looking on darkness 3/?
title: looking on darkness 3/?
pairing: house/cameron, wilson/cuddy, some implied cameron/chase, house/cuddy
rating: r
summary: she wondered if things were ever going to go back to the way they were.
note: i know this might seem very gen fic, but i'm trying to deal with all of the relationships here. and not in the rampant shippy way tptb seem to favour. there will be payoff.
previous parts are here.
--
the singing breeze
and the silence
-pj harvey 'city of no sun'
--
The clock ticked loudly.
Cameron was staring at her shoes. Cuddy was leaning against the counter, running her fingers worriedly through her hair. Wilson sat at the table, tapping a soundless, agitated tune against the glass.
House stood at the whiteboard, sliding his thumb over and under the handle of his cane. Sometimes it helped him to think. It wasn’t working this time. The silence was creeping under his skin, but he was too immersed in his own thoughts to break it.
“We have to call the police.”
House looked up, irritated, when Cuddy finally spoke. “I hate to voice the annoyingly obvious character in every kidnapping movie ever made here…”
She rolled her eyes, but it was a weak, half-hearted gesture, and she moved her hand from her hair, transferring her cuticles to her teeth.
“We don’t exactly know we can trust their word,” Wilson said slowly. He looked up, stilling his frenetic beat.
“We don’t have much of a choice,” Cameron countered flatly.
Wilson glanced at her briefly, but he shrugged off her curtness. “I mean we don’t know if they’re telling the truth at all. They might not even have Chase and Foreman.”
“What do you want as proof?” House asked, cocking an eyebrow. “A finger?”
Wilson slid his hand from the table, folding his arms defensively over his chest. He was obviously attempting to hold onto his role as active group conscience. “It’s a valid point, House. We can’t just jump into this.”
“What are you suggesting?” Cameron snapped, turning to glare at him hotly. “We wait a few days on blind faith? There was blood in that house. And it obviously looked like there had been a struggle. Foreman and Chase didn’t just disappear on some all night bender.” She shook her head. “I say we just cure the guy, and find out what he knows. It’s our only option.”
For once, House had to agree with her, though he couldn’t help wondering if she was so vehemently determined to act because she was worried about both of them, or because she was worried about Chase.
“How do we know when they’re going to contact you again?” Cuddy asked quietly, glancing at House.
He shrugged. “Don’t know. I think it’s safe to assume we don’t have a lot of time.”
Wilson let out a deep, weary sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either,” House said flatly. “But I’m with gung-ho Susie over there. And this isn’t a majority, so if you’re in, we could use the help. If you can’t bear the thought of abandoning your basic principles for the sake of a few lives, then leave.”
He recognised the strange, unbidden intensity in his voice, and Wilson did too. They stared at each other a long, tense moment. Cuddy clasped her hands together. “If we do this, House, we’re going to have to tread carefully…”
“Don’t provoke anyone, in other words,” Wilson said.
House rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Cuddy was silent for a lengthy moment, and he resisted staring at her expectantly. He was going to do this with or without her, but it would certainly be easier with. Finally, she nodded her assent, looking slightly sick. “Okay. But I think the first thing we need to consider is who exactly your patient is.”
Cameron ticked an eyebrow. “Well he’s obviously none of the things he told us he was.”
“Have you got the history?” Wilson asked.
She nodded, riffling briefly through the papers on the table before producing a blue folder.
“We don’t even know if Grant Levins is his real name.”
“I don’t think it matters,” House muttered.
She shrugged, passing it over to Wilson. “According to the facts he gave us, he’s 55, an accountant from Jersey, and has had no serious prior health problems.”
“Which could be true,” Wilson said. “He has no reason to lie about his medical history.”
“Unless he caught something on the job,” House pointed out. “Exposure to all kinds of nasty toxins and chemicals in the killing business.”
“What about relatives?” Cuddy asked warningly, halting his further speculation.
“Says here his father died of heart failure, and his mother died of natural causes,” Wilson read, turning over a page. He glanced up. “Who collected this?”
“I did,” Cameron answered.
“Did he seem sincere to you?”
House rolled his eyes. “Cameron is not going to be a valuable human lie detector.”
She shot him an irritated look, but he didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t about to start placating her, especially now.
“He seemed oddly specific, actually,” she said, lip curling defensively. “I don’t think he was lying. He seems like a very rational person - he would understand that lying won’t gain him anything.”
House scoffed. The naiveté of her response, even after what they had seen at Levin’s home, was truly astounding. “Nice to know you’ve been paying attention.”
She gave him another withering look, and Cuddy cleared her throat, attempting to dispel some of the tension. “Okay, then let’s just work with what we’ve got. What tests were you planning to run?”
House slid his eyes slowly away from Cameron’s glare, turning grudgingly to Cuddy and spouted off the names of the tests.
“Let’s do that then. Cameron, redo the MRI and a CAT scan. Something neurological sounds more than likely.”
House didn’t say a word, letting Cuddy take temporary charge. She obviously felt as threatened as he did, with employees of her hospital in life-threatening danger. Commanding his differential was one way of re-establishing control. Cameron rose to her feet, though he could tell she didn’t appreciate taking orders from the other woman on this. Wilson cleared his throat, tucking the patient history under his arm, well aware of the varying levels of tension present in the room. “I’ll go with her,” he volunteered, white coat flapping as he left the office.
House tightened his fingers around the handle of his cane, staying in place another long, tense moment. He could feel Cuddy surveying him silently, and she hesitated, touching him briefly on the shoulder before departing from the room.
He drew in a deep breath, lowering his head. He couldn’t believe he had to go through this again. He riffled in his pocket, only slightly reassured by the presence of his Vicodin, and swallowed two pills, savouring their rough journey down his throat. He had lives in his hands every day, but this was different. The variables were far too unpredictable. While he would usually savour the additional power trip, this wasn’t just medicine. And these weren’t just two anonymous patients.
--
“Cameron.”
She ignored him, walking briskly down the corridor, and he had to lengthen his strides, curling his hand around her arm before forcing her to stop.
Her mouth tightened, and she slowly turned to look at him, meeting his gaze with her own flashing stare. For someone so nice, and so seemingly peaceable, she sure could be intimidating.
“Are you okay?” Wilson asked carefully, releasing his hold on her arm.
“Just great,” she answered sarcastically.
He sighed deeply. While he could appreciate the sudden severity of the situation, and knew that whatever Cameron and House had seen in that house had shaken both of them, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with her stubborn rage. And he didn’t think he deserved to have it directed at him. “Yeah, okay, fair point. Don’t you think you want to cut down on the hostility a little? You might not want to clash with the one person who is our best chance at solving this.”
She blinked at him dully, folding her arm protectively at her side. Without her lab coat she had no additional barriers, and she looked worn, small, and young. “You’re worried I’m going to hurt House’s feelings?”
Wilson shook his head. He knew she was being purposefully obtuse, because being angry with House was always easier than facing any real underlying reasons. He knew the feeling all too well. “Cameron.”
She looked away, sagging gradually against the wall. She lowered her head, and her long, brown tresses curled in her face, briefly concealing her eyes. “If we screw this up, they could die, Wilson. I’m not being overdramatic.”
“I know.” He brushed his thumb carefully over the folder at his side, wavering over the desire to offer her comfort. “Look, I know you’ve had some… personal issues going on lately…”
She gave him a disbelieving look, and he held up a hand. “I’m just saying, you and House are going to need to be a unified front here. Cuddy and I are going to do everything we can, but you’re the only team he has left right now.”
He didn’t mention that House might need her, because he didn’t even know if that was true. He needed her professionally, that was unquestionable, but it was hard to be able to tell otherwise anymore. House was more obnoxious and open than ever before, and yet he had closed himself off so much that there were aspects of his life Wilson could no longer predict. After everything that had happened with Tritter, he had decided there were certain things he was just going to keep away from altogether. For his own sanity, and for the sake of their friendship.
Cameron was silent, and her expression was unreadable, so he was unable to tell if she agreed. He knew she had been sleeping with Chase for a few months, a fact that House, Foreman, and Cameron and Chase themselves had advertised quite openly through the hospital, though it hadn’t sounded like anything particularly serious, at least on her part. He wasn’t sure how much of that was fuelling her current concern right now.
She nodded slowly, flattening her mouth in a thin, hard line. “Yeah. Okay.”
He nodded, patting her awkwardly on the arm, before leaving her to do her work. He highly doubted his warning was going to stop her from clashing with House, because if anyone was as hot-blooded as he was, it was her. But if they didn’t do this right, and if they didn’t work together, things were going to get very messy.
There were some things even he could never live with.
--
“Chase. Chase.”
A low groan erupted from his mouth, and it took him a long while to reconcile the sound with his own voice. There was something cold and hard against his face, and his cheek was impossibly numb. He tasted gritty hair in his mouth, and spat, rolling slowly on his back.
His eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, but after a while he could see pale slivers of light illuminating the wooden ceiling. He coughed, tasting dirt and dust in his lungs, and turned his head, searching the darkness for his co-worker.
“Foreman?”
He couldn’t see him, but he could definitely feel another presence.
“Yeah. You hurt?”
He paused, mentally checking his body. His head felt heavy, weighing down his neck, but he thought that probably came from lying in such an awkward position for so long. He felt a sharp sting on his jaw, and under his knee, but other than that, he thought he had gotten off fairly lightly.
“No. Are you?”
“I’m good.”
He seriously doubted Foreman would tell him if he was seriously hurt. But there was no pain in his voice, so he had to believe him.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to know we’re not near any people. Haven’t heard one car pass by.”
Chase braced his hand on the ground, levering himself awkwardly to a sitting position. He groaned, fumbling for the wall behind him, feeling sharp splinters of wood gather in his calloused palm. He coughed again. “Where the hell are we? A basement?”
“As far as I can tell. You got your cell phone on you?”
He paused, patting down his pockets. Irrational disappointment sunk at his chest. “No.”
“Figured it was worth a try.”
They were silent, both contemplating how grim their situation was. Chase leant his head back against the wall, wincing as the splintery wood brushed against his scalp. “So.” He closed his eyes, considering how much time might have passed since they were jumped in the patient’s home. Surely House and Cameron had noticed they were missing by now. Surely. “You ever been in a situation like this before?”
Foreman scoffed. The scorn and irritation in his voice were unmistakable. “What, you mean back in the hood?”
Chase sighed deeply. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“No, I can’t say I ever have been held hostage, Chase. How about you?”
“It was just a question.”
“Yeah, a stupid one.”
He sighed, squinting as he looked around at the darkened room. It was almost impossible to see anything, but by the way their voices echoed off the concrete floor, he thought it was probably empty.
Well, at least they weren’t dead.
“Who do you think those guys were?” he asked, after a while.
Foreman shifted. He could hear his sneakers scuffing on the concrete floor. “I don’t know. Obviously House’s theory about Levins wasn’t so far off the mark.”
“Yeah. Great.”
“I guess the real question is what exactly they want from us. We must be useful, or they wouldn’t have bothered taking us with them.”
Chase closed his eyes. His head still throbbed dully. “Yeah. That would be the question.”
The real question, as far as he was concerned, was whether or not they wanted them dead or alive. And if it was the former, exactly how long they had left to wait.
--