Converse
While House and Blythe had their heart-to-heart, Cameron went to the laundry room. She had been standing on the other end of the hallway when Mr. House confronted his son. She turned away when Greg asked his mother, “Do I have to marry Cameron to make this all better?”
Inside the small room, she leaned over and pressed her palms down on the dryer.
She dared not hope. She reserved that for Christopher, because it was all she would allow.
Cameron stopped hoping for herself the moment she heard her name uttered the night Christopher was conceived. Since then, she stopped giving too much hope to patients and started giving them the facts. It was the only thing that worked when all of Wilson's remonstrance and House’s litanies have failed; after leaving his employ, Dr. Allison Cameron finally became the doctor who met almost all of House’s requirements.
And this “sleeping arrangement” with him? It had been all sex-very satisfying, mind-gutting sex-and then sleep. By unspoken agreement, personal issues were left on the other side of her bedroom door. Outside it, they only discussed work, Christopher, hospital gossip, and once, House’s suspicions about Wilson’s frequent night trips to the hospital.
The door opened. Cameron straightened up and turned around, then had to lean against the dryer as House entered the cramped, rectangular room. Cameron made to move sideways for the door, but House stretched his left arm and blocked the way. He only moved his arm when he closed the door behind him.
Cameron didn’t wait for House to provide an opening. “Where's Christopher?” she asked him.
“He's with the folks,” he replied, jerking his head to indicate the living room. “I assigned Wilson to be his bodyguard.”
“House!” Cameron chided. “I know you have issues with your dad, but-”
House’s snort interrupted her. “Not him: my mom! She’s gone nuts. I have feeling she’s going take Nemo with her to New Zealand tomorrow morning if we’re not careful.”
Despite herself, Cameron grinned. After recovering from her fainting spell, Blythe House became enamored of her newfound grandson. She practically demanded that she would clean up Christopher and change him, despite protests from Wilson and Cameron. House, who made the mistake of returning from Wilson’s room after scrounging around for a fresh t-shirt, was promptly scolded by Blythe for failing to do his duty and inform her that she had become a grandmother.
“Let's go to my place.”
Cameron blinked. She hadn't been conscious of spacing out. Or of House massaging her tense shoulders-damned talented hands he has.
“What about your folks? And-”
“Wilson can handle all three of them; he was born to be a hostess.”
Cameron couldn’t control her giggles.
“And I think my mom has already shown you a sample of her super powers. How do you think she survived being married to my dad all these years?”
--
It did seem like Blythe has super powers: she didn’t comment much when, in the middle of dinner, House informed the small gathering that he and Cameron had to go back to the hospital to check on a patient. On previous visits, she would cajole her son into spending time with her and John, even if it was for a few minutes as House had patients to attend to.
“They're needed, John,” Blythe said, cutting off whatever Mr. House was about to say to his son. Wilson took over feeding Christopher, whose face was smeared with half the mashed vegetables that missed his mouth, and murmured, “Good luck” to the departing couple.
The ride to House’s flat took minutes. House navigated the streets with ease, ignoring the squeezing around his middle whenever he encountered sharp corners or overtook other vehicles.
They finally arrived at the flat. Cameron felt like her innards were getting tied into knots; she hadn't been to this place for more than a year. She almost didn’t register that her companion had already gone up the stairs leading to the front door.
“Are you coming?” House asked loudly.
“Yeah,” she replied and started moving.
The flat didn’t seem to have changed a whit the last time Cameron had been here. The piano was still in the same corner, though the guitar hanging on the wall behind it looked new (it didn’t have the rainbow shoulder strap like the one before, and the color of the instrument was darker). The shelves and coffee table still held assorted books, medical texts, and exotic-looking knickknacks. Cameron walked further into the living room and looked around as House dropped his motorcycle jacket on the leather sofa and lumbered into the kitchen.
“Didn’t you have a rat?” Cameron asked as she removed her jacket.
“I did,” House replied from behind the refrigerator door. He straightened up and offered her a bottle of beer.
Cameron moved towards him and accepted the bottle. “Well, where you keep him?”
House opened his bottle with a Budweiser bar blade and handed the device to her. “The flower box over there,” he finally answered, cocking his head to the side to indicate its location. House would have let that explanation suffice until he saw the look of horror on Cameron’s face. “Steve McQueen died of natural causes,” he exclaimed, hobbling past her to enter the living room. “I looked in on his cage one day and there he was, legs sticking up in the air and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.”
Cameron just took a sip of beer and followed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. One thing was certain when she sat next to House on the sofa:
This was it.
In actuality, “it” took minutes to start. Awkwardness settled in, and all they did in the interim was to finish off their beers for as long as possible. Cameron wondered how it was possible that having sex with the man next to her was easier than talking to him all of a sudden.
“Screwing around was easier than this,” House suddenly muttered, bending over to place his empty bottle on the coffee table. He leaned back and looked at Cameron; for one moment, the look House was giving her made him look so many years younger. She felt his fingers thread through hers until he fully grasped her hand. He looked at her, opened his mouth, then looked down at their entwined fingers.
“I’m not very good at this.”
Cameron started to look at their hands, not trusting herself to speak. House moved his free hand and covered the rest of her hand with it.
“I really don't remember much about that night,” he continued, still focusing his gaze on her hands. “If I did, we might have fixed this earlier, and you wouldn’t-I would have been there when Nemo was born.”
House looked at Cameron; she hadn't flinched or reacted. She still kept looking at their hands.
He continued: “What I said, I can't take it back-I don't remember it, remember?”
Cameron tried not to react, but she could not stop her hands from twitching.
“But I can tell you this: Stacy and I are over. We're through.”
Cameron whispered, still not daring to look at him: “You said her name...you slept with her...”
She didn't see House make a face as he sputtered, “I-ah-well, YOU slept with Chase!”
Cameron whipped around to look at House, eyes flashing. “I was high! What’s your excuse?”
“Sheeeeeeeeeeee’s a lawyer!”
“Bullshit!”
Cameron attempted to remove her hand from his clutches, but House had the advantage of larger hands and a longer reach. He pulled her towards him, locking her in a tight embrace.
“How dare you,” she snarled as she struggled furiously against House’s hold on her, “compare what happened between me and Chase to you and HER! Unlike us, you two had a HISTORY! She was married, and you fucked her, then you fucked me and you thought you were fucking her and now you're fucking me all over again...!”
He kept silent, letting Cameron release the bile she had stored up all this time. He had to give her the opportunity to get it all out. When Cameron started winding down and sobbed, he stroked her back and cleared his throat.
“I know I've been a prime asshole-I’ve been building my rep long before I met you,” he said in a low voice. “But unlike some assholes, I know when I’ve gone overboard and I know when there’s something worth saving. I do work on making it worth it.”
He released Cameron, enough to tilt her head up and look at her. Her eyes were red and swimming in tears. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You made me feel like shit when you left, worse than when Stacy left the first time. I don't want that again-no feeling like shit or Stacy. I want to save this thing we’ve got. I want to be part of your life and Nemo’s.”
House left it right there. Cameron looked at him for a long time before she replied:
“We have a lot of work to do.”
-*-
The lovemaking that followed wasn't as mind-gutting as before, but it was more, much more, and that alone exhausted them and made them feel more sated.
Cameron curled up against House, almost asleep, when he nuzzled her ear and asked, “How long have Wilson and Cuddy been screwing around?”
--
I found Steve McQueen. He was moonlighting at cuteoverload.com:
BTW, do we fanfic writers look like this?
Be honest now. ;-)
Inside the small room, she leaned over and pressed her palms down on the dryer.
She dared not hope. She reserved that for Christopher, because it was all she would allow.
Cameron stopped hoping for herself the moment she heard her name uttered the night Christopher was conceived. Since then, she stopped giving too much hope to patients and started giving them the facts. It was the only thing that worked when all of Wilson's remonstrance and House’s litanies have failed; after leaving his employ, Dr. Allison Cameron finally became the doctor who met almost all of House’s requirements.
And this “sleeping arrangement” with him? It had been all sex-very satisfying, mind-gutting sex-and then sleep. By unspoken agreement, personal issues were left on the other side of her bedroom door. Outside it, they only discussed work, Christopher, hospital gossip, and once, House’s suspicions about Wilson’s frequent night trips to the hospital.
The door opened. Cameron straightened up and turned around, then had to lean against the dryer as House entered the cramped, rectangular room. Cameron made to move sideways for the door, but House stretched his left arm and blocked the way. He only moved his arm when he closed the door behind him.
Cameron didn’t wait for House to provide an opening. “Where's Christopher?” she asked him.
“He's with the folks,” he replied, jerking his head to indicate the living room. “I assigned Wilson to be his bodyguard.”
“House!” Cameron chided. “I know you have issues with your dad, but-”
House’s snort interrupted her. “Not him: my mom! She’s gone nuts. I have feeling she’s going take Nemo with her to New Zealand tomorrow morning if we’re not careful.”
Despite herself, Cameron grinned. After recovering from her fainting spell, Blythe House became enamored of her newfound grandson. She practically demanded that she would clean up Christopher and change him, despite protests from Wilson and Cameron. House, who made the mistake of returning from Wilson’s room after scrounging around for a fresh t-shirt, was promptly scolded by Blythe for failing to do his duty and inform her that she had become a grandmother.
“Let's go to my place.”
Cameron blinked. She hadn't been conscious of spacing out. Or of House massaging her tense shoulders-damned talented hands he has.
“What about your folks? And-”
“Wilson can handle all three of them; he was born to be a hostess.”
Cameron couldn’t control her giggles.
“And I think my mom has already shown you a sample of her super powers. How do you think she survived being married to my dad all these years?”
--
It did seem like Blythe has super powers: she didn’t comment much when, in the middle of dinner, House informed the small gathering that he and Cameron had to go back to the hospital to check on a patient. On previous visits, she would cajole her son into spending time with her and John, even if it was for a few minutes as House had patients to attend to.
“They're needed, John,” Blythe said, cutting off whatever Mr. House was about to say to his son. Wilson took over feeding Christopher, whose face was smeared with half the mashed vegetables that missed his mouth, and murmured, “Good luck” to the departing couple.
The ride to House’s flat took minutes. House navigated the streets with ease, ignoring the squeezing around his middle whenever he encountered sharp corners or overtook other vehicles.
They finally arrived at the flat. Cameron felt like her innards were getting tied into knots; she hadn't been to this place for more than a year. She almost didn’t register that her companion had already gone up the stairs leading to the front door.
“Are you coming?” House asked loudly.
“Yeah,” she replied and started moving.
The flat didn’t seem to have changed a whit the last time Cameron had been here. The piano was still in the same corner, though the guitar hanging on the wall behind it looked new (it didn’t have the rainbow shoulder strap like the one before, and the color of the instrument was darker). The shelves and coffee table still held assorted books, medical texts, and exotic-looking knickknacks. Cameron walked further into the living room and looked around as House dropped his motorcycle jacket on the leather sofa and lumbered into the kitchen.
“Didn’t you have a rat?” Cameron asked as she removed her jacket.
“I did,” House replied from behind the refrigerator door. He straightened up and offered her a bottle of beer.
Cameron moved towards him and accepted the bottle. “Well, where you keep him?”
House opened his bottle with a Budweiser bar blade and handed the device to her. “The flower box over there,” he finally answered, cocking his head to the side to indicate its location. House would have let that explanation suffice until he saw the look of horror on Cameron’s face. “Steve McQueen died of natural causes,” he exclaimed, hobbling past her to enter the living room. “I looked in on his cage one day and there he was, legs sticking up in the air and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.”
Cameron just took a sip of beer and followed him out of the kitchen and into the living room. One thing was certain when she sat next to House on the sofa:
This was it.
In actuality, “it” took minutes to start. Awkwardness settled in, and all they did in the interim was to finish off their beers for as long as possible. Cameron wondered how it was possible that having sex with the man next to her was easier than talking to him all of a sudden.
“Screwing around was easier than this,” House suddenly muttered, bending over to place his empty bottle on the coffee table. He leaned back and looked at Cameron; for one moment, the look House was giving her made him look so many years younger. She felt his fingers thread through hers until he fully grasped her hand. He looked at her, opened his mouth, then looked down at their entwined fingers.
“I’m not very good at this.”
Cameron started to look at their hands, not trusting herself to speak. House moved his free hand and covered the rest of her hand with it.
“I really don't remember much about that night,” he continued, still focusing his gaze on her hands. “If I did, we might have fixed this earlier, and you wouldn’t-I would have been there when Nemo was born.”
House looked at Cameron; she hadn't flinched or reacted. She still kept looking at their hands.
He continued: “What I said, I can't take it back-I don't remember it, remember?”
Cameron tried not to react, but she could not stop her hands from twitching.
“But I can tell you this: Stacy and I are over. We're through.”
Cameron whispered, still not daring to look at him: “You said her name...you slept with her...”
She didn't see House make a face as he sputtered, “I-ah-well, YOU slept with Chase!”
Cameron whipped around to look at House, eyes flashing. “I was high! What’s your excuse?”
“Sheeeeeeeeeeee’s a lawyer!”
“Bullshit!”
Cameron attempted to remove her hand from his clutches, but House had the advantage of larger hands and a longer reach. He pulled her towards him, locking her in a tight embrace.
“How dare you,” she snarled as she struggled furiously against House’s hold on her, “compare what happened between me and Chase to you and HER! Unlike us, you two had a HISTORY! She was married, and you fucked her, then you fucked me and you thought you were fucking her and now you're fucking me all over again...!”
He kept silent, letting Cameron release the bile she had stored up all this time. He had to give her the opportunity to get it all out. When Cameron started winding down and sobbed, he stroked her back and cleared his throat.
“I know I've been a prime asshole-I’ve been building my rep long before I met you,” he said in a low voice. “But unlike some assholes, I know when I’ve gone overboard and I know when there’s something worth saving. I do work on making it worth it.”
He released Cameron, enough to tilt her head up and look at her. Her eyes were red and swimming in tears. He used the pad of his thumb to brush away the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“You made me feel like shit when you left, worse than when Stacy left the first time. I don't want that again-no feeling like shit or Stacy. I want to save this thing we’ve got. I want to be part of your life and Nemo’s.”
House left it right there. Cameron looked at him for a long time before she replied:
“We have a lot of work to do.”
-*-
The lovemaking that followed wasn't as mind-gutting as before, but it was more, much more, and that alone exhausted them and made them feel more sated.
Cameron curled up against House, almost asleep, when he nuzzled her ear and asked, “How long have Wilson and Cuddy been screwing around?”
--
I found Steve McQueen. He was moonlighting at cuteoverload.com:
BTW, do we fanfic writers look like this?
Be honest now. ;-)