House fic: the piano, in the background (1/5)
the piano, in the background
cameron; eventual house/cameron- pg
1512 words
tb or not tb spoilers
dedicated to shikinluv
If and when, she thinks about it later, there will be a laugh.
saw her there in a restaurant
tori amos| yes, anastasia
[1.]
“Jesus.”
“Uh,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she nearly stumbles into the cab. Her purse crashes to her feet, her hand spreading across her stomach.
Finding her voice seems to disappear as a prospect, Allison Cameron drops back against the corner and comes to terms with the fact that she’s sharing a cab with House after- god, she can’t remember. Five, maybe six or seven years seems to blur in her head.
She doesn’t ask why or what or any of the series of reasonable questions applicable to the situation, if anything. She just can’t seem to find her voice and just stares.
He mirrors her gaze though, his hand curled around his cane and that almost intrusive stare of his pushing a thick nudity of her self-consciousness. Her throat is starting to dry and just this once, she falls back into a moment, wishing he’d just get whatever insult out of the way.
“Cameron.”
She tries shrugging, her hand smoothing against the cotton of her dress. She picks at the fabric, her hair falling into her eyes. “I- yeah.”
“You got knocked up,” he says, disbelief thick.
Here, she almost laughs, her gaze dropping to the side as she calms. She stifles a yawn and manages a steady acknowledgement. “Something like that.”
“And married.”
There’s an odd edge to his voice and she sighs softly, shifts, and then decides to cross her legs for the moment.
“Engaged,” she answers quietly.
Here’s something: she’s spent nearly all four month of her pregnancy saying no and almost desperately. She can never describe the heaviness of another ring, of the weight, that just pulled and pulled at her. She doesn’t want to say that the baby has anything to do with her bout of the right thing- her mother’s favorite saying- because it’s not fair. But it’s something, something she’s starting to turn with.
He shrugs. “Semantics.”
“Right.”
The cabbie smiles at her when he turns and a whiff of counter cologne spins in the back. She tries to hold back her cough.
But he grins. “What side, miss?”
“The international terminal, please,” she murmurs, shifting uncomfortably. Her hand presses against her stomach.
The cab is too small, too soon, and Springsteen scrapes the air around her ankles as she sighs. She watches as the cabbie picks up his phone and the familiar rattle of pills hums in the back.
“Well, you found someone.”
She turns to watch him swallow, one, two, three- nothing’s changed, not even in variation. But she’s not surprised. Her answer is slow. “I did.”
“It’s a forty-five minute drive to the airport,” he shoots. There’s another rattle, but no click. He drops the pills in a bag. “You can’t avoid me for forty-five minutes in this small of a space.”
“Right.”
“Cameron-”
She almost has allison slip from her mouth as a correction. She attributes it to the inclination of routine, but finding a place, even brief, for him draws a cagey reaction. She almost has to reassure herself. It’s been years. She’s not his subordinate. And he’s still an asshole.
Try again: “The direction of the conversation will eventually lead to the two of us being cranky- well, really, it would be me cranky. And I’ve already got my hormones to deal with.”
He smirks, amused. “Ooo. You’re how far along?”
“You’re an ass.”- quick, simple, to the point; it’s almost like she’s never left and she rubs her arms at the sensation.
He chuckles huskily. “And you’re surprised?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Exactly.”
The silence that fits over the cab is heavy, but weighted with old scars and stirrings of what’s never been said. She had expectation- please, there’s no point in denying the fact that she would’ve either gotten an outward denial or maybe another step forward. But a step forward can only last so long and waiting, god, waiting for something, even a denial was terrible.
There are moments, that she remembers, of not even being able to recognize herself. Something was there and she’s long come to terms with that idea. Something was there. But she was clear with her standings and apparently, that was far enough.
She rubs her eyes. You’re happy, she tells herself. You are happy.
“You have a name?”
She blinks, turning. “For?”
“The kid,” he snorts, “the one you’re going to squeeze out.”
She raises an eyebrow, snorting with mixed amusement. “Not yet.”
“Liar.” He leans forward, curiously studying her as she starts to fidget. “Liar.”
“Why do you care?” She doesn’t blurt it out, but it’s more than tentative force. She says it and means it, not in the mood to relive a part of her life that’s done. It’s been done. She’s not going back. He’s not going to be at work the next morning.
Moving on.
“I don’t,” he says in amusement. “You’re flustered.”
Her voice is dry. “I’m hot.”
“I-” But he stops and his hand shifts forward, his fingers skimming her shoulder as he bats something off the seat.
She hides behind words, but the thickness starts to fade. “And we were doing so well.”
“Right.”
And silence again. She turns her gaze to the window, watching the streets fade and the highway starting to open up more. Peaks of houses disappear behind high walls and the car moves into a tunnel.
She sighs.
“I thought.” He completely stills the sentence, fragmenting the conversation as she turns her gaze to the window. She doesn’t press and there’s a shift in silence, her forehead dropping against the glass.
She seems to want to humor him. “You thought?”
“I thought you’d-” He’s hesitant and it’s a strange process to wrap around, but she turns to watch him, the pressed wrinkles in his shirt and jacket. The back pack at his feet. House is House and if it’s a comfort, she waits for it. But he rubs his eyes. “I thought you’d be closer. You would stay closer.”
She hides in a shrug, almost wide-eyed. She doesn’t want to read into it. She can’t read into it. It’s not like this is a novel, a shift in device, and the wait for stay will never come.
But still.
And then she finds her voice: “When there’s nothing to stay for, there’s nothing to stay for,” these are careful words, foreign words- honestly, she could’ve made a list of things she’d never say to him. “It was time to go. “
He doesn’t say anything. Or maybe he does and she’s just not listening. She tries to process slowly, her thoughts turning back and forth as she makes an attempt to separate them. There’s a mere pause in possibility.
His fingers graze her wrist, then her palm, the backs of her fingers, and the half-moon of her engagement ring. He sighs. “Yeah. It was.”
There’s nothing after that.
So she goes back to routine. She can feel him watch her from time to time, making calls quietly and checking mail on her phone. But she doesn’t look up. It’s how she keeps perspective.
He snorts, shaking his head as they get closer. “This was weird.”
She says nothing at first, nodding when the cabbie pulls them into departing and the international terminal.
But then she laughs, later, shaking her head as she shifts uncomfortably towards him. Maybe a goodbye. “Weird doesn’t cover it,” she says in amusement. “But it was interesting.”
He snorts, studying her. “Yeah.”
Allison figures that this is what she’s going to get and manages an awkward smile and nod mix. She moves out of the car, to the curb, nearly losing her footing but her bag remaining on her shoulder. She pays her fare, stepping back and turning.
“Home,” she breathes in relief, her hand skimming her stomach. A soft smile curls onto her lips, rare, but okay, she’s really getting used to the idea. “We’re going home-”
“Cameron!”
She turns and strangely enough, she still responds to the eerie ease of her last name. Odd, yes, but habit is an ongoing rewrite of history. She stops midway on the curb, watching as he slides out of the cab and moves to her slowly.
It’s awkward, already, when he reaches her but it’s complimented by the levelness of curiosity. He shakes his head, amusement maybe, but he’s here. His cane starts to tap and there’s an isolated nostalgia, but she doesn’t touch it.
“Congratulations.” It comes short, but no less intimate. A flush brushes her cheeks, disappearing as she nods- she hasn’t forgotten, no big deal.
“Thanks.”
Her lips curl and her fingers adjust over her purse as she steps forward. Her mouth brushes against his jaw, her free hand skimming his hip. An indulgence, maybe. Maybe not.
If and when, she thinks about it later, there will be a laugh. It’s going to be one of those laughs, the light sweep of sound, a suspended disbelief as she rubs her eyes or stretches her legs. And maybe, it’ll stay with her.
But it’s done.
“See you,” she says. And turns away.
+
cameron; eventual house/cameron- pg
1512 words
tb or not tb spoilers
dedicated to shikinluv
If and when, she thinks about it later, there will be a laugh.
saw her there in a restaurant
tori amos| yes, anastasia
[1.]
“Jesus.”
“Uh,” she breathes, her eyes wide as she nearly stumbles into the cab. Her purse crashes to her feet, her hand spreading across her stomach.
Finding her voice seems to disappear as a prospect, Allison Cameron drops back against the corner and comes to terms with the fact that she’s sharing a cab with House after- god, she can’t remember. Five, maybe six or seven years seems to blur in her head.
She doesn’t ask why or what or any of the series of reasonable questions applicable to the situation, if anything. She just can’t seem to find her voice and just stares.
He mirrors her gaze though, his hand curled around his cane and that almost intrusive stare of his pushing a thick nudity of her self-consciousness. Her throat is starting to dry and just this once, she falls back into a moment, wishing he’d just get whatever insult out of the way.
“Cameron.”
She tries shrugging, her hand smoothing against the cotton of her dress. She picks at the fabric, her hair falling into her eyes. “I- yeah.”
“You got knocked up,” he says, disbelief thick.
Here, she almost laughs, her gaze dropping to the side as she calms. She stifles a yawn and manages a steady acknowledgement. “Something like that.”
“And married.”
There’s an odd edge to his voice and she sighs softly, shifts, and then decides to cross her legs for the moment.
“Engaged,” she answers quietly.
Here’s something: she’s spent nearly all four month of her pregnancy saying no and almost desperately. She can never describe the heaviness of another ring, of the weight, that just pulled and pulled at her. She doesn’t want to say that the baby has anything to do with her bout of the right thing- her mother’s favorite saying- because it’s not fair. But it’s something, something she’s starting to turn with.
He shrugs. “Semantics.”
“Right.”
The cabbie smiles at her when he turns and a whiff of counter cologne spins in the back. She tries to hold back her cough.
But he grins. “What side, miss?”
“The international terminal, please,” she murmurs, shifting uncomfortably. Her hand presses against her stomach.
The cab is too small, too soon, and Springsteen scrapes the air around her ankles as she sighs. She watches as the cabbie picks up his phone and the familiar rattle of pills hums in the back.
“Well, you found someone.”
She turns to watch him swallow, one, two, three- nothing’s changed, not even in variation. But she’s not surprised. Her answer is slow. “I did.”
“It’s a forty-five minute drive to the airport,” he shoots. There’s another rattle, but no click. He drops the pills in a bag. “You can’t avoid me for forty-five minutes in this small of a space.”
“Right.”
“Cameron-”
She almost has allison slip from her mouth as a correction. She attributes it to the inclination of routine, but finding a place, even brief, for him draws a cagey reaction. She almost has to reassure herself. It’s been years. She’s not his subordinate. And he’s still an asshole.
Try again: “The direction of the conversation will eventually lead to the two of us being cranky- well, really, it would be me cranky. And I’ve already got my hormones to deal with.”
He smirks, amused. “Ooo. You’re how far along?”
“You’re an ass.”- quick, simple, to the point; it’s almost like she’s never left and she rubs her arms at the sensation.
He chuckles huskily. “And you’re surprised?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Exactly.”
The silence that fits over the cab is heavy, but weighted with old scars and stirrings of what’s never been said. She had expectation- please, there’s no point in denying the fact that she would’ve either gotten an outward denial or maybe another step forward. But a step forward can only last so long and waiting, god, waiting for something, even a denial was terrible.
There are moments, that she remembers, of not even being able to recognize herself. Something was there and she’s long come to terms with that idea. Something was there. But she was clear with her standings and apparently, that was far enough.
She rubs her eyes. You’re happy, she tells herself. You are happy.
“You have a name?”
She blinks, turning. “For?”
“The kid,” he snorts, “the one you’re going to squeeze out.”
She raises an eyebrow, snorting with mixed amusement. “Not yet.”
“Liar.” He leans forward, curiously studying her as she starts to fidget. “Liar.”
“Why do you care?” She doesn’t blurt it out, but it’s more than tentative force. She says it and means it, not in the mood to relive a part of her life that’s done. It’s been done. She’s not going back. He’s not going to be at work the next morning.
Moving on.
“I don’t,” he says in amusement. “You’re flustered.”
Her voice is dry. “I’m hot.”
“I-” But he stops and his hand shifts forward, his fingers skimming her shoulder as he bats something off the seat.
She hides behind words, but the thickness starts to fade. “And we were doing so well.”
“Right.”
And silence again. She turns her gaze to the window, watching the streets fade and the highway starting to open up more. Peaks of houses disappear behind high walls and the car moves into a tunnel.
She sighs.
“I thought.” He completely stills the sentence, fragmenting the conversation as she turns her gaze to the window. She doesn’t press and there’s a shift in silence, her forehead dropping against the glass.
She seems to want to humor him. “You thought?”
“I thought you’d-” He’s hesitant and it’s a strange process to wrap around, but she turns to watch him, the pressed wrinkles in his shirt and jacket. The back pack at his feet. House is House and if it’s a comfort, she waits for it. But he rubs his eyes. “I thought you’d be closer. You would stay closer.”
She hides in a shrug, almost wide-eyed. She doesn’t want to read into it. She can’t read into it. It’s not like this is a novel, a shift in device, and the wait for stay will never come.
But still.
And then she finds her voice: “When there’s nothing to stay for, there’s nothing to stay for,” these are careful words, foreign words- honestly, she could’ve made a list of things she’d never say to him. “It was time to go. “
He doesn’t say anything. Or maybe he does and she’s just not listening. She tries to process slowly, her thoughts turning back and forth as she makes an attempt to separate them. There’s a mere pause in possibility.
His fingers graze her wrist, then her palm, the backs of her fingers, and the half-moon of her engagement ring. He sighs. “Yeah. It was.”
There’s nothing after that.
So she goes back to routine. She can feel him watch her from time to time, making calls quietly and checking mail on her phone. But she doesn’t look up. It’s how she keeps perspective.
He snorts, shaking his head as they get closer. “This was weird.”
She says nothing at first, nodding when the cabbie pulls them into departing and the international terminal.
But then she laughs, later, shaking her head as she shifts uncomfortably towards him. Maybe a goodbye. “Weird doesn’t cover it,” she says in amusement. “But it was interesting.”
He snorts, studying her. “Yeah.”
Allison figures that this is what she’s going to get and manages an awkward smile and nod mix. She moves out of the car, to the curb, nearly losing her footing but her bag remaining on her shoulder. She pays her fare, stepping back and turning.
“Home,” she breathes in relief, her hand skimming her stomach. A soft smile curls onto her lips, rare, but okay, she’s really getting used to the idea. “We’re going home-”
“Cameron!”
She turns and strangely enough, she still responds to the eerie ease of her last name. Odd, yes, but habit is an ongoing rewrite of history. She stops midway on the curb, watching as he slides out of the cab and moves to her slowly.
It’s awkward, already, when he reaches her but it’s complimented by the levelness of curiosity. He shakes his head, amusement maybe, but he’s here. His cane starts to tap and there’s an isolated nostalgia, but she doesn’t touch it.
“Congratulations.” It comes short, but no less intimate. A flush brushes her cheeks, disappearing as she nods- she hasn’t forgotten, no big deal.
“Thanks.”
Her lips curl and her fingers adjust over her purse as she steps forward. Her mouth brushes against his jaw, her free hand skimming his hip. An indulgence, maybe. Maybe not.
If and when, she thinks about it later, there will be a laugh. It’s going to be one of those laughs, the light sweep of sound, a suspended disbelief as she rubs her eyes or stretches her legs. And maybe, it’ll stay with her.
But it’s done.
“See you,” she says. And turns away.
+