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An Alternate Ending To "Clueless"
by Lex
ALTERNATE ENDING FOR "CLUELESS"
Cameron pushed the hem of her sweater out of the way. Slowly and provocatively, she removed the wad of money secured in the waistband of her linen pants, and, gazing steadily at House's face, held it out to him. He - cautious, sensing something new in her attitude - reached up to take it ... and their fingers touched. He was only somewhat surprised at the jolt that coursed through him, and at the electricity that seemed to fill the air. Cameron looked as if she'd expected nothing less. And, for what felt like an eternity, but was, in reality, less than a minute (during which House was, simultaneously, provoked, intrigued, amused at her bravado, and madly turned on), neither he nor Cameron pulled their hand away.
Then Cameron broke contact. Smiling slightly down at House, she said, "Ignorance is bliss," and turned toward the door. She didn't get far. House sat up in his chair and, from behind her, swiftly hooked his fingers into the front waistband of her pants, from where, just moments ago, she'd taken the money she'd owed him. He pulled her, unresisting, to his side, and studied her face. He was interested to see that Cameron didn't flinch under his intense gaze, but retained her small, coolly-teasing smile.
House was impressed. He said pointedly: "If ignorance is bliss, then ... knowledge is life. So ... care to join me?" He spoke in his familiar, flippant, bantering tone, but Cameron recognized the real challenge beneath it. She looked down at her waist, where House's fingers still held her, and considered. He released her with an exaggerated gesture; he wasn't going to make it easy for her.
Both held their breath.
And then Cameron laughed quietly and climbed into the wide chair beside him. She thought she saw a fleeting smile on House's face, but it was so quick, she couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered. The invitation was enough.
As House kissed her, his last coherent, completed thoughts were that her beautiful skin was just as silky-smooth to the touch as it was to the eye, and that her soft mouth was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted. He'd always been sure that this would be the case, but it was nice to have his diagnosis confirmed; House liked, and was accustomed to, being proven right. Then he lost himself in the feeling of her tongue in his mouth, and her breasts pressed against his chest, and her thigh between his legs.
Some time later, House, with a Herculean effort, pulled Cameron's head away from his with one hand, and took his other hand off her ass. He could see her chest heaving; her breath was as ragged as his own. She looked at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes. He had to suppress a laugh at the mix of perplexity and exasperation on her face; he could just imagine what she was thinking: "NOW what's his problem?!" With uncharacteristic gentleness, House ran his finger along Cameron's jaw line. She was very sexy. But he forced himself to warn her, "Listen, are you ok with this? I'm not going to turn all romantic. This doesn't make me your boyfriend or anything stupid like that."
"I don't WANT you to be my 'boyfriend,'" Cameron lied.
"You don't?" House was nonplussed.
"No."
"Why not?" He scowled.
"Do you really care?" Cameron kissed his mouth, thrust her hand underneath his shirt and caressed his chest.
"No," House said, into her half-open mouth. "Take off your clothes." And drew in his breath with a sharp gasp of appreciation as she did so. She was beautiful. Who the hell needed Vicodin? He could get drugged on this. And, minutes later, when he was deep inside her, and she, straddling him, was moving, rhythmically and deliciously, on him, and his hands were on her hips, helping her fuck him, and she was gasping his name, he looked up at her lovely face and decided that some things in this life were still unqualifiedly good.
Afterwards, Cameron lay with her head on House's chest, his arm cradling her, and her leg thrown over his. His hand stroked her hair, now damp with sweat. She raised her head, until her lips were against his neck, and she silently mouthed there, "I love you."
"It's time to get out of here, it's late." House's voice rudely interrupted her reverie. He fidgeted under her body, and made as if to get up. Stung, Cameron climbed off the chair, and watched him for a minute as he zipped his jeans and buckled his belt, without even a glance in her direction. She felt stricken. Could he just get up and go, leave her as if nothing had happened?
"Come on, come on," he griped impatiently. Woodenly, she scooped up her clothing, from where it lay puddled on the floor, and got dressed. She didn't look at him, didn't say a word. They left the room, and, head down, she started to head off to the staircase, just to be going in the opposite direction than House, who would take the elevator. Tears scalded her eyes. She was furious, at him and at herself.
Then she heard his voice.
"Cameron ..."
She blinked back her stupid tears, and looked up at him defiantly.
House said, in an oddly tender voice, his blue eyes - for once - gazing upon her with open affection, "Where are you going?"
"Home. Where else? It's late, like you said." Cameron managed to keep her voice from shaking.
"You idiot."
"What?"
"I said, 'you idiot.'" House sounded impatient. "You really think I'd let you ride me to glory and then send you packing like some hooker?" When Cameron still hesitated, he rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're afraid to ride a motorcycle?! And I'll let you use my toothbrush."
He smiled. This time, Cameron was sure of it. It couldn't be called a grin, by any means, but it was a smile, and it was a start. Seeing her expression, House self-consciously stomped off toward the elevator bay, but that didn't change the fact that he had smiled at her. So Cameron, laughing and ready for adventure, ran after him; she kissed him while they were waiting for the elevator, and he did what he hadn't done for anyone for years and years: he took her home to his apartment to sleep beside him.
END
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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 NBC/Universal, 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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