Five years - chapter fifteen (final chapter)
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.
Disclaimer: All House Characters belong to Fox and David Shore, (I think) they’re definitely not mine anyway.
Chapter: 15/15
Thanks to lynettinspaghet for the beta
Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t take long for the cold winter air to shoo House and Cameron from the park; they left the way they’d gone in and returned to the bar. When they got there Cameron went inside, briefly, so she could excuse them both. House waited outside for her; his hands were buried deep in his pockets and his breath charged the air. She hadn’t asked him to go back in, he’d seen a flit of deliberation in her eyes when they’d reached the door, but she hadn’t said anything, nor had she pestered him to explain why he’d left in the first place. He was thankful she’d left it well alone.
Harris got a kick out of trouble, any kind he could jump into, kicking up shit storms and dragging the very worst out of people. House knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, had he stayed, Harris would have made good on his nasty little threats. Such a small world, he thought bitterly.
He turned and glanced through the window; he was getting impatient and hoped Harris didn’t notice Cameron or recognize her. He also had to wonder what was taking her so long. The cold was starting to creep into his bones and when it got in deep enough to his bad leg, he was going to know all about it. He’d offered to go and get her car but she’d refused to hand the keys over because of the scotch and beer he’d sunk. Even though it was parked just around the corner, she preferred to let him stand here and freeze his nads off.
~
They’d barely got through the front door at House’s place and Cameron was right in the middle of kissing him goodbye, when the phone started ringing in the kitchen.
House went in to answer it, checking his watch as he did. Levin was early; it was only quarter to ten. A brief but familiar conversation took place; the parole officer used a bored tone of condescension, the sort a parent would use on a disobedient teenager, and House clenched his jaw tightly, hoping to keep everything he’d like to say inside, so as not to provoke the guy.
Keeping silent in the face of such provocation proved to be a wise move and he even allowed himself a slight smile when he hung up the phone. With the click of the receiver he felt the stress of the past three months lifting from his shoulders and melting away. His curfew was officially over at six the next morning, and that was hopefully the last call he’d be receiving from Levin. He turned to face Cameron, who’d followed him into the room. He watched her delicate fingers dance quickly upwards as she fastened her jacket against the cold she was about to brave.
“I’ve got to got to go, I told the baby-sitter I’d be back around ten.”
“All right,” House replied.
Cameron nodded at the phone.” Was that Levin?”
“Yeah, last one though, hopefully.” House pulled open the fridge and took out a beer; he popped the cap on the bottle and leant against the kitchen counter. “Admit it, I ruined your evening.”
“You didn’t, honestly,” Cameron assured him. She shook her head slightly as if to dismiss his words then smiled slightly. “Are you going to come for lunch tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know in the morning,” he said. He wasn’t big on Christmas as it was, but now he felt deflated after seeing Harris again, he really wasn’t in the mood for anything remotely related to Christmas.
Cameron came over to him, all concern. “Whatever happened that you won’t tell me about, please don’t let it get to you,” she pleaded.
“I’m fine,” House said dismissively.
“You don’t look fine,” she replied.
“I’m fine,” he said again, but slower this time, raising his eyebrows before throwing them down again, as if to open and shut the entire conversation. “Go home and rescue Daniel from metal mouth; I’ll speak to you tomorrow, all right?”
The girl who sat for Daniel was a local college student who looked like her mother still dressed her and had the braces from hell; House had strong doubts as to whether she’d ever left American soil as there was no way her grille was getting through a metal detector.
“I thought we agreed, no more insulting Daniel’s babysitters,” Cameron said, with a careful smile.
House made a show of thinking about her words, then added “To their face.”
The last sitter, whom incidentally Daniel had despised, (He’d been doing the kid a favor, really) had refused to come back after Cameron had foolishly left her alone in a room with him for thirty seconds. In the time it had taken Cameron to leave the room, get her purse from the kitchen and return, House had vocally observed that the girl whinnied like a hungry horse when she found something amusing, and probably needed to rein that in a little if she wanted to get laid at all during her college years. Cameron hadn’t seen the funny side at all, because good baby-sitters were hard to find, apparently.
Cameron leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “All right, I’ll call you in the morning.”
~
Cameron left and House sat at his piano to try and wear himself down a little. He’d forgotten so much music. His fingers remembered more than his mind did, positions suggesting themselves, some classical chords here, some jazz there, but he couldn’t quite remember.
Speed was an issue too: he’d been putting in few hours a day to try and find his form again, but he was rusty, and simply wasn’t as fast as he’d once been.
He played ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ in a sad, slow key because his mood was dark and he was tipsy. Unfortunately, the large scotch in front of him was doing very little to ease his cravings tonight. Vicodin topped the list and wanting his damn life back was a very close second.
He had an uncomfortable, hollow feeling inside that no amount of alcohol was going to shift. He tickled out a dirty blues version of ‘Amazing Grace’ that accused him of feeling sorry for himself. He was, but he didn’t care; everyone had the right to feel down sometimes, and Christmas was the best time for it. It was the end of the year, a time for reflecting and being honest. A time to admit everything was truly screwed and had been forever, or so it felt like to him.
Rebuilding his life was hard, painstakingly so, tiny things could set him back months of trying to get back on track, and tonight was a perfect example of that. Seeing Harris again had reminded him who he really was - a former inmate and ex drug addict. It was the sort of history he was never going to shake, no matter how hard he tried. Certain people were always going to see him the way Harris had tonight. The people sitting on the New Jersey state medical board would probably see it too. Surely they couldn’t all be idiots, and he felt certain he wasn’t getting his licence back. All the optimism in the world couldn’t save him from who he really was on paper.
House stopped playing and took a sip of his drink; at least the curfew was over, he tried to focus on that and take it for what it was, a ray of light in a very dark room. It had been clear from the start that his parole officer wasn’t particularly fond of him, but one visit to Levin’s dilapidated office in Trenton had revealed the guy wasn’t particularly fond of anyone; he spoke to his secretary, colleagues and pretty much anyone that went near him, with the same disrespectful contempt.
House had only screwed up once. It had been about a month back; he’d returned ten minutes late from Wilson’s place, just managing to get to the phone before Levin hung up. He’d demanded to know where House had been, ‘In the bathroom’ had been the breathless excuse - it hadn’t worked. Levin called bullshit straightaway, but hadn’t been quite the bastard he’d made himself out to be, either. It had been House’s only slip up since the conversation in the lab so Levin had let him off. House had almost bitten through his tongue, wanting to remind Levin of his cocky statement about only getting one chance, but he hadn’t wanted to push his luck. He’d offered a reluctant ‘thank you’ instead.
House drained his scotch in one; it burned all the way down and he winced then grit his teeth as it did. Then he got up slowly and went to the bathroom. feeling unsteady on his feet; he had no idea where he’d discarded his cane and couldn’t be bothered to look for it. He brushed his teeth, shot himself a couple of drunken dirty looks then went to bed. The scotch helped him to close his eyes and relax, it was a plus in amongst so much bullshit, and as he drifted off he hoped he could just sleep Christmas off completely.
~
House woke the next day, peeking open one bleary eye and scowling at his cell phone. It was buzzing and chirping and flashing on his bedside table, and was milliseconds away from disintegration, as he grabbed it with the express aim to launch it at the far wall. Then he noticed the caller ID and begrudgingly answered it.
“What?” he grumbled.
“Happy Christmas,” Cameron replied cheerfully.
“Who told you that?” House said.
“Don’t be such a grouch.”
He was pretty sure Cameron knew he didn’t ‘do’ Christmas, and figured she should know better than to expect any sort of seasonal good will from him today.
“Tell me, if you’re not a Christian, how is it different to another day of the year?” he asked miserably.
“Did Santa bring you anything interesting?” she asked then, in a suspiciously giddy tone; he didn’t understand the context of at all.
“Haven’t checked the living room yet, but I did put naked cheerleader on the list again, maybe I should go turn the heating up, just in case he finally came through this year.”
“I bet you’re not even out of bed yet, are you?” Cameron said accusingly.
“Of course I am,” he said.
“Liar.”
“So what, what else is there to do?” House bitched back, he was starting to feel irritable on account of the sound of Christmas joy in her voice, while all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
“You gonna come over here later?”
“Ah, that would involve getting out of bed, looks cold outside too.”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” Cameron said lightly
“I’m just not really in the mood for Christmas,” he said seriously.
Cameron was quiet for a few moments. “You can’t spend it on your own, and I have a turkey that could easily feed six people; there’s only me and Dan here.”
He clearly wasn’t explaining himself very well, he just wanted to be miserable on his own today, but he couldn’t get that across to the ‘Ray of Christmas sunshine’ on the other end of the line. He just wanted to lie in bed for a few hours, drink a few beers when he got up, and then go back to bed to sleep until Christmas went away.
“Will you promise to do one thing?” Cameron asked him then.
“What?”
“Get up and open the curtains, at least.”
“Okay, one set, you pick.”
She laughed slightly, “All right, make it the living room, let some light in.”
“I’ll speak to you later,” House said.
“Okay.”
He hung up and glanced at the time on his phone; it was eleven. He lay down again and decided he’d have another hour.
~
House finally got up just after lunch time and instantly wished he’d done some grocery shopping. He suspected everywhere was closed and he was almost out of food. He did have beer though; that would do. He reached into the fridge and took out a bottle of Bud. He sat in the living room watching sparkly Christmas cartoons that made his eyes sting, but he couldn’t find the remote.
Ten minutes later there was a knock at the front door. He wondered if OCD guy had just jittered himself over after getting bored of locking and re-locking his own door, maybe he wanted to work on his too. He waited but the knocking just got louder. House got up, sighed, and then answered the door. It was Wilson.
“So, what do you think?” Wilson asked him, grinning. House had no idea what that meant but noticed he had a great purple shiner over his right eye; he tilted his head to the side a fraction and frowned.
“I think…someone punched you in the face,’ he noted flatly. “What happened?”
“Oh this,” Wilson motioned vaguely to his eye, “It’s nothing, I must have fallen over last night, I was pretty wasted.”
The frown didn’t move from House’s face, nor did he step aside to let him in. Wilson was lying.
“I thought you were having lunch at your brother’s place.”
“I am,” Wilson glanced at his watch. “Don’t have to be there for another half hour yet. He half closed his eyes, observed House for a moment and then peered past him into the hallway, “Can I come in a sec?”
House glanced behind him, trying to work out what he was looking at, then shrugged and stepped aside. He had debated and then decided against getting dressed today, so he was still in his pajamas.
Wilson stepped in, then leaned forward and took the beer House was holding out of his hand.
“How many of these have you had?” Wilson asked seriously.
“Get your own, plenty in the fridge,” House replied, reaching for his beer but Wilson pulled it away from him.
“You can’t, because you might not want to get drunk just yet.”
“One beer is not getting drunk,” House said trying to swipe the bottle back but Wilson just held it further away from him. “I think you hit your head harder than you realize, you should go get it checked out, and leave me alone.”
Wilson stepped around House and went into his living room; he closed his front door then followed Wilson, who was opening the curtains as he entered the room.
“What are you doing?” House said cringing as the evil bright Christmas light hit his eyes.
“Letting some daylight in, you grumpy shit,” Wilson said. House noticed he wasn’t moving from the window and his hand was tapping nervously against his leg. He was like an excitable Labrador this morning and it wasn’t sitting well with House’s hangover.
“What the hell is wrong with you this morning?”
“Nothing,” Wilson said shrugging. Lying again.
House went over to him and was about to put attempt number three into place at getting his beer back, when he spotted something outside in the yard. His words halted, stepped back, and then retreated from his lips.
“Where the hell did that come from?” House asked, softly, surprise rippling through his tone. Wilson, who was grinning wider now, merely shrugged.
“I dunno, maybe Santa left it.”
“Right,” House said, drawing the word out. “Or…you did it?” he said then, searching his friend’s expression.
“No,” Wilson said dismissively. “Me, Cameron and Cuddy actually, it was a joint effort, Cameron’s idea though.”
House didn’t know what to say next. There was a black, red and silver Honda motorbike sitting in his yard, and it looked new; very new, with a matching helmet placed on the seat. When he didn’t move or say anything for a whole minute, Wilson ushered him into the yard, with House still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up messily.
“How did you get it here?” House asked, ghosting a hand over the smooth angled body of the bike.
Wilson jabbed his thumb sideways, “One of you neighbors let me use his garage. I pushed it over, that thing is heavy.”
“Why?” House began, and then he cleared his throat. “What is this, like a guilt thing?” he said unsurely.
“No,” Wilson dismissed. “It’s…” he searched for the words and placed his hands in his pockets, “It’s, we missed you, terribly, and we’re really glad you’re back now.”
They remained quiet for a few minutes, then Wilson pulled out the keys and tossed them over. House caught them high on his shoulder then looked at them.
“I need to go to my brother’s,” Wilson said, then he pointed at him, “And you, get dressed, go see Cameron and try and enjoy yourself for once, and be careful on that thing.”
“Yes mother,” House said flatly, looking down at the bike again; it was fucking sex on wheels, sparkling new with a black tank and body with red and silver stripes cutting along the middle and up and onto the tank. The smell of petrol and brand new leather seducing him, pulling him nearer, willing him to take it for a spin. And what better day for a drive; with it being Christmas the streets would be empty. The roads would be his.
“Cameron took care of insurance and everything; she’s got all the documents at her place.”
House didn’t say anything else, because he didn’t know what to say, so Wilson turned and went to leave.
“Wilson,” House said as his friend hopped up the back steps. Wilson turned and observed him, ‘Thank you’ was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite get it out so he dropped his gaze to the floor. “How did you really get that black eye?”
“Told you: I was drunk and I fell.”
The stared at each other for a moment, then House nodded, but a half dozen little physical things told him Wilson was lying to him.
“I’ll stop by Cameron’s later; she invited me around for a drink. See you there?”
“Yeah,” House said, and he would, because now he really had no excuse.
~
House arrived at Cameron’s place a few hours later, somewhat saddle sore. He’d leathered the shit out of the bike. Snow wasn’t the best biking weather so he’d kept to the roads that had been gritted. His legs were sore, and his ass ached but it was totally worth it. He did a limping John Wayne impression to her front door; she’d heard the bike approach and was already on the steps.
Cameron looked past him into the street, the bike was parked behind her car, she stayed on the doorstep and took hold of his hand, smiling at him.
“So, you like it?” she asked, unsurely.
House nodded, “Yeah, although, not entirely sure what I’ve done to deserve it,” he said uncomfortably.
“You absolutely deserve it,” she said softly. House didn’t respond, or agree, he just looked down. She got his attention by placing her hand on his cheek and kissing him.
“That is disgusting,” a small voice stated from beside them, a moment later. House pulled away to find Daniel staring up at them, looking very disappointed, so he feigned disgust, “You’re right, what was I thinking?”
“Whoa,” Daniel exclaimed then, when he noticed the bike sitting in the street. “Did Santa bring you that bike? Wow!” his eyes lit up excitedly, “Can I see it close up?”
“Sure,” House said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Cameron’s hand before he let go of it. Daniel ran outside, along the path, skipping excitedly as House followed after him.
~
“Is that what he wants next year? Cameron asked House when he found her in the kitchen ten minutes later.
“I doubt it; he liked it until I turned it on, and the engine scared him.”
Cameron was bending over, feeding her son’s Christmas present, a fluffy grey kitten. It was sitting on the floor by its ceramic food dish.
“Meet Saber,” Cameron said, shaking her head at the name. “Daniel named it, not me.”
“Saber?” House repeated unenthusiastically, “I’m just going to call it, pathetic ball of fluff.”
“Are you staying over tonight?” she asked.
“If you want,” he replied casually, eyeing the kitten. “You’re setting a bad example, you know. He’ll think it’s a toy.”
“And I still think that’s code for, I really really hate cats,” Cameron replied.
“All it’ll do is mew to be let out at four in the morning, crap all over the place, and scratch the hell out of your furniture,” House grumbled, “Or someone might accidentally step on it.”
“Well, Jack threatened to get him a dog this year and a cat by comparison, is pretty self-sufficient.”
Jack was nine parts bastard and wholly capable of introducing Daniel to a puppy then say he couldn’t keep it at his apartment. So she’d had to step up her game.
House had tried to convince her it was a bad idea but when he had realized she wasn’t budging on her decision, he’d informed her that the sap in a Christmas tree and the pine needles were both toxic to cats, and that she’d need to get a fake one, if she didn’t want tears before breakfast on Christmas morning.
She had to wonder how the hell he’d known that; it was almost as if he’d looked it up on the internet (which he’d denied) but she was pretty sure his second specialty at college had been nephrology, not feline anatomy. It was the simplest of things that let her know he cared.
“Dinner won’t be much longer; I actually got the turkey in on time this year, which is typical. The year my mother doesn’t come I get everything right.”
Daniel wandered into the kitchen attacking the air with an action figure, “Can I ride my bike now?” he asked.
“After lunch,” Cameron replied.
“Aww,” he whined.
“Dan, I haven’t got time now, I’m making the lunch. It’d go a lot faster if someone helped me,” she said in her most annoying mummy nagging tone, ominous to all tiny ears. Dan thought about her words and then left the kitchen as quickly as he’d appeared.
“Thank you for getting him the bike, he loves it,” Cameron said when Dan had left again.
House shrugged and looked away. Cameron smiled; always such a painful thing for him, doing something nice for someone. House noticed the smile and frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said dismissively.
He searched her expression, “Liar, what?”
She smiled quickly, “Nothing, I’m just glad you’re here.”
~
Wilson arrived about an hour after lunch. House had downed a few beers by that time, and was almost asleep on the sofa while Dan watched cartoons. Cameron showed Wilson into the living room.
“Do you want a beer?” she offered.
“Thanks,” he replied politely, and Cameron left the room again.
Wilson sat down on the sofa beside House. “You left in a hurry last night,” Wilson said, probably to avoid a conversation about the bruise he was lying about, House suspected.
“Wasn’t in a very sociable mood,” he returned, trying to sound indifferent, and very nearly succeeding. He had his own truths to hide about the night before, he supposed.
“Are you ever?” Wilson enquired. House let out one humorless laugh and took a sip of his beer.
“You didn’t stay at your brother’s long,” House observed.
“No, my hangover and this,” he pointed at his eye, “Didn’t go down too well with him. The food was good though, I couldn’t eat another thing,” Wilson sighed, patting his stomach.
“You sure?” House asked, raising his eyebrows.
Wilson frowned, “Oh! Was that another dig at my weight? You need some new material, House,” he said touchily. “At least I actually eat,” he added under his breath.
House snorted. “So what, I’m a little on the scrawny side at the moment. You make it sound like I’m anorexic, or something.”
“What’s anorexic mean?” Daniel asked, choosing that moment to disengage from the cartoon during a commercial break.
“It’s what teenage girls get when boy bands break up,” House replied casually. Daniel came over and sat in between them on the sofa.
“No it’s not,” Wilson said quickly, Daniel looked up at him. “Actually Dan, it’s a mental illness,” he corrected. “Boys and girls can get it, when they’re very unwell.”
“So what does it mean then, Dan?” House asked smugly.
“What girls get when boys break up with them?” Daniel said unsurely.
House grinned arrogantly at Wilson.
“Oh no,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “He’s going to grow up to be just like you, isn’t he? A mini you, that’s all the world needs.”
“My cat’s a girl!” Daniel interjected, randomly. “Want to see her?”
“Sure,” Wilson said politely, while House groaned at the mention. He was sick of the thing already and he’d only met it a few hours ago.
Wilson watched Dan leave the room then raised an eyebrow at House. “You’re begrudging him a pet on Christmas day, very Scrooge-like, very you,” he noted sarcastically.
“Yeah, what was I thinking? Filthy animals and children are a perfect combination; Toxoplasmosis is such fun,” House quipped.
“You’re right, most of the kids that come in with that do have doctors for parents,” Wilson replied, glibly.
“Parent,” House corrected swiftly. They stared at each other for a silent moment.
“Sorry,” Wilson offered eventually, and then he cleared his throat. It was bad enough when Daniel was tired he’d call House Daddy by accident. They were just accidents, but uncomfortable ones, nonetheless.
A few minutes later, Wilson had a beer in one hand and a kitten curled happily in his lap, which he was petting awkwardly.
“You know, I don’t think she likes me,” Wilson said as he tried to nudge, then tip then push it from his lap, but the cat clung to him, not wanting to budge.
“No, I think she likes you,” Daniel said happily.
“Needy girls always do,” House said under his breath.
~
Cameron was standing in front of the sink cleaning dishes, staring absently through the window at the crumbling little snowman in the yard. Daniel had built it a few days earlier; he’d spent all day doing it and then when it was completed, and she’d snapped a photo, he’d laid into it with something he cited as his ‘Karate powers’ and had taken great joy in demolishing it.
What was left of its head was now melting on the floor and it no longer had a carrot for a nose, eyes of stone or a smiling mouth. Poor snowman, Cameron thought to herself.
House had offered no help whatsoever in cleaning up and she wasn’t the least bit surprised. She stared down into the suds and wiped at a dinner plate, thinking back over the day so far. There had been an uncomfortable moment after breakfast, when Daniel had asked if they could go and visit Jack. It was out of the question for many reasons; she tried to explain that he’d visited Daddy on Christmas Eve because he couldn’t see him today, but Daniel had only gotten upset. In the end a phone call was the best she’d been able to do.
Things had become ugly with the run up to Christmas; Jack had refused to come and see Dan today because he figured House was going to be there. The only thing that had sated him was the offer that he could have Daniel stay with him on Christmas Day next year.
Cameron found it a crying shame that the strength of Jack’s love for Dan wasn’t as strong as the jealousy he still harbored for her; jealous of what, she wasn’t sure. Jack seemed happy enough with his new girlfriend, she was stunning and he seemed to have the life he’d always wanted. He was wealthy, had the status his dad had desired him to have, and of course a son that adored him. There was only one thing she wanted and it seemed that was the one thing he didn’t want her to have. So he’d made it as difficult as he could, every step of the way.
He’d hit the roof when she’d told him she was seeing House, threatening legal action and he’d even threatened to stop seeing Daniel if she didn’t stop seeing House. She’d stood her ground and called his bluff, risky and hard as it had been, she’d needed to stand up to him.
When the dust had settled on Jack’s anger, he’d come to realize neither of those things actually suited him. Jack’s mother would never allow Daniel to be cut out of her life, so that threat had been as empty as the thirtieth promise to fix Dan’s bike.
The simple truth was that Jack had his life balanced the way he liked it; more of his son in it would make things disproportioned. He’d be cutting his nose off to spite his face if he actually won full or joint custody. He didn’t want to fight for his son; he wanted to fight Cameron because he was angry at the choices she’d made. That’s why a few weeks after his threat to take her to court for full custody, he’d dropped the idea completely.
She knew Jack loved his son, but she had to wonder what was going to happen when Dan got a bit older, when he needed something more substantial, like real guidance and advice, she wondered if Jack would be able to give it to him. A four year old boy was easily charmed by baseball games and hotdogs, but whenever she asked Daniel how his weekend had been, it was like Jack had spent the time distracting him or putting things between them so they didn’t actually have any conversations.
Jack was responsible, safe and caring, but he didn’t really know how to talk to his son, and he seemed to be reading from a script of ‘how to be a dad’. Cameron knew it was a terrible thing, but she’d started to compare Jack to someone else.
House and Daniel could sit and chat about all sorts of things and neither seemed to get bored. House didn’t talk down to him either, it was on the level, and he’d take time to explain things to him. Most adults annoyed House on sight, but she’d never once heard House raise his voice because Daniel had done something wrong. Not something she could say about Jack.
It seemed like House was a positive force in her son’s life, as bizarre as that was.
When Daniel was older, and if he needed some real advice, stuff he couldn’t go to his mother for, she was starting to wonder if his father would be his first port of call. Because there was someone else who wouldn’t judge him, and would always tell it how it was.
~
Cameron went into the living room in search of some assistance cleaning up to find the boys were all slouched on the sofa watching TV.
“Could I have a little help in the kitchen, please?” she asked.
Wilson looked down at Daniel who looked across at House, who looked at Wilson and then shrugged.
“After the third or fourth time, she just gets bored of asking,” House whispered loudly, and didn’t budge an inch.
Cameron rolled her eyes, “Someone had better get in here and help me clean up,” she said, hands going to her hips. Daniel looked worriedly up at House, and then he scrambled off the sofa and ran into the kitchen.
“I didn’t mean you,” she called after him as he ran past. House didn’t move though, so she abandoned the idea he might get off his butt for five minutes and help her. A few minutes later he surprised her and wandered into the kitchen, Daniel was drying a small plate, carefully, looking for all the world like he was trying not to drop it on the floor.
“Creep!” House told him, encouraging Daniel to stick his tongue out at him.
But it didn’t take House long to sneak off again; after drying one plate he complained that his leg hurt and disappeared out of the kitchen. Daniel studied this excuse, then limped off after him, saying he had a bad leg too, to which House told him, “Get your own reason.”
Wilson appeared a few minutes later, seemingly the only person in the house willing to help out, even though he’d eaten his lunch elsewhere. They were standing by the sink; Cameron washing then handing Wilson dinner plates.
“So, has he said anything about the bike?”
“I think he likes it,” Cameron replied. “I know he needs it; I’m sick of trying to wake him up in the morning,” she said, passing him a plate covered in suds that he started drying.
“What’s wrong with letting him take the bus?” Wilson replied.
“That’s not fair.”
Wilson shook his head. “You two are perfect together. He needs someone to look after him, and you love doing it: perfect.”
“I don’t love it,” Cameron rejected. “But who else is going to do it?”
“True, be easier if he just grew up though,” Wilson noted.
“He’s had a tough few years,” Cameron said seriously.
“I know. I also know why he bolted last night,” Wilson admitted, checking worriedly over his shoulder to make sure House wasn’t coming back into the kitchen for anything.
“Why?” Cameron enquired.
“Apparently, he bumped into some guy who worked at the prison, in the men’s room. He threatened to cause trouble if House didn’t leave.”
Cameron stopped cleaning the dish she had in her hand and looked at him, “How’d you find that out?”
“Foreman overheard it,” Wilson grimaced and stared at the floor. “So, I accidentally on purpose dumped a pitcher of beer all over the guy.”
Cameron’s mouth dropped open, “That’s why you have the bruise on your eye?”
“Things got a bit rowdy after you left,” Wilson explained. “Cuddy pretty much disowned us at that point.”
“Us?”
“Well, Foreman and Chase jumped in when the guy hit me, then we all got kicked out,” Wilson clarified, having the decency to sound embarrassed about the whole thing.
“Oh, I don’t think I want to know any more,” Cameron said, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“No, you don’t,” he agreed.
“But you hit the guy back, right?”
Wilson smiled, “Oh yeah.”
“Are you going to tell House?”
Wilson shook his head, “No, he’ll only tell me he can fight his own battles. What’s the point, it’s done now.”
He placed the plate down on the counter with the rest. “He and Daniel seem to get on well.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “So well it worries me sometimes.”
“Worries you?”
“Dan’s got so attached to him,” Cameron explained. “If things don’t work out, I’m worried how it’ll affect him.”
“You think things won’t work out?” Wilson countered.
She smiled and shrugged, “I hope they do, but this is House we’re talking about. I have no idea what his future holds, or what he wants it to.”
Wilson folded his arms and leant on the counter, “Knowing House, I doubt he’s planned it further than whether to have chocolate cake or Christmas cake for dessert.”
“Probably both,” Cameron offered.
“You know, House didn’t break up with Stacy. She broke up with him.”
“And that’s good, because?” Cameron asked, turning to face him and reaching for a towel to wipe her hands.
“When people get to him, he doesn’t let them get away easily.”
“You think I’ve got to him?”
Wilson shrugged, “You’ve been pretty inseparable these past few months.”
Cameron wasn’t sure, but she could sense a slightly jealous overtone to his words. “You mean like you and he used to be?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Wilson said quickly.
Sure you did, Cameron thought but she didn’t vocalize it. “He’s jealous of Martin, you know,” she said, instead.
“Martin?” Wilson said, surprised. “Martin’s a geek; we started playing golf together when his wife left him, I thought he was going to throw himself off the roof if he didn’t cheer up, sort of took pity on him, really.”
Cameron could believe that; it sounded like just the sort of thing Wilson would do. She was about to reply when she heard a brief snatch of conversation from the living room
“I don’t care what you call it, just don’t bring it near me,” she heard House tell Daniel, referring to the kitten.
“She won’t bite,” Daniel argued innocently.
Wilson smiled at Cameron, “I don’t think he’s going anywhere. You’re probably stuck with him now.”
~
By nine thirty Daniel had been put to bed and everyone else in the house was tipsy. House and Wilson had moved onto the scotch and Cameron had moved onto vodka.
House used the bathroom, and then checked on Daniel, who should have been asleep by now, but the bumping and banging that had been coming from upstairs suggested otherwise. There had been a mini spat when Cameron took him up to bed. She’d refused to let the cat sleep in his bedroom. He’d had a busy day and worn himself out; the cat had to stay in the kitchen and she’d been firm enough about it that he’d started crying.
House carefully opened the door to peer into his room and just caught the boy squeezing his eyes shut tight, faking at being asleep.
“I can tell you’re awake,” House said lightly; his eyebrows rose knowingly as he leant against the doorframe and folded his arms.
Daniel continued his act for ten seconds, and then a smile cracked his features and gave him away; he opened his eyes and turned to look at House. He yawned then sat up a little, “I can’t sleep.” he complained miserably.
“Sure you can, count reindeer,” House suggested.
“No, you’re supposed to count sheep?” Daniel said confusedly.
“Reindeer are more seasonal,” House replied.
He had to admit (to himself) that he quite liked the boy, and considered their mutual fondness for strawberry lollipops and video games where you customized racing cars before smashing them up, had solidified some sort of bond between them.
There was also the more serious fact that if he and Cameron were to stay together, Daniel was a part of the deal. There was no getting around that; not that he wanted to, but it did make things a little more complicated, and that complication began with a capital J.
Daniel had been an over excited bundle of madness most of the day, pretending to be Spiderman, jumping on and off the sofa and generally running around the house like a lunatic but it had obviously taken its toll on him. He was pale and his eyes were red rimmed, highlighting his tiredness.
“Mummy’s being mean, I want Saber to sleep in here with me,” Daniel mumbled sadly, rubbing his eyes and trying to hold in another yawn.
“She’s fine in the kitchen,” House said dismissively. “Cats snore really loudly; she’d only keep you awake.”
“Cats don’t snore,” Daniel argued.
“How do you know?” House asked. Daniel thought about it, and then House smiled slightly.
“You’re joking aren’t you? Your jokes aren’t funny,” Daniel noted in a little voice that was as serious as it was tired.
“My faces are though,” House offered. He pulled a stupid face and stuck his tongue out until Daniel giggled at him.
“Go to sleep,” House said.
“Good night,” Daniel called after him as he shut the door.
“Good night Daniel,” House replied.
“You didn’t say goodnight to Rex,” Daniel called out. House stuck his head around the door again.
“Because Rex is an inanimate object,” House explained but Daniel was not satisfied.
“Goodnight Rex,” he said then, reluctantly. It was much easier to just go along with a four year old’s perception of reality than to try and explain that his favorite possession was merely a bundle of cloth and stuffing that wasn’t actually aware it had been ignored because it didn’t have a consciousness.
Yeah, it was that, House decided as he closed the door behind him, and nothing to do with something that had happened to him when he’d been about Daniel’s age. He’d requested the same thing from his father for a tatty brown bear that bled fluff and had an ear missing. That had ended slightly differently though, with his father telling him to go to sleep and stop being so goddammed stupid.
The memory reminded him he really needed to call his mother; he still hadn’t done it and he normally made a point to do it every Christmas. He just hoped his dad didn’t answer the phone if he did.
~
When House didn’t return from the bathroom, Cameron went looking and found him in the yard, gazing up at the stars. He was standing by Daniel’s demolished snowman. She shivered; it had gone bitterly cold, so she placed her arms around his waist.
“Dan okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, you’re not in his good books though,” House warned her.
“Someone has to be the bad guy,” she said lightly. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking, Preedy shouldn’t be at work today but he probably is, even though he has three kids that want him home.”
“The kids are the reason he’s at work, probably.”
“I expect so,” House agreed.
“I need to do some renegotiations with Jack after Christmas, I hardly get any quality time with Dan because he has him every Saturday and the best part of Sunday.”
“That’s not going to go down well,” House noted.
“I know, but nothing ever does with him,” Cameron admitted.
“I missed this,” House said, still staring at up the sky. “You miss the weirdest things when you can’t have them,” he added thoughtfully. They remained quiet for a few moments, Cameron placed her head against this back; he’d put his biker jacket on and she liked the smell of it.
“It’s cheesy,” House said eventually.
“What is?” Cameron replied, confused.
“What I got you for Christmas.” He turned to face her,
“What is it?” Cameron asked him curiously.
He looked up at the sky again, then reached into the inside pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.
She took it, “Tickets to Hawaii; you shouldn’t have,” she quipped.
“I didn’t,” he said, keeping his focus anywhere but on Cameron. Then he even stepped around her and tried to go back inside but she grabbed his arm.
“This is painful for you, isn’t it? Watching someone open a gift you got them?” she asked. He placed his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky.
Cameron opened the envelope, then turned so she could catch some light from the kitchen. She read, looking puzzled more than anything, then a smile crept across her face.
“You bought me a star?” she said, and then she flipped over the second sheet. There was a complicated looking map of the sky, with various bits labeled.
“Sort of, you choose one, they let you name it what you want and then the map shows you where it is.”
Cameron looked up at the perfectly cloudless sky and wondered which one of the million or so little pin-hole lights, was hers, “So, where is it?”
“How the hell should I know, you’ll have to try and work it out off that,” he said motioning to the map. They puzzled over it for a while but couldn’t figure it out; they’d need decent light to read it properly. Perhaps even a telescope to see the star.
“Well, it’s up there somewhere, I probably should have put more planning into this,” House said eventually, giving up on trying. “Although, I don’t know how they worked out who owns the sky.”
“So, what is named?”
“Allison, original huh?” House said.
“More intriguing, as you’ve never called me that in your life.” She grinned then and just couldn’t help it, “But it’s very sweet.”
House grimaced at the word and turned away from her, “It’s different, I guess,” he offered gruffly.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Admittedly, it’s not as cool as a motorbike though. I definitely won at Christmas; better luck next year,” House said.
“I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got,” she said reflectively, before she leaned up to kiss him.
~
Two weeks later
“House!” Cuddy shouted out as he crossed the lobby toward the elevator, first day back after a week and a half break for the Christmas holidays.
“You drove in,” She said, smiling when he went over to her and she noticed he was wearing his old bike jacket.
“Yeah,” he said, finding an uneasy smile of his own. “What?”
He followed Cuddy into her office, passing the outrageously young male secretary on the way in. Cuddy told him to close the door, which he did, and then she took hold of a letter on her desk and held it up for him to see.
“Arrived this morning, it’s from the board, with regards to your medical license.”
“Oh,” he returned quietly. His stomach clenched into a painfully tight knot and he was glad he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet as it would have probably ended up all over Cuddy’s desk. He leaned heavily on his cane and started to chew the side of his cheek. And then he finally allowed himself a sliver of hope, dangerous as it was because the let down would sting even more if this was a rejection letter, but he couldn’t help it.
“Do you want me to?” she flapped the letter from side to side. “Or you want to do it private?” She asked. House shrugged nonchalantly, like it didn’t mean anything… like it didn’t mean everything in the whole world to him, suddenly.
“You do it,” he said softly, Cuddy nodded and looked at the letter in her hands before taking a deep breath. House had to wonder if she wanted this more than he did, hoping to finally draw the more complex cases back to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
“Alright, but whatever happens, this is only the beginning,” she said stoutly.
House smiled. “Way to think positive Cuddy, just open the damn thing.”
She tore open the envelope, slid the letter out and then sat down at her desk. She’d found a poker-face so House couldn’t tell whether it was good news or not. He sighed when she didn’t say anything for a few moments, quietly mulling over whatever the letter contained, and drawing it.
“So, what does it say?”
Cuddy looked up at him, “It says…”
~
Eight months earlier
House’s left foot was pattering nervously against the floor. He looked down at the dirty black and white tiles, the kind he figured had lined the floor of psychiatric hospitals back in the fifties, when they were still referred to as mental institutions.
He was sitting outside a small meeting room. The parole board met there once a month and this was the first time he’d applied. Preedy had suggested it because of the fight in the gym and the way it had ended. He’d dismissed the idea at first because of his drug history, but then Preedy had started nagging him everyday, and when that didn’t work he’d mentioned it to Cameron, so in turn she’d started nagging him every visit. Cuddy had even attended one visit to nag him some more until it seemed like the only way to shut everyone up, was to apply. He’d forced out a letter highlighting his good behaviour since he’d been in the prison, and the reasons he thought they should consider him for parole. He’d needed two character references; Cameron and Cuddy had taken care of those.
The meeting room was located just around the corner from Redfield’s office. This was the second time House had ever been on this floor, situated above the prison infirmary. It reminded him of waiting to go into a transplant committee meeting, the only difference being it would be his life he’d be bargaining for this time, and not someone else’s.
Inside the room he imagined four or five people sitting behind a large desk, people who had the power to decide whether or not he had to serve his full sentence. He’d spent a good portion of his term high as a kite and it was well documented that he’d continued to use drugs when he’d arrived at the prison. With the failed drug test results littering his medial history he wasn’t feeling very optimistic. But Preedy figured because he’d helped to save another inmate’s life and a guard, it would look very good on paper (parole boards loved that sort of stuff) and it would balance everything out. Preedy had then added that his recent clean drug results should go someway to show him in a more positive light, and perhaps warrant a re-think on the sentence of six years the judge had originally handed down to him.
Preedy was standing opposite House, arms folded and leaning against the wall. “Would you sit still? You’re making me jittery.”
House shot him a quick look then sat back in his seat and stretched his legs out; Preedy started rubbing his neck and stared off into the middle distance. House got a visual of Wilson standing there instead of Preedy. He wondered if it were Wilson there instead, what would he say to him right now.
He could hear Wilson’s voice perfectly, ‘For God’s sake don’t screw this up, House.’
The door opened and a smart suited man asked him to come in, he stood up and was about to enter the room when Preedy grabbed hold of his arm, shooting the other gentleman an apologetic look.
“Just a moment,” he told the man politely. The man nodded and went inside the room again.
“You know sometimes you get that thought in your head, when someone says something to you and a spark will go off then a second later you’ve insulted them? Just do me a favour today?”
“What?” House replied.
“If something like that happens in there and you find you want to shoot off an over-defensive little retort because you’re anxious, just try for fifteen minutes to hold it in. Keep your mouth shut, coz I’d hate to see you lose another year of your life just because you couldn’t hold onto one throw-away remark,” Preedy urged, then he let go of his arm. “It’s not worth it.”
House stared at the guard for a moment, but he didn’t reply. Then he turned and went into the room, having to quash a slight smirk that appeared on his face as he did. Now that was more like what Wilson would have told him.
He wanted things to go well badly enough to listen to some good advice for one. He couldn’t remember a time he’d wanted something more, from the inner most part of him to the edge of his soul. This needed to go well, and he figured anything was bearable for fifteen minutes.
~
Last day of prison
The week had dragged slowly by, and today had seemed like the most unreachable Friday of his life.
He was lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, counting the cracks in the ceiling for the very last time; it was something he’d done probably a thousand times or more since he’d been put in this cell. There was one long crack that started in the far right corner of the cell and tore half way across the ceiling, splitting off into little branches along way, it had sprouted twelve new branches since he’d been here.
The time he’d done over here had been much harder because it was so isolated from everything. His world had consisted of around ten people for over two years, and only one of those people genuinely liked him, and he’d only seen her once every month.
He’d craved a lot of things since he’d been over here, conversation being one of them; he’d surprised himself by longing for social interaction. He figured it was something to do with worrying his brain would seize up from the boredom and loneliness; he’d seen conversation as some sort of lubricant to keep things ticking over.
The thousand or so things that could change in a week at a hospital compared to this, was frightening. Nothing changed here, ever. If he had a watch he’d be able to set it by certain patterns, like what time Preedy arrived in the morning, what time the lights went off, came on, when he ate when he slept. He was worried, where the hell he was supposed to start when it came to adjusting to real life, after spending five years in a claustrophobic box within a box.
The radio had been a saviour of sorts, just a simple concoction of plastic and dials that emitted tinny sounds though a little round grill. Reception wasn’t great but he’d gotten a fairly clear signal on some of the phone in radio stations and even found a crackly station that played blues and jazz. He figured it had kept him sane this last year, between lights-out and breakfast on the nights his leg had kept him awake.
Before Preedy had given it to him his mind had become almost inactive. He’d find himself staring blankly at the opposite wall, static, nothing in his head for indefinable periods of time. Or he’d pace up and down until he realized he’d been doing it for hours.
He’d get books and have to limit the time he’d spend reading or he’d read them too fast, a normal sized novel could be destroyed in hours, when he needed to make it last a week.
The nights had been worse than the days, when guards followed dim, flashlight lit trails and their keys jingled annoyingly. The picture from a lucky con’s black and white TV at the end threw up eerie images onto the far wall midway down the wing at night.
During the time here he’d gone over his whole life, he considered - everything. Stuff before he’d ended up here, way before, as far back as his childhood. He’d traced things in his mind and wondered at what point he’d taken a left turn where every other teenager went right.
He knew there were probably reasons for the way he was, the way he’d turned out. His father had had quite an impact on him. He didn’t blame him for this; there had been times he’d danced around that thought because it was easier to entertain the idea that this impersonal barred and bricked, cold metallic world, was somebody else’s fault.
He’d come around in time.
He scratched the rough bristles on his face; he couldn’t stop worrying that any minute now someone was going to turn up and say he was staying here for the rest of his sentence. Another year would feel like an eternity now he’d been counting down to this day. It would be hard time to do.
“Steve’s going to take you over,” Preedy said, House hadn’t heard him approach.
“Not so good at goodbyes huh?” He asked.
“I’ve got to stay here, watch the wing,” Preedy began, and then he smiled at him. “And, I suck at goodbyes.”
Preedy unlocked his cell and House stood up, he was sick with nerves now and his mouth tasted watery. They walked slowly toward the guard office where Steve was waiting.
“I hope you stay out of trouble, I would hate to see you back here,” Preedy said gruffly.
“Don’t worry, I’m never coming back here,” House said resolutely. That was the only thing in his world he was one hundred percent sure of at that moment.
They arrived at the office and House took one last look at him , “Do me a favour, would you?”
“What?” Preedy said, placing his hands on his hips.
“Spend Christmas with your kids this year, this isn’t a read through you know,” House said.
Preedy nodded, “Get out of here before someone upstairs realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.”
The end
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.
Disclaimer: All House Characters belong to Fox and David Shore, (I think) they’re definitely not mine anyway.
Chapter: 15/15
Thanks to lynettinspaghet for the beta
Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t take long for the cold winter air to shoo House and Cameron from the park; they left the way they’d gone in and returned to the bar. When they got there Cameron went inside, briefly, so she could excuse them both. House waited outside for her; his hands were buried deep in his pockets and his breath charged the air. She hadn’t asked him to go back in, he’d seen a flit of deliberation in her eyes when they’d reached the door, but she hadn’t said anything, nor had she pestered him to explain why he’d left in the first place. He was thankful she’d left it well alone.
Harris got a kick out of trouble, any kind he could jump into, kicking up shit storms and dragging the very worst out of people. House knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, had he stayed, Harris would have made good on his nasty little threats. Such a small world, he thought bitterly.
He turned and glanced through the window; he was getting impatient and hoped Harris didn’t notice Cameron or recognize her. He also had to wonder what was taking her so long. The cold was starting to creep into his bones and when it got in deep enough to his bad leg, he was going to know all about it. He’d offered to go and get her car but she’d refused to hand the keys over because of the scotch and beer he’d sunk. Even though it was parked just around the corner, she preferred to let him stand here and freeze his nads off.
~
They’d barely got through the front door at House’s place and Cameron was right in the middle of kissing him goodbye, when the phone started ringing in the kitchen.
House went in to answer it, checking his watch as he did. Levin was early; it was only quarter to ten. A brief but familiar conversation took place; the parole officer used a bored tone of condescension, the sort a parent would use on a disobedient teenager, and House clenched his jaw tightly, hoping to keep everything he’d like to say inside, so as not to provoke the guy.
Keeping silent in the face of such provocation proved to be a wise move and he even allowed himself a slight smile when he hung up the phone. With the click of the receiver he felt the stress of the past three months lifting from his shoulders and melting away. His curfew was officially over at six the next morning, and that was hopefully the last call he’d be receiving from Levin. He turned to face Cameron, who’d followed him into the room. He watched her delicate fingers dance quickly upwards as she fastened her jacket against the cold she was about to brave.
“I’ve got to got to go, I told the baby-sitter I’d be back around ten.”
“All right,” House replied.
Cameron nodded at the phone.” Was that Levin?”
“Yeah, last one though, hopefully.” House pulled open the fridge and took out a beer; he popped the cap on the bottle and leant against the kitchen counter. “Admit it, I ruined your evening.”
“You didn’t, honestly,” Cameron assured him. She shook her head slightly as if to dismiss his words then smiled slightly. “Are you going to come for lunch tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know in the morning,” he said. He wasn’t big on Christmas as it was, but now he felt deflated after seeing Harris again, he really wasn’t in the mood for anything remotely related to Christmas.
Cameron came over to him, all concern. “Whatever happened that you won’t tell me about, please don’t let it get to you,” she pleaded.
“I’m fine,” House said dismissively.
“You don’t look fine,” she replied.
“I’m fine,” he said again, but slower this time, raising his eyebrows before throwing them down again, as if to open and shut the entire conversation. “Go home and rescue Daniel from metal mouth; I’ll speak to you tomorrow, all right?”
The girl who sat for Daniel was a local college student who looked like her mother still dressed her and had the braces from hell; House had strong doubts as to whether she’d ever left American soil as there was no way her grille was getting through a metal detector.
“I thought we agreed, no more insulting Daniel’s babysitters,” Cameron said, with a careful smile.
House made a show of thinking about her words, then added “To their face.”
The last sitter, whom incidentally Daniel had despised, (He’d been doing the kid a favor, really) had refused to come back after Cameron had foolishly left her alone in a room with him for thirty seconds. In the time it had taken Cameron to leave the room, get her purse from the kitchen and return, House had vocally observed that the girl whinnied like a hungry horse when she found something amusing, and probably needed to rein that in a little if she wanted to get laid at all during her college years. Cameron hadn’t seen the funny side at all, because good baby-sitters were hard to find, apparently.
Cameron leaned up and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “All right, I’ll call you in the morning.”
~
Cameron left and House sat at his piano to try and wear himself down a little. He’d forgotten so much music. His fingers remembered more than his mind did, positions suggesting themselves, some classical chords here, some jazz there, but he couldn’t quite remember.
Speed was an issue too: he’d been putting in few hours a day to try and find his form again, but he was rusty, and simply wasn’t as fast as he’d once been.
He played ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ in a sad, slow key because his mood was dark and he was tipsy. Unfortunately, the large scotch in front of him was doing very little to ease his cravings tonight. Vicodin topped the list and wanting his damn life back was a very close second.
He had an uncomfortable, hollow feeling inside that no amount of alcohol was going to shift. He tickled out a dirty blues version of ‘Amazing Grace’ that accused him of feeling sorry for himself. He was, but he didn’t care; everyone had the right to feel down sometimes, and Christmas was the best time for it. It was the end of the year, a time for reflecting and being honest. A time to admit everything was truly screwed and had been forever, or so it felt like to him.
Rebuilding his life was hard, painstakingly so, tiny things could set him back months of trying to get back on track, and tonight was a perfect example of that. Seeing Harris again had reminded him who he really was - a former inmate and ex drug addict. It was the sort of history he was never going to shake, no matter how hard he tried. Certain people were always going to see him the way Harris had tonight. The people sitting on the New Jersey state medical board would probably see it too. Surely they couldn’t all be idiots, and he felt certain he wasn’t getting his licence back. All the optimism in the world couldn’t save him from who he really was on paper.
House stopped playing and took a sip of his drink; at least the curfew was over, he tried to focus on that and take it for what it was, a ray of light in a very dark room. It had been clear from the start that his parole officer wasn’t particularly fond of him, but one visit to Levin’s dilapidated office in Trenton had revealed the guy wasn’t particularly fond of anyone; he spoke to his secretary, colleagues and pretty much anyone that went near him, with the same disrespectful contempt.
House had only screwed up once. It had been about a month back; he’d returned ten minutes late from Wilson’s place, just managing to get to the phone before Levin hung up. He’d demanded to know where House had been, ‘In the bathroom’ had been the breathless excuse - it hadn’t worked. Levin called bullshit straightaway, but hadn’t been quite the bastard he’d made himself out to be, either. It had been House’s only slip up since the conversation in the lab so Levin had let him off. House had almost bitten through his tongue, wanting to remind Levin of his cocky statement about only getting one chance, but he hadn’t wanted to push his luck. He’d offered a reluctant ‘thank you’ instead.
House drained his scotch in one; it burned all the way down and he winced then grit his teeth as it did. Then he got up slowly and went to the bathroom. feeling unsteady on his feet; he had no idea where he’d discarded his cane and couldn’t be bothered to look for it. He brushed his teeth, shot himself a couple of drunken dirty looks then went to bed. The scotch helped him to close his eyes and relax, it was a plus in amongst so much bullshit, and as he drifted off he hoped he could just sleep Christmas off completely.
~
House woke the next day, peeking open one bleary eye and scowling at his cell phone. It was buzzing and chirping and flashing on his bedside table, and was milliseconds away from disintegration, as he grabbed it with the express aim to launch it at the far wall. Then he noticed the caller ID and begrudgingly answered it.
“What?” he grumbled.
“Happy Christmas,” Cameron replied cheerfully.
“Who told you that?” House said.
“Don’t be such a grouch.”
He was pretty sure Cameron knew he didn’t ‘do’ Christmas, and figured she should know better than to expect any sort of seasonal good will from him today.
“Tell me, if you’re not a Christian, how is it different to another day of the year?” he asked miserably.
“Did Santa bring you anything interesting?” she asked then, in a suspiciously giddy tone; he didn’t understand the context of at all.
“Haven’t checked the living room yet, but I did put naked cheerleader on the list again, maybe I should go turn the heating up, just in case he finally came through this year.”
“I bet you’re not even out of bed yet, are you?” Cameron said accusingly.
“Of course I am,” he said.
“Liar.”
“So what, what else is there to do?” House bitched back, he was starting to feel irritable on account of the sound of Christmas joy in her voice, while all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
“You gonna come over here later?”
“Ah, that would involve getting out of bed, looks cold outside too.”
“Don’t be so grumpy,” Cameron said lightly
“I’m just not really in the mood for Christmas,” he said seriously.
Cameron was quiet for a few moments. “You can’t spend it on your own, and I have a turkey that could easily feed six people; there’s only me and Dan here.”
He clearly wasn’t explaining himself very well, he just wanted to be miserable on his own today, but he couldn’t get that across to the ‘Ray of Christmas sunshine’ on the other end of the line. He just wanted to lie in bed for a few hours, drink a few beers when he got up, and then go back to bed to sleep until Christmas went away.
“Will you promise to do one thing?” Cameron asked him then.
“What?”
“Get up and open the curtains, at least.”
“Okay, one set, you pick.”
She laughed slightly, “All right, make it the living room, let some light in.”
“I’ll speak to you later,” House said.
“Okay.”
He hung up and glanced at the time on his phone; it was eleven. He lay down again and decided he’d have another hour.
~
House finally got up just after lunch time and instantly wished he’d done some grocery shopping. He suspected everywhere was closed and he was almost out of food. He did have beer though; that would do. He reached into the fridge and took out a bottle of Bud. He sat in the living room watching sparkly Christmas cartoons that made his eyes sting, but he couldn’t find the remote.
Ten minutes later there was a knock at the front door. He wondered if OCD guy had just jittered himself over after getting bored of locking and re-locking his own door, maybe he wanted to work on his too. He waited but the knocking just got louder. House got up, sighed, and then answered the door. It was Wilson.
“So, what do you think?” Wilson asked him, grinning. House had no idea what that meant but noticed he had a great purple shiner over his right eye; he tilted his head to the side a fraction and frowned.
“I think…someone punched you in the face,’ he noted flatly. “What happened?”
“Oh this,” Wilson motioned vaguely to his eye, “It’s nothing, I must have fallen over last night, I was pretty wasted.”
The frown didn’t move from House’s face, nor did he step aside to let him in. Wilson was lying.
“I thought you were having lunch at your brother’s place.”
“I am,” Wilson glanced at his watch. “Don’t have to be there for another half hour yet. He half closed his eyes, observed House for a moment and then peered past him into the hallway, “Can I come in a sec?”
House glanced behind him, trying to work out what he was looking at, then shrugged and stepped aside. He had debated and then decided against getting dressed today, so he was still in his pajamas.
Wilson stepped in, then leaned forward and took the beer House was holding out of his hand.
“How many of these have you had?” Wilson asked seriously.
“Get your own, plenty in the fridge,” House replied, reaching for his beer but Wilson pulled it away from him.
“You can’t, because you might not want to get drunk just yet.”
“One beer is not getting drunk,” House said trying to swipe the bottle back but Wilson just held it further away from him. “I think you hit your head harder than you realize, you should go get it checked out, and leave me alone.”
Wilson stepped around House and went into his living room; he closed his front door then followed Wilson, who was opening the curtains as he entered the room.
“What are you doing?” House said cringing as the evil bright Christmas light hit his eyes.
“Letting some daylight in, you grumpy shit,” Wilson said. House noticed he wasn’t moving from the window and his hand was tapping nervously against his leg. He was like an excitable Labrador this morning and it wasn’t sitting well with House’s hangover.
“What the hell is wrong with you this morning?”
“Nothing,” Wilson said shrugging. Lying again.
House went over to him and was about to put attempt number three into place at getting his beer back, when he spotted something outside in the yard. His words halted, stepped back, and then retreated from his lips.
“Where the hell did that come from?” House asked, softly, surprise rippling through his tone. Wilson, who was grinning wider now, merely shrugged.
“I dunno, maybe Santa left it.”
“Right,” House said, drawing the word out. “Or…you did it?” he said then, searching his friend’s expression.
“No,” Wilson said dismissively. “Me, Cameron and Cuddy actually, it was a joint effort, Cameron’s idea though.”
House didn’t know what to say next. There was a black, red and silver Honda motorbike sitting in his yard, and it looked new; very new, with a matching helmet placed on the seat. When he didn’t move or say anything for a whole minute, Wilson ushered him into the yard, with House still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up messily.
“How did you get it here?” House asked, ghosting a hand over the smooth angled body of the bike.
Wilson jabbed his thumb sideways, “One of you neighbors let me use his garage. I pushed it over, that thing is heavy.”
“Why?” House began, and then he cleared his throat. “What is this, like a guilt thing?” he said unsurely.
“No,” Wilson dismissed. “It’s…” he searched for the words and placed his hands in his pockets, “It’s, we missed you, terribly, and we’re really glad you’re back now.”
They remained quiet for a few minutes, then Wilson pulled out the keys and tossed them over. House caught them high on his shoulder then looked at them.
“I need to go to my brother’s,” Wilson said, then he pointed at him, “And you, get dressed, go see Cameron and try and enjoy yourself for once, and be careful on that thing.”
“Yes mother,” House said flatly, looking down at the bike again; it was fucking sex on wheels, sparkling new with a black tank and body with red and silver stripes cutting along the middle and up and onto the tank. The smell of petrol and brand new leather seducing him, pulling him nearer, willing him to take it for a spin. And what better day for a drive; with it being Christmas the streets would be empty. The roads would be his.
“Cameron took care of insurance and everything; she’s got all the documents at her place.”
House didn’t say anything else, because he didn’t know what to say, so Wilson turned and went to leave.
“Wilson,” House said as his friend hopped up the back steps. Wilson turned and observed him, ‘Thank you’ was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t quite get it out so he dropped his gaze to the floor. “How did you really get that black eye?”
“Told you: I was drunk and I fell.”
The stared at each other for a moment, then House nodded, but a half dozen little physical things told him Wilson was lying to him.
“I’ll stop by Cameron’s later; she invited me around for a drink. See you there?”
“Yeah,” House said, and he would, because now he really had no excuse.
~
House arrived at Cameron’s place a few hours later, somewhat saddle sore. He’d leathered the shit out of the bike. Snow wasn’t the best biking weather so he’d kept to the roads that had been gritted. His legs were sore, and his ass ached but it was totally worth it. He did a limping John Wayne impression to her front door; she’d heard the bike approach and was already on the steps.
Cameron looked past him into the street, the bike was parked behind her car, she stayed on the doorstep and took hold of his hand, smiling at him.
“So, you like it?” she asked, unsurely.
House nodded, “Yeah, although, not entirely sure what I’ve done to deserve it,” he said uncomfortably.
“You absolutely deserve it,” she said softly. House didn’t respond, or agree, he just looked down. She got his attention by placing her hand on his cheek and kissing him.
“That is disgusting,” a small voice stated from beside them, a moment later. House pulled away to find Daniel staring up at them, looking very disappointed, so he feigned disgust, “You’re right, what was I thinking?”
“Whoa,” Daniel exclaimed then, when he noticed the bike sitting in the street. “Did Santa bring you that bike? Wow!” his eyes lit up excitedly, “Can I see it close up?”
“Sure,” House said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Cameron’s hand before he let go of it. Daniel ran outside, along the path, skipping excitedly as House followed after him.
~
“Is that what he wants next year? Cameron asked House when he found her in the kitchen ten minutes later.
“I doubt it; he liked it until I turned it on, and the engine scared him.”
Cameron was bending over, feeding her son’s Christmas present, a fluffy grey kitten. It was sitting on the floor by its ceramic food dish.
“Meet Saber,” Cameron said, shaking her head at the name. “Daniel named it, not me.”
“Saber?” House repeated unenthusiastically, “I’m just going to call it, pathetic ball of fluff.”
“Are you staying over tonight?” she asked.
“If you want,” he replied casually, eyeing the kitten. “You’re setting a bad example, you know. He’ll think it’s a toy.”
“And I still think that’s code for, I really really hate cats,” Cameron replied.
“All it’ll do is mew to be let out at four in the morning, crap all over the place, and scratch the hell out of your furniture,” House grumbled, “Or someone might accidentally step on it.”
“Well, Jack threatened to get him a dog this year and a cat by comparison, is pretty self-sufficient.”
Jack was nine parts bastard and wholly capable of introducing Daniel to a puppy then say he couldn’t keep it at his apartment. So she’d had to step up her game.
House had tried to convince her it was a bad idea but when he had realized she wasn’t budging on her decision, he’d informed her that the sap in a Christmas tree and the pine needles were both toxic to cats, and that she’d need to get a fake one, if she didn’t want tears before breakfast on Christmas morning.
She had to wonder how the hell he’d known that; it was almost as if he’d looked it up on the internet (which he’d denied) but she was pretty sure his second specialty at college had been nephrology, not feline anatomy. It was the simplest of things that let her know he cared.
“Dinner won’t be much longer; I actually got the turkey in on time this year, which is typical. The year my mother doesn’t come I get everything right.”
Daniel wandered into the kitchen attacking the air with an action figure, “Can I ride my bike now?” he asked.
“After lunch,” Cameron replied.
“Aww,” he whined.
“Dan, I haven’t got time now, I’m making the lunch. It’d go a lot faster if someone helped me,” she said in her most annoying mummy nagging tone, ominous to all tiny ears. Dan thought about her words and then left the kitchen as quickly as he’d appeared.
“Thank you for getting him the bike, he loves it,” Cameron said when Dan had left again.
House shrugged and looked away. Cameron smiled; always such a painful thing for him, doing something nice for someone. House noticed the smile and frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she said dismissively.
He searched her expression, “Liar, what?”
She smiled quickly, “Nothing, I’m just glad you’re here.”
~
Wilson arrived about an hour after lunch. House had downed a few beers by that time, and was almost asleep on the sofa while Dan watched cartoons. Cameron showed Wilson into the living room.
“Do you want a beer?” she offered.
“Thanks,” he replied politely, and Cameron left the room again.
Wilson sat down on the sofa beside House. “You left in a hurry last night,” Wilson said, probably to avoid a conversation about the bruise he was lying about, House suspected.
“Wasn’t in a very sociable mood,” he returned, trying to sound indifferent, and very nearly succeeding. He had his own truths to hide about the night before, he supposed.
“Are you ever?” Wilson enquired. House let out one humorless laugh and took a sip of his beer.
“You didn’t stay at your brother’s long,” House observed.
“No, my hangover and this,” he pointed at his eye, “Didn’t go down too well with him. The food was good though, I couldn’t eat another thing,” Wilson sighed, patting his stomach.
“You sure?” House asked, raising his eyebrows.
Wilson frowned, “Oh! Was that another dig at my weight? You need some new material, House,” he said touchily. “At least I actually eat,” he added under his breath.
House snorted. “So what, I’m a little on the scrawny side at the moment. You make it sound like I’m anorexic, or something.”
“What’s anorexic mean?” Daniel asked, choosing that moment to disengage from the cartoon during a commercial break.
“It’s what teenage girls get when boy bands break up,” House replied casually. Daniel came over and sat in between them on the sofa.
“No it’s not,” Wilson said quickly, Daniel looked up at him. “Actually Dan, it’s a mental illness,” he corrected. “Boys and girls can get it, when they’re very unwell.”
“So what does it mean then, Dan?” House asked smugly.
“What girls get when boys break up with them?” Daniel said unsurely.
House grinned arrogantly at Wilson.
“Oh no,” Wilson said, shaking his head. “He’s going to grow up to be just like you, isn’t he? A mini you, that’s all the world needs.”
“My cat’s a girl!” Daniel interjected, randomly. “Want to see her?”
“Sure,” Wilson said politely, while House groaned at the mention. He was sick of the thing already and he’d only met it a few hours ago.
Wilson watched Dan leave the room then raised an eyebrow at House. “You’re begrudging him a pet on Christmas day, very Scrooge-like, very you,” he noted sarcastically.
“Yeah, what was I thinking? Filthy animals and children are a perfect combination; Toxoplasmosis is such fun,” House quipped.
“You’re right, most of the kids that come in with that do have doctors for parents,” Wilson replied, glibly.
“Parent,” House corrected swiftly. They stared at each other for a silent moment.
“Sorry,” Wilson offered eventually, and then he cleared his throat. It was bad enough when Daniel was tired he’d call House Daddy by accident. They were just accidents, but uncomfortable ones, nonetheless.
A few minutes later, Wilson had a beer in one hand and a kitten curled happily in his lap, which he was petting awkwardly.
“You know, I don’t think she likes me,” Wilson said as he tried to nudge, then tip then push it from his lap, but the cat clung to him, not wanting to budge.
“No, I think she likes you,” Daniel said happily.
“Needy girls always do,” House said under his breath.
~
Cameron was standing in front of the sink cleaning dishes, staring absently through the window at the crumbling little snowman in the yard. Daniel had built it a few days earlier; he’d spent all day doing it and then when it was completed, and she’d snapped a photo, he’d laid into it with something he cited as his ‘Karate powers’ and had taken great joy in demolishing it.
What was left of its head was now melting on the floor and it no longer had a carrot for a nose, eyes of stone or a smiling mouth. Poor snowman, Cameron thought to herself.
House had offered no help whatsoever in cleaning up and she wasn’t the least bit surprised. She stared down into the suds and wiped at a dinner plate, thinking back over the day so far. There had been an uncomfortable moment after breakfast, when Daniel had asked if they could go and visit Jack. It was out of the question for many reasons; she tried to explain that he’d visited Daddy on Christmas Eve because he couldn’t see him today, but Daniel had only gotten upset. In the end a phone call was the best she’d been able to do.
Things had become ugly with the run up to Christmas; Jack had refused to come and see Dan today because he figured House was going to be there. The only thing that had sated him was the offer that he could have Daniel stay with him on Christmas Day next year.
Cameron found it a crying shame that the strength of Jack’s love for Dan wasn’t as strong as the jealousy he still harbored for her; jealous of what, she wasn’t sure. Jack seemed happy enough with his new girlfriend, she was stunning and he seemed to have the life he’d always wanted. He was wealthy, had the status his dad had desired him to have, and of course a son that adored him. There was only one thing she wanted and it seemed that was the one thing he didn’t want her to have. So he’d made it as difficult as he could, every step of the way.
He’d hit the roof when she’d told him she was seeing House, threatening legal action and he’d even threatened to stop seeing Daniel if she didn’t stop seeing House. She’d stood her ground and called his bluff, risky and hard as it had been, she’d needed to stand up to him.
When the dust had settled on Jack’s anger, he’d come to realize neither of those things actually suited him. Jack’s mother would never allow Daniel to be cut out of her life, so that threat had been as empty as the thirtieth promise to fix Dan’s bike.
The simple truth was that Jack had his life balanced the way he liked it; more of his son in it would make things disproportioned. He’d be cutting his nose off to spite his face if he actually won full or joint custody. He didn’t want to fight for his son; he wanted to fight Cameron because he was angry at the choices she’d made. That’s why a few weeks after his threat to take her to court for full custody, he’d dropped the idea completely.
She knew Jack loved his son, but she had to wonder what was going to happen when Dan got a bit older, when he needed something more substantial, like real guidance and advice, she wondered if Jack would be able to give it to him. A four year old boy was easily charmed by baseball games and hotdogs, but whenever she asked Daniel how his weekend had been, it was like Jack had spent the time distracting him or putting things between them so they didn’t actually have any conversations.
Jack was responsible, safe and caring, but he didn’t really know how to talk to his son, and he seemed to be reading from a script of ‘how to be a dad’. Cameron knew it was a terrible thing, but she’d started to compare Jack to someone else.
House and Daniel could sit and chat about all sorts of things and neither seemed to get bored. House didn’t talk down to him either, it was on the level, and he’d take time to explain things to him. Most adults annoyed House on sight, but she’d never once heard House raise his voice because Daniel had done something wrong. Not something she could say about Jack.
It seemed like House was a positive force in her son’s life, as bizarre as that was.
When Daniel was older, and if he needed some real advice, stuff he couldn’t go to his mother for, she was starting to wonder if his father would be his first port of call. Because there was someone else who wouldn’t judge him, and would always tell it how it was.
~
Cameron went into the living room in search of some assistance cleaning up to find the boys were all slouched on the sofa watching TV.
“Could I have a little help in the kitchen, please?” she asked.
Wilson looked down at Daniel who looked across at House, who looked at Wilson and then shrugged.
“After the third or fourth time, she just gets bored of asking,” House whispered loudly, and didn’t budge an inch.
Cameron rolled her eyes, “Someone had better get in here and help me clean up,” she said, hands going to her hips. Daniel looked worriedly up at House, and then he scrambled off the sofa and ran into the kitchen.
“I didn’t mean you,” she called after him as he ran past. House didn’t move though, so she abandoned the idea he might get off his butt for five minutes and help her. A few minutes later he surprised her and wandered into the kitchen, Daniel was drying a small plate, carefully, looking for all the world like he was trying not to drop it on the floor.
“Creep!” House told him, encouraging Daniel to stick his tongue out at him.
But it didn’t take House long to sneak off again; after drying one plate he complained that his leg hurt and disappeared out of the kitchen. Daniel studied this excuse, then limped off after him, saying he had a bad leg too, to which House told him, “Get your own reason.”
Wilson appeared a few minutes later, seemingly the only person in the house willing to help out, even though he’d eaten his lunch elsewhere. They were standing by the sink; Cameron washing then handing Wilson dinner plates.
“So, has he said anything about the bike?”
“I think he likes it,” Cameron replied. “I know he needs it; I’m sick of trying to wake him up in the morning,” she said, passing him a plate covered in suds that he started drying.
“What’s wrong with letting him take the bus?” Wilson replied.
“That’s not fair.”
Wilson shook his head. “You two are perfect together. He needs someone to look after him, and you love doing it: perfect.”
“I don’t love it,” Cameron rejected. “But who else is going to do it?”
“True, be easier if he just grew up though,” Wilson noted.
“He’s had a tough few years,” Cameron said seriously.
“I know. I also know why he bolted last night,” Wilson admitted, checking worriedly over his shoulder to make sure House wasn’t coming back into the kitchen for anything.
“Why?” Cameron enquired.
“Apparently, he bumped into some guy who worked at the prison, in the men’s room. He threatened to cause trouble if House didn’t leave.”
Cameron stopped cleaning the dish she had in her hand and looked at him, “How’d you find that out?”
“Foreman overheard it,” Wilson grimaced and stared at the floor. “So, I accidentally on purpose dumped a pitcher of beer all over the guy.”
Cameron’s mouth dropped open, “That’s why you have the bruise on your eye?”
“Things got a bit rowdy after you left,” Wilson explained. “Cuddy pretty much disowned us at that point.”
“Us?”
“Well, Foreman and Chase jumped in when the guy hit me, then we all got kicked out,” Wilson clarified, having the decency to sound embarrassed about the whole thing.
“Oh, I don’t think I want to know any more,” Cameron said, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
“No, you don’t,” he agreed.
“But you hit the guy back, right?”
Wilson smiled, “Oh yeah.”
“Are you going to tell House?”
Wilson shook his head, “No, he’ll only tell me he can fight his own battles. What’s the point, it’s done now.”
He placed the plate down on the counter with the rest. “He and Daniel seem to get on well.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “So well it worries me sometimes.”
“Worries you?”
“Dan’s got so attached to him,” Cameron explained. “If things don’t work out, I’m worried how it’ll affect him.”
“You think things won’t work out?” Wilson countered.
She smiled and shrugged, “I hope they do, but this is House we’re talking about. I have no idea what his future holds, or what he wants it to.”
Wilson folded his arms and leant on the counter, “Knowing House, I doubt he’s planned it further than whether to have chocolate cake or Christmas cake for dessert.”
“Probably both,” Cameron offered.
“You know, House didn’t break up with Stacy. She broke up with him.”
“And that’s good, because?” Cameron asked, turning to face him and reaching for a towel to wipe her hands.
“When people get to him, he doesn’t let them get away easily.”
“You think I’ve got to him?”
Wilson shrugged, “You’ve been pretty inseparable these past few months.”
Cameron wasn’t sure, but she could sense a slightly jealous overtone to his words. “You mean like you and he used to be?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Wilson said quickly.
Sure you did, Cameron thought but she didn’t vocalize it. “He’s jealous of Martin, you know,” she said, instead.
“Martin?” Wilson said, surprised. “Martin’s a geek; we started playing golf together when his wife left him, I thought he was going to throw himself off the roof if he didn’t cheer up, sort of took pity on him, really.”
Cameron could believe that; it sounded like just the sort of thing Wilson would do. She was about to reply when she heard a brief snatch of conversation from the living room
“I don’t care what you call it, just don’t bring it near me,” she heard House tell Daniel, referring to the kitten.
“She won’t bite,” Daniel argued innocently.
Wilson smiled at Cameron, “I don’t think he’s going anywhere. You’re probably stuck with him now.”
~
By nine thirty Daniel had been put to bed and everyone else in the house was tipsy. House and Wilson had moved onto the scotch and Cameron had moved onto vodka.
House used the bathroom, and then checked on Daniel, who should have been asleep by now, but the bumping and banging that had been coming from upstairs suggested otherwise. There had been a mini spat when Cameron took him up to bed. She’d refused to let the cat sleep in his bedroom. He’d had a busy day and worn himself out; the cat had to stay in the kitchen and she’d been firm enough about it that he’d started crying.
House carefully opened the door to peer into his room and just caught the boy squeezing his eyes shut tight, faking at being asleep.
“I can tell you’re awake,” House said lightly; his eyebrows rose knowingly as he leant against the doorframe and folded his arms.
Daniel continued his act for ten seconds, and then a smile cracked his features and gave him away; he opened his eyes and turned to look at House. He yawned then sat up a little, “I can’t sleep.” he complained miserably.
“Sure you can, count reindeer,” House suggested.
“No, you’re supposed to count sheep?” Daniel said confusedly.
“Reindeer are more seasonal,” House replied.
He had to admit (to himself) that he quite liked the boy, and considered their mutual fondness for strawberry lollipops and video games where you customized racing cars before smashing them up, had solidified some sort of bond between them.
There was also the more serious fact that if he and Cameron were to stay together, Daniel was a part of the deal. There was no getting around that; not that he wanted to, but it did make things a little more complicated, and that complication began with a capital J.
Daniel had been an over excited bundle of madness most of the day, pretending to be Spiderman, jumping on and off the sofa and generally running around the house like a lunatic but it had obviously taken its toll on him. He was pale and his eyes were red rimmed, highlighting his tiredness.
“Mummy’s being mean, I want Saber to sleep in here with me,” Daniel mumbled sadly, rubbing his eyes and trying to hold in another yawn.
“She’s fine in the kitchen,” House said dismissively. “Cats snore really loudly; she’d only keep you awake.”
“Cats don’t snore,” Daniel argued.
“How do you know?” House asked. Daniel thought about it, and then House smiled slightly.
“You’re joking aren’t you? Your jokes aren’t funny,” Daniel noted in a little voice that was as serious as it was tired.
“My faces are though,” House offered. He pulled a stupid face and stuck his tongue out until Daniel giggled at him.
“Go to sleep,” House said.
“Good night,” Daniel called after him as he shut the door.
“Good night Daniel,” House replied.
“You didn’t say goodnight to Rex,” Daniel called out. House stuck his head around the door again.
“Because Rex is an inanimate object,” House explained but Daniel was not satisfied.
“Goodnight Rex,” he said then, reluctantly. It was much easier to just go along with a four year old’s perception of reality than to try and explain that his favorite possession was merely a bundle of cloth and stuffing that wasn’t actually aware it had been ignored because it didn’t have a consciousness.
Yeah, it was that, House decided as he closed the door behind him, and nothing to do with something that had happened to him when he’d been about Daniel’s age. He’d requested the same thing from his father for a tatty brown bear that bled fluff and had an ear missing. That had ended slightly differently though, with his father telling him to go to sleep and stop being so goddammed stupid.
The memory reminded him he really needed to call his mother; he still hadn’t done it and he normally made a point to do it every Christmas. He just hoped his dad didn’t answer the phone if he did.
~
When House didn’t return from the bathroom, Cameron went looking and found him in the yard, gazing up at the stars. He was standing by Daniel’s demolished snowman. She shivered; it had gone bitterly cold, so she placed her arms around his waist.
“Dan okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, you’re not in his good books though,” House warned her.
“Someone has to be the bad guy,” she said lightly. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking, Preedy shouldn’t be at work today but he probably is, even though he has three kids that want him home.”
“The kids are the reason he’s at work, probably.”
“I expect so,” House agreed.
“I need to do some renegotiations with Jack after Christmas, I hardly get any quality time with Dan because he has him every Saturday and the best part of Sunday.”
“That’s not going to go down well,” House noted.
“I know, but nothing ever does with him,” Cameron admitted.
“I missed this,” House said, still staring at up the sky. “You miss the weirdest things when you can’t have them,” he added thoughtfully. They remained quiet for a few moments, Cameron placed her head against this back; he’d put his biker jacket on and she liked the smell of it.
“It’s cheesy,” House said eventually.
“What is?” Cameron replied, confused.
“What I got you for Christmas.” He turned to face her,
“What is it?” Cameron asked him curiously.
He looked up at the sky again, then reached into the inside pocket and pulled out an envelope and handed it to her.
She took it, “Tickets to Hawaii; you shouldn’t have,” she quipped.
“I didn’t,” he said, keeping his focus anywhere but on Cameron. Then he even stepped around her and tried to go back inside but she grabbed his arm.
“This is painful for you, isn’t it? Watching someone open a gift you got them?” she asked. He placed his hands in his pockets and stared up at the sky.
Cameron opened the envelope, then turned so she could catch some light from the kitchen. She read, looking puzzled more than anything, then a smile crept across her face.
“You bought me a star?” she said, and then she flipped over the second sheet. There was a complicated looking map of the sky, with various bits labeled.
“Sort of, you choose one, they let you name it what you want and then the map shows you where it is.”
Cameron looked up at the perfectly cloudless sky and wondered which one of the million or so little pin-hole lights, was hers, “So, where is it?”
“How the hell should I know, you’ll have to try and work it out off that,” he said motioning to the map. They puzzled over it for a while but couldn’t figure it out; they’d need decent light to read it properly. Perhaps even a telescope to see the star.
“Well, it’s up there somewhere, I probably should have put more planning into this,” House said eventually, giving up on trying. “Although, I don’t know how they worked out who owns the sky.”
“So, what is named?”
“Allison, original huh?” House said.
“More intriguing, as you’ve never called me that in your life.” She grinned then and just couldn’t help it, “But it’s very sweet.”
House grimaced at the word and turned away from her, “It’s different, I guess,” he offered gruffly.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Admittedly, it’s not as cool as a motorbike though. I definitely won at Christmas; better luck next year,” House said.
“I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got,” she said reflectively, before she leaned up to kiss him.
~
Two weeks later
“House!” Cuddy shouted out as he crossed the lobby toward the elevator, first day back after a week and a half break for the Christmas holidays.
“You drove in,” She said, smiling when he went over to her and she noticed he was wearing his old bike jacket.
“Yeah,” he said, finding an uneasy smile of his own. “What?”
He followed Cuddy into her office, passing the outrageously young male secretary on the way in. Cuddy told him to close the door, which he did, and then she took hold of a letter on her desk and held it up for him to see.
“Arrived this morning, it’s from the board, with regards to your medical license.”
“Oh,” he returned quietly. His stomach clenched into a painfully tight knot and he was glad he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet as it would have probably ended up all over Cuddy’s desk. He leaned heavily on his cane and started to chew the side of his cheek. And then he finally allowed himself a sliver of hope, dangerous as it was because the let down would sting even more if this was a rejection letter, but he couldn’t help it.
“Do you want me to?” she flapped the letter from side to side. “Or you want to do it private?” She asked. House shrugged nonchalantly, like it didn’t mean anything… like it didn’t mean everything in the whole world to him, suddenly.
“You do it,” he said softly, Cuddy nodded and looked at the letter in her hands before taking a deep breath. House had to wonder if she wanted this more than he did, hoping to finally draw the more complex cases back to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
“Alright, but whatever happens, this is only the beginning,” she said stoutly.
House smiled. “Way to think positive Cuddy, just open the damn thing.”
She tore open the envelope, slid the letter out and then sat down at her desk. She’d found a poker-face so House couldn’t tell whether it was good news or not. He sighed when she didn’t say anything for a few moments, quietly mulling over whatever the letter contained, and drawing it.
“So, what does it say?”
Cuddy looked up at him, “It says…”
~
Eight months earlier
House’s left foot was pattering nervously against the floor. He looked down at the dirty black and white tiles, the kind he figured had lined the floor of psychiatric hospitals back in the fifties, when they were still referred to as mental institutions.
He was sitting outside a small meeting room. The parole board met there once a month and this was the first time he’d applied. Preedy had suggested it because of the fight in the gym and the way it had ended. He’d dismissed the idea at first because of his drug history, but then Preedy had started nagging him everyday, and when that didn’t work he’d mentioned it to Cameron, so in turn she’d started nagging him every visit. Cuddy had even attended one visit to nag him some more until it seemed like the only way to shut everyone up, was to apply. He’d forced out a letter highlighting his good behaviour since he’d been in the prison, and the reasons he thought they should consider him for parole. He’d needed two character references; Cameron and Cuddy had taken care of those.
The meeting room was located just around the corner from Redfield’s office. This was the second time House had ever been on this floor, situated above the prison infirmary. It reminded him of waiting to go into a transplant committee meeting, the only difference being it would be his life he’d be bargaining for this time, and not someone else’s.
Inside the room he imagined four or five people sitting behind a large desk, people who had the power to decide whether or not he had to serve his full sentence. He’d spent a good portion of his term high as a kite and it was well documented that he’d continued to use drugs when he’d arrived at the prison. With the failed drug test results littering his medial history he wasn’t feeling very optimistic. But Preedy figured because he’d helped to save another inmate’s life and a guard, it would look very good on paper (parole boards loved that sort of stuff) and it would balance everything out. Preedy had then added that his recent clean drug results should go someway to show him in a more positive light, and perhaps warrant a re-think on the sentence of six years the judge had originally handed down to him.
Preedy was standing opposite House, arms folded and leaning against the wall. “Would you sit still? You’re making me jittery.”
House shot him a quick look then sat back in his seat and stretched his legs out; Preedy started rubbing his neck and stared off into the middle distance. House got a visual of Wilson standing there instead of Preedy. He wondered if it were Wilson there instead, what would he say to him right now.
He could hear Wilson’s voice perfectly, ‘For God’s sake don’t screw this up, House.’
The door opened and a smart suited man asked him to come in, he stood up and was about to enter the room when Preedy grabbed hold of his arm, shooting the other gentleman an apologetic look.
“Just a moment,” he told the man politely. The man nodded and went inside the room again.
“You know sometimes you get that thought in your head, when someone says something to you and a spark will go off then a second later you’ve insulted them? Just do me a favour today?”
“What?” House replied.
“If something like that happens in there and you find you want to shoot off an over-defensive little retort because you’re anxious, just try for fifteen minutes to hold it in. Keep your mouth shut, coz I’d hate to see you lose another year of your life just because you couldn’t hold onto one throw-away remark,” Preedy urged, then he let go of his arm. “It’s not worth it.”
House stared at the guard for a moment, but he didn’t reply. Then he turned and went into the room, having to quash a slight smirk that appeared on his face as he did. Now that was more like what Wilson would have told him.
He wanted things to go well badly enough to listen to some good advice for one. He couldn’t remember a time he’d wanted something more, from the inner most part of him to the edge of his soul. This needed to go well, and he figured anything was bearable for fifteen minutes.
~
Last day of prison
The week had dragged slowly by, and today had seemed like the most unreachable Friday of his life.
He was lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, counting the cracks in the ceiling for the very last time; it was something he’d done probably a thousand times or more since he’d been put in this cell. There was one long crack that started in the far right corner of the cell and tore half way across the ceiling, splitting off into little branches along way, it had sprouted twelve new branches since he’d been here.
The time he’d done over here had been much harder because it was so isolated from everything. His world had consisted of around ten people for over two years, and only one of those people genuinely liked him, and he’d only seen her once every month.
He’d craved a lot of things since he’d been over here, conversation being one of them; he’d surprised himself by longing for social interaction. He figured it was something to do with worrying his brain would seize up from the boredom and loneliness; he’d seen conversation as some sort of lubricant to keep things ticking over.
The thousand or so things that could change in a week at a hospital compared to this, was frightening. Nothing changed here, ever. If he had a watch he’d be able to set it by certain patterns, like what time Preedy arrived in the morning, what time the lights went off, came on, when he ate when he slept. He was worried, where the hell he was supposed to start when it came to adjusting to real life, after spending five years in a claustrophobic box within a box.
The radio had been a saviour of sorts, just a simple concoction of plastic and dials that emitted tinny sounds though a little round grill. Reception wasn’t great but he’d gotten a fairly clear signal on some of the phone in radio stations and even found a crackly station that played blues and jazz. He figured it had kept him sane this last year, between lights-out and breakfast on the nights his leg had kept him awake.
Before Preedy had given it to him his mind had become almost inactive. He’d find himself staring blankly at the opposite wall, static, nothing in his head for indefinable periods of time. Or he’d pace up and down until he realized he’d been doing it for hours.
He’d get books and have to limit the time he’d spend reading or he’d read them too fast, a normal sized novel could be destroyed in hours, when he needed to make it last a week.
The nights had been worse than the days, when guards followed dim, flashlight lit trails and their keys jingled annoyingly. The picture from a lucky con’s black and white TV at the end threw up eerie images onto the far wall midway down the wing at night.
During the time here he’d gone over his whole life, he considered - everything. Stuff before he’d ended up here, way before, as far back as his childhood. He’d traced things in his mind and wondered at what point he’d taken a left turn where every other teenager went right.
He knew there were probably reasons for the way he was, the way he’d turned out. His father had had quite an impact on him. He didn’t blame him for this; there had been times he’d danced around that thought because it was easier to entertain the idea that this impersonal barred and bricked, cold metallic world, was somebody else’s fault.
He’d come around in time.
He scratched the rough bristles on his face; he couldn’t stop worrying that any minute now someone was going to turn up and say he was staying here for the rest of his sentence. Another year would feel like an eternity now he’d been counting down to this day. It would be hard time to do.
“Steve’s going to take you over,” Preedy said, House hadn’t heard him approach.
“Not so good at goodbyes huh?” He asked.
“I’ve got to stay here, watch the wing,” Preedy began, and then he smiled at him. “And, I suck at goodbyes.”
Preedy unlocked his cell and House stood up, he was sick with nerves now and his mouth tasted watery. They walked slowly toward the guard office where Steve was waiting.
“I hope you stay out of trouble, I would hate to see you back here,” Preedy said gruffly.
“Don’t worry, I’m never coming back here,” House said resolutely. That was the only thing in his world he was one hundred percent sure of at that moment.
They arrived at the office and House took one last look at him , “Do me a favour, would you?”
“What?” Preedy said, placing his hands on his hips.
“Spend Christmas with your kids this year, this isn’t a read through you know,” House said.
Preedy nodded, “Get out of here before someone upstairs realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.”
The end