Late Nights, Tea and Videotape Part 2
TITLE: One Sort of Resolution: Late nights..Part 2
AUTHOR: Waylandsmithy
PAIRING: House/Cameron
RATING: 13
The faint squeak of trolley wheels along the corridor brought Cameron back to consciousness some hours later. The great hospital was stirring for another day. Two sensations struck her simultaneously: one, that her neck was stiff from the awkward posture she had assumed while asleep and two, that she was more or less pinned in position by a large heavy object lying in her lap and dangling across her bent knees. - a large, warm and breathing object; in fact, the head and shoulders of her prickly boss.
Cameron stared down at him , furiously trying to collect her thoughts….how to wake him…the awkwardness, at least for her, of him finding himself burrowed face down in her lap, with his right arm around her knees. She shifted slightly to ease the circulation in her cramped legs, feeling the onset of pins and needles.
This was enough. House stirred a little, snuggling further into her slight frame, so that she could feel the rasp of his stubble through the thin fabric of her suit pants. She could feel a small damp patch where his mouth, half open in sleep, had dribbled slightly. Suddenly her burden tensed and froze. After a pause which seemed interminable to Cameron but was probably no more than five seconds, House said in his usual tone “This is one hell of a bony, rumbling cushion. I must complain to Cuddy” and hauled himself upright.
Cameron attempted to match his manner. “Cushions lose their stuffing if unfed. I need my breakfast.” She switched topics. “I’ll look in on Guy. He must be stable at least or they would have woken me-us.” She looked a little self- conscious at this last, never able to conceal her feelings as well as this man of masks. However, she was not deceived. She knew how carefully he crafted his persona of indifference and invulnerability but even he could not completely quash the faint tinge of colour visible above the neck of his T shirt. He was quite definitely embarrassed.
As she had assumed, Guy, the young patient, was finally responding to treatment and Cameron had the pleasure of telling his parents on their arrival that he would eventually make a full recovery. Her somewhat untidy appearance at this early hour told them that she had been up all night. They were full of praise for her and for the team. They enquired after Dr House. She had explained in layman’s terms the great intuitive leap which had enabled the diagnosis to be reached at the eleventh hour (two minutes to midnight really) and wanted to thank him personally. Unfortunately, Allison said, that would not be possible. He had an urgent appointment (with a shower, in fact, as soon as he saw them approaching) but she would be sure to pass on their thanks.
House entered his still darkened office and grabbed the bag in which he kept shower stuff and a spare set of clothes for occasions such as these. It wasn’t just the overnighters; clinic patients could puke on you, or if you were really lucky you could be baptized in a patient’s piss. Cuddy would no doubt point out that this was what a white coat helped to avoid but for him the lack of a traditional doctor’s garb marked him out as different; ‘one of the awkward squad’ as his father would have put it.
Leaving the office without a further glance, House was oblivious to certain small changes that had been made to an everyday but essential tool. He made his way to the locker room, hoping that a long hot shower would in some way restore his mental acuity and wash away the awkwardness he felt (he had to admit it to himself) waking up to find himself drooling into his young assistant’s crotch. Thank God Wilson would never find out!
Alas for certainty. At that moment, every computer in the hospital had a new screensaver. Gone was the tasteful, reassuring motif of leaves, together with the legend Princeton Plainsboro’ Teaching Hospital. Instead, stretched out on an equally tastefully chosen couch, lay the Head of Diagnostic Medicine, to all appearances dead to the world, clasping his very attractive immunologist, also clearly fast asleep. The on screen text read: Beauty and the Beast: or When the Lion lay down with the Lamb.
From the mortuary to the top floor, early birds had a nice juicy worm of gossip to chew on. Hospitals lived on talk, and a chuckle at someone else’s expense to start the day-especially a sarcastic bastard like House, who had pissed off most people at one time or another- was a great moment. Fewer people knew Cameron. Those who did first wondered at her ability to withstand the constant barrage of wit, sniping and sometimes downright nastiness coming her way from her boss, then realised that her slender person concealed an inner strength that was belied by her apparent naïveté and her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve.
Those who did not know her well assumed that she must be hard as nails to work with that team. Her quiet, rather prim manner with other members of the medical staff got her the label of stuck-up with some. She had learned early in her career that with her looks, she had to work hard to be taken seriously, so if she had to appear stuck-up, so be it. House’s “Nice piece of art in the lobby” remark still made her grind her teeth, four years on, and he hadn’t meant it.
Walking past the Clinic nurses’ station to her office, Cuddy was aware of a slight buzz in the air, a change to the usual early morning atmosphere of her great Ship of Fools. Her high heels clicked with her usual determination and efficiency. Something was afoot and she would know it before her first coffee arrived, or else.
Twenty minutes later, House stood in front of her desk, yelling. He was absolutely enraged to the point, for him, of incoherence. “Unprofessional….bringing disrepute to the hospital…doctors couldn’t do their jobs…surveillance…embarrassment to a junior colleague” and a whole lot more. Cuddy swept away his intemperate words with a wave of her hand. ”Quit yelling at me. I’m already on to it, House”, she said. ”In half an hour it will be rectified and the culprit punished.”
“Chase, was it Chase?” demanded House. “It would fit that slyboots.”
“No, I rather think it was the temporary janitor you insulted the other day. He’s the son of Bob Jamieson, the paediatrician we recently appointed and he is doing a summer job here before college.” “Was doing” stated House in steely tones.
“He will certainly be unpopular with his father when the news gets out” Cuddy replied calmly.” Look House, if this had not been you, you would have been the first to mock. No real harm has been done. See the funny side. Cameron did.”
“Cameron has seen this?” House groaned inwardly. “I thought she had gone home.”
“Not only has she seen it, she suggested that your little spat with the Jamieson boy was the motivation for this. Apparently he went into the lab yesterday on some errand and showed an interest in the equipment she was using.” “I’ll bet” growled House.
“That’s how she knew he would be capable of tinkering with the hospital’s computer system, and how ticked off he was with you” she continued, ignoring his interruption “And yes, Cameron has gone home-to change-and I suggest that you go away now and let me do my job.”
She shuffled the papers in her hand and turned her chair towards the monitor. “If young Jamieson was able to get such a shot of you while simply walking past the relative’s room, what will the c.c.t.v. footage show?” An unmistakeable look of panic crossed House’s features for a fleeting moment; then he turned and walked away, as fast as his bum leg would carry him, in the direction of Security.
Everyone in Security knew House, or rather, knew of him. He was the guy that got shot twice, in his own office, too, while the guards on duty played poker in their cramped cubbyhole. That had been the rumour, anyway. How could a guy tell if someone was carrying a concealed weapon? It was not as if there were metal detectors at the hospital entrance. There still weren’t, but there were, as a consequence of the shooting, an increased number of state of the art security cameras in strategic locations. One had been intended for outside House’s office but he had protested vigorously at the idea that more than one of his supposed former patients or their loved ones would want to off him.
His co-workers may have suspected that he did not want a record of exactly what work he did or did not do inside the glass walls of his office but they kept their mouths firmly shut on the matter and he had had his way, as usual. The now spare camera was mounted high on the wall of the relatives’ lounge area, presumably to monitor the bickering of families under stress. It was this camera, or more accurately its tape, House was anxious to neutralise.
With his wallet $50 dollars lighter, House emerged from the stuffy room clasping the tape in his free hand. The lazy sons-of -bitches had not gone over the night’s tapes yet, he felt sure. On the day shift they were supposed to monitor the cameras in real time. This wasn’t possible at night, with fewer guards on duty.
Back in his office, he threw the tape into a drawer and turned to enter the conference room. His neurologist and intensivist were obviously sharing a joke at his expense. He heard Chase say “I don’t know about the lion bit, but she’s certainly no lamb”. Foreman raised a quizzical eyebrow at his boss but said nothing. Chase’s grin fled before a glacial stare. He muttered his excuses and left for the Clinic. House returned to his office, plugged his ipod into his ears and settled down to all appearances to doze.
AUTHOR: Waylandsmithy
PAIRING: House/Cameron
RATING: 13
The faint squeak of trolley wheels along the corridor brought Cameron back to consciousness some hours later. The great hospital was stirring for another day. Two sensations struck her simultaneously: one, that her neck was stiff from the awkward posture she had assumed while asleep and two, that she was more or less pinned in position by a large heavy object lying in her lap and dangling across her bent knees. - a large, warm and breathing object; in fact, the head and shoulders of her prickly boss.
Cameron stared down at him , furiously trying to collect her thoughts….how to wake him…the awkwardness, at least for her, of him finding himself burrowed face down in her lap, with his right arm around her knees. She shifted slightly to ease the circulation in her cramped legs, feeling the onset of pins and needles.
This was enough. House stirred a little, snuggling further into her slight frame, so that she could feel the rasp of his stubble through the thin fabric of her suit pants. She could feel a small damp patch where his mouth, half open in sleep, had dribbled slightly. Suddenly her burden tensed and froze. After a pause which seemed interminable to Cameron but was probably no more than five seconds, House said in his usual tone “This is one hell of a bony, rumbling cushion. I must complain to Cuddy” and hauled himself upright.
Cameron attempted to match his manner. “Cushions lose their stuffing if unfed. I need my breakfast.” She switched topics. “I’ll look in on Guy. He must be stable at least or they would have woken me-us.” She looked a little self- conscious at this last, never able to conceal her feelings as well as this man of masks. However, she was not deceived. She knew how carefully he crafted his persona of indifference and invulnerability but even he could not completely quash the faint tinge of colour visible above the neck of his T shirt. He was quite definitely embarrassed.
As she had assumed, Guy, the young patient, was finally responding to treatment and Cameron had the pleasure of telling his parents on their arrival that he would eventually make a full recovery. Her somewhat untidy appearance at this early hour told them that she had been up all night. They were full of praise for her and for the team. They enquired after Dr House. She had explained in layman’s terms the great intuitive leap which had enabled the diagnosis to be reached at the eleventh hour (two minutes to midnight really) and wanted to thank him personally. Unfortunately, Allison said, that would not be possible. He had an urgent appointment (with a shower, in fact, as soon as he saw them approaching) but she would be sure to pass on their thanks.
House entered his still darkened office and grabbed the bag in which he kept shower stuff and a spare set of clothes for occasions such as these. It wasn’t just the overnighters; clinic patients could puke on you, or if you were really lucky you could be baptized in a patient’s piss. Cuddy would no doubt point out that this was what a white coat helped to avoid but for him the lack of a traditional doctor’s garb marked him out as different; ‘one of the awkward squad’ as his father would have put it.
Leaving the office without a further glance, House was oblivious to certain small changes that had been made to an everyday but essential tool. He made his way to the locker room, hoping that a long hot shower would in some way restore his mental acuity and wash away the awkwardness he felt (he had to admit it to himself) waking up to find himself drooling into his young assistant’s crotch. Thank God Wilson would never find out!
Alas for certainty. At that moment, every computer in the hospital had a new screensaver. Gone was the tasteful, reassuring motif of leaves, together with the legend Princeton Plainsboro’ Teaching Hospital. Instead, stretched out on an equally tastefully chosen couch, lay the Head of Diagnostic Medicine, to all appearances dead to the world, clasping his very attractive immunologist, also clearly fast asleep. The on screen text read: Beauty and the Beast: or When the Lion lay down with the Lamb.
From the mortuary to the top floor, early birds had a nice juicy worm of gossip to chew on. Hospitals lived on talk, and a chuckle at someone else’s expense to start the day-especially a sarcastic bastard like House, who had pissed off most people at one time or another- was a great moment. Fewer people knew Cameron. Those who did first wondered at her ability to withstand the constant barrage of wit, sniping and sometimes downright nastiness coming her way from her boss, then realised that her slender person concealed an inner strength that was belied by her apparent naïveté and her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve.
Those who did not know her well assumed that she must be hard as nails to work with that team. Her quiet, rather prim manner with other members of the medical staff got her the label of stuck-up with some. She had learned early in her career that with her looks, she had to work hard to be taken seriously, so if she had to appear stuck-up, so be it. House’s “Nice piece of art in the lobby” remark still made her grind her teeth, four years on, and he hadn’t meant it.
Walking past the Clinic nurses’ station to her office, Cuddy was aware of a slight buzz in the air, a change to the usual early morning atmosphere of her great Ship of Fools. Her high heels clicked with her usual determination and efficiency. Something was afoot and she would know it before her first coffee arrived, or else.
Twenty minutes later, House stood in front of her desk, yelling. He was absolutely enraged to the point, for him, of incoherence. “Unprofessional….bringing disrepute to the hospital…doctors couldn’t do their jobs…surveillance…embarrassment to a junior colleague” and a whole lot more. Cuddy swept away his intemperate words with a wave of her hand. ”Quit yelling at me. I’m already on to it, House”, she said. ”In half an hour it will be rectified and the culprit punished.”
“Chase, was it Chase?” demanded House. “It would fit that slyboots.”
“No, I rather think it was the temporary janitor you insulted the other day. He’s the son of Bob Jamieson, the paediatrician we recently appointed and he is doing a summer job here before college.” “Was doing” stated House in steely tones.
“He will certainly be unpopular with his father when the news gets out” Cuddy replied calmly.” Look House, if this had not been you, you would have been the first to mock. No real harm has been done. See the funny side. Cameron did.”
“Cameron has seen this?” House groaned inwardly. “I thought she had gone home.”
“Not only has she seen it, she suggested that your little spat with the Jamieson boy was the motivation for this. Apparently he went into the lab yesterday on some errand and showed an interest in the equipment she was using.” “I’ll bet” growled House.
“That’s how she knew he would be capable of tinkering with the hospital’s computer system, and how ticked off he was with you” she continued, ignoring his interruption “And yes, Cameron has gone home-to change-and I suggest that you go away now and let me do my job.”
She shuffled the papers in her hand and turned her chair towards the monitor. “If young Jamieson was able to get such a shot of you while simply walking past the relative’s room, what will the c.c.t.v. footage show?” An unmistakeable look of panic crossed House’s features for a fleeting moment; then he turned and walked away, as fast as his bum leg would carry him, in the direction of Security.
Everyone in Security knew House, or rather, knew of him. He was the guy that got shot twice, in his own office, too, while the guards on duty played poker in their cramped cubbyhole. That had been the rumour, anyway. How could a guy tell if someone was carrying a concealed weapon? It was not as if there were metal detectors at the hospital entrance. There still weren’t, but there were, as a consequence of the shooting, an increased number of state of the art security cameras in strategic locations. One had been intended for outside House’s office but he had protested vigorously at the idea that more than one of his supposed former patients or their loved ones would want to off him.
His co-workers may have suspected that he did not want a record of exactly what work he did or did not do inside the glass walls of his office but they kept their mouths firmly shut on the matter and he had had his way, as usual. The now spare camera was mounted high on the wall of the relatives’ lounge area, presumably to monitor the bickering of families under stress. It was this camera, or more accurately its tape, House was anxious to neutralise.
With his wallet $50 dollars lighter, House emerged from the stuffy room clasping the tape in his free hand. The lazy sons-of -bitches had not gone over the night’s tapes yet, he felt sure. On the day shift they were supposed to monitor the cameras in real time. This wasn’t possible at night, with fewer guards on duty.
Back in his office, he threw the tape into a drawer and turned to enter the conference room. His neurologist and intensivist were obviously sharing a joke at his expense. He heard Chase say “I don’t know about the lion bit, but she’s certainly no lamb”. Foreman raised a quizzical eyebrow at his boss but said nothing. Chase’s grin fled before a glacial stare. He muttered his excuses and left for the Clinic. House returned to his office, plugged his ipod into his ears and settled down to all appearances to doze.