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040. Sight - House/Cameron 
27th-Aug-2007 04:42 pm
Title: She Dances With Cuban Motion
Fandom: House, MD
Characters/Pairing: House/Cameron
Prompt: housefic50 040. Sight
Words: 772
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG-13
A/N: For the house_cameron ficathon. Beta by drwilltx.

This is for big_gay_dana, who wanted the following things in her story:

House having the use of his leg (either set at the start of S3 or in a dream, I'm open!) and getting Cameron to dance with him (something sexy, like rhumba or paso doble); Cameron meeting House's mum; House/Cameron friendship turning into something more.

I hope you like it! I am sorry it's a bit short, and I am not sure it will be exactly what you wanted but it was a pleasure to write! What a fun request. :-)

She Dances With Cuban Motion

Cameron moves about the dance floor effortlessly, as if she is floating on air. The red satin fabric of her dress caresses her skin. Her cheeks are flushed pink, as if she has been kissed by a frosty winter morning. Her long hair, curlier than usual, brushes against her bare shoulders.

You love to watch. Most of the time, she doesn’t acknowledge that you are there. She dances without inhibitions and you’ve never seen anyone so elegant or beautiful. You can’t keep your eyes off her hips as they swing up and down.

She turns suddenly, looking at you with a smile on her face. “Dance with me.” She reaches out an arm; her fingers spread open with anticipation.

“Cameron... I can’t.” You feel awkward and mildly irritated. How can she expect you to dance? She knows that it is physically difficult for you to move around freely.

She laughs, taunting. “Scared?” There is a wicked look of amusement on her face.

You scoff. Truthfully, you are uncomfortable, embarrassed, humiliated even. Your body's inadequacies make you feel old. Your pride is on the line, but you don’t want her to know all that. “My leg...” Your voice trails off as you look down. There is no cane. And no pain either. Confusion floats into your head, slowly coiling around your body like a constrictor snake. You can't move.

“Your leg is fine,” she smiles. “Come on.” She pulls your arm again.

You blink, not certain whether you can trust your body. Staring at her face for signs of betrayal, you cautiously wrap your arms around her.

“There. That wasn’t hard, was it?” She moves, guiding you across the dance floor. Slowly at first, she gives you a chance to learn the tempo.


You look down at her feet for the cues. Your musically inclined brain is quick on the uptake. Her body is warm and fits perfectly in your arms. You’re gradually able to relax, shifting your eyes from the floor to her face. She gives you another of her gorgeous smiles, oblivious to the fact that there is no music.

Cameron drifts away from you, her arm stretched up and her fingers still curled around yours. Her white satin dress billows around her as she twirls in a circle. She moves back into your arms, resting her head on your shoulder.

The people bordering the dance floor are transfixed. They are probably just as mesmerized by Cameron as you are. She squeezes you tightly to a smattering of applause.

“That was lovely, dear.” Your mother reaches out for your hand, the other already clasping Cameron’s. “I knew those ballroom dancing lessons would pay off.” She looks at you and then at Cameron, her eyes beaming with affection and happiness. You always were her perfect angel.

“I am very proud of him,” Cameron smiles, “The Rumba was a challenging dance for him to learn.”

“Oh please. I make you look good.” There’s a glint in your eye and a slight air of arrogance. You get a perverse sense of delight in teasing her.

Cameron rolls her eyes, the expression a stark contrast to her overall elegance. Her hair is twisted and pinned up around her face, a sparkling tiara adds that tiny bit of flash, and simple diamond studs adorn her ears.

“Will there be an encore later?” Your mother asks.

You shrug, “You know how much I love putting on a show, Mom.”

Cameron laughs, “I think you put on enough of a show at the church. That was a pretty hot kiss you gave me.”


You glance down, wondering why your pager is going off during your wedding reception. But, there’s no pager clipped to your pants. You look around the room, that same constricting sense of confusion returning.

“Greg? Are you alright?” Your mother’s voice sounds faint.

“House?” A figure in a white dress is looking at you. You think it is Cameron but you can’t be sure because your eyes are unable to focus properly. There is a sudden pain in your leg and you reach down, clamping a hand on it.


“Shut off your damn pager already!” The noise is irritating and the pain in your leg is only making the irritation worse.


Your eyes snap open.

The alarm clock says 8AM.

You slam your hand down, hard, on the snooze button and start feeling around the nightstand. There is a loud thud as you knock several books on to the floor. Finally, your hand closes around its intended target.

With a pop and a rattle, your true lover is yours to take.

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