The Musings of An ADD Ch...Oooh, Shiny!

Snake Bite & Other Short Story Embraces: chapter 1

2007-09-04T21:43:22Z

Title: Snake Bite & Other Short Story Embraces
Chapter 1: Snake Bite
Author: Timbereads
Rating: T, for language and sexual themes
Pairing: House and Cameron
Spoilers: None
Summary: Cameron gets bitten by a snake...someone has to suck out the poison.

A/N: Okay, this important. I've done research on snake bites, and snakes and so on. Everything in the fic is correct, even if it might not seem that way at first. Please read the whole story before you freak out and say "not true, House would know X." Also, this story takes place before Three Stories, and is based on the premise that Cameron wouldn't be an expert on snakes. Remember that too. Anyway, this was another plotbunny I got while I was making PB&J. It took a while, and I'm still not completely happy with it, but I think my head will explode if I fiddle with it anymore.

Snake Bite

“This is so stupid, House.”

“I’m pretty sure the kid dying in the hospital bed would beg to differ,” he replied from his position on a large boulder. “Besides, you need the sun. You’re almost as pale as Michael Jackson, and that’s just scary.”

Allison Cameron rolled her eyes and continued sifting through leaves. Each movement of her hands sent the sound of crackling undergrowth drifting into the air, where it was blown away by a soft breeze. Though the temperature was upwards of seventy degrees, the trees prevented any sunlight from reaching the ground, and Cameron pulled her jacket tighter around her small body.

“Why couldn’t you make Chase or Foreman do this?” she complained as she flicked yet another ant off of her lapels.

“Australians burn so easily. And Foreman was born with a tan. As for you, you're my best brown-noser.”

“Not helping.”

“You don’t need help, you’re doing fine all by your lonesome.” House stared lecherously at her ass as she crawled around on hands and knees, futilely searching for the knot in the tree trunk the patient had described. His view was diminished when Cameron sat back on her heels, blowing her bangs off her forehead.

“I give up. This tree is nowhere to be found.”

“Look,” he sighed. “The kid said he smoked pot in the backyard, and that he hides the bong in the big tree. We find the tree, we find the bong, we find the pot, ergo we find out what’s killing him. You’re obviously not looking hard enough. Find the big tree.”

Cameron blinked. “Look around you, House. They’re all big trees.” Indeed, the backyard was more of a forest, and the house was more of a mansion. Tall Roman columns held up a pointed white roof; a birdbath, various lawn gnomes and a gaudy gondola completed the tacky yard. In contrast, the woods were quiet, serene, and possessed a natural beauty that required no accessories. Huge pines swayed in the wind, their needles having turned that brilliant green just before fall fades to winter and they fade to brown. A stream bubbled somewhere in the distance and two birds were chirping happily to one another.

Fiddling with a small stick, House examined each tree from his position on the rock. It was true: almost every tree was tall or wide enough to be considered big. Well, he’d been a teenager once too. There was a certain logic to sneaking around your parents’ backs, and he knew all the tricks. Obviously, any tree clearly visible from the house could be eliminated. This kid’s “secret spot,” had to be deep enough to be hidden, but close enough to the yard so he wouldn’t get lost in his marijuana-induced stupor. House guessed about twenty feet into the forest.

He tapped his chin, slid carefully off the rock and limped slowly into the general area of his guess. Cameron watched in silence, knowing better than to interrupt her boss whilst he was thinking. There had to be something, House decided, that was distinctive about this tree so it could be easily identified. He zeroed in on an old oak that was covered with tree mushrooms. Like a giant staircase up the wood, the fungus grew over almost every inch of bark. And right at the bottom, a small hole was partially hidden by a deliberate pile of leaves.

Bingo.

“Look in there,” House said, pointing. Cameron followed his finger with her eyes, which widened when she saw the tree.

“Ew! That’s disgusting!” she cried.

House snorted. “You’ve seen feces coming out of peoples’ mouths. An itty-bitty mushroom can’t much disgustinger. Besides, you wouldn’t want to let that poor child die, would you?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered as she rolled up her sleeves. House smirked and leaned against a nearby birch.

Lowering herself to her knees before the knot in the trunk, Cameron pushed away the pile of leaves and squinted into the darkness. Little sunlight entered the small crevice. She leaned farther forward. Wait…what was that?

“I think I see something. There’s light bouncing off something metal in there.”

“Ye of little faith.”

“It’s really far back,” she said, ignoring House. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to reach it.”

“Well, do your best, honey. That’s all that matters.” He let out a small sniffle and wiped off a fake tear.

Cameron did her best to block out the man’s snarkiness, instead concentrating on getting the damn bong without being touched by a mushroom. She shivered at the thought. Ever since her dog died after eating a wild one, she had a phobia. Stupid mushrooms, she thought darkly.

She took a deep breath, and inched her hand into the hole, grimacing when her fingers brushed a particularly slimy leaf. The metal instrument was probably about a foot in, she guessed. Already, her wrist was enveloped by the cold air, and then her elbow. Crap, she thought. Her face was coming dangerously close to a mushroom; repositioning herself so that her face was as close to the ground as possible, Cameron pushed her arm deeper. Where the hell is that thing?

Almost up to her shoulder, she moved her body forward to get her arm farther in. Her face was basically in the hole, lip thrust out in concentration and eyebrows clenched. Almost there…

House tried not to laugh at the comical image. His duckling reminded him of Alice trying to climb down the rabbit hole. Suddenly, he frowned. He could barely hear it over the rustling of leaves, but a faint noise was drifting towards him. It sounded like…

“Cameron,” he said slowly. “Back away from the tree.”

“Hold on, House. I’ve almost got it.”

“Seriously. Get out of the tree.” He started walking towards her.

“Aaaaaand, got it!” she exclaimed triumphantly as her fingers closed over the cold surface of their patient’s bong. She paused. “Why is the tree rattling?”

House stuck out his hand to physically drag her out when she let out a bloodcurdling scream. Ripping herself from the tree, a hissing snake could be seen in the place her face had just vacated. Thick dark stripes decorated its scales and a rattle was shaking menacingly. Cameron was clutching her lower lip as tears of pain fell from her eyes. House grabbed her by the armpits and began to pull her out of the woods, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on the snake.

When the rattler decided that the two humans no longer posed a threat, it slid back into the hole. Only then did House relax and let his cargo sink softly onto the forest floor.

“What the fuck was that?!” Cameron screamed, her words muffled slightly by the sobs she let escape.

“A timber rattlesnake,” he replied simply.

“What the hell is a rattlesnake doing in upstate New Jersey?” Thankfully, he noted, the hysteria was starting to fade from her voice.

“Timber rattlesnakes live up and down the East coast. Now shut up so I can look at your lip.”

Cameron paled as she remembered once again why she was screaming in the first place. She wasn’t quite sure what happened, but one second she had the bong in her hand, and the next, something darted out of the tree and pierced her lip. Apparently that something had been a rattlesnake. She’d never heard of a timber rattler, but she figured it couldn’t be much different than the snakes she’d seen in Westerns. Which meant…

“House,” she whimpered. He ignored her, instead focusing on her lower lip. Two puncture wounds were clearly visible. Though it had only been a few minutes since she was bitten, there was no sign of swelling; well, that was good. “House,” she said, louder and more insisting.

“What, Cameron?”

“Rattlesnakes are poisonous.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Would you like a prize?”

Even in distress, the immunologist still managed to look annoyed and somewhat affronted. Her frown deepened. House grimaced as she began to sort out her muddled thoughts.

“I just got bitten by a poisonous snake. Which means I have snake venom in my lip.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! House, DO SOMETHING!”

Internally, he had been hoping that her medical training would trump her terror and shock. Guess not, he thought bitterly.

“Cameron, I-.”

Her skin was getting progressively paler as her fear rose. “Why are you still talking?” she shouted. “Suck out the poison or something. Rattlesnakes are deadly!”

House figured reciting the numbers on rattlesnake deaths probably wouldn’t help the situation.

“The bite see-.” Once again, he was cut off.

“SUCK OUT THE POISON, HOUSE!”

Oh yeah. Hysteria was definitely coming back.

Gregory House looked from her mouth to her eyes. The latter were clouded with panic. He could see no shred of reason. Her hand was clutching his wrist tightly, the knuckles white and shaking. Her lips were impossibly red.

He sighed. Taking her shoulders in his large hands, he gently pushed his patient into a prone position and moved his body to a sitting position above her head. Cameron’s lids were clenched shut, images of poison infiltrating her veins no doubt flashing across them. House frowned before lightly placing his palms on her smooth cheeks. The tanned flesh of his fingers was so different from her porcelain skin.

Reluctantly, he leaned down slowly. And, taking a page from Spiderman, House kissed her.

No, he thought with his lips barely caressing hers. This is not a kiss. This is him obeying the orders of a hysterical woman. Yeah.

He descended on the snakebite, capturing her bottom lip with his own. Underneath him, Cameron felt herself relax into the leaves. House internally chided himself for the butterflies that were fluttering in his stomach; he pursed his lips and sucked lightly. His eyes widened.

Woah.

House pulled apart under the guise of spitting out any poison, really, he just needed break contact. He glanced at the immunologist. She’d unclenched and the wrinkles in her forehead were gone, leaving a plain of pale silk.

His lips were on hers again. House let azure orbs flutter closed as he suckled and spit. Every time he returned to her, his kiss became just a bit more forceful, urgent. He nipped at her top lip; Cameron whimpered, whether because it hurt or it felt good, House wasn’t sure. His tongue teased and poked. She puckered into his touch, desperate to feel every inch of his mouth. The snakebite had been forgotten.

Cameron’s hand found itself into his dark hair. The contact seemed to bring House from his peak of euphoria. He jerked away, groaning.

Until that moment, House thought he could resist her. He prided himself in his indifference to her advances. When she wasn’t looking, his eyes would soften and his frown would fall away. He could keep that coarse mask on forever, he thought. But all it took was a single innocent kiss to crack his façade and make it hurt to frown. He could convince himself that she’d bring him pain, but it was hard to remember when her lips felt so good.

There was a reason he kept people at a distant.

“House?” Cameron said softly as she sat up. “What was that?”

He wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I did what you asked me to. I sucked out the poison.” He rose quickly and fiddled with his cane.

“And the tongue?”

House shrugged. “Wanted to get any that had gotten into your mouth,” he offered lamely before clearing his throat. “Right, well, you got the bong. Let’s go.” With that, he shuffled out of the forest and disappeared behind the house. Cameron brought a finger to her lips.

She smiled.

House popped open the glove compartment from the driver’s seat. Ignoring four unpaid parking tickets and a bottle of Vicodin, he pulled out the well-worn book. The Camper’s Field Guide, it read. Before the infarction, he and Stacy used to camp in the mountains once a month. Pages were dog-eared, type smudged. No matter; he knew every word. Still, he flipped to chapter seven, page 109.

It is very rare for timber rattlers to release poison when they bite. Monitor the wound for about five minutes; if there is no swelling or discoloration, there’s almost no chance poison was injected. However, if you are sure there is poison in the wound-.

“Don’t suck the poison out,” House whispered from memory. Catching a glimpse of Cameron approaching the car, he replaced the book and started the engine.

He smiled.

Just a rant about being an *NSYNC fan

2007-05-23T20:37:43Z

The 90s was a weird decade to grow up in. People paid four hundred dollars for a bear stuffed with beans. Fanny packs were fashionable. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” was a phrase a three year old recognized. And of course, boy bands ruled the world. The options were never-ending: New Kids On The Block, Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees, and my gorgeous crooners of choice: NSYNC.

Any 90s kid could recite each member’s name, favorite color and opinions on the Gulf Wars. Pre-pubescent girls felt their hormones rush every time Justin Timberlake flashed a toothy grin. Fuck Kurt Cobain, we all said. It’s all about the bubbly teen-pop and literal dance moves. OJ? Chris likes it with pulp. The life span of our mother’s black eye liner plummeted, because dammit! JC would be able to see “I HEART JOSH” scribbled on our arms.

And then, as quickly as pop music rocketed to the forefront of any self-respecting teenager’s mind, it was replaced by the misogynistic lyrics and monotonous beats of hip-hop and rap. The boy bands of our youth faded from the charts and the members went into hiding, popping out every three years to make appearances on a reality show. Suddenly, a cultural phenomenon that mesmerized our eyes and dominated our bedroom walls morphed into something that was mocked, ridiculed and deemed “gay.”

I’m 16. I’m surrounded by whiny emos whose idea of fun is slitting their wrists and bemoaning their middle-class existence. If I turn on the radio, my poor ears are assaulted by bands like My Chemical Romance, Fall-Out Boy, and songs called “I’m In Love With A Stripper.” The fact that this song is even popular makes me want to bash the collective heads of my generation together with that stripper pole they seem so fond of, but I digress. Amidst all of this crap, it still comes as a surprise to everyone I meet that anyone still likes NSYNC. To which I answer: what the fuck.

It really is amazing how judgmental my peers are over music. I mean, it’s not like I’ve just admitted to blasting Osama’s demo tape while planning world domination; it’s pop, for chrissakes. Ten years ago, y’all liked it too! Why am I being demonized for my continued enjoyment of such gems as “It’s Gonna Be Me” or “Tearin’ Up My Heart”? Is there a difference between the pop music of my past and constantly replaying the 1996 Yankees beating the Braves for the World Series every night before bed? How come it’s okay to worship all things John Mayer but I can’t get a little excited over a possible NSYNC reunion without being labeled a stupid teenybopper?

In this country, it’s almost expected that straying away from the norm is totally unaccepted, yo. Being a girl growing up at the crux of two different generations has set me, and others like me, in a cycle of being mocked for our music taste and subsequently brushed off as bubblegum loser with a loosening grip on reality. All because I listen to NSYNC in 2007.

When fourteen-year-old Jessica from Nebraska says she loves Justin Timberlake, she does. Not, granted, in the way she will someday love a man who will be her husband and the father of her children and will leave his nasty smelly socks on the floor, but she does love him. She loves him with an intensity that is almost painful, with a kind of lonely desperation, with a commitment that may be short-lived, but is also all encompassing. Jessica is exploring relationships between men and women in a way that is safe and won't get her pregnant, and we deny her the space to do that and call her a teenie. Which, you know, she is. But still.

When fourteen-year-old Johnny from Nebraska says he loves Jamir Jagr, we pat him on the head and send him off to watch the game. When Jamir loses, and Johnny cries, we try to help him deal with it by saying that things will get better, that Jamir will pull through, that Jamir is the king. It'll be okay. Johnny is given oodles of space to learn how to deal with adoration and loss.

Have you ever noticed that hockey is cool and NSYNC is not?

A large part of why hockey is cool is that men like it.

A large part of why NSYNC is uncool is that women like it.

Jessica's love for Justin is as real, as important, as valid, as Johnny's love for Jamir. But because we live in a patriarchy, we attach value to male things, and frown on female things. Things which are loved by men are meaningful, while things which are loved by women are meaningless.

Jessica has been one-upped already, and she's just started.

When Justin vows love eternal to Britney, and Jessica weeps hot adolescent tears of pain and confusion, we awkwardly tell her that she never had a chance anyway, and that she'll get over it. Which, of course, she will, but that's not the point. WHAM. Shut down, Jess. Your emotions have just been invalidated, by your parents, your teachers, your peers, the media which encouraged you to love Justin in the first place.

As dictated by our society, it is now a crime to show any interest in the Ghost’s of Music Past. Jessica will now learn to stifle her opinions because hey, they never really mattered anyway…she like a boy band. Since when did it become alright to discriminate against us chicks based on our musical preference?

So yeah, maybe I am a teenybopper. But I’m a Heartlessly Bitchy teenybopper, and I will not take this crap anymore. The next time someone rolls their eyes when I tell them No Strings Attached was a great album, the next time my love for Justin Timberlake becomes the basis for a twenty minute Insult-Laurie-A-Thon, the next time I have to defend my boys’ sexuality, I’m going to say Bye, Bye, Bye to the niceties and throw a fucking fit. How dare you ridicule and tease me and then say you were “just kidding.” I’m a Heartless Bitch, and I am DONE apologizing for my music.

My name is Laurie, and I’m an NSYNC fan. Ya dig?