Holiday ficlet 2: Cameron, Cuddy
For hihoplastic, who wanted "Cuddy, Cameron, baby - you're not used to seeing this side of her."
Title: Outside-In
Fandom/characters House; Cameron, Cuddy
Word count: ~400
Notes: This is the first time I've attempted to seriously write Cameron. It was different, to say the least. I think I liked it. While her little multiple-personality problem seems to have settled down, she's still a tricky person to get a solid hold on. This is my take.
In addition, this is my first foray into the second person. Whether you knew what you were doing or not when you prompted me, Catherine, thank you for the challenge!
There are occasions you’ve walked in on your boss that you could live without-
like the time your former boss sent you to court her approval on his proposal du moment (you should have known to be suspicious) and you found her silently crying,
or, worse, the time you discovered your former boss in her office with her, doing things you’d rather pretend you hadn’t seen,
or the time you opened the door just in time to hear her scream a profanity into the phone that, in your experience, was fairly uncharacteristic of her-
but this: this is different.
You’re not used to seeing this side of her. You’re not used to seeing her eyes shine with anything other than anger or biting laughter. This, this, it catches you off guard.
You’ve prided yourself on your capacity to see the humanness in others, the vulnerable, the hidden, and so you experience a prickling self-reproach at the extent to which this unnerves you.
A baby. You knew she wanted one, of course; difficult to believe there was anyone left in the entire hospital who didn’t, patients included, once your former boss was through making the rounds. Still, there is a baby, theoretically, and there is a baby, cradled intimately against a frame that somehow appears softer than it did; there is the bravado-infused speak of adoption papers and screening processes, and there are the inaudible murmurs of a woman turned maternal before your very eyes.
You are uneasy.
It’s strange: you always contrasted yourself with her, and if one of you was meant to be a mother, well. It’s simple, really. You thought it would be you. Your love is who you are; it is the stuff your heart pumps alongside blood and it is what you swear by. You’re smart and you’re pretty, but you’ve understood for years that smart and pretty isn’t unique; it is your instinct to care that breaks you out of the mold, for better or for worse.
You defined yourself and you set yourself apart, and all the others you roped into a corner; cold ambition, that’s them, and sarcastic wit; you? Not you. Not you.
And not her, now.
You’re not used to seeing her deeply, unequivocally happy. In truth, you never expected you would.
You should be glad for her, and you will be, you are-
it’s just that
it’s just that
you’re also, somehow, terribly, terribly sad for yourself.
Title: Outside-In
Fandom/characters House; Cameron, Cuddy
Word count: ~400
Notes: This is the first time I've attempted to seriously write Cameron. It was different, to say the least. I think I liked it. While her little multiple-personality problem seems to have settled down, she's still a tricky person to get a solid hold on. This is my take.
In addition, this is my first foray into the second person. Whether you knew what you were doing or not when you prompted me, Catherine, thank you for the challenge!
There are occasions you’ve walked in on your boss that you could live without-
like the time your former boss sent you to court her approval on his proposal du moment (you should have known to be suspicious) and you found her silently crying,
or, worse, the time you discovered your former boss in her office with her, doing things you’d rather pretend you hadn’t seen,
or the time you opened the door just in time to hear her scream a profanity into the phone that, in your experience, was fairly uncharacteristic of her-
but this: this is different.
You’re not used to seeing this side of her. You’re not used to seeing her eyes shine with anything other than anger or biting laughter. This, this, it catches you off guard.
You’ve prided yourself on your capacity to see the humanness in others, the vulnerable, the hidden, and so you experience a prickling self-reproach at the extent to which this unnerves you.
A baby. You knew she wanted one, of course; difficult to believe there was anyone left in the entire hospital who didn’t, patients included, once your former boss was through making the rounds. Still, there is a baby, theoretically, and there is a baby, cradled intimately against a frame that somehow appears softer than it did; there is the bravado-infused speak of adoption papers and screening processes, and there are the inaudible murmurs of a woman turned maternal before your very eyes.
You are uneasy.
It’s strange: you always contrasted yourself with her, and if one of you was meant to be a mother, well. It’s simple, really. You thought it would be you. Your love is who you are; it is the stuff your heart pumps alongside blood and it is what you swear by. You’re smart and you’re pretty, but you’ve understood for years that smart and pretty isn’t unique; it is your instinct to care that breaks you out of the mold, for better or for worse.
You defined yourself and you set yourself apart, and all the others you roped into a corner; cold ambition, that’s them, and sarcastic wit; you? Not you. Not you.
And not her, now.
You’re not used to seeing her deeply, unequivocally happy. In truth, you never expected you would.
You should be glad for her, and you will be, you are-
it’s just that
it’s just that
you’re also, somehow, terribly, terribly sad for yourself.