Waiting

Cameron sits on the steps and waits impatiently.

Very impatiently.

She looks up the street, then down. Then up again. She tosses her hair, and glances at her watch. She looks up the street again; glances at her watch. This time when she notes the time she points out to herself that there is no particular time to expect him. That thought creates another: there is no particular reason to expect him to come home at all. Successful dates often end in sex and there is no reason to think this one won't.

She thinks she might be sick.

She looks up the street again, and there is someone coming. Her breath catches in her throat for an instant until she realizes there is no cane and the pedestrian is coming much to fast. It occurs to her that this is a completely unsafe time of day for a woman to be sitting alone on someone's front steps. This guy could mug her or worse.

Clearly this is not a well thought-out plan.

She reaches in the pocket on her leather jacket for her keys and clutches her pepper spray key chain in readiness. She watches the stranger near her, then go up the steps of a neighboring building. She realizes how ridiculous she's being; there is no way House will arrive on foot. She shakes her head at her folly, then exhales loudly.

Maybe it would be best to just leave.

Cameron purses her lips and considers her options. She could wait in her car, but it feels too much like a stakeout. Here on his steps she's waiting to speak to him, not waiting to see when he comes home—meeting him here, not stalking him. She could call him with some manufactured medical emergency, but it's too much something he would do. He'd see right through it. Besides, it won't be very convincing, considering she doesn't work for him anymore. She could go home and forget all about him.

Yeah, right.

She is spared from having to choose a course of action when he roars up on his bike. Relief washes over her like warm water; he didn't sleep with her. She gloats for a moment, then grins when she pictures him arriving with this vehicle to pick up Cuddy—short skirt, high stilettos, and elaborately quaffed hair. It must have been a disaster.

House dismounts from the bike carefully and retrieves his cane. He turns to face her and she quickly wipes the smirk from her face. He takes a few steps toward her, then stops. "Waiting for me? I'd try to deduce why you're here, but the pepper spray says a lot."

She hastily shoves it back in her pocket. "It's not for you."

"Selling Girl Scout cookies then?" He passes her and unlocks the door. "Threatening people with pepper spray is no way to make a sale." He looks her up and down. "A skimpier outfit might do the trick."

"Clearly the skimpy outfit didn't work on you, if you're home this early."

"You're right; your outfit is fine. Put me down for six of the Thin Mints." He turns to enter the apartment, and she catches the door swinging shut behind him and follows him in.

He ignores this. He walks straight to the couch and pours out a scotch into the dirty glass on the coffee table. He downs the first, and then pours another. This time he crosses his legs and rests them on the table; leans back to sip the brown liquor.

She crosses the room and sits on the coffee table beside his feet. "Are you just going to ignore me?"

He takes a sip; pauses. "It worked for three years."

"How was your date, House?"

He shakes his head slightly. "Why are you here?"

"To see how your date went."

"Why aren't you off somewhere with Chase?" He gestures the outdoors with his glass. "He's the appropriate age, the appropriate—I don't know—hair color…Go sit on his steps."

"I'm not with Chase anymore."

"And why's that?"

Unplanned, she rises swiftly and grabs the glass from his hand, bends, and presses her lips against his. Her free hand slips behind his neck and pulls him closer as she parts his lips with her tongue, kissing him deeply and then suddenly pulling away to stand. "That's why." She lifts the stolen glass and downs the remaining scotch, then slams it down on the table. "Because it made me crazy you were going to date someone—anyone—least of all her! Why on earth do you want to be with her?"

His brow is furrowed, and he shakes his head. "Cameron…"

"Don't you 'Cameron' me; like I don't know what I want; like I don't understand how life works at all. I'm in love with you!"

"I know you think that's true—"

"It is true damn it! Fuck." She abruptly slumps to sit down on the coffee table, disheartened.

House pulls his feet off the table, and leans forward to pour another scotch. He hands it to Cameron, then takes a long swig from the bottle. She looks puzzled, so he says, "Drink it." As she tips the shot back, he grabs the coffee table on either side of her thighs and pulls it closer, so one of her knees is between his. She hardly has time to register surprise before he's leaning forward to kiss her like she's always wanted him to: long and harsh and deep. Like he means it.

"What was that for?" she breathes.

"Backbone." He lets out a word or phrase at a time as he kisses her more. "I…like a girl…with moxie. Showing up…you don't work for me…anymore…"

"That's right I don't," she manages breathlessly as he sucks her lip between his. His hands slide under her jacket and push it off her shoulders.

They franticly claw at each other's clothes as they continue to make out. When House has finally got her blouse unbuttoned he bows his head to kiss the side of her neck as he pushes her shirt off and unfastens her bra. Their breathing becomes labored; everything is urgent. Three years of wasted time. "I'm sorry I was such an idiot," he mumbles as he kisses her ear.

She groans loudly. "Forgiven." Cameron kicks off her shoes just as he pulls her pants and panties down. He is kissing his way up her belly when she interrupts him. "House…House."

"Hmm?"

She pulls him to stand. "Bedroom's this way, right?"

"Yeah."

Cameron kisses him once more, wrapping her hand around his neck to pull him closer. She turns and walks to the bedroom, and he grabs his cane and follows her, shedding his pants as he goes.

In her rush and excitement she trips on his dirty laundry and tumbles into his bed laughing. He joins, more carefully for his leg, and resumes kissing her while his hand trails over her bare skin. He lies on his side facing her as his hand moves lower and lower, and just when she thinks he's finally going to touch her there his fingers bypass the spot and toy with her inner thighs. She moans into is kiss in frustration.

He grins. "What's wrong?" He continues to kiss her neck, her breasts.

"I want you," she groans.

He brushes between her lips with just his fingertips, and her whole body jerks in reaction. "Do you?"

"Yes," she begs. He pushes a finger into her, and she releases a satisfied noise. "More." His finger is joined by a second, but he moves them too slowly. "Fuck me." House rolls her onto her back so he's between her parted thighs, pushes into her hard. "Oh god yeah," she groans.

He fucks her hard and fast, and it's so good she can't think. "Oh my god" tumbles from her lips repeatedly as she locks her ankles behind him. She doesn't think it could get any better until he wraps his lips around her earlobe. Her hand rushes to hold in her scream she comes.

He doesn't even slow down.

Her ears are buzzing; his "Mmm, Cameron," sounds fuzzy and far away. Before she can wonder how long it's been since she came like that she can feel it building again, stronger.

As he feels her body begin to contract around him, he looks at her, shocked, and says, "Again?"

"Mhmm."

"Fuck."

He pushes into her faster, harder, and comes with her. He rolls onto his side and pulls her close so they can kiss, panting with exertion. In a few moments her head falls to rest on his chest, and his hand glides aimlessly over her back.

"I'm sorry you had to wait," he whispers.

She kisses his chest. "You were worth it."

FIN