(no subject)
Fandom: House M.D.
Title: Wait
Genre: Drama
Rating: High PG-13
Word Count: 4,973 and counting...
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. For some reason, this fic is going on a lot stronger than I thought it would.
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Chapter 4
From the start, Cameron was meant to be a long distance runner. She had the patience and endurance necessary to overcome both the physical and the mental. The first time she ran twenty miles, it had taken months of sore feet and pulled hamstrings and calves. Day by day, she sought to increase the distance she could run, but despite the physical exhaustion, she still persisted.
It was only after she had pushed herself too much and sustained an injury that she had learned.
Once she had recovered, she started back from scratch, never missing such simple details as the proper technique, breathing, and stretching. Even as her body was catching up, her mindset was still the same.
It was always one mile at a time.
The first time she ran twenty miles, she felt like she could’ve run another ten.
So she did.
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House limped into the coma unit as quickly as he could. He’d broken speed limits and cut off numerous drivers along the way, and carried on in the same manner on his way upstairs. Practically shoving patients aside, he’d hopped onto the elevator and jammed at the buttons repeatedly as if he could somehow make the ride go faster. His head was going a mile a minute, unable to process the cryptic message that Wilson delivered before hanging up abruptly.
There was one thing he knew for sure though. Before the day was over, he was going to have to slug the man once more, and this time, it would really hurt.
Just as House was approaching the room, his cadence of his footsteps slowed down as he wondered what he would see. All Wilson had said was, “You should come to the hospital NOW.”
To think, the oncologist was supposed to be the one with excellent bedside manner.
He took a deep breath. It wasn’t like he cared - not too much anyway. It was only a strange sense of obligation towards her that came with being monster truck rally buddies. She was also the only one he’d ever allowed to share his cotton candy with.
His hand tightened on the cane as if he wanted to snap it. She wasn’t going to die, not over some bullet anyway. He had thoroughly examined her charts, and nothing on it had led him to believe that any complications would arise. There was nothing he had missed.
… he was fairly certain at least.
… and all her medical history had been taken.
For someone like him whose basic motto was “everyone lies”, why was it that he had never doubted her word? Even worse than that, why was she making him doubt himself?
Now was NOT the time to think about such things. Straightening his back, he hobbled inside, only to be greeted by a few smiling faces, including Wilson’s, which he was going to deck once he’d seen her for himself.
“Come, House. She’s been asking for you."
“Traitorous bastard,” he muttered as he limped over.
Almost immediately, his eyes met hers. Something powerful swept through him, and he told himself that it was the withdrawals that were wreaking havoc with his nerves.
“You’re pathetic.”
Wilson’s chiding of “House” went unnoticed as Cameron smiled a little. “How long have I been out for?”
As if he were doing a diagnosis, he told her, “Judging by the oily build-up in your hair, I’d say about two days.”
At the soft murmur she made, he hobbled over to pour her a glass of water and paid no attention to the choking noises Wilson was making.
“Don’t pay any attention to him. If he’s lucky, he’ll die a slow painful death.”
Cameron nearly snorted water up her nose and Wilson glared at him.
“Look, I can take a hint.”
“Can you really? Was that before or after your wife yelled out someone else’s name?”
The appalled look on the immunologist’s face nearly made him laugh out loud.
“I’ll talk to YOU later, House. Take care, Cameron.”
Raising his hand in a casual wave, he said, “Just think of this as payback for your call earlier, except you’re not getting off that easy.”
When he turned around, he found her staring at him. “What?” he asked gruffly. “If you stare any harder, I’m going to have to tell Cuddy about being sexually harassed.”
“House.”
A distinct sense of unease shot through him at the tone of her voice. Though he knew there was no way in hell his dream would prove to be true, another part of him had him moving towards the door. “Well, I’ve got patients to see and…”
“I’m sorry.”
It felt as if someone had just slammed him in the gut. “Shut up” was all he could get out at the moment. She looked so damn fragile, all slender limbs sticking out with the beeping of the heart monitor mocking him as if it would stop any moment. Unable to bear it any longer he marched over and yanked out the wires.
“I can’t stand that sound,” House continued shakily. “I’d much rather hear the moans of a hooker instead. Are you willing to oblige? Oh wait, right. Too much sexual chemistry.”
Instead of reacting, Cameron just continued lying there and looking at him like she understood everything when in reality she couldn't possibly. He also wished he could’ve taken all those words back.
With her hand outstretched, she repeated, “I’m sorry, House.”
“Shut up!!! Stop apologizing!!! Nobody asked you to play hero and take a damn bullet for me!! Do I look the least bit GRATEFUL that you got shot?!” he demanded.
“I’m sorry for making you worry.”
Anger began coursing through his veins, unable to miss how quiet her voice had suddenly gotten. No matter how much he didn’t want to react, the words kept coming out. “Who said I was worried? You’re mistaking it for something else. I’m just excited because I have a date.”
Her eyes were fluttering shut as she whispered, “I’m sorry about that too...”
“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.
The last of his nerves were shot straight to hell when her hand fell limply to the side. “You’re not going to die on me!!!”
House's leg was the last thing on his mind as he dashed over. Tilting her head back, his face had been scant inches from hers, about to perform CPR when a slight puff of air struck his face.
Her smelly breath was hitting his face.
A strong sense of relief swept through him. After moving back, his bad leg gave out beneath him and he collapsed floor, the shakes affecting him far more than his withdrawal had.
Behind him, the nurses had rushed in to check out Cameron, only to be told by House, “She’s alive,” he said with some wonder before barking out, “Why don’t you go find someone else who really needs you? I hear Wilson’s feeling lonely.”
They scattered just as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving House alone to his thoughts.
She was alive, he thought.
There was nothing that could’ve stopped him from reaching out and slipping his hand into hers.
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House’s office was a mess. Without Cameron to straighten things out, papers had begun piling on his desk, and his email was getting thoroughly neglected. So he continued to let them accumulate, paying them no mind as he worked on the latest ball-and-cane trick. His jitters were still there unfortunately, and where it normally would’ve led to some level of frustration, he was feeling strangely calm.
“Well, that’s a sight you don’t see every day.”
He pitched the red and grey ball, aiming right for Wilson’s head, and smirked when it bounced off his head with deadly accuracy.
“Next time I’m throwing the cane. It makes a wonderful projectile.”
The ball came right back and House caught it easily before tossing it up in the air once more.
“How’s she doing?”
“How should I know?” he groused, annoyed by the other man’s presence.
“‘How should you know’ as in you haven’t seen her in the last couple of hours but you don’t want the others thinking you care because God only knows you don’t care if they think you’re a stalker?”
House was almost positive the eight-ball would cause more damage than his cane. “Don’t you have work to do? Patients dying of cancer to sleep with?”
“It happened only once, Greg. Would you stop bringing it up?”
“You know what they say. First it’s cancer patients. You’re only a hop and a skip away from necrophilia. Should I give the morgue a head’s up?” he continued, rather enjoying the irritation on Wilson’s face.
“Cameron’s clearly on the road to recovery if you’re happily sitting in your office throwing comments at me.”
“When have you ever known me to be happy?” House retorted sarcastically.
“When you’re mocking patients, when you’re tormenting your peons,… when you were with Stacy.”
“And this would be why you’re an oncologist and not, say, a therapist. I’m not sure why you keep harping over Stacy. Could it be that you have a thing for her?”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
“No,” House replied, “What does bother me is your attempts to psychoanalyze me. It’s starting to really piss me off. Did it ever occur to you that I might be over her?”
“Are you?”
“A bit personal on our first date, don’t you think?”
Wilson sighed. “So you aren’t.”
“Did you hear me say no? Oh wait, your ears have a tendency to block that word out. The nurses did say you give persistence new meaning.”
There was a snort from Wilson. “This from the man who was all but stalking Stacy?”
Wagging a finger at the younger man, House said, “Oh you. That’s good. Mocking me when you’re currently exhibiting the same behaviour… unless that was your intent. Oooh. You’re really good.”
“So you’re over her then.”
“Don’t you have tumours to find?”
Wilson’s smile reflected some sort of relief. “Good. Cameron deserves so much more than just leftovers.”
“What are you, Cameron’s best friend now?”
“What are you, jealous?”
“Yes, my heart’s so shattered at the thought of her with another man,” he bit out sarcastically before wishing he could suppress the mental images of her with Chase. It had been the meth talking. He knew that much, which was why he had no idea why he couldn't forget the fact that it hadn’t been him that she’d called.
“You know it was just the drugs.”
He shot the other man an irritated look. “This hospital really need something better to do. Like save patients.”
In spite of the silence that fell, Wilson said nothing.
“He took advantage of her,” House finally growled out.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
“Look. I think we all know that the only person allowed to be drugged up is me.”
The oncologist laughed. “You? A gentleman? House, I am shocked.”
“Ladies should always come first. You should remember that sometimes.”
It was his turn to smirk when he saw how red Wilson’s cheeks turned. “You are impossible.”
“That’s why the ladies love me.”
“Just Cameron,” Wilson threw back. “And you know, she’s not the only one who deserves to be happy.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what they say. Fourth time’s a charm.”
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Chapter 5
She could never explain her addiction to running, and why she would frequently take off for the closest track whenever something upset her, be it at the school yard nearby or around the neighbourhood. To say that it relieved any stress was just too simple for something that was far more complex than that.
There was a rush of adrenaline that shot through her system that accompanied each run. The feel of her muscles in motion to some invisible beat was something she could never describe.
As much as she loved running, it had been far too easy to fall off the bandwagon. The miscarriage had seen to that. While she drowned in grief, it had been impossible to bring herself to go towards that joy that accompanied running.
It had seemed so wrong that she should somehow be able to feel while the ashes of her husband and child were buried ten feet under.
But something had drawn her back.
It was like a drug to her afterall.
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House came into his office the next morning, a little grumpier and worse for wear. With Cameron being awake, he hadn’t been able to indulge himself in what had unexpectedly become his nightly ritual. It wasn’t because his leg hurt any less just because he was staring at her, or that he had any particular romantic feelings for her.
It was just peaceful when he was around her.
Of course, that only meant that it wasn’t when he wasn’t around.
His bad mood was obvious in every step-thump he took. After depositing his bag, he headed straight for the kitchen as he did every morning. Instead of coffee, he put a bag of tea from Cameron’s private stash.
“So, Dr. Dre and Eminem, here’s the game plan for today. I am going to be somewhere in this hospital, and it’ll be something like hide and seek, except there'll be no seek.”
“Why are you drinking Cameron’s tea?” Chase demanded.
The diagnostician tapped his chin. “Hmmm, let me think about this for a second. It’s in MY kitchen; therefore, it’s mine. Besides, I feel it’s one of those days where I can show that I’m a strong macho man while still revealing my sensitive, tea-drinking side.”
Foreman rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I got patients to check.” Then he shot House a look that irritated him even further.
“What? Is this one of your gangsta stares?”
As if House hadn’t said anything, Chase pressed on. “Look, I think it’s HER tea, and you have no business drinking it.”
“Ooooh Captain Kangaroo. What are you going to do? Rat me out to Vogler? Oh wait, your sugar daddy isn’t here to defend you anymore and besides, all I have to do is bat these baby blues and Cameron’ll give me anything I want. Even if she tried to put up a fight, I could totally take her on, because you know, she just got shot.”
The blonde stiffened at House’s words, and glared at him. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“I’ll tell you what my problem is, mate. It’s the fact that I have to put up with your sorry, sleeping-with-girls-high-on-meth self even though what I’d love to do is fire your wombatty ass. So, why don’t we agree that you’re a bastard and just get along?”
“It was a ONE time only thing, and I don't know where you get off thinking you're a saint when you're a bastard yourself!"
“Ah, but there’s one considerable difference. I’m the miserable bastard who happens to be your boss. Now go find some little girl to make out with or whatever. I don’t really give a crap as long as you’re not bothering me. So SHOO.”
Chase marched out, and the neurologist just shook his head. “Are you two ever going to play nice?”
“I have this rule. Never be nice to backstabbing assholes who like to bring their romantic entanglements to work,” House responded as he took a sip of his tea.
Why did it taste so much better when Cameron made it for him?
Crossing his arm, Foreman looked back at the head of Diagnostics. “I really don’t think Cameron and Chase have a problem. It’s only a problem because you are making it your problem.”
“It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?”
“It has less to do with your pastiness and more to do with the fact that you might just possibly care for Cameron.”
House nearly dropped his mug. “Whachu talkin’ about Willis?” he managed to retort in time.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“If I were looking for an expert on being a slave, I’d ask you, but since I’m not, and I have no more interest in Cameron than I do you, I’d say you better go back out to tend those fields.”
“You check out my ass the same way you do hers?”
“You know what they say… once you go black…” House waggled his eyebrows.
Shaking his head, Foreman griped as he headed out the door, obviously done with their conversation, “I have NO idea why anyone puts up with you.”
There was an unreadable look on House’s face. “Me neither,” he said to no one in particular.
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“Diagnose this,” House barked out as he tossed a file on Cameron’s torso.
Obviously, he had caught her off-guard, he thought grumpily as he settled himself down on his chair. Her eyes made quick work of the symptoms and she looked up at him as if he had gone crazy.
“House. This is just a simple case of the flu. There’s no history on the patient’s charts that would suggest anything otherwise.”
He busied himself with the remote control, which he’d filched from the bedside table.
“Why are you here?”
“You’re bright and chirpy,” he commented. “Did someone pump you full of morphine?”
“No, that’s your thing. I’ve had them take me off it already.”
It wasn’t that he was looking at her so closely that he noticed the wince on her face. Cameron wasn’t exactly one for safeguarding her emotions. She was so much of an open book that it presented no challenge.
“Oooh. Someone had her Wheaties this morning.”
“House,” she began wearily, “What are you doing here? We both know that that case was just an excuse to get in here.”
He wasn’t prepared to tell her anything that he wasn’t willing to admit to himself. “It’s the last place anyone would think to find me.”
“…glad to help out.”
It took him a while to respond to the hurt he heard in her voice. “Look, I understand you got shot… for me. But don’t think for a second that changed anything.”
“I didn’t get shot because I expected anything. I just thought you’d at least be a decent human being about it.”
“In all the time you’ve known me, when did you know me to be a decent human being?”
“When you shared your cotton candy with me! When you bought me a corsage for our date! Before you went all… asshole on me!!!”
Her breathing had become heavier due to her anger. By now, House had given up the pretence of channel surfing. Placing the remote back in her hands, he told her gruffly, “You’re going to end up tearing your stitches at this rate, so I'm gonna go. You should get some rest.”
Cameron looked hard into his eyes as if searching for something. Then, with weary resignation, she told him, “No… don’t go. I’ll get some rest. You can stay and watch General Hospital. I… I’ve just gotten used to sleeping with someone in the room for some reason.”
Thankfully, she’d dropped the subject, but curiosity got the better of him. “How’d you sleep last night then?”
“Wilson kept me company, but he said he was pretty busy today.”
He imagined it was the oncologist’s neck that his fingers were tightening around. “Ah, yes. That one certainly gets around.”
Silence descended upon the room when the immunologist refused to respond. He wasn’t filled with gratitude like he should’ve been. Instead, he wanted to do something stupid like talk and fill this awkwardness.
“What if you had been a different man?” she asked.
House shifted a bit in his chair before finding a comfortable spot. “Like if I’d been Brad Pitt?”
“I’m not one for cheaters.”
The conversation was wandering back into dangerous territory again. “Or Charlize Theron?”
She laughed then. “Charlize Theron isn’t a man.”
“Oh, I dare you to find someone with that perfect an ass and not have it be a man, like that hot little jailbait who was sleeping with her dad.”
“Just because the woman is beautiful doesn’t mean she’s a man.”
“Who knows? You could be a man,” he retorted, and cursed his brain repeatedly as soon as the words left his lips.
There was no need for him to look over to know that there was a faint blush on her cheeks, or a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.”
“You’re going to break poor Wilson’s heart when he finds out he’s gay.”
“And you are being ridiculous,” she replied with a shake of her head.
She tugged the sheets a bit further up, the smile still lingering on her face.
“Good night, House.”
“Good night, Cameron.”
He told himself that it was the sound of her steady breathing that lulled him to sleep.
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“Oh good. You’re still here.”
House winced at the sound of Cuddy’s voice behind him. “Did you need any of my special services? Cos’ you know, I do do home visits now so you can be more vocal about your appreciation.”
“Hah hah. I need you to do me a favour.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A favour as in you would owe me something?”
“A favour as in I’m willing to overlook the fact that you haven’t done your clinic hours in years.”
“Well, I’m only willing to do a three-way if you get Angelina Jolie. Otherwise, my answer is no.”
She whacked him in the arm. “Be serious for a second will you? I take it that Cameron’s doing fine?”
“… according to her charts, she’s doing just fine.”
Cuddy did an elaborate eye roll. “Right. If she’s doing that well, then it’ll be just in time for her to get discharged tomorrow.”
“What??”
“We’re short on beds, House. Ever since someone lost us a hundred million dollars, we don’t have as many beds as we’d like.”
“Must you always remind me about that?” he said exasperatedly. “Listen, Cameron just got shot. Nice to see you playing human and tossing her out so quickly.”
“The shot missed all her vital organs. From her medical history, I see no signs of any complications developing, which makes her a good candidate to be discharged.”
“Why don’t you put some of those coma patients in the morgue instead? They’d hardly notice the difference.”
“House!! I don’t even want to think about the legal, moral, and not to mention, ethical implications of such an action, not that that would mean anything to you.”
“So the visiting relatives would have to wear a sweater.”
“It’s NOT happening.” Her blue eyes softened. “I realise she’s one of your doctors and you’re still feeling upset about what happened, but there’s really no place else we can put her. She’s in good shape. She’ll be all right.”
“Right. I’m sure she’ll be able to go up to McDonald’s and order some Big Macs with a side order of blood to go with her fries. She’s going to rip her stitches out, you cheap skate.”
“It’s not by choice, House! I don’t know why you keep making me out to this profit-minded bitch but I’m not. We have other patients in far more critical condition than her. They need constant medical care. She doesn’t. Besides, Wilson’s offered to keep an eye on her.”
He choked. “What!? Wilson?!”
“Yeah, doctor who works in oncology? Sometimes hangs around you? She’ll be fine. I’m discharging her tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t blame me if Wilson were to show up with mysterious cane-shaped dents all over his body tomorrow,” House muttered to her departing figure.
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Chapter 6
The first time Cameron ever entered a track competition, she thought she was going to throw up. Running had always been such a personal and private thing to her. When faced with fellow runners, the butterflies magnified in her stomach, and wound up lodged somewhere in the back of her throat.
It wasn’t the fact that their bodies had been far more athletically built than hers. They all shared the long lean muscles of runners that spoke of hard training and tenacity. Next to her, they warmed up, stretching their legs, but their eyes were constantly focused at the goal.
It was a difference she hadn’t been used to.
For the first time, as she readied herself for the sound of the gun, she realised that not everyone loved running the way she did.
Most of them were in it for the victory.
When she sprinted off, it didn’t matter to her whether or not the gun had gone off, or that fellow runners were rolling their eyes at her and the officials were cursing at her back at the starting line. The boos coming from the stands didn’t matter either.
She ran because she loved to. The competition simply didn’t matter.
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Upon leaving the hospital, he would’ve driven straight to Wilson’s except the bastard was nowhere to be found. After about ten hang-ups on his voice mail, which he did deliberately because the younger doctor hated that sort of thing, House wandered back home where he busied himself with dinner and the day’s Tivo’d episode of General Hospital. In between, he found himself imagining various ways he could torment Wilson, the least of which included STD rumours and letting his ex-wives know where he lived. As creative as he was, he eventually ran out of ideas and things to do.
There were nights where House stayed up all night, drinking his Scotch, and hoping that the mix of Vicodin and alcohol would either numb the pain or kill him. His fingers would glide over the piano, the motion a contradiction to the inner turmoil within. Sometimes, when he was angry, he would indulge in a few tunes where he allowed the angry complex chords to reflect his emotions.
Tonight, there was no numbing anything and there was no chance in hell he was going to bed. His Scotch sat on top of his piano utterly neglected along with his bottle of Vicodin. It had been days since he’d touched anything, and he wasn’t exactly sure why, especially given the sudden influx of feeling that made him feel like he could vomit or smash something at any given moment.
Last night, he’d had a staring contest with Jim Beam, and the results hadn’t been what he had hoped for. He’d spent a good part of the night pacing restlessly in his living room, occasionally playing some songs to relieve some of the tension, and driving madly and killing everything in sight around the streets of San Andreas courtesy of Carl Johnson. When all else failed, he imagined Wilson lecturing him on some god-forsaken topic to try to fall asleep.
Nothing had worked and those same things weren’t going to work right now either, especially when all House wanted to do was to go over to Wilson’s and ask what the hell his intentions were towards Cameron. Actually, he was leaning towards beating the living crap out of the guy and ask questions later. He also was dangerously close to sounding like her father. He was old enough to be her father, and his thoughts towards her weren’t exactly fatherly, unless he was like that pervert who’d slept with his hot model daughter.
On the other hand, he wasn’t sure what thoughts he had about the immunologist. She was beautiful. Itwas why he had hired her in the first place. There was nothing like eye candy first and last thing in the morning to make him a little less cranky, except he’d never expected her to be as damaged as she was. If life had been fair, she would’ve had her picture perfect family with the white picket fence and the 2.5 children and a husband who hadn’t died of cancer.
If life had been fair, he wouldn’t have this fucking bum leg either.
Except life wasn’t, and had instead thrown leftovers for him and her.
She attracted to a man nearly twice her age and who would eventually make her as miserable as he.
He unable to stop wishing that things were different and that he wasn’t this miserable bastard who had next to nothing left to offer.
House was never one for “why me”s. He’d tossed all of them out when the infarction had come along and destroyed his life and any hope he might’ve had for happiness. He knew he was being melodramatic and blamed it on all the chick movies that Wilson kept insisting he watch in order to get in touch with his feminine side. Truth was, he never wondered about happiness and what-could-have-beens. Experience had taught him that it was easier to keep people at arm’s length. It was far less annoying that way.
It meant that his life would always run on time, the predictability representing a warped sense of contentment that he was able to live with.
Cameron represented a change that he knew full well that he’d never be able to escape unscathed. She was Betty Cooper when all he’d ever known were Veronica Lodges. Cursing heavily under his breath, he rested his head against the top of the baby grand, his fingers landing clumsily to form a sound that offended his musical sensibilities.
He knew he was being awfully possessive of someone he claimed he didn’t want anything to do with, but logic had nothing to do with it, least of all why he cracked his knuckles as he realised what time it was.
All good little boys were due to come home, and there was
Title: Wait
Genre: Drama
Rating: High PG-13
Word Count: 4,973 and counting...
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. For some reason, this fic is going on a lot stronger than I thought it would.
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Chapter 4
From the start, Cameron was meant to be a long distance runner. She had the patience and endurance necessary to overcome both the physical and the mental. The first time she ran twenty miles, it had taken months of sore feet and pulled hamstrings and calves. Day by day, she sought to increase the distance she could run, but despite the physical exhaustion, she still persisted.
It was only after she had pushed herself too much and sustained an injury that she had learned.
Once she had recovered, she started back from scratch, never missing such simple details as the proper technique, breathing, and stretching. Even as her body was catching up, her mindset was still the same.
It was always one mile at a time.
The first time she ran twenty miles, she felt like she could’ve run another ten.
So she did.
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House limped into the coma unit as quickly as he could. He’d broken speed limits and cut off numerous drivers along the way, and carried on in the same manner on his way upstairs. Practically shoving patients aside, he’d hopped onto the elevator and jammed at the buttons repeatedly as if he could somehow make the ride go faster. His head was going a mile a minute, unable to process the cryptic message that Wilson delivered before hanging up abruptly.
There was one thing he knew for sure though. Before the day was over, he was going to have to slug the man once more, and this time, it would really hurt.
Just as House was approaching the room, his cadence of his footsteps slowed down as he wondered what he would see. All Wilson had said was, “You should come to the hospital NOW.”
To think, the oncologist was supposed to be the one with excellent bedside manner.
He took a deep breath. It wasn’t like he cared - not too much anyway. It was only a strange sense of obligation towards her that came with being monster truck rally buddies. She was also the only one he’d ever allowed to share his cotton candy with.
His hand tightened on the cane as if he wanted to snap it. She wasn’t going to die, not over some bullet anyway. He had thoroughly examined her charts, and nothing on it had led him to believe that any complications would arise. There was nothing he had missed.
… he was fairly certain at least.
… and all her medical history had been taken.
For someone like him whose basic motto was “everyone lies”, why was it that he had never doubted her word? Even worse than that, why was she making him doubt himself?
Now was NOT the time to think about such things. Straightening his back, he hobbled inside, only to be greeted by a few smiling faces, including Wilson’s, which he was going to deck once he’d seen her for himself.
“Come, House. She’s been asking for you."
“Traitorous bastard,” he muttered as he limped over.
Almost immediately, his eyes met hers. Something powerful swept through him, and he told himself that it was the withdrawals that were wreaking havoc with his nerves.
“You’re pathetic.”
Wilson’s chiding of “House” went unnoticed as Cameron smiled a little. “How long have I been out for?”
As if he were doing a diagnosis, he told her, “Judging by the oily build-up in your hair, I’d say about two days.”
At the soft murmur she made, he hobbled over to pour her a glass of water and paid no attention to the choking noises Wilson was making.
“Don’t pay any attention to him. If he’s lucky, he’ll die a slow painful death.”
Cameron nearly snorted water up her nose and Wilson glared at him.
“Look, I can take a hint.”
“Can you really? Was that before or after your wife yelled out someone else’s name?”
The appalled look on the immunologist’s face nearly made him laugh out loud.
“I’ll talk to YOU later, House. Take care, Cameron.”
Raising his hand in a casual wave, he said, “Just think of this as payback for your call earlier, except you’re not getting off that easy.”
When he turned around, he found her staring at him. “What?” he asked gruffly. “If you stare any harder, I’m going to have to tell Cuddy about being sexually harassed.”
“House.”
A distinct sense of unease shot through him at the tone of her voice. Though he knew there was no way in hell his dream would prove to be true, another part of him had him moving towards the door. “Well, I’ve got patients to see and…”
“I’m sorry.”
It felt as if someone had just slammed him in the gut. “Shut up” was all he could get out at the moment. She looked so damn fragile, all slender limbs sticking out with the beeping of the heart monitor mocking him as if it would stop any moment. Unable to bear it any longer he marched over and yanked out the wires.
“I can’t stand that sound,” House continued shakily. “I’d much rather hear the moans of a hooker instead. Are you willing to oblige? Oh wait, right. Too much sexual chemistry.”
Instead of reacting, Cameron just continued lying there and looking at him like she understood everything when in reality she couldn't possibly. He also wished he could’ve taken all those words back.
With her hand outstretched, she repeated, “I’m sorry, House.”
“Shut up!!! Stop apologizing!!! Nobody asked you to play hero and take a damn bullet for me!! Do I look the least bit GRATEFUL that you got shot?!” he demanded.
“I’m sorry for making you worry.”
Anger began coursing through his veins, unable to miss how quiet her voice had suddenly gotten. No matter how much he didn’t want to react, the words kept coming out. “Who said I was worried? You’re mistaking it for something else. I’m just excited because I have a date.”
Her eyes were fluttering shut as she whispered, “I’m sorry about that too...”
“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.
The last of his nerves were shot straight to hell when her hand fell limply to the side. “You’re not going to die on me!!!”
House's leg was the last thing on his mind as he dashed over. Tilting her head back, his face had been scant inches from hers, about to perform CPR when a slight puff of air struck his face.
Her smelly breath was hitting his face.
A strong sense of relief swept through him. After moving back, his bad leg gave out beneath him and he collapsed floor, the shakes affecting him far more than his withdrawal had.
Behind him, the nurses had rushed in to check out Cameron, only to be told by House, “She’s alive,” he said with some wonder before barking out, “Why don’t you go find someone else who really needs you? I hear Wilson’s feeling lonely.”
They scattered just as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving House alone to his thoughts.
She was alive, he thought.
There was nothing that could’ve stopped him from reaching out and slipping his hand into hers.
---------------------------------------------------------
House’s office was a mess. Without Cameron to straighten things out, papers had begun piling on his desk, and his email was getting thoroughly neglected. So he continued to let them accumulate, paying them no mind as he worked on the latest ball-and-cane trick. His jitters were still there unfortunately, and where it normally would’ve led to some level of frustration, he was feeling strangely calm.
“Well, that’s a sight you don’t see every day.”
He pitched the red and grey ball, aiming right for Wilson’s head, and smirked when it bounced off his head with deadly accuracy.
“Next time I’m throwing the cane. It makes a wonderful projectile.”
The ball came right back and House caught it easily before tossing it up in the air once more.
“How’s she doing?”
“How should I know?” he groused, annoyed by the other man’s presence.
“‘How should you know’ as in you haven’t seen her in the last couple of hours but you don’t want the others thinking you care because God only knows you don’t care if they think you’re a stalker?”
House was almost positive the eight-ball would cause more damage than his cane. “Don’t you have work to do? Patients dying of cancer to sleep with?”
“It happened only once, Greg. Would you stop bringing it up?”
“You know what they say. First it’s cancer patients. You’re only a hop and a skip away from necrophilia. Should I give the morgue a head’s up?” he continued, rather enjoying the irritation on Wilson’s face.
“Cameron’s clearly on the road to recovery if you’re happily sitting in your office throwing comments at me.”
“When have you ever known me to be happy?” House retorted sarcastically.
“When you’re mocking patients, when you’re tormenting your peons,… when you were with Stacy.”
“And this would be why you’re an oncologist and not, say, a therapist. I’m not sure why you keep harping over Stacy. Could it be that you have a thing for her?”
“Why? Does it bother you?”
“No,” House replied, “What does bother me is your attempts to psychoanalyze me. It’s starting to really piss me off. Did it ever occur to you that I might be over her?”
“Are you?”
“A bit personal on our first date, don’t you think?”
Wilson sighed. “So you aren’t.”
“Did you hear me say no? Oh wait, your ears have a tendency to block that word out. The nurses did say you give persistence new meaning.”
There was a snort from Wilson. “This from the man who was all but stalking Stacy?”
Wagging a finger at the younger man, House said, “Oh you. That’s good. Mocking me when you’re currently exhibiting the same behaviour… unless that was your intent. Oooh. You’re really good.”
“So you’re over her then.”
“Don’t you have tumours to find?”
Wilson’s smile reflected some sort of relief. “Good. Cameron deserves so much more than just leftovers.”
“What are you, Cameron’s best friend now?”
“What are you, jealous?”
“Yes, my heart’s so shattered at the thought of her with another man,” he bit out sarcastically before wishing he could suppress the mental images of her with Chase. It had been the meth talking. He knew that much, which was why he had no idea why he couldn't forget the fact that it hadn’t been him that she’d called.
“You know it was just the drugs.”
He shot the other man an irritated look. “This hospital really need something better to do. Like save patients.”
In spite of the silence that fell, Wilson said nothing.
“He took advantage of her,” House finally growled out.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”
“Look. I think we all know that the only person allowed to be drugged up is me.”
The oncologist laughed. “You? A gentleman? House, I am shocked.”
“Ladies should always come first. You should remember that sometimes.”
It was his turn to smirk when he saw how red Wilson’s cheeks turned. “You are impossible.”
“That’s why the ladies love me.”
“Just Cameron,” Wilson threw back. “And you know, she’s not the only one who deserves to be happy.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know what they say. Fourth time’s a charm.”
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Chapter 5
She could never explain her addiction to running, and why she would frequently take off for the closest track whenever something upset her, be it at the school yard nearby or around the neighbourhood. To say that it relieved any stress was just too simple for something that was far more complex than that.
There was a rush of adrenaline that shot through her system that accompanied each run. The feel of her muscles in motion to some invisible beat was something she could never describe.
As much as she loved running, it had been far too easy to fall off the bandwagon. The miscarriage had seen to that. While she drowned in grief, it had been impossible to bring herself to go towards that joy that accompanied running.
It had seemed so wrong that she should somehow be able to feel while the ashes of her husband and child were buried ten feet under.
But something had drawn her back.
It was like a drug to her afterall.
---------------------------------------------------------
House came into his office the next morning, a little grumpier and worse for wear. With Cameron being awake, he hadn’t been able to indulge himself in what had unexpectedly become his nightly ritual. It wasn’t because his leg hurt any less just because he was staring at her, or that he had any particular romantic feelings for her.
It was just peaceful when he was around her.
Of course, that only meant that it wasn’t when he wasn’t around.
His bad mood was obvious in every step-thump he took. After depositing his bag, he headed straight for the kitchen as he did every morning. Instead of coffee, he put a bag of tea from Cameron’s private stash.
“So, Dr. Dre and Eminem, here’s the game plan for today. I am going to be somewhere in this hospital, and it’ll be something like hide and seek, except there'll be no seek.”
“Why are you drinking Cameron’s tea?” Chase demanded.
The diagnostician tapped his chin. “Hmmm, let me think about this for a second. It’s in MY kitchen; therefore, it’s mine. Besides, I feel it’s one of those days where I can show that I’m a strong macho man while still revealing my sensitive, tea-drinking side.”
Foreman rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I got patients to check.” Then he shot House a look that irritated him even further.
“What? Is this one of your gangsta stares?”
As if House hadn’t said anything, Chase pressed on. “Look, I think it’s HER tea, and you have no business drinking it.”
“Ooooh Captain Kangaroo. What are you going to do? Rat me out to Vogler? Oh wait, your sugar daddy isn’t here to defend you anymore and besides, all I have to do is bat these baby blues and Cameron’ll give me anything I want. Even if she tried to put up a fight, I could totally take her on, because you know, she just got shot.”
The blonde stiffened at House’s words, and glared at him. “What the hell’s your problem?”
“I’ll tell you what my problem is, mate. It’s the fact that I have to put up with your sorry, sleeping-with-girls-high-on-meth self even though what I’d love to do is fire your wombatty ass. So, why don’t we agree that you’re a bastard and just get along?”
“It was a ONE time only thing, and I don't know where you get off thinking you're a saint when you're a bastard yourself!"
“Ah, but there’s one considerable difference. I’m the miserable bastard who happens to be your boss. Now go find some little girl to make out with or whatever. I don’t really give a crap as long as you’re not bothering me. So SHOO.”
Chase marched out, and the neurologist just shook his head. “Are you two ever going to play nice?”
“I have this rule. Never be nice to backstabbing assholes who like to bring their romantic entanglements to work,” House responded as he took a sip of his tea.
Why did it taste so much better when Cameron made it for him?
Crossing his arm, Foreman looked back at the head of Diagnostics. “I really don’t think Cameron and Chase have a problem. It’s only a problem because you are making it your problem.”
“It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?”
“It has less to do with your pastiness and more to do with the fact that you might just possibly care for Cameron.”
House nearly dropped his mug. “Whachu talkin’ about Willis?” he managed to retort in time.
“You know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“If I were looking for an expert on being a slave, I’d ask you, but since I’m not, and I have no more interest in Cameron than I do you, I’d say you better go back out to tend those fields.”
“You check out my ass the same way you do hers?”
“You know what they say… once you go black…” House waggled his eyebrows.
Shaking his head, Foreman griped as he headed out the door, obviously done with their conversation, “I have NO idea why anyone puts up with you.”
There was an unreadable look on House’s face. “Me neither,” he said to no one in particular.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Diagnose this,” House barked out as he tossed a file on Cameron’s torso.
Obviously, he had caught her off-guard, he thought grumpily as he settled himself down on his chair. Her eyes made quick work of the symptoms and she looked up at him as if he had gone crazy.
“House. This is just a simple case of the flu. There’s no history on the patient’s charts that would suggest anything otherwise.”
He busied himself with the remote control, which he’d filched from the bedside table.
“Why are you here?”
“You’re bright and chirpy,” he commented. “Did someone pump you full of morphine?”
“No, that’s your thing. I’ve had them take me off it already.”
It wasn’t that he was looking at her so closely that he noticed the wince on her face. Cameron wasn’t exactly one for safeguarding her emotions. She was so much of an open book that it presented no challenge.
“Oooh. Someone had her Wheaties this morning.”
“House,” she began wearily, “What are you doing here? We both know that that case was just an excuse to get in here.”
He wasn’t prepared to tell her anything that he wasn’t willing to admit to himself. “It’s the last place anyone would think to find me.”
“…glad to help out.”
It took him a while to respond to the hurt he heard in her voice. “Look, I understand you got shot… for me. But don’t think for a second that changed anything.”
“I didn’t get shot because I expected anything. I just thought you’d at least be a decent human being about it.”
“In all the time you’ve known me, when did you know me to be a decent human being?”
“When you shared your cotton candy with me! When you bought me a corsage for our date! Before you went all… asshole on me!!!”
Her breathing had become heavier due to her anger. By now, House had given up the pretence of channel surfing. Placing the remote back in her hands, he told her gruffly, “You’re going to end up tearing your stitches at this rate, so I'm gonna go. You should get some rest.”
Cameron looked hard into his eyes as if searching for something. Then, with weary resignation, she told him, “No… don’t go. I’ll get some rest. You can stay and watch General Hospital. I… I’ve just gotten used to sleeping with someone in the room for some reason.”
Thankfully, she’d dropped the subject, but curiosity got the better of him. “How’d you sleep last night then?”
“Wilson kept me company, but he said he was pretty busy today.”
He imagined it was the oncologist’s neck that his fingers were tightening around. “Ah, yes. That one certainly gets around.”
Silence descended upon the room when the immunologist refused to respond. He wasn’t filled with gratitude like he should’ve been. Instead, he wanted to do something stupid like talk and fill this awkwardness.
“What if you had been a different man?” she asked.
House shifted a bit in his chair before finding a comfortable spot. “Like if I’d been Brad Pitt?”
“I’m not one for cheaters.”
The conversation was wandering back into dangerous territory again. “Or Charlize Theron?”
She laughed then. “Charlize Theron isn’t a man.”
“Oh, I dare you to find someone with that perfect an ass and not have it be a man, like that hot little jailbait who was sleeping with her dad.”
“Just because the woman is beautiful doesn’t mean she’s a man.”
“Who knows? You could be a man,” he retorted, and cursed his brain repeatedly as soon as the words left his lips.
There was no need for him to look over to know that there was a faint blush on her cheeks, or a twinkle in her eyes. “I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered.”
“You’re going to break poor Wilson’s heart when he finds out he’s gay.”
“And you are being ridiculous,” she replied with a shake of her head.
She tugged the sheets a bit further up, the smile still lingering on her face.
“Good night, House.”
“Good night, Cameron.”
He told himself that it was the sound of her steady breathing that lulled him to sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Oh good. You’re still here.”
House winced at the sound of Cuddy’s voice behind him. “Did you need any of my special services? Cos’ you know, I do do home visits now so you can be more vocal about your appreciation.”
“Hah hah. I need you to do me a favour.”
His eyebrows shot up. “A favour as in you would owe me something?”
“A favour as in I’m willing to overlook the fact that you haven’t done your clinic hours in years.”
“Well, I’m only willing to do a three-way if you get Angelina Jolie. Otherwise, my answer is no.”
She whacked him in the arm. “Be serious for a second will you? I take it that Cameron’s doing fine?”
“… according to her charts, she’s doing just fine.”
Cuddy did an elaborate eye roll. “Right. If she’s doing that well, then it’ll be just in time for her to get discharged tomorrow.”
“What??”
“We’re short on beds, House. Ever since someone lost us a hundred million dollars, we don’t have as many beds as we’d like.”
“Must you always remind me about that?” he said exasperatedly. “Listen, Cameron just got shot. Nice to see you playing human and tossing her out so quickly.”
“The shot missed all her vital organs. From her medical history, I see no signs of any complications developing, which makes her a good candidate to be discharged.”
“Why don’t you put some of those coma patients in the morgue instead? They’d hardly notice the difference.”
“House!! I don’t even want to think about the legal, moral, and not to mention, ethical implications of such an action, not that that would mean anything to you.”
“So the visiting relatives would have to wear a sweater.”
“It’s NOT happening.” Her blue eyes softened. “I realise she’s one of your doctors and you’re still feeling upset about what happened, but there’s really no place else we can put her. She’s in good shape. She’ll be all right.”
“Right. I’m sure she’ll be able to go up to McDonald’s and order some Big Macs with a side order of blood to go with her fries. She’s going to rip her stitches out, you cheap skate.”
“It’s not by choice, House! I don’t know why you keep making me out to this profit-minded bitch but I’m not. We have other patients in far more critical condition than her. They need constant medical care. She doesn’t. Besides, Wilson’s offered to keep an eye on her.”
He choked. “What!? Wilson?!”
“Yeah, doctor who works in oncology? Sometimes hangs around you? She’ll be fine. I’m discharging her tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t blame me if Wilson were to show up with mysterious cane-shaped dents all over his body tomorrow,” House muttered to her departing figure.
---------------------------------------------
Chapter 6
The first time Cameron ever entered a track competition, she thought she was going to throw up. Running had always been such a personal and private thing to her. When faced with fellow runners, the butterflies magnified in her stomach, and wound up lodged somewhere in the back of her throat.
It wasn’t the fact that their bodies had been far more athletically built than hers. They all shared the long lean muscles of runners that spoke of hard training and tenacity. Next to her, they warmed up, stretching their legs, but their eyes were constantly focused at the goal.
It was a difference she hadn’t been used to.
For the first time, as she readied herself for the sound of the gun, she realised that not everyone loved running the way she did.
Most of them were in it for the victory.
When she sprinted off, it didn’t matter to her whether or not the gun had gone off, or that fellow runners were rolling their eyes at her and the officials were cursing at her back at the starting line. The boos coming from the stands didn’t matter either.
She ran because she loved to. The competition simply didn’t matter.
---------------------------------------------------------
Upon leaving the hospital, he would’ve driven straight to Wilson’s except the bastard was nowhere to be found. After about ten hang-ups on his voice mail, which he did deliberately because the younger doctor hated that sort of thing, House wandered back home where he busied himself with dinner and the day’s Tivo’d episode of General Hospital. In between, he found himself imagining various ways he could torment Wilson, the least of which included STD rumours and letting his ex-wives know where he lived. As creative as he was, he eventually ran out of ideas and things to do.
There were nights where House stayed up all night, drinking his Scotch, and hoping that the mix of Vicodin and alcohol would either numb the pain or kill him. His fingers would glide over the piano, the motion a contradiction to the inner turmoil within. Sometimes, when he was angry, he would indulge in a few tunes where he allowed the angry complex chords to reflect his emotions.
Tonight, there was no numbing anything and there was no chance in hell he was going to bed. His Scotch sat on top of his piano utterly neglected along with his bottle of Vicodin. It had been days since he’d touched anything, and he wasn’t exactly sure why, especially given the sudden influx of feeling that made him feel like he could vomit or smash something at any given moment.
Last night, he’d had a staring contest with Jim Beam, and the results hadn’t been what he had hoped for. He’d spent a good part of the night pacing restlessly in his living room, occasionally playing some songs to relieve some of the tension, and driving madly and killing everything in sight around the streets of San Andreas courtesy of Carl Johnson. When all else failed, he imagined Wilson lecturing him on some god-forsaken topic to try to fall asleep.
Nothing had worked and those same things weren’t going to work right now either, especially when all House wanted to do was to go over to Wilson’s and ask what the hell his intentions were towards Cameron. Actually, he was leaning towards beating the living crap out of the guy and ask questions later. He also was dangerously close to sounding like her father. He was old enough to be her father, and his thoughts towards her weren’t exactly fatherly, unless he was like that pervert who’d slept with his hot model daughter.
On the other hand, he wasn’t sure what thoughts he had about the immunologist. She was beautiful. Itwas why he had hired her in the first place. There was nothing like eye candy first and last thing in the morning to make him a little less cranky, except he’d never expected her to be as damaged as she was. If life had been fair, she would’ve had her picture perfect family with the white picket fence and the 2.5 children and a husband who hadn’t died of cancer.
If life had been fair, he wouldn’t have this fucking bum leg either.
Except life wasn’t, and had instead thrown leftovers for him and her.
She attracted to a man nearly twice her age and who would eventually make her as miserable as he.
He unable to stop wishing that things were different and that he wasn’t this miserable bastard who had next to nothing left to offer.
House was never one for “why me”s. He’d tossed all of them out when the infarction had come along and destroyed his life and any hope he might’ve had for happiness. He knew he was being melodramatic and blamed it on all the chick movies that Wilson kept insisting he watch in order to get in touch with his feminine side. Truth was, he never wondered about happiness and what-could-have-beens. Experience had taught him that it was easier to keep people at arm’s length. It was far less annoying that way.
It meant that his life would always run on time, the predictability representing a warped sense of contentment that he was able to live with.
Cameron represented a change that he knew full well that he’d never be able to escape unscathed. She was Betty Cooper when all he’d ever known were Veronica Lodges. Cursing heavily under his breath, he rested his head against the top of the baby grand, his fingers landing clumsily to form a sound that offended his musical sensibilities.
He knew he was being awfully possessive of someone he claimed he didn’t want anything to do with, but logic had nothing to do with it, least of all why he cracked his knuckles as he realised what time it was.
All good little boys were due to come home, and there was