Fic: Interrogation 1/1

Just a fluff drabble to get back into the House/Cameron swing of writing.

Title: Interrogation (1/1)
Pairing: House/Cameron
Betas: starhawk2005 and yutamiyu. *loves you both*
Words: 1511
Spoilers: None.
Rating: PG. My first one in a while.
Summary: Another one of those first-meeting things. Humor. A pseudo-interview in an elevator? Yeah.
Dedication: For yutamiyu. For keeping me sane. I love you. That is all.

INTERROGATION

Allison Cameron stood in front of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, professionally dressed, hair in a neat ponytail, holding an envelope with extra copies of her CV and reference letters. She appeared, to most, a strong female arriving for a job interview. In reality, she was arriving for a job interview after only getting three hours of sleep the night before, trying to keep her bad mood in check.

She walked into the hospital and couldn’t help but feel confused as to where to go. The place was huge, and everybody was moving. She was looking for Dr. Gregory House’s office, but no one had given her the slightest indication as to where that may have been.

She’d heard of him, of course; Greg House, New Jersey’s resident diagnostic genius. Those that she talked to described him as brilliant, but misanthropic. His reputation was the reason she wanted the job in the first place. Working with one of the best diagnosticians in the country would look good on anybody’s CV.

Yes. So she’d heard of him. Small bits of information from professors at the university and from other students. He had published a few articles in various medical journals. She’d read those, and they were mildly intriguing. He had a way with words. But she hadn’t a clue as to what he looked like, which wasn’t helpful in the slightest when it came to locating him or his office.

She looked around and headed for the elevator, hoping that there would be a directory of some sort. Luckily enough, she found one, but it wasn’t helpful either. She sighed and flicked an errant strand of hair from her face and put her hand on her hip, trying to figure out what to do.

“Lost?” came a mocking voice from behind her.

She turned and saw a man—early forties, it seemed—staring at her, smirking and leaning on a cane. He couldn’t be one of the doctors; he wasn’t wearing a lab coat. Nor was he wearing an identification badge, as all other doctors in the hospital did, though she thought she saw a pager clipped onto his belt. After that, she noticed strikingly blue eyes, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt under a black blazer, and stubble. Jeans, too. Slightly rumpled, but he seemed to have relatively good taste. Right now, though, she was interested in nothing but a job, and turned back to the directory, which she’d already deemed unhelpful, to show her disinterest.

“No,” she replied, quietly.

His tone was that of amusement as he stepped forward. “Where are you going, then?”

“Gregory House’s office,” she said, stepping back, her hold on the manila envelope tightening slightly. Her eyes darted briefly to the cane he was holding. He seemed to notice, but appeared to choose not to say anything.

“Do you have any idea where that is?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Second floor,” she said, with as much conviction as she could muster. When his smirk grew wider, she sighed. “Okay. I don’t know where it is.”

The amused expression faded from his face for a moment, and he seemed to contemplate something before smiling slightly and saying, “Come on. I’ll help you out.”

“Why should I trust you?” She was never one to accept random offers of help from strangers; especially now, when she was about to be late, and his behavior was making her edgy.

He shrugged. “I work for the hospital.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I can prove it. For example, I know that the best place to hide from the bitchy administrator who runs the place is in that supply closet right over there.”

“Oh, of course.” she said sarcastically, first signs of irritation beginning to show outwardly, not bothering to mention that knowing where the supply closets were when they were clearly labeled with signs proved nothing. “My apologies.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to help. Usually, women find that chivalrous and accept it. Come with me. I’ll show you where the office is.”

“I can find it myself.”

He snorted. “Hah. I have no doubt that you can. And you’ll find it. Eventually. Although, judging by the envelope you’re holding and how high your heels are, it seems you’re here for a job interview. And since it’s quarter to three right now, I assume it’s at three, and you wouldn’t want to make a bad impression on this Dr. House by being late, now would you? So, yes, you can find it, but you’d be much better off letting me show you the way than wandering around the hospital with no clue where you’re going.”

Allison looked at the clock, and then to him, and realized that she would be better off.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

He raised his cane and pressed the ‘up’ button on the elevator, and her eyes ran over it again as he brought it back towards him, and how he was leaning on it. He was still staring at her as they waited, and she found it extremely distracting. The ‘ding’ of the elevator sounded, and he limped forward into it.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as they stepped into the elevator.

“Allison Cameron. You?”

“It’s not important.”

She rolled her eyes and watched as he again used the cane to press the button for the third floor and dug into his pocket for something. He produced a bottle of pills and popped one dry like candy.

“Want one?” He offered the pill bottle to her, and she shook her head, but her eyes lingered on his proffered hand. Her eyebrow rose, silently asking the question as the elevator began to move.

“Infarction,” he said, after putting the pill bottle away.

“What?”

He made a gesture with his hand, “The leg. You want to know what happened to it. Everybody does. I should get a t-shirt made.”

She looked down at his cane, then his legs. “Left leg?”

“No. Right.”

She wondered why the cane would be on the right side if it was the right leg that was hurt. Every physical therapist she’d ever spoken to in her life had told her otherwise. “Then why is the cane on the--”

“I’m unorthodox.”

They were silent for a few brief seconds, and she watched as the digital display above the elevator doors changed from L to 2. It was going too slowly for her liking. She looked forward, at the display, at the doors, at the buttons, but he looked at her, the blue eyes that she was growing increasingly fascinated with scrutinizing her, until she just couldn’t take it anymore. It was making her nervous, and she really didn’t need that.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“Why?”

“It’s disturbing.”

“I don’t really care. Relax, I won’t hurt you. Not every man over forty is a rapist or a serial killer. Some of us are good Samaritans that want to help the pretty woman with the overpriced shoes and monochromatic outfit navigate her way through a hospital after she’s gone through six years of med school.” The ‘ding’ of the elevator sounded just as he finished.

“You’re a real jackass, aren’t you?” she asked, before she realized what was coming out of her mouth, as they stepped out of the elevator. She wasn’t normally so snappy with random strangers, but this man’s annoying nature, combined with the fact that she was going to be late, was messing with her brain. Besides, this guy wasn’t worth the trouble of her censoring herself anyway.

“Aren’t you just full of sunshine yourself? And yes, I am. I get that a lot,” he said, limping forward out of the elevator, not losing a step. His pace was fast, even with the cane, she noticed, as she was following him.

“What’s your problem? Is it the leg?”

He stopped and eyed her with a melancholy expression. “Hey. My mother died recently. Cut me some slack, would you?”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” Her apology was cut short by the fact that he appeared to be fighting not to laugh. “What now?”

“You’re too gullible for your own good. You should fix that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, now angry. “Go to hell.”

“Again, I get that a lot.” He shrugged and began to walk again. “Come on.”

She was contemplating how to get rid of him and ask someone—ANYONE—else where Gregory House’s office was, as this guy didn’t seem to have a clue where the hell he was going, wandering aimlessly like this, when he stopped and put his hand on a glass door, as if to push it open, and turned back to her. Her eyes glanced over the name that was on the door in frosted text.

Gregory House, MD.
Department of Diagnostic Medicine.

She looked to him, then back to the name. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a smirk, and to her horror, he extended a hand to her in a belated gesture of greeting.

“Greg House. Welcome to the team.”






the end.