house fic: In Passing 8/26
Title: In Passing
Pairing/Characters: cameron, cameron/other, house/stacy, house/cameron
Words: 1172
Spoilers: Erm, maybe later. I haven't decided what I'm going to take from.
Rating: Working up to NC-17
Summary: “I’m going to do something unexpected,” he tells her. Alison Cameron is unraveling. Greg House is waiting for his fall from grace.
Dedication: For _vicodin. *loves her*
A/N: Prologue is here. Chapter One is here. Chapter Two is here. Chapter Three is here. Chapter Four is here. Chapter Five A is here. Chapter Five B is here. Chapter Six is here. Chapter Seven is here.
A/N 2:I signed up for house/cameron at fanfic100. I am now questioning my sanity. Oh well.
I associate love with red,
The colour of my heart when she's dead;
Red in my mind when the jealousy flies,
Red in my eyes from emotional ties,
Manipulation, the danger signs.
Kate Bush, Symphony in Blue
eighteen.
Seeking him out feels strange.
For once, she’s all right with leaving Danny. Seamus, who looked like nothing she remembered, offered to sit with him before chemotherapy. Quietly sweet and somber Seamus, who seemed to mirror the exact sentiment she is feeling. She left them with two backward glances, two brothers with everything and nothing to say.
By now, she’s familiar with most of the hospital so finding his office is hard. Just several feet away from the corner she usually turns to go to Dr. Wilson’s. She shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, her sweater brushing against her wrists as she made her way quietly though the busy hospital.
Why was she even doing this?
She admits that she’s drawn to him. There’s a magnetic pull- as brief as their encounters have been- that haunts her. She can’t help but be near him when they are in the presence of each other. She hides her lies like a painting, each color, texture, symbol are all carefully picked. But around him, she’s frighteningly honest. The lies crumble into dust and truth just spills. And spills. And spills.
She finds it fascinating that the offices are made of glass. The sentiment is supposed to be comfort. It’s supposed to suffocate the idea of being about to see the person in charge of your life. She finds it cruel. No one likes to feel naked.
His office is on the right.
She almost walks past it, wandering aimlessly like Alice in godforsaken Wonderland. The glass door is propped open by a rather large book. She wants to laugh, but doesn’t because he spots her.
He turns away.
House is sitting at his desk, mouth lined into a frown. There are books all over the floor and on the desk, files spill into chairs and on the bookshelf by the window. She swallows.
His chin rests in his hand. “Need something?”
She searches her mind for a way to approach the conversation. Instead, the words just stumble out. “I met,” she pauses, sighing. “Stacy?”
His eyes darken. “Ah.”
She steps forwards, not backwards.
“I’m sorry,” he says after awhile.
She spots a chair and a footrest in the corner, but stays standing. The awkwardness is new and the uncomfortable pull has faded. Biting her lip, she decides standing is the best option.
“Why?”
He snorts. “I don’t have to guess that she was a real bitch.”
She stares at him incredulously.
Sighing, he slams the book in front of him shut. He leans back in his chair, rocking back and forth until he decides to prop his legs on the corner. She shifts from foot to foot as he directs his full gaze on her, as if he is caressing her with his eyes.
“Sit down,” he says finally. “You’re making me nervous.”
She stays standing.
His lips curl.
“Don’t you think this is strange?” She asks.
He shrugs and turns his head away. There are no pictures on his walls. There’s the occasional poster and several degrees. There’s nothing personal. Nothing worth looking at twice.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know you,” she replies tiredly.
There’s no answer to that response either. She’s torn between being utterly frustrated and exhausted. She knows that there are answers from him because they mock gleefully her in silence.
He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t know you either.”
For a moment, she sees that he’s frustrated too. For a moment, she wonders if they are falling. [badly] For a moment, she thinks that they’re on the same page in this odd connection they’ve made. She blinks. It’s gone.
And then he throws her off.
“Do you love him?”
Her eyes widen. She bites her lip too hard. She can taste blood. She finds herself hating the way he’s looking at her. “Excuse me?”
She plays her part well. Hands on hips. She ignores the taste of blood in her mouth and purses her lips together. Her hands slip from out of her pockets and her arms cross over her chest.
“You heard me.”
His curiosity hurts.
“I did,” she murmurs finally. There’s an answer to his question lingering somewhere inside of her and she can feel it. It’s there. It’s always been there. [not ready] It isn’t time.
He seems to understand that she’s not going to answer him. He opens his mouth, but is cut off by the appearance of another woman entering the room. Unconsciously she steps aside, sensing the woman’s need to hit something.
House groans.
She sits in the chair.
“You know there’s a clinic downstairs.”
He rolls his eyes and glances in her direction. “Allison Cameron,” he waves his hand. “Dr. Cuddy. Dr. Cuddy needs to get laid.”
Dr. Cuddy huffs and turns, offering her a hand and a kind smile. She finds herself smiling and shakes it.
“He’s a jackass.”
She snorts. “So I’m learning.”
Dr. Cuddy turns away and she leans back into the chair, rocking slowly. She should leave, she thinks.
“Are you and Stacy coming to the heart ball?”
He rolls his eyes. She swallows because he’s not even look at Dr. Cuddy. His gaze hasn’t left her.
“I’m not a cardiologist,” he mutters.
“House…” There’s a warning tone in her voice. Allison starts to find the laces of her sneakers terribly fascinating.
She jumps when he snaps.
“I’m having a discussion here.” He waves his hand between him and her almost frantically. For a moment, he looks to her to agree with him. She only sees an easy way out.
She stands. “I should go.”
“No.” His voice is heavy with the unwavering intensity that she’s come to familiarize herself with. She’s froze and aware of the curious gaze that Dr. Cuddy faces her with.
House clears his throat.
She sits back down.
“Clinic,” Dr. Cuddy says finally. “One hour.”
She leaves them in silence.
Is it a comfortable silence? He doesn’t seem to be the type for ideals and she’s never been that naïve [she’s hid it well]. She tries to focus on other things. Danny. Seamus. Dying. Living. School. Future. On the other side of the building.
A creak echoes in the room [his or her?] and suddenly, he’s waking to where she’s sitting. Looking up and into his gaze is the biggest mistake she’s ever met.
[he’s not going to give her back]
“I’m going to do something unexpected,” he tells her.
She can’t help but laugh. “All right. But technically it’s not unexpected. I don’t know you well enough.”
“So it’ll be a surprise.” He’s closer.
Her voice is too calm. “I suppose.”
He places his hands on either side of the arms of the chair, watching her carefully. She can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Everything seems to be blending and spilling and not making any sense- but this is something [anything everything].
It’s going to happen.
“Surprise,” he whispers mockingly.
She makes an attempt to respond.
And he crushes his mouth to hers before she does.
serve.
Pairing/Characters: cameron, cameron/other, house/stacy, house/cameron
Words: 1172
Spoilers: Erm, maybe later. I haven't decided what I'm going to take from.
Rating: Working up to NC-17
Summary: “I’m going to do something unexpected,” he tells her. Alison Cameron is unraveling. Greg House is waiting for his fall from grace.
Dedication: For _vicodin. *loves her*
A/N: Prologue is here. Chapter One is here. Chapter Two is here. Chapter Three is here. Chapter Four is here. Chapter Five A is here. Chapter Five B is here. Chapter Six is here. Chapter Seven is here.
A/N 2:I signed up for house/cameron at fanfic100. I am now questioning my sanity. Oh well.
I associate love with red,
The colour of my heart when she's dead;
Red in my mind when the jealousy flies,
Red in my eyes from emotional ties,
Manipulation, the danger signs.
Kate Bush, Symphony in Blue
eighteen.
Seeking him out feels strange.
For once, she’s all right with leaving Danny. Seamus, who looked like nothing she remembered, offered to sit with him before chemotherapy. Quietly sweet and somber Seamus, who seemed to mirror the exact sentiment she is feeling. She left them with two backward glances, two brothers with everything and nothing to say.
By now, she’s familiar with most of the hospital so finding his office is hard. Just several feet away from the corner she usually turns to go to Dr. Wilson’s. She shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans, her sweater brushing against her wrists as she made her way quietly though the busy hospital.
Why was she even doing this?
She admits that she’s drawn to him. There’s a magnetic pull- as brief as their encounters have been- that haunts her. She can’t help but be near him when they are in the presence of each other. She hides her lies like a painting, each color, texture, symbol are all carefully picked. But around him, she’s frighteningly honest. The lies crumble into dust and truth just spills. And spills. And spills.
She finds it fascinating that the offices are made of glass. The sentiment is supposed to be comfort. It’s supposed to suffocate the idea of being about to see the person in charge of your life. She finds it cruel. No one likes to feel naked.
His office is on the right.
She almost walks past it, wandering aimlessly like Alice in godforsaken Wonderland. The glass door is propped open by a rather large book. She wants to laugh, but doesn’t because he spots her.
He turns away.
House is sitting at his desk, mouth lined into a frown. There are books all over the floor and on the desk, files spill into chairs and on the bookshelf by the window. She swallows.
His chin rests in his hand. “Need something?”
She searches her mind for a way to approach the conversation. Instead, the words just stumble out. “I met,” she pauses, sighing. “Stacy?”
His eyes darken. “Ah.”
She steps forwards, not backwards.
“I’m sorry,” he says after awhile.
She spots a chair and a footrest in the corner, but stays standing. The awkwardness is new and the uncomfortable pull has faded. Biting her lip, she decides standing is the best option.
“Why?”
He snorts. “I don’t have to guess that she was a real bitch.”
She stares at him incredulously.
Sighing, he slams the book in front of him shut. He leans back in his chair, rocking back and forth until he decides to prop his legs on the corner. She shifts from foot to foot as he directs his full gaze on her, as if he is caressing her with his eyes.
“Sit down,” he says finally. “You’re making me nervous.”
She stays standing.
His lips curl.
“Don’t you think this is strange?” She asks.
He shrugs and turns his head away. There are no pictures on his walls. There’s the occasional poster and several degrees. There’s nothing personal. Nothing worth looking at twice.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know you,” she replies tiredly.
There’s no answer to that response either. She’s torn between being utterly frustrated and exhausted. She knows that there are answers from him because they mock gleefully her in silence.
He cocks his head to the side. “I don’t know you either.”
For a moment, she sees that he’s frustrated too. For a moment, she wonders if they are falling. [badly] For a moment, she thinks that they’re on the same page in this odd connection they’ve made. She blinks. It’s gone.
And then he throws her off.
“Do you love him?”
Her eyes widen. She bites her lip too hard. She can taste blood. She finds herself hating the way he’s looking at her. “Excuse me?”
She plays her part well. Hands on hips. She ignores the taste of blood in her mouth and purses her lips together. Her hands slip from out of her pockets and her arms cross over her chest.
“You heard me.”
His curiosity hurts.
“I did,” she murmurs finally. There’s an answer to his question lingering somewhere inside of her and she can feel it. It’s there. It’s always been there. [not ready] It isn’t time.
He seems to understand that she’s not going to answer him. He opens his mouth, but is cut off by the appearance of another woman entering the room. Unconsciously she steps aside, sensing the woman’s need to hit something.
House groans.
She sits in the chair.
“You know there’s a clinic downstairs.”
He rolls his eyes and glances in her direction. “Allison Cameron,” he waves his hand. “Dr. Cuddy. Dr. Cuddy needs to get laid.”
Dr. Cuddy huffs and turns, offering her a hand and a kind smile. She finds herself smiling and shakes it.
“He’s a jackass.”
She snorts. “So I’m learning.”
Dr. Cuddy turns away and she leans back into the chair, rocking slowly. She should leave, she thinks.
“Are you and Stacy coming to the heart ball?”
He rolls his eyes. She swallows because he’s not even look at Dr. Cuddy. His gaze hasn’t left her.
“I’m not a cardiologist,” he mutters.
“House…” There’s a warning tone in her voice. Allison starts to find the laces of her sneakers terribly fascinating.
She jumps when he snaps.
“I’m having a discussion here.” He waves his hand between him and her almost frantically. For a moment, he looks to her to agree with him. She only sees an easy way out.
She stands. “I should go.”
“No.” His voice is heavy with the unwavering intensity that she’s come to familiarize herself with. She’s froze and aware of the curious gaze that Dr. Cuddy faces her with.
House clears his throat.
She sits back down.
“Clinic,” Dr. Cuddy says finally. “One hour.”
She leaves them in silence.
Is it a comfortable silence? He doesn’t seem to be the type for ideals and she’s never been that naïve [she’s hid it well]. She tries to focus on other things. Danny. Seamus. Dying. Living. School. Future. On the other side of the building.
A creak echoes in the room [his or her?] and suddenly, he’s waking to where she’s sitting. Looking up and into his gaze is the biggest mistake she’s ever met.
[he’s not going to give her back]
“I’m going to do something unexpected,” he tells her.
She can’t help but laugh. “All right. But technically it’s not unexpected. I don’t know you well enough.”
“So it’ll be a surprise.” He’s closer.
Her voice is too calm. “I suppose.”
He places his hands on either side of the arms of the chair, watching her carefully. She can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Everything seems to be blending and spilling and not making any sense- but this is something [anything everything].
It’s going to happen.
“Surprise,” he whispers mockingly.
She makes an attempt to respond.
And he crushes his mouth to hers before she does.
serve.