In vino veritas
A.N. This is a longer chapter than anticipated but it was a lot of fun to write. As ever, lots of thanks to those who take the time to review, follow, and favourite.
The next evening, the last of the conference, the three fellows and a gaggle of similarly aged doctors spilled out to the sidewalk following an especially boozy dinner. Even though the main conference meal had taken place the previous evening, Chase soon convinced a bunch of them to reconvene once more before parting ways. The trio were flush with jobs well done, their papers widely regarded as the strongest on show, and each, in their own way, would leave London happy. Foreman had spent most of the time enhancing his name recognition: exchanging email addresses, shaking hands, suggesting collaborations. Chase, meanwhile, had reconnected with an old colleague from the University of Sydney and the pair had spent a lot of time talking about rugby league. And Cameron experienced the dual pleasure of an excellent paper combined with a pretty great few days with House.
"Right. Bar 100 now? Tim and I loved that place back in the day, eh, mate?". Chase, whose Australian accent had broadened considerably, clapped his pal on the shoulder. Tim merely grinned goofily.
"Why not? Gotta live, haven't you?", said Foreman, eyeing up one of their companions, whose name was either Lacey or Lucy.
"Err…". Cameron had designs on heading back to the hotel and House. The two of them had spent the afternoon together, but he had declined to go to dinner, offering no explanation. When she had also offered to skip, he had sent her off, telling her to have fun with the others on their last night in London. In truth, she wished to spend every second with him, but it wasn't a big deal. After all, she had long understood that at times House would want his own space, away from other people. Still, that was a few hours ago and she was beginning to feel the familiar ache for his company.
"Come on. It'll be fun. I'm buying!". Chase nudged her playfully with his elbow.
"Fine", she relented. "I'll stay for a couple of drinks".
"Great. It's just a few minutes…that way, right, T-bone?". He pointed in a direction and looked at his friend.
"Yeah, we'll have you there in no time", replied Tim, trying desperately to look like he wasn't checking Cameron out.
The immunologist, who was entirely used to male attention, ignored him and whipped out her phone to text House. I'm just gonna stay for a couple of drinks then head back to the hotel. That OK? X As soon as she sent the message she wished that she'd deleted the final question—it sounded like a request for permission.
"Dr. Cameron? Hi, I didn't get a chance to introduce myself at dinner. Joanna King. I'm in my final year at med school here at UCL". Another one of their companions.
"Hi, Joanna. Please, Allison is fine". The pair shook hands and walked together.
"I loved your presentation, especially how you went into such detail with the diagnostic techniques you use. I have to say, I've never heard of a whole department devoted to diagnostics but it sounds really cool. I'm wondering how you got into it?".
"It is really cool. Well, I'm an immunologist by training, so I didn't really plan on it, to be honest. I saw an opening to work under Gregory House at PPTH, applied, and that was it". The gang of doctors were wandering up the sidewalk. Up ahead, Cameron could spot Chase look back over his shoulder; he seemed to slow his pace for her to draw level but, just for fun, she slowed even more and pretended to be fully focused on the conversation with King.
"Dr. House seems like…an interesting guy. Some interesting perspectives for a doctor, I think".
"Yep, for sure. So what kind of medicine do you like?".
"I haven't decided yet! I'm leaning towards hepatology because I think the liver is a fascinating organ. I know that sounds stupid…". King looked a little embarrassed.
"That's not stupid at all", answered Cameron reassuringly. They had reached the bar. Since it was a Sunday night, it wasn't hugely busy, but it was still central London and they were a motley crew. With a bit of help from the staff they managed to locate three booths close by the wall and everyone crammed in. Chase was in his element as he skipped round the table taking first orders. Cameron went for a whiskey, in House's honour. At that, she fished out her phone to see if he had replied to her message but was disappointed to find in the negative. Get over yourself, she thought, annoyed that she cared so much about it.
House was a man on a mission. It was evening and the shops would be closing soon. Things to buy. The first was a serious purchase. The second absolutely was not, but no less important for that. This morning he had researched the places he needed, two of just a handful that happened to be open on Sundays. Really, he should have done this earlier in the weekend, but a combination of factors had militated against it. Firstly, he hated shopping, so had put it off; secondly, any shopping that needed doing, he always tried to do it on Sunday, to spite God. Day of rest? No thanks, G-man.
He tapped in through the barriers and hopped onto the tube. Piccadilly line from Leicester Square to Holborn, then Central line to Chancery Lane. The subway map, he had to grudgingly admit, was a work of art to rival Cameron's ass. The carriages were not as full as previously, and he was even able to grab a seat and rest his knee which still ached a little. The pain didn't bother him. In fact, it actually felt somewhat refreshing to feel it elsewhere in his legs than the infarction site. The journey was short, and he scarcely had time to close his eyes before disembarking.
House made it out to the street and consulted his phone to check the route on Google Maps. There was a message from Cameron but he swiped it away, intending to reply once he knew the directions. After a quick examination, he set off for Hatton Garden. Time was short.
"So, how has the trip been for you?". Foreman and Cameron were seated next to each other at one of the tables.
"Really good. The conference has been extremely useful and the city is interesting, too", she replied, sipping her whiskey. The drink was definitely beginning to grow on her.
"I didn't get to see much of it, unfortunately. Kinda got swept away by the panels".
"Well, that's what we're here for, isn't it? Have you enjoyed it?".
"Oh, for sure". Foreman spent the next few minutes explaining the job offer he had received from Marty Hamilton and the amount of money attached to it. Cameron smiled and made the appropriate congratulatory noises. Foreman had always liked to share his successes and apparent status—just three days after his hiring, they had all been sitting in Diagnostics twiddling their thumbs and he had quickly turned the discussion to academic grades and college performance. "What about you? I saw you talking to Genevieve Taylor yesterday".
"She was just asking after my presentation". Cameron saw no reason to confide her own job offer. Unlike Foreman, she preferred to keep her counsel whenever possible.
"Unsurprising", he nodded. "It was pretty great".
"Thanks, pal".
Chase, who had just returned from the bar, sank into the seat opposite, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. It made him appear younger, more boyish. Both the other fellows looked at him with amusement. "You enjoying yourself?", one of them asked.
"Can't complain", he responded before rethinking it quickly. "Actually, I can complain. These London prices are through the fucking roof".
"Luckily your doctor's salary can cope, eh?", said Foreman.
"True enough", he nodded sagely. "Do you guys think we're likely to get a raise after this? We've augmented PPTH's good name this weekend, I reckon".
Cameron snorted. "Doubt it. I learnt from Cuddy a while ago that we're already highly paid relative to the rest of the hospital".
"Well", he shrugged, "House must earn at least one and a half times more than us. Maybe Cuddy can even it out a bit".
"Dunno about that. I'm pretty happy with the way things are". Cameron smiled faintly.
"Of course you are", muttered Chase.
She pretended not to hear that, recognising that he was a little drunk. "D'you have a good couple of days, then?".
"Yeah, pretty good. Hooked up last night, too".
Cameron rolled her eyes and zoned out as her male colleagues engaged in what could charitably be called 'locker room talk'. Seeking a way to divert her mind, she pulled out her phone, intending to look up the Anglo-Saxons. After the British Museum, she had decided to improve her knowledge in this area and now was as good a time as any, especially since immediate neighbours at the table all appeared to be deep in conversation.
But there was a text from House waiting and the research plan was summarily postponed as she opened it with more excitement than felt justified. No worries. I'm out myself atm.
Doing what?, she typed back, aware that House rarely responded well to direct questions.
True to form, his reply revealed nothing. On a date with Julia Wetherloop. What a babe.
Fake news. She left for Liverpool this afternoon. How long will you be?
Cameron and House had spent some time with Wetherall during and after the conference dinner yesterday. The two had hit it off, as she knew they would. Like House, Julia had an incredibly dry sense of humour and she suffered fools lightly. This similarity was partly why the cardiologist had been presented as his first networking opportunity. Cameron took another sip of whiskey while she awaited his reply. In her peripheral vision she saw Foreman head up to the bar and signalled him for a refill.
Depends on how fast I wrap up here. Where did you end up?
Some bar Chase found xx
Make sure you go back with them. I don't like the idea of you walking the streets alone.
Cameron was both touched and annoyed at House's consideration. Don't fret about me. I could beat you in a fight any day.
Oh, it's not that. I'm just worried people might think you're a hooker.
This reply made her snort into her fresh drink. The man was as insufferable as he was endearing. But if I'm with them, she replied, won't it look like they're my pimps…xxxx. There were probably a few too many kisses in there for a grown woman, but the alcohol, from both restaurant earlier and bar now, was beginning to make its mark. An inevitable side effect of being slender.
You're right. Sophie's choice is real. Gtg—see you back at the hotel, CB.
Cya x. She felt a pang of regret but knew from experience not to overstay her welcome. They would see each other later. The phone returned to the tabletop as she reflected on the conversation.
"House?". Chase was looking closely at her.
"Yep. What are we talking about?".
"The merits of London and Princeton", replied Foreman.
"Oh, that's a tough one. Let's see…".
Cameron came back to the hotel room later, and rather drunker, than anticipated. Chase and Foreman, having just headed off for their own beds, were little better, and the former had even started calling her 'Allison' unironically. An unfortunate development. It took a couple of attempts to swipe the cardkey, and when she did eventually get past the door, she ambled forward a few paces before announcing: "honey, I'm home!".
House was slouched in a chair watching TV. "Finally got the room key working, then?", he remarked drily, though not without a glimmer of amusement at her state.
The immunologist threw her bag on the floor and leant against the wall. "The thing about doors, and you'll appreciate this with all the break-ins you make us do, is that they are very hard to open sometimes".
"Yeah?".
"Yeah. What happened to the good old days when…when there were keys and keyholes? Now it's fancy swipe cards and, er, swipe card holes. Is that right?". Cameron's eyes were unfocused as she thought about it. "Strips? What do swipe cards go in?".
"Receptacles?", offered House, still sitting in his chair. Drunk Cameron was completely adorable.
"Recept-ickles. Why do you…why do you always have to invent words? You're not impressing anyone". She folded her arms and frowned at him.
"You wanna go sit on the bed and I'll make you a coffee?".
"No. I've got a better idea. How about…", she tossed her scarf and hat towards him (they fell to the floor) and began to unbutton her jacket, swaying slightly; House couldn't tell if it was because of the alcohol or the attempt to recreate bath time, "…I strip for you again?", she finished. The effort to take off her boots and coat at the same time caused a stumble and he leapt up to offer support. "You're ruining my routine, silly man", she grumbled.
"Come sit with me instead, hey?". House led her to the foot of the bed and they both sat down.
"But, but…my routine…was gonna do it for ya, to get you in the mood to…fuck". The last word was spoken with a weird emphasis on the final 'k' sound.
"You're such a lightweight", he laughed.
"Not. I'm not drunk. The others…", she gestured vaguely towards the corridor, "…they're worse than me. Chase was completely wasted; couldn't even stand up, stand up straight. Not me, though". Cameron tapped his chest to emphasise the point.
"No? Stone-cold sober, are you?".
"You know what…what I love about you, House?". Evidently she had decided to change the subject.
"What's that?".
"Your sexy face. That's what. You, you don't even know how sexy you are. So. Stupid", she enunciated, slapping his knee. "You have a very…expressive face, I think; a very long face".
"Thanks, Cameron. I think".
"Hang on…", now she patted his cheek, "…how did you get in? I have the only card to this room".
"Oh, I picked the lock. You said yourself that I'm a master at break-ins".
"Huh". Cameron thought about it, before nodding. "Yeah…that makes sense. You're so smart, so versat-, versatile. S'why I love you".
House held her hand, deciding not to point out the impossibility of picking the locks of swipe doors. "I thought it was because of my long, expressive face?".
"No, silly man. Your face is…one thing I love about you; but it's not why I love you". She seemed pleased at having formulated this distinction, and carried on: "like, let's say…let's say that all your hair falls out, right, and then your wrinkles deepen-".
"-it's like a giant hug", he mused.
"-but it wouldn't matter to me. I'd still love you, House…and I really, really, really mean that". Cameron looked at him with a serious face, even if her eyes were unfocused and her eyelids somewhat droopy.
"Thanks for the clarification. Coffee now?". House made to head towards the kettle by the TV.
But she stopped him with a dramatic tug. "Wait, wait! Kiss me first. A day I haven't kissed you is a day wasted".
House was touched at this, but nevertheless couldn't help but eye her warily, aware that there remained a distinct possibility of projectile vomiting. "We did that earlier today, remember?".
"What, are you Einstein or something? Just…just kiss me. It's rude to refuse a lady", she announced.
"If I do, will you drink the black coffee I'm about to prepare?".
"Yes. I solem, sollylumly...God, that's a hard word, isn't it? Soll-um-lee swear to drink your coffee…", she pursed her lips and House kissed her, "…even though…it tastes like absolute shit when you make it. S'why I'm chief brewer in the office".
"Aww, thanks, Camster. That insult means a lot". Drunk Cameron was throwing truth bombs left and right.
"Don't worry, though. It'll be our little secret. I won't tell Greg".
House spooned a double helping of instant granules into her cup. "Good call. I know Greg is really protective of his coffee-making ability".
"Z'actly my point. I'm just gonna…rest my eyes, OK? I'll be right here if you need me. After that, it's seduction time".
"No worries. Hang on, though". House went to the drawers and pulled out her pyjamas; then he went into the bathroom and filled a glass brimful of water. "Drink this first, then change into these. You'll thank me later".
Cameron sighed dramatically but nevertheless drained the glass before dutifully changing into her shorts and t-shirt, talking all the while. "Don't worry about me. I don't get hangovers. I think it's my…metabolism", she spoke it slowly and deliberately, as if to prove that she were in full control of her faculties, "s'why I'm thin".
"Uhuh. Here, let me help…". House located the holes for her arms and head.
"I can dress myself, you. Told'chu I'm not drunk".
"Oh, I'm doing this for myself. Turns me on".
"I'm glad…", she grinned lopsidedly at him, hair a mess from the to-ing and fro-ing, "…because we're f'cking like rabbits once m'eyes are…rested".
"I look forward to it".
Cameron clambered under the sheets, muttering sleepily: "you're…OK, House. People think you're a grumpy misan-, misanthrope, and you are, obviously, but…not all the time".
"Just most of the time?".
"Z'actly".
Hey, Cameron?", he asked conversationally.
"Mmm?".
"Since we're being truthful, I was gonna prank you tomorrow morning as retribution for the planted alarm clocks a few days ago. Is that OK? I know you may or may not be hungover, depending on metabolism".
"S'fine…s'fine…" she murmured, half-asleep.
House leant across and kissed her forehead. "Great, thanks". At that, he ambled over to the coffee, took a sip, grimaced, and promptly moved to empty it down the toilet. Unsurprisingly, Cameron was telling the truth with that, too.
The flight back to the States was not until mid-morning, which meant that House didn't need to get up disgustingly early to enact his plan. Upon realising that Cameron was pretty drunk, he had toyed with the idea of postponing the prank until she was in a better state. But then, he had actually asked for, and received, permission last night. So, really, he thought as he slipped out of the room and padded down to the spare one originally booked for Cameron, I'm only fulfilling a request. Having let himself into the vacant room, he retrieved the items stored there the previous evening, and returned to their shared one. The woman was sleeping peacefully, hair strewn over the pillow. The alarm clock blinked mutely on the nightstand. 06:28.
Tiptoeing over to her side of the bed, House crouched down on the floor and arranged the bunch of pillows he had pilfered from the first hotel room—this area was a possible landing zone, and he didn't want Cameron to hurt herself: personal experience had revealed the wood's hardness. Satisfied with the integrity of the cushioned nest, he got to his feet and located the next item: an oversized plastic male head, the kind used in clothes shops or museum displays, complete with beard, hair, and giant ogling eyes. He propped this monstrosity on his own pillow, facing Cameron, who was turned away on her side. The duvet he pulled up to its neck, as if a full body lay beneath the covers.
Once this was in place, House stepped back to survey his handiwork. Excellent. Then, he set up his phone to record, leaning it against the kettle. Finally, he located the broomstick he had liberated from a janitor's closet and switched on the lamp his side of the bed, bathing the room in a soft glow.
Scene set, House crouched down on the floor and began nudging Cameron in the back with the broom handle. After one or two pokes, she stirred with a loud exhalation, but didn't wake fully. House persisted, prodding more insistently. "It's too early…leave me alone…", she muttered, still turned away.
He stifled a snort and stopped the movements. After about fifteen seconds, he resumed. "What do…you want, House…", she groaned, "…stop it".
No answer.
Another poke.
Cameron finally began to turn over slowly to face him, murmuring a complaint: "I swear, House, you are so-", expecting to see a smirking boyfriend, she instead came face to face with the giant man-head with beard and goggle eyes, "-oh, what the fuck, no, who-, ow!", she cried, scooting away from the intruder in her bed and kicking out with such force that she propelled herself off the edge, a tornado of wild hair, flailing limbs, and guttural scream, and down into the mass of cushions he had placed for just such an eventuality.
House stood up, observed the scene, and creased into hysterics.
"House!", she yelled from the floor. "What the fuck! What the fuck is that?!".
It took a few moments for the belly laughter to subside, and he finally composed a reply. "Revenge. Mess with the bull, my dear Cameron, and you get the horns!".
"That is not funny! You scared me shitless. I thought…some random guy…watching me…".
House went over to the phone and stopped recording. "I know. It was fucking classic. Here, come see". He looked up to see Cameron furious, arms folded, still eyeing the head with malevolence. "Don't sulk. I arranged the pillows for your, ah, landing". At that, he succumbed to another fit of the giggles.
"I am not happy, Gregory! It's 6.30 in the morning, for Christ's sake".
"You got me at 4.30 so, really, you came off better than I did. Come watch this. It'll cheer you up, I swear". House was teeing up the footage gleefully.
The other took a few seconds to consider his response and, finally, grudgingly, made her way over to stand next to him. They both watched the clip which even she had to concede captured the whole thing perfectly. "Come on", he said, "I know you're pissed, but that is top notch film-making right there".
"I will accept that, looking at it now, it is pretty funny", she said slowly. "But it's a goddam low blow, especially with my splitting hangover".
"I hear what you're saying", he nodded wisely, "but let's watch it again". On a second viewing, House creased once more, and Cameron couldn't help but join in. It really was a perfectly executed prank.
"Where did you get that frigging head?", she laughed.
"Yesterday at the joke shop. It's why I skipped dinner".
"Hah. That's funny", she replied, shaking her head regardless. A few moments passed in silence before: "would we say my landing was smoother than yours a couple of days ago?".
House shrugged. "Good question. Let's check the instant replay and decide. I think I can make it slo-mo so we can really feel the terror". Third time was a charm, and before long, at 6.45 in the morning, both Cameron and House were bent double, tears streaming down their faces.
