dominique012 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dominique012) wrote2008-05-10 12:24 am
dominique012) wrote2008-05-10 12:24 am
house fic: In between [1/1]
Rating: G
Words: 1046
Spoilers: Does S1 still count? *g* 1x19 Kids, 1x20 Love Hurts
Summary: Cameron's thoughts following some pivotal moments with House, and an AU part just for fun.
Notes:
+ Written for the ficathon atwith_meaning Prompt: dubiety: the condition or quality of being doubtful; also, a matter of doubt.
+ House fic and me don't get along great at the moment, but here I am! I think it's a little different from my usual. I hope you enjoy.
+ For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lookatmoiye7. ♥ For keeping me going and for her general awesomeness *g*
1.
She left him in the hallway and stared blankly at the smooth white door, fingertips on the handle. Her eyes slowly closed.
She wasn't uneasy about forcing him to take her out. Not wondering why she'd said it like that, like a dare, or some punishment to be weasled out of.
It was the look on his face. She frowned. Wide, startled eyes. Mouth open. Nothing brilliant or callous or curious or scathing about him.
She refocused on the door. Just…open.
He looked so open. She could still see it so clearly. Like a different man.
Confused. Vulnerable. Stunned. That she'd said what she wanted? (He'd known what that was.) That he'd have to offer so little?
She exhaled, the memory of his (damn) eyes stuck in her mind.
The triumph she'd felt, with his warm hand enclosing hers, unfurled in her stomach into something more like doubt.
2.
He hadn't wanted Chase or Foreman to know. (A bad sign? Like she needed one. Not-so-subtle hints of dubiety assail her: badidea badidea badidea)
But she needed it, like a photograph, a blood test, a signature. It was the chance to just confirm it with someone else.
And again, when she asked him what to wear. As if it really mattered. As if he'd take her to the opera, or a sporting event. She smiled wryly (a monster truck rally). But she still had to ask him.
This is happening, right?
Half-expecting him to scoff and tell her to share whatever drugs was she was obviously taking. But instead he'd mentioned paint ball and spandex, which incredibly, had been a relief.
She nodded once to herself. Café Spiletto. Right.
3.
You don’t love, you need. And now that your husband is dead, you’re looking for your new charity case…What I am is what you need. I’m damaged.
She looked down. The adrenaline that had been holding her upright since they arrived seemed to slither right through her.
He'd stopped talking, and it was like dinner was over, although they hadn't yet ordered.
He'd complimented her on her earrings and shoes; words that from anyone else marked the beginning of something. From House they were…ominous.
She heard herself babbling about Freud. How there was nothing he could do to convince her he didn't like her. He was doing a pretty good job. And that open look was gone.
There was no doubt in her now. She just felt hollow.
4.
She unlocked the door, the unpinned corsage already a little crushed in her hand. She put it on the table, her arm like a lump of lead.
Looking around the apartment, she saw the remnants of date preparation: her initial choice of shoes lay near the couch, her other bag. Her silver hair clip. It seemed kind of amusing now to think she'd been getting ready for, anticipating, hoping for a date.
She wondered now, baffled, how her other self, the self from 2 hours ago, had thought it would play out. What would House do? Open up and honestly tell her, during time she was forcing him to spend with her, how much he really, actually did like her?
She rubbed her brow, grimacing at the tired feeling that suddenly washed through her.
Her gaze fell back to the corsage. It bothered her. A beautiful, squashed little flower with a pin. Lovely, but totally unnecessary. Above and beyond the terms of the deal.
It mocked her, as she recalled the things he'd said to her. He didn't like her. Didn't believe in the feelings she had for him.
She moved to throw it in the trash, but just ended up standing awkwardly, her hand outstretched.
5.
His voice rasped close to her ear. "You realize you're on all fours, in the dark, in my office."
She sighed, vaguely making out the leg of the desk, and the blinds.
He continued, "I guess it's not what you imagined. I didn't bring any flowers this time."
She rolled her eyes in the dark. "House. Could you just keep quiet?"
"Huh. So that’s how you like it."
Cautiously, she started to move away from him, feeling his legs against hers as he also slowly shifted. She slid gingerly along the carpet, hoping she was nowhere near his thigh.
Finally, on her feet, she brushed herself off and reached for the desk lamp. He was leaning against the wall, headphones on, squinting up at her. His long legs were stretched out in front.
"What are you doing sitting there in the dark?"
He cocked his head. "What are you doing walking into my darkened office at this hour?"
She gestured at the pile of folders spilled out on the floor. "I wanted to drop them off. I was in a hurry. I didn't know you'd be lying in wait."
"Hm, yeah. I gathered that from the puppy-like yelp as you hit the floor."
She held his gaze, silently questioning.
He shrugged. "I was hiding at first - Cuddy. Then…sleeping."
She nodded, eyebrows raised. "The twists and turns of the brilliant Gregory House."
He grunted as he awkwardly pushed and pulled himself to his feet. "You're the one who wanted to go out with me."
Great. Cameron turned and picked up the dropped patient files, slapping them down hard on his desk. "That was a mistake."
He limped over to his chair and sat down, leaning back. "I don't know. I got what I wanted."
She shook her head. Meeting his eye, she said with empty confidence, "I bet you didn't."
He nodded, a scornful smile appearing. "That's right. You know me better than I know myself. My instinct of love. I’m an eighth grade boy."
"Well. You got me back at work. You got to stop interviewing. You revealed my hidden agenda."
He nodded expectantly. "And? What was it I didn't get?"
She smiled. She slowly traced his outline with her eyes, taking in his scruffy demeanour and crumpled shirt, following the line of his arm down to his fingers resting on the desk. She lingered there for a moment before meeting his eye. "I don't know. I just doubt that you got what you really wanted."
House frowned.
She walked out, strangely feeling a little better.
end
Words: 1046
Spoilers: Does S1 still count? *g* 1x19 Kids, 1x20 Love Hurts
Summary: Cameron's thoughts following some pivotal moments with House, and an AU part just for fun.
Notes:
+ Written for the ficathon at
with_meaning Prompt: dubiety: the condition or quality of being doubtful; also, a matter of doubt. + House fic and me don't get along great at the moment, but here I am! I think it's a little different from my usual. I hope you enjoy.
+ For
lookatmoiye7. ♥ For keeping me going and for her general awesomeness *g*1.
She left him in the hallway and stared blankly at the smooth white door, fingertips on the handle. Her eyes slowly closed.
She wasn't uneasy about forcing him to take her out. Not wondering why she'd said it like that, like a dare, or some punishment to be weasled out of.
It was the look on his face. She frowned. Wide, startled eyes. Mouth open. Nothing brilliant or callous or curious or scathing about him.
She refocused on the door. Just…open.
He looked so open. She could still see it so clearly. Like a different man.
Confused. Vulnerable. Stunned. That she'd said what she wanted? (He'd known what that was.) That he'd have to offer so little?
She exhaled, the memory of his (damn) eyes stuck in her mind.
The triumph she'd felt, with his warm hand enclosing hers, unfurled in her stomach into something more like doubt.
2.
He hadn't wanted Chase or Foreman to know. (A bad sign? Like she needed one. Not-so-subtle hints of dubiety assail her: badidea badidea badidea)
But she needed it, like a photograph, a blood test, a signature. It was the chance to just confirm it with someone else.
And again, when she asked him what to wear. As if it really mattered. As if he'd take her to the opera, or a sporting event. She smiled wryly (a monster truck rally). But she still had to ask him.
This is happening, right?
Half-expecting him to scoff and tell her to share whatever drugs was she was obviously taking. But instead he'd mentioned paint ball and spandex, which incredibly, had been a relief.
She nodded once to herself. Café Spiletto. Right.
3.
You don’t love, you need. And now that your husband is dead, you’re looking for your new charity case…What I am is what you need. I’m damaged.
She looked down. The adrenaline that had been holding her upright since they arrived seemed to slither right through her.
He'd stopped talking, and it was like dinner was over, although they hadn't yet ordered.
He'd complimented her on her earrings and shoes; words that from anyone else marked the beginning of something. From House they were…ominous.
She heard herself babbling about Freud. How there was nothing he could do to convince her he didn't like her. He was doing a pretty good job. And that open look was gone.
There was no doubt in her now. She just felt hollow.
4.
She unlocked the door, the unpinned corsage already a little crushed in her hand. She put it on the table, her arm like a lump of lead.
Looking around the apartment, she saw the remnants of date preparation: her initial choice of shoes lay near the couch, her other bag. Her silver hair clip. It seemed kind of amusing now to think she'd been getting ready for, anticipating, hoping for a date.
She wondered now, baffled, how her other self, the self from 2 hours ago, had thought it would play out. What would House do? Open up and honestly tell her, during time she was forcing him to spend with her, how much he really, actually did like her?
She rubbed her brow, grimacing at the tired feeling that suddenly washed through her.
Her gaze fell back to the corsage. It bothered her. A beautiful, squashed little flower with a pin. Lovely, but totally unnecessary. Above and beyond the terms of the deal.
It mocked her, as she recalled the things he'd said to her. He didn't like her. Didn't believe in the feelings she had for him.
She moved to throw it in the trash, but just ended up standing awkwardly, her hand outstretched.
5.
His voice rasped close to her ear. "You realize you're on all fours, in the dark, in my office."
She sighed, vaguely making out the leg of the desk, and the blinds.
He continued, "I guess it's not what you imagined. I didn't bring any flowers this time."
She rolled her eyes in the dark. "House. Could you just keep quiet?"
"Huh. So that’s how you like it."
Cautiously, she started to move away from him, feeling his legs against hers as he also slowly shifted. She slid gingerly along the carpet, hoping she was nowhere near his thigh.
Finally, on her feet, she brushed herself off and reached for the desk lamp. He was leaning against the wall, headphones on, squinting up at her. His long legs were stretched out in front.
"What are you doing sitting there in the dark?"
He cocked his head. "What are you doing walking into my darkened office at this hour?"
She gestured at the pile of folders spilled out on the floor. "I wanted to drop them off. I was in a hurry. I didn't know you'd be lying in wait."
"Hm, yeah. I gathered that from the puppy-like yelp as you hit the floor."
She held his gaze, silently questioning.
He shrugged. "I was hiding at first - Cuddy. Then…sleeping."
She nodded, eyebrows raised. "The twists and turns of the brilliant Gregory House."
He grunted as he awkwardly pushed and pulled himself to his feet. "You're the one who wanted to go out with me."
Great. Cameron turned and picked up the dropped patient files, slapping them down hard on his desk. "That was a mistake."
He limped over to his chair and sat down, leaning back. "I don't know. I got what I wanted."
She shook her head. Meeting his eye, she said with empty confidence, "I bet you didn't."
He nodded, a scornful smile appearing. "That's right. You know me better than I know myself. My instinct of love. I’m an eighth grade boy."
"Well. You got me back at work. You got to stop interviewing. You revealed my hidden agenda."
He nodded expectantly. "And? What was it I didn't get?"
She smiled. She slowly traced his outline with her eyes, taking in his scruffy demeanour and crumpled shirt, following the line of his arm down to his fingers resting on the desk. She lingered there for a moment before meeting his eye. "I don't know. I just doubt that you got what you really wanted."
House frowned.
She walked out, strangely feeling a little better.
end