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Gambling
by Maineac
Chase watched as Cameron wended her way around the dance floor, past the band, and back to their table. Damn but she looked good in the short black cocktail gown she'd chosen to wear to the hospital fundraiser. He tugged uncomfortably at the too-tight black tie that had come with the rented tux and shot Foreman a look. Foreman looked ridiculously comfortable in his evening attire.
"I have a thought," Chase said. "Let's see if we can get Cameron drunk enough to ask House to dance."
Foreman snorted, and raised his eyebrows. He checked out the gambling tables, where House and Wilson sat, their backs to the dance floor, a whiskey and beer at their respective elbows.
"Not going to happen," he said, polishing off his own glass of wine.
"A hundred bucks?" said Chase. "After all, it is 'Casino Night'."
"You're on."
"You know," said Chase, as he refilled Cameron's wine glass, where it stood amid remains of the inedible chicken dinner, "for the money they charge for this event, you'd think they could do better than cheap red wine. Don't we at least rate some cheap champagne? All 'freshened up'?" he asked Cameron as she slid back into her seat. She nodded, put her evening purse back on the table, and took a sip of the wine. "Ready to do battle, then?" Cameron gave him a quizzical look. "Fifty bucks says you can't get House to dance."
Foreman shook his head in disgust. "Subtle, Chase."
"I thought gambling was restricted to the Black Jack tables," she said, sipping the wine, much too slowly, in Chase's opinion.
"Too rich for my wallet. So how about a little side bet? Here. Have a little more Dutch courage." He refilled her glass. Cameron gave him her best glare, and then pushed the glass away.
"I don't need liquid courage," she said, and standing up, she headed over to the poker tables. Cuddy sat down at the table as Cameron left. She looked from Foreman to the grinning Chase.
"Whatever you two are up to, it can't be good," she said.
+++
"Hit me," said House, curling up the tips of the two cards face down on the table. The dealer shrugged and tossed him a card. Queen of hearts.
"Busted," said House, shoving his chips into the center of the table. He flipped his cards over. Wilson shook his head sadly.
"You do know you're supposed to stick at seventeen?"
"Dealer's supposed to stick at seventeen, but tie goes to the dealer. I'm not giving up my chips without a fight."
"Looks like that strategy is really working for you," said Wilson, eyeing House's dwindling pile of chips. House gave him a sad smile.
"You gotta walk on the wild side once in a while, Wilson. Can't go through all of life wearing a pocket protector."
"Maybe you need luck to be a lady tonight, House." They both swiveled to look at Cameron, who had come up behind them.
"Okay, I'll bite," said House, gathering in the new cards he was being dealt as he talked. "How would that work? You planning on doing something sexy with these cards for me?"
"No. I'm planning on dancing the next dance with you."
The smirk vanished from House's face in an instant, and he turned his head away, making a show of looking at his hand.
"Sorry. I don't dance. Never learned."
"House-" she started.
"Try Wilson." He concentrated on his cards, not meeting her eye. "Or Chase. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to oblige you."
Cameron raised her chin and pursed her lips, ignoring Wilson, who was trying to catch her eye and shaking his head No. Behind him, at their table, she could see Foreman laughing at Chase. She leaned closer to House.
"Hey, it's a waltz. Anyone can waltz. I'll teach you. And it's going to bring you bad luck to turn down a lady when-"
"I said No, Cameron. What part of No don't you understand?" And the unvarnished look of anger and unhappiness when he finally met her eye was like a blow. She took in a breath in a short gasp and backed away from the table without another word.
+++
"All right, " said Cuddy, pinning Chase and Foreman with a death glare. "What was that about? What did you put her up to?"
Chase and Foreman, who had witnessed Cameron being shot down, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. At last Chase spoke. "Nothing. We just, I just, dared her to ask House to dance. That's all. No big-"
"You are morons. House's right," snapped Cuddy. Did she really have to explain this to them? "He doesn't dance. Not any more. He used to..." she trailed off unhappily. Then to Chase: "Go find Cameron. Apologize for being an idiot. Ask her to dance yourself." It was an order, and Chase nodded mutely and set off to find Cameron.
+++
"You are a moron, House. You can't talk to Cameron like that."
"She needs to learn some boundaries." House tossed his hand down, pocketed the remaining chips, and headed for the cash bar.
"Oh, what? She committed the crime of asking you to dance?" said Wilson furiously, following him. "To get off the misery-mobile for a few moments and enjoy yourself? Let's have her drawn and quartered for that."
"I don't dance."
"Yes, you do. Quite well, as I recall."
"Now it's your turn to be intentionally dense?" He signaled to the bartender for a refill on his whiskey and soda.
"Okay, there are a lot of things you don't do as well as you used to. But that doesn't mean you have to stop doing them. You don't walk as well as you used to-"
"Or run. Or golf. Or-"
"-but that didn't mean you gave up on walking. In fact, as I recall, you fought pretty hard to be able to walk again."
House was silent for a while, staring into his drink, and Wilson wondered if he'd actually gotten through to him.
"So you're saying I should go out there and dance with Cameron while the whole hospital looks on?"
"The whole hospital? Don't flatter yourself. You're not that interesting, House."
"I will be when I fall on my ass in front of them all."
"You're not going to fall on your ass."
House stared down at his drink. Wilson gave it one last shot.
"You want her resignation on your desk in the morning? Then go and apologize for being an idiot. Ask her to dance. It's been five years. You can't go through the rest of your life wearing a pocket protector."
+++
"Sorry," said Chase. He looked down at the floor and was concentrating hard on not stepping on Cameron's toes again, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the crook end of a silver-handled cane, and House had hold of the other end.
"I'm cutting in," said House, tossing the cane lightly and catching it by the handle. Chase was glad to see it go. He'd had the impression that it was about to hook him around the neck and pull him off the dance floor, like some sort of vaudeville act. House jerked his head, indicating Chase was to beat it. Chase looked back to Cameron. No way he was letting House cut in if Cameron wasn't up for it, and he wasn't at all sure she was up for it. To his surprise, Cameron nodded slowly, and Chase backed away, shaking his head.
House and Cameron stood there, just looking at each other, as other couples swirled around them. House tapped the cane awkwardly against the floor. He cleared his throat.
"So, what's the differential diagnosis for crying black tears?" he asked. Cameron didn't flinch.
"Cheap mascara," she said.
"Chase is that bad a dancer? At least if I step on your toes it won't be as painful." She glanced down at his shoes and saw that he was wearing Nike Shox with his formal tux. She didn't smile. "I'm not quite sure how this works," he said at last, when it was clear Cameron wasn't going to give him any help.
"Well, first you apologize for being a jerk, like this: 'I'm sorry I was a jerk, Cameron.'"
"I'm sorry I was a jerk, Cameron," he repeated solemnly, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up the least little bit.
"And then you put your left hand around my waist, like this." Grabbing his wrist in the same way that House had grabbed hers, that day on his motorcycle, she pulled it around to the small of her back, her gaze all the while fixed on his.
"Now I put my hands on your shoulders, like this. You with me so far?"
House nodded dumbly.
"Next you count to three. You can count to three, can't you?"
"I think I can manage that."
"All right. Now just follow my lead."
"You're leading? I thought that was the man's job."
"Shut up. I'm leading. Ready? One two three..."
They moved off in a slow, lopsided shuffle. Cuddy, watching, held her breath. It was an odd, awkward dance they performed, House leaning on his cane with one hand and holding Cameron lightly, at arm's length, with the other. Other couples continued to swirl around them, heads swiveling to watch--watching, Cuddy was sure, to see if House would fall on his ass. There was one heart-stopping moment when House placed his cane on Cameron's foot, and recovering from the misstep caused him to stumble. But Cameron had him firmly by the shoulders. She never faltered, and they quickly regained their poise.
At first it was hard for Cuddy to watch, so used was she to seeing House move on a dance floor with what had been a really astonishing grace and dance sense, especially when coupled with Stacy. Ballroom dancing had been their thing, that one thing they did together as a couple--and they had done it supremely well.
But Cameron, too, was a good dancer: she soon adapted to House's strange rhythm. Gradually, very gradually, they picked up speed and soon Cuddy realized that Cameron was no longer leading, that House was no longer keeping her at arm's length while he found his footing. She saw with surprise that, in the same way that House's gait had changed after the infarction, while still retaining a strange wild gracefulness, so it was on the dance floor: it wasn't like watching the old House dance-not remotely--but this dance had its own, odd, awkward gracefulness.
Wilson, watching from the other side of the room, had the same reaction. As he turned back to his drink he made a resolution. Tomorrow, he would chuck his pocket protectors into the trash.
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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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