[house/cameron/wilson] the space between 'now' and 'then'
Title: the space between ‘now’ and ‘then’
Fandom: house, md
Characters/Pairings: cameron, wilson, house, wilson/cameron, house/cameron
Prompt: 001. phobia
Word Count: 937
Rating: pg
Summary: So they went to work that morning with smiles on their faces and their hands intertwined.
Author's Notes: Pre- “Meaning”. First one down, ninety-nine more to go. *grins*
For 100_situations. You can find the table here.
the space between 'now' and 'then'
It happened while he was away.
She thought of him while he wasn’t there. Constantly. She worried for him, wondered about him, was curious about how he was doing. (If the treatment had worked.) Sometimes, the need to know was so strong that she found herself unable to focus on the case. Unable to focus on the patient.
She hated herself for that.
It was during one of those times that she first came to him. Dr Wilson. James.
“I just want to know how he’s doing,” she pleaded, her eyes warm and needing and wide.
And he told her. He told her what he knew: he was running (every day), he was reading, he was playing the piano, he was talking about being able to run, he wasn’t taking Vicodin. He also told her how he felt about it all, “it’s almost like Stacy and the infarction never happened. I missed him like this”, and then when they were finished talking about House, they talked about other things.
One day, (about three weeks since House had been away), he asked her out to dinner.
They had sex that night. It was soft, and gentle, and needing, and tender and everything Cameron ever imagined sex with Wilson would be like. He catered to her, putting aside his own needs and making sure she got everything she wanted. He kissed her like she was the only woman he had ever kissed (she knew that was a lie), and when he slid down her body and licked at her sex, his eyes met hers and she almost came just from the way he looked at her.
The next morning, they talked. She lay -- cradled in his arms, naked and covered only in his bed sheets -- and they talked about what it meant. And they decided that it meant quite a lot, actually. And that they wanted to do it again. And again.
So they went to work that morning with smiles on their faces and their hands intertwined.
Today, House came back.
Cameron was happy. Happy, because she had kissed Wilson good bye at her apartment in the morning, and now House was back. And walking. And pain free. And all was right with the world. (She wasn’t that naive, of course, but still. It was nice.)
She noticed within the first hour. He was different -- she didn’t really believe James when he told her, as they drifted off to sleep one night -- and he was happy. Sarcastic, dry, and definitely still House. But different. She smiled, because he laughed at something stupid Chase had said, and she was happy to see him laugh.
She was happy.
In the lab, as she tested their patient’s liver cells, she hummed to herself. She laughed, because she knew she was starting to live the misconception that everyone had of her. Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, sweet little Cameron. She laughed, because she didn’t care.
She heard the footsteps behind her, but didn’t turn around. Whoever it was could wait a few minutes. There was something strange in the cells in front of her microscope; she needed a better look...
She felt him press up against her, his chest to her back. She felt warm breath on her neck, and she smiled. “James, I’m a little busy right now --” and then she inhaled, and was struck by a familiar scent. One that made her a little dizzy. One that made her knees a little weak.
One that wasn’t James’.
She turned around. He was right there. “House?”
He smiled and reached up, his thumb tracing her jaw line. His blue eyes flashed, and he licked his lips. “It’s good to see you again, Cameron.”
She shuddered, his proximity and heat and the feel of his hard body against hers causing her to shut down. His thumb ghosted over the corner of her lips, and she swallowed, trying to speak. Trying to tell him that he could’t do this to her, not now. He couldn’t --
But his lips were on hers before she could get the words past her throat. Rough and wanting and forceful, and his teeth grazed her bottom lip and she couldn’t help herself, she whimpered, and she felt him smirk against her skin. Her skin was tingling, and burning, and itching where he touched her. And she couldn’t think, and she wanted him to stop, but when she pulled her hands up to push him away, she found her fingers curling into his shirt.
She began to think of all the things that she wanted to do to him; now, here and it scared her because she thought she was over this. Over him.
He pulled away, still smiling. “Things are different now.”
Her knees shook. She stood, breathless, as he turned and walked (strutted) away, the lab door swinging shut behind him.
Her lips stung. She had goose bumps. She couldn’t breathe.
Later, James found her in the diagnostics office by herself, reading a medical journal and nursing a cup of coffee. He sat next to her, and looked at her with warm brown eyes, and placed his hand on her bare knee.
She brushed his hand away. Stood up. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” she said. And when he nodded (a little confused, a little worried) and asked, “I’ll see you tonight, then?”, she didn’t look at him when she answered.
(Her heart raced, and her fingers trembled as she placed her mug back into the sink. She couldn’t calm down.)
“Maybe.”
END.
Fandom: house, md
Characters/Pairings: cameron, wilson, house, wilson/cameron, house/cameron
Prompt: 001. phobia
Word Count: 937
Rating: pg
Summary: So they went to work that morning with smiles on their faces and their hands intertwined.
Author's Notes: Pre- “Meaning”. First one down, ninety-nine more to go. *grins*
For 100_situations. You can find the table here.
the space between 'now' and 'then'
It happened while he was away.
She thought of him while he wasn’t there. Constantly. She worried for him, wondered about him, was curious about how he was doing. (If the treatment had worked.) Sometimes, the need to know was so strong that she found herself unable to focus on the case. Unable to focus on the patient.
She hated herself for that.
It was during one of those times that she first came to him. Dr Wilson. James.
“I just want to know how he’s doing,” she pleaded, her eyes warm and needing and wide.
And he told her. He told her what he knew: he was running (every day), he was reading, he was playing the piano, he was talking about being able to run, he wasn’t taking Vicodin. He also told her how he felt about it all, “it’s almost like Stacy and the infarction never happened. I missed him like this”, and then when they were finished talking about House, they talked about other things.
One day, (about three weeks since House had been away), he asked her out to dinner.
They had sex that night. It was soft, and gentle, and needing, and tender and everything Cameron ever imagined sex with Wilson would be like. He catered to her, putting aside his own needs and making sure she got everything she wanted. He kissed her like she was the only woman he had ever kissed (she knew that was a lie), and when he slid down her body and licked at her sex, his eyes met hers and she almost came just from the way he looked at her.
The next morning, they talked. She lay -- cradled in his arms, naked and covered only in his bed sheets -- and they talked about what it meant. And they decided that it meant quite a lot, actually. And that they wanted to do it again. And again.
So they went to work that morning with smiles on their faces and their hands intertwined.
Today, House came back.
Cameron was happy. Happy, because she had kissed Wilson good bye at her apartment in the morning, and now House was back. And walking. And pain free. And all was right with the world. (She wasn’t that naive, of course, but still. It was nice.)
She noticed within the first hour. He was different -- she didn’t really believe James when he told her, as they drifted off to sleep one night -- and he was happy. Sarcastic, dry, and definitely still House. But different. She smiled, because he laughed at something stupid Chase had said, and she was happy to see him laugh.
She was happy.
In the lab, as she tested their patient’s liver cells, she hummed to herself. She laughed, because she knew she was starting to live the misconception that everyone had of her. Cheerful, happy-go-lucky, sweet little Cameron. She laughed, because she didn’t care.
She heard the footsteps behind her, but didn’t turn around. Whoever it was could wait a few minutes. There was something strange in the cells in front of her microscope; she needed a better look...
She felt him press up against her, his chest to her back. She felt warm breath on her neck, and she smiled. “James, I’m a little busy right now --” and then she inhaled, and was struck by a familiar scent. One that made her a little dizzy. One that made her knees a little weak.
One that wasn’t James’.
She turned around. He was right there. “House?”
He smiled and reached up, his thumb tracing her jaw line. His blue eyes flashed, and he licked his lips. “It’s good to see you again, Cameron.”
She shuddered, his proximity and heat and the feel of his hard body against hers causing her to shut down. His thumb ghosted over the corner of her lips, and she swallowed, trying to speak. Trying to tell him that he could’t do this to her, not now. He couldn’t --
But his lips were on hers before she could get the words past her throat. Rough and wanting and forceful, and his teeth grazed her bottom lip and she couldn’t help herself, she whimpered, and she felt him smirk against her skin. Her skin was tingling, and burning, and itching where he touched her. And she couldn’t think, and she wanted him to stop, but when she pulled her hands up to push him away, she found her fingers curling into his shirt.
She began to think of all the things that she wanted to do to him; now, here and it scared her because she thought she was over this. Over him.
He pulled away, still smiling. “Things are different now.”
Her knees shook. She stood, breathless, as he turned and walked (strutted) away, the lab door swinging shut behind him.
Her lips stung. She had goose bumps. She couldn’t breathe.
Later, James found her in the diagnostics office by herself, reading a medical journal and nursing a cup of coffee. He sat next to her, and looked at her with warm brown eyes, and placed his hand on her bare knee.
She brushed his hand away. Stood up. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” she said. And when he nodded (a little confused, a little worried) and asked, “I’ll see you tonight, then?”, she didn’t look at him when she answered.
(Her heart raced, and her fingers trembled as she placed her mug back into the sink. She couldn’t calm down.)
“Maybe.”
END.