(no subject)
You may note that I tend to avoid talking about actual medical terms and injuries because I haven't started on any sort of research for the type of injuries Cameron can have. This piece will test my ability to write something dramatic as well as my characterisation of House. It'll be pretty House-centric.
Fandom: House M.D.
Title: Wait
Genre: Drama
Rating: High PG-13
Word Count: 5,989
Spoilers: For Season 2, episode 24 "No Reason"
Summary: An AU for "No Reason", when events are slightly changed.
Disclaimer: Don't own House. Blahblahblah.
Note: Work-in-progress
Chapter 1
Cameron had always been a runner, ever since she was a little girl. Even her mother agreed, citing fond memories of her first steps as the shaky ones of a plane about to take off. As she grew older, there was the promise of a track career but there had been one fatal flaw.
She always started too early.
It was only through years of training that she could learn to hold herself back, to wait that extra millisecond before pushing off.
Even though she had been a decent track star, she’d never liked waiting. She just liked the feel of the wind as it passed through her hair and made her skin tingle.
One marriage and a funeral later, she would start back on the treadmill. There was no place for her to run anymore, but she could start whenever she pleased.
So it was on that fateful day when the stranger entered House’s office that she forgot the lesson she’d taught herself years ago. She launched herself before the gun went off.
House was pissed off, and it showed in every inch of his body. He had limped agitatedly into the ICU, barely concerned that he would disturb her sleep, and just glared at her. He’d known that surgery had gone well no thanks to Wilson’s numerous updates on her status.
“Do you need to tell me if her heart rate accelerates just a bit?! Maybe she’s just having a wet dream!” House barked.
“Well, I thought you’d want to know. You know, show a bit of concern for a girl who took a bullet for you.”
“I NEVER ASKED HER TO.”
He had slammed the phone down angrily, knowing full well he’d never get a moment’s peace if he remained in his office. On his way out, Foreman and Chase had kept sending him accusing looks like he’d shot the damn woman himself. It wasn’t his fault that her girlish crush had made her jump out the way she did.
He hadn’t been able to react at all, and had no inkling of the other man’s intentions. It was only when Cameron darted in front of him, and her body thudded on the ground that his brain snapped to. The shooter had looked just as shocked as he, and the room had erupted in chaos in the next second. While the two idiots had tackled the stranger, House stood there and watched as blood continued pooling steadily from beneath her body.
And there had been the damndest smile on her face, like she’d been glad she saved his life or something. That she had been able play hero, and stop from damaging him even further. That she had saved him.
When the story had come out later about how the man’s wife had killed herself over House’s divulging of her husband’s affair, he hadn’t even felt guilty for a second because he was so fucking numb.
Cameron had been shot.
It wasn’t his fault. He refused to feel guilty about someone else’s actions. Information was information. What she chose to do was her responsibility, and if she thought for a second that he would feel grateful or fall in love with her as a result, she was sorely mistaken. If she thought that he would sit by her bedside in some sort of lover’s vigil, she had another think coming.
He would never do anything of that sort, but his leg was throbbing angrily at the moment. His usual supply of Vicodin had gone missing earlier on. Grabbing her charts for reading material, he sat down awkwardly with his cane placed off to the side. In the dead of the night, no one would be around to mistake his getting his weight off his leg for concern or guilt.
Grimly, House took in the bruises on her face, sustained when she had fallen down to the ground. She was thinner than she’d been when she first started. Her curves had given way to nothing but skin and bones. He could see the paleness of her skin, and the veins that stood out starkly. The bandages around her middle irked him, as did the soft even breathing and the look of content on her face. Everything about her was irritating right now, but he made no move to leave. The muscles in his neck ached with stiffness, and it took everything he had in him to not scream at her for what she had done. He was a bastard, and he was used to retaliation for his behaviour. There was no reason for her to have gotten involved.
His body slumped. “You stupid woman.”
From the doorway, Wilson’s voice was gentle. “Someone might mistake that for a sign of love.”
Whirling around, he glared at the newcomer. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The oncologist tilted his head. “Outside, so we don’t wake the patient?”
House grabbed his cane and hobbled out angrily. As soon as Wilson closed the door, the older man was in his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” he repeated.
“I figured if I waited here long enough, you’d show up eventually.”
There was this smugness in Wilson’s face that bothered him. Coupled with this tightness in his chest, the sense of helplessness and rage that overcame him, House reacted. He slugged him, paying no mind when he fell along with Wilson from the strength of his punch.
“Jesus Christ! House!!!” Wilson yelled as he grabbed at his nose. “What the hell was that for?”
“You spied on me!! You never mind your own business, and you poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong!!”
“Are you talking about me or Cameron?”
Wilson’s quiet words shook him. His hand stung like a son of a bitch. Shaking it off, he got up awkwardly, ignoring the outstretched hand the other man had offered. Then, he hobbled over to the end of the hall, not before glancing quickly at the patient inside.
“She’s still sleeping, Greg."
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“If you’d broken my nose, I would’ve sued.”
House paid no attention to him and concentrated on getting the ice to his injured hand. Wilson sighed, and placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders.
“Stop it, House. You can’t walk and ice at the same time.”
“Get your hands off me.”
He couldn’t stop the warning note that had entered his voice. There was something dangerous surging through him, a rash of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel. Normally, there was Vicodin and alcohol to numb it all to hell. But once the initial shock of the day’s events had worn off, every god forsaken feeling had come back with a vengeance.
“Look. It wasn’t your fault. Cameron made the choice to take the bullet for you.”
“What makes you think that I think it’s my fault?” House demanded.
“Because I know you. Because you’d blame yourself even if it wasn’t your fault.”
What Wilson just said made him want to punch more walls. “Did I suddenly turn into Mother Theresa and grow a conscience? I’m just pissed that I’m going to have to find a replacement while she’s out, and 50-Cent and the Wombat aren’t exactly the prettiest things to look at.”
“Riiight. That’s why you punched me in the face, which I’m still upset about by the way.”
“No, I punched you in the face because you were annoying me.”
“You’d be punching me all the time if that were the case. You’re upset because Cameron got hurt because she wanted to save you.”
After throwing down the ice pack, House began pacing once more. “She just wants to be a goddamned martyr. She thinks if she saves me then I’ll be oh so grateful to her, bat my lashes, and fall in love with her. It’s so typical of her to figure that if she got hurt, I’d have to be nice to her, or that I’d suddenly realise I cared about her.”
“Do you?”
“No,” House breathed harshly.
“No because you don’t or no because it’s too late?” At the fierce glare that came his way, Wilson said, “Never mind. I think we already know the answer to that.”
The diagnostician’s hands tightened around his cane. “She’s so stupid. She’s such a goddamn pain in the neck. Always staring up at me as if I’ll somehow do the right thing. What in my history makes her think I’d be that type of guy?”
Wisely, Wilson said nothing as House continued, “She needs someone to save, except that tactic didn’t work. Now she’s trying to manipulate me by using the sympathy angle. Well that’s not going to work. I’m not buying it.”
“Because she went out and got herself shot?”
All the anger seemed to leave his system. “She got herself shot.”
“For you.”
“For me.”
Wilson patted him on the back before walking away. “Get some blankets. It gets cold here around dawn.”
Morning would come and go with the majority of the hospital staff none the wiser. By the time Cuddy and the other doctors would show up, House would be gone.
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The shower had done nothing for his mood, and the change of clothes hadn’t helped either. Limping into the office, House barely glanced at the two doctors sitting at the table in the other room.
“Have you gone to see her yet?” Chase asked as the diagnostician headed towards the kitchen for his morning ritual.
“Who?”
Foreman gave him a dirty look. “Your hooker. No, Cameron. Who else do you think?”
The red coffee mug he held seemed to burn through his fingers.
“Oh, did I forget to take off the ‘I care’ sign off my head again?”
Chase shook his head. “I can’t believe you. She gets shot…”
Whirling around, House slammed his cane angrily on the table. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not responsible for what she decides to do, and I wouldn’t just suddenly give a crap about her injuries that she caused herself.”
“It’s not like she shot herself!” the intensivist retorted indignantly.
“Listen, if you’re in love with her, go tell her by her death bed or someone else who gives a crap.”
He turned back, trying to hide his shaking hands as he stared at the coffee maker. There was no coffee, made exactly the way he liked.
“God you’re a bastard,” Chase muttered as he stomped out of the office.
“Don’t think that calling me God is going to get you on my good side again. Don’t you two have some clinic hours to do?”
Foreman shook his head. “This is low, even for you.”
“No, low is stealing from old ladies, which is something you should know about. Now get out.”
“You should go see her at least once,” the neurologist insisted.
House snorted. “Oh this is rich. This from the guy who stole her paper, and then punctured her suit to save his own ass. Are you trying to lecture me on conscience and morality?”
“You don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone other than yourself, do you?” Foreman threw his hands up.
“Damn straight. Now get the hell out.”
There was no fucking smell of coffee this morning.
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Chapter 2
For Cameron, there was always a sense of rightness that came from running. The deep inhalation that would send oxygen into her lungs before expelling it out always felt like such a cleansing to her. The pounding of her legs against the ground sometimes felt like punishment but more often than not, it felt like freedom.
Her arms would swing back and forth, and the world would pass her by: slow enough that she could still see, and yet fast enough so that all she would be glimpsing was snatches of someone else’s life.
Of course, there was a difference between running competitively and recreationally. There was no urgency when she ran around the neighbourhood. It acted as a stress reliever when the days in the hospital became unbearable. It allowed her to release her frustrations when her husband pushed her away for the umpteenth time.
It was funny, but every time she ran, she found it strange that the only thing she noticed was that the ground was always constant. Somehow, it felt reassuring.
When the doors to Exam Room 1 opened sharply, House snapped, “Uh patient?”
Cuddy looked on with some disbelief at the head of Diagnostics, who true to his word, was in fact examining a patient.
“What if I was doing something indecent in here? Oh! You were hoping to get a peek? No luck. Try in about a half hour. I think there’s a pelvic examination coming up.”
The curly-haired doctor continued staring. “They told me you were doing your clinic hours, but I didn’t believe them.”
“Is this like the story about the boy who cried wolf, because if it is, I promise I won’t cry anymore… unless it’s your name I’m crying out. Oh CUDDY.”
Shaking her head, she ordered the patient, “OUT.”
“What!?” came the incredulous response from the young man.
“I mean, go to exam room 2. Someone will be there to see you.”
House sighed. “When Cuddy wants some, she gets some. How am I ever supposed to do my duties as a doctor when all she wants is my body?”
Cuddy all but shoved the patient out with a curt “I’m sorry” before shutting the door. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
“I really can’t afford to pay you at your going rates anymore. If you want me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to start charging,” he told her as he grabbed his files.
Moving quickly to the door, she blocked his way out. “Oh no you don’t. We’re going to have this discussion.” Her eyes gentled, and he hated the compassion he saw in them. “Do you need time off?”
“The hookers can work around my schedule. I thought we already discussed this. No, wait. Don’t tell me. You’re jealous.”
“Shut up and be serious for a second. I’m worried about you here.”
“It’s just a rash. It’ll go away. I promise,” he said.
“Look. I know you’re just being defensive because you’re feeling guilty about what happened with the guy and Cameron.”
Raising his hand up, House asked, “Wait, you think I’m feeling guilty about some yahoo whose wife killed herself because he couldn’t stop from freeing Willy, or that Cameron got shot?”
She met his blue eyes unflinchingly. “Yes.”
“Oooh boy. This is the part I love the most - where I get to dash your hopes and tell you there’s no Santa, and that I don’t give a crap.”
“Wilson told me.”
House’s fingers were clenched tightly. “Apparently I didn’t punch him hard enough.”
“You punched Wilson?!”
Understanding dawned upon him. “You didn’t know. You were just guessing.”
He didn’t understand how he could’ve missed that. Cuddy had only used elementary manipulation tactics.
“Wilson’s worried about you. Hell, even I am. If you want to take some days off, I’ll understand.”
“I don’t need any days off. I’m fine.”
Walking towards him, Cuddy never took her eyes off him. “You NEVER volunteer to do clinic hours. You’re NOT fine. Cameron will be okay, and that man will be too once he gets some prison time.”
Underneath it all was the hidden accusation that nobody dared to voice. It’s your fault. He could hear it loud and clear as if someone had shouted it. His aggravation increased, and something in his face must’ve reflected the internal pain.
“Is it your leg?” the Head of Administration asked, completely misunderstanding.
Happy to grab an opportunity, he answered, “Yeah. Forgot to take my meds.”
Worry lined her forehead. “You never forget to take your Vicodin. House, you should take some time off for yourself, and maybe go see her.”
“Why the hell would I want to see her? Why is everyone insisting that I do?” he demanded.
“Because it’s something you need to do.”
“Like I owe her? Like she means something to me?”
He pushed her aside none too gently. “Get out of my way, Cuddy. I have patients to take care of.”
“House,” she began, voice strangely gentle, “You should take care of yourself first.”
He paused at the door, his response so quiet that she thought she misheard. “But I don’t know how.”
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Night two was no different than the previous night. House was exhausted, tired from throwing out enough snark to defend his actions and refusal to see Cameron.
Yet, here he was.
Against the white sheets, she looked as paler than ever. Her dark hair looked oilier, and her breathing continued evenly. At least being unconscious meant that she wouldn’t have to feel any pain.
In medical school, they’d been told that comatose patients could hear everything and yet remember none of it when they woke up.
But there was no way in hell he was testing that theory out.
Instead, House settled back against his chair, none too surprised to see some blankets already set there. Unfolding a blanket, he spread it out over his bad leg. The warmth would ease some of the pain, and once he was done adjusting, he continued to look at her.
What was he going to do with Cameron?
Worst of all, what would he say to her when she woke up?
As much as House always complained about the boringness of predictability, he preferred his life to run like clockwork.
Avoid patients.
Pop Vicodin.
Eat Reuben sandwiches.
Mock non-patients AND patients.
Go home.
Drink scotch.
Play piano.
Sleep.
Cameron’s presence in his life just represented an anomaly he wasn’t willing to tolerate. Though he’d had her figured out from a long time ago, it was obvious that she was growing up in front of his eyes. She’d learned how to manipulate, and she was harder than she was when she’d first shown up at the hospital. All of her changes came as a result of him.
Pushing her away had been for her own good. He didn’t want to be accused of corrupting Betty Cooper or even worse, breaking her heart. But, it seemed that he had gone ahead and done it anyway.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Wilson’s voice came from the doorway.
The only reason why House wasn't as annoyed with him was due to the slight discolouration around his nose. He smirked. “Don’t you have nurses to sexually harass? Better yet, if you’re looking for a quickie, we do have a comatose patient right here.”
There was a quiet sigh of exasperation, and the oncologist walked in to sit beside him.
With hands hanging loosely in front of him, Wilson leaned forward and asked, “Aren’t you tired, House?”
“Many things make me tired, including someone who keeps harassing me.”
If it was pity on Wilson’s face, House swore he was going to punch the man again. “Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re visiting her?”
“I’m not,” he growled in response. “My leg aches. I had to sit.”
“Afraid they might think you care for her?”
The cane started tapping. “Of course I do. It’s a bitch trying to find a replacement…”
Wilson shook his head. “Aren’t you tired, House?” he repeated.
At times, he felt like he couldn’t get on his bike and drive far away enough, but in place of the anger was this bone-deep weariness that came from one who’d been disappointed and hurt one too many times. It wore him down.
Just like she did.
Finally, he replied gruffly, “Sometimes. When I see her, I’m tired.”
“She’s nothing like Stacy you know. If you were shot instead of her, Cameron would be right there from the moment you went into surgery to the moment you’re making everyone’s lives miserable again.”
It had nothing to do with Stacy, and everything to do with him. His perception had been skewed when they had broken up the first time. He had viewed what she had done as a giant betrayal when in reality, he could not blame her for something he would’ve done himself. He would’ve bullied, manipulated, and coerced and garnered the exact same end result.
The second time they broke up though, it had been him who ended things. She had been just as beautiful as he remembered. Her wit just as bright, and her eyes just as sad when she had lain next to him in her bed. He had known that everything was wrong right from the start. He couldn’t forget her sensuality, and how his heart would accelerate to dangerous rates just by being around her. But despite how they might’ve felt about each other, he was a cripple. He just happened to be in better shape than Mark, who was now a paraplegic. The callousness of her words still rang in his ears, and he hadn’t been able to forget how easy it had been for her to abandon her husband, the same way she had walked away from him. Even as it would confound everyone who presumed they knew him, it just wasn’t in his nature to give her the type of happiness she wanted, especially at the expense of someone else’s.
“She’s young,” was all House managed to say.
“That’s a cheap excuse, and we both know it. Besides, I’m sure that fulfills quite a number of your dirty old man fantasies.”
“She’s damaged.”
Wilson looked at him with incredulity. “This from the king of damage himself? I’d smack you one except the retaliating cane would hurt a hell of a lot.”
“You could outrun the cripple.”
“You know where I live.”
An unwilling smile came to House’s face. “That I do.”
“You know Greg. If you touch her, she’s not going to break,” the younger doctor told him gently.
The truth was that wasn’t what stopped him.
He was worried he would break.
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Chapter 3
Cameron never had a problem with her stamina when she ran. It came to her as naturally as breathing. Even as a child, she would run instead of walking anywhere. Her mother would find it amusing because there was one period in time where she was unusually clumsy, but luckily she outgrew that quickly.
However, there was one time where she ran when everything didn’t feel so right. Her breath caught in her chest, and there was a dizzying sensation that accompanied the rawness of her breathing, and expelling that breath did nothing to ease the growing tightness.
Her muscles burned, and her feet hurt, but her legs kept moving and her arms kept pumping until her world went black.
It was only then that she could forget that her husband was no longer with her.
It was only then that she found out she was pregnant.
House hated Wednesdays. They were run-of-the-mill, nothing special days that marked the middle of the week where he could perhaps start feeling a bit brighter because the weekend was that much closer, and yet, it was the greatest teaser because he was still a few days away. To compensate, he usually went to hang out with the coma patients, entertaining them with the latest antics of the General Hospital cast.
Today was no exception.
“You see that? Sam’s being an idiot again, except since she looks so hot in her dancing clothes that… oh, she’s bending over now. Talk about heaven.” Leaning back on his chair, with his cane beside him, he stretched out with his arms behind his head. “Psht. That Lucky character? Please. Someone should tell that kid that he should take some real drugs before claiming to suffer from withdrawal. Chicks don’t dig that.”
Next to him, the patient was quiet, as she always was.
“Why can’t you be just as quiet normally?” he asked softly.
Given the unexpected number of patients PPTH had unexpectedly gotten, they had been forced to move her from ICU when her vitals had stabilized. Her wounds were healing nicely with no signs of complications. In the coma unit, hardly anyone came around, which worked just fine for House. It enabled him to escape the annoying clinic hours and offer him some peace and quiet in between General Hospital and games on his Gameboy, despite the jitters in his hands, which hardly bothered him anymore.
When he had arrived at work that morning, Foreman and Chase had stared at him in disbelief at the bags under his eyes and the light sheen of sweat across his forehead.
“House, where’s your Vicodin?” the neurologist had demanded. “If we have a case today…”
“Chill, Kayne. I’ve checked and we’re in the clear for today. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night. Bambi wouldn’t leave, so I think I’m going to have to ask for a new one. I hate it when hookers get all… clingy.”
Chase had just ignored him, muttered something about checking on some patients and left. Foreman had taken one last look at him, shaken his head, and went out the door as well.
How could he possibly explain why his withdrawal symptoms were hardly bothering him anymore when he couldn’t even understand it himself?
Wilson had stopped by not too long after, probably courtesy of Foreman ratting him out.
“You should really take a pill just in case.”
House had merely raised his brow. “If you follow me any more often, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.”
“Right. You need to talk, you know where to find me,” was all the oncologist had said.
“On top of some nurse? Right. I’ll do that.”
Shifting in his seat restlessly, he tried to watch the rest of his soap, and silently wished for a monster truck rally with popcorn and cotton candy. And the prettiest woman he’d ever seen with a red dress and a smile that made his teeth rot. Such thoughts weren’t productive, and House was never one to indulge in overthinking unless it came to a medical case.
He reached out to grab his cane, cursing silently when it slipped from his jittery hands. As the day had worn on, his withdrawal symptoms became worse, and he was starting to notice them more. Sweat continued to bead down his face, and he felt worse than if he had run a marathon - if he were able to run.
“Thought you might need some company,” Wilson said.
He really was going to have to ram the cane somewhere where it’d hurt. “Stop stalking me. I know it turns on some of your girls, but I am clearly not a woman,” House bit out.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? Why don’t you just take the pill, or are you hell bent on punishing yourself until she wakes up?”
“If you think I’m doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt, you're wrong. I have another bet with Cuddy, that’s all. Her pink thongs are riding on it.”
Wilson shook his head. “You really are a terrible liar, Greg. Cuddy’s not going to risk the hospital just to see you try to quit.”
“She would if I promised her one night in the House.”
The other man groaned. “That was bad, even for you. Seriously, just take the pill. Cameron’s not going to want you to suffer. She’s going to feel like shit when she wakes up and finds out.”
“Good. She should feel like shit.”
“Are you talking about her or yourself?”
“Shut up, Wilson. Save your Psych 101 prattle for the mindless nurses who are easily impressed,” House retorted, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
“Sometimes I don’t know why I bother with you.”
“Sometimes I don’t know why she bothers with me.”
The irritation on Wilson’s face gave way to sympathy. “Ahh…”
“Don’t ‘ahh’ me like you could possibly understand when I can't even figure it out myself,” he snapped.
“She confuses the hell out of you, doesn’t she? And you can’t figure out why you’re sitting here, obviously giving a crap about her when you so clearly don’t care about anything else.”
“I don't need a diagnosis. I want a solution.”
“There’s no solution, Greg. It doesn’t exist. It’s what you decide she means to you, and what you plan on doing about it.”
House snorted. “Was that before or after you slept with all those other women? Thanks Abby.”
“You claim you care about her, but you push her away, just like you did with Stacy.”
His stomach churned. “Stacy made a choice.”
“So did Cameron.”
“It was the wrong choice!!!” he nearly shouted in frustration.
“In whose case?”
“In both,” House whispered. Sliding his hands through his hair, he leaned forward to look at his friend. “What do I do, Wilson?”
“You tell her you’re sorry, and you hope for the best.”
“Listen to you, Doctor Phil,” he sneered.
“After your third failed marriage, you get good at what NOT to do,” Wilson said dryly before standing up. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll keep your secret, but you realise it’ll be a matter of time before everyone tries to slip you Vicodin and figures out what a giant teddy bear you are.”
House barely hid his amusement. “I’m sure I can show them the error of their ways. Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh… yeah…”
The younger brunette laughed. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want you choking over saying thanks to me.”
“I wasn’t going to. I was just going to give you Bambi’s number. She’s looking for a new sugar daddy you know.”
Both men exchanged smiles, House’s barely noticeable, when Foreman came right in.
“House! We have a new ca…” his voice trailed off when he noticed House scrambling to his feet awkwardly. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“Shut the hell up,” the diagnostician growled as he limped out.
Wilson shrugged. “He’s just shy.”
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The case had turned out to be easier than expected. In fact, after House had made them run a tedious number of tests, he had ridiculed them to the point where he had even outraged himself. Then he told them the diagnosis, mocked them some more, and was about to head home for a quick change of clothes when he decided to make a quick stop at a park nearby instead.
He wasn’t one for appreciating scenery, and the slight chill in the air was making his leg even more uncomfortable. However, he didn't feel like going home just yet.
For some reason, doing something mundane like playing on his piano felt wrong to him.
Sitting in a park should’ve felt more wrong, but it distracted him. The freshness of the air annoyed him, as did the healthy and apparently active population of their city with their physical activities. Children waddled around adorably, and he supposed this would be the exact scene that she would be enjoying. She would tell him something along the lines of, “Isn’t this nice?” and possibly sneak her arm through his and cuddle.
Even thinking about the word made him twitch.
He saw the families spending time together, and for the first time, wondered about Cameron’s. Her husband was dead, but had she no family to speak of? There had been no emergency contact, and surely, one of the other do-gooders would’ve called them up right away. Instead, she had lain alone in ICU with the most miserable of all bastards as company.
House wasn’t sure why he felt a strange tightening in his chest when he thought about that.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t that he cared. For some reason, he wasn’t finding the irony of a woman who cared so much about others not having anybody care about her when she was injured amusing.
Except there were plenty of PPTH staff who had cared. In spite of the strained relationship between Foreman and Cameron, the neurologist had visited a number of times. Her niceness had won him over. Score one for the good doctor, House thought with a smirk. Her entanglement with Chase was a lot more complicated, but it was all too apparent that the blonde bastard cared for her and visited her pretty damn often. Cuddy and Wilson had also stopped by when they could. Quite a few other nurses, technicians, and even the damn cafeteria staff had stopped by.
But none of them were family.
The situation was puzzling, intriguing even, and where once he would’ve run off eagerly to investigate, House found himself not caring about it. There were only two answers to what was going on. Either her family was dead or there was some rift. When a woman as beautiful as she was had gotten married to a cancer patient at age 21, he couldn’t have seen her family sending parades down the street about it. Hell, even he would’ve protested, and he wasn’t even family.
After stretching out, he settled the cane down beside him. Dusk was slowly creeping upon them. The sunlight’s dying rays filtered between tree branches before bouncing off the still of the lake’s water. It was the exact type of landscape moment that he would scoff at before giving the finger to everyone.
Yet, there was something strangely comforting about it.
He continued sitting at the park, letting the cold seep into his body, and ease his aching muscles. He dozed off for a bit, and if it hadn’t been for his clothes, the police officer would’ve woken him up and chased him off the bench like the rest of the vagrants.
For the first time in ages, House was able to sleep.
When he reached the hospital, there was no one else in the room despite Wilson's call earlier. Cameron’s cheekbones were sunken, and she looked frail, barely able to keep herself up. The injuries she’d sustained had obviously taken a toll on her body, but she was finally awake.
“House,” she whispered.
“Shut up,” he barked before she could say anything else. “Who asked you to take a bullet for me?”
A weary sigh came from her. “No one.”
He began pacing angrily. “Nobody asked you to save me. In fact, I distinctly recall having a discussion with you where I told you NOT to mistake me for your next charity case.” He came to a stop right next to her bed. “Did you think I’d show you gratitude? Did you think I’d care more for you because you sacrificed yourself? You’re a damn selfish bitch is what you are.”
There was a light in her eyes that he’d never seen before as she slowly lifted her hand to him. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”
She sounded so damn weak, like she had been running and couldn’t catch her breath. “Who said I was worried? You’re mistaking it for something else. I’m just excited because I have a date.”
The second the words left his lips, House wished he could’ve taken it back. Her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry for that too.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry!!! Why are you saying you’re sorry!?”
It sounded like a dying whisper from her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you keep saying you’re sorry?! It should be ME lying there and not you!!! You should be demanding an apology from me!!” he yelled as Cameron’s hand fell limply to the side.
But she would never hear his words because she was dead.
House woke up with his heart in his mouth. Panting out harshly, he tried to block out the dream he’d had. There was no way it would turn out to be something prophetic. If dreams came true, he would’ve been Mr. Carmen Electra and playing pin the tail on Vogler.
Yet when his cell phone rang, he had to tell himself that it wasn’t been a sign. Barely even noticing the pain, he practically ran to his bike and was off to the hospital.
It couldn't be a sign.
---------------------------------------------------------
Fandom: House M.D.
Title: Wait
Genre: Drama
Rating: High PG-13
Word Count: 5,989
Spoilers: For Season 2, episode 24 "No Reason"
Summary: An AU for "No Reason", when events are slightly changed.
Disclaimer: Don't own House. Blahblahblah.
Note: Work-in-progress
Chapter 1
Cameron had always been a runner, ever since she was a little girl. Even her mother agreed, citing fond memories of her first steps as the shaky ones of a plane about to take off. As she grew older, there was the promise of a track career but there had been one fatal flaw.
She always started too early.
It was only through years of training that she could learn to hold herself back, to wait that extra millisecond before pushing off.
Even though she had been a decent track star, she’d never liked waiting. She just liked the feel of the wind as it passed through her hair and made her skin tingle.
One marriage and a funeral later, she would start back on the treadmill. There was no place for her to run anymore, but she could start whenever she pleased.
So it was on that fateful day when the stranger entered House’s office that she forgot the lesson she’d taught herself years ago. She launched herself before the gun went off.
House was pissed off, and it showed in every inch of his body. He had limped agitatedly into the ICU, barely concerned that he would disturb her sleep, and just glared at her. He’d known that surgery had gone well no thanks to Wilson’s numerous updates on her status.
“Do you need to tell me if her heart rate accelerates just a bit?! Maybe she’s just having a wet dream!” House barked.
“Well, I thought you’d want to know. You know, show a bit of concern for a girl who took a bullet for you.”
“I NEVER ASKED HER TO.”
He had slammed the phone down angrily, knowing full well he’d never get a moment’s peace if he remained in his office. On his way out, Foreman and Chase had kept sending him accusing looks like he’d shot the damn woman himself. It wasn’t his fault that her girlish crush had made her jump out the way she did.
He hadn’t been able to react at all, and had no inkling of the other man’s intentions. It was only when Cameron darted in front of him, and her body thudded on the ground that his brain snapped to. The shooter had looked just as shocked as he, and the room had erupted in chaos in the next second. While the two idiots had tackled the stranger, House stood there and watched as blood continued pooling steadily from beneath her body.
And there had been the damndest smile on her face, like she’d been glad she saved his life or something. That she had been able play hero, and stop from damaging him even further. That she had saved him.
When the story had come out later about how the man’s wife had killed herself over House’s divulging of her husband’s affair, he hadn’t even felt guilty for a second because he was so fucking numb.
Cameron had been shot.
It wasn’t his fault. He refused to feel guilty about someone else’s actions. Information was information. What she chose to do was her responsibility, and if she thought for a second that he would feel grateful or fall in love with her as a result, she was sorely mistaken. If she thought that he would sit by her bedside in some sort of lover’s vigil, she had another think coming.
He would never do anything of that sort, but his leg was throbbing angrily at the moment. His usual supply of Vicodin had gone missing earlier on. Grabbing her charts for reading material, he sat down awkwardly with his cane placed off to the side. In the dead of the night, no one would be around to mistake his getting his weight off his leg for concern or guilt.
Grimly, House took in the bruises on her face, sustained when she had fallen down to the ground. She was thinner than she’d been when she first started. Her curves had given way to nothing but skin and bones. He could see the paleness of her skin, and the veins that stood out starkly. The bandages around her middle irked him, as did the soft even breathing and the look of content on her face. Everything about her was irritating right now, but he made no move to leave. The muscles in his neck ached with stiffness, and it took everything he had in him to not scream at her for what she had done. He was a bastard, and he was used to retaliation for his behaviour. There was no reason for her to have gotten involved.
His body slumped. “You stupid woman.”
From the doorway, Wilson’s voice was gentle. “Someone might mistake that for a sign of love.”
Whirling around, he glared at the newcomer. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The oncologist tilted his head. “Outside, so we don’t wake the patient?”
House grabbed his cane and hobbled out angrily. As soon as Wilson closed the door, the older man was in his face.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” he repeated.
“I figured if I waited here long enough, you’d show up eventually.”
There was this smugness in Wilson’s face that bothered him. Coupled with this tightness in his chest, the sense of helplessness and rage that overcame him, House reacted. He slugged him, paying no mind when he fell along with Wilson from the strength of his punch.
“Jesus Christ! House!!!” Wilson yelled as he grabbed at his nose. “What the hell was that for?”
“You spied on me!! You never mind your own business, and you poke your nose in where it doesn’t belong!!”
“Are you talking about me or Cameron?”
Wilson’s quiet words shook him. His hand stung like a son of a bitch. Shaking it off, he got up awkwardly, ignoring the outstretched hand the other man had offered. Then, he hobbled over to the end of the hall, not before glancing quickly at the patient inside.
“She’s still sleeping, Greg."
---------------------------------------------------------
“If you’d broken my nose, I would’ve sued.”
House paid no attention to him and concentrated on getting the ice to his injured hand. Wilson sighed, and placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders.
“Stop it, House. You can’t walk and ice at the same time.”
“Get your hands off me.”
He couldn’t stop the warning note that had entered his voice. There was something dangerous surging through him, a rash of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel. Normally, there was Vicodin and alcohol to numb it all to hell. But once the initial shock of the day’s events had worn off, every god forsaken feeling had come back with a vengeance.
“Look. It wasn’t your fault. Cameron made the choice to take the bullet for you.”
“What makes you think that I think it’s my fault?” House demanded.
“Because I know you. Because you’d blame yourself even if it wasn’t your fault.”
What Wilson just said made him want to punch more walls. “Did I suddenly turn into Mother Theresa and grow a conscience? I’m just pissed that I’m going to have to find a replacement while she’s out, and 50-Cent and the Wombat aren’t exactly the prettiest things to look at.”
“Riiight. That’s why you punched me in the face, which I’m still upset about by the way.”
“No, I punched you in the face because you were annoying me.”
“You’d be punching me all the time if that were the case. You’re upset because Cameron got hurt because she wanted to save you.”
After throwing down the ice pack, House began pacing once more. “She just wants to be a goddamned martyr. She thinks if she saves me then I’ll be oh so grateful to her, bat my lashes, and fall in love with her. It’s so typical of her to figure that if she got hurt, I’d have to be nice to her, or that I’d suddenly realise I cared about her.”
“Do you?”
“No,” House breathed harshly.
“No because you don’t or no because it’s too late?” At the fierce glare that came his way, Wilson said, “Never mind. I think we already know the answer to that.”
The diagnostician’s hands tightened around his cane. “She’s so stupid. She’s such a goddamn pain in the neck. Always staring up at me as if I’ll somehow do the right thing. What in my history makes her think I’d be that type of guy?”
Wisely, Wilson said nothing as House continued, “She needs someone to save, except that tactic didn’t work. Now she’s trying to manipulate me by using the sympathy angle. Well that’s not going to work. I’m not buying it.”
“Because she went out and got herself shot?”
All the anger seemed to leave his system. “She got herself shot.”
“For you.”
“For me.”
Wilson patted him on the back before walking away. “Get some blankets. It gets cold here around dawn.”
Morning would come and go with the majority of the hospital staff none the wiser. By the time Cuddy and the other doctors would show up, House would be gone.
---------------------------------------------------------
The shower had done nothing for his mood, and the change of clothes hadn’t helped either. Limping into the office, House barely glanced at the two doctors sitting at the table in the other room.
“Have you gone to see her yet?” Chase asked as the diagnostician headed towards the kitchen for his morning ritual.
“Who?”
Foreman gave him a dirty look. “Your hooker. No, Cameron. Who else do you think?”
The red coffee mug he held seemed to burn through his fingers.
“Oh, did I forget to take off the ‘I care’ sign off my head again?”
Chase shook his head. “I can’t believe you. She gets shot…”
Whirling around, House slammed his cane angrily on the table. “Let’s get something straight. I’m not responsible for what she decides to do, and I wouldn’t just suddenly give a crap about her injuries that she caused herself.”
“It’s not like she shot herself!” the intensivist retorted indignantly.
“Listen, if you’re in love with her, go tell her by her death bed or someone else who gives a crap.”
He turned back, trying to hide his shaking hands as he stared at the coffee maker. There was no coffee, made exactly the way he liked.
“God you’re a bastard,” Chase muttered as he stomped out of the office.
“Don’t think that calling me God is going to get you on my good side again. Don’t you two have some clinic hours to do?”
Foreman shook his head. “This is low, even for you.”
“No, low is stealing from old ladies, which is something you should know about. Now get out.”
“You should go see her at least once,” the neurologist insisted.
House snorted. “Oh this is rich. This from the guy who stole her paper, and then punctured her suit to save his own ass. Are you trying to lecture me on conscience and morality?”
“You don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone other than yourself, do you?” Foreman threw his hands up.
“Damn straight. Now get the hell out.”
There was no fucking smell of coffee this morning.
---------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2
For Cameron, there was always a sense of rightness that came from running. The deep inhalation that would send oxygen into her lungs before expelling it out always felt like such a cleansing to her. The pounding of her legs against the ground sometimes felt like punishment but more often than not, it felt like freedom.
Her arms would swing back and forth, and the world would pass her by: slow enough that she could still see, and yet fast enough so that all she would be glimpsing was snatches of someone else’s life.
Of course, there was a difference between running competitively and recreationally. There was no urgency when she ran around the neighbourhood. It acted as a stress reliever when the days in the hospital became unbearable. It allowed her to release her frustrations when her husband pushed her away for the umpteenth time.
It was funny, but every time she ran, she found it strange that the only thing she noticed was that the ground was always constant. Somehow, it felt reassuring.
When the doors to Exam Room 1 opened sharply, House snapped, “Uh patient?”
Cuddy looked on with some disbelief at the head of Diagnostics, who true to his word, was in fact examining a patient.
“What if I was doing something indecent in here? Oh! You were hoping to get a peek? No luck. Try in about a half hour. I think there’s a pelvic examination coming up.”
The curly-haired doctor continued staring. “They told me you were doing your clinic hours, but I didn’t believe them.”
“Is this like the story about the boy who cried wolf, because if it is, I promise I won’t cry anymore… unless it’s your name I’m crying out. Oh CUDDY.”
Shaking her head, she ordered the patient, “OUT.”
“What!?” came the incredulous response from the young man.
“I mean, go to exam room 2. Someone will be there to see you.”
House sighed. “When Cuddy wants some, she gets some. How am I ever supposed to do my duties as a doctor when all she wants is my body?”
Cuddy all but shoved the patient out with a curt “I’m sorry” before shutting the door. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is all about?”
“I really can’t afford to pay you at your going rates anymore. If you want me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to start charging,” he told her as he grabbed his files.
Moving quickly to the door, she blocked his way out. “Oh no you don’t. We’re going to have this discussion.” Her eyes gentled, and he hated the compassion he saw in them. “Do you need time off?”
“The hookers can work around my schedule. I thought we already discussed this. No, wait. Don’t tell me. You’re jealous.”
“Shut up and be serious for a second. I’m worried about you here.”
“It’s just a rash. It’ll go away. I promise,” he said.
“Look. I know you’re just being defensive because you’re feeling guilty about what happened with the guy and Cameron.”
Raising his hand up, House asked, “Wait, you think I’m feeling guilty about some yahoo whose wife killed herself because he couldn’t stop from freeing Willy, or that Cameron got shot?”
She met his blue eyes unflinchingly. “Yes.”
“Oooh boy. This is the part I love the most - where I get to dash your hopes and tell you there’s no Santa, and that I don’t give a crap.”
“Wilson told me.”
House’s fingers were clenched tightly. “Apparently I didn’t punch him hard enough.”
“You punched Wilson?!”
Understanding dawned upon him. “You didn’t know. You were just guessing.”
He didn’t understand how he could’ve missed that. Cuddy had only used elementary manipulation tactics.
“Wilson’s worried about you. Hell, even I am. If you want to take some days off, I’ll understand.”
“I don’t need any days off. I’m fine.”
Walking towards him, Cuddy never took her eyes off him. “You NEVER volunteer to do clinic hours. You’re NOT fine. Cameron will be okay, and that man will be too once he gets some prison time.”
Underneath it all was the hidden accusation that nobody dared to voice. It’s your fault. He could hear it loud and clear as if someone had shouted it. His aggravation increased, and something in his face must’ve reflected the internal pain.
“Is it your leg?” the Head of Administration asked, completely misunderstanding.
Happy to grab an opportunity, he answered, “Yeah. Forgot to take my meds.”
Worry lined her forehead. “You never forget to take your Vicodin. House, you should take some time off for yourself, and maybe go see her.”
“Why the hell would I want to see her? Why is everyone insisting that I do?” he demanded.
“Because it’s something you need to do.”
“Like I owe her? Like she means something to me?”
He pushed her aside none too gently. “Get out of my way, Cuddy. I have patients to take care of.”
“House,” she began, voice strangely gentle, “You should take care of yourself first.”
He paused at the door, his response so quiet that she thought she misheard. “But I don’t know how.”
---------------------------------------------------------
Night two was no different than the previous night. House was exhausted, tired from throwing out enough snark to defend his actions and refusal to see Cameron.
Yet, here he was.
Against the white sheets, she looked as paler than ever. Her dark hair looked oilier, and her breathing continued evenly. At least being unconscious meant that she wouldn’t have to feel any pain.
In medical school, they’d been told that comatose patients could hear everything and yet remember none of it when they woke up.
But there was no way in hell he was testing that theory out.
Instead, House settled back against his chair, none too surprised to see some blankets already set there. Unfolding a blanket, he spread it out over his bad leg. The warmth would ease some of the pain, and once he was done adjusting, he continued to look at her.
What was he going to do with Cameron?
Worst of all, what would he say to her when she woke up?
As much as House always complained about the boringness of predictability, he preferred his life to run like clockwork.
Avoid patients.
Pop Vicodin.
Eat Reuben sandwiches.
Mock non-patients AND patients.
Go home.
Drink scotch.
Play piano.
Sleep.
Cameron’s presence in his life just represented an anomaly he wasn’t willing to tolerate. Though he’d had her figured out from a long time ago, it was obvious that she was growing up in front of his eyes. She’d learned how to manipulate, and she was harder than she was when she’d first shown up at the hospital. All of her changes came as a result of him.
Pushing her away had been for her own good. He didn’t want to be accused of corrupting Betty Cooper or even worse, breaking her heart. But, it seemed that he had gone ahead and done it anyway.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Wilson’s voice came from the doorway.
The only reason why House wasn't as annoyed with him was due to the slight discolouration around his nose. He smirked. “Don’t you have nurses to sexually harass? Better yet, if you’re looking for a quickie, we do have a comatose patient right here.”
There was a quiet sigh of exasperation, and the oncologist walked in to sit beside him.
With hands hanging loosely in front of him, Wilson leaned forward and asked, “Aren’t you tired, House?”
“Many things make me tired, including someone who keeps harassing me.”
If it was pity on Wilson’s face, House swore he was going to punch the man again. “Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re visiting her?”
“I’m not,” he growled in response. “My leg aches. I had to sit.”
“Afraid they might think you care for her?”
The cane started tapping. “Of course I do. It’s a bitch trying to find a replacement…”
Wilson shook his head. “Aren’t you tired, House?” he repeated.
At times, he felt like he couldn’t get on his bike and drive far away enough, but in place of the anger was this bone-deep weariness that came from one who’d been disappointed and hurt one too many times. It wore him down.
Just like she did.
Finally, he replied gruffly, “Sometimes. When I see her, I’m tired.”
“She’s nothing like Stacy you know. If you were shot instead of her, Cameron would be right there from the moment you went into surgery to the moment you’re making everyone’s lives miserable again.”
It had nothing to do with Stacy, and everything to do with him. His perception had been skewed when they had broken up the first time. He had viewed what she had done as a giant betrayal when in reality, he could not blame her for something he would’ve done himself. He would’ve bullied, manipulated, and coerced and garnered the exact same end result.
The second time they broke up though, it had been him who ended things. She had been just as beautiful as he remembered. Her wit just as bright, and her eyes just as sad when she had lain next to him in her bed. He had known that everything was wrong right from the start. He couldn’t forget her sensuality, and how his heart would accelerate to dangerous rates just by being around her. But despite how they might’ve felt about each other, he was a cripple. He just happened to be in better shape than Mark, who was now a paraplegic. The callousness of her words still rang in his ears, and he hadn’t been able to forget how easy it had been for her to abandon her husband, the same way she had walked away from him. Even as it would confound everyone who presumed they knew him, it just wasn’t in his nature to give her the type of happiness she wanted, especially at the expense of someone else’s.
“She’s young,” was all House managed to say.
“That’s a cheap excuse, and we both know it. Besides, I’m sure that fulfills quite a number of your dirty old man fantasies.”
“She’s damaged.”
Wilson looked at him with incredulity. “This from the king of damage himself? I’d smack you one except the retaliating cane would hurt a hell of a lot.”
“You could outrun the cripple.”
“You know where I live.”
An unwilling smile came to House’s face. “That I do.”
“You know Greg. If you touch her, she’s not going to break,” the younger doctor told him gently.
The truth was that wasn’t what stopped him.
He was worried he would break.
---------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 3
Cameron never had a problem with her stamina when she ran. It came to her as naturally as breathing. Even as a child, she would run instead of walking anywhere. Her mother would find it amusing because there was one period in time where she was unusually clumsy, but luckily she outgrew that quickly.
However, there was one time where she ran when everything didn’t feel so right. Her breath caught in her chest, and there was a dizzying sensation that accompanied the rawness of her breathing, and expelling that breath did nothing to ease the growing tightness.
Her muscles burned, and her feet hurt, but her legs kept moving and her arms kept pumping until her world went black.
It was only then that she could forget that her husband was no longer with her.
It was only then that she found out she was pregnant.
House hated Wednesdays. They were run-of-the-mill, nothing special days that marked the middle of the week where he could perhaps start feeling a bit brighter because the weekend was that much closer, and yet, it was the greatest teaser because he was still a few days away. To compensate, he usually went to hang out with the coma patients, entertaining them with the latest antics of the General Hospital cast.
Today was no exception.
“You see that? Sam’s being an idiot again, except since she looks so hot in her dancing clothes that… oh, she’s bending over now. Talk about heaven.” Leaning back on his chair, with his cane beside him, he stretched out with his arms behind his head. “Psht. That Lucky character? Please. Someone should tell that kid that he should take some real drugs before claiming to suffer from withdrawal. Chicks don’t dig that.”
Next to him, the patient was quiet, as she always was.
“Why can’t you be just as quiet normally?” he asked softly.
Given the unexpected number of patients PPTH had unexpectedly gotten, they had been forced to move her from ICU when her vitals had stabilized. Her wounds were healing nicely with no signs of complications. In the coma unit, hardly anyone came around, which worked just fine for House. It enabled him to escape the annoying clinic hours and offer him some peace and quiet in between General Hospital and games on his Gameboy, despite the jitters in his hands, which hardly bothered him anymore.
When he had arrived at work that morning, Foreman and Chase had stared at him in disbelief at the bags under his eyes and the light sheen of sweat across his forehead.
“House, where’s your Vicodin?” the neurologist had demanded. “If we have a case today…”
“Chill, Kayne. I’ve checked and we’re in the clear for today. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night. Bambi wouldn’t leave, so I think I’m going to have to ask for a new one. I hate it when hookers get all… clingy.”
Chase had just ignored him, muttered something about checking on some patients and left. Foreman had taken one last look at him, shaken his head, and went out the door as well.
How could he possibly explain why his withdrawal symptoms were hardly bothering him anymore when he couldn’t even understand it himself?
Wilson had stopped by not too long after, probably courtesy of Foreman ratting him out.
“You should really take a pill just in case.”
House had merely raised his brow. “If you follow me any more often, I’m going to think you have a crush on me.”
“Right. You need to talk, you know where to find me,” was all the oncologist had said.
“On top of some nurse? Right. I’ll do that.”
Shifting in his seat restlessly, he tried to watch the rest of his soap, and silently wished for a monster truck rally with popcorn and cotton candy. And the prettiest woman he’d ever seen with a red dress and a smile that made his teeth rot. Such thoughts weren’t productive, and House was never one to indulge in overthinking unless it came to a medical case.
He reached out to grab his cane, cursing silently when it slipped from his jittery hands. As the day had worn on, his withdrawal symptoms became worse, and he was starting to notice them more. Sweat continued to bead down his face, and he felt worse than if he had run a marathon - if he were able to run.
“Thought you might need some company,” Wilson said.
He really was going to have to ram the cane somewhere where it’d hurt. “Stop stalking me. I know it turns on some of your girls, but I am clearly not a woman,” House bit out.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? Why don’t you just take the pill, or are you hell bent on punishing yourself until she wakes up?”
“If you think I’m doing this out of some misplaced sense of guilt, you're wrong. I have another bet with Cuddy, that’s all. Her pink thongs are riding on it.”
Wilson shook his head. “You really are a terrible liar, Greg. Cuddy’s not going to risk the hospital just to see you try to quit.”
“She would if I promised her one night in the House.”
The other man groaned. “That was bad, even for you. Seriously, just take the pill. Cameron’s not going to want you to suffer. She’s going to feel like shit when she wakes up and finds out.”
“Good. She should feel like shit.”
“Are you talking about her or yourself?”
“Shut up, Wilson. Save your Psych 101 prattle for the mindless nurses who are easily impressed,” House retorted, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
“Sometimes I don’t know why I bother with you.”
“Sometimes I don’t know why she bothers with me.”
The irritation on Wilson’s face gave way to sympathy. “Ahh…”
“Don’t ‘ahh’ me like you could possibly understand when I can't even figure it out myself,” he snapped.
“She confuses the hell out of you, doesn’t she? And you can’t figure out why you’re sitting here, obviously giving a crap about her when you so clearly don’t care about anything else.”
“I don't need a diagnosis. I want a solution.”
“There’s no solution, Greg. It doesn’t exist. It’s what you decide she means to you, and what you plan on doing about it.”
House snorted. “Was that before or after you slept with all those other women? Thanks Abby.”
“You claim you care about her, but you push her away, just like you did with Stacy.”
His stomach churned. “Stacy made a choice.”
“So did Cameron.”
“It was the wrong choice!!!” he nearly shouted in frustration.
“In whose case?”
“In both,” House whispered. Sliding his hands through his hair, he leaned forward to look at his friend. “What do I do, Wilson?”
“You tell her you’re sorry, and you hope for the best.”
“Listen to you, Doctor Phil,” he sneered.
“After your third failed marriage, you get good at what NOT to do,” Wilson said dryly before standing up. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll keep your secret, but you realise it’ll be a matter of time before everyone tries to slip you Vicodin and figures out what a giant teddy bear you are.”
House barely hid his amusement. “I’m sure I can show them the error of their ways. Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh… yeah…”
The younger brunette laughed. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want you choking over saying thanks to me.”
“I wasn’t going to. I was just going to give you Bambi’s number. She’s looking for a new sugar daddy you know.”
Both men exchanged smiles, House’s barely noticeable, when Foreman came right in.
“House! We have a new ca…” his voice trailed off when he noticed House scrambling to his feet awkwardly. “Well I’ll be damned.”
“Shut the hell up,” the diagnostician growled as he limped out.
Wilson shrugged. “He’s just shy.”
---------------------------------------------------------
The case had turned out to be easier than expected. In fact, after House had made them run a tedious number of tests, he had ridiculed them to the point where he had even outraged himself. Then he told them the diagnosis, mocked them some more, and was about to head home for a quick change of clothes when he decided to make a quick stop at a park nearby instead.
He wasn’t one for appreciating scenery, and the slight chill in the air was making his leg even more uncomfortable. However, he didn't feel like going home just yet.
For some reason, doing something mundane like playing on his piano felt wrong to him.
Sitting in a park should’ve felt more wrong, but it distracted him. The freshness of the air annoyed him, as did the healthy and apparently active population of their city with their physical activities. Children waddled around adorably, and he supposed this would be the exact scene that she would be enjoying. She would tell him something along the lines of, “Isn’t this nice?” and possibly sneak her arm through his and cuddle.
Even thinking about the word made him twitch.
He saw the families spending time together, and for the first time, wondered about Cameron’s. Her husband was dead, but had she no family to speak of? There had been no emergency contact, and surely, one of the other do-gooders would’ve called them up right away. Instead, she had lain alone in ICU with the most miserable of all bastards as company.
House wasn’t sure why he felt a strange tightening in his chest when he thought about that.
It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t that he cared. For some reason, he wasn’t finding the irony of a woman who cared so much about others not having anybody care about her when she was injured amusing.
Except there were plenty of PPTH staff who had cared. In spite of the strained relationship between Foreman and Cameron, the neurologist had visited a number of times. Her niceness had won him over. Score one for the good doctor, House thought with a smirk. Her entanglement with Chase was a lot more complicated, but it was all too apparent that the blonde bastard cared for her and visited her pretty damn often. Cuddy and Wilson had also stopped by when they could. Quite a few other nurses, technicians, and even the damn cafeteria staff had stopped by.
But none of them were family.
The situation was puzzling, intriguing even, and where once he would’ve run off eagerly to investigate, House found himself not caring about it. There were only two answers to what was going on. Either her family was dead or there was some rift. When a woman as beautiful as she was had gotten married to a cancer patient at age 21, he couldn’t have seen her family sending parades down the street about it. Hell, even he would’ve protested, and he wasn’t even family.
After stretching out, he settled the cane down beside him. Dusk was slowly creeping upon them. The sunlight’s dying rays filtered between tree branches before bouncing off the still of the lake’s water. It was the exact type of landscape moment that he would scoff at before giving the finger to everyone.
Yet, there was something strangely comforting about it.
He continued sitting at the park, letting the cold seep into his body, and ease his aching muscles. He dozed off for a bit, and if it hadn’t been for his clothes, the police officer would’ve woken him up and chased him off the bench like the rest of the vagrants.
For the first time in ages, House was able to sleep.
When he reached the hospital, there was no one else in the room despite Wilson's call earlier. Cameron’s cheekbones were sunken, and she looked frail, barely able to keep herself up. The injuries she’d sustained had obviously taken a toll on her body, but she was finally awake.
“House,” she whispered.
“Shut up,” he barked before she could say anything else. “Who asked you to take a bullet for me?”
A weary sigh came from her. “No one.”
He began pacing angrily. “Nobody asked you to save me. In fact, I distinctly recall having a discussion with you where I told you NOT to mistake me for your next charity case.” He came to a stop right next to her bed. “Did you think I’d show you gratitude? Did you think I’d care more for you because you sacrificed yourself? You’re a damn selfish bitch is what you are.”
There was a light in her eyes that he’d never seen before as she slowly lifted her hand to him. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”
She sounded so damn weak, like she had been running and couldn’t catch her breath. “Who said I was worried? You’re mistaking it for something else. I’m just excited because I have a date.”
The second the words left his lips, House wished he could’ve taken it back. Her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry for that too.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry!!! Why are you saying you’re sorry!?”
It sounded like a dying whisper from her lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Why do you keep saying you’re sorry?! It should be ME lying there and not you!!! You should be demanding an apology from me!!” he yelled as Cameron’s hand fell limply to the side.
But she would never hear his words because she was dead.
House woke up with his heart in his mouth. Panting out harshly, he tried to block out the dream he’d had. There was no way it would turn out to be something prophetic. If dreams came true, he would’ve been Mr. Carmen Electra and playing pin the tail on Vogler.
Yet when his cell phone rang, he had to tell himself that it wasn’t been a sign. Barely even noticing the pain, he practically ran to his bike and was off to the hospital.
It couldn't be a sign.
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