karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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"Mission Of Mercy" Wilson/Cam, House/Wilson-Stealth slash. PG13 1151 Words.

Title: Mission Of Mercy
Author: Karaokegal
Wordcount: 1151
Pairings: Wilson/Cameron, House/Wilson implied.
Rating: PG13-barely
Warnings: Het & Slash-something to annoy everyone. Spoilers through "Merry Little Christmas". Possible OOC-ness.
Notes: I see that much sniping, I see hate!sex. My first attempt at first person fanfic. Unbeta-ed. Schpilkes wins out over common sense.
Summary: Even nice guys have their limits.

"You should call him.”

Not what I usually hear after I’ve made love to a woman, but she barely seemed like a woman and I’d hardly call it making love.

Who would have thought that less than 24 hours after getting my car back, I’d be showing Cameron my best back seat moves, considering the way she'd been acting all day, both personally and unprofessionally?

I tried not to let her get to me. I'd done the right thing. For House, for the hospital, for everybody, including I’ll admit it, myself, but mostly for House. I was tempted to call up Stacy and tell her I finally understood.

The righteous one, blessed be she, was still on the warpath and followed me into the parking lot. House would have tripped her with his cane and walked over her body. It's a pain being the nice guy.

"It's done. He can go to jail or go to rehab. It’s his choice. What else do you want me to say?”

“I want to know that you care what this is going to do to him.”

Even nice guys have their limits. I felt like I was going to hit her, or I was going to tell her exactly how much I cared and I couldn’t do either one. Somehow the only other option was to grab her wrist and push her back against my car. She opened her mouth in shock and I kissed her just to keep her shut up.

I’d forgotten how good a mouth could feel, even if it tasted of bitterness. I let myself get overwhelmed by the softness of her lips and tongue playing against mine. I wasn't just holding her down anymore. I needed her body to support me, because I was getting dizzy from the sensation of her skin touching my face. I waited for her to scream, or push me away, or make some kind of lady-like protest. I didn’t expect her to open her mouth wider, wrap her arms around my neck and press her entire pelvis against mine, reminding me exactly how long it had been. The notorious Dr. Wilson was having a bit of a dry spell. Shhh, don't tell the orderlies.

“We, we shouldn’t do this.” she'd gasped, when I moved my lips along her face, giving her time to breathe, although hopefully not to think.

“Absolutely not,” I agreed , running one hand through her hair, until I found a spot on her neck that made her whole body tighten up with the effort not to let out a sound. I brought my thumb against her mouth, rubbing gently until her lips parted again. Her brain was trying to say no, but every part of her that I could touch had different ideas, including her left thigh, pressing between mine. I rubbed back, hardening at the contact, wanting more. This was such a bad idea it couldn’t wait to get back to my hotel.

I hoped Tritter wasn’t lurking behind the SUV in the next parking spot, because I was about to give him a chance to arrest me for indecent exposure. Cameron's backseat moves weren't bad either. If I was lucky, the fogged up windows would muffle her screams and my obscenities.

I hadn’t even finished with the Kleenex, when I found out this wasn’t going anywhere.

“You should call him. It’s Christmas Eve and he’s alone.”

What made me think that either one of us could let go of our obsession?

“Why don’t you call him?” Probably the cruelest thing I could have said, evoking the wounded look it deserved.

“You’re his friend. He might talk to you. I’m just…”

I tried not to gloat before remembering that I might not be at the top of the friend list myself. His phone didn’t answer and the machine was off.

“Please. I know he’s…please try one more time.”

The screaming or the worry must have knocked her off the high-horse. Now she was just plain old love-struck Cameron. I could only hope this was going to be over soon and we could all get back to normal.

“What’s so funny?” she asked. I hadn’t even noticed I was laughing.

House hated normal. Maybe he thought jail would be interesting. Maybe he didn't care anymore. I thought you might prefer people to pills. Not once since the infarction had that been true, no matter what I liked to tell myself. At best, it was pills and person, meaning me, and that had meant everything.

"Get in the front seat; we're going over there."

There was nothing to talk about, so we pretended to listen to Christmas music. I looked over and saw her drawing a smiley face in the mist on the window with her index finger. I'd have to tell him about that so he could make fun of it. I could hear him making a joke about a new TV show called "That's So Cameron".

I still had the keys. If it hurt her to see that, I didn't care. I was already out and up the front stairs, banging on the door. I don't know what I expected. House sitting at the piano or just watching television, ready to throw erudite insults at me for everything from lack of loyalty to lousy medical skills. It wouldn't have mattered. I just needed to know he was OK.

The smell as soon as I opened the door told me that wasn't the case. I practically sprained an ankle getting around the couch.

He was on the floor, out of it, but conscious. Barely oriented, he managed to fix me with his little "gotcha" smirk. That was House, even when he was lying next to his own vomit. I saw the whiskey bottle and the empty vial. Those were the pills he'd been flaunting at the hospital. Cuddy said she hadn't given them to him, so it must have been Cameron. I picked up the bottle, looking for the tell-tale label that would give me the moral high ground.

Ed Zebalusky

I felt nausea rising in my own guts and it wasn't just from the stench.

House screws up and Wilson comes to the rescue. How many times? How many goddamn times? Not this time, House. My hands shook as though I were the strung out junkie. Too bad they don't have rehabs for my addiction. I was just starting my detox and it already hurt like hell.

"You stupid son of a bitch," I muttered, walking out the door, not sure if I was talking to House or myself.

Cameron stood outside the car, ready to help with the rescue effort. I was tempted to hand over the keys so she could see her hero in all his glory. Except then she'd be the one to take care of him and I couldn't allow that.

"He's fine. Let's go."

Tags: house/cameron, house/wilson, housefic

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