House fic: The Five People Cameron Didn't Sleep With (Cameron/everyone)

[ijemanja]

Title: The Five People Cameron Didn't Sleep With While High on Crystal Meth
Fandom: House
Pairing: Cameron/Wilson/Chase, Cameron/Foreman, Cameron/Stacy, Cameron/Cuddy, Cameron/House
Rating: teen
Words: 4364
Notes: Cameron is high on a whole lot of drugs and therefore consent issues abound in this fic -- though not to a greater extent than in the episode itself. Takes place during the episode 'Hunting', obviously.


i. Wilson

He knew exactly why she called.

It was there in her voice, plain as day, even before she spoke the magic words: "Why don't you come over?"

And if he didn't know it then, the fact that she answered her door wearing nothing but panties and a tank top would have caught him up fast.

Now he's standing in Cameron's apartment and she's taking him by the hand. The fact that she's high does not escape him but somehow, he can't quite find it in himself to care as he watches her ass and long bare legs and follows her to the bedroom.

He stops in the doorway, partly because he's taking in the scene before him: the rumpled bedclothes, the warm yellow tones and soft mood lighting, but mostly because Robert Chase is reclining against the headboard, regarding him levelly.

"So, not the pizza guy at the door, then," he says dryly.

Cameron shrugs. "I thought you wouldn't mind another playmate. And yeah, where is the pizza guy?" she adds, running her hands restlessly through her hair before climbing on her knees onto the bed. "I want you to keep up your strength."

Wilson stays where he is, watching Cameron crawl across the mattress towards Chase, who watches him in turn over Cameron's head. He raises an eyebrow, speculative, almost challenging. Wilson follows with his eyes the path Cameron's hands are making down Chase's chest to where narrow hips and the first hint of pubic hair are revealed by the sheet. And shrugs.

"Hope you ordered enough for three," he says as he pulls off his shirt and makes his way over to the bed.

ii. Foreman

He's not this guy.

He doesn't do this, he doesn't get involved. He doesn't haul co-workers home so they won't get fired, or fly off the roof of the hospital or something equally moronic when they show up high on, as Cameron had happily informed him, their patient's leftover crystal meth.

For some reason, he's doing it anyway.

It's not that he doesn't get that Cameron's had a scare, that she needed to blow off some steam, but indulging in illegal narcotics and showing up at work? He's always thought she was kind of crazy but still he has no idea what she was thinking - especially the showing up at work part. Except that she was probably looking for House.

It's not House she's thinking about now, though - or maybe it is and that's the point - as she puts a hand high on his thigh and leans over to nip at his ear while they're stopped at a set of traffic lights.

"Cameron," he says like he's talking to a wayward five-year-old, "I can't drive if you're all over me."

She sits back, smirking, but doesn't remove the hand from his leg. He rolls his eyes and his grip tightens on the steering wheel, but the lights go green then and so he decides it may as well stay there.

He consoles himself thinking about just how much grief he is going to give her about this tomorrow when she's back to being her usual sober, serious, and really kind of uptight self. He can already taste her embarrassment. It almost makes having to leave work to haul her wasted, horny ass home worth it.

His good deed isn't done when he pulls up near her building. He can't trust her to get upstairs on her own - it was hard enough getting her out of the office and down to his car - so he sees her up to her door where she seems to mistake the words, "You've got your keys, right?" For: "How about you take your top off?"

Because that's what she does, right there in the corridor.

"Uh," he laughs, scratching his forehead with his thumb and looking at the floor, because those are definitely not her keys, "Okay. Don't you think we should do this inside?"

Shoulders propped against the door she shrugs as if it's all the same to her and writhes a little as she fishes her keys from her hip pocket in a move that is so unconsciously sexy it has him staring stupidly, and yes, he really should have just turned the hell around when she started stripping off - but finally she's got the keys in hand. Reaching around, she gets the door unlocked and opened and practically falls through into her apartment.

He doesn't follow - of course he doesn't. Because he's not that guy either, and now she's safely home he can wipe his hands of the situation and get out of there already.

Of course, he'll have to detach her hands from his shirt, first.

"This isn't going to happen," he tells her firmly.

"I could have called Chase, you know. He would have come running. I wanted someone I can't push around."

Her voice is breathy and her eyes are feverish, and a little desperate, and a little sad. He holds her wrists away from him, thinking Cameron is exactly the kind of mess he's always tried to avoid.

Half naked or not, she is beautiful but it's nothing he hasn't noticed before. She's something like a friend, though, which is why he says to her: "You don't want to do this. You don't want Chase. What you wanna do is take better care of yourself."

She shakes her head, and pulls back on her arms till he lets her go. "I just want someone who won't make a big deal about it." Her hands come up to his chest again, at which point he steps back and she follows and then they're both back out in the hallway. "No strings," she insists, "No one would know."

"I'd know," he points out, "You'd know - and you think House won't figure it out?"

It's getting more difficult to disentangle himself from her and he figures the H-word will get through to her but she just smiles wickedly. "If he does, all he'll know is that you fucked me where he was too chicken to ever lay so much as a finger on me."

"Revenge, great, yeah this'll show him."

"Might be the only way you ever will, Eric."

She's right up against him as she says it, and her teeth graze his ear again - and what is her deal with his ears? That random thought is suddenly preferable to wondering how his arms have come up around her back, and how he might actually be doing this despite all the reasons why he shouldn't.

And especially not questioning too deeply how this crazy mess of a girl with the budding ear-fetish might actually be onto something that he might be more than willing to get behind.

She brings her face around then and kisses him, soft lips open and wet on his. It's actually kind of sloppy, though, and he has to back her up against the doorjamb, take over, and show her how someone who's not too stoned to manage a little fine motor control does it.

And then there he is, suddenly gone way past considering it, suddenly crossing the threshold and closing the door behind them.

At which point Cameron lets out a little moan and slides her tongue in his mouth, and that guy? The one who'd usually be thinking about the keys still in the lock outside, or wondering where Cameron's top ended up, or worrying about how awkward the morning after's going to be - that guy was way too uptight, anyway.

iii. Stacy

The door is wide open.

Mark cancelled dinner with his friends in order to stay home and brood and she had remembered urgent papers, unfinished, still on her desk at work - a bold faced lie but she doesn't feel guilty about it right now as she stands here in her office. It's late and all she can think is that the door is wide open.

The door is wide open, and she's melting.

It's strange because she's not the kind of person who does that, just melts over something or anything really. Or anyone. Apparently she's a lot hornier than she thought she was. Or else there's just something about this woman: young, pretty Dr Cameron and the way she's got Stacy cornered against her desk, bold, and intense and wholly unexpected.

Dr Cameron has always given the impression of being the type of person who always tries to do the right thing. As a lawyer she doesn't come across this type very often, but that's exactly how she knows it so well when she sees it.

Just as she knows this isn't the sort of thing Cameron does very often. She's clearly drunk, or possibly high, either way it's wrong - it's wrong but it feels so good sometimes, doing something you know you shouldn't. And Stacy knows how that goes. She knows too damn well and it's about time she did something about it.

So she moves, pushing away from the desk, stretches out a hand and shuts the door as she backs Cameron into it, holds her there with her eyes and both hands gripping her shoulders.

Before she does this she has to ask: "What's so special about you, anyway?"

It's an honest question but it comes out mean. Cameron either doesn't take it that way, though, or she doesn't care, just says: "Nothing. What's so special about him?"

But they both of them know the answer to that. Everything. Everything, and that's the problem.

It's also the reason Cameron has as much to lose as Stacy does if anyone finds out about this. That this is, in fact, the safest kind of risk either of them could ever take. The only kind, in other words.

"Yeah," she says, that one half-word encompassing everything neither of them is going to say. And Cameron just pulls Stacy's hips against her own and moves a hand around to press Stacy's ass.

Stacy's not used to being with someone shorter than she is but her husband's in a wheelchair and the love of her life is out of reach, and when Cameron's lips press against her collarbone, brushing her mother's cross, she lowers her chin so it rests against soft hair and thinks that somehow she'll be able to manage.

iv. Cuddy

She sounded strange on the phone.

Cuddy tells herself that's why she's here. They don't exactly have a shoulder-to-lean-on type of relationship, they're not friends by any stretch of the imagination. She was about to pack up and head home anyway, though, when the phone rang, and the voice on the other end of the line sounded strange.

So that's why she's here.

When Cameron answers the door the first thing that is apparent is that she has done something very stupid. Overly-energetic, laughing and apologetic all at once, "I'm sorry I called you," she says over the music blaring from her stereo as Cuddy gets her to sit on the sofa and starts about the business of checking her eyes and her pulse and asking her what she's taken. "I didn't want to see any of the guys and you're the only person I could think of. That's really pathetic, isn't it?"

"Yes," Cuddy replies shortly, putting a hand to Cameron's forehead, "But I'll try not to hold it against you. Being stupid enough to do this in the first place, however..."

"I'm lucky you're not the kind of boss who fires people for drug use," Cameron says, leaning further into Cuddy's hand.

She's a little flushed but not feverish and Cuddy reclaims her hand, raising an eyebrow as she sits back. "Oh we're snappy when we're abusing illegal substances, huh? Wonderful."

Cameron pulls away to stand up. She was never going to be still for long and this is when the talking starts: "You can get out of here. I freaked out a little back there when I called you but I'm okay. I'm going to be up all night, though. I don't know what I'm going to do with all this energy - I should have gone out, gone dancing. Picked up some stranger and brought him home instead of dragging you over here for no reason. I've got this really weird urge to rearrange my kitchen cabinets." She paces around the room as she talks, over to the door and back. "I don't do drugs," she adds then so very firmly Cuddy would laugh if she wasn't finding this situation so exasperating.

What people do on their own time is their own business but they are doctors and they should know better and when faced with a colleague actively high right in front of her she's not about to reserve her judgement.

When she asks Cameron what she was thinking, however, all she gets is: "Everybody else gets to medicate themselves into oblivion, why can't I, just once?"

The way she says it makes her think Cameron's been waiting to say that to someone for a long time.

"I know what happened today." Is what she says in return.

Cameron rolls her eyes and flops back down onto the couch. "You know I was exposed. Great. I don't want to talk about it." Then she's up again, pacing, and there's not much Cuddy can do but let her be.

She can listen though, and she can be here. They're not friends but Cameron needs someone if only to ensure she doesn't fall out a window or have a bad reaction to the drug - though if that was going to happen it probably would have by now.

Cameron talks a lot. Rambling really, not about having HIV positive blood coughed in her face, but about all manner of other things. Some of which Cuddy doesn't mind hearing at all, like about House, and what a jerk he is, and about how sometimes Cameron hates her job, and fantasises about working somewhere normal where people actually listen to her and are nice to each other and don't make her feel like an idiot five times a day.

Sometimes, Cuddy discovers, Cameron gets sick of working with men all the time. And she apparently asks as many awkward questions while high as she does when she's not. Though she's more likely to simply laugh when they're not answered.

She wanders off on philosophical tangents that would make House proud, and tells Cuddy what she really thinks about women who dress provocatively in the workplace, which would make him even prouder.

Cuddy, immune by this time, doesn't bat an eye, just makes Cameron stop and drink some water so she doesn't dehydrate or lose her voice. And once she's got Cameron sitting, sipping water and neither talking nor bouncing off the walls for the first time in an hour, she goes into the small kitchen to find herself something to drink.

The thing is, she's never tried to like Cameron, didn't ever really see a need to, but now she knows more about her than she ever expected and certainly ever wanted to. And she finds herself faced with a woman who, recreational drug use aside, seems to have surprisingly good judgement, and a good sense of humour, one who's lonely, who had no one else to call. And what's really pathetic is just how alike they are.

She locates the vodka stashed at the back of Cameron's freezer, and the similarities just keep piling up, she thinks, pouring herself a generous glass and taking a long swallow.

She's not looking to get drunk, but she's doing this at the end of an already long day and she thinks she deserves it. Besides, she can relax a little and still be more than sober enough to drive Cameron to the emergency room if the need arises.

"Drinking on the job," Cameron says, a coy little smirk along for the ride as she saunters in and props herself against the counter opposite Cuddy.

"Job? No, this is a privilege and an honour," she replies dryly.

Chastened, Cameron looks away, her fingers tapping the edge of the counter compulsively on either side of her hips. "Sorry. You should just -"

"I can go, I know. Give it a little longer, you're still very jumpy. How do you feel?"

"I don't think it's wearing off just yet," she says, a small smile making its way back across her lips.

But Cameron's more coherent now, at least, not nearly so hyperactive, and Cuddy's level of concern has dropped accordingly. She raises her drink to her lips again before saying, rather sarcastically: "Still pretty good, then - methamphetamines got your vote?"

"Right now they do," Cameron replies candidly. "Don't worry, I'm almost certain this doesn't make me a junky."

"Well... we all make bad decisions every now and then, I guess." She finds herself backing off the topic. It's not quite letting Cameron off the hook, but a lecture isn't going to be much use right now either so she's at a loss for what else she can say.

"You know what I've never liked about you?"

Cameron's gaze, Cuddy notices, is rather close to calculating for someone who not five minutes ago was singing along to Dido very much as if no one was listening.

"Aside from my wardrobe you mean?" She turns away to return the vodka to the top of the fridge and tries not to be too interested in the reply.

"Yeah, aside from that. Actually, there's nothing. But I never did anyway. That's weird, right? To just not like someone very much for no reason?"

"Oh, you just have to get to know me," she quips. It's no news to her that Cameron might not think wonderful things about her, but she's not going to take this too seriously because she is her superior after all and it wouldn't really be fair.

"You could be right," Cameron concedes, and that small smile, Cuddy notes, is starting to grow.

"Sure," she says, "When you can carry on a conversation without buzzing around the room or breaking into song we should have lunch."

"I didn't mean like that." She pushes herself away from the counter and Cuddy knows exactly how she meant it.

"Allison -"

"I like that you say my name. No one else ever does. Usually I have to call my parents if I want to hear it."

Back against the refrigerator she looks at the woman who is way too close for anything approaching comfort and says: "Think I'm going to have to go back to Dr Cameron, then."

"Don't. Please? And don't say it's a bad idea. I know it is. All of this - you're right, and I'm sorry. But you've been taking care of me and I can make it up to you and you should let me. Just..."

"Oh god," she says when Cameron's lips leave hers.

This, she thinks, is entirely unfair. It's the drugs. Cameron's libido is locked into overdrive from the meth.

Pity she doesn't have such a readily available excuse. Because there's no denying how compelling Cameron is like this, soft-eyed and persuasive. It's been so long since she's been held so in sway by anyone and now here's this gorgeous girl kissing her and she doesn't know how it happened, just that it's really not fair because it can't go any further.

"Oh this is such a bad idea."

"So?"

"So I wouldn't forgive myself if -"

"I'll forgive you. I'm a very forgiving person, ask anyone." Cameron laughs, low and just a little bit wry. And she finds herself letting out a laugh of her own, only she's laughing at herself as she looks up to the ceiling pleadingly.

Then, smoothing her palms down Cameron's arms, a calming gesture she hopes, and taking her hands, she thinks about what she's doing, and yes, what she could do, and what anyone else might do in her place. She thinks about the men in Cameron's life, the ones she didn't want to call, and is glad it was her phone ringing instead. But more than that she's just glad she's never gotten to the point where she takes herself too seriously.

A sense of humour always helps in a situation like this, she's found, even if the joke's on her.

So she squeezes Cameron's hands and lets her go, reaching for the door behind her head. "I'm going to have another drink," she says, because god, does she ever need it. "And then why don't we just... talk some more."

Cameron huffs like she's put out but agrees readily enough, and it's difficult not to think that maybe all she really wants is someone to be with and she doesn't really care so much how. Except that there's a hand warm on Cuddy's back as she turns, and she doesn't have it in her to try and shrug it off.

"But this time," Cameron says as they make their way back out to the living room, "I want to hear what you have to say."

Cuddy wastes no time grabbing her glass and unscrewing the cap on the vodka. Life really is unfair sometimes and the bitch of it is that's the sexiest damn thing anyone's said to her in years.

v. House

He loses time somewhere.

Not much, a split second, but enough that he suddenly has no idea what's happening. He thinks he must have hit his head when he fell. Because there was definitely falling involved here somewhere.

He goes over the chain of events: first there was knocking, and he looked through the peephole to see Cameron outside. Then, he opened the door. And now this: flat on his back on the floor with Cameron above him on hands and knees.

"Sorry," she grins down at him, wide-eyed and breathless, "Guess I got carried away. Hi."

"Uh... okay." He still has no idea what is going on, but he thinks he might be figuring it out. "I guess you're happy to see me?"

"Yeah," she laughs, "Are you? Happy to see me?"

She's looking down at his crotch as she says this, but no, actually, he's not happy to see anyone right now, being, as he is, in way too much pain. He's bruised in about ten places and oh, his leg is going to kick his ass once he tries to move - right now it's sort of been stunned into silence.

"Cameron," he says, "Get the hell off me." She pouts, but moves to sit at his side. "Wait," he adds as he pushes himself upright, because he's just taken a good look at her eyes and everything suddenly makes a lot more sense. He pulls one of her eyelids up with a thumb and she grabs his wrist. "What did you take?"

"Would you believe I'm high on life?" she asks, and brings his hand down a few inches and puts his thumb in her mouth.

He blinks and replies: "Yeah, sobriety makes me do stuff like this all the time. Exactly why I tend to avoid it." But he doesn't pull his hand away.

Because sweet, sensitive, good-girl Allison Cameron is sucking on his thumb like it is something else entirely.

He doesn't need this.

He's got a rat problem. And an inconvenient, wheelchair-bound husband problem. And one problem he doesn't need is dealing with whatever sexual harassment charges Cameron is going to bring up against him tomorrow when she comes down and realises he took advantage of her while she was incapacitated.

The trouble is, Cameron is apparently not such a good girl after all. Drugs. Prolonged digit-tasting. Late night, out of the blue booty calls - he assumes that's what this is, anyway. It's upsetting his world-view. Not to mention turning him on.

She draws his thumb from her mouth then, letting it slide slowly from between her lips. "You know what," she says seriously, "This is the best idea I've ever had."

"You need to go home." He gets it out before he forgets to say it and does something stupid instead. "You're completely wasted. You take a cab? If by some miracle you managed to drive yourself here you're taking a cab home anyway. I'll call one."

He tries to move but she's still hovering right over him and she's still got his hand in a surprisingly strong grip. "Suddenly you've got standards?" she demands.

"Same ones. I didn't want you before, what makes you think I want you now?"

She shakes her head, lets out a short laugh. "You're trying to protect me."

"You might be HIV positive - I'm trying to protect me."

She's not actually listening to him, her next words prove that: "So I went out and got high! This is just courage. I know what I want." And the situation is devolving rapidly as she swings a leg back over his hips and straddles him again. "I wish I was this brave all the time. You know this is what I think about doing every god damn day?"

She plants her mouth on his and then he's flat on his back again, forced down by the weight of her pressing on his shoulders. Just as his - admittedly weak at this point - objections are quelled by the weight of her settled over his groin. She's got him where she wants him apparently and so she slides her hands down from his shoulders over his chest and stomach to his waistband where they go to work on his button and fly.

At this point there's not much point arguing - the damage is already done because even high as a very high kite he doubts she'll be able to just forget having had her hand down his pants.

He knows he certainly won't.

So he reaches up and takes her face in his hands and guides her down his body. And she goes, smiling all the while.

After all, everybody lies but not all the time, and he can always say she overpowered him.