Cobalt Blue 2/?
Title: Cobalt Blue
Pairing: hmm, we’ll see
Spoilers: Little of ‘Resignation’
Disclaimer: Do Not Own
House awoke to the inevitable sharp pain coursing through his leg, screaming for drugs which he was happy to comply, along with an ache from the stiffness in his neck.
Sleeping on the couch can do that to you.
After he and Cuddy’s ‘routine’ a few hours ago, instead of following her into the bedroom, he spent his time on the couch with Marissa Cooper and a bottle of Corona. Not his usual choice, but alcohol was alcohol at that moment.
His excuse for his absence: ‘Too much pain in his thigh.’
Truth was, sleep wasn’t one of his options because of the never-ending question rattling in his mind,
‘ Why has Cameron come back?’
It wasn’t that he cared...honestly, but that it was an anomaly. Of course, House being House, he hated anomalies.
Though it’s useless to mention because of its insignificance to his behavior, there was also the downside of Cuddy’s unwillingness for round two.
Flipping through the channels after an episode of the O.C. was finished, House pushed against the cushions, boosting himself into a standing position. His thigh hissed its disapproval.
It was hurting more than usual; that wasn’t complete bullshit that he told Cuddy, but his usual stock answer was the lie, although he didn’t really know that himself.
After a while of inspecting, eating, drinking...pianoless, House ripped off a piece of scratch paper and scribbled a quick note to Cuddy:
Went home. See you at work.
Greg
- - -
Lying awake, counting every crack that appeared on the wall, Cameron punched her pillow for what seemed like the millionth time, a pointless maneuver because nothing turned out to be comfortable.
Another punch and a kick of her feet, Cameron sighed in frustration, throwing the covers off her body, her legs swinging over the edge.
Looking over her shoulder, she watched as Chase’s chest rose and fell, his right hand flat against the mattress where she had just been, enjoying the warmth it contained.
Turning away, she gathered her clothes from the floor. It was getting a little stuffy in Chase’s room so she made her way into his living room only to find it just as cramped, a collar stretch worthy sensation.
The windows were open, but it wasn’t enough; she still felt like she couldn’t breathe.
EVERYTHING about Chase was too much.
He was like that Satan wrap they call Suran: never cooperates, clings whenever you pull away, is constantly sticking to itself (can you say ‘self-absorbed?’).
In simplest terms: a pain in the ass that gets the job done.
Cameron rubbed her forehead, an unconscious attempt to wipe away oncoming anger and headaches. Streams of her hair peeked between each finger as her hand ran through, fingers locking behind her neck.
She had to get out.
Grabbing her things, she quickly moved to the door, opened it without any hesitation and walked out without looking back.
It was the jingling of her keys that woke Chase.
- - -
When House walked into the conference room early the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the fresh coffee steaming from the pot on the counter. He scanned the room for hints as to who had made it, but there was nothing.
No jacket.
No purse (?).
No keys.
Nothing.
Limping over, he opened the cabinet to grab his mug and poured himself a glass. After a single sip he knew instantly who had made it.
Cameron.
He glanced down the hallway, even checked his office to see if she’d be sitting behind his desk sorting his mail. It seemed like a subtle attempt at getting her old job back. But honestly, if she wanted to work for him again, all she had to do was sit in the conference room during a diagnosis and that would be that.
No questions or even words. It was all about the actions.
Raising the cup to his lips once more, he watched as Cameron made her way down the hall, opening the glass door and smirking as she jumped back in surprise with her hand flat against her chest.
“Why do people do that,” he asked her amused.
“Do what?”
She was clearly confused by his question, but who wouldn’t be puzzled by randomness.
“Grip their chest when they’re spooked. It’s not going to prevent a heart attack or slow down your heart rate for that matter.”
“It’s a reflex,” she stated plainly while making her way to the counter.
“A pointless-”
“Yes, House it’s pointless, but it’s what people do,” she said as she grabbed a coffee cup from the shelf.
Ignoring her seemingly annoyed behavior, he shifted the topic of conversation and asked nonchalantly,
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“The coffee pot in the immunology break room was dirty and I didn’t feel like washing it out,” she said with a shrug.
“I can assure you that this one wasn’t clean either.”
“If you’re in charge of it then I wouldn’t doubt it,” she said as she tilted the coffee pot, a grin appearing across her face which he reciprocated.
“And you would be very wise to think that,” he said, eyes narrowed then taking another sip, moaning his approval,
“Seriously. Admit it. You can’t stay away from this place.”
“Right,” she agreed with sarcasm and a nod.
“You could have just gone to Starbucks.”
“Are you complaining,” she asked, another smirk finding its way on her face.
“Never,” pause, “But there are other departments,” he pointed out.
“I know this one. If you have a problem with me making the coffee in here, I’ll keep it mind for future reference. This pot didn’t have coffee streaks so I made a fresh pot.”
“I don’t need boring explanations.”
“Then stop pushing for them.”
An awkward silence fell between them while he puffed air from cheek to cheek and tapping his cane a few times.
“Soo. How are things with Chase?”
It wasn’t a genuine question, of course. Why would he care, right?
“They’re fine,” she exhaled, picking up her mug and heading for the door.
“But not great,” he affirmed curiously.
“I’ll see you later,” ignoring his confident confirmation while opening the door and making her way to the elevator.
She didn’t give any side glances through the glass walls out of fear for proving his point. Instead she focused her gaze on the up button against the wall, but still feeling his pensive stare following her along the way.
House studied Cameron’s movements as she walked down the hall, trying to detect some sort of tense posture...anything to show discomfort. When nothing confirmed his search, he sighed and grabbed his cane, holding it up to examine with disappointment before resigning and limping heavily to his office.
Pairing: hmm, we’ll see
Spoilers: Little of ‘Resignation’
Disclaimer: Do Not Own
House awoke to the inevitable sharp pain coursing through his leg, screaming for drugs which he was happy to comply, along with an ache from the stiffness in his neck.
Sleeping on the couch can do that to you.
After he and Cuddy’s ‘routine’ a few hours ago, instead of following her into the bedroom, he spent his time on the couch with Marissa Cooper and a bottle of Corona. Not his usual choice, but alcohol was alcohol at that moment.
His excuse for his absence: ‘Too much pain in his thigh.’
Truth was, sleep wasn’t one of his options because of the never-ending question rattling in his mind,
‘ Why has Cameron come back?’
It wasn’t that he cared...honestly, but that it was an anomaly. Of course, House being House, he hated anomalies.
Though it’s useless to mention because of its insignificance to his behavior, there was also the downside of Cuddy’s unwillingness for round two.
Flipping through the channels after an episode of the O.C. was finished, House pushed against the cushions, boosting himself into a standing position. His thigh hissed its disapproval.
It was hurting more than usual; that wasn’t complete bullshit that he told Cuddy, but his usual stock answer was the lie, although he didn’t really know that himself.
After a while of inspecting, eating, drinking...pianoless, House ripped off a piece of scratch paper and scribbled a quick note to Cuddy:
Went home. See you at work.
Greg
- - -
Lying awake, counting every crack that appeared on the wall, Cameron punched her pillow for what seemed like the millionth time, a pointless maneuver because nothing turned out to be comfortable.
Another punch and a kick of her feet, Cameron sighed in frustration, throwing the covers off her body, her legs swinging over the edge.
Looking over her shoulder, she watched as Chase’s chest rose and fell, his right hand flat against the mattress where she had just been, enjoying the warmth it contained.
Turning away, she gathered her clothes from the floor. It was getting a little stuffy in Chase’s room so she made her way into his living room only to find it just as cramped, a collar stretch worthy sensation.
The windows were open, but it wasn’t enough; she still felt like she couldn’t breathe.
EVERYTHING about Chase was too much.
He was like that Satan wrap they call Suran: never cooperates, clings whenever you pull away, is constantly sticking to itself (can you say ‘self-absorbed?’).
In simplest terms: a pain in the ass that gets the job done.
Cameron rubbed her forehead, an unconscious attempt to wipe away oncoming anger and headaches. Streams of her hair peeked between each finger as her hand ran through, fingers locking behind her neck.
She had to get out.
Grabbing her things, she quickly moved to the door, opened it without any hesitation and walked out without looking back.
It was the jingling of her keys that woke Chase.
- - -
When House walked into the conference room early the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the fresh coffee steaming from the pot on the counter. He scanned the room for hints as to who had made it, but there was nothing.
No jacket.
No purse (?).
No keys.
Nothing.
Limping over, he opened the cabinet to grab his mug and poured himself a glass. After a single sip he knew instantly who had made it.
Cameron.
He glanced down the hallway, even checked his office to see if she’d be sitting behind his desk sorting his mail. It seemed like a subtle attempt at getting her old job back. But honestly, if she wanted to work for him again, all she had to do was sit in the conference room during a diagnosis and that would be that.
No questions or even words. It was all about the actions.
Raising the cup to his lips once more, he watched as Cameron made her way down the hall, opening the glass door and smirking as she jumped back in surprise with her hand flat against her chest.
“Why do people do that,” he asked her amused.
“Do what?”
She was clearly confused by his question, but who wouldn’t be puzzled by randomness.
“Grip their chest when they’re spooked. It’s not going to prevent a heart attack or slow down your heart rate for that matter.”
“It’s a reflex,” she stated plainly while making her way to the counter.
“A pointless-”
“Yes, House it’s pointless, but it’s what people do,” she said as she grabbed a coffee cup from the shelf.
Ignoring her seemingly annoyed behavior, he shifted the topic of conversation and asked nonchalantly,
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“The coffee pot in the immunology break room was dirty and I didn’t feel like washing it out,” she said with a shrug.
“I can assure you that this one wasn’t clean either.”
“If you’re in charge of it then I wouldn’t doubt it,” she said as she tilted the coffee pot, a grin appearing across her face which he reciprocated.
“And you would be very wise to think that,” he said, eyes narrowed then taking another sip, moaning his approval,
“Seriously. Admit it. You can’t stay away from this place.”
“Right,” she agreed with sarcasm and a nod.
“You could have just gone to Starbucks.”
“Are you complaining,” she asked, another smirk finding its way on her face.
“Never,” pause, “But there are other departments,” he pointed out.
“I know this one. If you have a problem with me making the coffee in here, I’ll keep it mind for future reference. This pot didn’t have coffee streaks so I made a fresh pot.”
“I don’t need boring explanations.”
“Then stop pushing for them.”
An awkward silence fell between them while he puffed air from cheek to cheek and tapping his cane a few times.
“Soo. How are things with Chase?”
It wasn’t a genuine question, of course. Why would he care, right?
“They’re fine,” she exhaled, picking up her mug and heading for the door.
“But not great,” he affirmed curiously.
“I’ll see you later,” ignoring his confident confirmation while opening the door and making her way to the elevator.
She didn’t give any side glances through the glass walls out of fear for proving his point. Instead she focused her gaze on the up button against the wall, but still feeling his pensive stare following her along the way.
House studied Cameron’s movements as she walked down the hall, trying to detect some sort of tense posture...anything to show discomfort. When nothing confirmed his search, he sighed and grabbed his cane, holding it up to examine with disappointment before resigning and limping heavily to his office.