Visions of Sin [1/1]
Title: Visions of Sin [1/1]
Pairing: House, Wilson, House/Cameron, Cameron/Wilson
Rating: R. Dark.
Summary: You have to face it, endings are the same however you slice it. House and Wilson. Two different views of Cameron.
Spoilers: Written after Finding Judas. I haven't seen Merry Little Christmas yet, so it has no impact on this story.
Author’s Note: Secret Santa gift for azuredamsel. I hope you like it, sweets.
You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.
01
You could have had her. It would have been easy, that first year. She was hopelessly idealistic and she thought you were going to rescue her, she was going to rescue you, some pathetic variation of the sort.
You thought about it sometimes, when you could get your mind off the pain and your own miserable existence for half a second. She had a crush and you didn’t care about sparing her feelings or entertaining her naïve romantic notions, but damn she was hot. And you were still a man, after all. Not completely stupid.
It wouldn’t have even been a seduction, she would have come willingly. She would have offered herself to you if you gave her even a hint of encouragement.
That niceness would have tasted so sweet. It was such a rare thing in a person with her beauty and intelligence, you noticed it as soon as you interviewed her. It would have been something foreign on your lips, something you would savour and devour and poison. You would have made her writhe and beg and buck with pleasure because she still had starry eyes then and she would have done anything you wanted. You would have destroyed her.
Sometimes, you wonder why you didn’t. You can justify it now; she works for you, you like your team the way it is, you don’t need shitty complications like that. But you know at the end of that horrible date you could have taken what you wanted and she still would have been at work the next day.
You wonder why you didn’t.
-
You could have had her. House has probably never thought about it before, never thought you would do that to him, but you could have. Easily. Women fall for you. They just do. You’re charming and nice even though really you’re not so charming and nice, but they never realise that until it’s too late. Or some of them never notice at all. They’re happy to part ways like you’ve done them a favour, like your grateful cancer patients. You’ve never understood that reaction to you, and sometimes it feels like a burden. Like maybe you could stop compulsively needing those who need you if they would only stop treating you like a nice guy.
She was Allison to you. She used to be full of bright-eyed optimism and House used to scare her, intimidate her, awe her with his medical prowess and biting wit. You used to reassure her, counsel her, console her, and you didn’t really think much of it. You’d done it thousands of times before, with House’s other employees. It’s always been expected that you would fix his mistakes, like some mutual friendship agreement you missed out on. The only thing that made her stand out was that she was incredibly pretty, unlike most doctors, and she liked you well enough.
She was your usual type. Dark hair, dark eyes, pretty and smart. On her way to success but not confident enough to wield it properly. She would have smiled and blushed when you asked her to dinner, and she would have curved into you willingly when your hands smoothed over her perfect, creamy naked flesh.
It would have been too easy. She never would have told House, because she would have been too ashamed, too worried about her professional integrity. She would have counted herself among the numerous nurses and accountants scorned and moved on, focused on her job.
You know why you didn’t.
::
02
After Stacy, she was different. Angry. Bitter. She would yell at you and challenge you on cases because she couldn’t yell at you about personal things anymore, and she had to get it out somehow. You had no delusions about her feelings. She claimed she was over you but you still saw the fire in her eyes, the way her face fell when she smelt Stacy’s perfume on your clothes or saw you sniping at each other in the halls.
You didn’t give a damn, because you didn’t want her and there were other available distractions.
You could have used her then, warmed your broken body and wounded heart with her body, especially after Stacy left and you had nothing but your pills to keep you company. Your pills and your pain. She had the same hair colour, was the same height. It would have been easy to pretend she was the one that you wanted. As soon as you saw the guilt cross her face after she slept with Chase, you knew she had wanted to call you instead. That her newfound coldness and sharpness was all just a front. She would have been full of self-loathing and hatred and it would have been angry and fast, but she would have enjoyed it a little bit too.
It would have screwed with your working relationship, but she would have learnt that you really were the bastard you said you were, that there was no goodness or conscience or hope for redemption at your core. It would have been better for her in the long run. Of course you would have lost her twisted sense of loyalty and friendship, and the fact that she sent you those fleeting, worried glances across the room whenever you massaged your leg or gave a wince. You would have lost your one source of non-judgemental support after Stacy was gone.
You hated yourself too much to bring her down with you.
-
You were focused on House and Stacy and keeping them from making any stupid mistakes, but you still noticed when she changed.
Stacy rocked the boat in a lot of ways, but it was House and his team that it affected the most. And Cameron. Especially Cameron. The lights dulled in her eyes a bit, she lost that constant glaze of hero worship in her voice and stare, and she saw the bitterly twisted man that House really was.
She still liked him. If anyone noticed that, it was you. You were keeping an eye on her a little. House was distracting enough, but you sensed her nearing some kind of breaking point and someone had to be on the lookout for her wellbeing. You shared things you had never shared with anyone, and she protected your secrets because you protected hers.
You could have comforted her, comforted her in the only way you knew how. She was needier than anyone and that intrinsic part of you that reads that in people saw it clearly in her. It pulled you in like a beacon. You walked her to her car often enough, and she trusted you. Liked you. You were friends in a way, when House wasn’t getting in your way and demanding your attention.
It would have screwed with your newfound camaraderie, but it might have toughened her outer shell. Taught her that all men really were jerks, a concept she obviously hadn’t yet grasped. Her shiny outlook on life and people was going to ruin her one day. Of course you would have lost that friendship, that odd sense of pleasure you got whenever she stopped by your office for a casual chat or joined you at lunch to complain about House’s latest escapades.
You liked her too much to bring her down to your level.
::
03
She didn’t stop by your apartment with shopping bags or hound you with concerned phone calls like you had half expected her to after you were shot. You didn’t even speak to her until your first day back at work. She was different. Lighter. Your snipes didn’t bother her anymore, just rolled off her back, sparked a sarcastic retort from her lips instead. You often wondered what brought about this change, though you never actually asked her. Puzzling it out was far more interesting.
You admired this new Cameron a little, though she annoyed the shit out of you too. She annoyed you because she was becoming too much like you, and you found it hard to argue with yourself. But she was still endlessly compassionate and caring and that was where you differed. When and if she learnt to harness that properly you knew she would be a very formidable doctor.
When the pain went away, you could have had her then. You thought about fucking her against the wall just because you could, just because you were strong and virile and mobile like any other man and you weren‘t damaged anymore. In the back of your mind, you also entertained another thought - what it would be like to have a relationship with her. To have a normal life. In a way, she was the ideal. The beautiful picture of home and happiness those authors with pathetic notions of romance wrote their novels about - the ones you mock so ceaselessly.
Then the pain and the misery came back, and you were wrapped up in your own world again.
She didn’t stop caring, though you wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. You had to be wearing her down with the way you treated her.
You started thinking of her as your second Wilson a little, because secretly, you trusted her more. Then the cravings became stronger and stronger and there was no room in your mind for any other sort of addiction.
You might have been protecting her.
-
She discovered what you hid from House - you and Cuddy, but no one remembers her part in it - and she stopped coming by your office so much. Her eyes narrowed slightly whenever she looked at you, and you could tell she didn’t trust you anymore. She assigned herself in the role of House’s defender, and you found it endlessly exasperating because it wasn‘t helping anybody, not really.
Then Tritter started his vendetta, and the cracks started to show. The friendship growing between her and House was cracking, and she started worrying about you again. She was starting to become disillusioned with him, you knew it. He was showing his worst, darkest possible side and the reality was too much for her to contemplate. It was a little too much for you as well, because despite your evaluations and speculations you didn’t truly believe House was a horrible person.
You could have taken advantage of that disillusionment, could have proven to her once and for all that House was the jerk and you were the saint - or at least pretended that was true - but then things shifted again. Her loyalty weathered the storm and your loyalty crashed and burned. She never blamed you for it, though the disappointment was there, and the way she trusted you was never really the same.
You were protecting him, and it ruined your chances with her. You hated him a little for that.
::
00
You wrap your fingers around her wrist because you’ve always wanted to touch that delicate skin. She’s looking at you, those serious green eyes fixed on you intently.
You don’t think about what ifs and buts and the consequences in the morning. You only think about what you want, what you have wanted for years.
You let her body collide with the wall as you push yourself into her, hard, feeling her softness yield against your body. You brush your mouth hotly over hers, enjoying the way she moans your name. You wrap your tongue around hers, so small and soft, and she tastes sweet and warm. Like something you will never feel yourself. You like that about her. You want to immerse yourself in it. Her eyelashes flutter and close and her fingers clutch at your arms when your fingers slide under her skirt. She’s warm and wet and you ask her how much she wants you anyway, just so you can hear it. Just so you can hear her say it.
She’s yours and you don’t have to question it. In this world, pain does not hold you back.
It is, after all, only a dream.
-
You don’t have to be gentle because she doesn’t ask you for that. She doesn’t expect you to be the kindly gentleman you strive so hard to pretend to be. You can fuck her, burn her, bruise her with your fingers. She wraps her slender legs around your waist when you hitch her up on the desk, and your hands ache with the need to touch her properly. To bury your fingers in her hair and sear her lips roughly against your own.
There’s no House here, no guilt or self-loathing- you only need her because you want her. You’re not motivated by some pathological urge to save her.
She’s yours and you don’t need to question it. In this world your own nature does not hold you back.
It is, after all, only a dream.
::
You have to face it, endings are the same however you slice it. Don’t be deluded by any other endings, they’re all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.
end
1. Cat’s Eye - Margaret Atwood.
2. Happy Endings - Margaret Atwood.