eyelids fluttered shut. She threw her head back and mewed soft sounds of pleasure.
"Because I wouldn't like a lot of makeup on you."
"Nnnnnnnnnnnuh?
"No." His other hand joined its partner in its slow tour of her breasts. "It's expensive and would get all over my shirt when we slow danced."
"We...don't...slow...dance." She squeezed his scrotum gently through his jeans.
"Ohhhh. Yeah, well," His voice was gruff and low. "who knows what the future might bring?"