seven letter word for liar - 19/19
When Foreman walks in they’re both sitting together, staring at the glass wall in front of them, faces composed appropriately.
(Somewhere in there is a metaphor about glass houses, she’s sure.) house. post-finale. pairing: house/cameron. 19/19. fin.
There’s a seminar of sorts the Friday before. Cuddy’s heavy eyes look worn and sleep-deprived, her hair disheveled and forgotten. She sits twice at her desk before opting to stand up. Wilson looks just as weary, bags under his own usually youthful looking eyes.
Cameron stands quiet and out of the way, in the corner of the back of the room. Thirteen shoots a curious look at her before turning away quickly, Wilson catching her in the act. His eyes soften slightly as they find hers and she forces a small smile.
Only Chase looks relaxed, sitting haphazardly in a chair, eyes looking bored and vacant.
Cuddy rambles on and on about how he won’t have his medical license back for some time. She explains that he’ll be assisting but that he’ll have no actual medical power over any of the decisions. Foreman’s in charge and there’s no arguing with that. They’re not to let him examine a patient (as if he’d actually try, she thinks) and they’re responsible for controlling him.
Cameron lets out a small laugh at this last part and Cuddy’s eyes shoot over to hers. She looks down apologetically. But trauma or no trauma, she knows there’s no way House is going to be controlled. He’ll be the one manipulating them in some shape or form. There’s no doubt in her mind about that.
“Dr. Wilson,” Cuddy begins as she finishes her speech. “And Dr. Cameron.”
Cameron’s ears perk and her eyes flicker back over to her boss’s.
“I’m going to hold you two personally responsible for making sure that he doesn’t get into any trouble.”
Cameron’s eyes widen. “You’re paying me to babysit?” she asks incredulously.
Wilson crosses his arms, slightly annoyed. “I don’t even work with him,” he insists. “There’s no way I could watch him. You...you know how he is.”
That’s the problem, they all know how House can be, and yet Cuddy’s still letting him return to the hospital.
“Look, I think I’ve done enough,” Cameron remarks, surprising even herself by her bitter tone. “I’ve been running the ER and helping the diagnostic team. I just want to go back to my job now.”
Cuddy’s eyes are understanding but skeptical nonetheless. “Your job,” she repeats as if the phrase is foreign on her tongue. “Yes, and just what might that be?”
Cameron pauses and Chase’s eyes hit hers painfully. She stumbles over her words. “My...in the ER.”
Cuddy pauses. “What if we came to some sort of arrangement? I’ll hire someone to temporarily cover you ER responsibilities and you remain on the team for a few months? Just to help out. Just until....”
Her voice fades.
Cameron blinks. “If you think that’s what I should do then....”
There’s a snort followed by an “unbelievable”.
She links eyes with Chase. He climbs to his feet.
“What’d I do now?” she asks, annoyed.
“Nothing,” he snaps. He turns to Cuddy. “Can I go back to my job now? As head of surgery? Since you know, I actually know what my job is.”
There are a few moments of stone cold silence.
Cameron sighs, rubbing her temples. She peers up at Wilson as Foreman, Thirteen, and Taub begin to shuffle out of the room.
“He won’t be happy until we’re all alone, will he?” she poses, shaking her head.
Wilson looks downward, a silent acknowledgment of her accuracy.
xxx
Monday will be his first day back. She tells herself it’s another meaningless day. That his returns doesn’t signify a thing. There are all those rumors flying around that he practically announced his love for Cuddy.
He should love Cuddy.
They should all love the people they were supposed to.
But Cameron knows that this isn’t the way life works. It’s never been the way hers has worked out, anyway.
Chase doesn’t say a word when she grabs an extra can of coffee at the grocery store. (She’s also bought herbal tea, sugar, and napkins.)
“So is this how it’s going to be from now on?” Chase asks as she turns to leave Monday morning. He’s fresh from the hospital, eyes heavy with sleep.
She stares blankly up at him.
He could mean so many things. Is he referring to their shift changes? Or their heavy silences that seem to be enveloping them so deeply lately? Or perhaps he’s referencing her taking her old job post back.
(There’s a pay increase since she’s advising and watching after House. They both know it’s not about the money. It’s never been about the money.)
Despite all of the possible explanations for his comment, the one that tugs at her the most is the one she realizes they’re both thinking. He wants to know if this is how she’s going to be from now on; distant, silent, sneaking coffee and such away to work. He wants to know if she’s going to be using up all of her laughter and smiles on him. If he’s only going to receive what’s left of her. He wants to know if there’s any more significance to working with him.
He’s asking her if everything’s changed now that he’s back.
She’s clasping her hair with an elastic band as she stares up at him, legs sprawled across the floor. “I don’t know.”
At least, for once, it’s an honest response.
xxx
She arrives at five thirty. She’s always gotten there early on Mondays. There’s paperwork to be done, (and let’s face it, no one will do it if she doesn’t) and coffee to be made, and files to sort through.
She’s not early just to see him first. She tells herself that five times in the car. In Chase’s car.
Wilson doesn’t say a word to her when he spots her. She’s grateful for this. Accusations hang loosely around her enough as it is. She’s sick of feeling guilty. And this, well, he, Wilson, understands.
She reaches under the sink, uncovering his favorite mug in the process. She rinses it thoroughly, pausing only once to realize that she may just be as crazy as they all think.
None of this matters, her doing the paperwork, her looking out for him, her cleaning his damn mug. Her being here when he arrives. Her making sure that he’s all right without embarrassing him. It’s silly and she’s merely fooling herself. At least, that’s what Chase would say.
But somewhere deep inside of him, she swears he does notice all the little things she does for him, the way she ties up loose ends and makes their operations run smoother.
He’s just not good at showing gratitude.
“Did you stop eating while I was away?” House grumbles, ambling into the conference room. “You look positively bulimic.”
She bites back her grin.
He tosses a bag on the table. “Got bagels,” he explains, walking over to the coffee maker.
She slaps his hand away. “I’m not done yet. I haven’t even poured the water.”
He sighs dramatically. “Should have fired you ages ago.”
“I quit,” she replies, exasperation coating her voice. They’ve been here before. “Twice, if you remember correctly.”
“Right, right,” he replies, a familiar amused glint in his eye. “You’ll have to forgive me...they say my head’s not right.”
Cameron rolls her eyes as she pours water into the coffee maker. She closes the lid and turns to face House.
“Of course, if you quit twice, then what are you doing here?” he asks.
Cameron crosses her arms. “I was helping Foreman,” she replies. “Which you already know.”
“While I was gone?”
“While you were gone,” she repeats.
“And now I’m back.”
Cameron stares at him in response. “What’s your point?”
“That I’m back and yet here you are.”
“I promised Cuddy that...”
“Oh please,” House remarks. “I don’t care what you may or may not have promised Cuddy. We both know that you only do what you want to do. If you didn’t want to be here, you would have found some way out of it.”
Cameron blinks, pouring her coffee with an unsteady hand. She adds some sugar and takes a seat at the table, refusing to look him in the eye.
He fixes his own coffee and takes a seat next to her, surprising her. She doesn’t look at him.
He hands her a bagel. She notices that he only bought two.
Unable to resist smiling, she accepts his small token of appreciation. “Your hair’s short.”
He grins. “Oh, now, did I say anything rude to you when you dumped a tub of peroxide over your head?”
“You said I looked like a hooker.”
He scrunches his nose, feigning confusion. “And you thought that was rude?”
She bites back laughter. “And I said your hair was short. That’s not rude.”
“It’s the way you said it,” he insists. “You don’t like it.”
“Well, no, I didn’t...” she begins. “I just...I liked it better before.”
“Me too.”
“Wait, your hair or mine?” she asks.
“Like I care about mine,” he murmurs.
She starts to smile.
“Or yours,” he adds.
She grins.
“So where is it?” House aks, picking up her left hand.
She nearly flinches from the burn of his touch, her body warming and tingling in response to his contact.
“Oh, I...I must have left it at home when I....”
“Was doing the dishes?” he asks knowingly, giving her an easy out.
“Right,” she agrees, their eyes melding together with their lie.
Her hand’s still in his when she spots Foreman coming down the hallway, briefcase in tow. She slips her hand slowly out of his grasp, bringing down onto her lap.
It’s burning.
When Foreman walks in they’re both sitting together, staring at the glass wall in front of them, faces composed appropriately.
(Somewhere in there is a metaphor about glass houses, she’s sure.)
“Did you miss me?” House taunts, smirking at Foreman.
Foreman rolls his eyes as he heads behind them to the coffee pot. “Maybe a little.”
“Liar,” House insists.
But his eyes are on Cameron.
xxx
fin.