Chapter Three: Rumor Mill
Author's Notes: A big thank you to everybody that reviewed! I've got another chapter, and I hope you like it. : )
Disclaimer: Same one still applies. No infringement intended.
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Wilson couldn't believe it. House; with a strangely peaceful, almost anticipatory expression on his face, limped from the direction of the clinic. Surely he had just spent the morning napping and playing video games, flying comfortably under the guise of seeing patients.
"Did you just come from the clinic?" Wilson had to ask, catching up to House at the elevator, "Are you smiling?"
"Jimmy, wow, didn't recognize you without your new master," House stabbed the elevator up button with the rubber jacketed end of his cane, "Is that a new collar?"
"I know," Wilson sighed, expecting the sarcastic jabs, "I know I've been spending most of my time with Amber. I've been neglecting you. I don't know how you've survived."
"Ha," the elevator doors swished open and both men entered the car, "Your abandonment has allowed me to pursue other relationships, new horizons."
"Really?" turning to face the door and dunking his hands into his pockets, Wilson asked, "Tell me, you spent last night at home, alone, drinking and watching cartoons didn't you?"
"Nope," House smirked, "I'll have you know you're not my only friend."
"Imaginary ones don't count," Wilson cracked, glancing over at House in time to catch the diagnostician's feigned insulted look, "Wait, I suppose there's Carl, from bookkeeping."
"Kevin."
"His name's still Carl."
"Not his club name," House protested, "But it's a secret club, so I can't tell you. You're not a member."
"I'll try to contain my heartbreak," Wilson shook his head, "You wanna hang out tonight? Get some take-out and mock television idiocy?"
"El Capitan's letting you out past when the street lights come on?" House marveled mockingly, "Amazing."
Wilson rolled his eyes, as was his signature, "Y'know, you wouldn't be so jealous if you had a girlfriend of your own."
"Yeah, sure," House covered the wheels revolving in his head with a joke, "And maybe it'll start raining puppies, and we'll cure patients with hearts and flowers. I'll find love, and all will be right with the world."
"There's a thought," the oncologist muttered with a diverted snort as the elevator dinged they'd arrived at the correct floor.
"Y'know, you could lend me your girlfriend," House posed sounding completely serious as he switched his cane from one hand to the other as he prepared to exit the elevator car, "Kind of like a test drive."
Wilson glossed over that, "Maybe it's time you dated. How long has it been? Eons?"
"They flock to me," House threw over his shoulder as he limped from the car, turning towards the direction of their offices as Wilson fell into step beside him, "I'm a wounded soul. Draws 'em in like flies to poop."
"That's a disgusting image," following after his limping friend, Wilson pondered aloud, "Your last actual date was more than three years ago; when you were trying to bamboozle Cameron into coming back," furrowing his brow, Wilson began coming to conclusions, "What happened on that date anyway? Neither one of you would really talk about it afterward, but it didn't seem to have gone well."
"You want to carry out a post mortem on an evening out three years ago?" House stopped at his office door, "Don't you have better things to do? Like bowing to your girlfriend's will; or earning your hallowed title as patron saint of bald cancer stricken children?"
House pushed the glass door to his office open, but Wilson's voice stopped his half-way through,
"It's been four years House. Either shit or get off the pot."
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"Hello Doctor Cameron."
Cameron turned around in her ER to find Amber standing by the desk counter that was tucked into one corner.
"Hello Doctor Volakis," finishing scribbling the notes she was making on a chart, she glanced to the visitor and then back, "What can I do for you?"
Not bothering to pretend she was there for a social call, Amber jumped into the meat-and-potatoes of her visit, "You've probably already heard about James and me."
"Probably," Cameron agreed, "And I'm not trying to be selfish here, but what does that have to do with me?"
"James has been friends with House for a long time," Amber began, and Cameron finished,
"And you're looking for insider tips on dealing with the beast."
"Basically," the woman who'd been nicknamed Cutthroat-Bitch nodded deftly, "Any suggestions?"
"Why ask me?" Cameron hooked the chart onto the end of the bed and crossed to the counter, pausing mid-stride to give a passing intern instructions on a newly admitted patient.
"You know House, you've worked with him for years," Amber paused, throwing out the next classification purely to satisfy her curiosity and to garner a reaction from the other blonde, "Dated him."
Cameron sighed, her attention now on the pile of charts under the counter. There was hours of work right there, "I don't see how I can help you," she'd heard the poke at the nature of her relationship with House, and frankly, she was too tired of dealing with people pushing their noses in where they didn't belong to bother rising to the occasion and pointing it out.
"You must have something," Amber pushed, as was her way, "When he's poked a sharp stick in just about every crevice he can reach, and when you think someone couldn't hit any lower," she trailed off, more because Cameron had picked up her train of thought than because she'd run out of words,
"House gets a shovel," Cameron finished for her, sighing again and bending down to inspect the box of haphazardly piled charts under the counter. Kneeling there on the cold, linoleum floor, her head and shoulders completely disappeared from sight as she reached under the counter, she advised, "Don't let him see how much he's pissing you off. Play his game if you have to. He'll be thrown off balance a time or two before he catches on, but it's fun while it lasts," finally backing out and looking up, the head ER resident shrugged, "Eventually Wilson's gonna have to be the one telling House to eat it, not you."
Amber agreed, grinning, "Still, it pays to be prepared," she reached out to offer the other woman a hand up, and Cameron accepted warily. Back on her feet, the two exchanged knowing smiles.
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"So, Wilson thinks I should get a girlfriend," House announced that evening, clapping a beer down onto the table for her and one for himself before swinging himself around to sit beside her. He'd shocked her, when he'd arrived in the ER late in the afternoon and extended an invite to get a drink. She had thought that getting a drink would have meant meeting him a bar somewhere off the beaten path, but he surprised her again with a mumbled seven-thirty, my place.
"Does he?" Cameron marveled, trying to twist the top from her beer. Succeeding, she then fisted her palm against the sting as the metal scrapped a line in her pale skin, "And what, pray tell, prompted this new and exciting idea?"
Taking a hearty swig, House swallowed, then replied, "Ol'Jimmy thinks I'm jealous of all the time he's been spending with Cutthroat Bitch," putting his bottle back onto the coffee table, he reached over and uncurled her fisted hand. She watched, startled, as he brushed his thumb lightly over her palm until the red line marking her skin between her thumb and forefinger dissipated, "He seemed to dislike my test-drive idea though."
She didn't want to know; really she didn't. Instead, she was focused on the size difference between her hand and his; as they still lay twined together on his thigh. Covering her shock and awe of the unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome gesture, she took a long pull from her own beer. Swallowing her mouthful, she then informed him, "Speaking of Amber, she dropped by to see me today."
"Did she?" he asked, mimicking her earlier response, "What'd she want?"
"Yeap," she wiped a bit of foam from her upper lip with her tongue, distracting him from listening to what she was saying, "She seems to think that I've got the inside track on you."
"Does she?" he mentally shook himself, focusing on her words and not the pink tip of her tongue and the other uses he could think of for it, "What'd you tell her?"
"That one abysmal date three years ago doesn't equal an inside anything," she took another swig of her beer before continuing, not missing the flicker on his face when she mentioned their only official date from a few years back, "I had no idea what she thought I could do."
"Huh," was all he said, leaning back into the couch cushions, suddenly seeming introspective. Their fingers continued to mingle, but they both had fallen silent; leaving each with their thoughts; until Cameron, growing uneasy in the quiet; leaned back, lightly poked him in the ribs, and informed him, "Then I told her to beat you at your own little game, not to back down just because you puff up like a blowfish and yell."
"Gah woman," he joked wearily, "You keeping giving away my secrets, they'll never fall before me trembling like I like."
"I don't have any of your secrets to give away," Cameron argued unconscientiously, dropping her confused gaze from his and this time missing the flicker over his features at her words.
"You know more than you think," he muttered softly, talking more to his beer than to her. A small hand squeezed around his larger one, a thumbnail traced gentle patterns on his palm, "You're killing my image. The newbs will stop fearing my wrath, and start running recklessly around the hospital. It'll be anarchy."
"I doubt anybody besides you is inciting anarchy," Cameron shuffled her position on the couch, smiling as she leaned close, "You know, I was never actually afraid of you."
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"Just so you know," Cameron plopped into a chair at the cafeteria table House and Wilson occupied and snagged a chip from the bag House held, "You and I are having an affair and Chase dumped my philandering ass because I'm having your demon spawn."
Wilson began coughing, having made the mistake of taking a bite of his brought-from-home chicken and rice as Cameron made her announcement. His windpipe instantly was clogged, and as Cameron sympathetically held out his cup to him, indicating he should try and take a sip; House clouted him hard on the back. That cleared his throat, along with the sharp bark of a cough that the oncologist unwillingly expelled. Gratefully, he accepted his cup from her and took a deep drink. As Wilson's breathing returned to normal and the smart in his throat eased; House placed a hand on Cameron's flat stomach and assured her belly in a soothing tone,
"S'okay Peanut. Uncle Jimmy's gonna make it."
"You-you-you-you're pregnant?" Wilson finally managed to gasp, loud enough that several heads turned to gaze at their table curiously. But Wilson didn't see that; instead his gaze darted between his two friends, a befuddled look on his face.
While House's face was going a shade of crimson from holding in robust laughter, Cameron courteously informed the baffled oncologist, "No Wilson. It's just another one of the rumors swirling around. I heard it this morning."
"Oh," Wilson's breathing had returned to normal, and he adjusted his tie and collar; having yanked them askew during his choking fit. House couldn't, and didn't bother to hold it in any longer; and snickers leaked from the diagnostician. His former fellow tipped her elbow into his ribs, nudging him. Wilson didn't miss the look that passed between them and, taking another slow sip from his cup, wondered how much they weren't telling him. Returning the paper cup to the table, he asked reasonably, "Why are people spreading rampant pregnancy rumors about you two?"
"Chase isn't half the man I am," House boasted with a wink.
"You sound like you know that from experience," the blonde seated beside him muttered, stealing another chip and popping it into her mouth as he pulled a face.
Fighting back the urge to shudder, Wilson had to ask, "What's going on with you two? Are you—" He paused, lowered his voice and leaned forward, "Are you sleeping together?"
"Busted," Cameron responded blandly, shaking her head, "And we were so clandestine about it too."
"Very cloak and dagger my dear," House added resignedly, "But we could never get one past Jimmy."
"Are you admitting something," Wilson began, his brows drawing together into a deep V on his forehead, "Or are you both screwing with me?"
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" House threw out, his face completely serious. Beside him, Cameron chortling into her hand; her eyes closed so she missed the death glare Wilson shot House.
"Like what?" over Wilson's shoulder came Amber's voice, and he nearly jumped from his seat as its sudden and unexpected appearance startled him.
"Nothing important," he got out before House could reply with a quip of his own, "Hi, what are you doing here? Did—did we have plans and I missed them, or something?"
"No," Amber smiled sweetly, and House pointed a finger down his throat as he made a gagging noise, "I got finished earlier than I expected, so I thought I'd drop by and see you."
"Aw," Wilson too, was smiling, and as he leaned in to give her a kiss, it was Cameron's grabbing House's wrist tightly and holding it that prevented the perpetually juvenile diagnostician from repeated his gagging gesture, only louder. Their eyes connected, and she shook her head almost imperceivably. Fine he mouthed, rolling his eyes and slumping defiantly back in his chair.
Wilson pulled out a chair for her, and Amber sat; smiling impishly at House first before shining a true smile at Cameron, "Hello House. Hey Allison."
"Hey Amber," Cameron returned the smile, and House looked between the two women as an idea he was sure he didn't like formed,
"Oh no," crystalline blues glared as Amber took a sip from Wilson cup, "You already got your claws into Wilson. You keep your grubby little mitts away from my Cameron."
"Your Cameron?" Amber sputtered, returning the paper cup to Wilson's tray and peering from House to Cameron, and then to Wilson, "Sorry, I missed the Property of House sticker on her ass."
An aggravated squeak came from Cameron, but House managed to speak first, "Wilson, it should worry you that she's talking about Cameron's ass. Shapely as it may be."
"How about none of us talk about my ass?" Cameron ordered tersely, willing the flames of the blush the embarrassment had caused on her face to subside, "That work for anybody else?"
"Works for me," Wilson agreed in a small voice, but it was as if no one heard him as Amber continued her glare at House, and the should-be-patented I'm pissing you off and I like it gleam was in House's eye. There was no stopping him now.
"Don't worry about it," House placated, twinkling a tiny but obnoxious smile at her, "Girl, you've got a great butt."
"Thanks," she all but growled, recognizing the line from a recently watched episode of The OC, "So do you. Must be all the limping; really tones those muscles eh?"
Wilson was clearly mortified with the path the conversation had taken; Amber was outright laughing, nearly uncontrollably; and Cameron and House stared resolutely at each other, daring each other as House searched for an appropriate retort.
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