Possibilities - Part One
Well, here is my new House/Cameron story... or at least part one of it! It's exciting to be writing H/C again and I hope I still have the ability to write them realistically. Let me know what you think.
This is a sequel to Stay
POSSIBILITES
I.
You have been married to Allison for almost a year (it seemed weird even to you, to keep calling her Cameron after that) when Wilson sits down in your office and tells you that Sarah is expecting their second child. He looks happy, and is clearly waiting for your enthusiastic response, so you give it. Truthfully, though, the announcement has caused a slight discomfort in your midsection that can’t exactly be called a hunger pain although you choose to do so and wheedle Rueben money out of the happy father-to-be.
While you eat lunch, Wilson continues to talk about the baby-to-be. He wonders if it will be a boy this time, but then insists that it doesn’t matter to him and that he’ll be happy with another girl. He asks what you think of the names Martha and Theodore and you ask if they are the elderly parents of your latest patient. He gives you a look that says he isn’t amused.
For the rest of the day you are in a lousy mood, and refuse to admit the reason why. You snap at West when he makes the coffee too strong and then you snap at Allison when she gets home from work late. She looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. You’ve never clocked her arrivals and departures before. You just grump that you’re hungry and had to hold off on ordering dinner because you weren’t sure when she planned to show up. She still looks a bit confused when she says that she’ll just throw some chicken and pasta together and toss some vegetables in the microwave.
You’re still scowling when you go to sit on the sofa, knowing that a late dinner isn’t what’s got you so bent out of shape. You realize that you’d better snap out of it pretty damn quick, though, because eventually she’s going to start asking questions you don’t really want to answer.
You make the mistake of actually apologizing when she brings in a tray full of food, and that only makes her more suspicious. It takes her another two hours of silently trying to figure you out, before you feel yourself start to crack. You know it’s only a matter of time before she starts gently prodding you in that way you hate; not asking about anything directly related to you, but instead asking about who you’ve seen and whether or not Cuddy’s pissed you off.
“Sarah’s pregnant again,” you tell her during a commercial break.
“I know,” she says. “She told me this afternoon when we met to get coffee. Eight weeks along.”
You nod dumbly. She wasn’t supposed to know. This was supposed to be your segue into a completely different conversation and now you’re not sure how to get there, so instead you say nothing.
She’s the one who does the talking, and it takes her until the next commercial break to say anything. Her delicate brows are knit together as she asks you, in a very doubtful voice, if that’s why you’re in such a bad mood.
A shrug is your response. “What do I care about them and their kids?”
Of course that’s a bald-faced lie and Allison knows it. The two of you are actually pretty attached to little Rebecca and you know that she’s seen your expression go all soft when the little girl calls you Unca Greg.
“Aren’t you happy for them? They’ve been talking about having another baby for a while now.”
Sure, they’ve been talking, but you weren’t expecting it to actually happen. That’s the problem with life. Just when you get used to things, someone decides to go and change them. You were comfortable in your life with Allison, and then Wilson had to go and get his wife pregnant again and pull up a bunch of feelings you’d completely forgotten about. And then Allison had to know you too well and dredge up the reason for your mood before you had a chance to work up a way to go from telling her about the new Wilson addition to mentioning that you wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that action.
Now that your whole - completely unformed - plan is blown, you just cut right to the chase.
“Y’know we could get in on that whole baby thing too,” you say and then the show comes back on and you turn your attention to the television.
Out of the corner of your eye, you’re watching Allison and she’s looking at you like you just slapped her. That’s definitely not the reaction you were hoping for. She gets up a minute later and leaves the room, and you curse under your breath and let your head fall back against the sofa cushion.
You watch the end of the show before shutting off the television, turning off the lights and heading down the hallway to find your wife.
She’s sitting up in bed reading. Or pretending to read. You aren’t sure which.
What you’d planned to do was just go through your nighttime routine and wait for her to speak first, but there’s something in her face that seems to control your mouth and the next thing you know, her name is dropping from your lips.
“Allison,” you say, in a more conciliatory tone than you think you’ve ever used.
“We talked about this already,” she says, looking up at you accusingly.
“That was two years ago,” you say.
“So? What’s changed?”
You just stare at her for a minute, because the question is one which takes you by surprise. What has changed? Why are you suddenly feeling like having a kid running around the place might not be the worst thing in the world? Why does the idea of Allison growing heavy with a child make your heart beat a little faster? Why did you look at Rebecca last weekend and envy Wilson in a way you never had before?
“I don’t know, but things have,” you say honestly.
“Not for me,” she says and the resolute tone of her voice is startling because you know what’s driving it and you’ve never seen her afraid before.
You sit down at the foot of the bed and she pulls her legs up and sits cross-legged so that you can’t touch her.
“It was a long time ago,” you say gently.
“Greg, please,” she says and the way she says it actually makes your throat tighten up. “You promised.”
You promised you’d never mention her baby again. You promised you wouldn’t make her think about it. You promised, and now you’re taking it all back.
“And I’m so well known for keeping my promises,” you say, and at the moment you’re angry. At her, at yourself, at the situation; a situation you never would have imagined you’d be in.
Her reaction is swift: a look of intense betrayal and now you’re angry at yourself for feeling guilty. You rub your hand over your face and utter two words that are mostly unfamiliar to you.
“I’m sorry.”
She says nothing.
“I --”
“Can we not talk about this?” she asks, cutting you off.
Your irritation comes back despite the pleading look in her eyes.
“No, damnit, we can’t! We’re going to talk about it. We’re going to talk about how I’m suddenly feeling all paternal and I don’t know how to shut it off. We’re going to talk about how you’re so damn afraid of something that happened fifteen years ago that you won’t even think about taking another chance. We’re going to talk about why the hell we can’t discuss all this like a normal married couple.”
“Because we’re not normal, you bastard,” she said, her voice very low and controlled. “You’re a misanthropic asshole, and I’m damaged. Remember?”
Suddenly you don’t want to fight. You just don’t have it in you to hurt her. The last five years have really changed you, as much as you try to deny it.
You think she must see that in your face, and all at once you are watching her features crumple and the sorrow of fifteen years overflowing her eyes. You know that she won’t flinch away if you hold her and that’s what you do, moving up to the head of the bed and pulling her into your arms.
“I want… I want what you want,” she says, “but I’m so afraid.”
Her fear is even reflected in the way that she won’t say that she wants a baby, she wants a child, she wants to be a mother, as if even saying the words will jinx her for sure.
“And you think I’m not?” you say, in an attempt to slow her tears. “I’ve got all these damn “fatherly” feelings floating around and I don’t know where the hell they came from.”
You feel her take a deep breath and then smile against your shoulder.
“They were probably there all along. You’re just good at stifling them. After all, it took four years for you to admit you had feelings for me.”
“If I recall correctly, you forced me into that by sucking my tongue into your mouth,” you say, remembering that day so long ago when she came walking into your office and forced the hand you might never have played otherwise.
“I don’t regret that,” she tells you smugly.
“Same here.”
A few breaths pass and both of you relax.
A few minutes pass, and Allison speaks.
“I need time to think about it,” she tells you.
“I figured you might.”
You get up a few minutes later and go into the bathroom, change, brush your teeth and make your way back to bed. She’s reading again, but she puts aside her book when you get in bed. The two of you turn off your bedside lamps at the same time and you lie on your back staring up at the ceiling. Allison rolls onto her side to face you and you feel her hand curl around your bicep. You don’t usually touch each other in your sleep but her touch is exactly the connection you need at that moment. It reminds you that all of the new feelings you’ve had recently wouldn’t even have been possible if not for her.
This is a sequel to Stay
POSSIBILITES
I.
You have been married to Allison for almost a year (it seemed weird even to you, to keep calling her Cameron after that) when Wilson sits down in your office and tells you that Sarah is expecting their second child. He looks happy, and is clearly waiting for your enthusiastic response, so you give it. Truthfully, though, the announcement has caused a slight discomfort in your midsection that can’t exactly be called a hunger pain although you choose to do so and wheedle Rueben money out of the happy father-to-be.
While you eat lunch, Wilson continues to talk about the baby-to-be. He wonders if it will be a boy this time, but then insists that it doesn’t matter to him and that he’ll be happy with another girl. He asks what you think of the names Martha and Theodore and you ask if they are the elderly parents of your latest patient. He gives you a look that says he isn’t amused.
For the rest of the day you are in a lousy mood, and refuse to admit the reason why. You snap at West when he makes the coffee too strong and then you snap at Allison when she gets home from work late. She looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. You’ve never clocked her arrivals and departures before. You just grump that you’re hungry and had to hold off on ordering dinner because you weren’t sure when she planned to show up. She still looks a bit confused when she says that she’ll just throw some chicken and pasta together and toss some vegetables in the microwave.
You’re still scowling when you go to sit on the sofa, knowing that a late dinner isn’t what’s got you so bent out of shape. You realize that you’d better snap out of it pretty damn quick, though, because eventually she’s going to start asking questions you don’t really want to answer.
You make the mistake of actually apologizing when she brings in a tray full of food, and that only makes her more suspicious. It takes her another two hours of silently trying to figure you out, before you feel yourself start to crack. You know it’s only a matter of time before she starts gently prodding you in that way you hate; not asking about anything directly related to you, but instead asking about who you’ve seen and whether or not Cuddy’s pissed you off.
“Sarah’s pregnant again,” you tell her during a commercial break.
“I know,” she says. “She told me this afternoon when we met to get coffee. Eight weeks along.”
You nod dumbly. She wasn’t supposed to know. This was supposed to be your segue into a completely different conversation and now you’re not sure how to get there, so instead you say nothing.
She’s the one who does the talking, and it takes her until the next commercial break to say anything. Her delicate brows are knit together as she asks you, in a very doubtful voice, if that’s why you’re in such a bad mood.
A shrug is your response. “What do I care about them and their kids?”
Of course that’s a bald-faced lie and Allison knows it. The two of you are actually pretty attached to little Rebecca and you know that she’s seen your expression go all soft when the little girl calls you Unca Greg.
“Aren’t you happy for them? They’ve been talking about having another baby for a while now.”
Sure, they’ve been talking, but you weren’t expecting it to actually happen. That’s the problem with life. Just when you get used to things, someone decides to go and change them. You were comfortable in your life with Allison, and then Wilson had to go and get his wife pregnant again and pull up a bunch of feelings you’d completely forgotten about. And then Allison had to know you too well and dredge up the reason for your mood before you had a chance to work up a way to go from telling her about the new Wilson addition to mentioning that you wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that action.
Now that your whole - completely unformed - plan is blown, you just cut right to the chase.
“Y’know we could get in on that whole baby thing too,” you say and then the show comes back on and you turn your attention to the television.
Out of the corner of your eye, you’re watching Allison and she’s looking at you like you just slapped her. That’s definitely not the reaction you were hoping for. She gets up a minute later and leaves the room, and you curse under your breath and let your head fall back against the sofa cushion.
You watch the end of the show before shutting off the television, turning off the lights and heading down the hallway to find your wife.
She’s sitting up in bed reading. Or pretending to read. You aren’t sure which.
What you’d planned to do was just go through your nighttime routine and wait for her to speak first, but there’s something in her face that seems to control your mouth and the next thing you know, her name is dropping from your lips.
“Allison,” you say, in a more conciliatory tone than you think you’ve ever used.
“We talked about this already,” she says, looking up at you accusingly.
“That was two years ago,” you say.
“So? What’s changed?”
You just stare at her for a minute, because the question is one which takes you by surprise. What has changed? Why are you suddenly feeling like having a kid running around the place might not be the worst thing in the world? Why does the idea of Allison growing heavy with a child make your heart beat a little faster? Why did you look at Rebecca last weekend and envy Wilson in a way you never had before?
“I don’t know, but things have,” you say honestly.
“Not for me,” she says and the resolute tone of her voice is startling because you know what’s driving it and you’ve never seen her afraid before.
You sit down at the foot of the bed and she pulls her legs up and sits cross-legged so that you can’t touch her.
“It was a long time ago,” you say gently.
“Greg, please,” she says and the way she says it actually makes your throat tighten up. “You promised.”
You promised you’d never mention her baby again. You promised you wouldn’t make her think about it. You promised, and now you’re taking it all back.
“And I’m so well known for keeping my promises,” you say, and at the moment you’re angry. At her, at yourself, at the situation; a situation you never would have imagined you’d be in.
Her reaction is swift: a look of intense betrayal and now you’re angry at yourself for feeling guilty. You rub your hand over your face and utter two words that are mostly unfamiliar to you.
“I’m sorry.”
She says nothing.
“I --”
“Can we not talk about this?” she asks, cutting you off.
Your irritation comes back despite the pleading look in her eyes.
“No, damnit, we can’t! We’re going to talk about it. We’re going to talk about how I’m suddenly feeling all paternal and I don’t know how to shut it off. We’re going to talk about how you’re so damn afraid of something that happened fifteen years ago that you won’t even think about taking another chance. We’re going to talk about why the hell we can’t discuss all this like a normal married couple.”
“Because we’re not normal, you bastard,” she said, her voice very low and controlled. “You’re a misanthropic asshole, and I’m damaged. Remember?”
Suddenly you don’t want to fight. You just don’t have it in you to hurt her. The last five years have really changed you, as much as you try to deny it.
You think she must see that in your face, and all at once you are watching her features crumple and the sorrow of fifteen years overflowing her eyes. You know that she won’t flinch away if you hold her and that’s what you do, moving up to the head of the bed and pulling her into your arms.
“I want… I want what you want,” she says, “but I’m so afraid.”
Her fear is even reflected in the way that she won’t say that she wants a baby, she wants a child, she wants to be a mother, as if even saying the words will jinx her for sure.
“And you think I’m not?” you say, in an attempt to slow her tears. “I’ve got all these damn “fatherly” feelings floating around and I don’t know where the hell they came from.”
You feel her take a deep breath and then smile against your shoulder.
“They were probably there all along. You’re just good at stifling them. After all, it took four years for you to admit you had feelings for me.”
“If I recall correctly, you forced me into that by sucking my tongue into your mouth,” you say, remembering that day so long ago when she came walking into your office and forced the hand you might never have played otherwise.
“I don’t regret that,” she tells you smugly.
“Same here.”
A few breaths pass and both of you relax.
A few minutes pass, and Allison speaks.
“I need time to think about it,” she tells you.
“I figured you might.”
You get up a few minutes later and go into the bathroom, change, brush your teeth and make your way back to bed. She’s reading again, but she puts aside her book when you get in bed. The two of you turn off your bedside lamps at the same time and you lie on your back staring up at the ceiling. Allison rolls onto her side to face you and you feel her hand curl around your bicep. You don’t usually touch each other in your sleep but her touch is exactly the connection you need at that moment. It reminds you that all of the new feelings you’ve had recently wouldn’t even have been possible if not for her.