we'll never sleep (god knows, we'll try) 1/3
we'll never sleep (god knows, we'll try). part one.
Cameron/Wilson; Cameron/House; undertones of House/Wilson
He leans in softly, his lips pressing against her ear. “He can’t possibly know how to touch you,” House growls, dangling the cane gingerly between his fingertips as he pushes past her and makes his way to his office.
This has been living in my head for years. The first part takes place in seasons two and three. Mostly Cameron's perspective, but it does switch. Part 1 of 3. Rated: R
Click to read.
##
Stealing away into the night
Won’t get you any higher
-Rilo Kiley
##
She spots him out of the corner of her eye, as she brushes a stray dark hair behind her ear, finger curling around the cool glass.
He looks surprised at first, then smiles softly from the other end of the bar.
There’s an awkward pause as an older man sits down between them, and Wilson ultimately grabs his jacket and scotch and slides down next to her.
“I thought you went to Sharrie’s with the rest of the team,” he says lightly.
Cameron shrugs, her finger playing with the cherry garnish in her old fashioned. “Sometimes,” she says matter-of-factly. “But this place is closer.”
She flinches the moment it’s out of her mouth and thinks. It’s a ten block walk from this bar to her apartment. Sharrie’s is near the hospital, but she’s not sure it’s farther away. She’s trying to remember.
Wilson nods, and if he’s caught her, he doesn’t let on. After all, he knows who lives two blocks away.
Cameron purses her lips. Wilson might come here for the same reason, she thinks.
Wilson lets out a small chuckle.
Cameron’s eyebrow inches up. “What?” she asks slowly.
He shrugs, grinning.
She tilts her head. She deals with enough games at work.
“You don’t like me,” he says simply, waiting for her reaction.
Her mouth opens, but she hesitates.
He laughs again. “It’s weird,” he begins, shaking his head lightly as he smiles. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone not like me before.”
She frowns, considering. “I’m sure one of your ex-wives might disagree.” She’s not trying to tease him, but the words come out haughtily.
He laughs. “No. They should hate me, but I don’t think they do.”
Cameron rolls her eyes and polishes off her drink. She flags down the bartender for another and Wilson pushes his empty glass forward.
“I don’t dislike you,” she finally settles on.
Wilson nods. “But you don’t like me.”
She exhales. “I don’t trust you,” she tells him.
Wilson’s expression goes cold. “I…don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me,” he says quietly.
Cameron reaches for her new drink, bringing it slowly to her lips. She watches as the ring across the napkin grows larger.
“Can I ask why?” he presses.
She considers, fingers running around the edge of the glass. He’s turned fully toward her now, but she keeps her body positioned straight ahead.
“You’re self-indulgent,” she says at last, without turning her head. “You’re selfish. You like to seem like the good guy, but I don’t think you are one. I think you hurt people, but you’re too polite to own up to it, and it makes it hard for them to hate you.”
She pauses, finally meeting his eye. “But you’re friendly. And that makes it tricky. Because I could be wrong. But your motives are…questionable.”
“My motives,” he repeats, running the words around in his mouth. “My motives for what?”
She shrugs, her shoulders relaxing. “Anything really. Your motives for cheating on your wives. Your motives for staying friends with House.” She chuckles. “Your motives for coming over here to have a drink with me.”
He opens his mouth to protest and laughs. “I was just being…”
“Friendly,” she repeats, grinning. She nods. “I know. Like I said, that’s what makes it tricky.”
He hangs his head, feigning a wounded look and she laughs as they both raise their glasses to their lips.
Through the glass, there’s a third figure who pauses, taking in the sight for a moment, before reconsidering and turning around to go home.
“May I?”
Cameron nods as Wilson slides in next to her at the glass table. It’s a slow morning, and she’s catching up on paperwork while Chase pitches in at the OR. She’s not sure where Foreman is, but after a heated argument with House the night before, she’s not surprised he’s not here.
She hands Wilson the newspaper she’d skimmed earlier.
He nods in thanks.
“I hear you’re dating Chase,” he says softly.
The pen in Cameron’s pen threatens to pierce through the form she’s signing. She catches Wilson’s eyes on her fingers, and she drops the pen with a soft clank.
“We are not dating,” she says clearly.
Wilson looks surprised. “I..okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Cameron sighs. “I’m not…you didn’t.”
Wilson laughs. “Right,” he says, turning back to the paper.
Cameron glares at him, taking in the curl of his fingers as he grasps the edges. She catches the pale slice of flesh on his left ring finger, and Wilson spots her.
He sighs and sets the paper down, into clumsily folded quarters. “You’ll love this,” he says, offering a weak smile. “I caught her cheating on me.”
Cameron’s expression crumbles, the corners of her eyes dropping and her lips falling flat. He can’t quite read the expression on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she says quickly, bringing her hands into her lap, her fingers pressing against the rough fabric of the chair. “And I - I’m sorry if I said anything that would make you think I’d be happy to hear that.”
Her face is sincere, and something about the earnestness in her voice nearly breaks him. He thought he was keeping it light, but sometimes she still takes people at face value. And sometimes she sees through their facade of bravery.
“Thank you,” he says slowly. “And I…I don’t know why I said that. You didn’t make me feel that way.” His hand reaches for her arm, a habit of his. He squeezes her forearm lightly, and she flashes him a quick smile.
“What the hell are you doing?” House barks, pushing through the door. He catches Wilson’s hand as it pulls away and they both know he sees it. His eyes gaze at the space between them, but he says nothing. He can’t, because anything he might say would surface his own feelings or insecurities.
He grabs the paper and shakes his head at Wilson.
“She gets this for me,” he snaps, reaching for the paper and taking a seat on her right side. He unfolds it and kicks his feet up on the glass. He frowns, then lowers the paper. “You can continue flirting with her, while she tries to muster up some pretend interest in her blonde teammate.”
Cameron rolls her eyes and gets up, grabbing her charts. “I’m behind on clinic hours,” she says dryly.
“You were right.”
Cameron’s three drinks down, and has to squint to make out his face in the dull bar light. She didn’t remember to eat today, and she knows she needs to slow down.
“I usually am,” she says, but there’s no heart in it today.
Wilson drops a hand on her shoulder then sits down next to her. He actually looks sorry. He orders two drinks - another old fashioned for her, a scotch neat for him - and sighs.
“I stopped by,” he starts. “I told him…”
Cameron shakes her head and drops her hand on his knee. “I can’t talk about him,” she begs. He doesn’t know what she’s been through this week (although she’s sure he’s been on the receiving end himself). “I just want an evening where he doesn’t have to dominate every second, you know?”
She’s exposing herself, but she’s spent her first year at the hospital as the sweet, lovestruck girl chasing after House. She’s different now, three years in, and she knows when to let things slip and when to keep them inside.
Wilson nods, grinning slightly. “I do know,” he laughs, bringing his drink to his lip as she smiles.
The music inside the bar is loud and the steam on the windows warns of the cold outside.
They both look down. Her hand is still on his knee.
She doesn’t remember the full walk back to the apartment.
What she does remember: three more drinks (at her insistence), his hand inching up her thigh under the bartop, her lips flush with his the second they stepped outside.
This isn’t about the two of them, she thinks as his mouth nips at her neck. She winces and reconsiders. No, it’s about more than the two of them. They both know this.
It’s about her avoiding Chase and the need to feel something. It’s above his need to prove that he is a nice guy, and somehow, convincing Alison to sleep with him feels close enough. It’s about their anger over things they cannot change. It’s about her not sleeping with Joe, and James not making a move on her sooner. It’s about the third wheel in the room who lingers over them, marking the moment even now.
But she doesn’t care. He’s kissing her all wrong, and she doesn’t care.
She’ll always be House’s girl.
The thought won’t leave his head as her eyes widen and beg for him.
Wilson doesn’t care. Not right now. It’s his lips trailing down her collarbone and his fingertips undoing the buttons on her blouse. It’s his hands that pull the soft fabric off her shoulders, and his body pressing against her and making her moan.
This is his, and maybe it's rivalry or maybe it’s childish possession, but he’s claiming her tonight, and he’s leaving a trail of small bruises across her neck. His, his, his.
She gasps as he pins her against the wall. He tugs at the fabric of her jeans, slowly easing them over her hips, and then dropping them, forgotten on the floor. Her fingers maneuver his belt with ease, until just the fabric of his boxer briefs are pressing against the lace of her panties.
His fingers play with the fabric as her nails press hard into his back, and he can’t make himself wait. He slides two fingers into her and moans as her breath catches.
“Fuck,” he mutters, nearly losing himself over the slickness and pressure of her walls. He slips the thong off of her hurriedly, and she pulls the edges of his boxers down with a quick, fluid motion.
Her eyes bear into his, and he hoists her up with his left hand, her legs wrapping instinctively around him. He uses his right hand to stabilize her, running up the base of her neck and pulling unintentionally at her hair.
He carries her to the kitchen island, and she flinches at the feel of the cool granite underneath of her. He feels her legs pulling him in closer to her with her legs, and he pauses, trying to remember where he left his wallet and the condom tucked inside it.
She reads his mind. “It’s okay,” she purrs softly. “If you’re…” she lets it trail off, always losing confidence at the most vulnerable moments.
He nods, and she smiles lightly, maneuvering him inside of her with her hips. She inhales sharply as he fills her, her hands digging tightly into his shoulders, and he moans at the tightness and depth of her. He pushes in deeper, until she gasps, her panting loud in his ear as she adjusts to the shape of him.
They stay like this for a moment, and he takes in the feeling of her velvet skin around his, the sweat on his chest tangling with her hair, and the warmth and wetness engulfing him from inside her.
But it’s more than that. If he’s honest. It’s the thrill of getting here first, of having her whisper his name rough and ragged in his ear (James!) and the flecks of his skin collecting underneath her fingernails. He almost feels bad, until he meets her eye, and realizes she’s not in this for him either.
The phone rings, right on schedule, and their eyes dart toward the wireless handheld, and back to each other. He’s still hard inside of her and the jerk of his reaction quickens her breathing. Loudly.
She grins as he looks toward the phone. “Answer it,” she dares him. Neither is sure if he will. He starts thrusting in her and she moans as he lowers his left thumb over her clit, rubbing small circles over the wetness.
He reaches backwards with the other hand, hitting the speakerphone button. His breathing quickens as he increases his speed and her moaning intensifies.
“James,” she hisses again, before clasping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen as she looks at the phone receiver.
Wilson’s fingers move faster over her and she sucks in a breath, instantly snapping back into the moment.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers, his thrusting slowing as he plunges deeper into her.
“Don’t stop,” she begs, her lips sinking into his shoulder as he presses her closer. He can feel her body tightening. “Don’t stop,” she repeats as she sucks in her breath.
“You feel so fucking good, Allison,” he breathes, lowering her head down onto the counter as she unravels, her hips tightening and trembling against him as she comes, mewing softly. The hot wetness of her climax pushes him over the edge and he grunts loudly as he pulls her body as close as he can, a loud gasp escaping her lips as she takes in all of him, and he bursts inside of her.
He rests his head on her stomach, kissing her goose pimpled flesh lightly as their breathing slows and she pushes her head up lightly, her weight resting on her elbows.
A soft click punctuates the moment, and they lock eyes solemnly.
She stays the night, because he’s polite, and she can tell he actually wants her to. They talk listlessly about things they both know won’t matter in the morning: exes, parents, regrets. She almost tells him that she feels like she has to commit to Chase to get away from House, but hearing the words in her head make her feel cowardly and deceitful. She sets a reminder to unpack that one later.
In the morning, he kisses her with morning breath and goes down on her until she finishes three times. Let no one claim James Wilson is a selfish lover, she thinks, though she wonders how much of this is his usual MO and how much of this is to lord over House.
He makes her coffee and she eyes the clock nervously, dreading work.
“We shouldn’t…” she starts, but can’t decide on the ending.
Wilson nods and laughs lightly. “Yeah,” he says, helping her into her coat. “That’s an understatement.”
She’s still early, somehow, hair slightly windswept, but relatively tidy. Her green turtleneck sweater delicately hides the evidence, and she’s not quite sure how this is going to play out.
When she walks in, he’s sitting at her desk, feet propped up on the metal tabletop, and hands folded behind his head. He watches her as she walks in, slips out of her coat, and walks toward the coffee machine.
He doesn’t say anything, but she can feel his eyes on her. She grabs two cups, waiting and forcing herself to stay calm as the water heats and slowly runs over the grounds.
She sets her mug on the glass table, then turns, setting his on the desk in front of him. He leans forward fluidly, legs swinging down off the desk, right hand delicately scooping up the top of his cane, and pressing up. He steps closer to her, his left hand reaching forward, grazing the top of the fabric over her neck.
“I thought you’d go with the black one,” he says quietly, his eyes scanning the fabric, as if hoping to find traces from the night before.
She sucks in her breath as one fingertip slides in and he pushes the neckline of the fabric down.
He shakes his head. “Sloppy work.”
She freezes. She wants to retort and tell him how it felt, because the truth is, it made her feel more alive than anything she’s felt over the past three years. But admitting that means admitting the game, and if she knows better than that.
Something moves in her peripheral vision and she turns, expecting to see Foreman, but instead spots Wilson walking by, his eyes falling from House down to her.
House lowers his hand, fingers grazing her arm lightly as he does, his eyes refusing to meet Wilson’s.
He leans in softly, his lips pressing against her ear. “He can’t possibly know how to touch you,” House growls, dangling the cane gingerly between his fingertips as he pushes past her and makes his way to his office.
Cameron watches as Wilson disappears, her back to House.
“You’d be surprised,” she whispers.
She’s not sure if he hears her.
When Chase shows up two hours later (with flowers), the lump in Cameron’s throat grows larger. She sets them down on the desk as Foreman and Chase hurry out to order an MRI.
House snickers and looks up at her.
“You can’t tell me he knows how to touch you,” he grins.
Cameron laughs in spite of herself.
Habits become routines, become lifelines. And Chase is steady. Chase is sure.
She wants to believe him. She wants to be the version of herself he sees.
And so, she tries.
Part two.