house fic: Five White Lies 2/15
Title: Five White Lies
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1406
Spoilers: Strangely, this sort of implies a second conversation after the one in the lab in 'Heavy'. There will be shades of 'Detox' and 'Fidelity' scattered about too.
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Summary: Pity is not in her nature because she’s been cursed by empathy. House. Cameron. And the dangers of the unsaid.
A/N: Part One is here.
There is a place that still remains
It eats the fear it eats the pain
The sweetest price he'll have to pay
The day the whole world went away
Nine Inch Nails, The Day the Whole World Went Away
pride.
The one time she sees him struggle is when the pain goes past the point of unbearable.
Certain days, when the pain is the worst, he’ll disappear into the clinic or his office and hide behind his desk or a closed door. She doesn’t pity him [it makes her sad]. Pitying him would give him the satisfaction of being right or worse, completely undermine the kind of person she knows she is- Pity is not in her nature because she’s been cursed by empathy.
That week- that bet [is really worth all of this] is a terrible memory of even how human he can be. She remembers the struggle for his control and the revelation of his self-destructive need to push even beyond the capacity of the farthest line.
Today is a bad day.
Foreman is spending the day assisting Wilson. Chase is hiding in the lab with his tail between legs. It’s quite obvious that he’s the one feeding the information to Volger. Chase feeds on praise like a drug and when somebody cuts his supply, his desperation becomes furious and obvious regardless of how hard he tries to be subtle. She almost wants to laugh at him.
Today is her office day. There’s mail to be read. Requests for consulting to be denied. Lab work to be finished. The best thing about the mundane is its offer of a hiding place, something that she needs right now. [he hides from the world she hides from him it’s the game that they don’t know they’re playing] So she busies herself with files and emails, typing furiously into her laptop.
“Hey Cam.”
She looks up from her work to see Foreman stumble tiredly into the room. He grabs the chair across from her and sits, sighing into his hands.
She flashes him a sympathetic smile. “Didn’t hear you. Long day?”
“Yeah,” he answers. He nods towards House’s office door. The blinds are shut and there’s not even a sound of music. “He still hiding?”
She blinks. “I thought he was downstairs in the clinic.”
“No. Wilson said that he went back up. Pharmacy screwed with his meds again.”
A tired sigh escapes her lips. She takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes. Standing, she walks over to grab herself a cup of coffee.
“So naturally he’s looking for target practice.”
Foreman sighs knowingly and she finds herself hating herself for even mentioning it. The conversation is about to change directions.
“Allison.”
“Don’t,” she warns. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
If anything, Foreman was a fantastic friend. Living in a city where she barely knew anyone, he provided the obligatory older brother role and friend. But sometimes, despite the fact that she tried to reassure herself of his intentions, it drove her insane.
He holds his hands up. “Sorry. Tell you what, though. You and me. Drinks tonight. We can even invite Chase and you can hustle him at the pool table.”
She smiles gratefully at his acceptance of her obvious misdirection. She opens her mouth to ask him if he wants some coffee, but the click of the conference door signals the entrance of a harried Dr. Cuddy.
“Dr. Foreman. Dr. Cameron,” she greets. “Dr. Foreman, Wilson is looking for you.”
Foreman nods and flashes her a we’ll talk later smile, leaving her alone with Cuddy. The other woman smiles at her and she tries to keep her expression neutral.
“Haven’t seen him,” she says.
Cuddy nods, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat. She pulls out a container of pills and tosses them at her. “His Vicodin. I want to see him in the clinic after he takes them.”
Cameron catches them with a nod and watches as the older woman turns and leaves. She stares at his office door with a frown. She knew exactly why it wasn’t Cuddy or Wilson or even the other two. The presence of Volger weighed heavily over both Cuddy and Wilson. Wilson is a terrible liar and Cuddy is too frazzled to even deal with his state.
Her hand lingers over her coffee cup and then she sighs, gripping the small bottle of pills in her hand. Shrugging of her lab coat, she tosses it onto her desk and heads with a wavering determination to the joining door. In and out. As painless as possible. Mantras that never work- she pauses with one hand resting against the cold glass.
Like ripping off a band-aid.
She pushes open his door and is greeted by indefinite darkness. She can make out shadows of things- chairs, his desk, piles of mail and files, and his shoulder bag. There is something suffocating about the darkness of his office. The demons are alive and well and waiting. [for her for him for them]
“And so they send the sacrificial virgin to her doom. How barbaric.”
She whirls around and the door shuts with violent wind of cold air. He’s sitting in corner, in the lounge chair, with his cane lying haphazardly by the footrest. His jacket lies in a disheveled pile on the floor. She has to narrow her eyes to make out his form, silently cursing the fact that he’s shut all the blinds so no light enters the room.
She cheers at the calmness of her voice. “Cuddy just gave me your medication.”
He says nothing. She wraps her arms around herself, her grip on the pill bottle nearly bruising. She hates the fact that she’s slowly beginning to feel like a lost little girl hovering too close to the edge of dangerous waters. Something will pull her in. [he wants to]
[he’s waiting to drown her]
House’s answer is cold. “I don’t want them. It keeps me out of clinic duty.”
It’s an intentional toss of bait and almost takes it. But something, something in his words stops her. It frightens her. But she doesn’t move. [this is a test you’ll surely fail] He expects her to move and leave.
Later, she’ll blame stress and pure lack of consciousness. Or maybe it’ll be easier to blame the wounds that she refuses to admit she needs to heal. But for once, Allison Cameron will take the twisted initiative.
“You have to take your pills,” she murmurs. She presses her hand on top of the lid and then turns. The echo of the lid popping off lingers after her words.
And disappears after his. “What? Are you going to shove them down my throat?”
Four pills spill into her open hand and she places the bottle on the edge of his desk. Carefully maneuvering herself over to where he sat, she silently opens her mouth and pushes the Vicodin in.
The four little pills burn inside her mouth.
She nudges the footrest away, carefully straddling his legs and leaning forward. Her hands grip the arms of his chair, brushing lightly against his. Her hair falls forward in waves as she leans her forehead against his.
She ignores the way he watches her. Dark. Violent. [burn burn burn] Passionate. Her lips curl into a dangerous smile. The taste of the Vicodin resting against her tongue is bitter.
“You cross that line. You can’t go back.” His warning mocks her.
She presses her mouth to his.
There is no hesitation on his part, his mouth welcomes hers as her tongue sweeps deliberately inside.
The first pill. His hand comes up to her head, tangling in her hair and forcing her to steady herself. The air between the two of them is intoxicatingly raw. Angry. The subtly is unforgiving.
The second and third pills follow- and she finds herself becoming dizzy with whatever this is. He. She. This. That. Them. Impersonal pronouns and articles that never make sense in their application. All she knows is that he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and they’re fighting for something that will kill them both.
A growl rips through his throat as she shifts to make herself comfortable- if you could call it that- in her position. There is heat between her thighs and she swears that his hand brushing between them. And the fourth pill passes between them.
[control]
[control]
[control]
She forces herself to break away with a ragged sigh.
“You have to take your pills,” she echoes her statement from before. She pushes herself up to stand on trembling legs. “You have a responsibility.”
It’s her turn to leave.
time is a testament to the will of little alice who fell down the rabbit hole.
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1406
Spoilers: Strangely, this sort of implies a second conversation after the one in the lab in 'Heavy'. There will be shades of 'Detox' and 'Fidelity' scattered about too.
Rating: Eventually NC-17
Summary: Pity is not in her nature because she’s been cursed by empathy. House. Cameron. And the dangers of the unsaid.
A/N: Part One is here.
There is a place that still remains
It eats the fear it eats the pain
The sweetest price he'll have to pay
The day the whole world went away
Nine Inch Nails, The Day the Whole World Went Away
pride.
The one time she sees him struggle is when the pain goes past the point of unbearable.
Certain days, when the pain is the worst, he’ll disappear into the clinic or his office and hide behind his desk or a closed door. She doesn’t pity him [it makes her sad]. Pitying him would give him the satisfaction of being right or worse, completely undermine the kind of person she knows she is- Pity is not in her nature because she’s been cursed by empathy.
That week- that bet [is really worth all of this] is a terrible memory of even how human he can be. She remembers the struggle for his control and the revelation of his self-destructive need to push even beyond the capacity of the farthest line.
Today is a bad day.
Foreman is spending the day assisting Wilson. Chase is hiding in the lab with his tail between legs. It’s quite obvious that he’s the one feeding the information to Volger. Chase feeds on praise like a drug and when somebody cuts his supply, his desperation becomes furious and obvious regardless of how hard he tries to be subtle. She almost wants to laugh at him.
Today is her office day. There’s mail to be read. Requests for consulting to be denied. Lab work to be finished. The best thing about the mundane is its offer of a hiding place, something that she needs right now. [he hides from the world she hides from him it’s the game that they don’t know they’re playing] So she busies herself with files and emails, typing furiously into her laptop.
“Hey Cam.”
She looks up from her work to see Foreman stumble tiredly into the room. He grabs the chair across from her and sits, sighing into his hands.
She flashes him a sympathetic smile. “Didn’t hear you. Long day?”
“Yeah,” he answers. He nods towards House’s office door. The blinds are shut and there’s not even a sound of music. “He still hiding?”
She blinks. “I thought he was downstairs in the clinic.”
“No. Wilson said that he went back up. Pharmacy screwed with his meds again.”
A tired sigh escapes her lips. She takes her glasses off and rubs her eyes. Standing, she walks over to grab herself a cup of coffee.
“So naturally he’s looking for target practice.”
Foreman sighs knowingly and she finds herself hating herself for even mentioning it. The conversation is about to change directions.
“Allison.”
“Don’t,” she warns. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
If anything, Foreman was a fantastic friend. Living in a city where she barely knew anyone, he provided the obligatory older brother role and friend. But sometimes, despite the fact that she tried to reassure herself of his intentions, it drove her insane.
He holds his hands up. “Sorry. Tell you what, though. You and me. Drinks tonight. We can even invite Chase and you can hustle him at the pool table.”
She smiles gratefully at his acceptance of her obvious misdirection. She opens her mouth to ask him if he wants some coffee, but the click of the conference door signals the entrance of a harried Dr. Cuddy.
“Dr. Foreman. Dr. Cameron,” she greets. “Dr. Foreman, Wilson is looking for you.”
Foreman nods and flashes her a we’ll talk later smile, leaving her alone with Cuddy. The other woman smiles at her and she tries to keep her expression neutral.
“Haven’t seen him,” she says.
Cuddy nods, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat. She pulls out a container of pills and tosses them at her. “His Vicodin. I want to see him in the clinic after he takes them.”
Cameron catches them with a nod and watches as the older woman turns and leaves. She stares at his office door with a frown. She knew exactly why it wasn’t Cuddy or Wilson or even the other two. The presence of Volger weighed heavily over both Cuddy and Wilson. Wilson is a terrible liar and Cuddy is too frazzled to even deal with his state.
Her hand lingers over her coffee cup and then she sighs, gripping the small bottle of pills in her hand. Shrugging of her lab coat, she tosses it onto her desk and heads with a wavering determination to the joining door. In and out. As painless as possible. Mantras that never work- she pauses with one hand resting against the cold glass.
Like ripping off a band-aid.
She pushes open his door and is greeted by indefinite darkness. She can make out shadows of things- chairs, his desk, piles of mail and files, and his shoulder bag. There is something suffocating about the darkness of his office. The demons are alive and well and waiting. [for her for him for them]
“And so they send the sacrificial virgin to her doom. How barbaric.”
She whirls around and the door shuts with violent wind of cold air. He’s sitting in corner, in the lounge chair, with his cane lying haphazardly by the footrest. His jacket lies in a disheveled pile on the floor. She has to narrow her eyes to make out his form, silently cursing the fact that he’s shut all the blinds so no light enters the room.
She cheers at the calmness of her voice. “Cuddy just gave me your medication.”
He says nothing. She wraps her arms around herself, her grip on the pill bottle nearly bruising. She hates the fact that she’s slowly beginning to feel like a lost little girl hovering too close to the edge of dangerous waters. Something will pull her in. [he wants to]
[he’s waiting to drown her]
House’s answer is cold. “I don’t want them. It keeps me out of clinic duty.”
It’s an intentional toss of bait and almost takes it. But something, something in his words stops her. It frightens her. But she doesn’t move. [this is a test you’ll surely fail] He expects her to move and leave.
Later, she’ll blame stress and pure lack of consciousness. Or maybe it’ll be easier to blame the wounds that she refuses to admit she needs to heal. But for once, Allison Cameron will take the twisted initiative.
“You have to take your pills,” she murmurs. She presses her hand on top of the lid and then turns. The echo of the lid popping off lingers after her words.
And disappears after his. “What? Are you going to shove them down my throat?”
Four pills spill into her open hand and she places the bottle on the edge of his desk. Carefully maneuvering herself over to where he sat, she silently opens her mouth and pushes the Vicodin in.
The four little pills burn inside her mouth.
She nudges the footrest away, carefully straddling his legs and leaning forward. Her hands grip the arms of his chair, brushing lightly against his. Her hair falls forward in waves as she leans her forehead against his.
She ignores the way he watches her. Dark. Violent. [burn burn burn] Passionate. Her lips curl into a dangerous smile. The taste of the Vicodin resting against her tongue is bitter.
“You cross that line. You can’t go back.” His warning mocks her.
She presses her mouth to his.
There is no hesitation on his part, his mouth welcomes hers as her tongue sweeps deliberately inside.
The first pill. His hand comes up to her head, tangling in her hair and forcing her to steady herself. The air between the two of them is intoxicatingly raw. Angry. The subtly is unforgiving.
The second and third pills follow- and she finds herself becoming dizzy with whatever this is. He. She. This. That. Them. Impersonal pronouns and articles that never make sense in their application. All she knows is that he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and they’re fighting for something that will kill them both.
A growl rips through his throat as she shifts to make herself comfortable- if you could call it that- in her position. There is heat between her thighs and she swears that his hand brushing between them. And the fourth pill passes between them.
[control]
[control]
[control]
She forces herself to break away with a ragged sigh.
“You have to take your pills,” she echoes her statement from before. She pushes herself up to stand on trembling legs. “You have a responsibility.”
It’s her turn to leave.
time is a testament to the will of little alice who fell down the rabbit hole.