house: here again (4/5)
Title: Here again [4/5]
Characters/Pairing: Cameron/House
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Don't own House
Spoilers: Future fic-ish
Summary: He's been dead for years, but she hadn't stepped foot into his study, their study.
A/N: Est. relationship as she explores the one room in the house they'd bought. Expect short flashbacks. And firstnames! Ohnoes.
With her back to the wall, she stares at the wooden desk on the opposite wall. Above it rests a stereo he’d often load with his CDs while he was tinkering with whatever he could find. She walks casually across the room, finally pulling the almost comfortable chair from the seating area of the desk and sitting. Carefully, she slides the plastic over the very last machine he’d worked on. She doesn’t even remember what it was.
She stretched as she finally stood, the book she’d been reading in one hand and her glasses in the other. Even from here she could see the concentration painted on his face. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time, or even the twentieth time that they’d gone for days without speaking. She missed him this time around, however, so she walked over to his desk.
“It looks...good.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”
He didn’t respond. She watched his fingers deftly twist a few wires, scratch at some rust, and gently pry the backing off of some projection. He finally stopped and pulled the glasses away from his face as he looked at her. She smiled, not caring that he frowned at her.
“What are you smiling for?”
She wanted to say, ‘Because you took your glasses off for me, fool.’ She didn’t.
“This is the first time we’ve talked in four days.”
“Not our personal best.”
Shrugging, she rested one hand on the back of his seat. “You can start ignoring me tomorrow.”
He almost chuckled. His hands went to rub his eyes. “What’d you disrupt me for, Kid?”
“I missed you.”
“You would.”
“Ha. Ha. Really, what is it?”
“Dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
“It was in the trash at the thrift store. I was curious.”
“That’s your excuse for everything.”
They both turned at the sound of paws on wood floor.
“There’s the bitch.”
“Greg!”
“What? She is.”
Eebies happily walked up to them before biting at his barely covered ankles. Still a puppy, it’d been easy for him to push her away with a firm push.
“She loves you.”
He quickly moved to grab his cane before the puppy tried to run off with it. With a shake of his head, he picked the mutt up and placed it into her arms. With his hands, he motioned for her to leave. She did.
He always did like to sit right here when he wasn’t watching tv, solving a case, drinking with Wilson, or reading the latest medical news. Sometimes he’d rummage across the nearby shelf for forgotten projects. She also remembers him running away to here after every fight.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say you’re sorry!”
“I told you I didn’t want to go in the first place!”
“My brother was getting married! I wanted him to finally meet you!”
“And we did!”
“You called his fiancee a philandering alcoholic!”
“And I was right!”
She closed her mouth, crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and stared him down.
He blew out an angry breath and gripped his cane tighter. He wasn’t about to break the silence.
“He doesn’t even want to speak with me.”
“He’s your brother. He’ll get over it,” he replied shortly.
“I swear,” she shook her head and brought her hand up to rub her mouth.
“What? You swear what? Go on, finish your thought.”
She wanted to say it. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to let the words fly out. Angry, she didn’t fight.
“Sometimes, I think I hate you, House.”
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t expected her to say it sometime. Three and a half years together hadn’t given him any security. It still hit him harder than he’d thought it would.
“Finally done with trying to fix me? Throwing in the towel after failing to meet your neediness goals?”
“House, stop it.”
He reached into his jacket for vicodin. He made sure she watched him as he swallowed two, and then followed it with the beer on the coffee table.
“Stop what?”
At the time, she was going to say everything. The pills. The drinking. The drugs. The sarcasm. The pain.
“Just because you can’t handle--.”
“I’m handling everything fine! You’re the one up on your high horse about every little thing! If you can’t take it, then maybe it’s time you leave.”
“That way it would prove all your theories! Right?”
“I’m tired of you thinking you know me! So what if we’re together! You don’t give a damn about me! You’re in love with my leg and the way you think you help me!”
He didn’t wait for her response. She watched him limp into the study and slam the door behind him. She hadn’t realized the tears were crawling down her face until she tasted the salt on her lips. Damn him.
She slides the plastic back over the mysterious machine. She doesn’t even remember what made her go back that night after she’d packed a bag, determined to never see him again. She doesn’t even know why he’d let her back in.
She held her chin high, not about to let him see her pain. The palm of her hand still stung from banging on the front door, not willing to use her key and needing him to face her.
He hadn’t said anything to her. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure he could talk correctly considering his tongue felt two inches thick and there were two of her on the doorstep. As she brushed past him, he smelled the scent of her and nearly groaned.
Sitting on their couch, she watched him limp haphazardly towards her.
“Sit down before you fall down.”
“I don’t neeeeeed... ta set.”
With a sigh, she walked into the kitchen and came back with a cool rag, knowing she’d spend the night taking care of him.
“What...wadja...doin? You said...ya was leavin.”
“I didn’t say that. And even if I did, everybody lies.”
Characters/Pairing: Cameron/House
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Don't own House
Spoilers: Future fic-ish
Summary: He's been dead for years, but she hadn't stepped foot into his study, their study.
A/N: Est. relationship as she explores the one room in the house they'd bought. Expect short flashbacks. And firstnames! Ohnoes.
With her back to the wall, she stares at the wooden desk on the opposite wall. Above it rests a stereo he’d often load with his CDs while he was tinkering with whatever he could find. She walks casually across the room, finally pulling the almost comfortable chair from the seating area of the desk and sitting. Carefully, she slides the plastic over the very last machine he’d worked on. She doesn’t even remember what it was.
She stretched as she finally stood, the book she’d been reading in one hand and her glasses in the other. Even from here she could see the concentration painted on his face. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time, or even the twentieth time that they’d gone for days without speaking. She missed him this time around, however, so she walked over to his desk.
“It looks...good.”
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”
He didn’t respond. She watched his fingers deftly twist a few wires, scratch at some rust, and gently pry the backing off of some projection. He finally stopped and pulled the glasses away from his face as he looked at her. She smiled, not caring that he frowned at her.
“What are you smiling for?”
She wanted to say, ‘Because you took your glasses off for me, fool.’ She didn’t.
“This is the first time we’ve talked in four days.”
“Not our personal best.”
Shrugging, she rested one hand on the back of his seat. “You can start ignoring me tomorrow.”
He almost chuckled. His hands went to rub his eyes. “What’d you disrupt me for, Kid?”
“I missed you.”
“You would.”
“Ha. Ha. Really, what is it?”
“Dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
“It was in the trash at the thrift store. I was curious.”
“That’s your excuse for everything.”
They both turned at the sound of paws on wood floor.
“There’s the bitch.”
“Greg!”
“What? She is.”
Eebies happily walked up to them before biting at his barely covered ankles. Still a puppy, it’d been easy for him to push her away with a firm push.
“She loves you.”
He quickly moved to grab his cane before the puppy tried to run off with it. With a shake of his head, he picked the mutt up and placed it into her arms. With his hands, he motioned for her to leave. She did.
He always did like to sit right here when he wasn’t watching tv, solving a case, drinking with Wilson, or reading the latest medical news. Sometimes he’d rummage across the nearby shelf for forgotten projects. She also remembers him running away to here after every fight.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to say you’re sorry!”
“I told you I didn’t want to go in the first place!”
“My brother was getting married! I wanted him to finally meet you!”
“And we did!”
“You called his fiancee a philandering alcoholic!”
“And I was right!”
She closed her mouth, crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and stared him down.
He blew out an angry breath and gripped his cane tighter. He wasn’t about to break the silence.
“He doesn’t even want to speak with me.”
“He’s your brother. He’ll get over it,” he replied shortly.
“I swear,” she shook her head and brought her hand up to rub her mouth.
“What? You swear what? Go on, finish your thought.”
She wanted to say it. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to let the words fly out. Angry, she didn’t fight.
“Sometimes, I think I hate you, House.”
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t expected her to say it sometime. Three and a half years together hadn’t given him any security. It still hit him harder than he’d thought it would.
“Finally done with trying to fix me? Throwing in the towel after failing to meet your neediness goals?”
“House, stop it.”
He reached into his jacket for vicodin. He made sure she watched him as he swallowed two, and then followed it with the beer on the coffee table.
“Stop what?”
At the time, she was going to say everything. The pills. The drinking. The drugs. The sarcasm. The pain.
“Just because you can’t handle--.”
“I’m handling everything fine! You’re the one up on your high horse about every little thing! If you can’t take it, then maybe it’s time you leave.”
“That way it would prove all your theories! Right?”
“I’m tired of you thinking you know me! So what if we’re together! You don’t give a damn about me! You’re in love with my leg and the way you think you help me!”
He didn’t wait for her response. She watched him limp into the study and slam the door behind him. She hadn’t realized the tears were crawling down her face until she tasted the salt on her lips. Damn him.
She slides the plastic back over the mysterious machine. She doesn’t even remember what made her go back that night after she’d packed a bag, determined to never see him again. She doesn’t even know why he’d let her back in.
She held her chin high, not about to let him see her pain. The palm of her hand still stung from banging on the front door, not willing to use her key and needing him to face her.
He hadn’t said anything to her. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure he could talk correctly considering his tongue felt two inches thick and there were two of her on the doorstep. As she brushed past him, he smelled the scent of her and nearly groaned.
Sitting on their couch, she watched him limp haphazardly towards her.
“Sit down before you fall down.”
“I don’t neeeeeed... ta set.”
With a sigh, she walked into the kitchen and came back with a cool rag, knowing she’d spend the night taking care of him.
“What...wadja...doin? You said...ya was leavin.”
“I didn’t say that. And even if I did, everybody lies.”