karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,
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"Transcript" Stacy/Cameron PG 13 3355 Words-Merry Christmas Kohl-Rimmed-Eye

Title: Transcript
Pairing: Stacy/Cameron
Word Count: 3355
Spoilers: Stacy arc in general, "Hunting" and "The Mistake" in particular.
Notes: Written as a Christmas gift for the breathtakingly prolific and frightenly brilliant kohlrimmedeye a/k/a paperclipbitch who wanted more Stacy/Cameron.
Warnings: Not very happy and just a bit smutty. A new format attempt for me. As always, bring on the comments and concrit.
Summary: I could keep a secret and she probably wouldn’t remember anything.



Transcript

The only thing worse than Greg being a jerk was Greg being nice.

I knew how to deal with the jerk. I've had plenty of experience with that. Coping mechanisms. Snappy comebacks.

Aside from a few moments on the roof of the hospital, he’d been a total ass from the minute I asked for his help with Mark. Except, of course, that he managed to cure him. Typical Greg. He makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time.

I hate to admit it, but the more he made me hate him, the safer it was for me. Things were still a little tense with Mark, but I could handle it. I’d been there before, so I knew what to do and what not to do. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

Mark had nothing to worry about as far as my being interested in Greg’s dubious charms, certainly not while Greg was being a total prick. What he did at Mark’s therapy session made me so mad, I walked in while he was abusing one of his clinic patients and told him to cut it out. He made these annoying insinuations that I was acting “pissy” just because I wanted to get back together with him. Bullshit! I wasn’t pissy, I was pissed-off.

Then he started acting nice.

He came over to talk about the patient he’d slugged and actually ended up helping me with dishes. When we were together, Greg would buy paper plates and eat with his fingers before he’d touch a dish.

Then I told him about the rat. First he had to throw some smarmy innuendo about helping me sleep, but he came back with traps and drugs and we actually managed to spend some time together without snarling. It reminded me of what it was like before everything happened.

I had to laugh when he named it “Steve McQueen.” How many times had I sat through “The Cincinnati Kid”? He’d never kill a rat named after his favorite actor but at least he was going to get the thing out of my attic.

I was even more surprised to see him standing in the doorway of my office later that day looking tired and just a bit sheepish.

I’d forgotten how cute the sheepish look could be.

He said I might want to have a talk with Cameron, which made no sense whatsoever. She’d been a bitch to from the day I got there. Maybe he thought we should bond over a pint of mint chocolate chip.

I started telling him to take his ego the hell out of my office, only it turned out there’d been an incident with a patient and he’d coughed some blood in Cameron’s face. My first reaction was “That’s gross,” only it turned out to be HIV positive patient that I told Greg he had to treat. So now it was somehow my fault.

There was practically no chance of her contracting the virus, but Greg wanted me to tell her the legal stuff that the infection control guy wouldn’t be honest about. In other words he wanted me to give her advice that went against the best interests of the hospital.

He smiled at me, which made it easier to say yes, but not easier to talk to Cameron.

I can’t imagine which lie he used to get her to see me. She didn’t look any happier about it than I was. Luckily I had a desk full of distractions, including a snow-globe from Jamaica that James gave me when he came back from his second honeymoon. I picked it up and shook it.

Even seated, her body exuded tension. What the hell was I supposed to say to her? She wasn’t an idiot so she had to know what the hospital would do to take care of her and what they would do to protect themselves. I could tell her what legal options she had if worse came to worst, but my job with the hospital meant I shouldn’t.

She didn’t want to talk about any of that as far as I could tell. There was only one topic between us. She was in love with Greg. A nice hopeless, head-over-heels, everybody and their mother knows, kind of love.

I might have been a bit more sympathetic if she hadn’t kept bringing up my relationship with Greg in front of my husband when they were diagnosing him. We talked about Greg once. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she’d failed the Greg House unpalatable truth test. Whatever it was, she choked on it and that was that. I couldn’t keep myself from telling her that my first date hadn’t gone very well either, but that I’d moved in a week later. I don’t think she ever forgave me and frankly, I didn’t care very much.

Not until she was sitting in my office wearing a pair of scrubs with no make up, trying desperately not to let me know how scared she was. I was this close to giving her a hug, or at least a pat on the shoulder.

Before I could do that, I figured I needed to do her a big favor and tell her to give up on Greg. He might have changed in the last five years, but no way would he ever be interested, no matter how pretty she was. Either the need to be needed or the “Hi there, I’m vulnerable” sign in her eyes would send him running. The combination of the two probably kept him hiding out in Wilson’s office on a regular basis, not that he’d ever needed an excuse to avoid working.

She would never be Greg’s type, but she was definitely mine. Oh don’t look so shocked. Just theoretically, I mean. I’ve always loved my husband, even if he didn’t feel he was ready for sex yet.

I told Cameron that Greg did care about her. What I meant to say was that he cared about what happened to her, even if there was no way he would ever let her or the rest of his staff see it. Instead I gave her a shot of false hope. I will say it had an immediate effect. She got some color in her cheeks and I saw the hint of a smile. She really was a very pretty girl, especially when she smiled. I would have liked to see more of it, but I didn’t have any more good lies on hand. Some lawyer, right?

All I could do was offer her my card with the cell phone number and make the usual nice noises about calling me if there was anything I could do. I wasn’t sure she’d take it and I was positive she wouldn’t call.

That night, Mark was having dinner with friends and I was stuck in the attic with Greg, staring at a trap, waiting for…I wasn’t sure. Presumably, for Steve to show up and run into the cage, but we wound up talking, really talking for the first time since…

After the operation, there was his yelling and my crying followed by his silence and my leaving. It was so awful because the thing we did the most together was talk. More than that even. Sometimes it was hard to get him to stop talking long enough to kiss me and he usually picked up the conversation the way some people pick up a cigarette.

So there we were, a few inches from each other, finally talking about what happened. OK, we still couldn’t talk about the surgery, but about what happened to us afterwards. When he was in so much pain and he wouldn’t talk to me and I started smoking again. The son of a bitch said he always knew. Can you believe that?

I could have sworn I heard him say “I’m sorry you were miserable,” but that was impossible. I found myself looking into his eyes. Always a big mistake. Have you ever seen Greg’s eyes up close? You can’t even believe how….anyway, for that second I would have told him that I still loved him and I did want him and the hell with Mark, but then the trap clattered and there was the damn rat looking at us with it’s beady little rat eyes. Yuck.

The rat was like a new toy for him, much more interesting than whatever game he’d been playing with me. He didn’t notice my cell phone going off or my leaving to answer it.

I could hardly hear the voice over the loud music in the background and I could barely understand the rapid, slurred delivery telling me she was scared, and could I please, pretty please come over.

“Cameron, is that you? What’s the matter?”

“I’m all alone.”

“Are you drunk?”

She really sounded messed up, not that I could blame her. I have no idea what I would do in that situation. I’m not sure I would have called up someone I barely knew and begged them to come to my apartment.

I looked back at Greg making faces at a rat and then at the phone where I could still hear Cameron babbling away.

From one child to another I thought, trying to get her to slow down long enough to give me her address. Greg didn’t ask where I was going. I don’t think he realized I’d left.

Finding Cameron’s apartment was simple enough. Getting her to open the door took banging, yelling and more banging. The music was playing at some ridiculous volume. One of her neighbors was going to call the cops any minute. Maybe they already had and she was calling for legal assistance.

I started wondering if she’d swiped some of Greg’s pills and mixed them with alcohol. Greg once scared the shit out of me by misjudging that particular combination, then he accused me of being disappointed that he’d pulled through again. I tried not to think of that when I started shouting again for her to open the damn door.

When she finally decided to let me in, I was assaulted by the combination of music, Chanel #5 and the sight of Cameron made up for…I don’t know, the senior slut prom? I’d never seen her wearing so much make up. Heavy liner and mascara, blood red lipstick. It was striking and somewhat scary and I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth. When I finally did, there was her hair, done up like she was heading to a Motley Crue concert circa 1985.

I was torn between wanting to laugh in her face and find out exactly what her mouth felt like with all that lipstick.

Telling her she was fucked up was pointless but I did it anyway, just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy. She agreed wholeheartedly and pulled me inside. Either she was stronger than she looked or I was too stunned to resist.

Not drunk. Not Vicodin. My brain kept working on the irrelevant issue of what she had taken, even though my body had moved on to more pressing matters. Like her body pressing against it. She’d opened my jacket while I was distracted and her sleeveless blouse was flimsy, as in practically nonexistent.

Cocaine? Amphetamines? Meth? Wasn’t that what the patient that Greg had hit…

I asked if she’d taken Crystal Meth and she just said “Uh huh,” as though this were fabulous news.

She threw her arms around my neck, like a child. Except a child wouldn’t have been mashing her lips into mine and trying to push her tongue into my mouth.
I felt dizzy so I told her she should sit down. I wasn’t sure she could hear me over the stereo. I guess she did because she started pulling me toward the couch and it seemed as easy to sit there as do anything else.

She was the one who’d been exposed to HIV and was in love with the most annoying man on the planet who’d already told her he wasn’t interested, so what did she have to look so happy about?

I know. She was high. That’s what drugs do. They make you happy. Or at least not miserable.

I felt her heart pounding through the blouse. How had she gotten my jacket off so quickly? I must have missed something. Can you get contact high from that stuff?
Maybe it happened when her mouth started chasing mine and I got tired of running away.

She nuzzled my neck up to that spot just behind my ear. Greg always drove me nuts with the slightest breath there. Cameron wasn’t stopping with a breath. She flicked her tongue back and forth over the skin until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I grabbed her arms, taking control. She went limp against me. When I got to her shoulders, I showed her exactly what my fingers could do to her, starting with her neck. She purred under my touch, straddling my lap, grinding against my thigh.

My hands mauled her carefully sprayed hair, crunching it into new positions. Her mouth opened to me and I took it. I could feel her hands through my shirt rubbing… Well, anyway…

I don’t know why I did it. Mark wouldn’t touch me and being close to Greg had stirred up some feelings. He was really great in bed, I’ll give him that much. Even at the end, when it was practically the only thing holding us together. And it wasn’t just guilt, no matter what he says.

So yeah, I was pretty damn horny, and there she was. My hands were making a mess of her hair and I could taste need in my mouth. Her body was trying to melt into mine, and if she’d been able to talk she would have begged me to push her down on the couch and make her forgot about everything but me. I’d give her exactly what she needed, things that most men never bother with, and then let her return the favor. I’ve always enjoyed showing “nice girls” how much fun it is to be bad.

Purring had given way to pleading. She started playing with my mother’s cross with one hand, while the other moved under my bra, actually touching me. I felt like her fingers were going leave burn marks.

I could keep a secret and she probably wouldn’t remember anything.

Then it hit me. She was under the influence. Unable to give consent. They call that rape in this state. I couldn’t do it. She must have known what I was thinking before it happened. She pulled her mouth away from mine and gasped, “Come on, Stacy, don’t go all nice on me now.”

I pushed her off my legs and into the corner of the couch. She grabbed a cushion, holding it like a stuffed animal. She was pouting. Looking even hotter for it.

Rejection sucks, but I tried to be gentle about it. I called her Allison and she told me to call her Cameron. That gave me another reason to start buttoning my shirt.

She didn’t really want me. She wanted Greg. We had that much in common.

I couldn’t give her what she thought she wanted or what she needed. The best I could do was “no harm.” I left her in the dark, although I did turn down the volume first. Maybe she’d just stay up watching television and eating graham crackers.

I know. I know. I make decisions for other people and hope they’ll work out for the best. I’ve heard it from Greg, from Mark. I don’t need to hear it from you. I did the right thing.
No, it wasn’t easy. As it was, I had trouble driving home.

Mark was watching television. I didn’t give him time to ask where I’d been or tell me about dinner with Danny and Denise. I just smiled and rolled him into the bedroom. I wasn’t taking no for an answer.

I wound up getting to work late the next morning, if you know what I mean. The first person I ran into was James. I was wondering if he’d notice how happy I looked, but he had something important to gossip about.

You know I love James. I probably stayed with Greg about a month longer than I would have just so I wouldn’t lose James as well, but he is such a fifteen year old girl sometimes. If there’s sex involved, he’s got to talk about it. He couldn’t wait to tell me about Cameron. I had to act like I was surprised to hear that she’d stolen some of Kalvin Ryan’s drugs and gotten high. I waited to hear if he knew that I’d been there.

He had no idea. The big news was that she’d called up Robert Chase and (this was the part he couldn’t wait to tell me) they had sex. Who knew that a lawyer would have more scruples than a doctor? I wanted to find Chase and slap him. How dare he take advantage of Cameron when she was so completely vulnerable? Maybe it was easier to be pissed off than feel guilty. Or jealous.

I kept seeing Cameron’s face, hearing that same music, only now she was pulling Chase’s jacket off, and he was smelling her perfume. I thought I was going to be sick. I wanted to go home, but Lisa called to tell me that Greg had hit another patient.

You like that? He was 2 and 0. Pretty good for a guy who kept saying I ruined his life by making him a cripple.

Of course he had come to my office and start acting nice again. Doing that sexy thing he does with his voice. No. I would never. Ever. Especially since the son of a bitch overplayed his hand. If I was nauseated before, I was twice as ready to run for the bathroom once I realized that he’d gotten hold of the notes from our sessions. Every single thing he’d done that made me think I could ever love him again…Bastard!

I’m OK. And I’m not mad about it. I did have Lisa take that janitor out for a public flogging, but other than that, no big deal.

Joke. It’s a joke, Dr. Archer. I know Greg. If he wants something badly enough, he’ll find a way to get it. But yeah, I’m glad to hear you’ve put a real lock on the patient files.

I was so mad at him, I wanted to…I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to see him or deal with him ever again. Or Chase for that matter.

So naturally I wound up having to prep Chase for a Peer Board Review. If Chase screwed up, Greg couldn’t be far behind. He keeps his poodles on a short leash.

The worst part was having to talk to Cameron. There was so much I wanted to say, but all I could do was ask the questions relevant to Chase’s case. She got tense with me and I got snippy with her. Her voice was hard, like a callous grown to protect skin that was too soft. She had joined the list of people who couldn’t forgive me. Why do I always end up being the bad guy for doing the right thing?

I did my job. Nobody got fired, and I got to see Greg suffer a little. I told Lisa that Foreman would be the best qualified to supervise the department for two months.

No, I’m not smirking.

So everything’s fine now. With me and Mark, I mean. OK, there’s still a few issues. He gets quiet. There are moods, but we’re going to be all right. And I’ll find a way to work with Greg. I’m fine. Really.

I just can’t stop thinking about her.

Tags: femslash, housefic, stacy/cameron
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  • RIP Robert Conrad

    Wild, Wild West’ Star Robert Conrad Dies At Age 84 I wax effusive about Baa Baa Black Sheep/Black Sheep Squadron and Mr. Conrad in general.…

  • RIP Peter Sarstedt

    Singer-songwriter who topped the charts in 1969 with Where Do You Go to (My Lovely) I sang this song on Saturday afternoon at the Mint. (I fell in…

  • RIP Sir Terry Wogan

    Sir Terry Wogan: Veteran broadcaster dies, aged 77 From an Anglo-phile and Eurovision fan to my friends in the UK...my condolences.