Title: Lucky 13?
Rating: PG for language
Summary/ AN: This one goes out to, well, quite a few people who wanted 13/Cameron. Hopefully it will be the first of at least 2, as I've wanted to write this pair for sometime. Inspired by the episode of the same name. 13 is in a bar and looking to forget.
Disclaimer: House and its characters do not belong to me. No profit made, no infringement intended.
The drink appears in front of her, almost as if conjured by her thoughts: thoughts increasingly blurred by the alcohol she's already consumed.
The current incarnation of wonderfully poisonous liquid however, differs from its predecessors in that it is gripped delicately by an elegantly manicured hand, devoid of all jewelry but a tiny sliver bracelet adorning a slender, lightly tanned wrist and therefore belying the spontaneous nature of its existence.
She was slowly achieving at least a fraction of the distance she now desires from her surroundings; a fraction that even drunk she understands is all she can gain. No matter how hard she tries she can never truly outrun death. After all, people have been trying since time began.
Jesus, you're even 'thinking' melodramatically, she curses herself.
Wrenching her eyes away from their present, unfocused stare, she turns and looks at her benefactor.
Blonde, slender and very attractive in that, "young-hungry-up-and-coming-professional-out-for-a-night-of-drinks-and-danger" way. Not that she's surprised. She chose this place because it's trendy and hot. All the pretty girls hang out here now, thus upping the odds of just such an encounter. Apparently the "wounded dove" look she knows she's sporting is still potent bait. It's so easy its almost no fun. Not a challenge, and damn House but he was right - it's the challenge she craves; the challenge that lets her forget, if only for a second.
Still, she isn't going to look a gift fuck in the mouth.
Her thoughts dark and almost bitter with irony, she turns fully, her own hand reaching out to take the glass from her lovely stranger. Her fingers close around the chilled glass, sliding through the beads of moisture on the smooth, convex surface and over the stranger's hand, making sure to leave a lingering caress as she pulls the drink away and raises it to her lips gratefully.
This is an old game, and one she knows far too well how to play. It is too easy to hold the woman's pale blue eyes as she swallows, barely hearing the soft, musical clink of ice as the fiery cold of the scotch slides down her throat.
"I'd guess by that look in your eyes this won't really cure what ails you, but I've never found a pain yet that a good single malt couldn't ease at least a bit," the woman smirks seductively, but the smoky words are a lance to her heart.
God, the blonde couldn't have chosen any better if it had been planned. "Pain, cure," she nearly laughs and only barely manages to clamp her teeth around the harsh sound. The simple statement has cut through the cushioning fog of alcohol like a honed scalpel through flesh and now all she's left with is a dark, all consuming hunger.
"This is good, but I can think of something better," she hears herself say, knowing that the hunger darkens her eyes and stretches her lips into a tempting smile that states better than words just what the something is. .
The stranger drops her free hand and trails fingers along the thigh she's pressed up against, and where they pass, dull sparks flare.
"Do you have a name I can call you?" She asks softly, leaning in to press her lips at a flaring pulse point.
"Thirteen." It's on her lips to give, the name so familiar that – like a drunken college tattoo – she find its faded familiarity a comfort. Still, the explanation would take too long and she is about to choose another – not her real name of course – when a voice she never expected to hear in this place answers, and she doesn't think she imagines the heat it holds.
"Her name is Remy, and she's with me."
The blonde accedes with only mild irritation but she's already forgotten as Thirteen – no, Remy – turns around to see the one woman she's long given up hoping to find.