House Fic: my lungs in your hands
my lungs in your hands house/cameron, pg.
when you’re thinking of something to say, remember there’s always history. so he goes after her and it isn’t what you think. spoilers for love hurts and teamwork 1,382 words.
notes: for 0penhearts, for the house_cameron secret santa exchange. SO THIS. the funny thing about this is that I was all set up to write you smut, but then I read over your requests and it became something entirely different. thank you, bb, for making me think and i hope you enjoy this, as much as i enjoyed writing this for you.
-
“I have my keys,” House says from behind her.
She watches a car turn into the half-empty street. The high lamps blur its color from gold to gray to a faint yellow. Her hand makes a fist around her purse.
“I see a cab,” Cameron replies.
The color of her cheeks is still flushed with embarrassment, scratched deeper as the collar of her jacket brushes along her throat. She feels the weight of her corsage over her skin and looking down, she passes her fingers over the bare band that holds it around her wrist. A few petals have already fallen from the flowers, lost somewhere between the bathroom, the coatroom, and the outside.
It shouldn’t matter, but the car passes. Not a cab, she almost says. She listens to him shuffle forward. It’s the sound of his shoes and his cane the scrapes against the sidewalk; it makes her step forward and off the curb.
A couple passes in front of her laughing. Her fingers are clumsy as she pulls the corsage off her wrist.
The band snaps and Cameron squints, watching another car turn onto the street. Her stomach is in knots and the sensation begins to tighten, twist as she attempts to keep herself calm.
She hands the corsage back to him. “Here,” she says.
“Here,” he says again.
She looks up to a coffee in House’s hand, the liquid staining the rim of the lid. The corners of her mouth shift and she takes her time, reaching forward and pulling the coffee into her hands.
There is no thank you as he sits. Late, the airport opens into an empty series of hallways outside security. She watches a few of the agents wander along the line, studying the few passengers that scramble nervously to get their things in order for the check.
“I have a late flight,” she says finally, and calmly, sliding her thumb under the lid of her coffee. It comes off with a pop and she puts it down on the seat next to her as House slides closer. She turns to watch him stretch his legs out in front of him and stare straight ahead.
“Where are you going?”
He asks. She doesn’t answer. It isn’t for him to know. If he does know, he won’t tell her. This is what she knows.
She isn’t surprised that he’s here either. It’s not about whether he would come after her or not, it’s that he’s here and if this were a few years later even, she would have the same sort of feels. At first, it’s initial unease and it churns almost strangely, with warmth and even some amusement.
“So you really are doing this,” he drawls then. He laughs too and the sound is derisive. “Going off, ending your marriage, making the decision you should’ve made months ago. It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I’d call you brave, but I’m in therapy for things like that.”
“I’m sure you are,” she murmurs.
She turns her gaze back to the coffee in her hand. She brings it to her lips. A brief smile fits into her mouth, half-aware of the mix milk and sugar. It’s like him, she thinks, to know the little things, the inconsequential things better than most. With everything else, he’s much more comfortable assuming.
Leaning her head back against the wall, she closes her eyes. She listens to him scoff. There is a brief call for boarding that echoes in front of her, from somewhere within the maze of gaze. She feels her hair frame the line of his jaw and doesn’t bother to brush it away.
“I was thinking about our date, you know.”
He groans. She brings her coffee to her mouth again.
“That stupid dress I bought, the perfume I wore, and how excited I was for that restaurant,” she tells him calmly. “I remember how nervous I was. It wasn’t about you liking me. It was about spending time with you, oddly enough. About enjoying that time with you.”
“I don’t need to hear this,” he says.
“You do.”
She looks over at him, turning her head and meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark too and he’s frowning. He watches her too as if he were waiting; there things that she can still feel, the weight and pressure around her eyes, both sharp and heavy. There is nothing left to cry about and crying, if anything, seems to keep itself as nothing more than a natural reaction.
Strangely enough, she smiles.
“I need to tell you this because you’re here and it’s probably the only time I’m going to feel like sharing. Because as much as I want to hate it, you’re a substantial part of my life, just as separate as my husband and Chase were. It’s funny how that works out.”
The smile stays too. She watches as he leans forward, his head resting against the wall. He tilts his neck slightly, and exposes the long arch of his throat. Without thinking, she reaches forward and drags her fingers briefly against his skin. She feels him swallow underneath her fingertips and maybe, just maybe even shift closer.
“I’m sure you’re here for something.”
She drops her hand slowly. He says nothing.
“You always come when you want something,” she murmurs. “And I can’t get that damn date out of my head, sitting there with you. It wasn’t even about what you said after.”
“Then?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, thick. After a few years of looking at each other like strangers, he feels familiar all of the sudden.
“I don’t know.”
House nods and looks away. He watches a couple rush to the security line and she follows, shaking her head, as they both seem to stumble with their bags.
“You don’t have to leave tonight,” he says absently, and it’s as if he means it, the shift in his voice darkening slowly. She keeps her gaze on the couple and feels his hand drop her leg. It curls lightly around her knee and she doesn’t bother to move it.
“I do.”
Instead, she almost laughs. She finishes her coffee too, swallowing the rest of it even as it burns the roof of her mouth. She draws her tongue over the slight irritation and then rests her coffee on the seat next to her.
“You’re trying to be brave,” he says.
“You’re trying to make me need you,” she counters.
“Is it working?”
“You’re a few years too late.”
Her hand drops over his, her palm brushing over his knuckles. She lets her fingers curl underneath his hand and slides her fingers into the lines of his skin. He makes a soft sound and she turns against to watch him.
The goodbye is already over. To say it again would allow for a history of repetition, the very history that she’s completely uninterested on falling back on. For a moment, she sees the two of them as a series of conversations, a series of choices that they both share the blame in.
She does wonder if he expects her to talk about Chase, if that’s what he’s really after. A part of her knows that it’s already there and beyond that, it won’t go any further. But what he’s taught her is be prepared, to be prepared to go forwards and backwards and all the same.
She has no desire to be cruel either. It’s what he wants.
“I’ll see you,” she says and slides his hand off her knee. She’s ready to cross into the gates. For the first time in years, there is something oddly comforting at the prospect of returning to Chicago. It’s all apart of the things that she will not share. And she has another hour and if he knows, he would’ve stopped her already. She fixes the collar of her jacket, smoothing it over her shoulder.
He watches her reach for her bag. “Will you?” he asks and means it in a way that isn’t for her to understand. The color of his voice does shift and she studies him, just briefly, as she slides her bag over her shoulder.
“Will you?” he asks again.
He’s waiting for an answer. She smiles as she turns around.
when you’re thinking of something to say, remember there’s always history. so he goes after her and it isn’t what you think. spoilers for love hurts and teamwork 1,382 words.
notes: for 0penhearts, for the house_cameron secret santa exchange. SO THIS. the funny thing about this is that I was all set up to write you smut, but then I read over your requests and it became something entirely different. thank you, bb, for making me think and i hope you enjoy this, as much as i enjoyed writing this for you.
-
“I have my keys,” House says from behind her.
She watches a car turn into the half-empty street. The high lamps blur its color from gold to gray to a faint yellow. Her hand makes a fist around her purse.
“I see a cab,” Cameron replies.
The color of her cheeks is still flushed with embarrassment, scratched deeper as the collar of her jacket brushes along her throat. She feels the weight of her corsage over her skin and looking down, she passes her fingers over the bare band that holds it around her wrist. A few petals have already fallen from the flowers, lost somewhere between the bathroom, the coatroom, and the outside.
It shouldn’t matter, but the car passes. Not a cab, she almost says. She listens to him shuffle forward. It’s the sound of his shoes and his cane the scrapes against the sidewalk; it makes her step forward and off the curb.
A couple passes in front of her laughing. Her fingers are clumsy as she pulls the corsage off her wrist.
The band snaps and Cameron squints, watching another car turn onto the street. Her stomach is in knots and the sensation begins to tighten, twist as she attempts to keep herself calm.
She hands the corsage back to him. “Here,” she says.
“Here,” he says again.
She looks up to a coffee in House’s hand, the liquid staining the rim of the lid. The corners of her mouth shift and she takes her time, reaching forward and pulling the coffee into her hands.
There is no thank you as he sits. Late, the airport opens into an empty series of hallways outside security. She watches a few of the agents wander along the line, studying the few passengers that scramble nervously to get their things in order for the check.
“I have a late flight,” she says finally, and calmly, sliding her thumb under the lid of her coffee. It comes off with a pop and she puts it down on the seat next to her as House slides closer. She turns to watch him stretch his legs out in front of him and stare straight ahead.
“Where are you going?”
He asks. She doesn’t answer. It isn’t for him to know. If he does know, he won’t tell her. This is what she knows.
She isn’t surprised that he’s here either. It’s not about whether he would come after her or not, it’s that he’s here and if this were a few years later even, she would have the same sort of feels. At first, it’s initial unease and it churns almost strangely, with warmth and even some amusement.
“So you really are doing this,” he drawls then. He laughs too and the sound is derisive. “Going off, ending your marriage, making the decision you should’ve made months ago. It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? I’d call you brave, but I’m in therapy for things like that.”
“I’m sure you are,” she murmurs.
She turns her gaze back to the coffee in her hand. She brings it to her lips. A brief smile fits into her mouth, half-aware of the mix milk and sugar. It’s like him, she thinks, to know the little things, the inconsequential things better than most. With everything else, he’s much more comfortable assuming.
Leaning her head back against the wall, she closes her eyes. She listens to him scoff. There is a brief call for boarding that echoes in front of her, from somewhere within the maze of gaze. She feels her hair frame the line of his jaw and doesn’t bother to brush it away.
“I was thinking about our date, you know.”
He groans. She brings her coffee to her mouth again.
“That stupid dress I bought, the perfume I wore, and how excited I was for that restaurant,” she tells him calmly. “I remember how nervous I was. It wasn’t about you liking me. It was about spending time with you, oddly enough. About enjoying that time with you.”
“I don’t need to hear this,” he says.
“You do.”
She looks over at him, turning her head and meeting his gaze. His eyes are dark too and he’s frowning. He watches her too as if he were waiting; there things that she can still feel, the weight and pressure around her eyes, both sharp and heavy. There is nothing left to cry about and crying, if anything, seems to keep itself as nothing more than a natural reaction.
Strangely enough, she smiles.
“I need to tell you this because you’re here and it’s probably the only time I’m going to feel like sharing. Because as much as I want to hate it, you’re a substantial part of my life, just as separate as my husband and Chase were. It’s funny how that works out.”
The smile stays too. She watches as he leans forward, his head resting against the wall. He tilts his neck slightly, and exposes the long arch of his throat. Without thinking, she reaches forward and drags her fingers briefly against his skin. She feels him swallow underneath her fingertips and maybe, just maybe even shift closer.
“I’m sure you’re here for something.”
She drops her hand slowly. He says nothing.
“You always come when you want something,” she murmurs. “And I can’t get that damn date out of my head, sitting there with you. It wasn’t even about what you said after.”
“Then?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, thick. After a few years of looking at each other like strangers, he feels familiar all of the sudden.
“I don’t know.”
House nods and looks away. He watches a couple rush to the security line and she follows, shaking her head, as they both seem to stumble with their bags.
“You don’t have to leave tonight,” he says absently, and it’s as if he means it, the shift in his voice darkening slowly. She keeps her gaze on the couple and feels his hand drop her leg. It curls lightly around her knee and she doesn’t bother to move it.
“I do.”
Instead, she almost laughs. She finishes her coffee too, swallowing the rest of it even as it burns the roof of her mouth. She draws her tongue over the slight irritation and then rests her coffee on the seat next to her.
“You’re trying to be brave,” he says.
“You’re trying to make me need you,” she counters.
“Is it working?”
“You’re a few years too late.”
Her hand drops over his, her palm brushing over his knuckles. She lets her fingers curl underneath his hand and slides her fingers into the lines of his skin. He makes a soft sound and she turns against to watch him.
The goodbye is already over. To say it again would allow for a history of repetition, the very history that she’s completely uninterested on falling back on. For a moment, she sees the two of them as a series of conversations, a series of choices that they both share the blame in.
She does wonder if he expects her to talk about Chase, if that’s what he’s really after. A part of her knows that it’s already there and beyond that, it won’t go any further. But what he’s taught her is be prepared, to be prepared to go forwards and backwards and all the same.
She has no desire to be cruel either. It’s what he wants.
“I’ll see you,” she says and slides his hand off her knee. She’s ready to cross into the gates. For the first time in years, there is something oddly comforting at the prospect of returning to Chicago. It’s all apart of the things that she will not share. And she has another hour and if he knows, he would’ve stopped her already. She fixes the collar of her jacket, smoothing it over her shoulder.
He watches her reach for her bag. “Will you?” he asks and means it in a way that isn’t for her to understand. The color of his voice does shift and she studies him, just briefly, as she slides her bag over her shoulder.
“Will you?” he asks again.
He’s waiting for an answer. She smiles as she turns around.