Five years - chapter six
Title: Five years
Author: snark-bait
Rating: Adult
Character/Paring: House/Cameron
Summary: House leaves prison after being convicted on drug offences, Cameron helps him readjust to his new life.
Spoilers: If you haven’t seen season 3 it's one big spoiler, but I'm going from 'Finding Judas' and just skipping very far ahead from there.
Chapter: 6
Beta'd by phineyj
House hadn’t had a hangover in years. In the time that had passed since his last, he’d forgotten just how evil they could be. A feeling of impending doom arrived as he opened his eyes to see if that would do anything for the thumping ache in his head. It didn’t.
He was cold, and decided that was probably something to do with his jeans being damp.
He couldn’t remember getting home, or getting up the stairs for that matter, but figured that it must have taken him a while. He also couldn’t remember getting half undressed or finding the scratchy blanket that was covering him. He guessed he’d got caught up in the rain storm on his way home; that would explain the sodden jeans that were clinging uncomfortably to his legs.
He was on his stomach, his face was buried into the pillow and his arms and legs were stretched out to the side of him. His stomach lurched when he rolled onto his back and he noticed the curtains had remained open all night, the bright daylight streaming in made his head throb even more.
How had he managed to forget how this felt? The revolting trace of scotch as it lingered on, twelve hours after he’d drank it, still clinging sourly to his throat and tongue, and then there was the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears.
He tried to sit up so he could take off his jeans but when he did the motion made him feel like he was going to hurl. He closed his eyes with the dizziness that pounced on him and tried to hold it down. The last thing he wanted to do right now was puke all over Cameron’s spare room.
He’d obviously drunken far more than his body had been able to cope with; he could remember getting to the bottom of a bottle of scotch, and not a lot after that. But in a twisted sort of way he wanted to feel like crap. He liked the distraction it offered him.
He sat up slowly then managed to stagger to the bathroom; he lifted up the lid and puked up a nasty bile colored froth into the toilet. He actually felt better when he’d finished, deciding that anything the color his puke had been shouldn’t really be inside the human body for too long.
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, so he was feeling shaky, but he wasn’t putting anything into his stomach until it had settled.
He found Cameron in the yard; she was putting something in the trash. He pulled open the back door and leant against the frame, hugging his arms around himself when the cold air hit him.
“Morning,” he croaked, and she turned and looked at him.
“Afternoon,” she said, checking her watch. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” he offered hoarsely, and wondered if he’d also been smoking the night before, because his throat was sore.
“I bet,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile he probably didn’t deserve, seeing as his illness was a self inflicted one.
“Can you remember passing out at the front, on the doorstep?’
House thought about it: nope, definitely had no memory of that, so he shook his head, although it did explain the wet jeans.
“Last thing I remember was trying to flag a cab down, can’t remember actually getting into or out of one.”
She nodded and looked away from him. “So, you don’t remember Wilson being here, then?”
House frowned and tried to piece together the evening; he definitely couldn’t remember seeing Wilson. He shook his head again. “Why was he here?”
“Because I called him,” Cameron admitted quietly. She placed the lid back on the trash can, loud enough to make House wince and close his eyes. “Initially it was so I could get the names of the places you might be, so I could give you a lift home, but he wouldn’t let me go alone. We couldn’t find you anyway.”
House tapped the key that was hanging out of the lock with his finger, and thought about her words for a second. “You shouldn’t have called him,” he said eventually.
“I was worried about you,” Cameron offered.
“I don’t need your worry or your pity,” he said gruffly, “And I don’t need his help with anything.”
“It’s not pity, House,” she argued, but he left the doorway and went back into the kitchen. That meant Wilson would have seen the state he was in, and considering House couldn’t remember anything, he figured he’d been a mess. After all the time that had passed since he’d seen him, having Wilson find him blind drunk wasn’t any sort of a reunion he had in mind.
He started to worry then, wondering if Cameron had told Wilson what had happened when they got pulled over. Exactly what had happened, specifically?
Surely she wouldn’t have? He didn’t want Wilson to find out about that; he didn’t want anyone to know, but some things just weren’t in his control, unfortunately, even the most personal details of his life. But asking if she had mentioned it, meant bringing up the subject again.
He poured himself a glass of water, leant against the sink and drained it in one. Cameron came in from the yard and closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry for calling Wilson, I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, quietly.
“I’m going take a shower, if that’s all right?” House replied, not looking at her. He was done discussing anything that had happened the day before.
“Of course,” Cameron said. He placed the glass down on the side and left the kitchen.
~
House took his time in the shower, letting the heat work out some of the tension in his shoulders. He rubbed his face and tried to shift a dozen, undesirable thoughts from his mind.
When he returned to the spare room, he picked up a handful of medical journals from the bookcase and lay on the bed. He started reading, noticing the house was oddly quiet when Daniel wasn’t in it.
It wasn’t long before he fell asleep again, he didn’t wake until Cameron knocked on the door a few hours later.
“Feeling any better?” she asked, as she came in and sat on the end of the bed. The shower had relaxed him but his headache was worse. He’d noticed the bump over his eye and guessed that was responsible for his aching skull, although he had no idea how it had happened.
“A little,” he admitted.
“Do you want something to eat?”
House reacted to the suggestion by hugging his stomach and closing his eyes. “No,” he groaned. He was hungry, but he knew anything that went in would come straight back out, and his stomach was sore enough.
“How about something to drink?”
“I’m all right,” he said offhandedly. He just wanted to be left alone. Cameron got the message, silently got up again then left the room. He wasn’t annoyed with her, but he didn’t want to talk anything through with her either.
He noticed she’d been wearing her glasses, something he’d not seen in a while. It reminded him of how things had been between them when they’d been working together and how they’d changed, in different ways. They’d become friends, really, he’d never have thought he’d keep in contact with someone like Cameron, guessing they’d lose touch when her fellowship was over.
And then everything had changed, and she’d been pretty much the only person left.
He hadn’t let his parents visit him in prison; they’d desperately wanted to, but he hadn’t been able to face the shame of it. There hadn’t been anyone else. Cuddy was eternally busy, she’d been a few times, but Cameron had been the only regular visitor.
At first he hadn’t really given a crap, everything had been so fucked up and he’d become wary of any impetus a person could have, but once it became routine, once he knew it wasn’t just something she felt obliged to do on a few occasions, he’d started looking forward to her visits. Even though he’d known that looking forward to anything in that place was, potentially, a very dangerous thing.
The simple truth of it all was that he wouldn’t have lasted the isolation of protective custody if she hadn’t been coming to see him. Out of intense boredom he might well have asked to go back to general population, but he’d never asked.
So, he knew what he’d gotten out of it all, but he often struggled to see what she got back. He was still struggling to see now, she didn’t have an angle, and in a world where everybody seemed to have one, he felt like asking what hers was.
Maybe deep down he knew what it was, but he definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to address it.
~
When Wilson woke early the next morning, he felt like he was coming down with something. He hadn’t slept well at all, and supposed it could be overtiredness that was making him feel like crap.
He’d dozed off by accident at Cameron’s place; one minute his eyelids had been batting together and he’d been fighting to keep himself awake, the next minute he was out like a light. The warm room and the sound of House snoring lightly had made it so easy just to close his eyes for a minute or two. When he’d woken up half an hour later, House was gone.
A quick, nervous, check upstairs had found him passed out in the spare room. Wilson had stood for a moment, wondering again what Tritter had said.
He knew House liked a void when he was miserable, and he’d been miserable all too often during the last year Wilson had been involved in his life. But alcohol had never been his vice of choice, so getting drunk instead of high did go some way to back up Cameron’s assurance that House was off the drugs now, completely.
Wilson had left for home then, reasoning that House wouldn’t have come around and dragged his butt upstairs had he been concussed. But once home, he hadn’t been able to sleep; he was troubled by the idea that Tritter had been dogging House so soon after his release. It bothered him, enough to keep him awake despite feeling utterly wiped out.
He showered quickly; but it didn’t do much to wake him up. He dressed in one of his work suits and decided to go to the hospital, even though it was a Saturday. He wanted to be occupied and he could clear through the stuff that had been bogging him down all week.
He eyed the bread next to the toaster, but he wasn’t feeling very hungry, so he left his apartment with an empty stomach.
Wilson drove into Princeton. The weather was still shitty; puddles and soggy leaves littered the sidewalks under a stormy grey sky.
When he arrived, he noticed Cuddy was in her office, unsurprisingly, but he didn’t go in and say hello. He wanted to bury himself under a pile of work today and forget about everything.
Wilson sat at his desk and turned on his computer; one of his fellowship students, Mark, followed him into the office and stood patiently in front of the desk.
To his dismay, he realised Mark had already sorted out most of the paperwork, leaving him with little to do. This frustrated him, but it wasn’t like he could shout at an employee for doing his job.
“Mark, you can go home, I’m going to work through today, get on top of a few things,” Wilson told him.
“Okay,” Mark replied, sounding surprised. His students usually shared the weekend shifts, he didn’t often come in.
“You have a referral from Dr Ashley over at General, she wanted you to see a friend of hers. He came by yesterday but obviously you weren’t here. I could get him to come back today if you want? He said he’d be available,” Mark said, as he was leaving.
Most people were available if they were waiting for test results that would reveal if they had cancer or not, Wilson thought, but he didn’t have a lot else to do and didn’t want to go home.
“Sure, call him back. Get him to meet me down in the clinic,” Wilson replied, Mark nodded and left the room.
~
Wilson entered exam room three an hour later, to be greeted with “Dr Wilson - it’s been a long time.”
He recognized the voice and looked up, slightly shocked. This was what happened when he got distracted. If he’d actually bothered to look at the file an hour ago, this wouldn’t be happening.
Again, he found himself getting angry at Mark, for simply doing his job.
“Those my X-rays?” Michael Tritter asked. Wilson, caught up in the shock of seeing the man again, merely nodded.
“You were referred to me by Dr Ashley,” Wilson said quietly, reading the front sheet of Tritter’s file.
“Yeah,” Tritter said, leaning against the exam room table and folding his arms in front of him.
“You’ve been getting chest pain,” Wilson continued distractedly , desperately wishing, again, that he’d looked at the name on the file. He would never have called him in.
“You look surprised to see me,” Tritter noted calmly.
Wilson realized he’d been standing by the open door the entire conversation; he came in fully, closed the door and walked over to the X-ray viewer.
“Coughed up some blood a few weeks back,” Tritter explained. “The chest pain isn’t like normal chest pain, feels more like a broken rib.”
Wilson nodded, all of that was in the file already. He turned the X-ray viewer on and took out the films inside the file.
“You got what you wanted,” Wilson said quietly, with his back to Tritter as he separated the first film away from the others. He cleared his throat. “Can’t you leave House alone now?”
“Got what I wanted?” Tritter repeated back thoughtfully. “No, I did my job, couldn’t have done it without your help though.”
Wilson stopped momentarily, taking the words in, before placing the film up against the viewer.
“You don’t have the right to dog him,” Wilson said, glancing at the film.
“I’m not dogging him,” Tritter said seriously. “I pulled a car over that committed a traffic violation.’
Wilson leaned in and observed the white mass in the middle of black that was Tritter’s left lung.
“You came here yesterday, but I wasn’t here. When you left you saw him and you followed him home,” Wilson said cynically, glancing at the other man for a moment.
Tritter shrugged. “I was surprised to see him here. I think it’s a mistake to have a man with a history of drug abuse working in a hospital. I wanted to let him know I’m still around.”
“What else is he supposed to do?” Wilson asked.
“I don’t know," Tritter replied, "or care.”
Wilson could believe that, but then, glancing back at the X-ray he had to wonder if Tritter knew he was tempting fate by showing House he was still around, because judging by the carcinogenic tumor in his left lung, that might not be his call to make for long.
“If he starts stealing drugs again I will catch him, and he will go back to prison.”
“He’s not going to do that,” Wilson assured him. “But, for now, I think you have bigger problems.”
He pointed to the cloudy mass on the film. Thin white roots, silmilar to that of a tree, joined the tumor to the side of Tritter’s lung.
“There are a few more tests your doctor will need to run, but, I’ve seen enough of these,” he tapped the mass, “To tell you that you have a tumor in your left lung.”
Tritter nodded; his expression didn’t change all that much. “Thought so,” he said.
He was eerily calm with the news. Wilson had seen every kind of reaction to this diagnosis, calm acceptance was uncommon. The weight of uncertainty, lifting from Tritter's expression was about as much of a reaction Wilson was going to get, he suspected.
Wilson pulled the film down and placed it back in the file.
“Dr Ashley is an excellent oncologist. She must have known what this was; I don’t know why she referred you to me,” Wilson said uncomfortably.
“Because you’re the best oncologist in Jersey.”
“I don’t take personal cases,” Wilson said, before handing Tritter the files back.
Tritter took the file and placed it beside him on the examination table, “What? This isn’t a personal case.”
“You destroyed my best friend’s life,” Wilson replied, before heading for the door. “I don’t see how it gets more personal than that.”
“You’re a doctor; do your job. You make this some sort of vendetta and I will drag your ass to court and you will lose your medical license too,” Tritter said heatedly.
Wilson pulled the door open, and took one last look at him.
“You could do that, you could waste maybe six months trying to push that through, then half of the time you have left will be gone. Personally, I’d rather spend that time with my family than trying to settle a score, but, I think we’re very different people.”
Wilson left then, closing the door behind him. Wondering what the hell the day was going to throw at him next.
~
Cameron didn’t see House again that day. He stayed out of the way and she left him alone. She didn’t even ask if he still wanted to go out to the jazz club, his mood when she’d gone in to see if he wanted something to eat had pretty much answered her question.
She didn’t regret calling Wilson. She’d had no choice. She didn’t want to get involved in their relationship, whatever was left of it, what happened between them was nothing to do with her.
She went out to do a bit of grocery shopping; when she returned she noticed there were two missed calls from Jack. She began worrying instantly; the sort of irrational -is my child okay- worrying most mothers did when they’d missed a call from the person their child was with.
“Jack?” she said worriedly, when he answered. He never called when he had Danny unless he was about to bring him home.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying all afternoon,” he said, irritably.
She kept her thoughts to herself, but she had been no longer than forty minutes, maximum. That did not constitute as all afternoon to her.
“Sorry, I had to go out; is Danny okay?”
“Of course he’s okay, he’s the reason I called, we need to talk,” Jack said, seriously.
“Of course, what’s wrong?”
“Where do I start?” Jack said condescendingly. “How about we start with you telling me who took my son to school on Friday?”
Crap, she’d been meaning to call and speak to him before he picked Danny up on Friday, explain that House was staying for a few days but when Tritter had pulled them over in the evening, it had totally skipped her mind. She should have known Danny would say something.
“A friend of mine took him to school,” Cameron explained. It wasn’t a lie.
“A friend,” Jack replied, dubiously. “What friend?”
“What does it matter? You let me down,” she said.
“Don’t throw this back at me,” he said heatedly.
“Throw what at you? You let me down, so a friend helped me out.”
There was a pause. She heard him let his breath out slowly through his nose, the way he did when he was angry and trying to put his thoughts together.
“Your friend, House, he’s out of prison now?”
“Yes,” Cameron admitted.
“That’s who took my son to school?”
“No,” Cameron corrected, “That’s who took our son to school because you let me down again.”
“I can’t believe you, I really can’t. Leaving him with a junkie, I’m honestly astonished that you would do that,” Jack said.
The stupid son of a bitch, Cameron thought angrily. “He’s not a junkie, and I wouldn’t leave Daniel with anyone I didn’t trust.”
“He was inside for stealing drugs from a hospital, Allison, for Christ’s sake,” Jack shouted, and she hoped Danny wasn’t in the same room. “I can’t believe you can’t see why I’m upset about this.”
Cameron started to tidy her shopping away. House had been right; she should have mentioned this before. “No, Jack, I can believe you’re angry but it has nothing to do with why House was in prison.”
Jack let out a frustrated growl, “I don’t want him near our son, have you got that?”
“No, I don’t have that, because you’re being completely irrational, and I can introduce Daniel to whom I like.”
There was another brief silence, Jack didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t dictate things to her any more. She’d gone along with a lot of things he’d wanted when they’d been married, just because it was easier to avoid an argument, but not any more.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow when I drop him off,” Jack said then. Cameron suspected he needed to build up his argument a little bit as things hadn’t gone his way just because he’d raised his voice. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I take Daniel to Ben’s for an hour; I think he’s probably with a hooker, but junkies, hookers, it’s all the same, right?”
“Don’t be so pathetic,” Cameron said crossly, and then she hung up on him, because she was on the verge of saying something she’d regret; multiple things she’d regret.
~
It had stopped raining outside, finally. House left the curtains open in the bedroom so he could study the moon and the stars, as he lay, with his hands behind his head.
Because he’d spent most of the day sleeping, by midnight he was wide awake and the thoughts he’d been trying to hide from all day, had finally found him.
He recognized that some of the disquiet he’d been feeling lately was to do with the displacement he felt. He simply didn’t have a home, or a place of his own; he couldn’t get away from other people completely when he just needed some space, and some time alone. He couldn’t go out and come back without people worrying about him.
He didn’t need or want anyone to be concerned about him.
He hadn’t felt this way since he’d been a kid. Because he’d moved around with his father’s job so much, he hadn’t really had a sense of home until he’d got his first place, after college. Then he filled it with things that interested him, making it somewhere he actually wanted to go back to, because it felt good to be there.
He had to find some place to rent on Monday. And not just for his sake. Earlier in the day, he’d overheard a partial conversation Cameron was having with - he could only assume - Jack. House guessed that he had finally found out that he was staying with them, and wasn’t happy about it. With everything that was going on already, the last thing he needed was to get in the middle of all the shit going on between Cameron and her ex.
When he heard the door to Cameron’s bedroom click shut, he decided to go downstairs and find some sort of distraction. He turned the play station on and decided to try and finish Daniel’s game.
Ten minutes into it, he was glad he’d brought the blanket down from the spare room, because he was freezing his ass off and had no idea where the thermostat was.
It didn’t take long for him to get completely sucked into the game. He’d been playing for a few hours before Cameron appeared beside him and scared the crap out of him.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked quietly, startling him as he hadn’t heard her come into the room.
“No,” he admitted quietly.
The interruption saw his character maimed on screen. Which sucked, because he only had one badass ogre left to kill then he’d completed the game.
“You should have put the heating on; it gets really cold down here in the winter.”
He shrugged at her suggestion, but she wasn’t kidding, he’d have done just that if he’d been able to find the switch. She came around the sofa and sat beside him.
“Danny doesn’t like this game,” she observed.
“It’s probably a little old for him,” House replied.
“Yeah, I can tell it’s probably aimed more at ten year olds trapped inside the bodies of middle aged men.”
He gave her a sideways glance then leaned forward and picked up the TV remote.
“You don’t have to turn it off,” Cameron said.
“It’s making my eyes hurt now anyway,” House replied, “But that ogre is toast tomorrow morning.” He changed the channel so the TV came on. “You should go back to bed,” he said, the TV clock revealing it was now three in the morning
“I can’t sleep either,” Cameron admitted. House suspected the argument she’d had earlier in the day might be the reason.
“I’ll be out of here, Tuesday, hopefully,” he said then, as he flipped channels.
“Okay, but there’s no rush,” Cameron said. She pulled her robe tight, against the chill of the room.
“Jack’s pissed at you, because I’m here,” House said evenly, he wanted her to know he’d overheard, he wanted her to be honest and admit him being here was a problem for her.
Cameron shook her head once, “Jack is pissed at life, the universe, me, you, and probably another dozen people, so don’t take it personally.”
“He’s not wrong though, is he?” He countered, but he took note of her words. Maybe Jack was damaged after all, and she’d just sugar coated her description of the guy to keep House from seeing he was right, again.
He could fully understand why the guy was annoyed though, had every right to be. But Cameron didn’t seem to agree.
“You’ve done about as much as he’s done to help me out this month. He’s not pissed at you; he’s pissed off because you did something he couldn’t be bothered to do for his own son. He’s projecting his bullshit onto someone else, it’s what he does, and he does it well,” Cameron said.
House had only ever heard her use such a bitter tone when she was talking about Jack, and decided the guy had to be a monumental bastard, because he knew from experience it took a hell of a lot to piss Cameron off this way. Even he hadn’t been able to achieve it. And he’d gotten bastard down to a fine art.
“Why did you marry him, if you hate him so much?” House asked, “Seems a bit counter productive.”
Cameron thought about it for a moment, “I guess you never really know anyone.”
“I could have told you that a long time ago, but you wouldn’t have believed me,” House said softly.
“No, I think you did tell me that,” she corrected, House glanced at her, and she smiled and looked away.
“And I didn’t believe you,” she admitted.
House stopped flipping channels, when he came to an old western he hadn’t seen in a long time, “What a classic,” he said, and left it on.
“What is it?” Cameron asked.
In the meager offering of light the TV allowed, he could make out the blank expression on her face, “You’ve never seen this film?”
She shook her head and shrugged, “One of the actors looks like Clint Eastwood, looks like a western.”
“Of course it’s a western; it’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. It has the most iconic ending to a western, ever.”
“Consider me informed,” she said lightly.
House leaned forward and placed the remote down, in a gesture the channel was staying put.
“I’m really sorry about before, with Wilson and everything,” Cameron said suddenly. House kept his attention on the TV.
If the lights had been on she would have seen his jaw line tense with the mention of Wilson’s name. You could be the best liar in the world, but it didn’t count for anything if your subconscious reactions regularly undermined you.
“Can we just forget about it?” he said quietly.
“Sure,” she replied, he noticed her hug herself.
“You going to stay up and watch this?”
“I have to now, with this iconic ending I’ve never seen,” she said, overly dramatically. “How could I sleep?”
House smiled at her sarcasm, she was way more sure of herself these days. It was good to see.
“You’ll be glad you did,” House said, and then he pulled the blanket from his shoulders and fanned it out over the front of him. He then held the end open while keeping his attention on the TV; she shuffled along the sofa and got under it with him.
He felt anxious of the contact between them, it made him uncomfortable, but it wasn’t just because it was Cameron, he was funny about that sort of thing with everyone, and it had definitely gotten worse over the years. But when he was distracted or tired, when she could get under the defenses, like now, he had to admit to himself he sort of liked the sensation, as conflicted as it left him feeling.
Cameron leaned against his side, and placed her head on his chest. He let his arm rest at the side of her. The smell of her and the feel of her skin against his was making it hard to concentrate on the film, because he was aware of how long it had been since he’d been this close to a woman.
On screen, Tuco was about to abandon Blondie in the desert, and it stole House’s attention back to the TV, where it should be, where he wanted it to be. Cameron didn’t even make it to the part where the dying confederate soldier confessed the name of a grave where Eastwood could find the $200,000.
He nudged her when the Mexican stand off came on, “Go to bed,” he encouraged, more so she’d wake up and watch the end, but it wasn’t happening, she just groaned and shifted her position against him to get more comfortable.
“It’s cozier here,” she mumbled.
“Not for me,” he replied grouchily.
Cameron laughed a little, “You’re such a grumpy shit.”
“Like you aren’t when you’re tired,” House returned.
She sat up, yawned and then stretched. “I should go to bed,” she conceded. “I have to be ready for battle when Jack arrives tomorrow.”
Cameron leaned in then, aiming to kiss him on the cheek. It was a good night gesture, he knew that, but he couldn’t fight the sudden urge to kiss her back, he turned his head and their lips met.
He only meant to place his lips against hers for the barest of moments, but the sensation that passed between them found him locked and unable to pull away.
Her palm came to rest on his chest, he had no idea what reaction was on her face, (no idea what he was doing, really) but she didn’t pull back straight away. They just stayed lip locked for a few uncertain moments. Eventually Cameron did break it off, and with the light from the TV, he caught a glint of surprise in her eye, she looked hesitant but not freaked. She seemed unsure more than anything.
He’d surprised himself though. He wasn’t sure where the desire to do that had come from. He knew, emotionally he was all over the place at the moment, and put it down to that.
Nothing was said; they sat in tentative silence for a moment, until Cameron leaned in and did it again. House didn’t stop her; feeling glad she’d done it but also wondering where the fuck things were heading.
His brave move had raised her game; her lips carefully parted his, and her kiss became serious. It was measured and warm, everything about Cameron was so soft and welcoming he found him self getting lost in the various sensations as she stroked her tongue lightly over his.
And, because his brain just never shut up, he wondered absentmindedly if his beard was scratching her cheeks.
They kissed for longer than either of them could claim as an accident the next day, and it was far too intense to deny, but that didn’t stop him from thinking up excuses, as it was happening, to explain it away and bury it along with everything else he didn’t want to deal with.
They parted again and House shifted uncomfortably. “That was…I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.
“No, I’m sorry,” Cameron returned, and then she looked away from him. “This is the last thing you need.”
They both became edgy and unsure of what to say next, so House glanced away and pretended to watch the credits as they rolled; her words were true it really was the last thing he needed.
Cameron got up from the sofa, “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” House replied, as Cameron left the room.
~
Two and a half years earlier.
About an hour after House had made a call from his phone, Preedy got a call in the office that he didn't return from. His sudden disappearance told House something; it implied he was probably right.
If the kid had a clot in her head, that meant he was on the right track. The problem was in her blood. But there were plenty of diseases and illnesses that could screw with the blood, and that was before considering the varied MPDs it could be
House sat down on his bed when the lights went out at nine o’clock, same time as they did every night. He hated the regimentation of everything in this place. Same thing same time, like the world would grind to a halt if the lights went off one minute later than they usually did.
He sat back and decided the kids must have won Cuddy over by finding the clot (if it was a clot) but he doubted it would lift any of her concerns. Cuddy being Cuddy would still think it was abuse, which meant testing was going to be limited, if not impossible.
He needed something specific, but so far the symptoms were too vague to single out any particular disease or illness.
House didn’t sleep much that night, but he was actually thankful of the distraction. Sometimes, when he was deep in thought and turning things over, his leg, even when it was at its worst, barely registered; his mind had to be pretty focused, but when it was, his curiosity was a natural painkiller.
He woke early the next morning, guessing it was sometime around six. It took a few seconds to realize the light groaning he could hear was of the guy in the cell next to his, jacking off. House pulled his pillow over his head and tried to block out the sound; some people just didn’t know how to be subtle, either that or the guy didn’t care, it was probably the latter.
Ten minutes later, when he dared to lift the pillow from his head, the lights had come on and Preedy had finally appeared. He was staring in at House, with a puzzled look on his face
“You all right?” he asked.
House sat up and placed the pillow down, “Yeah, soundproofing.”
Preedy frowned, and House shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Where the hell did you get to last night?”
Preedy gave an overly suspicious look both ways down the corridor, and then he passed a few sheets of paper through the bars. House sat up and took them from him. Test results.
Preedy looked worn out; usually there wasn’t a wrinkle in his uniform, but today it was creased, even his short hair was disheveled. “Redfield let me go early, on account of my little girl getting brain surgery.”
House had known it, and felt thankful the kids had listened to him and gone ahead with what he asked them to do. “She okay?” he asked, an afterthought after silently congratulating himself for being right.
Preedy nodded and stared at the floor. He found an uncomfortable look and started rubbing his hand against his chin, like he normally did when he was pissed off. It was at this point House noticed he didn’t appear to have shaved today either.
“Yeah, she’s okay. But they said if that clot hadn’t been found in time, she could have died.”
“Blood clots are persistent like that, they don’t like to hang around and wait for stupid doctors to connect the dots and stop the bleeding.”
Preedy looked up at him, “You saved her life,” he said quietly.
House shrugged, “Get over it, we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Preedy said, respectfully. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. I should have listened.”
House wasn’t totally sure, but he suspected that had been the first apology Preedy had ever made in his life. He chose not to respond though; instead, he looked down at the sheets of paper in his hand.
“The fact that this happened at all means you need to pull her out of the karate for good, and stop with any sports.”
“She loves sports,” Preedy said sadly.
“Yeah, but I bet she loves life more?” House returned, feeling slightly hypocritical with the words, because in reality he knew exactly how the kid felt. To be told you’d never do any of the things you liked to do in life; he’d been there. But then, he reasoned, the kid was young, she could pick safer hobbies.
“I spoke with Dr Cameron last night and she said unless they can find a way of proving that an illness caused the bleed in her head, and the bruises, child services might take up a case against us; they might even take Kate away.”
“What did Kate tell child services?”
“She told them the truth, said I didn’t do it, but they said they’ve seen plenty of cases where the children lie to protect their parents.”
That didn’t surprise House one bit. “We need some proof,” he said to himself, eyeing the new results, then he spotted a new symptom on one of the sheets Preedy had handed him and wondered why no one had mentioned it to him before.
“How long has she had this rash on her thigh?” he asked, flipping over the original file, scanning for the symptom and not finding it.
Preedy shrugged. “It’s not connected; Gina said she got that when she got her new school uniform,”
“Gina?” House questioned.
“My wife,” Preedy replied.
“Did she get the bruises around the same time?” House asked.
Preedy thought about it, “Maybe?”
“Then it’s probably connected,” House said irritably. “Why do parents always withhold this sort of stuff?” he said to himself.
He looked at the old file, and compared the results. The platelet count was still normal; it had been done three times now.
“So we definitely can’t prove it’s that thrombo,” Preedy started, but was unable to recall the term
“Thrombocytopenia,” House finished distractedly. “We can’t prove it because it’s not…”
House stopped and looked at Preedy and wondered if anyone had scrutinized the blood further than a platelet count.
“There isn’t a way to prove it was thrombocytopenia, because the count rules it out, but there is one thing it could be. If you add the rash, you get something that would throw up similar symptoms even with a normal platelet count.”
“Really, and you could prove it?”
Maybe, House thought. “I need to call Cameron,” he said abruptly.
“I can’t take you to a phone until eight o’clock,” Preedy returned.
House nodded, “Okay, by which time Cameron won’t have been able to run this test for me, and child services will be kicking your family out of your kid’s room.”
Preedy’s stern expression fell away and he reluctantly, reached into his jacket pocket and found his phone. He did another overly obvious corridor scan which made House roll his eyes at him, then he handed him the phone.
House stepped back into the cell so the guy next to him couldn’t hear.
“Has anyone actually looked at this kid’s blood, under one of those microscope thingies?”
“Good morning to you too,” Cameron replied.
House sighed, “Not got a lot of time here,” he said impatiently. “You need to get a better look at this kid’s blood, are you at the hospital?”
“Yeah, just got here, I’m eating my breakfast,” she mumbled.
“Well, I’m sure Preedy’s little girl will thank you for skipping it, when you solve her case and prevent her from going into care.”
“What’s going on?”
“Is Cuddy there yet?” he queried.
“Don’t think so,” Cameron replied.
“Super, go get some blood and have a closer look at the white cells. No one thought to mention the rash,” House shot a look at Preedy. “Because stupid parents always know better when their kids are sick, but that specific piece of information might just stop their kid going into care.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Something that can look and act like thrombocytopenia even when the platelet count is normal.”
There was a pause, while Cameron thought about the possibilities, and House almost suggested she got herself a cup of coffee to wake herself up. “I can’t think of anything, not off the top of my head,” Cameron said, honestly.
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s very rare. Go check her blood then get back to me,” House said, then he hung up to make his point and handed the phone back to Preedy.
~
By the time Cameron called back, it was way after lunchtime and Preedy was too anxious to let House use the phone in his cell. There were more guards around and other prisoners being taken to and from the exercise area. He took House to the phone by the guard’s office instead so he could call Cameron back.
“Tell me you found something strange?” House said hopefully.
“How about Dohle bodies in the white blood cells?” Cameron said.
House felt a trickle of relief, surely that was proof enough that he was right. , “Did you show Cuddy the results?” He asked.
“Yes, she’s apologizing to child services for getting them involved, and explaining what May-Hegglin Anomaly, is.”
House turned from Preedy and smiled to himself, “Bet she had to look it up first,” House said, “A bleeding disorder that doesn’t always act like a bleeding disorder.”
“House, there have only ever been two hundred cases of it reported,” Cameron pointed out.
“What are the odds?”
“Infinitesimal, it must be karma.” Cameron suggested.
“How is it karma?” House mused.
“You saved Preedy’s child, that’s got to count for something,” Cameron said lightly. “Maybe it needed to happen.”
“Right,” House glanced at Preedy again, and doubted Cameron would have told him the results yet.
“Just because something is unlikely to happen, doesn’t mean it won’t,” House said.
“I’ll see you next week,” Cameron replied, “Good catch, I doubt anyone else would have seen it.”
“Yeah.” Wasn’t that the truth, House thought, wondering how many of those catches had slipped by everyone since he’d been in jail. “See you next week.”
“So?” Preedy said expectantly, when he hung up the phone.
House shook his head and stared at the ground, “I was wrong,” he said sadly, blowing out his air in mock frustration.
Preedy started rubbing his chin again and House smiled at him, “Relax, I was right. Cuddy’s calling off the hounds as we speak.”
“You know what she has?”
“Bad blood, like I said it was all along. It’s a genetic condition, probably got it from you because you’re an idiot.”
Preedy ignored the jibe, “But is she going to be all right?”
“Should be, she’ll need to be careful, it’s incurable, but manageable. Better go after the boyfriend instead of her when she gets pregnant at fifteen,” House mused.
“Such a cynical bastard,” Preedy said, shaking his head. “Although if someone gets her pregnant at fifteen, we’ll be swapping places because I’ll be doing time for murder.”
“You need to work on that rage Preedy, so much anger, it’s not good for you,” House said. “Now, seeing as you owe me a small favor, you know for saving your kid’s life and everything, if Cameron brings me my gameboy in next week, will you let me have it?”
Preedy thought about his request and then nodded. “I don’t see why not, as long you can put it back together after I break it open, looking for drugs,” he offered lightly.
Karma, my ass, House thought to himself, deciding the more things changed, the more things stayed the same.
Author: snark-bait
Rating: Adult
Character/Paring: House/Cameron
Summary: House leaves prison after being convicted on drug offences, Cameron helps him readjust to his new life.
Spoilers: If you haven’t seen season 3 it's one big spoiler, but I'm going from 'Finding Judas' and just skipping very far ahead from there.
Chapter: 6
Beta'd by phineyj
House hadn’t had a hangover in years. In the time that had passed since his last, he’d forgotten just how evil they could be. A feeling of impending doom arrived as he opened his eyes to see if that would do anything for the thumping ache in his head. It didn’t.
He was cold, and decided that was probably something to do with his jeans being damp.
He couldn’t remember getting home, or getting up the stairs for that matter, but figured that it must have taken him a while. He also couldn’t remember getting half undressed or finding the scratchy blanket that was covering him. He guessed he’d got caught up in the rain storm on his way home; that would explain the sodden jeans that were clinging uncomfortably to his legs.
He was on his stomach, his face was buried into the pillow and his arms and legs were stretched out to the side of him. His stomach lurched when he rolled onto his back and he noticed the curtains had remained open all night, the bright daylight streaming in made his head throb even more.
How had he managed to forget how this felt? The revolting trace of scotch as it lingered on, twelve hours after he’d drank it, still clinging sourly to his throat and tongue, and then there was the pounding in his head and the ringing in his ears.
He tried to sit up so he could take off his jeans but when he did the motion made him feel like he was going to hurl. He closed his eyes with the dizziness that pounced on him and tried to hold it down. The last thing he wanted to do right now was puke all over Cameron’s spare room.
He’d obviously drunken far more than his body had been able to cope with; he could remember getting to the bottom of a bottle of scotch, and not a lot after that. But in a twisted sort of way he wanted to feel like crap. He liked the distraction it offered him.
He sat up slowly then managed to stagger to the bathroom; he lifted up the lid and puked up a nasty bile colored froth into the toilet. He actually felt better when he’d finished, deciding that anything the color his puke had been shouldn’t really be inside the human body for too long.
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, so he was feeling shaky, but he wasn’t putting anything into his stomach until it had settled.
He found Cameron in the yard; she was putting something in the trash. He pulled open the back door and leant against the frame, hugging his arms around himself when the cold air hit him.
“Morning,” he croaked, and she turned and looked at him.
“Afternoon,” she said, checking her watch. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts,” he offered hoarsely, and wondered if he’d also been smoking the night before, because his throat was sore.
“I bet,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile he probably didn’t deserve, seeing as his illness was a self inflicted one.
“Can you remember passing out at the front, on the doorstep?’
House thought about it: nope, definitely had no memory of that, so he shook his head, although it did explain the wet jeans.
“Last thing I remember was trying to flag a cab down, can’t remember actually getting into or out of one.”
She nodded and looked away from him. “So, you don’t remember Wilson being here, then?”
House frowned and tried to piece together the evening; he definitely couldn’t remember seeing Wilson. He shook his head again. “Why was he here?”
“Because I called him,” Cameron admitted quietly. She placed the lid back on the trash can, loud enough to make House wince and close his eyes. “Initially it was so I could get the names of the places you might be, so I could give you a lift home, but he wouldn’t let me go alone. We couldn’t find you anyway.”
House tapped the key that was hanging out of the lock with his finger, and thought about her words for a second. “You shouldn’t have called him,” he said eventually.
“I was worried about you,” Cameron offered.
“I don’t need your worry or your pity,” he said gruffly, “And I don’t need his help with anything.”
“It’s not pity, House,” she argued, but he left the doorway and went back into the kitchen. That meant Wilson would have seen the state he was in, and considering House couldn’t remember anything, he figured he’d been a mess. After all the time that had passed since he’d seen him, having Wilson find him blind drunk wasn’t any sort of a reunion he had in mind.
He started to worry then, wondering if Cameron had told Wilson what had happened when they got pulled over. Exactly what had happened, specifically?
Surely she wouldn’t have? He didn’t want Wilson to find out about that; he didn’t want anyone to know, but some things just weren’t in his control, unfortunately, even the most personal details of his life. But asking if she had mentioned it, meant bringing up the subject again.
He poured himself a glass of water, leant against the sink and drained it in one. Cameron came in from the yard and closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry for calling Wilson, I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, quietly.
“I’m going take a shower, if that’s all right?” House replied, not looking at her. He was done discussing anything that had happened the day before.
“Of course,” Cameron said. He placed the glass down on the side and left the kitchen.
~
House took his time in the shower, letting the heat work out some of the tension in his shoulders. He rubbed his face and tried to shift a dozen, undesirable thoughts from his mind.
When he returned to the spare room, he picked up a handful of medical journals from the bookcase and lay on the bed. He started reading, noticing the house was oddly quiet when Daniel wasn’t in it.
It wasn’t long before he fell asleep again, he didn’t wake until Cameron knocked on the door a few hours later.
“Feeling any better?” she asked, as she came in and sat on the end of the bed. The shower had relaxed him but his headache was worse. He’d noticed the bump over his eye and guessed that was responsible for his aching skull, although he had no idea how it had happened.
“A little,” he admitted.
“Do you want something to eat?”
House reacted to the suggestion by hugging his stomach and closing his eyes. “No,” he groaned. He was hungry, but he knew anything that went in would come straight back out, and his stomach was sore enough.
“How about something to drink?”
“I’m all right,” he said offhandedly. He just wanted to be left alone. Cameron got the message, silently got up again then left the room. He wasn’t annoyed with her, but he didn’t want to talk anything through with her either.
He noticed she’d been wearing her glasses, something he’d not seen in a while. It reminded him of how things had been between them when they’d been working together and how they’d changed, in different ways. They’d become friends, really, he’d never have thought he’d keep in contact with someone like Cameron, guessing they’d lose touch when her fellowship was over.
And then everything had changed, and she’d been pretty much the only person left.
He hadn’t let his parents visit him in prison; they’d desperately wanted to, but he hadn’t been able to face the shame of it. There hadn’t been anyone else. Cuddy was eternally busy, she’d been a few times, but Cameron had been the only regular visitor.
At first he hadn’t really given a crap, everything had been so fucked up and he’d become wary of any impetus a person could have, but once it became routine, once he knew it wasn’t just something she felt obliged to do on a few occasions, he’d started looking forward to her visits. Even though he’d known that looking forward to anything in that place was, potentially, a very dangerous thing.
The simple truth of it all was that he wouldn’t have lasted the isolation of protective custody if she hadn’t been coming to see him. Out of intense boredom he might well have asked to go back to general population, but he’d never asked.
So, he knew what he’d gotten out of it all, but he often struggled to see what she got back. He was still struggling to see now, she didn’t have an angle, and in a world where everybody seemed to have one, he felt like asking what hers was.
Maybe deep down he knew what it was, but he definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to address it.
~
When Wilson woke early the next morning, he felt like he was coming down with something. He hadn’t slept well at all, and supposed it could be overtiredness that was making him feel like crap.
He’d dozed off by accident at Cameron’s place; one minute his eyelids had been batting together and he’d been fighting to keep himself awake, the next minute he was out like a light. The warm room and the sound of House snoring lightly had made it so easy just to close his eyes for a minute or two. When he’d woken up half an hour later, House was gone.
A quick, nervous, check upstairs had found him passed out in the spare room. Wilson had stood for a moment, wondering again what Tritter had said.
He knew House liked a void when he was miserable, and he’d been miserable all too often during the last year Wilson had been involved in his life. But alcohol had never been his vice of choice, so getting drunk instead of high did go some way to back up Cameron’s assurance that House was off the drugs now, completely.
Wilson had left for home then, reasoning that House wouldn’t have come around and dragged his butt upstairs had he been concussed. But once home, he hadn’t been able to sleep; he was troubled by the idea that Tritter had been dogging House so soon after his release. It bothered him, enough to keep him awake despite feeling utterly wiped out.
He showered quickly; but it didn’t do much to wake him up. He dressed in one of his work suits and decided to go to the hospital, even though it was a Saturday. He wanted to be occupied and he could clear through the stuff that had been bogging him down all week.
He eyed the bread next to the toaster, but he wasn’t feeling very hungry, so he left his apartment with an empty stomach.
Wilson drove into Princeton. The weather was still shitty; puddles and soggy leaves littered the sidewalks under a stormy grey sky.
When he arrived, he noticed Cuddy was in her office, unsurprisingly, but he didn’t go in and say hello. He wanted to bury himself under a pile of work today and forget about everything.
Wilson sat at his desk and turned on his computer; one of his fellowship students, Mark, followed him into the office and stood patiently in front of the desk.
To his dismay, he realised Mark had already sorted out most of the paperwork, leaving him with little to do. This frustrated him, but it wasn’t like he could shout at an employee for doing his job.
“Mark, you can go home, I’m going to work through today, get on top of a few things,” Wilson told him.
“Okay,” Mark replied, sounding surprised. His students usually shared the weekend shifts, he didn’t often come in.
“You have a referral from Dr Ashley over at General, she wanted you to see a friend of hers. He came by yesterday but obviously you weren’t here. I could get him to come back today if you want? He said he’d be available,” Mark said, as he was leaving.
Most people were available if they were waiting for test results that would reveal if they had cancer or not, Wilson thought, but he didn’t have a lot else to do and didn’t want to go home.
“Sure, call him back. Get him to meet me down in the clinic,” Wilson replied, Mark nodded and left the room.
~
Wilson entered exam room three an hour later, to be greeted with “Dr Wilson - it’s been a long time.”
He recognized the voice and looked up, slightly shocked. This was what happened when he got distracted. If he’d actually bothered to look at the file an hour ago, this wouldn’t be happening.
Again, he found himself getting angry at Mark, for simply doing his job.
“Those my X-rays?” Michael Tritter asked. Wilson, caught up in the shock of seeing the man again, merely nodded.
“You were referred to me by Dr Ashley,” Wilson said quietly, reading the front sheet of Tritter’s file.
“Yeah,” Tritter said, leaning against the exam room table and folding his arms in front of him.
“You’ve been getting chest pain,” Wilson continued distractedly , desperately wishing, again, that he’d looked at the name on the file. He would never have called him in.
“You look surprised to see me,” Tritter noted calmly.
Wilson realized he’d been standing by the open door the entire conversation; he came in fully, closed the door and walked over to the X-ray viewer.
“Coughed up some blood a few weeks back,” Tritter explained. “The chest pain isn’t like normal chest pain, feels more like a broken rib.”
Wilson nodded, all of that was in the file already. He turned the X-ray viewer on and took out the films inside the file.
“You got what you wanted,” Wilson said quietly, with his back to Tritter as he separated the first film away from the others. He cleared his throat. “Can’t you leave House alone now?”
“Got what I wanted?” Tritter repeated back thoughtfully. “No, I did my job, couldn’t have done it without your help though.”
Wilson stopped momentarily, taking the words in, before placing the film up against the viewer.
“You don’t have the right to dog him,” Wilson said, glancing at the film.
“I’m not dogging him,” Tritter said seriously. “I pulled a car over that committed a traffic violation.’
Wilson leaned in and observed the white mass in the middle of black that was Tritter’s left lung.
“You came here yesterday, but I wasn’t here. When you left you saw him and you followed him home,” Wilson said cynically, glancing at the other man for a moment.
Tritter shrugged. “I was surprised to see him here. I think it’s a mistake to have a man with a history of drug abuse working in a hospital. I wanted to let him know I’m still around.”
“What else is he supposed to do?” Wilson asked.
“I don’t know," Tritter replied, "or care.”
Wilson could believe that, but then, glancing back at the X-ray he had to wonder if Tritter knew he was tempting fate by showing House he was still around, because judging by the carcinogenic tumor in his left lung, that might not be his call to make for long.
“If he starts stealing drugs again I will catch him, and he will go back to prison.”
“He’s not going to do that,” Wilson assured him. “But, for now, I think you have bigger problems.”
He pointed to the cloudy mass on the film. Thin white roots, silmilar to that of a tree, joined the tumor to the side of Tritter’s lung.
“There are a few more tests your doctor will need to run, but, I’ve seen enough of these,” he tapped the mass, “To tell you that you have a tumor in your left lung.”
Tritter nodded; his expression didn’t change all that much. “Thought so,” he said.
He was eerily calm with the news. Wilson had seen every kind of reaction to this diagnosis, calm acceptance was uncommon. The weight of uncertainty, lifting from Tritter's expression was about as much of a reaction Wilson was going to get, he suspected.
Wilson pulled the film down and placed it back in the file.
“Dr Ashley is an excellent oncologist. She must have known what this was; I don’t know why she referred you to me,” Wilson said uncomfortably.
“Because you’re the best oncologist in Jersey.”
“I don’t take personal cases,” Wilson said, before handing Tritter the files back.
Tritter took the file and placed it beside him on the examination table, “What? This isn’t a personal case.”
“You destroyed my best friend’s life,” Wilson replied, before heading for the door. “I don’t see how it gets more personal than that.”
“You’re a doctor; do your job. You make this some sort of vendetta and I will drag your ass to court and you will lose your medical license too,” Tritter said heatedly.
Wilson pulled the door open, and took one last look at him.
“You could do that, you could waste maybe six months trying to push that through, then half of the time you have left will be gone. Personally, I’d rather spend that time with my family than trying to settle a score, but, I think we’re very different people.”
Wilson left then, closing the door behind him. Wondering what the hell the day was going to throw at him next.
~
Cameron didn’t see House again that day. He stayed out of the way and she left him alone. She didn’t even ask if he still wanted to go out to the jazz club, his mood when she’d gone in to see if he wanted something to eat had pretty much answered her question.
She didn’t regret calling Wilson. She’d had no choice. She didn’t want to get involved in their relationship, whatever was left of it, what happened between them was nothing to do with her.
She went out to do a bit of grocery shopping; when she returned she noticed there were two missed calls from Jack. She began worrying instantly; the sort of irrational -is my child okay- worrying most mothers did when they’d missed a call from the person their child was with.
“Jack?” she said worriedly, when he answered. He never called when he had Danny unless he was about to bring him home.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying all afternoon,” he said, irritably.
She kept her thoughts to herself, but she had been no longer than forty minutes, maximum. That did not constitute as all afternoon to her.
“Sorry, I had to go out; is Danny okay?”
“Of course he’s okay, he’s the reason I called, we need to talk,” Jack said, seriously.
“Of course, what’s wrong?”
“Where do I start?” Jack said condescendingly. “How about we start with you telling me who took my son to school on Friday?”
Crap, she’d been meaning to call and speak to him before he picked Danny up on Friday, explain that House was staying for a few days but when Tritter had pulled them over in the evening, it had totally skipped her mind. She should have known Danny would say something.
“A friend of mine took him to school,” Cameron explained. It wasn’t a lie.
“A friend,” Jack replied, dubiously. “What friend?”
“What does it matter? You let me down,” she said.
“Don’t throw this back at me,” he said heatedly.
“Throw what at you? You let me down, so a friend helped me out.”
There was a pause. She heard him let his breath out slowly through his nose, the way he did when he was angry and trying to put his thoughts together.
“Your friend, House, he’s out of prison now?”
“Yes,” Cameron admitted.
“That’s who took my son to school?”
“No,” Cameron corrected, “That’s who took our son to school because you let me down again.”
“I can’t believe you, I really can’t. Leaving him with a junkie, I’m honestly astonished that you would do that,” Jack said.
The stupid son of a bitch, Cameron thought angrily. “He’s not a junkie, and I wouldn’t leave Daniel with anyone I didn’t trust.”
“He was inside for stealing drugs from a hospital, Allison, for Christ’s sake,” Jack shouted, and she hoped Danny wasn’t in the same room. “I can’t believe you can’t see why I’m upset about this.”
Cameron started to tidy her shopping away. House had been right; she should have mentioned this before. “No, Jack, I can believe you’re angry but it has nothing to do with why House was in prison.”
Jack let out a frustrated growl, “I don’t want him near our son, have you got that?”
“No, I don’t have that, because you’re being completely irrational, and I can introduce Daniel to whom I like.”
There was another brief silence, Jack didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t dictate things to her any more. She’d gone along with a lot of things he’d wanted when they’d been married, just because it was easier to avoid an argument, but not any more.
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow when I drop him off,” Jack said then. Cameron suspected he needed to build up his argument a little bit as things hadn’t gone his way just because he’d raised his voice. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I take Daniel to Ben’s for an hour; I think he’s probably with a hooker, but junkies, hookers, it’s all the same, right?”
“Don’t be so pathetic,” Cameron said crossly, and then she hung up on him, because she was on the verge of saying something she’d regret; multiple things she’d regret.
~
It had stopped raining outside, finally. House left the curtains open in the bedroom so he could study the moon and the stars, as he lay, with his hands behind his head.
Because he’d spent most of the day sleeping, by midnight he was wide awake and the thoughts he’d been trying to hide from all day, had finally found him.
He recognized that some of the disquiet he’d been feeling lately was to do with the displacement he felt. He simply didn’t have a home, or a place of his own; he couldn’t get away from other people completely when he just needed some space, and some time alone. He couldn’t go out and come back without people worrying about him.
He didn’t need or want anyone to be concerned about him.
He hadn’t felt this way since he’d been a kid. Because he’d moved around with his father’s job so much, he hadn’t really had a sense of home until he’d got his first place, after college. Then he filled it with things that interested him, making it somewhere he actually wanted to go back to, because it felt good to be there.
He had to find some place to rent on Monday. And not just for his sake. Earlier in the day, he’d overheard a partial conversation Cameron was having with - he could only assume - Jack. House guessed that he had finally found out that he was staying with them, and wasn’t happy about it. With everything that was going on already, the last thing he needed was to get in the middle of all the shit going on between Cameron and her ex.
When he heard the door to Cameron’s bedroom click shut, he decided to go downstairs and find some sort of distraction. He turned the play station on and decided to try and finish Daniel’s game.
Ten minutes into it, he was glad he’d brought the blanket down from the spare room, because he was freezing his ass off and had no idea where the thermostat was.
It didn’t take long for him to get completely sucked into the game. He’d been playing for a few hours before Cameron appeared beside him and scared the crap out of him.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked quietly, startling him as he hadn’t heard her come into the room.
“No,” he admitted quietly.
The interruption saw his character maimed on screen. Which sucked, because he only had one badass ogre left to kill then he’d completed the game.
“You should have put the heating on; it gets really cold down here in the winter.”
He shrugged at her suggestion, but she wasn’t kidding, he’d have done just that if he’d been able to find the switch. She came around the sofa and sat beside him.
“Danny doesn’t like this game,” she observed.
“It’s probably a little old for him,” House replied.
“Yeah, I can tell it’s probably aimed more at ten year olds trapped inside the bodies of middle aged men.”
He gave her a sideways glance then leaned forward and picked up the TV remote.
“You don’t have to turn it off,” Cameron said.
“It’s making my eyes hurt now anyway,” House replied, “But that ogre is toast tomorrow morning.” He changed the channel so the TV came on. “You should go back to bed,” he said, the TV clock revealing it was now three in the morning
“I can’t sleep either,” Cameron admitted. House suspected the argument she’d had earlier in the day might be the reason.
“I’ll be out of here, Tuesday, hopefully,” he said then, as he flipped channels.
“Okay, but there’s no rush,” Cameron said. She pulled her robe tight, against the chill of the room.
“Jack’s pissed at you, because I’m here,” House said evenly, he wanted her to know he’d overheard, he wanted her to be honest and admit him being here was a problem for her.
Cameron shook her head once, “Jack is pissed at life, the universe, me, you, and probably another dozen people, so don’t take it personally.”
“He’s not wrong though, is he?” He countered, but he took note of her words. Maybe Jack was damaged after all, and she’d just sugar coated her description of the guy to keep House from seeing he was right, again.
He could fully understand why the guy was annoyed though, had every right to be. But Cameron didn’t seem to agree.
“You’ve done about as much as he’s done to help me out this month. He’s not pissed at you; he’s pissed off because you did something he couldn’t be bothered to do for his own son. He’s projecting his bullshit onto someone else, it’s what he does, and he does it well,” Cameron said.
House had only ever heard her use such a bitter tone when she was talking about Jack, and decided the guy had to be a monumental bastard, because he knew from experience it took a hell of a lot to piss Cameron off this way. Even he hadn’t been able to achieve it. And he’d gotten bastard down to a fine art.
“Why did you marry him, if you hate him so much?” House asked, “Seems a bit counter productive.”
Cameron thought about it for a moment, “I guess you never really know anyone.”
“I could have told you that a long time ago, but you wouldn’t have believed me,” House said softly.
“No, I think you did tell me that,” she corrected, House glanced at her, and she smiled and looked away.
“And I didn’t believe you,” she admitted.
House stopped flipping channels, when he came to an old western he hadn’t seen in a long time, “What a classic,” he said, and left it on.
“What is it?” Cameron asked.
In the meager offering of light the TV allowed, he could make out the blank expression on her face, “You’ve never seen this film?”
She shook her head and shrugged, “One of the actors looks like Clint Eastwood, looks like a western.”
“Of course it’s a western; it’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. It has the most iconic ending to a western, ever.”
“Consider me informed,” she said lightly.
House leaned forward and placed the remote down, in a gesture the channel was staying put.
“I’m really sorry about before, with Wilson and everything,” Cameron said suddenly. House kept his attention on the TV.
If the lights had been on she would have seen his jaw line tense with the mention of Wilson’s name. You could be the best liar in the world, but it didn’t count for anything if your subconscious reactions regularly undermined you.
“Can we just forget about it?” he said quietly.
“Sure,” she replied, he noticed her hug herself.
“You going to stay up and watch this?”
“I have to now, with this iconic ending I’ve never seen,” she said, overly dramatically. “How could I sleep?”
House smiled at her sarcasm, she was way more sure of herself these days. It was good to see.
“You’ll be glad you did,” House said, and then he pulled the blanket from his shoulders and fanned it out over the front of him. He then held the end open while keeping his attention on the TV; she shuffled along the sofa and got under it with him.
He felt anxious of the contact between them, it made him uncomfortable, but it wasn’t just because it was Cameron, he was funny about that sort of thing with everyone, and it had definitely gotten worse over the years. But when he was distracted or tired, when she could get under the defenses, like now, he had to admit to himself he sort of liked the sensation, as conflicted as it left him feeling.
Cameron leaned against his side, and placed her head on his chest. He let his arm rest at the side of her. The smell of her and the feel of her skin against his was making it hard to concentrate on the film, because he was aware of how long it had been since he’d been this close to a woman.
On screen, Tuco was about to abandon Blondie in the desert, and it stole House’s attention back to the TV, where it should be, where he wanted it to be. Cameron didn’t even make it to the part where the dying confederate soldier confessed the name of a grave where Eastwood could find the $200,000.
He nudged her when the Mexican stand off came on, “Go to bed,” he encouraged, more so she’d wake up and watch the end, but it wasn’t happening, she just groaned and shifted her position against him to get more comfortable.
“It’s cozier here,” she mumbled.
“Not for me,” he replied grouchily.
Cameron laughed a little, “You’re such a grumpy shit.”
“Like you aren’t when you’re tired,” House returned.
She sat up, yawned and then stretched. “I should go to bed,” she conceded. “I have to be ready for battle when Jack arrives tomorrow.”
Cameron leaned in then, aiming to kiss him on the cheek. It was a good night gesture, he knew that, but he couldn’t fight the sudden urge to kiss her back, he turned his head and their lips met.
He only meant to place his lips against hers for the barest of moments, but the sensation that passed between them found him locked and unable to pull away.
Her palm came to rest on his chest, he had no idea what reaction was on her face, (no idea what he was doing, really) but she didn’t pull back straight away. They just stayed lip locked for a few uncertain moments. Eventually Cameron did break it off, and with the light from the TV, he caught a glint of surprise in her eye, she looked hesitant but not freaked. She seemed unsure more than anything.
He’d surprised himself though. He wasn’t sure where the desire to do that had come from. He knew, emotionally he was all over the place at the moment, and put it down to that.
Nothing was said; they sat in tentative silence for a moment, until Cameron leaned in and did it again. House didn’t stop her; feeling glad she’d done it but also wondering where the fuck things were heading.
His brave move had raised her game; her lips carefully parted his, and her kiss became serious. It was measured and warm, everything about Cameron was so soft and welcoming he found him self getting lost in the various sensations as she stroked her tongue lightly over his.
And, because his brain just never shut up, he wondered absentmindedly if his beard was scratching her cheeks.
They kissed for longer than either of them could claim as an accident the next day, and it was far too intense to deny, but that didn’t stop him from thinking up excuses, as it was happening, to explain it away and bury it along with everything else he didn’t want to deal with.
They parted again and House shifted uncomfortably. “That was…I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.
“No, I’m sorry,” Cameron returned, and then she looked away from him. “This is the last thing you need.”
They both became edgy and unsure of what to say next, so House glanced away and pretended to watch the credits as they rolled; her words were true it really was the last thing he needed.
Cameron got up from the sofa, “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” House replied, as Cameron left the room.
~
Two and a half years earlier.
About an hour after House had made a call from his phone, Preedy got a call in the office that he didn't return from. His sudden disappearance told House something; it implied he was probably right.
If the kid had a clot in her head, that meant he was on the right track. The problem was in her blood. But there were plenty of diseases and illnesses that could screw with the blood, and that was before considering the varied MPDs it could be
House sat down on his bed when the lights went out at nine o’clock, same time as they did every night. He hated the regimentation of everything in this place. Same thing same time, like the world would grind to a halt if the lights went off one minute later than they usually did.
He sat back and decided the kids must have won Cuddy over by finding the clot (if it was a clot) but he doubted it would lift any of her concerns. Cuddy being Cuddy would still think it was abuse, which meant testing was going to be limited, if not impossible.
He needed something specific, but so far the symptoms were too vague to single out any particular disease or illness.
House didn’t sleep much that night, but he was actually thankful of the distraction. Sometimes, when he was deep in thought and turning things over, his leg, even when it was at its worst, barely registered; his mind had to be pretty focused, but when it was, his curiosity was a natural painkiller.
He woke early the next morning, guessing it was sometime around six. It took a few seconds to realize the light groaning he could hear was of the guy in the cell next to his, jacking off. House pulled his pillow over his head and tried to block out the sound; some people just didn’t know how to be subtle, either that or the guy didn’t care, it was probably the latter.
Ten minutes later, when he dared to lift the pillow from his head, the lights had come on and Preedy had finally appeared. He was staring in at House, with a puzzled look on his face
“You all right?” he asked.
House sat up and placed the pillow down, “Yeah, soundproofing.”
Preedy frowned, and House shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Where the hell did you get to last night?”
Preedy gave an overly suspicious look both ways down the corridor, and then he passed a few sheets of paper through the bars. House sat up and took them from him. Test results.
Preedy looked worn out; usually there wasn’t a wrinkle in his uniform, but today it was creased, even his short hair was disheveled. “Redfield let me go early, on account of my little girl getting brain surgery.”
House had known it, and felt thankful the kids had listened to him and gone ahead with what he asked them to do. “She okay?” he asked, an afterthought after silently congratulating himself for being right.
Preedy nodded and stared at the floor. He found an uncomfortable look and started rubbing his hand against his chin, like he normally did when he was pissed off. It was at this point House noticed he didn’t appear to have shaved today either.
“Yeah, she’s okay. But they said if that clot hadn’t been found in time, she could have died.”
“Blood clots are persistent like that, they don’t like to hang around and wait for stupid doctors to connect the dots and stop the bleeding.”
Preedy looked up at him, “You saved her life,” he said quietly.
House shrugged, “Get over it, we’re not out of the woods yet.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Preedy said, respectfully. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. I should have listened.”
House wasn’t totally sure, but he suspected that had been the first apology Preedy had ever made in his life. He chose not to respond though; instead, he looked down at the sheets of paper in his hand.
“The fact that this happened at all means you need to pull her out of the karate for good, and stop with any sports.”
“She loves sports,” Preedy said sadly.
“Yeah, but I bet she loves life more?” House returned, feeling slightly hypocritical with the words, because in reality he knew exactly how the kid felt. To be told you’d never do any of the things you liked to do in life; he’d been there. But then, he reasoned, the kid was young, she could pick safer hobbies.
“I spoke with Dr Cameron last night and she said unless they can find a way of proving that an illness caused the bleed in her head, and the bruises, child services might take up a case against us; they might even take Kate away.”
“What did Kate tell child services?”
“She told them the truth, said I didn’t do it, but they said they’ve seen plenty of cases where the children lie to protect their parents.”
That didn’t surprise House one bit. “We need some proof,” he said to himself, eyeing the new results, then he spotted a new symptom on one of the sheets Preedy had handed him and wondered why no one had mentioned it to him before.
“How long has she had this rash on her thigh?” he asked, flipping over the original file, scanning for the symptom and not finding it.
Preedy shrugged. “It’s not connected; Gina said she got that when she got her new school uniform,”
“Gina?” House questioned.
“My wife,” Preedy replied.
“Did she get the bruises around the same time?” House asked.
Preedy thought about it, “Maybe?”
“Then it’s probably connected,” House said irritably. “Why do parents always withhold this sort of stuff?” he said to himself.
He looked at the old file, and compared the results. The platelet count was still normal; it had been done three times now.
“So we definitely can’t prove it’s that thrombo,” Preedy started, but was unable to recall the term
“Thrombocytopenia,” House finished distractedly. “We can’t prove it because it’s not…”
House stopped and looked at Preedy and wondered if anyone had scrutinized the blood further than a platelet count.
“There isn’t a way to prove it was thrombocytopenia, because the count rules it out, but there is one thing it could be. If you add the rash, you get something that would throw up similar symptoms even with a normal platelet count.”
“Really, and you could prove it?”
Maybe, House thought. “I need to call Cameron,” he said abruptly.
“I can’t take you to a phone until eight o’clock,” Preedy returned.
House nodded, “Okay, by which time Cameron won’t have been able to run this test for me, and child services will be kicking your family out of your kid’s room.”
Preedy’s stern expression fell away and he reluctantly, reached into his jacket pocket and found his phone. He did another overly obvious corridor scan which made House roll his eyes at him, then he handed him the phone.
House stepped back into the cell so the guy next to him couldn’t hear.
“Has anyone actually looked at this kid’s blood, under one of those microscope thingies?”
“Good morning to you too,” Cameron replied.
House sighed, “Not got a lot of time here,” he said impatiently. “You need to get a better look at this kid’s blood, are you at the hospital?”
“Yeah, just got here, I’m eating my breakfast,” she mumbled.
“Well, I’m sure Preedy’s little girl will thank you for skipping it, when you solve her case and prevent her from going into care.”
“What’s going on?”
“Is Cuddy there yet?” he queried.
“Don’t think so,” Cameron replied.
“Super, go get some blood and have a closer look at the white cells. No one thought to mention the rash,” House shot a look at Preedy. “Because stupid parents always know better when their kids are sick, but that specific piece of information might just stop their kid going into care.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Something that can look and act like thrombocytopenia even when the platelet count is normal.”
There was a pause, while Cameron thought about the possibilities, and House almost suggested she got herself a cup of coffee to wake herself up. “I can’t think of anything, not off the top of my head,” Cameron said, honestly.
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s very rare. Go check her blood then get back to me,” House said, then he hung up to make his point and handed the phone back to Preedy.
~
By the time Cameron called back, it was way after lunchtime and Preedy was too anxious to let House use the phone in his cell. There were more guards around and other prisoners being taken to and from the exercise area. He took House to the phone by the guard’s office instead so he could call Cameron back.
“Tell me you found something strange?” House said hopefully.
“How about Dohle bodies in the white blood cells?” Cameron said.
House felt a trickle of relief, surely that was proof enough that he was right. , “Did you show Cuddy the results?” He asked.
“Yes, she’s apologizing to child services for getting them involved, and explaining what May-Hegglin Anomaly, is.”
House turned from Preedy and smiled to himself, “Bet she had to look it up first,” House said, “A bleeding disorder that doesn’t always act like a bleeding disorder.”
“House, there have only ever been two hundred cases of it reported,” Cameron pointed out.
“What are the odds?”
“Infinitesimal, it must be karma.” Cameron suggested.
“How is it karma?” House mused.
“You saved Preedy’s child, that’s got to count for something,” Cameron said lightly. “Maybe it needed to happen.”
“Right,” House glanced at Preedy again, and doubted Cameron would have told him the results yet.
“Just because something is unlikely to happen, doesn’t mean it won’t,” House said.
“I’ll see you next week,” Cameron replied, “Good catch, I doubt anyone else would have seen it.”
“Yeah.” Wasn’t that the truth, House thought, wondering how many of those catches had slipped by everyone since he’d been in jail. “See you next week.”
“So?” Preedy said expectantly, when he hung up the phone.
House shook his head and stared at the ground, “I was wrong,” he said sadly, blowing out his air in mock frustration.
Preedy started rubbing his chin again and House smiled at him, “Relax, I was right. Cuddy’s calling off the hounds as we speak.”
“You know what she has?”
“Bad blood, like I said it was all along. It’s a genetic condition, probably got it from you because you’re an idiot.”
Preedy ignored the jibe, “But is she going to be all right?”
“Should be, she’ll need to be careful, it’s incurable, but manageable. Better go after the boyfriend instead of her when she gets pregnant at fifteen,” House mused.
“Such a cynical bastard,” Preedy said, shaking his head. “Although if someone gets her pregnant at fifteen, we’ll be swapping places because I’ll be doing time for murder.”
“You need to work on that rage Preedy, so much anger, it’s not good for you,” House said. “Now, seeing as you owe me a small favor, you know for saving your kid’s life and everything, if Cameron brings me my gameboy in next week, will you let me have it?”
Preedy thought about his request and then nodded. “I don’t see why not, as long you can put it back together after I break it open, looking for drugs,” he offered lightly.
Karma, my ass, House thought to himself, deciding the more things changed, the more things stayed the same.