The next morning, hungover and bedraggled, Cameron managed to get her sorry self into work on time. She wanted to be a coward, stay in bed all day and forget the conversation she'd heard in the bar the night before. But denial and self-loathing just wasn't her style. If she could work after a meth high and a night of riding Chase like a bucking bronco, than this... this was doable as well.
Once inside the conference room, she headed straight for the coffee maker and brewed a pot. She grabbed some ibuprofen and threw it down her throat, chasing it with a gulp of scalding hot coffee and ignoring the burn; anything to silence the marching band that had taken up residence inside her skull. She carried her mug out to the balcony for some fresh air and a chance to gather her thoughts before the others arrived. Before he arrived.
And that's when she heard him. Again.
"It wasn't a date. More like an interview." House's voice drifted out of Wilson's office through the propped open door.
"And?" Wilson prompted. "How was it?"
"She drinks tea. Peppermint." There was a pause and then House continued. "She seemed surprisingly okay with my vices."
"What? How would she... What'd you do? Tell her you're a drug addict?"
"That, and a few other things. I might have embellished some of my bad traits, just to see where she'd draw the line."
"Ooookay. What exactly did you say?"
"I told her I was on anti-depressants, I like drugs, I eat meat, I lie, and I'm not always faithful to the women I date."
Cameron crept a little closer, ignoring the brief and sudden onset of shame at her sudden propensity for eavesdropping. She wanted to see him, read his expressions as he spoke, but all she could see without giving herself away was the back of his head.
"Wow," Wilson responded. "And she was okay with that?"
She saw House nod once, and heard him respond, "Yeah. Weird huh?"
"Sooo, she sounds like a sure thing. You take her home?"
Cameron's marching band detoured to her stomach, stopping briefly to stomp on her heart. She swallowed and took another sip of coffee, telling herself the nausea was only a by product of her hangover.
"Nope," House answered without hesitation and it was like a shot of morphine to Cameron, relief so sweet and instantaneous, she had to stifle a happy laugh.
"What? You... Why not?" Wilson sputtered, and Cameron fought another bout of giggles.
House stood and turned, looking Cameron right in the eye through the glass door, as if he'd known she was there all along. And then he answered.
"She wasn't my cup of tea."