House fic: the piano, in the background (2/5)
the piano, in the background
cameron; eventual house/cameron- pg
1904 words
tb or not tb; general s3
dedicated to shikinluv
part one|
Give her credit, it happens once a year.
there are better things to talk about
radiohead| dollar and cents
-
Give her credit, it happens once a year.
Fundraisers with various names, various groups, and various diseases become a mandatory practice for attending as a doctor with her own practice. It’s strange, she thinks, a rare opportunity to put into focus the strengths and the knowledge of what she’s spent years training, studying, and working for-
“It’s still anti-climatic,” she murmurs in Will’s ear.
Her brother laughs, kissing her forehead as they enter the banquet hall. Six months pregnant, she thinks, and she’s still got to kiss ass.
Will is her step-in date for Sebastian considering- She sighs. Further into her pregnancy, reassurances aside, she knew, just knew that she couldn’t get married on the basis of principle.
It’s almost ironic, but she reconnected with Sebastian at a conference in Los Angeles, years ago, when she was still putting her foot in the door. Fresh away from House, from Jersey, she was really ready to embrace it all.
But here’s something funny- she had rules.
With the disaster of her relationship with Chase, with what followed, she swore to herself that she would tighten her hold on the separation between her work life and her personal life. And as stupid as it sounds, Sebastian was still charming, still gorgeous, and very interested.
It’s nice to have someone interested.
She was ready to break free of Jersey- the inexplicable loneliness had haunted her in variation there, more so aware of it when the failure and ultimately, the dangerous wavering of her feelings for House grew. She never wanted or rather, wants to go through that again. Who does, really?
So Sebastian was new, there, and willing.
He was real.
And then, even after years of settling, the baby came.
“All right?”
Will’s voice breaks her thoughts as he takes her coat, handing it to the woman at the check. Her brother’s in London, visiting as part of a ploy of her mother to keep an eye on her. She doesn’t mind because Will and his all-American commitment to the Air Force makes the time rare and welcomed, but amuses the hell out of her at her mother’s attempt to be subtle.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling, “Just in thought.”
Her older brother kisses her forehead, taking her hand. “You’re pregnant.”
She snorts. “Thank you. Your powers of observation are once again on par.”
She ignores the fact that people are staring once they begin to mingle, more than aware that Sebastian is within the vicinity. It’s funny, but attributing their breakup has nothing to do with her need to have her space. But it’s general- they’re two different people, different places in their lives, with wanting different things and his forced well, let’s get married left a terrible taste in her mouth as she said yes.
“You, baby sister, are completely hormonal.”
She smacks Will’s arm. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
Conversation is the same at these functions. Sometimes quiet and basic, sometimes forced, and sometimes not. But she takes it in stride, smiling politely and introducing her brother, accepting congratulations, and moving on.
Will pulls her close to the drink table as he hands her a bottle of water. “You okay?” Concern colors his gaze as he studies her.
“Fine.”
He grabs a glass of wine. “I can find him, you know.”
Her voice is dry. “With your special friends-”
“Allison.”
Her lips curl and she shakes her head. Her gaze drifts to the corner and she spots Sebastian, among a crowd, dipping away from eye contact. It always amazed her how he could talk to a crowd, hold words over their heads, and just manipulate the scene. It was his best and worst quality, she remembers.
“I’m going to go to the ladies’ room,” she says quietly, excusing herself.
She moves easily through the crowd, to the hallway, her hands dropping to her stomach. She still doesn’t know what to feel about the baby yet, it’s something between excitement and fear, a swirl of adjustment in her confidence. A mother, she thinks, me- she’s brushing second-guessing here and there, but the urges, the protectiveness, everything is growing.
Allison starts to wander the halls, passing the bathroom, and moving into a lounge of the sorts. She avoids the couch, moving to a piano bench by the open window and sitting. She turns and sighs, brushing her hands against her stomach.
“Mama hates socializing,” she mutters.
Her hands rise and slip against the keys. She wonders, hopes- will it be music? Will it be the arts? The curiosity is exciting at times, scarier as six months are starting to become seven.
“So you don’t play.”
She jumps, her eyes wide as she turns. She’s reaction-less for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. House stands against the door frame, cocking his head to the side as his gaze drops to her hands.
“You voluntarily came to one of these things?”
He smirks. “I was bribed,” he shoots back, “but you never answered my question.”
“I don’t play.”
He steps forward, but not closer, his cane scraping against the floor and sliding a scotch across the top of the piano. She raises an eyebrow and he smirks again, shaking his head. It’s as if he’s weighing the decision to sit with her, an extension of beyond curiosity. But she doesn’t think much of it.
“So why are you sitting there, then?”
“What are you standing there?”
He smirks and moves, taking the seat next to her on the bench. His cane rests against the end as he shifts and moves his hands over the keys. A note rings out. And then another. It isn’t a particularly recognizable melody, once he starts, but it’s soft, smooth, and she’s genuinely impressed, again, by his playing.
He reaches for his glass. “So all isn’t well with the douche bag?”
She snorts. “What are you, twelve?”
“I’m bored,” House says easily.
Her lips curl. “I’m pregnant. I win.”
“Damn.”- There might be a chuckle, but he shakes his head, partial amusement curling across his gaze as they settle.
They’re silent again and she listens, a mix of conversation from the party complimenting the sound of his playing. It’s a nice distraction, she thinks, drifting into her own world for just a moment.
“You’re not wearing your ring.”
She looks up and his gaze burns into hers, the slighting of his observation making her pale for the moment. She doesn’t know what to say, if she wants to talk about it, but he’s here and he’s the first person to really acknowledge the fact without dancing around the topic.
He leans forward, too close, his fingers briefly grazing her hip. “There might be hope for your mommy yet.”
Her hand rises, covering her stomach. The silk of her dress shifts under it, brushing against her palm as she takes a deep breath. She looks away, swallowing and fidgeting.
“Asshole,” she mutters.
He chuckles but says nothing, continuing to play as they sit. There’s nothing to say, it seems, or maybe there is- but who wants to embrace starting points? There’s a thick awkwardness between them, prone to the memories of before.
“It was me,” she blurts suddenly, looking away. Her cheeks start to flush and oh god, really, again? “I-”
He looks at her. There’s a squeak, something brushing her thighs, but she tries not to think about his gaze. She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want to get married.”
How do you explain it? She can only talk about the heavy weight of the ring around her finger, the memories that taunted her in variation, and the notion that she was doing this only for a principle, for the right thing- It was easier to come to the decision, single mother and father, they were better adults separate. She could do it.
What she doesn’t like is that there’s something about Sebastian that makes her decision to step away, hang over her head. It’s their child and their agreements, mainly, are based only on this. But she refuses, absolutely refuses to let him suck them into the world of functioning profit and overeager idealism.
Not for her. Or the baby.
“Huh.”
She shrugs. “I don’t.”
House rolls his eyes. “It explains the love sick glances in your direction.”
“They weren’t,” she mutters.
He stops playing, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pills. He shakes the bottle, sighs, and popping it open to swallow three. She watches out of memory, sighing and looking away.
“Ha.”
Allison shakes her head. “Stop looking at me like that,” she murmurs, her hands dropping forward as her fingers dance across the keys. She shrugs. “I never wanted to do it again. Even after…”
She trails off, nothing left to say. Her hands brush against her stomach, wishing that she brought her water in. She’ll live, she thinks.
House nods towards the hall. “Your boyfriend’s coming,” he says dryly.
She sighs, glancing over him and into the hall. She spots Will moving and shakes her head in amusement. She doesn’t acknowledge the obvious dig. “Not if my brother gets to him first.”
She waits for it, though, for the question, the real question, and it’s almost amusing to her how he seems to be weighing his options on how to ask it. He shrugs, putting the glass down and starting to play again, Duke Ellington, she recognizes.
“Why say yes in the first place?”
There are too many easy, right answers to this. And she’s used them all, for everyone, citing them in the spirit of the moment. But here, here, she’s genuinely at a loss of what to say to him, how she should say it to him, and if it’s something that should be said.
“Everybody gets scared,” she murmurs.
He raises an eyebrow. “Change of heart?”
She shakes her head, not missing the dryness thick in his voice. But she ignores it for the most part, resting her hands against her legs.
“I stopped lying to myself,” she says slowly. And then stops.
His hands still over the keys and he turns to her, his arm grazing against hers. His gaze drops to her stomach again, his fingers curling and her throat dries- the words are there, suddenly, but she doesn’t know how to say them. To him. Him.
“Enlightenment,” he stages lazily, “is a bunch of bullshit. Have I taught you nothing?”
She composes herself. “Do you really want an answer?”
This time, he’s forward, his fingers grazing the curve of her stomach. She flushes, almost wide-eyed, as he smirks. “I think I like mommy better now.”
She rolls her eyes, straying from the musings on the moment. Old patterns are never comforts, so she breathes and steadies herself to step forward and out. But House gets up first, shrugging, and grabbing his cane.
“Booze,” he says as he turns.
She nods, dropping her gaze to the piano. She listens to him disappear, footsteps swallowed by the conversation and music in the next room. She won’t see him again, for the rest of the night, really, but she ignores the inclination to look.
Not again, she tells herself.
+
cameron; eventual house/cameron- pg
1904 words
tb or not tb; general s3
dedicated to shikinluv
part one|
Give her credit, it happens once a year.
there are better things to talk about
radiohead| dollar and cents
-
Give her credit, it happens once a year.
Fundraisers with various names, various groups, and various diseases become a mandatory practice for attending as a doctor with her own practice. It’s strange, she thinks, a rare opportunity to put into focus the strengths and the knowledge of what she’s spent years training, studying, and working for-
“It’s still anti-climatic,” she murmurs in Will’s ear.
Her brother laughs, kissing her forehead as they enter the banquet hall. Six months pregnant, she thinks, and she’s still got to kiss ass.
Will is her step-in date for Sebastian considering- She sighs. Further into her pregnancy, reassurances aside, she knew, just knew that she couldn’t get married on the basis of principle.
It’s almost ironic, but she reconnected with Sebastian at a conference in Los Angeles, years ago, when she was still putting her foot in the door. Fresh away from House, from Jersey, she was really ready to embrace it all.
But here’s something funny- she had rules.
With the disaster of her relationship with Chase, with what followed, she swore to herself that she would tighten her hold on the separation between her work life and her personal life. And as stupid as it sounds, Sebastian was still charming, still gorgeous, and very interested.
It’s nice to have someone interested.
She was ready to break free of Jersey- the inexplicable loneliness had haunted her in variation there, more so aware of it when the failure and ultimately, the dangerous wavering of her feelings for House grew. She never wanted or rather, wants to go through that again. Who does, really?
So Sebastian was new, there, and willing.
He was real.
And then, even after years of settling, the baby came.
“All right?”
Will’s voice breaks her thoughts as he takes her coat, handing it to the woman at the check. Her brother’s in London, visiting as part of a ploy of her mother to keep an eye on her. She doesn’t mind because Will and his all-American commitment to the Air Force makes the time rare and welcomed, but amuses the hell out of her at her mother’s attempt to be subtle.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling, “Just in thought.”
Her older brother kisses her forehead, taking her hand. “You’re pregnant.”
She snorts. “Thank you. Your powers of observation are once again on par.”
She ignores the fact that people are staring once they begin to mingle, more than aware that Sebastian is within the vicinity. It’s funny, but attributing their breakup has nothing to do with her need to have her space. But it’s general- they’re two different people, different places in their lives, with wanting different things and his forced well, let’s get married left a terrible taste in her mouth as she said yes.
“You, baby sister, are completely hormonal.”
She smacks Will’s arm. “I can’t take you anywhere.”
Conversation is the same at these functions. Sometimes quiet and basic, sometimes forced, and sometimes not. But she takes it in stride, smiling politely and introducing her brother, accepting congratulations, and moving on.
Will pulls her close to the drink table as he hands her a bottle of water. “You okay?” Concern colors his gaze as he studies her.
“Fine.”
He grabs a glass of wine. “I can find him, you know.”
Her voice is dry. “With your special friends-”
“Allison.”
Her lips curl and she shakes her head. Her gaze drifts to the corner and she spots Sebastian, among a crowd, dipping away from eye contact. It always amazed her how he could talk to a crowd, hold words over their heads, and just manipulate the scene. It was his best and worst quality, she remembers.
“I’m going to go to the ladies’ room,” she says quietly, excusing herself.
She moves easily through the crowd, to the hallway, her hands dropping to her stomach. She still doesn’t know what to feel about the baby yet, it’s something between excitement and fear, a swirl of adjustment in her confidence. A mother, she thinks, me- she’s brushing second-guessing here and there, but the urges, the protectiveness, everything is growing.
Allison starts to wander the halls, passing the bathroom, and moving into a lounge of the sorts. She avoids the couch, moving to a piano bench by the open window and sitting. She turns and sighs, brushing her hands against her stomach.
“Mama hates socializing,” she mutters.
Her hands rise and slip against the keys. She wonders, hopes- will it be music? Will it be the arts? The curiosity is exciting at times, scarier as six months are starting to become seven.
“So you don’t play.”
She jumps, her eyes wide as she turns. She’s reaction-less for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. House stands against the door frame, cocking his head to the side as his gaze drops to her hands.
“You voluntarily came to one of these things?”
He smirks. “I was bribed,” he shoots back, “but you never answered my question.”
“I don’t play.”
He steps forward, but not closer, his cane scraping against the floor and sliding a scotch across the top of the piano. She raises an eyebrow and he smirks again, shaking his head. It’s as if he’s weighing the decision to sit with her, an extension of beyond curiosity. But she doesn’t think much of it.
“So why are you sitting there, then?”
“What are you standing there?”
He smirks and moves, taking the seat next to her on the bench. His cane rests against the end as he shifts and moves his hands over the keys. A note rings out. And then another. It isn’t a particularly recognizable melody, once he starts, but it’s soft, smooth, and she’s genuinely impressed, again, by his playing.
He reaches for his glass. “So all isn’t well with the douche bag?”
She snorts. “What are you, twelve?”
“I’m bored,” House says easily.
Her lips curl. “I’m pregnant. I win.”
“Damn.”- There might be a chuckle, but he shakes his head, partial amusement curling across his gaze as they settle.
They’re silent again and she listens, a mix of conversation from the party complimenting the sound of his playing. It’s a nice distraction, she thinks, drifting into her own world for just a moment.
“You’re not wearing your ring.”
She looks up and his gaze burns into hers, the slighting of his observation making her pale for the moment. She doesn’t know what to say, if she wants to talk about it, but he’s here and he’s the first person to really acknowledge the fact without dancing around the topic.
He leans forward, too close, his fingers briefly grazing her hip. “There might be hope for your mommy yet.”
Her hand rises, covering her stomach. The silk of her dress shifts under it, brushing against her palm as she takes a deep breath. She looks away, swallowing and fidgeting.
“Asshole,” she mutters.
He chuckles but says nothing, continuing to play as they sit. There’s nothing to say, it seems, or maybe there is- but who wants to embrace starting points? There’s a thick awkwardness between them, prone to the memories of before.
“It was me,” she blurts suddenly, looking away. Her cheeks start to flush and oh god, really, again? “I-”
He looks at her. There’s a squeak, something brushing her thighs, but she tries not to think about his gaze. She takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want to get married.”
How do you explain it? She can only talk about the heavy weight of the ring around her finger, the memories that taunted her in variation, and the notion that she was doing this only for a principle, for the right thing- It was easier to come to the decision, single mother and father, they were better adults separate. She could do it.
What she doesn’t like is that there’s something about Sebastian that makes her decision to step away, hang over her head. It’s their child and their agreements, mainly, are based only on this. But she refuses, absolutely refuses to let him suck them into the world of functioning profit and overeager idealism.
Not for her. Or the baby.
“Huh.”
She shrugs. “I don’t.”
House rolls his eyes. “It explains the love sick glances in your direction.”
“They weren’t,” she mutters.
He stops playing, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pills. He shakes the bottle, sighs, and popping it open to swallow three. She watches out of memory, sighing and looking away.
“Ha.”
Allison shakes her head. “Stop looking at me like that,” she murmurs, her hands dropping forward as her fingers dance across the keys. She shrugs. “I never wanted to do it again. Even after…”
She trails off, nothing left to say. Her hands brush against her stomach, wishing that she brought her water in. She’ll live, she thinks.
House nods towards the hall. “Your boyfriend’s coming,” he says dryly.
She sighs, glancing over him and into the hall. She spots Will moving and shakes her head in amusement. She doesn’t acknowledge the obvious dig. “Not if my brother gets to him first.”
She waits for it, though, for the question, the real question, and it’s almost amusing to her how he seems to be weighing his options on how to ask it. He shrugs, putting the glass down and starting to play again, Duke Ellington, she recognizes.
“Why say yes in the first place?”
There are too many easy, right answers to this. And she’s used them all, for everyone, citing them in the spirit of the moment. But here, here, she’s genuinely at a loss of what to say to him, how she should say it to him, and if it’s something that should be said.
“Everybody gets scared,” she murmurs.
He raises an eyebrow. “Change of heart?”
She shakes her head, not missing the dryness thick in his voice. But she ignores it for the most part, resting her hands against her legs.
“I stopped lying to myself,” she says slowly. And then stops.
His hands still over the keys and he turns to her, his arm grazing against hers. His gaze drops to her stomach again, his fingers curling and her throat dries- the words are there, suddenly, but she doesn’t know how to say them. To him. Him.
“Enlightenment,” he stages lazily, “is a bunch of bullshit. Have I taught you nothing?”
She composes herself. “Do you really want an answer?”
This time, he’s forward, his fingers grazing the curve of her stomach. She flushes, almost wide-eyed, as he smirks. “I think I like mommy better now.”
She rolls her eyes, straying from the musings on the moment. Old patterns are never comforts, so she breathes and steadies herself to step forward and out. But House gets up first, shrugging, and grabbing his cane.
“Booze,” he says as he turns.
She nods, dropping her gaze to the piano. She listens to him disappear, footsteps swallowed by the conversation and music in the next room. She won’t see him again, for the rest of the night, really, but she ignores the inclination to look.
Not again, she tells herself.
+