Summery: A drunken night and a rough Monday morning may lead to something more
Disclaimer: Fox owns House, M.D. and my soul. Also, much of this was written when I was on Vicodin, for dental work done.
A. N.: This first bit is short, as its just the set up of the story. There is PLENTY more to come!
The splitting head-ache aside, Allison Cameron was pissed as all hell when the sun, filtering through the trees, hit her eye-lids. While usually a comforting feeling, she swore at the sun's very existence. It Was Too Early To Be Alive. As she glanced at her clock, she saw that it was, in fact, nearly 7:00 in the morning, and her coffee pot would have made use of its timer 13 minutes earlier. She sniffed at the air, confirming that there was coffee, thank God. As she rolled from her bed, her left leg refused to untangle from the sheets, and she ended up ass over head on the hard-woods.
"I hate Mondays," she groaned, picking herself up. Allison rubbed at her head and yawned as she stumbled into the kitchen. Coffee was dribbling from the counter tops to the floor. The coffee pot wasn't center under the filter, opening it to allow the coffee to go into the pot. Had to go somewhere. The floor seemed as good of a place as any. "Not again!" she squeaked, grabbing the towel from the oven door. "I HATE MONDAYS!"
As soon as the spill was cleaned, the fresh coffee put on, and a granola bar eaten (inhaled it closer to the actual action) Allison decided it was time for a shower.
However, Monday had another idea.
"House!?" she screamed, upon opening the bathroom door, to see her ex-boss brushing his teeth. She made an effort to cover her legs when a flash of the night before smacked her head on; visions of drinks and flesh and screaming his name flooded her.
"You can call me Greg," he responded.
"Oh my God."
"God works, too. I mean," he paused, spitting and rinsing. "You said it enough last night." He wiggled his eyebrows as Allison shoved him out of her bathroom. "So the chances of us showering together are slim?"
"Slimmer than a bulimic teen model."
"You left with House last night, and that never leads anywhere good," Lisa Cuddy started as she held pace with the head of her ER. "House is also late. Albeit, earlier than he would normally arrive, he's still late." Cameron rolled her eyes. "He is also wearing the same clothes from yesterday."
"How is that unusual?" Cuddy sighed.
"Can you at least give me a heads up? How much damage control will I be doing? How much gloating should we expect from him? Are you seriously considering homicide at this point?"
"Wow. This is so none of your business-"
"Hello, Ladies." House followed them into Cuddy's office. "In case you were wondering, I was referring to Cuddy's Buddies," he whispered, staring at his boss's chest.
"Greg, eyes up here. Don't screw with me."
"Been there, done that, moved on to someone younger, hotter, and so much better in bed."
"I doubt that."
"Hello!? I'm right here!" Cameron squealed.
"Cameron, I will handle this," Cuddy said, gesturing toward the door. Cameron rolled her eyes and stormed from the office, muttering something about refusing to work another Monday ever again. "If you piss her off, you will be in charge of bed pans for a year."
"You May not brag, harass or otherwise torment her," Cuddy said over his whining. He had no choice but to shut his mouth. "Otherwise you Will be working bedpan duty between cases. Get out of my office, and go see your team. You have a patient."
"You were a lit more fun before Wilson turned basket-case on you." Cuddy pointed toward the door.