Crystal Blue Persuasion
House fanfiction. Missing scenes from "Hunting." Chase/Cameron, mentions of House/Cameron. R (second part will be NC-17)
No Regrets ~ Part 1
The day Alison Cameron was exposed to the AIDS virus she ran a stop sign on her way home. She didn't mean to. She stopped when the car in front of her stopped, and when it started forward again she followed right after it. The woman she cut off gave her the finger, but she didn’t notice, or realize what she'd done.
No harm, no foul.
She parallel parked in her usual spot (though not as neatly or as close to the curb as she usually managed) and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was fine, really - perfectly normal.
"You ok?"
"She's fine, probably getting bored with the question."
He was right - House was always right. She was getting bored with the question, and even more bored with her own answers. Her patient Kalvin had thought so too.
"Oh, would you stop being nice? It's useless - and worse, it's boring. Get angry!"
But she wasn’t angry. Of course she wasn’t. It had been an accident - there was nothing to get angry about. And she knew that House was treating her as he would want to be treated himself. He hated that kind of attention and people feeling sorry for him. He knew that the kindest thing was to act as if it didn’t matter, as if nothing had happened, as if he didn’t care.
Deep down she knew House did care what happened to her. He’d thrown her the Kveim-Siltzbach test and his eyes had been understanding. But even deeper down she knew he didn’t care all that much. When she’d left for the evening Foreman and Chase had glanced at each other and given her extra-cheerful goodbyes. House, whistling softly as he fiddled with something on the desk, hadn’t even looked up.
She dropped her laptop case on the sofa, threw her lab coat over the crossbar of her treadmill, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the kitchen.
"If you really want to do something, you do it - you don't save it for a sound byte."
Her reflection in the kitchen window was pale and bare of makeup, the eyes shadowed and dark.
"So what do you really want to do?" she asked it, but it only stared back at her, offering no suggestions.
"I have fun."
“Yeah, she's got some scheduled for February.”
If Kalvin had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma he wouldn’t be alive in February.
How had Kalvin taken one look at her and known that she was... square, uptight, boring? It wasn’t like she had it tattooed on her forehead: "Good girl - plays by all the rules." Or did she? She squinted at her reflection, but the forehead was smooth and white.
And why did they think it was all about fun, anyway? Party 'n' play. Sex and drugs and rock and roll. She scowled. So she didn’t do drugs and go out drinking and snowboarding in Switzerland and scuba diving in Aruba and sailing in Australia and who knows what else. So what? So she hadn’t had sex since... oh God, had it really been that long???
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. Sort of.
"House isn’t going to hand you anything. You want him, you’ve gotta take him. Jump him."
"Yeah, right, Chase. You try doing that." She pulled the fastener off her tight bun, shook her hair down, and smirked at her reflection. Chase hadn’t been so bold when it was him doing the asking.
"Dinner. Time for dinner." But she wasn’t hungry. Instead she wandered to her liquor cabinet (the narrow one next to the dishwasher). On a shelf with a colander and a Crockpot stood three bottles. She took them out one by one and set them in a line on the counter: A good Shiraz - half empty - for drinking. A cheap Marsala - mostly full - for cooking. And an expensive imported single-malt Scotch - untouched - for... seduction. Like that was ever going to happen.
"It's not like they're going to find anything, right?"
She opened the Scotch with a quick angry twist, poured two fingers worth into a glass, raised it in a sarcastic toast, and brought it to her lips.
She sputtered. Single-malt Scotch was vile. How did people drink that?
Scotch on the rocks. Of course... she opened her freezer and plopped several ice cubes into the glass. She waited for the liquor to cool, and cautiously took a sip. It was... still disgusting.
Scotch and soda. She opened the refrigerator door, grabbed a can of Tab, and poured it all into the glass. Ahhh… much better.
"I’m getting my drink on," she muttered. She wandered back into the living room and took the two vials from the pocket of her white coat. One contained two yellow pills and the other a half-teaspoonful of fine white powder. She thumped them on the glass coffee table next to the liquor glass and sank down onto the sofa, staring at them. The pills looked innocent and friendly with the little birds stamped on them, but the lab had reported they had traces of strychnine in them. The meth, on the other hand, they’d said was quite pure.
"They could have done you some good."
The eidetic memory that had served her so well in med school presented her with a passage from one of her textbooks:
Methamphetamine promotes sexual drive for both men and women, in contrast to opiates, which tend to replace sexual pleasure with the pleasure of the drug. Dr. Case related a 1937 report of almost instantaneous orgasm after using methamphetamine, while a 1947 report described an "indescribably delightful" session of masturbation. A 1952 paper quoted a user finding "more desire but less satisfaction" from sex. Sexual behaviors and desires may also be altered while on methamphetamine, with individuals changing accustomed sex roles due to loss of inhibitions.
Sexual behaviors may be altered. She sneered. "Physician, heal thyself."
It wasn’t like street drugs fell into her hands every day, much less high quality crystal meth with a laboratory stamp of purity. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and pushed number six.
"CHASE R CELL."
*
Twenty minutes later, Alison Cameron was a different person. Possibly Makeup Woman. She’d ended up snorting two lines of the meth.
As with all addictive drugs, the potential for addiction is greater when it is delivered by methods that cause the concentration in the blood to rise quickly, principally because the effects desired by the user are felt more quickly and with a higher intensity than through a moderated delivery mechanism. In general, smoking is the "fastest" mechanism (i.e., it causes the blood concentration to rise the most quickly in the shortest period of time as it allows the substance to travel to brain through a more direct route than intravenous injection), followed by injecting, then snorting, then swallowing.
She had nothing to smoke it in and no idea of how one might even go about doing that. She could prepare a solution for injection, of course, but that was too much like work. And the rocks were small and powdery - Kalvin had good stuff. It hardly burned as it went up her nose.
She’d changed out of her work clothes before the buzz hit, and spent the next fifteen minutes at her dressing table mirror, rediscovering the Joy and Wonder of Cosmetics. She had never realized before how pretty her own eyes were, or how satisfying it could be to carefully apply two coats of mascara to every single eyelash. Eyeliner, eye shadow, lipstick… everything she tried made her look better and… wilder. Sexier. She carefully shaped her eyebrows, darkening them with pencil and examining the results with anxious care. In the mirror, her perfectly plucked brows drew together. Something was missing...
Sex? Check. Chase would be here any minute.
Drugs? Check.
Rock and roll? That was it - there was no music.
She rushed into the living room and shuffled through her small collection of CDs. She stopped at Black Cherry, her attention caught by Alison Goldfrapp’s excellently-painted eyes. "Hi Alison, I’m Alison." She pushed the disk in, spun the volume knob to the right, and let "Crystalline Green" swirl around her. Maybe she should make Chase take her out to a club... it had been years since she’d...
No. She knew what she wanted and, tonight, dancing wasn't it.
Here we come
Driving down
Deep and wide...
A flash of headlights hit the window - someone making a U-turn in front of her place, probably to park. Chase. She looked around the messy room, thought about her unbrushed, tangled hair and casual clothes and shrugged. It was only Chase.
Settle down
On the beach
Get the sun
Coming down
Wet and warm...
She paced restlessly, wondering why it was taking him so long to get out of his car and up the stairs.
Turn it down
Settle down...
Just when she was about to decide the headlights hadn't been his after all, she heard two soft taps on the door. She threw it open to reveal her coworker in jeans, a rumpled shirt, and a leather jacket, hands in his pockets, smiling his innocent Chase smile. A dimple flashed briefly on his left cheek.
"Glad you changed your mind about that drink."
"Come on in," she said breathlessly, closing the door behind him.
As he stepped in and started talking about a place they could go, she found her nervousness washed away in a wave of irritation. Why was he always so... so gorgeous, so polite, so fucking fake? She forgot the words she'd planned to use and grabbed his leather lapels, pushing him up against the wall by the door. She smiled grimly at his expression of stunned surprise -- that one was genuine -- and pressed herself against him, twining her arms around his neck, and bringing her mouth to his. His full bottom lip was soft and warm and delicious. He didn't kiss back, but she could feel his sharp intake of breath and his hips jerked forward against hers. She smiled to herself. Oh yeah, he wanted it.
He pulled his head back sharply. "Are you high?"
"Uh huh," she breathed, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor, trying to look past her at the drugs on the table. She let her lips wander over his face, enjoying the way his respiration quickened in response. Damn, he smelled good. Fresh and deceptively wholesome, like new-mown grass or...
"I thought the lab disposed of the drugs?" he said, frowning.
"Not all of them." Why was he frowning? His body was responding to hers, pushing her backwards as she attacked the buttons on his shirt. Undressing Chase was turning out to be even more satisfying than mascara or music. Her fingers were deft and sure, and his hips moved rhythmically against her as he finally returned her kisses, breathing hard and fast...
He broke the kiss and tried to stop her busy hands. "Ummm, slow down."
She could do that. Maybe. He examined her left eye, freeing her hands, which returned to their nimble work. "Your pupils are dilated. You're not..."
Another wave of annoyance shook her, and she pushed his shirt roughly off his shoulders. Of course her pupils were dilated -- that's what happened when you took amphetamines. She didn't need him to be a doctor right now, she needed him to be... himself. She glared at him fiercely.
"Come on, Chase. Don't turn into a good guy on me now."
* * *
Robert Chase liked to make lists. He never wrote them down -- he wasn't a complete loser -- but he composed them in his head. He worked on one as he drove to Cameron's place, his hand light on the steering wheel.
Six Rules For A Friendly Drink With A Colleague
1. Don't open the car door for her and hand her in. In fact, better take separate cars.
2. When you get where you're going, do NOT guide her to her seat with a hand at the small of her back.
3. Don't sit opposite to her at a small table and bump knees all night.
4. Don't smile too damn much, don't lean over close when she talks, don't stare at her lips or into her eyes.
5. Don't ply her with drinks or have too many yourself.
6. Don't talk about sex with her and, most important of all, NEVER TRY TO HAVE IT.
No drama, then. Everything was under control. It would be on her if she wanted to talk about the HIV thing or avoid the subject. He drummed his fingers on the wheel and frowned, remembering Cameron's face after she'd showered the blood off. She'd looked different without makeup. Surprisingly good, but different. He wasn't used to seeing her look so vulnerable. No, wait -- his mouth twisted in amusement. He was totally used to seeing her look vulnerable, lips trembling and eyes shining with tears as she put her heart on the line for a patient, or for House. But he'd never seen her look like that before. Like... scared.
He shook the image from his mind as he reached her building and made a tight turn into an empty parking spot. It was no big deal, after all. He'd give her a bit of distraction tonight, follow her lead, and she'd be back to her old self in the morning. He felt odd approaching her apartment, distracted by the wailing music someone was playing. He found himself looking around as if were doing something wrong -- which he definitely wasn't -- as he knocked on her door.
Cameron opened the door, looking... weird. Really weird. And the music came out with her, in a blast of trippy club sound. What the hell? He controlled his unease and tried to speak normally, smiling at her.
"Glad you changed your mind about that drink."
"Come on in," she said, and he edged into her apartment. Her hair was down and she was wearing tight black jeans and tank top, and clearly no bra.
"You should get changed," he said, virtuously keeping his eyes on her face. "There's this new place on campus that--"
That was when the world suddenly spun off its axis. Cameron thrust him back against the wall, her eyes blazing at him. He stared at her in shock as she deliberately brought her lips to his. JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH, Cameron was kissing him.
His eyes closed, his brain froze, and at least two liters of blood rushed straight to his groin. She was warm -- hell, she was hot -- and she tasted like... alcohol? His brain kick-started and started racing. This was not normal. He broke away from her kiss.
"Are you high?" he demanded, trying to look at her face, but she kept her mouth on his as she answered.
"Uh huh."
He wrenched his mouth away from hers long enough to see some of Kalvin Ryan's stash on the table behind her.
"I thought the lab disposed of the drugs?" he said.
"Not all of them."
Christ.
He tried to ignore the fact that she was taking off his clothes, and the way his body was responding to hers. Somebody needed to show some sanity here, and it looked like it was going to have to be him.
"Um... slow down!" He stilled her hands on his shirt buttons and examined her eyes. "Your pupils are dilated. You're not..."
"Come on, Chase. Don't turn into a good guy on me now." She was pushing his shirt off now, her eyes strangely dark and demanding.
Adrenaline surged through him. She wanted a walk on the wild side and she'd challenged him -- chosen him -- to be her guide. He had to decide, and right now, before his body made the decision for him. All the reasons why he shouldn't do this flashed through his mind -- the drugs, the HIV, the fact that they worked together, that she was still hung up on House, that she was treating him like some damned disposable sex toy. Which would end up hurting more -- having her, like this, just once, or missing the chance completely? Which would she regret more?
But she was looking at him with desperate eyes and he found he didn't have a choice after all. If a bad boy was what she wanted, a bad boy was what he'd be. He took a deep breath and claimed her mouth with his.
* * *
Part 2
Acknowledgements:
Characters, situations, and everything else belong to David Shore, Bryan Singer, Fox, Bad Hat, and associated powers-that-be. I’m, umm, "borrowing them without permission, but with every intention of giving them back." Before next Tuesday. All quotes in bold from House MD, particularly 2.07 "Hunting" and 1.20 "Love Hurts." I referred to House: Transcripts to refresh my memory.
Quote in acknowlegement above from Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, which also does not belong to me.
Excerpts from Cameron’s imaginary drug textbooks cobbled together from GMHC Treatment Issues and Wikipedia.
"Crystalline Green" lyrics by Goldfrapp, gathered from here.
No Regrets ~ Part 1
The day Alison Cameron was exposed to the AIDS virus she ran a stop sign on her way home. She didn't mean to. She stopped when the car in front of her stopped, and when it started forward again she followed right after it. The woman she cut off gave her the finger, but she didn’t notice, or realize what she'd done.
No harm, no foul.
She parallel parked in her usual spot (though not as neatly or as close to the curb as she usually managed) and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was fine, really - perfectly normal.
"You ok?"
"She's fine, probably getting bored with the question."
He was right - House was always right. She was getting bored with the question, and even more bored with her own answers. Her patient Kalvin had thought so too.
"Oh, would you stop being nice? It's useless - and worse, it's boring. Get angry!"
But she wasn’t angry. Of course she wasn’t. It had been an accident - there was nothing to get angry about. And she knew that House was treating her as he would want to be treated himself. He hated that kind of attention and people feeling sorry for him. He knew that the kindest thing was to act as if it didn’t matter, as if nothing had happened, as if he didn’t care.
Deep down she knew House did care what happened to her. He’d thrown her the Kveim-Siltzbach test and his eyes had been understanding. But even deeper down she knew he didn’t care all that much. When she’d left for the evening Foreman and Chase had glanced at each other and given her extra-cheerful goodbyes. House, whistling softly as he fiddled with something on the desk, hadn’t even looked up.
She dropped her laptop case on the sofa, threw her lab coat over the crossbar of her treadmill, kicked off her shoes, and headed for the kitchen.
"If you really want to do something, you do it - you don't save it for a sound byte."
Her reflection in the kitchen window was pale and bare of makeup, the eyes shadowed and dark.
"So what do you really want to do?" she asked it, but it only stared back at her, offering no suggestions.
"I have fun."
“Yeah, she's got some scheduled for February.”
If Kalvin had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma he wouldn’t be alive in February.
How had Kalvin taken one look at her and known that she was... square, uptight, boring? It wasn’t like she had it tattooed on her forehead: "Good girl - plays by all the rules." Or did she? She squinted at her reflection, but the forehead was smooth and white.
And why did they think it was all about fun, anyway? Party 'n' play. Sex and drugs and rock and roll. She scowled. So she didn’t do drugs and go out drinking and snowboarding in Switzerland and scuba diving in Aruba and sailing in Australia and who knows what else. So what? So she hadn’t had sex since... oh God, had it really been that long???
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. Sort of.
"House isn’t going to hand you anything. You want him, you’ve gotta take him. Jump him."
"Yeah, right, Chase. You try doing that." She pulled the fastener off her tight bun, shook her hair down, and smirked at her reflection. Chase hadn’t been so bold when it was him doing the asking.
"Dinner. Time for dinner." But she wasn’t hungry. Instead she wandered to her liquor cabinet (the narrow one next to the dishwasher). On a shelf with a colander and a Crockpot stood three bottles. She took them out one by one and set them in a line on the counter: A good Shiraz - half empty - for drinking. A cheap Marsala - mostly full - for cooking. And an expensive imported single-malt Scotch - untouched - for... seduction. Like that was ever going to happen.
"It's not like they're going to find anything, right?"
She opened the Scotch with a quick angry twist, poured two fingers worth into a glass, raised it in a sarcastic toast, and brought it to her lips.
She sputtered. Single-malt Scotch was vile. How did people drink that?
Scotch on the rocks. Of course... she opened her freezer and plopped several ice cubes into the glass. She waited for the liquor to cool, and cautiously took a sip. It was... still disgusting.
Scotch and soda. She opened the refrigerator door, grabbed a can of Tab, and poured it all into the glass. Ahhh… much better.
"I’m getting my drink on," she muttered. She wandered back into the living room and took the two vials from the pocket of her white coat. One contained two yellow pills and the other a half-teaspoonful of fine white powder. She thumped them on the glass coffee table next to the liquor glass and sank down onto the sofa, staring at them. The pills looked innocent and friendly with the little birds stamped on them, but the lab had reported they had traces of strychnine in them. The meth, on the other hand, they’d said was quite pure.
"They could have done you some good."
The eidetic memory that had served her so well in med school presented her with a passage from one of her textbooks:
Methamphetamine promotes sexual drive for both men and women, in contrast to opiates, which tend to replace sexual pleasure with the pleasure of the drug. Dr. Case related a 1937 report of almost instantaneous orgasm after using methamphetamine, while a 1947 report described an "indescribably delightful" session of masturbation. A 1952 paper quoted a user finding "more desire but less satisfaction" from sex. Sexual behaviors and desires may also be altered while on methamphetamine, with individuals changing accustomed sex roles due to loss of inhibitions.
Sexual behaviors may be altered. She sneered. "Physician, heal thyself."
It wasn’t like street drugs fell into her hands every day, much less high quality crystal meth with a laboratory stamp of purity. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and pushed number six.
"CHASE R CELL."
*
Twenty minutes later, Alison Cameron was a different person. Possibly Makeup Woman. She’d ended up snorting two lines of the meth.
As with all addictive drugs, the potential for addiction is greater when it is delivered by methods that cause the concentration in the blood to rise quickly, principally because the effects desired by the user are felt more quickly and with a higher intensity than through a moderated delivery mechanism. In general, smoking is the "fastest" mechanism (i.e., it causes the blood concentration to rise the most quickly in the shortest period of time as it allows the substance to travel to brain through a more direct route than intravenous injection), followed by injecting, then snorting, then swallowing.
She had nothing to smoke it in and no idea of how one might even go about doing that. She could prepare a solution for injection, of course, but that was too much like work. And the rocks were small and powdery - Kalvin had good stuff. It hardly burned as it went up her nose.
She’d changed out of her work clothes before the buzz hit, and spent the next fifteen minutes at her dressing table mirror, rediscovering the Joy and Wonder of Cosmetics. She had never realized before how pretty her own eyes were, or how satisfying it could be to carefully apply two coats of mascara to every single eyelash. Eyeliner, eye shadow, lipstick… everything she tried made her look better and… wilder. Sexier. She carefully shaped her eyebrows, darkening them with pencil and examining the results with anxious care. In the mirror, her perfectly plucked brows drew together. Something was missing...
Sex? Check. Chase would be here any minute.
Drugs? Check.
Rock and roll? That was it - there was no music.
She rushed into the living room and shuffled through her small collection of CDs. She stopped at Black Cherry, her attention caught by Alison Goldfrapp’s excellently-painted eyes. "Hi Alison, I’m Alison." She pushed the disk in, spun the volume knob to the right, and let "Crystalline Green" swirl around her. Maybe she should make Chase take her out to a club... it had been years since she’d...
No. She knew what she wanted and, tonight, dancing wasn't it.
Here we come
Driving down
Deep and wide...
A flash of headlights hit the window - someone making a U-turn in front of her place, probably to park. Chase. She looked around the messy room, thought about her unbrushed, tangled hair and casual clothes and shrugged. It was only Chase.
Settle down
On the beach
Get the sun
Coming down
Wet and warm...
She paced restlessly, wondering why it was taking him so long to get out of his car and up the stairs.
Turn it down
Settle down...
Just when she was about to decide the headlights hadn't been his after all, she heard two soft taps on the door. She threw it open to reveal her coworker in jeans, a rumpled shirt, and a leather jacket, hands in his pockets, smiling his innocent Chase smile. A dimple flashed briefly on his left cheek.
"Glad you changed your mind about that drink."
"Come on in," she said breathlessly, closing the door behind him.
As he stepped in and started talking about a place they could go, she found her nervousness washed away in a wave of irritation. Why was he always so... so gorgeous, so polite, so fucking fake? She forgot the words she'd planned to use and grabbed his leather lapels, pushing him up against the wall by the door. She smiled grimly at his expression of stunned surprise -- that one was genuine -- and pressed herself against him, twining her arms around his neck, and bringing her mouth to his. His full bottom lip was soft and warm and delicious. He didn't kiss back, but she could feel his sharp intake of breath and his hips jerked forward against hers. She smiled to herself. Oh yeah, he wanted it.
He pulled his head back sharply. "Are you high?"
"Uh huh," she breathed, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor, trying to look past her at the drugs on the table. She let her lips wander over his face, enjoying the way his respiration quickened in response. Damn, he smelled good. Fresh and deceptively wholesome, like new-mown grass or...
"I thought the lab disposed of the drugs?" he said, frowning.
"Not all of them." Why was he frowning? His body was responding to hers, pushing her backwards as she attacked the buttons on his shirt. Undressing Chase was turning out to be even more satisfying than mascara or music. Her fingers were deft and sure, and his hips moved rhythmically against her as he finally returned her kisses, breathing hard and fast...
He broke the kiss and tried to stop her busy hands. "Ummm, slow down."
She could do that. Maybe. He examined her left eye, freeing her hands, which returned to their nimble work. "Your pupils are dilated. You're not..."
Another wave of annoyance shook her, and she pushed his shirt roughly off his shoulders. Of course her pupils were dilated -- that's what happened when you took amphetamines. She didn't need him to be a doctor right now, she needed him to be... himself. She glared at him fiercely.
"Come on, Chase. Don't turn into a good guy on me now."
* * *
Robert Chase liked to make lists. He never wrote them down -- he wasn't a complete loser -- but he composed them in his head. He worked on one as he drove to Cameron's place, his hand light on the steering wheel.
Six Rules For A Friendly Drink With A Colleague
1. Don't open the car door for her and hand her in. In fact, better take separate cars.
2. When you get where you're going, do NOT guide her to her seat with a hand at the small of her back.
3. Don't sit opposite to her at a small table and bump knees all night.
4. Don't smile too damn much, don't lean over close when she talks, don't stare at her lips or into her eyes.
5. Don't ply her with drinks or have too many yourself.
6. Don't talk about sex with her and, most important of all, NEVER TRY TO HAVE IT.
No drama, then. Everything was under control. It would be on her if she wanted to talk about the HIV thing or avoid the subject. He drummed his fingers on the wheel and frowned, remembering Cameron's face after she'd showered the blood off. She'd looked different without makeup. Surprisingly good, but different. He wasn't used to seeing her look so vulnerable. No, wait -- his mouth twisted in amusement. He was totally used to seeing her look vulnerable, lips trembling and eyes shining with tears as she put her heart on the line for a patient, or for House. But he'd never seen her look like that before. Like... scared.
He shook the image from his mind as he reached her building and made a tight turn into an empty parking spot. It was no big deal, after all. He'd give her a bit of distraction tonight, follow her lead, and she'd be back to her old self in the morning. He felt odd approaching her apartment, distracted by the wailing music someone was playing. He found himself looking around as if were doing something wrong -- which he definitely wasn't -- as he knocked on her door.
Cameron opened the door, looking... weird. Really weird. And the music came out with her, in a blast of trippy club sound. What the hell? He controlled his unease and tried to speak normally, smiling at her.
"Glad you changed your mind about that drink."
"Come on in," she said, and he edged into her apartment. Her hair was down and she was wearing tight black jeans and tank top, and clearly no bra.
"You should get changed," he said, virtuously keeping his eyes on her face. "There's this new place on campus that--"
That was when the world suddenly spun off its axis. Cameron thrust him back against the wall, her eyes blazing at him. He stared at her in shock as she deliberately brought her lips to his. JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH, Cameron was kissing him.
His eyes closed, his brain froze, and at least two liters of blood rushed straight to his groin. She was warm -- hell, she was hot -- and she tasted like... alcohol? His brain kick-started and started racing. This was not normal. He broke away from her kiss.
"Are you high?" he demanded, trying to look at her face, but she kept her mouth on his as she answered.
"Uh huh."
He wrenched his mouth away from hers long enough to see some of Kalvin Ryan's stash on the table behind her.
"I thought the lab disposed of the drugs?" he said.
"Not all of them."
Christ.
He tried to ignore the fact that she was taking off his clothes, and the way his body was responding to hers. Somebody needed to show some sanity here, and it looked like it was going to have to be him.
"Um... slow down!" He stilled her hands on his shirt buttons and examined her eyes. "Your pupils are dilated. You're not..."
"Come on, Chase. Don't turn into a good guy on me now." She was pushing his shirt off now, her eyes strangely dark and demanding.
Adrenaline surged through him. She wanted a walk on the wild side and she'd challenged him -- chosen him -- to be her guide. He had to decide, and right now, before his body made the decision for him. All the reasons why he shouldn't do this flashed through his mind -- the drugs, the HIV, the fact that they worked together, that she was still hung up on House, that she was treating him like some damned disposable sex toy. Which would end up hurting more -- having her, like this, just once, or missing the chance completely? Which would she regret more?
But she was looking at him with desperate eyes and he found he didn't have a choice after all. If a bad boy was what she wanted, a bad boy was what he'd be. He took a deep breath and claimed her mouth with his.
* * *
Part 2
Acknowledgements:
Characters, situations, and everything else belong to David Shore, Bryan Singer, Fox, Bad Hat, and associated powers-that-be. I’m, umm, "borrowing them without permission, but with every intention of giving them back." Before next Tuesday. All quotes in bold from House MD, particularly 2.07 "Hunting" and 1.20 "Love Hurts." I referred to House: Transcripts to refresh my memory.
Quote in acknowlegement above from Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, which also does not belong to me.
Excerpts from Cameron’s imaginary drug textbooks cobbled together from GMHC Treatment Issues and Wikipedia.
"Crystalline Green" lyrics by Goldfrapp, gathered from here.