Fandom: House MD
Pairing: House/Cameron, implied House/Wilson
Notes: Spoiler for Dying Changes Everything. The Post-ep I wasn't going to write. TPTB provided the angst, I just rolled with it. Unbeta-ed. All suckitude and typos are mine.
Summary: House needs a new supplier
House stood in Wilson’s office long enough to convince himself that Wilson wasn’t coming back to say it had all been a mistake and offer to buy dinner. By that time, the leg was reminding him in its most insistent voice, exactly why he shouldn’t be standing up for so long. At first he’d been distracted by the shock of Wilson’s remark about their friendship. It was just the kind of verbal sucker-punch he would have admired, were it administered to anyone but himself. The bastard must have been saving that one up for months, years even.
Now he had to flee the scene of the crime with his aching thigh and bruised ego. He put down the cane to take the first step.
“So who’s going to write script for you?”
Cameron must have snuck in while he’d been distracted by his various pains. She was hardly a worthy opponent, but whatever she had in mind might keep him distracted long enough to get back to his office.
He started walking knowing, she’d follow as though she were still at his beck and call.
“Wilson writes my prescriptions,” he insisted. It had been one of his most brilliant strokes, even though it was done in the haze of pain and anger following the surgery. In a single move he’d shown Cuddy that he would never trust her judgment again and made Wilson responsible for relieving his pain
“Wilson’s gone. You’ve got an addiction and I’ve got a prescription pad.”
“I’ve got three crash-test dummies who’d love to get on Daddy’s good side.”
“Do you really want any of them to know exactly how much you’re taking?”
They’d reached his office, allowing him to settle into his chair and take the weight off his leg. The throbbing continued unabated, so he pulled out the bottle and downed two pills, realizing as he did so that he was making Cameron’s point for her as she leaned against his desk.
Cameron had gone blonde, put on some much-needed weight, and maybe even grown enough of a spine to run the emergency room, but people don’t change.
“You’re offering this service out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was?”
“Nope.” He could feel the Vicodin starting to nibble at the edge of the pain. He sighed at the beginnings of the relief. “So what do you want, Dr. Cameron. A charitable donation to the widows and orphans fund?”
“What did Wilson get?”
She was smiling. It might look sweet to a more naive man, but House recognized a predatory smirk when he saw one.
She knew. Cameron knew about him and Wilson. Maybe she’d always suspected, but now she definitely knew. He had to wonder exactly how much soul-baring had occurred when Cameron was doling out her own brand of tea and sympathy. What if souls weren’t the only things being bared? Had she started undoing a lacy blouse while saying, “When you speak of this, and you will, be kind?”
Why did the idea not bother him as much as it should? Because Wilson was Wilson and Cameron was here trying to blackmail him with his own weakness. His young Jedi had learned well, even if she was still delusional.
The age difference hadn’t magically disappeared in the past four years. If anything he felt older than his actual age and the shadows under her eyes didn’t mean she wasn’t still on a crusade to rescue him.
On the other hand, if she was willing to go that far in compromising her principles and jeopardizing whatever was left of her relationship with Chase, he might as well give her the same chance to destroy herself that he gave to anyone else who tried to cared about him.
At least until Wilson came back.