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foreman_fest2007-07-14 03:31 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/-bmb-/) wrote in foreman_fest2007-07-14 03:31 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Follow The Road Until You Lose It
Title: Follow The Road Until You Lose It
Pairing: Implied Foreman/Cameron/Chase
Words: 1,640 words.
Rating: PG
Prompt: 179. Foreman gets locked inside a cupboard, and nobody can find the key.
House was, quite simply put, an utter bastard.
And thus far unto his fellowship with the man, Foreman had managed to ascertain that House did not know how to not to be.
*
Cameron was crying.
She was crying with the kind of sobs that made her whole body shake. And she was crying on Foreman’s shoulder.
It really had been a bitch of a case.
The kid (four years old with the brightest smile Foreman’s ever seen) had been admitted, and had gotten better. And then worse, then better, then much worse. Then slightly better. To which the parents had responded to by taking her home. Now it was a week later, and the kid was back in the same room, dying despite their best efforts, and the parents were refusing treatment.
House had been alternating between shock tactics and outright trickery for the last four hours, and the parents were still saying no. Personally, Foreman thought that the fact that the treatment for House’s fifth diagnosis in nine days had more of a chance of killing the girl than curing her had something to do with it.
And Cameron had run out of calm to try to reason with the parents with. She had run out of everything but angry frustration and tears.
Foreman didn’t feel better by all that much.
Which was how they ended up in the cupboard.
*
Foreman had a wet patch on his shoulder.
He knew that to be a good doctor, you had to care. He did. Cameron was a good doctor. And maybe, if she was in the right position at the right hospital at the right time, she could be more than good. House, on the other hand, was one of the greats, and he didn’t give a flying fuck about his patients. And if one day he could balance between the two of them, find the appropriate mix of empathy and detachment, he would be happy.
Foreman had a feeling that today, he was tipping the scale towards Cameron’s end of things.
*
Cameron has her head tucked into Foreman’s shoulder as she cries, and Foreman’s hands are awkwardly curled around her waist as she all but sits in his lap. They’re sitting on the floor of a supply cupboard several wards away from House’s usual stalking ground. Cameron feels fragile, shaking and sobbing herself to bits and all Foreman can do is hold her (in something that’s suspiciously close to a cuddle) and lend his now very damp shoulder.
They’re not quite friends, just a little more than colleagues with possibilities mutating into new forms every day they know each other and the situation is not nearly as awkward as it should be. For a moment, Foreman thinks of Stockholm Syndrome and countless hostages around the world and House, brilliant deductions and madness and how the hell he’s going to sum it all up on his resume when he leaves. He pushes those thoughts away when the woman leaning up against him (who can be so gutsy, so resilient at times yet so small) sniffles and moves her head from his shoulder to his chest.
Friends, maybe.
The door clicks open, letting in a flood of hospital grade light as Chase slips in. His tie (which is one of the most god-awful shades of green Foreman has ever seen) is half draped over the cardboard tray he’s cradling, and Foreman feels a brief flash of utter affection. Thanks freely given for small things and gestures like coffee, the really good type from down the road instead of the cafeteria, and right now it’s all aimed at Chase. Who looks more zombie than human, and Foreman thinks ouch.
Chase puts down the coffee first as the door clicks shut and he folds to the floor with them, one arm around Cameron’s shoulders. There’s nothing to intrude on the small space between and around them- there is only Cameron’s ragged breathing, the smell of coffee and the body heat slowly filling the cupboard, and Foreman’s okay with that.
Sitting in the cupboard hiding is surreal and almost laughable, and there’s an absurd amount of comfort in the fact that it’s just the three of them.
*
Foreman pulls a handkerchief from his pocket at the same time as Chase produces a handful of crinkled Kleenex, and Cameron gives a gurgling little laugh. She blows her nose in the tissues and dabs at her eyes with the hanky and smiles soggily in thanks at the both of them. Foreman nods and Chase smiles before he tips his head back to rest against the wall, closing his eyes.
Foreman can feel the ragged edges between them, the bone deep exhaustion that means anything they do now will be below par. It was something like ten in the morning and it had been some night, and before that some day trying to save an entirely different patient.
None of them are at their best (but then again, they never are these days).
*
There’s a scrape of a key turning in a lock and a click.
Foreman’s head jerks up from where it had been resting lightly on Cameron’s, and he starts to hastily shift her off him, trying to be gentle, when all three pagers go off.
Lunch break, the screens say.
Foreman says a few words he doesn’t usually use in polite company and Cameron hugs her legs to her chest. Chase doesn’t even open his eyes.
*
“At least there’s coffee.”
Cameron gives a weak and rueful smile. Foreman grins wryly and nods, because yes, there is coffee. They also have three pagers and an abandoned children’s toy, none of which have helped much so far.
In the past ten minutes, they’ve discovered four things-
· one, that the cupboard door was locked from the outside and that it was not in any way, shape or form open-able from the inside,
· two, that House was not answering his pager, even though it may have been House answering Cuddy, Wilson and Stacey’s,
· three, that the reason Chase wasn’t moving all that much was not because House had finally broken him beyond repair but because he was asleep, now aided by the abandoned stuffed ram, and
· four, that Chase was indeed capable of remembering how both Foreman and Cameron took their coffee even when he was about to collapse from exhaustion. Which was just the tiniest bit sweet.
Personally, Foreman thought that those four discoveries were all but useless given the fact that none of them got them out of the cupboard.
Still. Coffee.
Curled in the corner and wrapped in Foreman’s slightly damp lab coat, clutching a stuffed toy, Chase snores.
Cameron snorts discreetly into her knees, and Foreman raises an eyebrow. She giggles.
“You have to admit, this is pretty funny.”
Foreman sits back down and reaches for either Cameron’s hand or the coffee, he doesn’t quite know which.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
*
“We can’t find the key.”
Cuddy’s voice is calm with an edge of hysterical laughter tightly suppressed, and Foreman thinks he may be developing a permanent facial tic. He can hear Wilson and Stacey in the background, bickering about House and how he treats them (he’ll even pretend not to hear being referred to as a duckling), with Stacey mentioning several appealing terms like ‘sued’, ‘major lawsuits’ and ‘mental abuse’. Foreman breaths in and steals sleeping Chase’s coffee from near his twitching foot, and Cameron gives him the evil eye as she sips from her own cup, holding it protectively close to her chest.
“House has gone home and he’s not answering his phone.”
Foreman grits his teeth as Cameron chortles quietly into her 100% recyclable paper cup.
“Then call a locksmith.”
There are a few moments of silence on the other side of the door, and then Stacey chimes in-
“Well, that is what House’s damages fund is for.”
*
Two hours, and there’s a steady hum of noise from the outside world. That doesn’t mean that Foreman doesn’t have to fight sleep, even though there’s nothing left of the coffee but a cardboard ball, a flattened disk and one empty cup with a ring of froth around the rim.
Chase’s head has migrated onto Foreman’s shoulders as he’s slept, and Cameron leans on the other side, having claimed the space closest to the door (saying she’s going to need the ladies room eventually), snuggling up to Foreman’s warmth and making soft sounds.
Foreman closes his eyes.
*
There’s the scrape of god-knows-what and a click, and the flash of a camera.
Foreman opens his eyes to find Cameron curled up with her head is his lap while Chase snuffles against his shoulder, and Cuddy, Stacey, Wilson and the locksmith looking down at the scene. Foreman blinks when Chase jerks awake and looks around blearily, ruffled and still looking half dead.
“Take the rest of the day off,” Cuddy says (in the tone she always uses when House has done something insane).
She sounds amused and tolerant and worried all jumbled into one, and Chase stretches and yawns.
“Cameron, wake up.”
Foreman rubs her shoulder and she sits up, crinkled and messy. Chase stretches some more and pops some vertebrae.
“We have the rest of the day off. By order of Cuddy.”
“Cool.”
When they leave the cupboard, they take the toy ram with them.
*
Cameron shoves at Foreman’s pillow until it’s the right shape and settles in to sleep while Foreman toes off his shoes. Chase is already asleep again, breathing through his open mouth.
More than friends, Foreman thinks. A little than just more, as he prepares to tuck them all into his bed.
Is Cameron pregnant yet?
The pager message confirms that House is still a bastard.
-FIN-
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Great job. :)
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Other than that, I loved this. Your Foreman is amazing -- in character yet I don't want to slap his face. I don't know how you managed that combination, but thanks.
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I love stoic!Foreman and sweet!Chase and Cameron's soggy smile. Wilson and Stacy are fantastic too, and Cuddy's edge of laughter. Good thing Foreman has a big bed. Good thing House is insane in the first place. The stuffed ram is a sweet touch, and the duckling reference.
Very nice job.
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It's all cute and affectionate and House being an ass like the ass he IS, and Foreman being nice even though he's horrible uncomfortable, and bonding. In a cupboard. Even though most of what they do is sleep and cling to coffee. And I like the Cameron/Foremany-type vibes going on, with Chase asleep but still present and being sweet.
Nawwww. Memory'd.
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And I really want to know who took the picture...
This is awesome. Thanks for writing it.
P.S. Do you know of any other duckling threesome fics? I like anything, pretty much, though too much heavy angst makes me want to go drown myself...
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