Cameron is moving toward her, and though her words speak null of any implication of trouble given the task at hand – Yeah, sure. I don’t mind – her face reads the complete opposite. A small crinkle between her brows. Eyes, distant and elsewhere ( in thought ). A solid jaw. Cameron is admittedly a woman whose emotions are easy to read as they paint her expression; her face is usually what gives her away, and this is actually very charming, Lisa realizes for a moment. It is comforting, perhaps. Maybe this is why so many people gravitate to her, she muses briefly; why so many other Johns and Joes see some sort of spark, some hope … usefulness … in Cameron. That, and her undeniable SWEETNESS, a trait most tend to read as nonthreatening – though Lisa knows better – resting somewhere between self sacrifice and moral composure. Cameron’s face is easy to read, and it is easy to project onto. Something humans love; a canvas they can paint themselves on, those self-important sons of bitches. Even Lisa can admit feeling a flutter of ease wash over her chest at never having to question it the moment she looks over Cameron’s features. It’s … straight forward. Cuddy likes straight forward.
❛ Yeah. ❜ She answers Cameron’s statement a bit quietly – not delicately, not shyly, but in an even, breathy undertone that sounds deep and tired. Administration into a large muscle; yeah, yeah. I know. My ass. She’s the Dean of Medicine and it’s clear, of course, how this could should would pose a problem, left in the wrong hands. But it’s too late now, either way; Cameron’s already overheard her phone conversation with Julia; Cameron knows Cuddy is planning on IVF, Cameron can spread the rumor if she so pleases. This little request is simply one less pair of ears that might spread things around, given the chance … particularly things about the exposed ass of the hospital’s highest executive in the actual flesh. Lisa Cuddy is cutting her losses.
It’s almost a power move in its vulnerability.
And yet, there Cameron is, standing before her, almost … ambivalent to the house of political cards she has suddenly found herself thrust upon, acting as though the request is no more severe than if she’s just been told she needs to cut her hair a few inches. She’s so polite about it, Cuddy thinks, as she shifts and turns around, both hands on the waist band of her skirt. She’s already handed the syringe and vial of the dose to the other.
Cuddy’s never been a ruminator; she’s always done, never thought too hard or too long on anything she wants, nor would she now. That’s not how she’s gotten this far, and in this thought she lifts one side of her skirt, pulling the long fabric over her hips, scrunching it in her palm. Her bracelet and watch jangle in the motion. She’s in a salmon colored g-string beneath; the air meets her skin, confirming she is now exposed, at least part way, to Cameron. Tongue in cheek, she releases a loud breath through her nose, staring straight ahead, waiting. She’s almost … shy now … which is stupid, she’s a doctor, Cameron is a doctor, and this is nothing more than a procedure between professionals.
Still, she hopes she’ll get it over with.
YEAH.
YEAH.
Cameron takes the equipment like she is day dreaming or, conversely, like some sort of insomniac. I’M TOO BEMUSED BY MY LIFE TO TRY PUT STRUCTURE ON WHAT’S HAPPENING. She stands there, syringe in hand and spine oddly stiff. Before she can summon the words to say, OH MAYBE I NEED TO THINK ABOUT THIS -- ! and, HELL, before she can summon the desire to say it, Cuddy is turned around hiking up enough of her skirt to expose the skin beneath.
A sharp inhale of breath threatens to knock Cameron’s composure. She sees a flash of pink underwear - no, orange - no, salmon, and she becomes glad that Cuddy is turned away: she knows her face is completely stoney and probably pink.
Salmon.
Anyway, she takes the cotton out of the pouch, and -- it’s a really nice ass, as they go -- and fumbles with the syringe in her hands. Okay. So. No time to think this over. She’s doing this. Living in the moment. The cotton wad gets stuck in the lip of the pouch, and she rolls her eyes, refocusing herself on her hands and not the exposed flesh of her boss’s boss. Dying of fluster in the moment. Great.
❛ Don’t mention it. ❜
Especially not to HR. That’s a funny quip. She should say that out loud, because it’s what House would do. Her mouth opens to stammer out the rest of her ‘socializing’ but she catches herself preemptively.
❛ I think - uhm, you need to angle - more ... um, bended down. ❜
Twice now she’s been grateful for their lack of eye contact. Bended isn’t even a fricking word, man. Cameron approaches a little more, and there’s something kind of funny in a strange way about how fast this has all happened. The pressure she feels to not immediately mess this up and betray Cuddy’s trust is watering down her pride at being chosen to be the helpful one. It’s eating her relief that she’s not in trouble, too.
❛ Bent over. Just at the desk. For the angle. ❜
It’s helped her find a little more surety in her voice, at least. Her eyes haven’t broken from the soft curve of her boss’s boss’s butt. She blinks once, twice, and wonders now about how is appropriate to do this. Medically, she knows how, of course. But socially? Is there even a social dimension she ought to factor in here? Like, an extra politeness-and-don’t-write-me-up clause? No. She’s just overanalysing herself now, because its a jarring situation. That’s all.
Cameron finishes her routine checks of the syringe, and with frigid precision, swabs the cotton over the area. The muscle. The largest muscle on the human body, which is a biological and medical fact. That is all. Next the needle, and it takes everything in her body to not balance her hand by placing her other hand against Cuddy’s lower back. No. Wordlessly and deftly, she pricks the needle deeply into the skin, and leans her body forward as she empties the Repronex from the syringe. She bites her inside lip as she quietly makes an internal comparison to anal sex for her own amusement. But it’s not funny. It’s a serious medical procedure.
❛ I hope that didn’t hurt. I thought it would be better to just do it than to announce it. ❜ It seems like the easier thing to say in the moment. She’d really rather not talk about how she’s unable to stop staring at the small fraction of thong she can observe under the skirt. How are they going to do this when Cuddy wears a pencil skirt? Her eyes widen at the image of her unzipping Cuddy’s tight skirt. Oh. She steps back to give Cuddy space, but without the wherewithal to remove her eyes from where they’d just been.
