Secret Santa! HOUSE! "In A World Of Dying"
title: In A World Of Dying
fandom: House
pairing: House/Cameron
rating: PG
summary: Death brought them together, love pushed them apart. Could that change?
this fic is for: jlneveloff
they asked for:
1. House admitting his feelings to Cameron, but it needs to be in character
2. I would not mind angst, but it needs to have a happy or at least a hopeful ending.
3. Either House or Cam watching over the other while the other sleeps
Someone was dying; it was always someone dying who brought them together for a short period. This time it was a young girl, too little, too thin. Cases like these had always gotten to her, and this time was no exception.
He was looking at her from his office as she sat down in front of the white board in the conference room, resting her head in her palms. Symptoms had been scribbled in a rush, an a was on the drift up in the left corner, and a g was barely recognizable. She had come here after her shift in the ER, still wearing her scrub pants and a grey sweater, her hair falling out of what probably once had been a neat ponytail.
He walked into the conference room and sat down next to her, his cane bouncing impatiently up and down. At first, he thought she did not see him, but then she slowly turned her head and looked at him, her eyes were red, and tears were streaming down her face.
”Five people died today in the ER, two people are going to die any time now,” she told him, drawing a long shaky breath. ”Four of them were children, not even ten years old.” Times like these he wanted to wrap his arms around her and lie to her; he did not want to be himself. He was not that sort of person, instead he sat there awkwardly, his hands twitching, trying to decide if he should put his arm around her or not.
He chose not to.
”People die, that’s what we do,” he said, and she looked at him then shook her head.
”That doesn’t mean I can’t mourn the people that do,” she said, standing up and starting to pace around the big room. ”I became a doctor to prevent unnecessary deaths, you became a doctor to solve the puzzles, that is why I mourn the people that do die, because I have the knowledge that should be able to save them,” she ranted, her hands waving in the air, barely breathing as she spoke, leaving her breathless as she trailed off.
“It will destroy you,” he said after a while, “as a doctor you have to come to terms with that.”
“I am not just a doctor, I’m a human being first,” she said bitterly.
“The ER doesn’t work its magic I see.” For that, he earned a glare, and he snorted in response. “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink,” he said after a while, standing up too, looking down at her. She was short, thin and very crushable, he was afraid to touch her, because he just might break her.
“Ok,” she nodded, sitting down on the chair again, staring at the white board again. He sensed her giving up, closing off that part of her that he had just been able to see, he always realized too late when she was willing to open up to him, when the chance of seeing the real her was gone.
“Do I have to spell it out for you,” she looked up at him, her face a question mark, and he sighed as he realized he would have to do exactly that. “Drink?”
“House,” she said, with a long and tired sigh, as if he did not already understand how tired she was, how old she was feeling. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.
“Do you seriously want to sit here all night, sober?” She looked up at him; he was so much taller than she was, hovering above her, looking down at her as if he was actually afraid she would say no. When she saw him looking like that, she did not have the heart to tell him no, so she stood up, barely reaching up to his shoulder.
“I just need to go to my locker to change,” he nodded and let her pass by him, following behind her towards the elevator. “You do know I won’t let you into the locker room?” She told him with a laugh, looking behind her as she heard his uneven gait behind her.
“Damn, and here I wanted to see how women looked like in real life,” she smiled to herself, feeling smug because now she could have this relationship with her boss; she could be bold without it affecting her job. She felt smug because she needed to change, and she was changing.
--
One drink or two drinks. A taxi home. Places passed by, homes inhabited by all kinds of people, and they were in that taxi with heads spinning around in circles, neither letting go of the case that House was working on. It was tiring, and completely beat the purpose of going out for a drink.
He had told the taxi to take them to her place; she assumed he would then take the same taxi to his place when he sat down next to her. He was not watching her; he watched the streetlights pass outside, his face lit up by an occasional headlight. There was no other word to describe this man but beautiful, she thought, everything about him was beautiful, even the ugliness that people saw him in; even that she thought was beautiful. Maybe he was not perfect, and maybe he was not anything close to it. There were no others like him. His intelligence was extraordinary, making him and breaking him.
It felt surreal, this whole scenario, they had sat in the bar and not spoken a single word except to the bartender. He had ordered a scotch, just as she thought he would, and she ordered a beer, because she could not remember the name of what she actually wanted. They had sat there, and she had suspected he would start to preach that all people would die at some point, but he kept quiet, staring into the wall opposite them. Inside him, there had been a war, a war where one wanted to push her away, the side that wanted to hold her close - uncharacteristically close- and they fought over power. He did not want either part to win; he just wanted to leave her alone.
The car slowed down next to her apartment, and he stepped out before the driver could even turn around and ask for money. She looked at him as he walked toward the door, then quickly reaching into her wallet, slamming down money in the cabdriver’s hand, and then waited impatiently for the change, all this while House was standing by the door, peering into one of her neighbors windows.
“Thank you,” she mumbled to the diver as she stumbled out of the taxi, and quickly walked up to House, dragging him away from the window by his collar.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m curious,” he answered with a pout.
“Go back to the cab, he will leave any moment,” she sighed.
“Nope, I want to see your apartment,” he argued lamely, standing just behind her as she unlocked the door to the house ready to run inside just as she opened the door.
“Have a good night’s sleep on the steps then,” she answered, opening the door so quickly that he had no time to react before it had closed again. He stared at the offending piece that kept him from her on the other side.
“Hey! Not fair!” He yelled, banging on the door, trying to get her to come back and open the door for him, but she disappeared up a staircase without even glancing back at him. “Women,” he muttered and turned away, ready to go back into the taxi and go home.
It was not there anymore. The taxi had driven away. With a mutter of curses he reached for his cell, angrily punching in the number to order a taxi. He did not notice that he had no bars left on his battery, so when the cell died in his hands the mutter of curses grew into a loud and long frustrated mantra where he cursed her for whatever he could think of the be pissed at her for.
An eighty-year-old woman peeked out from behind a curtain, knocking on her window to get him to quiet down, to this he replied with a nice hand gesture. He was too consumed by his anger to think of anything witty to say, and it would probably be lost on her since her window was closed and her hearing probably impaired. The woman’s horrified face told him that this response had worked its magic just as well as any well calculated and witty line would have.
When the muttering started to tire him out he sat down heavily on the steps, thinking over his situation. He could ring her bell until she grew tired of the constant buzzing that would keep her from sleeping, or she would find a way to sleep despite the buzzing. No harm in trying, he thought, and reached up to the button that would lead to her apartment.
Buzz, buzz, buzzbuzz. Buzz, buzz, buzzbuzz. He figured that he would at least have to do this for five minutes before it would drive her to the brink of annoyance. However eight minutes passed, his hand was tingling, and his arm was aching. That was not working.
He did not have much choice now; he would have to sleep on the steps. It would work wonders on his leg, he though bitterly, but leaned against the hard brick wall, and closed his eyes. He was probably more tired than he thought, because soon he was sleeping, despite the uncomfortable and cold wall he was leaning against.
--
She had thought he would at least call a new taxi, at least, but when her neighbor called and said that the man that had accompanied her home was sleeping on the steps, and that his presence was worrying her, it appeared that this man had to be an idiot. A very stubborn idiot.
Her neighbor had spoken the truth, she saw as she walked towards the door dressed in her pajamas. Her eyes were still adjusting to the light in the hallway, but from the way he was sitting against the wall she suspected that he would have a killer back and neck pain when he woke up. Guilt hit her harshly as she thought of it. Could she not just have let the man inside for a few minutes before shoving him out of the door?
She opened the door and stood beside him. It was not the first time she had seen him sleep, he had slept plenty of times in the office. It was a privilege that only he was allowed, at least it felt like it because no one else dared. She did not complain, it gave them all some rest and time to think on their own. He was also very fascinating to watch while he slept. During his sleep all the wrinkles in his face evened out, his mouth relaxed and opened slightly. He looked, cute. Of course, the down side of him sleeping was missing his eyes. Everyone noticed his eyes, whether they were blue or grey, they were big on his face, not possible to miss. Now, with his eyes closed since he was sleeping, it was like seeing a completely new him.
Even though she wanted to watch him for a while longer, she did not want to let him sit in that position any further, so she kicked his leg gently. At first he did not wake up, just stirred a little before returning to his uncomfortable sleep. She kicked him again, but this time a little harder, though this time he did not even stir. The only option left was to kick him very hard, and possibly leave him completely crippled for a few seconds. She kicked him firmly the third time and he jerked awake.
“Don’t beat the cripple,” he muttered angrily, starting to stand up.
“Don’t stalk the doctor,” she answered, holding the door open for him as he painfully limped inside, leaning heavily on his cane. “Why are you still here?” She asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest as he limped towards the elevator.
“Phone died, and I’m cripple and all that,” he answered, leaning against the wall, looking at her accusingly. She winced, and pressed the elevator button.
“Sorry,” she said quietly as the elevator doors opened and she stepped inside.
“Always so nice.”
--
It was three am, and he showed no sign of leaving. It had been a long day for both of them, and he intended to make it even longer. She made him tea, despite the fact that he protested and commented that it was disgusting. She refused to make him coffee, and she did not have the energy to make hot cocoa, so she thought that if he wanted something to drink he had to drink what was given to him.
“You should respect the elders,” he scolded her.
“You are not that much older than me,” she said annoyed, sitting down on the couch next to him, staring at the black TV screen.
“I’m twice your age” she glared at him, putting down her own cup on the coffee table with a deep breath.
“How young do you think I am?” She asked patiently, she knew that there had been a time when she was working under him when she had almost been half his age, now though it was not so.
“Too young,” he replied and paused, though she knew either he would continue, with a joke or he would be serious, “to do this!” His face twisted in a grimace, and even though she did not want to be amused by this sight, she could not help the smile that fought its way onto her face.
“House, I’m closing in on thirty-five,” she said seriously, as her smile had faded, and reached for her cup once again, sipping cautiously on the cooling tea.
“Been there, done that,” he tilted his head to the side, and pushed his own cup away from him on the coffee table with the help of his cane. She rolled her eyes and looked away. It had never been easy with him, and she did not want it to be, it was a part of the thrill, a part of why she liked him; everything could still be uncovered after years if knowing each other. With Chase and Foreman she knew how old their parents were when they died and if they where still alive, she knew if they had any brothers or sisters, and their age, she knew trivial things that had been gradually revealed through everyday conversation. With House nothing slipped, it would have to uncover slowly, each knowledge had to be deserved. She wanted to deserve to know more about him.
“I’m getting old,” she laughed humorlessly, drinking up the last of her tea.
“And wrinkly,” he continued, though his eyes were examining his beautiful face, his thoughts not at all as condescending as his words had sounded.
“You’re a romantic at heart, House,” she teased, folding her legs underneath her, finding it strangely comfortable in his presence.
“You know me,” he put a hand above his heart and batted his eyelashes while humoring her. She watched him smiling, but she felt the annoyance at him changing the subject to something so light when she was trying to make it serious.
“House,” she said after a while of silence, “you are not as old as you think you are,” she put her hand near where his rested on the couch, leaning towards him.
“I can say the same for you,” he replied, still trying to keep it light and funny.
“Seriously House,” she paused, knowing that now she was either going to blow it or make a break though. “You just hide behind your age.”
“And you hide behind your feelings,” he snapped, saliva in the corner of his mouth, his eyes large and wild. She stared at him for a few seconds, her jaw slack in shock, and as she tried to open her mouth to protest, he beat her to it. “You say that you are human first, and you might as well state that you are a person driven by emotions, but you can’t commit, you can’t love a decent man.” His voice was harsh, knife sharp, and she had half a mind to shrink away from him, to the other end of the couch.
“I, they, you,” she started and stopped, not knowing if she should be angry or if she should agree with what he was saying.
“You do not work for me anymore, and still you come back and try to impress me,” he pushed the knife further in. He watched her as she looked down in her lap, and almost regretted his words.
“You can go,” she whispered to her lap, her fingers knitting together in silent anger.
“I need to order a cab first,” he protested, his voice back to his usual gruff tone, and she was surprised at how normal he sounded after that outburst. It seemed that whenever she tried to get near him he pushed her away even further, he repulsed her it seemed.
She reached over, grabbed the cordless phone from the table, and threw it in his direction. She watched the dark TV screen for a while and waited for him to speak up and order a taxi but it was silent next to her.
“You shouldn’t be surprised,” he said suddenly, and she turned towards him, her expression sullen with her bottom lip sticking out slightly. “After over five years, you should know better,” he almost scolded her.
“After almost five years I still have to adapt to your needs, but I can’t,” she shrugged, defeated, resigned, and took the phone from him and ordered a taxi for him. He needed to go.
--
Someone was dying; there was always someone dying. She rushed around, racking her mind for knowledge that could save this man lying on the table. Someone shouted an order and she did as the order said.
Nothing could save this man, and he was given up on, left in this room alone with a tube still down his throat while they went and called his family. Things like this was normal, it did not happen everyday, it did happen often enough though, too often.
She walked off, now noticing the sweat that had pooled on her forehead and wiped it off. Patients, visitors, nurses and doctors, they were all milling by the entrance of the ER, constantly alert of the possibility of a trauma. At least it was like that for her, never letting herself get off her tiptoes until she was away from potential death. Until she was home.
Then of course, he was there. She had not seen him since that night a few weeks ago. From what she had heard in the constant flow of rumors, she found out that only a few minutes after the time that House had left her apartment their patient had died. Two hours later House had his diagnosis.
It was cancer, which they had ruled out in the beginning. At least he solved the puzzle.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he commented, leaning against the wall, just like he had done over a year ago, when he first had come to the ER to visit her.
“I didn’t think it would take this long for you to get the memo,” she tried to seem busy with charts, but the defeat that the death of that unknown man was still lingering, and she could not muster up enough strength to keep up with him.
“You should come visit sometime soon, the kids are whining,” he looked over the ER, probably noticed that it was calm out here. However, looks were deceiving. She felt smugness and happiness at this statement; it was not only she who wanted to see him, he wanted to see her. “Preferably soon, since Kutner is nagging nonstop.”
“House,” she shook her head, flipping a file open and trying to keep up her pretence of being busy.
“Of course, I could always tell Kutner to shut up, but then Taub will try to be psychological and call my mom and everything, we wouldn’t want that,” he continued to argue, and she looked up to watch his expressions as he spoke. They were vivid, as they usually were when he was lying, combined with his rapid speech. “And I can always go on strike,” he babbled on.
“Really,” she nodded in disbelief, and could not help the smug smile that found its way on her face.
“I could come up someday, if you want too,” she said, smiling at him as his eyes opened wider in shock. It was adorable how stupid he thought everyone else was, she thought, at least in that moment.
“Good, because really, lobby art does not belong in the ER, it is better preserved in my office,” he stated, referring to a conversation she had forgotten a long time ago. “And, those pants do look kind of comfy.” With those words he turned on his heel and stalked out of the ER, but she could swear there was a spring in his steps.