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Disclaimer
by Laura Smith
Cameron has no capacity for artifice, which is why, when House sees her with Wilson, he thinks nothing of it.
Except he can't stop thinking about it.
**
They have a long history of this, which is what makes him wonder. Wilson stole his first girlfriend in college and married her. House stole Stacy away and didn't marry her. They have a sixth sense when it comes to interest and there's always a sense of competition. Wilson woos them and House pisses them off and, for some reason, they always attract the same girl.
Not that he's attracted to Cameron. He's just enjoying making her uncomfortable, putting her on the spot, watching her react to him. Since Stacy - since his leg - he's not had a woman show much interest, though he suspects he only has himself to blame.
Which really doesn't explain why he picks up the phone.
**
"Hello? Hello?" There is a pause punctuated with a sharp inhale. "Greg?" Another pause during which he reminds himself mentally to breathe. "God dammit, Greg. If this is you, you'd better say something. You have a fucked up leg, but the last James told me, you still had a spine. Did he mention that he saw me, Greg? Or did he tell you the truth?"
He hangs up the phone. She's the one time in his life he allows himself to be a coward, because he knows that it's his own fault.
**
"Tell me about Cameron."
"Allison?"
House nods. "It's Allison, is it?"
Wilson frowns slightly, his forehead creasing. He taps a notepad on his desk. "Did you call Stacy last night, by the way? I had a message on my machine from her, ranting about some self-righteous, goddamn son of a bitch. For some reason, yours was the first name that leapt to mind."
"Why would I call Stacy?"
"I don't know." Wilson leans back in his chair and tents his hands. "But do you know anyone else who would call, listen to her rant and then hang up without saying anything?"
"Having known her? I don't know of anyone personally, but I can't believe I'd be the only one."
"What do you want to know about Allison?"
House shrugs. "How's she getting along?"
"She's fine."
**
Stacy had stayed with him while he recovered - through the booze, which didn't last because he liked the Vicodin better, and through the physical therapy before she'd told him if she wanted to be mistreated, she'd at least find someone who fucked her while doing it. He'd watched her go; tapping his cane softly until she'd turned on him and kicked it out from underneath him. He'd fallen and she'd looked back, a hint of residual emotion in her eyes.
"You're pathetic, Greg."
"Well, you're a bitch, so I guess that makes us even." He'd regretted the words as soon as he'd said them. Not because they weren't true, but because he's wished he could have come up with a better insult. Still, considering he was flat on his ass on some polished hardwood, he thought he'd done pretty well.
Wilson had shown up a few hours later, pretending he hadn't helped Stacy move out, and they'd shared pizza and beer and kept pretending until it had become second nature.
**
Cameron pauses outside his office, her eyes straying to the conference room. Foreman and Chase deliberately don't look at her and she almost smiles. Turning back to his office, she stares at him, refusing to look away. He lifts his coffee mug in salute, raising his eyebrows as she turns on her heel and marches away.
He catches up with her beside the elevator, his cane tapping hard against the floor. "It's not nice to make the cripple come running after you."
"Were you running after me?"
"I heard you were going to be working in oncology." He leans against the wall and smiles. "Odd place for an immunologist."
"Really? I don't think so." She nods to a passing doctor. "Mind you, curing cancer's not nearly as difficult as putting up with you."
"See? You're going to get bored."
"You had to fire someone. I made it easy on you." She smirks. "That's what you like about me, right? I agree with you? I support you? I do what you say? Your own little lapdog."
"You never sat on my lap."
This time her smirk is targeted at him. "Not for lack of trying." The elevator doors slide open and she walks inside. "Your loss, I'd say."
**
He doesn't allow himself to feel anymore, which makes his job easier. He was never the most tender of doctors, but there are those who would testify - under duress, no doubt - that he used to have a bedside manner that didn't set everyone's teeth on edge. He doesn't think back though, and he doesn't miss who he used to be.
Except sometimes when the nights are dark and lonely and Wilson's wife refuses to let him hang out with a bent, miserable excuse for a man. Those are typically the nights that he sits by the window and stares at the phone while he listens to jazz and drinks more than he should. He usually shows up to work the next day in the same clothes as the day before, slightly more wrinkled, though no one ever seems to notice.
**
"So, does your wife know?"
Wilson doesn't look up from the chart he's reading. "Know what?"
"That we're carrying on a torrid affair." House settles in the chair opposite him. "Oh, wait. That's you and Cameron."
"I'm having an affair with Allison?"
"Again with the Allison. Why is that?" House taps his cane on the top of the chart Wilson is reading, letting it sit on the pages. "I mean, other than the fact that you're having an affair with her."
"I'm not having an affair with her."
"Just drinks? Dinner?"
"She's not Stacy."
"I never implied that she was."
"You're simply implying that I am employing the same tactics that you used to steal Stacy away from me to lure Allison away from your charms?"
"I have charm?"
"Apparently you have something."
"It's the cane. Makes 'em think they can fix me."
Wilson sighs and rubs his eyes. "She's not on your team anymore, Greg. If you want to go out with her, just do it."
"I don't want to go out with her."
"She already knows that your leg is a mess. She already knows that you're a mess. It's not like it's lurking under the surface to surprise her." He reaches for his coffee and takes a sip. "About the only way you could surprise her is if you actually turned out to be a nice guy."
"You always say I am a nice guy."
"I say that?"
**
The night Stacy left him was the night he finished his physical therapy. He was walking on his own with the cane and was feeling pretty jaunty. He'd planned dinner. He'd planned a poor excuse for dancing, which really wasn't all that much worse than his dancing had been before. He'd planned...
He'd come home from the hospital in a cab when she wasn't there to pick him up and hobbled his way up the stairs to beat the restaurant delivery service. He'd opened the door to find Wilson having his tie undone by Stacy who was wearing nothing more than House's favorite white coat.
James hadn't said a word as he'd left. House had kicked Stacy out.
Then he'd burned the white coat.
**
"Why do we eat here again?"
"It's supposedly good for us." Wilson moves over to allow House room to sit. "Though I think it's a nasty rumor."
He lets a spoonful of the soup slither back into the bowl. "It's certainly not haute cuisine."
"No." Wilson spears a bite of his salad. "No big case this week?"
"Chase and Foreman are working on it. Nothing I need an oncology consult for."
"And not that I'd be the one you'd ask at this point anyway." He nods to the line where Cameron is standing. "I know that it's a difficult thing for you, but you could attempt to be polite to her."
"I'm always polite."
"You're never polite. Insufferable, maybe, but never polite."
"Insufferable is now a synonym for polite?"
"No. I just thought maybe you were getting the two confused." He sets his fork down as Cameron walks up to them and slides into the chair opposite. "Allison."
"James."
"James?" House smirks. "Cozying up to the help, hmmm? It's a good thing your disease gets lots of press, otherwise Vogler'd be on your ass to fire her too."
"You didn't fire me."
Wilson gets to his feet. "I can tell I'm going to be a pivotal part of this conversation, so I'll just...." He nods toward the door, walking away from them.
"You didn't give me the chance."
"You mean the satisfaction."
"Yes. Because firing you would have been satisfying. Then I could have watched your face scrunch up and you could have burst into tears. And after that I was going to go kick some puppies."
"You're a bastard."
"Yeah, well," House gets to his feet, his grip tightening on his cane, "you're not the first to think so."
**
Everyone lies. That's the one tenet that House lives by, has always lived by. His parents lied. The doctors who treated him lied. Stacy lied. That, of course, doesn't explain why he believed Wilson when he told him that nothing had happened that night with Stacy. She'd called. He'd gone over. She'd met him at the door in nothing but the lab coat and pulled him in by the tie. House had shown up, the stage completely set for him.
He thinks he believes it because he wants to. Needs to. James is the closest thing he has to a friend, and he doesn't even trust him too much. Sometimes he thinks at all is too much, but someone has to believe he's got a semi-decent human being inside him, because he doesn't believe it himself most of the time.
**
House closes his eyes as the music fills the room. He's forsaken The Who and Queen and those about to rock for something a little more epic; Wagner's blasting from the speakers. His cane taps in time with the music, and he bounces his head on the smooth leather of his chair with the rhythm.
"Are you busy?"
"Dramatic opera is making my eardrums bleed and you want to know if I'm busy?" He leans forward and cuts off the music without opening his eyes. "Of course I'm not busy. I was going for mise en scene."
"Effective. Your descent into hell?"
"Well, I do have a meeting with Vogler tomorrow." He sighs and opens his eyes. "What brings you here?"
"Don't worry. I'm not going to beg for my job back."
"You say that like I have some power to grant that wish." He raises his eyebrows. "Well?"
"James said..."
"James. Allison. Allison. James." House exhales sharply. "Can't you do the civilized thing and call each other doctor, for god's sake?"
"Fine." Her voice tightens. "Dr. Wilson said that you wanted to talk to me."
"Dr. Wilson lied." House gets to his feet. "Dr. Wilson is also a sadistic bastard and don't let the nice genteel faade deceive you."
"So you don't have anything to say to me?"
"Are we going to go through this again? What would you like me to say to you, Dr. Cameron? What exactly is it that you want from me? Because, as I've said, I don't have the power to grant you your job back, and, to be honest, by walking away so easily, I don't really trust that you want it back all that much, or that it meant anything to you in the first place."
"Oh, you think I hung around just to put up with you?"
"Hell, I don't know. Maybe Chase made your loins tingle at first. Or maybe you wanted to bet on black. Either way..."
Cameron stands and glares at him, her eyes flashing and her face flushed. "I stuck around because I am a doctor and what you do...what we did in this clinic was amazing. We saved the lives of people who other doctors would let die because they weren't willing to try something, to take a risk, to look beyond what the immediate symptomology was. That is why I was here, Dr. House, and do us both a favor and don't for a second think that Chase or Foreman or, God forbid, you had anything to do with that."
House reaches out and grabs her arm, jerking her toward him. She hits him hard, her hands against her chest, but he remains still, his arm snaking around her.
She practically snarls at him through her clenched teeth. "Let me go."
"I will," he promises. "After this."
He bends his head and kisses her, his lips gentle, uncertain at first as she refuses to relax. He loosens his grip; letting his hands stroke down her back to her hips as he licks at the tight, firm line of her lips, muttering softly as she sighs, her lips parting to allow his tongue access.
Her hands curl in his shirt and his cane clatters to the floor as his other hand settles on her hip, curling in her lab coat. Cameron suddenly breaks the kiss and pulls away, her hands on his chest pushing at him hard enough to make him stumble, catching himself on the edge of his desk.
"Don't you dare do that again, Dr. House."
He nods, his eyes shuttered. "Don't worry, Dr. Cameron. I won't."
**
Three weeks after the scene with Wilson, Stacy had shown up to pick up the last of her things. She'd walked in the door and stared at him, her hands on her hips, an expression of pure disgust on her face. "You're a mess."
"Yeah, I can't imagine why." He got to his feet slowly, the pain and the drink making standing an effort. He swayed slightly, the rough growth of stubble as thick and dark as his mood.
"You haven't shaved."
"I've decided not to anymore. I'm going for a different look."
"Bum?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Returning my key. Getting my things." She sniffed. "Have you had a shower in the past week?"
"Two weeks, thank you very much, and no. I've forsaken those as well." He plucked a glass from the table beside him and took a long drink. "Just answer me one question, would you?"
"It's never just one question with you, Greg. One question always leads to another. What are my motives? What am I getting from this? What am I lying about? You said you loved me, but you've never trusted me and you sure as hell never trusted us."
"And you've proven without a doubt why I should have." He took another drink. "Just one question. I promise."
"Fine." She sighed and rolled her eyes, her foot tapping with impatience. "What is it, so that I can get this done and over with."
"We're already done and over with, Stacy." He tapped his cane on the floor once, drawing her attention to the smooth wood. "You said you loved me. Did you ever mean it?"
"I'm going to get my things." She tossed the key in his direction, both of them watching as it skittered across the polished wood floor and under the piano. "I won't bother to say goodbye."
**
House hitches his hip and sits on the edge of Wilson's desk. "Theoretically..."
"Nothing is ever theoretical with you."
"Hypothetically?"
"Just ask her out." Wilson looks up from the book on his lap. "I'm not interested in her. I promise. And even if I were..."
"Which is as good as saying you are."
"Just...be careful, Greg."
"Of what? Afraid my rabid masculinity will be too much for her?"
"I'm afraid she'll be too much for you." James closes his book and set it on his desk. "I've seen you react when you've been hurt. I'd rather not have to dump another gallon or so of good scotch down the drain."
"You think Cameron rates the good scotch?"
"And I'd rather not pick up the pieces of you that get left scattered all over your floor. You're not the best patient."
"Doctors make horrible patients because we know that doctors lie." He gets off the desk and sits in the chair opposite Wilson. "I haven't..." He closes his mouth, pressing his lips together.
"Please do not go into true confession mode on me. I don't think I could actually take it from you because, while you devote yourself to the uncovering of lies with a singular passion, you lie to yourself all the time, and I'd prefer you keep lying to me." Wilson rests his hands on top of his desk. "Allison is not Stacy."
"No," House agrees softly. "But she has the potential to be."
"If you let her." Wilson finishes the statement for him, nodding all the while. "That's what this is about?"
"It's been a long time," House admits.
"Don't you think you've punished yourself enough?"
House sighs and stares down at his hand, curled around the arch of his cane. "I took Cameron to the monster truck show." He looks up in time to catch the flash of emotion in Wilson's eyes. "I didn't tell you that, did I?"
"And?"
"We had a...nice time."
"Isn't that your answer?"
House gets to his feet, his face unreadable. "You'd think."
**
Wilson had poured over $100 of bourbon and scotch down the sink, though House hadn't seen it. He's been curled in a corner of the floor coughing up blood, vicodin and what he'd managed to knock back of the booze. Wilson had shown up and found him slamming his cane against the piano, screaming himself hoarse. He'd turned the cane on Wilson and they'd fought, Wilson mostly defending and House striking out.
Wilson had ended up with a black eye and a welt on his shoulder. The cane ended up under the couch and House had disgorged the contents of his stomach, which had been a viable excuse for the tears he hadn't been able to stop.
"You know, it's a good thing your skill as a doctor hinges on your brain and not the way you greet people at the door."
House had looked up. "Your wife's going to think you went out on the town for some rough sex and got more than you bargained for."
"That's what she usually thinks when I come over to see you. It's surprisingly more appealing to her than the thought of me spending time with you."
"She's afraid I'm going to rub off on you." He leaned back against the wall, his good leg bent at the knee. He sniffed and rubbed his face with the back of his hand. "Would it do any good to say I'm sorry?"
"Are you?"
He chuckled softly. "No."
"Feel better?"
"Except for the prospect of cleaning up about two weeks worth of booze and paying to get my floors redone...yeah."
"I didn't fuck her, Greg."
"I know."
"She couldn't handle the leg."
"She couldn't handle the fact that I can't do anything without pain and it makes me a bitter, angry bastard."
"Bitterer, angrier bastard."
"Heh. I guess the sex made up for that part, huh?" He closed his eyes and sighed. "Go home, James."
"I can stay."
"You're likely to be the only friend I have in this lifetime, and I'd like to keep it that way, which means you need to go home."
"There's no more booze in the house."
House smirked and cast a quick glance to his left. "Literally." He bowed his head. "I don't want a drink."
"I can clean that up."
"No." He dug in his pocket and pulled out the vial of pills, popping one in his mouth and swallowing it dry. "I can clean up my own mess."
**
"Why did you kiss me?"
House looks up from his Gameboy frowning, the lines creasing deeper at the telltale sound of death. "Oh. It's you."
"You thought I was someone else? What? You ran around the hospital one day kissing the entire female staff?"
"Very sexist. Who says I limited myself to just the female staff?"
Cameron sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, tapping her foot. "Is there a chance I'll get a straight answer out of you?"
"Nice play on words. No."
"Fine." She turns on her heel and starts for the door.
"Why should you care?" He raises his voice enough to stop her from opening the glass. "You made it emphatically clear that I shouldn't do it again. Ever."
"You're being deliberately stupid."
"I'm never stupid. I would admit to deliberately obtuse, but that's as far as I'll go."
She leans against the door, her hands shoved into the pockets of her lab coat. "Why did you kiss me?"
"You looked like you needed it."
"You look like you need a swift kick in the ass, but I haven't done that yet."
He smiles. "Ah, pity. Might liven things up around here."
"Forget it."
He waits until she starts opening the door. "I thought you already had."
"You're not going to put this on me!" She snaps. "You kissed me. I had nothing to do with it."
"No. Nothing at all." He shakes his head. "You're just an innocent bystander. You haven't pursued me in the slightest."
"Pursued?"
"And, given that I have a bad leg, you 'd think you'd be doing better at catching up."
"You're making the assumption that I'd want to catch you. That I wouldn't just throw you back. After all, isn't that what you're supposed to do when the fish is too small?"
House arches an eyebrow. "Nice metaphor, but you've no idea how small I am."
"All I have to do is tell Vogler about this conversation and the kiss and..."
"But you won't."
"Won't I?"
He walks toward her, the tip of his cane tapping softly as he advanced. "I don't think you will." He stops just before her, his eyes dipping down to watch the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. "You want me to kiss you. You want me to flirt with you."
"I don't like you."
"I didn't say you liked me. I said you wanted me."
"I'm not going to sleep with you."
He reaches out to push an errant strand of hair off of her face. "No. I'll probably piss you off before we get that far and you'll get out of bed in complete disgust."
"Fine. I'm not going to have sex with you."
"No," he agrees again, leaning in and brushing his lips across hers. "You'll romanticize it all and call it making love."
"I'm not," she pauses as he kisses her again, breathing fast as he pulls away, "going to make love to you."
"I'll take you to bed then." He licks her lips, watching them as they part.
"I won't go to bed with you."
"Fine, I'll fuck you on my desk."
"Your office is made of glass," she whispers huskily as he licks her lips again, his tongue sliding between them and brushing hers.
"Those are your options."
"I could just leave."
He nods and hooks his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer and kissing her, his tongue tangling with hers. He pulls back, watching her as she inhales, struggling to breathe. "You could."
Cameron jerks back, stumbling slightly she runs into the door. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the handle, her tongue wetting her lips. "Goodnight, Dr. House."
**
"Jesus fucking Christ!" House slams his cane against the bookcase, losing his grip on it and watching as it skitters across the floor, coming to a stop at Wilson's feet. "What?"
Wilson picks up the cane and runs his hand over it. "Rough night?"
"What do you want?"
"Didn't you wear those clothes yesterday?"
House clenches his teeth. "Do you want something?"
"Well, I did come here with a purpose, but I think teasing you is going to be much more enjoyable." He sits in the chair next to House's desk. "So, how was your night?"
"Go and cure cancer, would you? I have better things to do."
"Apparently your phone call had an effect."
"What phone call?"
Wilson offers to cane to House. "Stacy called me again last night."
"Doesn't the little woman get upset when ex-girlfriends call you in the middle of the night?"
"Actually, she blames you, given that to her knowledge Stacy was only your girlfriend."
"She blames me for everything." House takes the cane out of Wilson's hand and moves over to his desk, sitting heavily in the chair. "Why are you telling me this?"
"She wants to see you." House's face freezes and Wilson drops his gaze. "She wanted to know if I thought you would see her."
"And what did you tell her?"
"That I had no idea. That you were still bitter and vicious and, if possible, had gotten more so over the intervening years. I also mentioned that you sharpened your wit with scalpels daily."
"And?"
Wilson leans on the desk, watching House with knowing eyes. "Do you want to see her?" When House doesn't answer, he sighs. "What about Cameron?"
"What did Stacy say?"
Wilson shakes his head and reaches in his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper. "She'll be here tonight at seven." He gets to his feet and sighs. "Change your clothes before then."
**
House takes a deep breath and stares at himself in the reflection of the glass. He smirks at himself and shakes his head.
"Girding yourself for battle?"
He laughs softly and tilts his head, staring at her reflection. "It seemed appropriate."
"Kevlar under your ratty old jacket? Or are you wearing chain mail?"
"Only over the tender bits." He turns to face her, a slight smile curving his lips. "Hello, Stacy."
"Greg."
"I'd ask what this is about, but I'm afraid you'll actually tell me. Of course, it would probably be better to have you tell me out here as oppose to in the confines of a very exclusive restaurant that I know you picked specifically to either keep me in line or to humiliate me unreservedly."
"Either option works for me." She nods to the door. "Shall we?"
He opens the door for her and follows her inside. She steps to the side and watches him as he approaches her. "I charge, you know."
"To watch you walk? You always did have an over-inflated sense of self."
"Personally, I think it's perfectly inflated and you never seemed to mind." He cocks an eyebrow. "I meant for the freak show."
"You're not a freak show."
"I'm well aware of that; however, if you stare at me like I am one, I do charge for the privilege."
"I was impressed with how well you get around."
"I'm a regular Speedy Gonzales."
"That's not what I..." She inhales and lets out a slow breath. "I don't want to argue with you, Greg."
"Does that mean I can take the chain mail off? You'd be surprise how much it chafes."
She laughs softly, reaching out and resting her hand on top of his, running her fingers over the white knuckles as he clutches his cane. "I just want to talk, Greg."
"I'm at a loss as to what you want to talk about." He gestures at the restaurant. "Especially here. And especially after all this...time." He swallows hard as the restaurant door opens, inhaling sharply. Cameron's eyes meet his and she stops mid-conversation. His hand jerks free of Stacy's soft pressure, drawing Cameron's eyes down.
She inhales and straightens, drawing his eyes to her chest and the thin silk shirt that clings to her breasts. "Dr. House."
"Dr. Cameron." He clears his throat and manages a nod to the young man easing her coat from her shoulders. "What a surprise."
"It is." She smiles at her companion. "This is Richard."
He holds out his left hand to shake, his eyes narrowing as the unexpected gesture requires Cameron's date to remove his arm from around her waist. "Pleasure."
"No. It's all mine. Allison talks quite a bit about you. I expected you to have horns and a tail."
"Only in her sexual fantasizes." House smirks as close to a smile as he can manage. "This is Stacy." He feels Stacy's eyes on him as sharply as Cameron's. "This is Allison Cameron, one of my associates, and her...date."
"Hello." Stacy shakes Cameron's hand. "I must admit an ignorance. Greg's not mentioned you at all."
Cameron smiles thinly. "I could say the same."
"Greg does like his mysteries."
"And lies." Cameron adds softly.
"Come on, Greg. Our table's ready."
**
"Do you remember that concert in the park?"
House drains his wine glass. "Vaguely."
"You were so romantic. I thought you were going to ravage me in front of half of Philadelphia."
"Hmm." He pours more wine into both their glasses, his eyes staring past Stacy to the soft sheen of Cameron's hair. "Of course, that was before I became a cripple, you attempted to fuck my best friend and I used my good leg to kick you out. Which, I should mention, required an amazing amount of balance and pain control."
"Well, I can see that we've moved right into the insulting part of the evening."
"As I don't know why we're here and why you're bringing up past exploits, it seemed a natural. Pick up right where we left off."
"I'm getting married."
He nearly chokes on his wine. "Sorry. Sorry." He laughs softly. "You preface an announcement of marriage, the greatest day in any young...ish girl's life with a reminder of me fucking you at a concert?"
"Nice." Stacy takes a sip of her wine. "Are you fucking her?"
"Who?"
"The girl you keep staring at. The one who's practically young enough to be your daughter."
"Jealous?"
"Hey, if she's stupid enough to fall for a bitter shell of a man who can't even manage to sustain the missionary position long enough, she's welcome to you."
"And I thought you didn't love me anymore." He smirks, forcing his eyes to remain on Stacy as Cameron's soft laughter drifts across the room. "Besides, if I can't manage to sustain the missionary position, why do you ask if I'm fucking her?"
"Fine. Is she fucking you?"
"Why do you care? In fact, why are we here? You want my blessing? As long as you're not marrying Wilson, you're welcome to it. Just tell me who he is so I can send my condolences." His eyes narrow as Cameron leans in toward her date, the flickering candle lending the scene a shadow of intimacy. "Excuse me, would you?"
Her voice is venomous. "Hobble after the girl of your dreams?"
"No. I just want to get away from you."
**
House rubs his hands over his face, the cold water falling through his fingers. He exhales slowly, his head bent.
"Is she your girlfriend?"
"I thought surely you had to read to be a doctor. This is the men's room."
"Is she your girlfriend?"
"Ex."
"Oh."
"She left me after my leg. Not the good, dutiful wife you were." He smirks at her in the glass. "Won't your date wonder why you're in the men's room?"
"He's my brother."
"Kissing cousins I would have accepted, but for a brother you're looking a little too close. I knew those VC Andrews were going to corrupt the youth of America." He turns and looks at her, holding her eyes. "What are you doing in here, Cameron?"
She takes a step closer. "Call me Allison?"
House swallows and exhales slowly. "What are you doing in here, Allison?"
She smiles and shakes her head as she advances. "I don't know."
House leans against the counter, his hands curving around the cool edge. "You really want our first time to be in the bathroom of some restaurant? Admittedly, a pretty swank restaurant..."
"First time?"
"It would be."
"Indicating the potential of a second? Third?"
"Not in one night. The leg would give out before then." He closes his eyes as she stops directly in front of him. "I'm a bitter man. Far too old for you."
"I'm not some sweet, innocent virgin offering myself up for sacrifice."
House opens his eyes and offers her the hint of a smile. "But you are offering yourself?"
"Do you want me?"
He nods, almost in defeat. "Yeah."
"Is our first time going to be in this bathroom?"
He pats the counter beside him. "My bed's more comfortable."
Cameron slides her hand over his erection and leans in, kissing him softly. "Mine's closer."
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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