sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 01:25 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-11 01:25 am
Entry tags:
Housefic: The Shortest Distance, 1/3. R-rated.
Rating: R for naughtiness.
Wordcount: 10,000
Summary: After losing a patient, everyone reacts differently; Foreman writes charts, Chase does Sudoku, Wilson goes to the movies, and Cameron kisses Greg House. House can't resist telling Wilson; Wilson can't resist putting his oar in; Cameron can't resist her one shot at pinning House down.
Warnings: None.
Also available at AO3.
The Shortest Distance:
House set down the paddles.
He'd worked longer on someone before, but what was the point? Even if they got her heart back, there was no chance for a kidney somehow magically making an appearance in the hour or so she had left. Not even time for tests if one did.
"Time of death, four-twenty three pm," House said in a flat, even voice.
Chase threw his gloves angrily in the bin. Foreman rubbed his eyes. Cameron, standing next to Wilson, just stared at her face. Wilson stared at House. House picked up the former patient's file.
"Schedule an autopsy," he said. "Foreman, tell the family."
***
Cameron found Foreman again in their office, bent over a scattered pile of paper.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Writeup. House'll never chart it right," he replied. "I want to get everything down while it's still fresh. You?"
"Just getting ready to go home. Some day, huh?"
"Yeah," he answered.
"So...does it help?"
"What?" he asked, without looking up.
"Working through. Doing the writeup. Putting all the paperwork in order. Does it help you understand it better? Death?"
Foreman did look up then. His face was closed-off, unreadable, but his eyes were dark and wary.
"Is that why you think I do this?" he asked.
"I don't know why. I was just curious."
"Why?"
"Thought if you'd found something to help, it might help me, that's all," Cameron said with a shrug. "Comparing notes."
"It doesn't help," he muttered. "Just keeps me busy until it's time to leave. Tomorrow I can come back and do the rest, and that's another three hours I don't have to think about it."
"Oh."
"You all right?" he asked, returning to the notes.
"Yeah, I guess. Have you seen Chase?"
"Last I saw he was getting into the elevator. You could ask the charge nurse, he was talking with her. Or page him if you really need him."
***
In the maternity ward, nurses came and went, hurrying but not panicking, rolling carts and carrying babies. Chase, with his legs crossed and a clipboard resting on his thigh, sipped from a paper coffee cup. He looked like some kind of peaceful island in the chaos. A peaceful, pretty island, all smooth skin and sleek hair and unworried face. He looked too young to be a doctor at all, let alone a respected specialist working under America's foremost diagnostician.
"Hi," Cameron said, sitting down next to him.
"Hi-ya," he replied, giving her a friendly look. She glanced at the clipboard; there was a half-finished Sudoku puzzle on it. "How are you?"
"All right," she shrugged. "You?"
"Okay."
"Sudoku, huh?"
"House says it's boring. I find them kind of...soothing."
"Yeah?"
"Mmh."
They sat in silence for a while.
"You're dying to know why I'm doing Sudoku in the middle of Maternity," he said.
"Mostly just the Maternity part."
"I like it here. Everyone else is always doing something and I don't have to."
"Inactivity is bliss?"
"Something like that. In med school my big reward for doing something was to get to go to the library and do nothing while everyone else worked. It's nice to be still," he continued. "It's an art."
"I couldn't do that."
"I know. That's why you're here."
"I guess."
He sighed and filled in another three squares. "You should go find Wilson, get him to take you out. He always goes out."
"Out?"
"Yeah. Movies, maybe. Or drive to New York and take in a show."
"Matchmaking now?" she asked.
"No! No, nothing like that. Just, you know, someone needs to surgically remove you from the hospital for a bit, I think," he said. "No offence, though."
"It's fine," she said, patting his leg. "Enjoy your puzzle. See you at clinic on Sunday."
"Bright and bloody early," he answered, bending his perfect face back to his puzzle.
***
She hadn't even said hello, and as far as she could tell he hadn't looked up from buckling his bag shut, but he spoke first as she walked through his open office door. Wilson always left his office door open.
"You know," Wilson said, "I'm happy to let House strut around the hospital being the loudest wonder of the modern world, because loud is most of what he has. But, as it turns out, we're both geniuses."
He glanced at her and saw her bewildered expression; he smiled a little, very tiredly. "It makes sense. It's one of the few reasons he puts up with me. You too, I guess."
"Hi," she said warily. "Chase said -- "
"I know why you're here," he interrupted. She watched him finish buckling the bag and untwist the shoulder strap.
"Why?" she asked finally.
"Coping mechanisms," he answered. "Foreman works, Chase goes where he doesn't have to, and you look for someone to talk it out with."
"There's nothing wrong with that," she said defiantly.
"I didn't say there was," he replied, his voice kind. "It's...good to talk. I'm in favour of it. There's no healthy way to cope with death, but talking is good."
"Chase said you were going out," she blurted.
"Allison," he said, "I want you to promise you'll never go into Oncology."
"I don't -- "
"Death is what I do. All day. By the time people talk to me, most of them are either almost healed or almost dead," he said. She listened, dumbfounded. "I can't cope with that. Nobody could. Coping is something you have to spend all your time and energy on, and I haven't got the energy to spare."
"You have to deal with it somehow," she said.
"Sure. I compartmentalise," he replied. "Leave death at the door. I go home at night and just plain don't think about it. Works remarkably well, with a little practice. And when there's a...hard one, like today, I distract myself."
He shouldered his bag. "I like that you care. I wish I still knew how to care all the time. So do my ex-wives, I'm sure. You want to catch a movie?"
She looked down at her hands, not sure if she was ashamed of being so dissimilar to him, or flattered that he admired something in her, however flawed.
He walked past her and she followed him out, watching as he locked the door.
"He's up on the roof," he said quietly.
***
From the roof of the hospital the sky always looked unreal, as though it had been airbrushed in behind the pointed gables and spires of the university buildings nearby. It was unnerving, but that was all right; he only came up to the roof when the world wasn't quite steady beneath his feet anyway, and it was comforting to see actual evidence that something in the universe was out of whack.
He'd walked too much today, stood for too long. His leg ached and his back twinged with tension from all the muscles he used instead of the missing one. He'd given up on sitting and was lying down instead, leg propped on the ridge of a skylight, cane-handle thumping gently but soothingly against his forehead.
The door creaked. He opened his eyes. The sunset only reached about halfway across the sky now, and there was a dark purple band on the edge of his vision.
"Wilson sent me," Cameron said.
"Great," House muttered.
She sat down next to his shoulder, facing away from the skylight, arms around knees.
"Wilson never got all the way over his psych rotation," he continued.
"He's going to a movie."
"He usually does."
"And you come here?"
"Cheaper than hookers," he said. He glanced at her to see if she would smile; if she did, then there was a good chance she wasn't feeling too awful and she'd leave pretty soon.
"You're quiet," she said after a pause. "You come up here, watch the clouds..."
"Dream of fluffy white kittens," he sighed. "And you want to talk."
"I've lost patients before, I don't want therapy," she retorted. "I just..."
"Some people hide, some seek. Some do Sudoku. The world is mysterious. Om."
She smiled again. Thank Christ; one more joke and she'd leave him alone.
"You're always watching us, aren't you?" she asked.
"I'm always watching everyone. It's a kink."
That time she laughed.
"What I mean is...someone else wouldn't know that Chase goes down to Maternity and does puzzles. And only Wilson knew you go to the roof. But you know what we do, all of us."
"That's my job. I'm your boss."
"Very leaderlike of you. If Cuddy knew, she'd be so proud her tits would pop right out of her top."
He experienced a sudden moment of complete bafflement before the mental image filled his consciousness with such brilliance that he actually laughed aloud.
It was as startling to him as anyone else. He propped himself on his elbows and stared at Cameron. She looked quite as confused as he was.
"That's the most vindictive thing I think I've ever heard you say," he observed.
"It made you laugh," she replied. "You never laugh."
"I..."
"You should laugh more," she said quickly. "It's nice."
"There isn't all that much to laugh about," he muttered, but the effect was pretty much lost on Cameron because she'd leaned forward and was kissing him, which was probably the most effective way to shut him up.
When she finally leaned back again, he opened his eyes and said, "Oh god, this is a dumb idea."
***
Cameron wet her lips nervously and watched House as he lay back and rubbed his chin.
"Not that you're dumb," he added. "That's a note to self, so when I screw this up later I can tell me I told me so."
"Listen, if you don't -- "
He put a finger to his lips and she fell silent. Finally he levered himself to his feet, tapping his cane thoughtfully against the concrete. She stood too, dusting her hands on her trousers.
"Things change," he said to himself. "People don't change, but..."
He looked up. "Come on, I'll take you home."
"I drove my car -- "
"Yeah, and you won't get into it again unless someone threatens to drown a puppy if you don't," he replied over his shoulder as he made for the stairs. "Meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes."
She looked up at the sky, rubbed her arms thoughtfully, and followed him into the building. She packed up her bag, put on her coat, said bye to Foreman; when she came down to the lobby she found House at the admitting desk, talking with Cuddy.
He saw her, slanted his eyes down at Cuddy, and shook his head subtly. She hid behind a pillar and waited.
Cuddy put her hand on House's arm, big mistake, and House tried to crush her with his wits. She could tell because he made a face, and House's faces were only funny if no soundtrack came attached.
Cuddy, Cameron thought, was pretty much uncrushable. She envied that. Her first week on the job, she'd assumed Cuddy and House were dating because Cuddy was the only one who didn't take his crap.
Cuddy disappeared into her office. Cameron crept forward.
"A little slicker there, ace, you're not wearing your super secret spy hat," House said as they left.
"You're the one who was practically shouting at me to hide from the Evil Cuddy."
"Didn't think you could keep a straight face after that remark about her boobies," House answered.
"I'm surprised you did."
"Lots of practice," he said. She glanced at the motorcycle parked nearby.
"Seriously?" she asked. He tossed her a new helmet, put on his own.
"Wanna go joyriding with the boss?" he leered.
"Oh yeah. I only agreed so that I could feel up your manly pecs," she retorted.
He snorted and straddled the machine, sliding up against the gas tank so that she could settle behind him. She still wasn't sure what was going on, but he hadn't fired her or said anything particularly mean. He was precise with his cruelty, like a scalpel -- he wouldn't string her this far along if he was going to shove her back again.
They zipped out of the parking lot ahead of an SUV that stopped hard and blew its horn. This wasn't the relatively sedate and safe Important Doctor Business trip they'd made last time. This was, she suspected, the kind of driving that was the reason House bought the bike.
And he wasn't driving in the direction of her apartment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" she shouted in his ear.
"WHAT?"
"I SAID -- "
"WHAT?"
She gave up, pressing her face against House's shoulder to protect her nose and mouth.
After about ten minutes of fast turns and dangerous lane-changes, she realised they weren't going anywhere. House was driving aimlessly, leaping forward to get between two pickups one moment and sliding out to drag race a Toyota the next. The bike was -- he had to know this -- a satisfying deep rumble between her thighs, matching the adrenaline rush every time they swerved.
When they finally did reach her apartment complex, he braked and killed the engine, tilting the bike slightly to the left as he propped it with his good leg. She let go of his waist and pulled off the helmet, catching her breath. He took his own helmet off, twisted around to look at her over his left shoulder, opened his mouth to say something stupid -- and she kissed him again.
This time she didn't pull back; instead she slid her tongue between her lips and he opened his mouth and she was french-kissing a hot, famous doctor on his motorcycle. Deep down inside, fifteen-year-old Allison Cameron went yes!
***
Greg House was kissing his smart, gorgeous assistant on his motorcycle. Deep down inside, he could hear his fourteen year old self say, with every intention of sounding thrilled and every result of sounding stupid, Awesome.
Then his right leg cramped up and he jerked back, doubling over. Ohgodnotwistingtheytoldmenottodothat...
"Oh my god," he heard Cameron say, and if she hadn't moved with physics-defying speed he would have dropped the bike. She shoved it upright and kicked the stand down as he tried to breathe deeply and pressed his hand against his thigh.
"Spasm," he groaned. "It'll pass."
He felt her hand slide under his jacket and across his ribcage and was pleased that she'd been observant enough to know where he kept the pill bottle, in the lining-pocket. He managed to sit up and accept the pill, swallowing it despite knowing it was useless -- it wouldn't kick in for a good ten minutes at least. Still, it was a reassuring motion: palm against lips, pill clenched between teeth, saliva on the tongue and swallow.
When he'd caught his breath, he looked up again. She was watching him, but there was no pity in her eyes. Just worry, and a little bit of regret.
"Never say I don't know how to show a girl a good time," he managed. "For the record, the stabbing pain and your tongue being in my mouth are almost completely unrelated. You didn't give me an infarction." He rested his elbows on the handlebars and his forehead on his crossed wrists. "Enjoy the ride?"
"It was great," she said hesitantly. "You're really good at this."
"I like pissing off people in Beemers," he answered, raising his head to look at her.
"You like pissing off everyone." She smiled at him, that smile she had when she was being infuriatingly naieve or making a point he'd thought he was capable of refuting.
"You want to come in?" she asked quietly. He looked up at her, then leaned back and gestured her closer. She bent her head slightly and he kissed her again, her fingers threading in his hair, his hand around her wrist. Her pulse was fast and almost irregular.
"You're not coming in," she said when he finished. She was still smiling.
"No."
"And you kissed me because you want me to know that it's not me, it's you."
"You're learning." He chewed on his lip. "See, when I do something this stupid, I like to draw out the fun part as long as possible."
She picked his helmet up off the ground and put it on his head, then offered him the bottle of Vicodin.
"Chase and I have clinic on Sunday," she said. "We're off tomorrow."
"I'll pine," he replied, rolling his eyes.
"I'll see you on Monday?"
"Mmhm," he answered, watching her walk up to the front of the building. He waited until she'd let herself inside before he fired up the engine and pulled away. She'd kept the helmet he'd lent her.
He drove on automatic, less dangerously than earlier but not much slower. Lots of new information to gnaw at. New sides to the puzzle.
Not a puzzle. Cameron. Allison Cameron. Person, not puzzle. Yes.
A puzzling person, though. He'd seen her changing, but it wasn't actually a change, was it? It was her...growing into herself. The person she was before, that had been the change. Now she was still annoyingly trusting, depressingly optimistic, but because that pleased her.
Which had been his goal in the first place because he was making a team, not just heading a department.
He just...never expected it to be half as effective as it was turning out.
***
Wilson caught a double-feature and got home to his new apartment around ten-thirty. He set his things down on the couch (rented) and walked into the kitchen to pour himself some milk.
When he turned around, milk in hand, House was standing in front of him, fiddling with his iPod.
"Yargh!" he said, which covered the fact that he was having a heart attack, and jumped backwards.
House looked up and flinched back as well. "Gaah. Don't you turn on the light when you come in?"
"Don't you turn on the light when you....break into someone's home?" Wilson retorted.
"Then they'd know I was there," House replied. "Actually I just came over to raid your CDs."
"You broke into my -- "
"Told the landlord I was your brother. You'll be robbed blind if you stay here."
"You snuck into my home to steal my White Album?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah," House said. "I also ate your leftover chicken."
Wilson gave up. He put the milk away, took out two beers, and walked into the living room, rubbing his forehead. "Download your music illegally like everyone else."
"If I wanted five thousand copies of The Closet I would."
"That Mr. Kelly, he's quite the novelist," Wilson said. "So...what, are you tired of The Who? Gregory, have you lost your mojo? Have the blues failed you? Radiohead insufficient for your angst?"
House leaned on his cane and bit his lip. Finally he sat down.
"I kissed Cameron," he said. "I need an appropriate soundtrack to which I can fuck up my life."
Wilson stared at him. "You what?"
"Neeeeeeed aaaaaa neeeeeew plaaaaaaayliiiiiist -- "
"Hooo, rewind a second," Wilson said. "You kissed her? When? Where?"
"Ohmawgaw, are we going to eat ice cream and giggle about it?" House asked, clasping his hands dramatically.
"Where?"
"On the mouth."
"Geographically."
"That's not geographic enough for you?"
Wilson gave him a look and House leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "On the roof. And in front of her apartment. Are you done flipping out now?"
"Not even begun. I thought you hated her. She thought you hated her."
"Is everyone but me oblivious to the fact that liking someone and wanting to fuck them senseless are two separate concepts?"
"So you don't actually -- "
"I didn't say that." House groaned. "This is going to mess up my entire life. It was just how I wanted it..."
"You're a miserable gimp addicted to painkillers whose sole joy in life comes from shouting at people," Wilson said. "If that was what you dreamed of as a child, your parents needed to put you in therapy way earlier."
"That's not true. I also enjoy Game Boy."
"House."
House rolled his eyes. "I have a tenured job that lets me do what I want. I have a good team. Things work. Not great, but they work. Besides, nobody's ever as happy as they think they should be."
Wilson was quiet while he tried to think of how he wanted to phrase things, but eventually he gave up. House would risk everything to solve the puzzle, but he wouldn't even comprehend the idea of risking anything for the chance to be happy with someone.
"Then why did you kiss her?" he asked.
"She kissed me first."
"Why?"
"Because she's maladjusted?"
"Dr. House, I think it's for you. Yeah -- it's the kettle. Would you like to call him black?" Wilson offered House an imaginary telephone.
"I laughed," House said.
"What?"
"I laughed at a joke she made about Cuddy's breasts. I think she kissed me because I laughed at one of her jokes."
Wilson tried to process House laughing at a joke Cameron made, Cameron making a joke about Cuddy's breasts, and Cuddy's breasts in any way leading to his best friend kissing a beautiful immunologist on the roof of the hospital. It was all a bit much.
"That's what women do, right? I vaguely recall this," House continued.
Wilson tapped his fingers on his lips, thoughtfully.
"You broke into my home because you didn't want to spend the whole night trying to figure this out on your own," he said. "And you don't want to try to figure this out on your own because you know what the answer is and you just don't like it. It means you might have to actually open up to another human being. To Cameron," he added, knowing that it was the frosting on the dysfunctional cake. "And if you do that you might have to start listening to what she thinks about humanity and being nicer and not kicking puppies anymore."
"I can be in love with someone and not listen to them, I'm also that good," House retorted. "Ask Stacy."
Wilson savoured the moment. "You don't want to make freudian slips around her and let one more person know you well enough to beat you in poker," he continued.
"She probably doesn't even like -- "
"You are being intentionally thick about this because you don't want me to tell you what any normal person would already have come to grips with."
House sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, go ahead."
"Allison is one of the best things that ever happened to you, aside from me of course," Wilson said. "If you blow her off now you're an unmitigated asshole. She likes you, House, and all your reasons for not dating her were crap and you know it. This could be the real thing. Be a man and don't fuck it up."
House leaned forward, resting his chin on his cane.
"How do I not fuck it up?" he asked quietly.
Chapter 2 - Chapter 3
Wordcount: 10,000
Summary: After losing a patient, everyone reacts differently; Foreman writes charts, Chase does Sudoku, Wilson goes to the movies, and Cameron kisses Greg House. House can't resist telling Wilson; Wilson can't resist putting his oar in; Cameron can't resist her one shot at pinning House down.
Warnings: None.
Also available at AO3.
The Shortest Distance:
House set down the paddles.
He'd worked longer on someone before, but what was the point? Even if they got her heart back, there was no chance for a kidney somehow magically making an appearance in the hour or so she had left. Not even time for tests if one did.
"Time of death, four-twenty three pm," House said in a flat, even voice.
Chase threw his gloves angrily in the bin. Foreman rubbed his eyes. Cameron, standing next to Wilson, just stared at her face. Wilson stared at House. House picked up the former patient's file.
"Schedule an autopsy," he said. "Foreman, tell the family."
***
Cameron found Foreman again in their office, bent over a scattered pile of paper.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Writeup. House'll never chart it right," he replied. "I want to get everything down while it's still fresh. You?"
"Just getting ready to go home. Some day, huh?"
"Yeah," he answered.
"So...does it help?"
"What?" he asked, without looking up.
"Working through. Doing the writeup. Putting all the paperwork in order. Does it help you understand it better? Death?"
Foreman did look up then. His face was closed-off, unreadable, but his eyes were dark and wary.
"Is that why you think I do this?" he asked.
"I don't know why. I was just curious."
"Why?"
"Thought if you'd found something to help, it might help me, that's all," Cameron said with a shrug. "Comparing notes."
"It doesn't help," he muttered. "Just keeps me busy until it's time to leave. Tomorrow I can come back and do the rest, and that's another three hours I don't have to think about it."
"Oh."
"You all right?" he asked, returning to the notes.
"Yeah, I guess. Have you seen Chase?"
"Last I saw he was getting into the elevator. You could ask the charge nurse, he was talking with her. Or page him if you really need him."
***
In the maternity ward, nurses came and went, hurrying but not panicking, rolling carts and carrying babies. Chase, with his legs crossed and a clipboard resting on his thigh, sipped from a paper coffee cup. He looked like some kind of peaceful island in the chaos. A peaceful, pretty island, all smooth skin and sleek hair and unworried face. He looked too young to be a doctor at all, let alone a respected specialist working under America's foremost diagnostician.
"Hi," Cameron said, sitting down next to him.
"Hi-ya," he replied, giving her a friendly look. She glanced at the clipboard; there was a half-finished Sudoku puzzle on it. "How are you?"
"All right," she shrugged. "You?"
"Okay."
"Sudoku, huh?"
"House says it's boring. I find them kind of...soothing."
"Yeah?"
"Mmh."
They sat in silence for a while.
"You're dying to know why I'm doing Sudoku in the middle of Maternity," he said.
"Mostly just the Maternity part."
"I like it here. Everyone else is always doing something and I don't have to."
"Inactivity is bliss?"
"Something like that. In med school my big reward for doing something was to get to go to the library and do nothing while everyone else worked. It's nice to be still," he continued. "It's an art."
"I couldn't do that."
"I know. That's why you're here."
"I guess."
He sighed and filled in another three squares. "You should go find Wilson, get him to take you out. He always goes out."
"Out?"
"Yeah. Movies, maybe. Or drive to New York and take in a show."
"Matchmaking now?" she asked.
"No! No, nothing like that. Just, you know, someone needs to surgically remove you from the hospital for a bit, I think," he said. "No offence, though."
"It's fine," she said, patting his leg. "Enjoy your puzzle. See you at clinic on Sunday."
"Bright and bloody early," he answered, bending his perfect face back to his puzzle.
***
She hadn't even said hello, and as far as she could tell he hadn't looked up from buckling his bag shut, but he spoke first as she walked through his open office door. Wilson always left his office door open.
"You know," Wilson said, "I'm happy to let House strut around the hospital being the loudest wonder of the modern world, because loud is most of what he has. But, as it turns out, we're both geniuses."
He glanced at her and saw her bewildered expression; he smiled a little, very tiredly. "It makes sense. It's one of the few reasons he puts up with me. You too, I guess."
"Hi," she said warily. "Chase said -- "
"I know why you're here," he interrupted. She watched him finish buckling the bag and untwist the shoulder strap.
"Why?" she asked finally.
"Coping mechanisms," he answered. "Foreman works, Chase goes where he doesn't have to, and you look for someone to talk it out with."
"There's nothing wrong with that," she said defiantly.
"I didn't say there was," he replied, his voice kind. "It's...good to talk. I'm in favour of it. There's no healthy way to cope with death, but talking is good."
"Chase said you were going out," she blurted.
"Allison," he said, "I want you to promise you'll never go into Oncology."
"I don't -- "
"Death is what I do. All day. By the time people talk to me, most of them are either almost healed or almost dead," he said. She listened, dumbfounded. "I can't cope with that. Nobody could. Coping is something you have to spend all your time and energy on, and I haven't got the energy to spare."
"You have to deal with it somehow," she said.
"Sure. I compartmentalise," he replied. "Leave death at the door. I go home at night and just plain don't think about it. Works remarkably well, with a little practice. And when there's a...hard one, like today, I distract myself."
He shouldered his bag. "I like that you care. I wish I still knew how to care all the time. So do my ex-wives, I'm sure. You want to catch a movie?"
She looked down at her hands, not sure if she was ashamed of being so dissimilar to him, or flattered that he admired something in her, however flawed.
He walked past her and she followed him out, watching as he locked the door.
"He's up on the roof," he said quietly.
***
From the roof of the hospital the sky always looked unreal, as though it had been airbrushed in behind the pointed gables and spires of the university buildings nearby. It was unnerving, but that was all right; he only came up to the roof when the world wasn't quite steady beneath his feet anyway, and it was comforting to see actual evidence that something in the universe was out of whack.
He'd walked too much today, stood for too long. His leg ached and his back twinged with tension from all the muscles he used instead of the missing one. He'd given up on sitting and was lying down instead, leg propped on the ridge of a skylight, cane-handle thumping gently but soothingly against his forehead.
The door creaked. He opened his eyes. The sunset only reached about halfway across the sky now, and there was a dark purple band on the edge of his vision.
"Wilson sent me," Cameron said.
"Great," House muttered.
She sat down next to his shoulder, facing away from the skylight, arms around knees.
"Wilson never got all the way over his psych rotation," he continued.
"He's going to a movie."
"He usually does."
"And you come here?"
"Cheaper than hookers," he said. He glanced at her to see if she would smile; if she did, then there was a good chance she wasn't feeling too awful and she'd leave pretty soon.
"You're quiet," she said after a pause. "You come up here, watch the clouds..."
"Dream of fluffy white kittens," he sighed. "And you want to talk."
"I've lost patients before, I don't want therapy," she retorted. "I just..."
"Some people hide, some seek. Some do Sudoku. The world is mysterious. Om."
She smiled again. Thank Christ; one more joke and she'd leave him alone.
"You're always watching us, aren't you?" she asked.
"I'm always watching everyone. It's a kink."
That time she laughed.
"What I mean is...someone else wouldn't know that Chase goes down to Maternity and does puzzles. And only Wilson knew you go to the roof. But you know what we do, all of us."
"That's my job. I'm your boss."
"Very leaderlike of you. If Cuddy knew, she'd be so proud her tits would pop right out of her top."
He experienced a sudden moment of complete bafflement before the mental image filled his consciousness with such brilliance that he actually laughed aloud.
It was as startling to him as anyone else. He propped himself on his elbows and stared at Cameron. She looked quite as confused as he was.
"That's the most vindictive thing I think I've ever heard you say," he observed.
"It made you laugh," she replied. "You never laugh."
"I..."
"You should laugh more," she said quickly. "It's nice."
"There isn't all that much to laugh about," he muttered, but the effect was pretty much lost on Cameron because she'd leaned forward and was kissing him, which was probably the most effective way to shut him up.
When she finally leaned back again, he opened his eyes and said, "Oh god, this is a dumb idea."
***
Cameron wet her lips nervously and watched House as he lay back and rubbed his chin.
"Not that you're dumb," he added. "That's a note to self, so when I screw this up later I can tell me I told me so."
"Listen, if you don't -- "
He put a finger to his lips and she fell silent. Finally he levered himself to his feet, tapping his cane thoughtfully against the concrete. She stood too, dusting her hands on her trousers.
"Things change," he said to himself. "People don't change, but..."
He looked up. "Come on, I'll take you home."
"I drove my car -- "
"Yeah, and you won't get into it again unless someone threatens to drown a puppy if you don't," he replied over his shoulder as he made for the stairs. "Meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes."
She looked up at the sky, rubbed her arms thoughtfully, and followed him into the building. She packed up her bag, put on her coat, said bye to Foreman; when she came down to the lobby she found House at the admitting desk, talking with Cuddy.
He saw her, slanted his eyes down at Cuddy, and shook his head subtly. She hid behind a pillar and waited.
Cuddy put her hand on House's arm, big mistake, and House tried to crush her with his wits. She could tell because he made a face, and House's faces were only funny if no soundtrack came attached.
Cuddy, Cameron thought, was pretty much uncrushable. She envied that. Her first week on the job, she'd assumed Cuddy and House were dating because Cuddy was the only one who didn't take his crap.
Cuddy disappeared into her office. Cameron crept forward.
"A little slicker there, ace, you're not wearing your super secret spy hat," House said as they left.
"You're the one who was practically shouting at me to hide from the Evil Cuddy."
"Didn't think you could keep a straight face after that remark about her boobies," House answered.
"I'm surprised you did."
"Lots of practice," he said. She glanced at the motorcycle parked nearby.
"Seriously?" she asked. He tossed her a new helmet, put on his own.
"Wanna go joyriding with the boss?" he leered.
"Oh yeah. I only agreed so that I could feel up your manly pecs," she retorted.
He snorted and straddled the machine, sliding up against the gas tank so that she could settle behind him. She still wasn't sure what was going on, but he hadn't fired her or said anything particularly mean. He was precise with his cruelty, like a scalpel -- he wouldn't string her this far along if he was going to shove her back again.
They zipped out of the parking lot ahead of an SUV that stopped hard and blew its horn. This wasn't the relatively sedate and safe Important Doctor Business trip they'd made last time. This was, she suspected, the kind of driving that was the reason House bought the bike.
And he wasn't driving in the direction of her apartment.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" she shouted in his ear.
"WHAT?"
"I SAID -- "
"WHAT?"
She gave up, pressing her face against House's shoulder to protect her nose and mouth.
After about ten minutes of fast turns and dangerous lane-changes, she realised they weren't going anywhere. House was driving aimlessly, leaping forward to get between two pickups one moment and sliding out to drag race a Toyota the next. The bike was -- he had to know this -- a satisfying deep rumble between her thighs, matching the adrenaline rush every time they swerved.
When they finally did reach her apartment complex, he braked and killed the engine, tilting the bike slightly to the left as he propped it with his good leg. She let go of his waist and pulled off the helmet, catching her breath. He took his own helmet off, twisted around to look at her over his left shoulder, opened his mouth to say something stupid -- and she kissed him again.
This time she didn't pull back; instead she slid her tongue between her lips and he opened his mouth and she was french-kissing a hot, famous doctor on his motorcycle. Deep down inside, fifteen-year-old Allison Cameron went yes!
***
Greg House was kissing his smart, gorgeous assistant on his motorcycle. Deep down inside, he could hear his fourteen year old self say, with every intention of sounding thrilled and every result of sounding stupid, Awesome.
Then his right leg cramped up and he jerked back, doubling over. Ohgodnotwistingtheytoldmenottodothat...
"Oh my god," he heard Cameron say, and if she hadn't moved with physics-defying speed he would have dropped the bike. She shoved it upright and kicked the stand down as he tried to breathe deeply and pressed his hand against his thigh.
"Spasm," he groaned. "It'll pass."
He felt her hand slide under his jacket and across his ribcage and was pleased that she'd been observant enough to know where he kept the pill bottle, in the lining-pocket. He managed to sit up and accept the pill, swallowing it despite knowing it was useless -- it wouldn't kick in for a good ten minutes at least. Still, it was a reassuring motion: palm against lips, pill clenched between teeth, saliva on the tongue and swallow.
When he'd caught his breath, he looked up again. She was watching him, but there was no pity in her eyes. Just worry, and a little bit of regret.
"Never say I don't know how to show a girl a good time," he managed. "For the record, the stabbing pain and your tongue being in my mouth are almost completely unrelated. You didn't give me an infarction." He rested his elbows on the handlebars and his forehead on his crossed wrists. "Enjoy the ride?"
"It was great," she said hesitantly. "You're really good at this."
"I like pissing off people in Beemers," he answered, raising his head to look at her.
"You like pissing off everyone." She smiled at him, that smile she had when she was being infuriatingly naieve or making a point he'd thought he was capable of refuting.
"You want to come in?" she asked quietly. He looked up at her, then leaned back and gestured her closer. She bent her head slightly and he kissed her again, her fingers threading in his hair, his hand around her wrist. Her pulse was fast and almost irregular.
"You're not coming in," she said when he finished. She was still smiling.
"No."
"And you kissed me because you want me to know that it's not me, it's you."
"You're learning." He chewed on his lip. "See, when I do something this stupid, I like to draw out the fun part as long as possible."
She picked his helmet up off the ground and put it on his head, then offered him the bottle of Vicodin.
"Chase and I have clinic on Sunday," she said. "We're off tomorrow."
"I'll pine," he replied, rolling his eyes.
"I'll see you on Monday?"
"Mmhm," he answered, watching her walk up to the front of the building. He waited until she'd let herself inside before he fired up the engine and pulled away. She'd kept the helmet he'd lent her.
He drove on automatic, less dangerously than earlier but not much slower. Lots of new information to gnaw at. New sides to the puzzle.
Not a puzzle. Cameron. Allison Cameron. Person, not puzzle. Yes.
A puzzling person, though. He'd seen her changing, but it wasn't actually a change, was it? It was her...growing into herself. The person she was before, that had been the change. Now she was still annoyingly trusting, depressingly optimistic, but because that pleased her.
Which had been his goal in the first place because he was making a team, not just heading a department.
He just...never expected it to be half as effective as it was turning out.
***
Wilson caught a double-feature and got home to his new apartment around ten-thirty. He set his things down on the couch (rented) and walked into the kitchen to pour himself some milk.
When he turned around, milk in hand, House was standing in front of him, fiddling with his iPod.
"Yargh!" he said, which covered the fact that he was having a heart attack, and jumped backwards.
House looked up and flinched back as well. "Gaah. Don't you turn on the light when you come in?"
"Don't you turn on the light when you....break into someone's home?" Wilson retorted.
"Then they'd know I was there," House replied. "Actually I just came over to raid your CDs."
"You broke into my -- "
"Told the landlord I was your brother. You'll be robbed blind if you stay here."
"You snuck into my home to steal my White Album?" Wilson asked.
"Yeah," House said. "I also ate your leftover chicken."
Wilson gave up. He put the milk away, took out two beers, and walked into the living room, rubbing his forehead. "Download your music illegally like everyone else."
"If I wanted five thousand copies of The Closet I would."
"That Mr. Kelly, he's quite the novelist," Wilson said. "So...what, are you tired of The Who? Gregory, have you lost your mojo? Have the blues failed you? Radiohead insufficient for your angst?"
House leaned on his cane and bit his lip. Finally he sat down.
"I kissed Cameron," he said. "I need an appropriate soundtrack to which I can fuck up my life."
Wilson stared at him. "You what?"
"Neeeeeeed aaaaaa neeeeeew plaaaaaaayliiiiiist -- "
"Hooo, rewind a second," Wilson said. "You kissed her? When? Where?"
"Ohmawgaw, are we going to eat ice cream and giggle about it?" House asked, clasping his hands dramatically.
"Where?"
"On the mouth."
"Geographically."
"That's not geographic enough for you?"
Wilson gave him a look and House leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "On the roof. And in front of her apartment. Are you done flipping out now?"
"Not even begun. I thought you hated her. She thought you hated her."
"Is everyone but me oblivious to the fact that liking someone and wanting to fuck them senseless are two separate concepts?"
"So you don't actually -- "
"I didn't say that." House groaned. "This is going to mess up my entire life. It was just how I wanted it..."
"You're a miserable gimp addicted to painkillers whose sole joy in life comes from shouting at people," Wilson said. "If that was what you dreamed of as a child, your parents needed to put you in therapy way earlier."
"That's not true. I also enjoy Game Boy."
"House."
House rolled his eyes. "I have a tenured job that lets me do what I want. I have a good team. Things work. Not great, but they work. Besides, nobody's ever as happy as they think they should be."
Wilson was quiet while he tried to think of how he wanted to phrase things, but eventually he gave up. House would risk everything to solve the puzzle, but he wouldn't even comprehend the idea of risking anything for the chance to be happy with someone.
"Then why did you kiss her?" he asked.
"She kissed me first."
"Why?"
"Because she's maladjusted?"
"Dr. House, I think it's for you. Yeah -- it's the kettle. Would you like to call him black?" Wilson offered House an imaginary telephone.
"I laughed," House said.
"What?"
"I laughed at a joke she made about Cuddy's breasts. I think she kissed me because I laughed at one of her jokes."
Wilson tried to process House laughing at a joke Cameron made, Cameron making a joke about Cuddy's breasts, and Cuddy's breasts in any way leading to his best friend kissing a beautiful immunologist on the roof of the hospital. It was all a bit much.
"That's what women do, right? I vaguely recall this," House continued.
Wilson tapped his fingers on his lips, thoughtfully.
"You broke into my home because you didn't want to spend the whole night trying to figure this out on your own," he said. "And you don't want to try to figure this out on your own because you know what the answer is and you just don't like it. It means you might have to actually open up to another human being. To Cameron," he added, knowing that it was the frosting on the dysfunctional cake. "And if you do that you might have to start listening to what she thinks about humanity and being nicer and not kicking puppies anymore."
"I can be in love with someone and not listen to them, I'm also that good," House retorted. "Ask Stacy."
Wilson savoured the moment. "You don't want to make freudian slips around her and let one more person know you well enough to beat you in poker," he continued.
"She probably doesn't even like -- "
"You are being intentionally thick about this because you don't want me to tell you what any normal person would already have come to grips with."
House sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, go ahead."
"Allison is one of the best things that ever happened to you, aside from me of course," Wilson said. "If you blow her off now you're an unmitigated asshole. She likes you, House, and all your reasons for not dating her were crap and you know it. This could be the real thing. Be a man and don't fuck it up."
House leaned forward, resting his chin on his cane.
"How do I not fuck it up?" he asked quietly.
Chapter 2 - Chapter 3
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***
Greg House was kissing his smart, gorgeous assistant on his motorcycle. Deep down inside, he could hear his fourteen year old self say, with every intention of sounding thrilled and every result of sounding stupid, Awesome.
Ha. I was way too amused by the Cameron line alone, and then I read the next paragraph and was killed by the perfect.
House/Cameron isn't usually my cup of tea, but I trust you as a writer enough to check out something I normally wouldn't. And I'm liking it a lot so far.