house fic: The Darker Days of Me and Him 5/10
Title: The Darker Days of Me and Him
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1035
Spoilers: Minor for 'Love Hurts' and small mention of 'Honeymoon'.
Rating: Harmless PG for now.
Summary: This will be the most vulnerable she’s let him see her.
A/N: Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Three is here. Part Four is here.
Still the question lingers
I twist it round my fingers
Could you be my calling?
PJ Harvey, The Slow Drug
iv.
This will be the most vulnerable she’s let him see her.
Sitting on a bench outside the clinic, she stares at the crowd of passing people going in and out of the hospital. Immersed in work, she’s usually disconnected from a perspective like this. Too many times has she faded into the crowd, filled with anxious mothers and their children, spouses, and the solitary figures that prefer to die with their loneliness in tact. She almost lost herself to this perspective, at time where she had been too young and too naïve to deal with her empathy alone.
With Danny, she had known [too many years too late] that the fear was natural. It’s with her mother that her emotions are unpredictable. It’s with her mother that she returns to being a fragile, piece of glass.
“Allison!”
She turns and spots Wilson, heading towards her with two Starbucks coffees in hand. He reaches her and sits, thrusting his hand forward so that she can take the offered coffee.
She smiles and it hurts, taking the coffee and wrapping her hands around the small cup. “Thanks.”
“It’s black,” he says, shrugging out of his coat. “From what I understand, it’s the only thing you’ll touch.”
She doesn’t ask how he knows or the real question of why he knows, forcing herself to warm her hands and keep her gaze straight and at the sliding doors. She thinks about the last time she’s gone home and visited- but doesn’t remember. It scares her that her parents have faded into the background of her life because it should’ve happened like that. She promised herself and failed.
She doesn’t know who to look for when those doors open.
“Thanks for doing this,” she says softly.
Wilson offers her a reassuring smile. “Anything to help a friend and escape the wrath of the cane of doom.”
Her laugh is barely audible and the implications are not lost. “He didn’t.”
“He did.”
Wilson’s confirmation is just one of the many things that boggles her mind. She’s been trying, oh god has she been trying, to move past the idea of him and her and that. But right now, its importance is lost. Her focus needs to be elsewhere.
[you need me]
“Any history of breast cancer?”
She nods. “My grandmother died of it and my cousin’s a survivor.”
Wilson responds, but she doesn’t hear him. Through the glass doors, she instantly spots her parents. Her father, tall and with an intimidating presence, seems so much smaller now. She sees more gray hairs than she remembers. The dark circles under his eyes seem like new bruises. And as he turns to the open door of the taxicab, his shoulders seem to be permanently slumped.
It isn’t until she sees her mother barely make it out of the car that she wants to cry. Pale. Worn. Smaller than she remembers, her mother steps out of the taxi and has to lean on her father while he pays the driver.
“Oh my god,” she whispers in disbelief.
Wilson follows her gaze. “It’s aggressively progressive.” You didn’t know.
She swallows. “Yes.”
She lets Wilson take the coffee from her hands and stands on shaky legs. Closing her eyes, she forces herself to calm down. Deep breathing. One. Two. Three. She forces herself away from angry thoughts of how long have they been hiding this and why haven’t they told me.
Vaguely, she hears the familiar sound of cane clicking towards them. It stops and she turns slightly. I’m fine, she wants to say. She trembles instead. And he moves closer, clinic files in hand and a brief nod to Wilson. He stops besides her.
Wilson stands, glancing between the two of them. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
She cannot tear her eyes off her approaching parents and he steps closer.
“She looks sick.”
A half-sob, half-laugh burns through her throat. “You think?”
“What time is the appointment?” He asks softly.
She swallows, unconsciously leaning closer to him. She feels an ungodly amount of confusion and anger swelling up inside of her. How long, she wonders dazedly, how long did think they wanted to protect her from this?
“In ten minutes,” she answers, her lips quivering. “Their flight from Atlanta was cutting it close.”
“Atlanta?”
This time her laugh is still faint, but doesn’t hurt as much. His disbelief and curiosity is amusing.
She takes a deep breath. “They moved from Boston to Atlanta to be closer to my brother and his kids and my grandparents. My dad’s from there.”
He stares at her, the curiosity in his gaze caressing her as he pretends to be glancing over a file. She sighs and then yawns, forcing her exhaustion back down. There’s no time for this now.
“Just when I think I have you all figured out,” he murmurs. “You go and prove me wrong again and again.”
[you just couldn’t love me]
[i’m damaged you need me]
She whirls around to stare at him in surprise, but he’s already turned and heading inside the clinic. Her fists clench and then unclench and she wonders if she’s heard exactly what she thinks she’s heard-
[you need me]
She watches as he stops at the nurse’s desk inside the clinic and turns to meet her surprised gaze. To call the minutes that passed a lingering moment, or perhaps even a broader definition of a moment, would be allowing herself to yet again believe that there’s something between the two of them. She had worked- too hard- to protect herself from this again.
But this silence and the passing gazes and the unexplainable need of him seeking her out this time, she wondered if she really could.
“Ally.”
Her shoulders stiffen and she forces a tired smile on her lips. She turns around, breaking away from thoughts of this and that and him and her.
“Daddy,” she greets softly, rising on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek.
“Are we late?” Her mother asks. Her voice is tired. Strained.
Her heart begins to break when she leans forward to kiss her mother. “No,” she answers, swallowing back her tears. “No, mom. You’re just in time.”
[everybody lies]
I’ll carry on somehow.
Pairing/Characters: cameron, house/cameron
Words: 1035
Spoilers: Minor for 'Love Hurts' and small mention of 'Honeymoon'.
Rating: Harmless PG for now.
Summary: This will be the most vulnerable she’s let him see her.
A/N: Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Three is here. Part Four is here.
Still the question lingers
I twist it round my fingers
Could you be my calling?
PJ Harvey, The Slow Drug
iv.
This will be the most vulnerable she’s let him see her.
Sitting on a bench outside the clinic, she stares at the crowd of passing people going in and out of the hospital. Immersed in work, she’s usually disconnected from a perspective like this. Too many times has she faded into the crowd, filled with anxious mothers and their children, spouses, and the solitary figures that prefer to die with their loneliness in tact. She almost lost herself to this perspective, at time where she had been too young and too naïve to deal with her empathy alone.
With Danny, she had known [too many years too late] that the fear was natural. It’s with her mother that her emotions are unpredictable. It’s with her mother that she returns to being a fragile, piece of glass.
“Allison!”
She turns and spots Wilson, heading towards her with two Starbucks coffees in hand. He reaches her and sits, thrusting his hand forward so that she can take the offered coffee.
She smiles and it hurts, taking the coffee and wrapping her hands around the small cup. “Thanks.”
“It’s black,” he says, shrugging out of his coat. “From what I understand, it’s the only thing you’ll touch.”
She doesn’t ask how he knows or the real question of why he knows, forcing herself to warm her hands and keep her gaze straight and at the sliding doors. She thinks about the last time she’s gone home and visited- but doesn’t remember. It scares her that her parents have faded into the background of her life because it should’ve happened like that. She promised herself and failed.
She doesn’t know who to look for when those doors open.
“Thanks for doing this,” she says softly.
Wilson offers her a reassuring smile. “Anything to help a friend and escape the wrath of the cane of doom.”
Her laugh is barely audible and the implications are not lost. “He didn’t.”
“He did.”
Wilson’s confirmation is just one of the many things that boggles her mind. She’s been trying, oh god has she been trying, to move past the idea of him and her and that. But right now, its importance is lost. Her focus needs to be elsewhere.
[you need me]
“Any history of breast cancer?”
She nods. “My grandmother died of it and my cousin’s a survivor.”
Wilson responds, but she doesn’t hear him. Through the glass doors, she instantly spots her parents. Her father, tall and with an intimidating presence, seems so much smaller now. She sees more gray hairs than she remembers. The dark circles under his eyes seem like new bruises. And as he turns to the open door of the taxicab, his shoulders seem to be permanently slumped.
It isn’t until she sees her mother barely make it out of the car that she wants to cry. Pale. Worn. Smaller than she remembers, her mother steps out of the taxi and has to lean on her father while he pays the driver.
“Oh my god,” she whispers in disbelief.
Wilson follows her gaze. “It’s aggressively progressive.” You didn’t know.
She swallows. “Yes.”
She lets Wilson take the coffee from her hands and stands on shaky legs. Closing her eyes, she forces herself to calm down. Deep breathing. One. Two. Three. She forces herself away from angry thoughts of how long have they been hiding this and why haven’t they told me.
Vaguely, she hears the familiar sound of cane clicking towards them. It stops and she turns slightly. I’m fine, she wants to say. She trembles instead. And he moves closer, clinic files in hand and a brief nod to Wilson. He stops besides her.
Wilson stands, glancing between the two of them. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
She cannot tear her eyes off her approaching parents and he steps closer.
“She looks sick.”
A half-sob, half-laugh burns through her throat. “You think?”
“What time is the appointment?” He asks softly.
She swallows, unconsciously leaning closer to him. She feels an ungodly amount of confusion and anger swelling up inside of her. How long, she wonders dazedly, how long did think they wanted to protect her from this?
“In ten minutes,” she answers, her lips quivering. “Their flight from Atlanta was cutting it close.”
“Atlanta?”
This time her laugh is still faint, but doesn’t hurt as much. His disbelief and curiosity is amusing.
She takes a deep breath. “They moved from Boston to Atlanta to be closer to my brother and his kids and my grandparents. My dad’s from there.”
He stares at her, the curiosity in his gaze caressing her as he pretends to be glancing over a file. She sighs and then yawns, forcing her exhaustion back down. There’s no time for this now.
“Just when I think I have you all figured out,” he murmurs. “You go and prove me wrong again and again.”
[you just couldn’t love me]
[i’m damaged you need me]
She whirls around to stare at him in surprise, but he’s already turned and heading inside the clinic. Her fists clench and then unclench and she wonders if she’s heard exactly what she thinks she’s heard-
[you need me]
She watches as he stops at the nurse’s desk inside the clinic and turns to meet her surprised gaze. To call the minutes that passed a lingering moment, or perhaps even a broader definition of a moment, would be allowing herself to yet again believe that there’s something between the two of them. She had worked- too hard- to protect herself from this again.
But this silence and the passing gazes and the unexplainable need of him seeking her out this time, she wondered if she really could.
“Ally.”
Her shoulders stiffen and she forces a tired smile on her lips. She turns around, breaking away from thoughts of this and that and him and her.
“Daddy,” she greets softly, rising on her toes to brush her lips against his cheek.
“Are we late?” Her mother asks. Her voice is tired. Strained.
Her heart begins to break when she leans forward to kiss her mother. “No,” she answers, swallowing back her tears. “No, mom. You’re just in time.”
[everybody lies]
I’ll carry on somehow.