house fic: Five White Lies 3/15
Title: Five White Lies
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1449
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: People remember the Danny and Allison who laughed with smiling masks and acted as if the world was theirs to keep. People remember the tragedy [a terrible freedom]. House. Cameron. And the dangers of the unsaid.
A/N: Part One is here. Part Two is here.
The same passions in man and woman nonetheless differ in tempo; hence man and woman do not cease misunderstanding one another.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
envy.
On Tuesday morning, Julian Forrester reenters her life.
And that night, she agrees to drinks.
It’s typical for one of her husband’s friends to randomly call or express interest in visiting her- Danny was always the center of attention, the kind of man that you were supposed to sit around and remember over beers and wistful expressions. [except he’s left her with a lifetime of ghosts and glass memories] So when Julian stops buy the hospital that morning, she’s surprised and then she’s not. She just wishes it wasn’t Julian.
Julian never had any good intentions.
In part, he represents that slice of her life that she wanted nothing to do with anymore. She could deal with the shadows of her grief. The occasional nightmare. The spark of a memory. But Julian always knew- and used it against her- how strong her empathy for others was and never hesitated to manipulate it against her.
So yet again, she finds herself facing several moments of déjà vu while squirming under his gaze. She tired to aim for neutral tonight, sticking with the pair of black pants that she had worn to work with a black, wide-neck turtleneck. She’s pulled her hair out of her face into a loose knot at her neck and despite her attempt to be neutral, it’s done nothing to dissuade Julian into calling it a night.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “More beautiful than I can remember.”
Her fingers trace the edge of her wine glass. “Thank you.”
There’s nothing more she can say. She’s uncomfortable and tired. She wants nothing more than to go home and to bed- at least she can control her memories there.
He leans forward. “I always envied Danny, you know.”
She shudders and looks away, pretending to lose her attention in the crowded bistro. She doesn’t want to think about this. Here. Now. With the other things on her mind.
“He loved you so much, Allison.”
She bites her lips and turns to face him. Julian watches her and waits for a reaction, the grief, to appear. All the better to take advantage of her. She brings her wine to her lips and swallows.
Her answer is soft. Her honesty is brutal. “No, Julian. He didn’t.”
She lets the truth linger in her voice and Julian leans back with ill-conceived surprise in his eyes. She want to laugh at him, but remains silent and still. People remember the couple. People remember the Danny and Allison who laughed with smiling masks and acted as if the world was theirs to keep. People remember the tragedy [a terrible freedom].
That’s all people remember.
“Allison, you have to-”
“Let go?” She cuts him off. “Move on? I know what you came here for. You’re just like him, waiting with that golden cage of his.”
It’s Julian’s turn to look away.
Her smile is grimly amused. “Hit a nerve?”
“Fuck you.” He’s jittery and uneasy. Nervous. Predictable. And she cannot help, but think- at a time like this, how funny is it that she’s somehow channeling House’s irritating ability to make people uncomfortable.
She reaches for the chair next to her and grabs her purse, opening it and taking out a couple twenty-dollar bills. She tosses them on the table and stands.
“For the wine,” she tells him. “And the obnoxiously expensive plate of grass that I ordered.”
And with as much grace as she can muster in the moment, she weaves her way out of the restaurant.
Should’ve known, she thinks.
*
The sound of her heels hitting the carpet echo down the hall of her floor as she searches for her house key in her purse.
Her feet hurt and she’s beginning to really feel the exhaustion of the week catching up to her. She curses the fact that she lives at the end of the hallway, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep until the end of the weekend. Sighing, she reaches her door and finds her key.
“Took you long enough.”
She jumps and her purse slips out of her hands, the contents spilling onto the floor. She whirls around, her eyes wide and unable to hide the raw surprise at the sudden appearance of House behind her. He leans against the wall by the door of her neighbor’s, twirling his cane in one hand and watching her under hooded eyes.
Her mouth opens and then closes.
And he smirks. “You’re landlady is quite the romantic. Adores you.”
Regaining momentary control, she leans down to pick up her purse and the things that had fallen out of it. She tries to steady her rapidly beating heart and fails. Her hands are trembling from the shock.
“I don’t want to know what you said to her,” she answers finally. She stands and opens her door. “I suppose you want to come in.”
He says nothing, but nods and follows her inside. The soft glow of her apartment embraces them as they entered and the door shuts behind them with a click. She drapes her coat over a chair by the door and kicks off her heels. She can feel him watching her, waiting- for what she does not know- but the more aware she becomes of the intensity of his gaze, the more unsettled she becomes.
She turns slightly. He hasn’t moved from his place by her door.
“Do you want a beer?” She asks.
He shrugs. “Fine.”
She points in the direction of her kitchen. “There’s a case of Sam Adams in the fridge. Top shelf.”
“You’re a terrible hostess.”
She snorts. “I’m going to go change.”
She’s well aware that she’s leaving him to his own devices in her apartment, her one place of sanctuary. While she knows she’s got nothing to hide [from herself], there are plenty of things that she’d rather keep to herself that she knows he could find.
Reaching her bedroom, she doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. She tugs at her turtleneck and peels it over her head, the cold air of her room causing goose bumps on her skin. Frowning, she tries to remember where she left her sweatpants this morning and then remembers that they’re in her hamper. In the laundry. By the kitchen.
“Damn it,” she curses, wishing she had just stayed home instead of agree to the drinks with Julian. And then there was-
The familiar rattling of pills in bottle startles her. “I decided that I didn’t want that beer.”
She quickly raises her arms to cover her chest, stiffening when his presence becomes much more obvious than before. She doesn’t move, but swears she feels the heat of his breath on her bare shoulder.
He’s too close.
She stumbles for words. “Haven’t you heard of waiting?”
He chuckles softly. “I’m not a man of patience.”
He says it as if he expects her to understand the deeper meaning, but as always his words are guarded. And she feels terribly lost. Like naïve little Alice, who followed the rabbit down the hole.
She jumps when his hand brushes against her waist. “What are you doing?” She breathes.
He doesn’t answer and now, now she can feel him. His hand rests lightly against her waist. His mouth hovers next to her ear, the soft, warm sensation of his breathing causing her to shiver.
“He didn’t touch you.”
Her eyes widen but she say nothing. She manages to stifle a rising whimper as he presses against her. He’s barely touching her and it’s managing to drive her insane. He’s too close. Too soon.
“No,” she whispers. She tries to keep her head from falling back onto his shoulder. She hates the fact that yet again, the tides of control have shifted [like always] into his favor.
[you’re going to lose this game]
“Good.” The meaning behind his simple response is too frightening for her to analyze and so, she waits until he continues. Instead, he repeats himself.
“Good.”
The kiss against her shoulder is brief. Soft. And it burns. God, does it burn. He pulls away and then this time she does whimper. Tired. Frustrated. And too close to confusion. Was this payback? She wonders dazedly.
He laughs again. Cruel. Victorious. “Until tomorrow.”
His departure barely registers to her as she continues to struggle with her composure. Caught between wanting to go after him and start something she knew she couldn’t finish, she waits until she hears the click of her door shutting.
And when comes, she releases the breath that she had been holding and falls forward into the tangle of sheets on her bed.
[he’s likes killing her slowly]
little alice should have never trusted the cheshire cat
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1449
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: People remember the Danny and Allison who laughed with smiling masks and acted as if the world was theirs to keep. People remember the tragedy [a terrible freedom]. House. Cameron. And the dangers of the unsaid.
A/N: Part One is here. Part Two is here.
The same passions in man and woman nonetheless differ in tempo; hence man and woman do not cease misunderstanding one another.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
envy.
On Tuesday morning, Julian Forrester reenters her life.
And that night, she agrees to drinks.
It’s typical for one of her husband’s friends to randomly call or express interest in visiting her- Danny was always the center of attention, the kind of man that you were supposed to sit around and remember over beers and wistful expressions. [except he’s left her with a lifetime of ghosts and glass memories] So when Julian stops buy the hospital that morning, she’s surprised and then she’s not. She just wishes it wasn’t Julian.
Julian never had any good intentions.
In part, he represents that slice of her life that she wanted nothing to do with anymore. She could deal with the shadows of her grief. The occasional nightmare. The spark of a memory. But Julian always knew- and used it against her- how strong her empathy for others was and never hesitated to manipulate it against her.
So yet again, she finds herself facing several moments of déjà vu while squirming under his gaze. She tired to aim for neutral tonight, sticking with the pair of black pants that she had worn to work with a black, wide-neck turtleneck. She’s pulled her hair out of her face into a loose knot at her neck and despite her attempt to be neutral, it’s done nothing to dissuade Julian into calling it a night.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “More beautiful than I can remember.”
Her fingers trace the edge of her wine glass. “Thank you.”
There’s nothing more she can say. She’s uncomfortable and tired. She wants nothing more than to go home and to bed- at least she can control her memories there.
He leans forward. “I always envied Danny, you know.”
She shudders and looks away, pretending to lose her attention in the crowded bistro. She doesn’t want to think about this. Here. Now. With the other things on her mind.
“He loved you so much, Allison.”
She bites her lips and turns to face him. Julian watches her and waits for a reaction, the grief, to appear. All the better to take advantage of her. She brings her wine to her lips and swallows.
Her answer is soft. Her honesty is brutal. “No, Julian. He didn’t.”
She lets the truth linger in her voice and Julian leans back with ill-conceived surprise in his eyes. She want to laugh at him, but remains silent and still. People remember the couple. People remember the Danny and Allison who laughed with smiling masks and acted as if the world was theirs to keep. People remember the tragedy [a terrible freedom].
That’s all people remember.
“Allison, you have to-”
“Let go?” She cuts him off. “Move on? I know what you came here for. You’re just like him, waiting with that golden cage of his.”
It’s Julian’s turn to look away.
Her smile is grimly amused. “Hit a nerve?”
“Fuck you.” He’s jittery and uneasy. Nervous. Predictable. And she cannot help, but think- at a time like this, how funny is it that she’s somehow channeling House’s irritating ability to make people uncomfortable.
She reaches for the chair next to her and grabs her purse, opening it and taking out a couple twenty-dollar bills. She tosses them on the table and stands.
“For the wine,” she tells him. “And the obnoxiously expensive plate of grass that I ordered.”
And with as much grace as she can muster in the moment, she weaves her way out of the restaurant.
Should’ve known, she thinks.
*
The sound of her heels hitting the carpet echo down the hall of her floor as she searches for her house key in her purse.
Her feet hurt and she’s beginning to really feel the exhaustion of the week catching up to her. She curses the fact that she lives at the end of the hallway, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep until the end of the weekend. Sighing, she reaches her door and finds her key.
“Took you long enough.”
She jumps and her purse slips out of her hands, the contents spilling onto the floor. She whirls around, her eyes wide and unable to hide the raw surprise at the sudden appearance of House behind her. He leans against the wall by the door of her neighbor’s, twirling his cane in one hand and watching her under hooded eyes.
Her mouth opens and then closes.
And he smirks. “You’re landlady is quite the romantic. Adores you.”
Regaining momentary control, she leans down to pick up her purse and the things that had fallen out of it. She tries to steady her rapidly beating heart and fails. Her hands are trembling from the shock.
“I don’t want to know what you said to her,” she answers finally. She stands and opens her door. “I suppose you want to come in.”
He says nothing, but nods and follows her inside. The soft glow of her apartment embraces them as they entered and the door shuts behind them with a click. She drapes her coat over a chair by the door and kicks off her heels. She can feel him watching her, waiting- for what she does not know- but the more aware she becomes of the intensity of his gaze, the more unsettled she becomes.
She turns slightly. He hasn’t moved from his place by her door.
“Do you want a beer?” She asks.
He shrugs. “Fine.”
She points in the direction of her kitchen. “There’s a case of Sam Adams in the fridge. Top shelf.”
“You’re a terrible hostess.”
She snorts. “I’m going to go change.”
She’s well aware that she’s leaving him to his own devices in her apartment, her one place of sanctuary. While she knows she’s got nothing to hide [from herself], there are plenty of things that she’d rather keep to herself that she knows he could find.
Reaching her bedroom, she doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. She tugs at her turtleneck and peels it over her head, the cold air of her room causing goose bumps on her skin. Frowning, she tries to remember where she left her sweatpants this morning and then remembers that they’re in her hamper. In the laundry. By the kitchen.
“Damn it,” she curses, wishing she had just stayed home instead of agree to the drinks with Julian. And then there was-
The familiar rattling of pills in bottle startles her. “I decided that I didn’t want that beer.”
She quickly raises her arms to cover her chest, stiffening when his presence becomes much more obvious than before. She doesn’t move, but swears she feels the heat of his breath on her bare shoulder.
He’s too close.
She stumbles for words. “Haven’t you heard of waiting?”
He chuckles softly. “I’m not a man of patience.”
He says it as if he expects her to understand the deeper meaning, but as always his words are guarded. And she feels terribly lost. Like naïve little Alice, who followed the rabbit down the hole.
She jumps when his hand brushes against her waist. “What are you doing?” She breathes.
He doesn’t answer and now, now she can feel him. His hand rests lightly against her waist. His mouth hovers next to her ear, the soft, warm sensation of his breathing causing her to shiver.
“He didn’t touch you.”
Her eyes widen but she say nothing. She manages to stifle a rising whimper as he presses against her. He’s barely touching her and it’s managing to drive her insane. He’s too close. Too soon.
“No,” she whispers. She tries to keep her head from falling back onto his shoulder. She hates the fact that yet again, the tides of control have shifted [like always] into his favor.
[you’re going to lose this game]
“Good.” The meaning behind his simple response is too frightening for her to analyze and so, she waits until he continues. Instead, he repeats himself.
“Good.”
The kiss against her shoulder is brief. Soft. And it burns. God, does it burn. He pulls away and then this time she does whimper. Tired. Frustrated. And too close to confusion. Was this payback? She wonders dazedly.
He laughs again. Cruel. Victorious. “Until tomorrow.”
His departure barely registers to her as she continues to struggle with her composure. Caught between wanting to go after him and start something she knew she couldn’t finish, she waits until she hears the click of her door shutting.
And when comes, she releases the breath that she had been holding and falls forward into the tangle of sheets on her bed.
[he’s likes killing her slowly]
little alice should have never trusted the cheshire cat