Fic: neighborhoods
neighborhoods
house md ; house/cameron ; 3,693 words.
there are confident liars with confident lives. spoilers for lockdown and the finale.
notes: Sixth in a series following check your facts, you could be more understanding, when writing distance, chicago the windy city, and so remember now: one and two. For the wonderful, ever-so supportive blueheronz, as my love affair with this series wouldn’t be possible without you.
I’d say it’s really important to read so remember now, both parts, before continuing on. Thank you for continuing to read. I'm really thrilled with everybody enjoying it. :)
-
In the end, there’s nothing to talk about.
The restaurant sits on the other side of the city. On purpose, he tells her when he picks her up. Cameron laughs too.
She sees Sebastian every so often, and this is one of those every so often moments, the kind that she still allows herself to have. They don’t talk about the wedding. They don’t talk about the divorce or his son, the one that she met in the city, the one that he never really sees.
When the wine comes, he grabs the bottle by the neck. She watches.
“So tell me, really, are you happy being here?” he asks casually. She raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer, so he sighs and says: “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but -”
“It’s all relative, right?”
She grins a little. He shakes his head.
“I’m serious.”
Her smile fades. “Sometimes,” she answers slowly. “Sometimes it’s harder than I want it to be. I’m getting used to that too.”
“I didn’t mean to bring that up,” he says, and he’s lying; he asks about House, from time to time, if only to prove a point. He’s not like Chase or Foreman, or her family, for that matter, who gets it because they have to. When Sebastian brings House up, it’s to prove a point and he knows him too.
“Yes you did,” she says and watches as he pours her wine. They don’t wait for the waiter and she tries to remember the last time she’s been on a date because this is a date, just not in the way it should be.
Sebastian looks at her and she braces herself. He’ll order for her later, she remembers, and she’ll let him; not because she finds it romantic, but these are the little amusements that she allows herself to have.
Her fingers brush against the strap of her dress. She thinks about the phone in her bag. There are calls.
“Would you go back?”
She blinks. “To House?” she asks, because that’s what he’s asking, and she knows that this is half a date, half a job offer; Sebastian uses both sides and while she does like him, there’s very little room in liking much about him this way. “No,” she says too. There’s little hesitation. “I wouldn’t.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?” she asks, curious. She tilts her head to the side. “We have this conversation all the time,” she adds.
“I don’t know. The last time I asked you, you - you were different, I guess.”
“I was also getting married.”
They’re quiet. He looks down. Cameron softens because they had one of those moments too, the one time where he asked her and she nearly said yes. No one knows about that moment and she likes to keep a secret or two.
But when it’s just the two of them, she can’t stop remembering. He won’t let her.
“Yeah,” he says. “There was that. But I don’t think it was that. It was like the first time too. You were okay with being there. Now, you’re okay with not.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m growing up?”
She smiles. He laughs. “No, not like that,” he says.
He’s hesitant then. She looks away and into the restaurant. The lighting is too dark. She watches other couples and someone laughs, nearby, but she can’t see them or passes enough interest to really watch.
Sebastian clears his throat. She looks back and reaches for her wine. She pinches the glass stem and pulls it to her, pressing her lips over the rim.
“I think I missed my chance.”
She stares at him. She swallows too.
“I think I missed it long before I -” he stops, studying her. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. He smiles too. “I’m wining and dining you because I can.”
There’s a moment. It’s odd and waiting, but she doesn’t touch it. She laughs anyway.
It shouldn’t faze her but it does. It’s nothing monumental, but it’s in the way that it catches her that she remembers exactly why her reluctance to open up to House was as heavy as it was.
In her bedroom, her suitcase still sits, resting against the corner, next to her closet. She always catches it, coming in and out, wearing scrubs, not wearing scrubs, walking in and out like it’s never really happened. It’s just a suitcase, she tells herself. It’s empty and she knows it’s empty, knows that she hasn’t touched it; it’s a strange feeling, a constant one that remains unexpected and uncomfortable.
These things matter.
Even as the Chief of the hospital, Dr. Richards is a quiet woman. They have known each other for a long time. When Cameron walks into her office, after her shift, the woman is sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk.
Cameron stops, hesitant, but smiles when the woman looks back at her.
“You didn’t do anything,” she says, and leans back into her seat. Her features are striking and hard, the slight arch of her mouth something sort of legendary around here. “I just had a few minutes,” she adds.
“Good to know.”
The other woman laughs. “I just wanted to check in,” she says. “To see you.”
They met when she was kid, back when medical school and friends of your parents meant something. She isn’t a mentor. Cameron thinks she’s had too many of those, the kind that try to prove a point without having a point, and if there’s anything that working for House taught her, there are plenty of those people in the community.
But Richards was, is a different kind of source. She’s supportive in a way that she isn’t used too, and people who work for her, are people who stay working for her. This is what Cameron thinks she’s looking for.
“I’m okay,” she says. She sits down too. Her hand brushes over her eyes. “It’s been a long day, you know?”
“And otherwise?” the woman asks, smiling too. She leans forward, to Cameron’s desk, picking up a photo. It’s her parents, her mother smiling widely and her father’s half-frown. She watches the woman study her mother and then put the photo down on her desk again.
“And otherwise,” Cameron echoes finally. “Everything’s fine. Everyone’s been really wonderful and I’ve been really happy with what I’ve been able to do.”
Dr. Richards nods. “You’re doing good work.”
It’s a little hard to hear, still, as approval always is for her. She smiles shyly and looks away. Her eyes wander to the hallway and there are people starting to pass again. The ER is only a hallway away.
“But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No,” the woman says. “It’s not.” She stands too, smiling a little. It’s strange, Cameron thinks, but returning to this kind of involvement surprises her and surprises her still. Dr. Richards clears her throat. “I wanted to talk to you about where you see yourself in five years, ten years.”
Cameron blinks.
“I - ” It’s always a strange question for her because there’s never really been any time to think about it. She’s never let herself think about it either. It’s an entirely separate kind of question too. “I never know,” she answers slowly. “It’s been one of those questions that I’ve sort of avoided.”
“And now?”
“Being here’s surprised me,” she says. It’s honest and it feels honest; they are two separate feelings, two separate acknowledgments and to hear them, like this, makes her stop and study the other woman.
“I -”
Suddenly she’s talking without any qualms, without any sense of her own need of privacy, and the words are spilling quickly.
“I didn’t think - ” she stops and laughs. “I didn’t think I would be able to see myself here. But I do. In five years, in ten year, I’d like to be here.”
“Good.”
Dr. Richards stands and brushes her hands against her side. She pulls a pen from her lab coat and then lets her fingers spin it, briefly, before putting it back.
“Good,” she says again. “I’d like to keep you, Allison. And I want you to know that I will work with you to keep you here.”
Cameron looks at her, surprised. Dr. Richards laughs.
“You look perplexed,” she says.
“I am.” It’s nothing that she hasn’t wanted to hear, she doesn’t say, or hasn’t needed to hear. She doesn’t tell the other woman or let herself admit to it. She gives herself the moment to hear the words and to face them, still harder even after all these years.
Brushing her fingers against her desk, Cameron offers a smile. “Just a little,” she adds and it’s okay, she thinks too. There’s an answer for this too, one that comes and goes and waits for Cameron to be ready. It’s there too, as the other doctor watches her, moving to the door.
“Why?” she asks and Cameron rubs her eyes before she looks up.
Dr. Richards pauses at the door. Cameron shakes her head. She doesn’t know how to answer that yet. It’s not that easy. It never had the chance to be.
House calls late, just as she’s getting ready to leave. His name blinks twice on the phone.
She doesn’t answer.
The lockers sit in an odd corner of the bottom floor. It’s early morning and she thinks about the conversation she had with the Chief.
There’s nothing wrong with staying; and in an odd turn of events, there’s a sense of confidence knowing that she can, that there’s potential for her to create some kind of life here. It has nothing to do with family or friends, what she has or doesn’t have anymore, and instead of the sense of timing that she expected, it’s becoming clear to her that it’s nothing she needs to wait for.
She changes into her scrubs though. Her bag fits into the back corner of her locker, tightly as she pushes it back with her foot.
“They said I could find you here.”
She jumps, blinking. When she turns, there’s a women standing in front of her. From behind her, Wilson steps into the room. They’re both too put together, is her first thought, and her second thought unravels in the strangest way - she kind of expects it.
Wilson stands taller though, unlike the time she saw him in the kitchen. Maybe she’s paying attention now, she thinks. But when he smiles at her, he pulls at his jacket and then winds an arm around the woman.
“Wilson?” She blinks. “You’re here?”
“And Sam,” the woman next to him says. She earns a look from Wilson and shrugs, looking back at Cameron. “Hello, I’m sorry. It was a long night, a long flight rather.”
“Noted,” Cameron says.
She manages a polite smile, sitting on the bench in front of her locker. The laces of her sneakers are untied, but she doesn’t touch them. She crosses her legs, her palms pressing into her knees.
“Can we take you to breakfast?”
She’s confused. The world seems inexplicably small all of the sudden, with both of them watching her, and she doesn’t like the feeling.
“I - um, my day starts in ten minutes,” she says. She looks up at the two of them, and then at the clock behind them, shrugging. “You could pour me coffee from over there, if you want to.”
Wilson seems disappointed. The woman next to him nods. She smiles, humming and moves to the coffee pot in the corner. It could be cold, but Cameron finds herself watching curiously.
When the woman - Sam, she remembers - hands her the coffee, she manages a smile. Her fingers curl around the cup and the woman steps back, moving to stand next to Wilson too.
“Give me a few minutes?” he asks her, touching her arm. “I just -” he doesn’t have to finish as the woman nods.
“I’ll wait outside,” she tells them. She smiles at Cameron. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
They’re quiet, even after she leaves. Cameron catches a glimpse of her in the hallway, moving to stand away. Wilson sighs loudly though and moves to sit in front of her, straddling the bench.
It’s sort of odd, knowing that they could be friends, that one point, always one point they were friends and it was or had been something that she would’ve loved to keep. But like past and remembering that people do change, nothing ever sticks. She doesn’t miss him.
“We’re here for a wedding.”
She nods.
“I’m not - we’re not,” he says and stops. She studies him, half-amused. “We’re not trying to bother you,” Wilson finishes. “I just feel like we - you and I - left things in a really strange place.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She shrugs too. “There’s nothing to worry about it,” she says. “I think we were both taken by surprise and that’s what it was.”
“I don’t know -”
He has this look on his face and she straightens, uncomfortable. She doesn’t know why he feels the need to be here, to fix things - she recognizes the look on his face. She shakes her head.
“I don’t need your pity,” she says. “Whatever you think you walked into is simply none of your business. I’m not trying to be rude. It’s not that I don’t appreciate seeing you. It’s just … I really don’t need your pity. It’s not something that I want either, you know?”
“Right.”
Wilson smiles. He gives her a look that she should know, but barely recognizes. Her mouth twists back with some kind of response and then she looks away.
She straightens her legs, pulling one up to the bench and then slowly tying her shoes. She checks the clock again, but they haven’t been here long enough. Sitting with him here, she thinks, it still feels like some kind of forever.
“I think he misses you.”
She sighs. He shrugs back. “I do,” he says too.
“As nice as it is to see you,” she says and then nods outside. She catches the woman, Sam, peeking in. “And to meet -” she bites her lip, skipping names. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But he told you.”
She stands. She forgets about her other shoe. The laces smack against the floor.
“He told you,” Wilson says. “Otherwise -”
“We’d be married with kids? Things are complicated, but I’m stupid.”
He frowns. She holds her ground. Her hands move to her hips. They drop and she remembers her coffee. It’s on the floor and she bends over the bench to pick it up. She doesn’t remember putting it down.
“I didn’t say you were,” he says.
Her mouth twists. “You didn’t have to,” she says and it’s petulant, angry even; the feeling surprises her and she turns, gripping her coffee tightly. “Whatever happens, whatever is happening or isn’t, I’d prefer it to stay between the two of us. Not because I care who knows, but it’s how it’s always been.”
“He’s happy.”
The way Wilson says it hurts more than she needs it too. She watches as he stands and how his gaze is suddenly more sympathetic. She draws herself up and her shoulders tighten; somehow, she feels entirely too small.
But she’s thought about him being happy, when she was there to see Chase that first time to the last time she was with him, just him, when she thought it was going to start to count. And when does it? She wonders if she’s being selfish because the way Wilson is watching her, it feels unwarranted and it makes her angry again, frustrated even.
She holds her coffee though. Tightly, and then she breathes; the rim presses into her lip and what she tastes is bitter and cold. She looks down at it and listens to Wilson stand, sighing loudly. She could give him an answer, she thinks. She doesn’t have to. Maybe this is why she left.
“I’m glad,” she says. It takes her a minute, but she smiles, just before she goes.
The call comes later in the weekend. A friend takes her out for a drink. It takes awhile for Cameron to touch her glass.
“I’ll be right back,” she yells over the music.
Her friend smiles widely. It gives her a chance to ignore the phone, to not go through the motions of will I, do I have to; it’s the kind of game that she plays with herself. Her hands brush over her jeans and she slips between the crowd, nearly bursting outside and into the cooler air.
There’s no breeze and she presses a hand to the back of her neck, as she answers the phone. Her fingers press into sweat and she sighs.
“What?”
“You answered,” and it’s House, House’s amusement low and thick in his voice. She smiles only because he can’t see her and it feels spiteful. She leans against the wall nearby the door and watches people as they come in and out of the bar.
“One usually does that when there’s a phone call,” she says.
There’s an eruption of loud music when the door stays open, suddenly, and a swarm of car horns rush by her. There are no flashes and it takes her a minute to remind herself that hospital is not close by, and it’s the reason why her friend got her to agree to any of this.
“Where are you?” House asks loudly.
She blinks. “You’re calling.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says.
“That doesn’t answer mine,” she shoots back. “But then again, you really never answer, and when you do answer, you’re answering because you want something and when you want something, you’re usually - oh god.”
Her hand brushes over her eyes. She’s not drunk. Two glasses of wine, she thinks. She’s only had two of them. It’s the third that’s sitting on the bar untouched. She can’t even remember what her friend was trying to talk about, just pieces of a conversation she wasn’t paying attention too.
“I’m not drunk,” she mutters, more for herself.
“You’re drunk and I’m not there.” There’s amusement in his voice and she flushes. “This makes me really sad,” he says.
“Shut up.”
“Seriously sad,” he says and there’s a laugh, or something that sounds like a laugh, she’s not entirely sure because she can’t see him and that makes her irritated as her mind starts to step back into everything that’s happened before.
She’s not going back to him. And she tells him, “I’m not going back to see you,” and she decides that’s more than enough to tell him again: “I’m not going back to see you so whatever you’re trying to do, stop.”
There’s that sound again, the almost-laugh, low like it’s brushing against her ear. She remembers what it’s like to be close to him and that’s part of it, part of the problem; she’s craving something that she can’t have and as much as he thinks he’s letting her, he isn’t. There’s a new distance here and she’s not sure what to do about it.
“Stop what?” he asks.
He’s mocking her, she decides. She growls and it just slips:
“Stop talking and do something about it,” she says.
The cab takes an early turn before her neighborhood. She has a headache but still smiles when she pays the guy, stumbling out just before he pulls away from the curb. Her friend had laughed about something like girl power and it was funny, but Cameron doesn’t care enough to remember again.
When she looks up, there is House sitting on her steps, but it takes her a few, long seconds to recognize him, maybe even more to process it, along with a few steps to walk closer. Her arms immediately fold against her chest. He pokes his bag with his cane and smirks, shrugging.
“I’m doing something about it,” he calls.
She stops. Her heart is racing and it’s ridiculous, being too aware, because she wants to be angry. She wants to be angry for once without having to see him or knowing that he’s there. But he’s here too. It forces her to be everywhere at once, to grasp what she can without preparing or knowing how to prepare. There’s no best, there’s no worst, and looking at him, she feels too much of the same thing.
Just more again, she thinks. “Did you figure it out?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer. He pushes himself up to stand and she watches, biting her lip. He leans hard into his cane and she almost reaches for him.
“No,” he says.
He meets her gaze. “No,” he says again. “But I want to be here.”
Don’t make me think they’re just words, she doesn’t say. She thinks it. Part of her knows it too; some of the things that he says, most of them when involving some sort of change, are just words, words that he can give and take away. She just can’t do that anymore. Not with him, not with anyone else.
She looks at him and she’s tired. She doesn’t shy away from him seeing it. She has nothing left. She told him once, she told him again, and it’s ready to be told once more. She’s protecting herself.
But House takes a step forward. He presses a palm into her cheek and she lets out a sigh, her lips parting. They feel dry, even as his fingers slide over them. Her gaze wavers under the motion, but she tries not to look away. He softens or she thinks he softens. It feels too much like something she needs, and very little of something that she wants; they are not the same anymore. She doesn’t think well, he’ll mean it this time or how badly she wants him to me something, anything, whether it be goodbye or this is it.
She’s not ready to expect anything different. House leans forward, pressing into her.
Then he says it: “Let me be here.”
house md ; house/cameron ; 3,693 words.
there are confident liars with confident lives. spoilers for lockdown and the finale.
notes: Sixth in a series following check your facts, you could be more understanding, when writing distance, chicago the windy city, and so remember now: one and two. For the wonderful, ever-so supportive blueheronz, as my love affair with this series wouldn’t be possible without you.
I’d say it’s really important to read so remember now, both parts, before continuing on. Thank you for continuing to read. I'm really thrilled with everybody enjoying it. :)
-
In the end, there’s nothing to talk about.
The restaurant sits on the other side of the city. On purpose, he tells her when he picks her up. Cameron laughs too.
She sees Sebastian every so often, and this is one of those every so often moments, the kind that she still allows herself to have. They don’t talk about the wedding. They don’t talk about the divorce or his son, the one that she met in the city, the one that he never really sees.
When the wine comes, he grabs the bottle by the neck. She watches.
“So tell me, really, are you happy being here?” he asks casually. She raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer, so he sighs and says: “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but -”
“It’s all relative, right?”
She grins a little. He shakes his head.
“I’m serious.”
Her smile fades. “Sometimes,” she answers slowly. “Sometimes it’s harder than I want it to be. I’m getting used to that too.”
“I didn’t mean to bring that up,” he says, and he’s lying; he asks about House, from time to time, if only to prove a point. He’s not like Chase or Foreman, or her family, for that matter, who gets it because they have to. When Sebastian brings House up, it’s to prove a point and he knows him too.
“Yes you did,” she says and watches as he pours her wine. They don’t wait for the waiter and she tries to remember the last time she’s been on a date because this is a date, just not in the way it should be.
Sebastian looks at her and she braces herself. He’ll order for her later, she remembers, and she’ll let him; not because she finds it romantic, but these are the little amusements that she allows herself to have.
Her fingers brush against the strap of her dress. She thinks about the phone in her bag. There are calls.
“Would you go back?”
She blinks. “To House?” she asks, because that’s what he’s asking, and she knows that this is half a date, half a job offer; Sebastian uses both sides and while she does like him, there’s very little room in liking much about him this way. “No,” she says too. There’s little hesitation. “I wouldn’t.”
He looks surprised. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?” she asks, curious. She tilts her head to the side. “We have this conversation all the time,” she adds.
“I don’t know. The last time I asked you, you - you were different, I guess.”
“I was also getting married.”
They’re quiet. He looks down. Cameron softens because they had one of those moments too, the one time where he asked her and she nearly said yes. No one knows about that moment and she likes to keep a secret or two.
But when it’s just the two of them, she can’t stop remembering. He won’t let her.
“Yeah,” he says. “There was that. But I don’t think it was that. It was like the first time too. You were okay with being there. Now, you’re okay with not.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I’m growing up?”
She smiles. He laughs. “No, not like that,” he says.
He’s hesitant then. She looks away and into the restaurant. The lighting is too dark. She watches other couples and someone laughs, nearby, but she can’t see them or passes enough interest to really watch.
Sebastian clears his throat. She looks back and reaches for her wine. She pinches the glass stem and pulls it to her, pressing her lips over the rim.
“I think I missed my chance.”
She stares at him. She swallows too.
“I think I missed it long before I -” he stops, studying her. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. He smiles too. “I’m wining and dining you because I can.”
There’s a moment. It’s odd and waiting, but she doesn’t touch it. She laughs anyway.
It shouldn’t faze her but it does. It’s nothing monumental, but it’s in the way that it catches her that she remembers exactly why her reluctance to open up to House was as heavy as it was.
In her bedroom, her suitcase still sits, resting against the corner, next to her closet. She always catches it, coming in and out, wearing scrubs, not wearing scrubs, walking in and out like it’s never really happened. It’s just a suitcase, she tells herself. It’s empty and she knows it’s empty, knows that she hasn’t touched it; it’s a strange feeling, a constant one that remains unexpected and uncomfortable.
These things matter.
Even as the Chief of the hospital, Dr. Richards is a quiet woman. They have known each other for a long time. When Cameron walks into her office, after her shift, the woman is sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk.
Cameron stops, hesitant, but smiles when the woman looks back at her.
“You didn’t do anything,” she says, and leans back into her seat. Her features are striking and hard, the slight arch of her mouth something sort of legendary around here. “I just had a few minutes,” she adds.
“Good to know.”
The other woman laughs. “I just wanted to check in,” she says. “To see you.”
They met when she was kid, back when medical school and friends of your parents meant something. She isn’t a mentor. Cameron thinks she’s had too many of those, the kind that try to prove a point without having a point, and if there’s anything that working for House taught her, there are plenty of those people in the community.
But Richards was, is a different kind of source. She’s supportive in a way that she isn’t used too, and people who work for her, are people who stay working for her. This is what Cameron thinks she’s looking for.
“I’m okay,” she says. She sits down too. Her hand brushes over her eyes. “It’s been a long day, you know?”
“And otherwise?” the woman asks, smiling too. She leans forward, to Cameron’s desk, picking up a photo. It’s her parents, her mother smiling widely and her father’s half-frown. She watches the woman study her mother and then put the photo down on her desk again.
“And otherwise,” Cameron echoes finally. “Everything’s fine. Everyone’s been really wonderful and I’ve been really happy with what I’ve been able to do.”
Dr. Richards nods. “You’re doing good work.”
It’s a little hard to hear, still, as approval always is for her. She smiles shyly and looks away. Her eyes wander to the hallway and there are people starting to pass again. The ER is only a hallway away.
“But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No,” the woman says. “It’s not.” She stands too, smiling a little. It’s strange, Cameron thinks, but returning to this kind of involvement surprises her and surprises her still. Dr. Richards clears her throat. “I wanted to talk to you about where you see yourself in five years, ten years.”
Cameron blinks.
“I - ” It’s always a strange question for her because there’s never really been any time to think about it. She’s never let herself think about it either. It’s an entirely separate kind of question too. “I never know,” she answers slowly. “It’s been one of those questions that I’ve sort of avoided.”
“And now?”
“Being here’s surprised me,” she says. It’s honest and it feels honest; they are two separate feelings, two separate acknowledgments and to hear them, like this, makes her stop and study the other woman.
“I -”
Suddenly she’s talking without any qualms, without any sense of her own need of privacy, and the words are spilling quickly.
“I didn’t think - ” she stops and laughs. “I didn’t think I would be able to see myself here. But I do. In five years, in ten year, I’d like to be here.”
“Good.”
Dr. Richards stands and brushes her hands against her side. She pulls a pen from her lab coat and then lets her fingers spin it, briefly, before putting it back.
“Good,” she says again. “I’d like to keep you, Allison. And I want you to know that I will work with you to keep you here.”
Cameron looks at her, surprised. Dr. Richards laughs.
“You look perplexed,” she says.
“I am.” It’s nothing that she hasn’t wanted to hear, she doesn’t say, or hasn’t needed to hear. She doesn’t tell the other woman or let herself admit to it. She gives herself the moment to hear the words and to face them, still harder even after all these years.
Brushing her fingers against her desk, Cameron offers a smile. “Just a little,” she adds and it’s okay, she thinks too. There’s an answer for this too, one that comes and goes and waits for Cameron to be ready. It’s there too, as the other doctor watches her, moving to the door.
“Why?” she asks and Cameron rubs her eyes before she looks up.
Dr. Richards pauses at the door. Cameron shakes her head. She doesn’t know how to answer that yet. It’s not that easy. It never had the chance to be.
House calls late, just as she’s getting ready to leave. His name blinks twice on the phone.
She doesn’t answer.
The lockers sit in an odd corner of the bottom floor. It’s early morning and she thinks about the conversation she had with the Chief.
There’s nothing wrong with staying; and in an odd turn of events, there’s a sense of confidence knowing that she can, that there’s potential for her to create some kind of life here. It has nothing to do with family or friends, what she has or doesn’t have anymore, and instead of the sense of timing that she expected, it’s becoming clear to her that it’s nothing she needs to wait for.
She changes into her scrubs though. Her bag fits into the back corner of her locker, tightly as she pushes it back with her foot.
“They said I could find you here.”
She jumps, blinking. When she turns, there’s a women standing in front of her. From behind her, Wilson steps into the room. They’re both too put together, is her first thought, and her second thought unravels in the strangest way - she kind of expects it.
Wilson stands taller though, unlike the time she saw him in the kitchen. Maybe she’s paying attention now, she thinks. But when he smiles at her, he pulls at his jacket and then winds an arm around the woman.
“Wilson?” She blinks. “You’re here?”
“And Sam,” the woman next to him says. She earns a look from Wilson and shrugs, looking back at Cameron. “Hello, I’m sorry. It was a long night, a long flight rather.”
“Noted,” Cameron says.
She manages a polite smile, sitting on the bench in front of her locker. The laces of her sneakers are untied, but she doesn’t touch them. She crosses her legs, her palms pressing into her knees.
“Can we take you to breakfast?”
She’s confused. The world seems inexplicably small all of the sudden, with both of them watching her, and she doesn’t like the feeling.
“I - um, my day starts in ten minutes,” she says. She looks up at the two of them, and then at the clock behind them, shrugging. “You could pour me coffee from over there, if you want to.”
Wilson seems disappointed. The woman next to him nods. She smiles, humming and moves to the coffee pot in the corner. It could be cold, but Cameron finds herself watching curiously.
When the woman - Sam, she remembers - hands her the coffee, she manages a smile. Her fingers curl around the cup and the woman steps back, moving to stand next to Wilson too.
“Give me a few minutes?” he asks her, touching her arm. “I just -” he doesn’t have to finish as the woman nods.
“I’ll wait outside,” she tells them. She smiles at Cameron. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
They’re quiet, even after she leaves. Cameron catches a glimpse of her in the hallway, moving to stand away. Wilson sighs loudly though and moves to sit in front of her, straddling the bench.
It’s sort of odd, knowing that they could be friends, that one point, always one point they were friends and it was or had been something that she would’ve loved to keep. But like past and remembering that people do change, nothing ever sticks. She doesn’t miss him.
“We’re here for a wedding.”
She nods.
“I’m not - we’re not,” he says and stops. She studies him, half-amused. “We’re not trying to bother you,” Wilson finishes. “I just feel like we - you and I - left things in a really strange place.”
“It’s okay,” she says. She shrugs too. “There’s nothing to worry about it,” she says. “I think we were both taken by surprise and that’s what it was.”
“I don’t know -”
He has this look on his face and she straightens, uncomfortable. She doesn’t know why he feels the need to be here, to fix things - she recognizes the look on his face. She shakes her head.
“I don’t need your pity,” she says. “Whatever you think you walked into is simply none of your business. I’m not trying to be rude. It’s not that I don’t appreciate seeing you. It’s just … I really don’t need your pity. It’s not something that I want either, you know?”
“Right.”
Wilson smiles. He gives her a look that she should know, but barely recognizes. Her mouth twists back with some kind of response and then she looks away.
She straightens her legs, pulling one up to the bench and then slowly tying her shoes. She checks the clock again, but they haven’t been here long enough. Sitting with him here, she thinks, it still feels like some kind of forever.
“I think he misses you.”
She sighs. He shrugs back. “I do,” he says too.
“As nice as it is to see you,” she says and then nods outside. She catches the woman, Sam, peeking in. “And to meet -” she bites her lip, skipping names. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“But he told you.”
She stands. She forgets about her other shoe. The laces smack against the floor.
“He told you,” Wilson says. “Otherwise -”
“We’d be married with kids? Things are complicated, but I’m stupid.”
He frowns. She holds her ground. Her hands move to her hips. They drop and she remembers her coffee. It’s on the floor and she bends over the bench to pick it up. She doesn’t remember putting it down.
“I didn’t say you were,” he says.
Her mouth twists. “You didn’t have to,” she says and it’s petulant, angry even; the feeling surprises her and she turns, gripping her coffee tightly. “Whatever happens, whatever is happening or isn’t, I’d prefer it to stay between the two of us. Not because I care who knows, but it’s how it’s always been.”
“He’s happy.”
The way Wilson says it hurts more than she needs it too. She watches as he stands and how his gaze is suddenly more sympathetic. She draws herself up and her shoulders tighten; somehow, she feels entirely too small.
But she’s thought about him being happy, when she was there to see Chase that first time to the last time she was with him, just him, when she thought it was going to start to count. And when does it? She wonders if she’s being selfish because the way Wilson is watching her, it feels unwarranted and it makes her angry again, frustrated even.
She holds her coffee though. Tightly, and then she breathes; the rim presses into her lip and what she tastes is bitter and cold. She looks down at it and listens to Wilson stand, sighing loudly. She could give him an answer, she thinks. She doesn’t have to. Maybe this is why she left.
“I’m glad,” she says. It takes her a minute, but she smiles, just before she goes.
The call comes later in the weekend. A friend takes her out for a drink. It takes awhile for Cameron to touch her glass.
“I’ll be right back,” she yells over the music.
Her friend smiles widely. It gives her a chance to ignore the phone, to not go through the motions of will I, do I have to; it’s the kind of game that she plays with herself. Her hands brush over her jeans and she slips between the crowd, nearly bursting outside and into the cooler air.
There’s no breeze and she presses a hand to the back of her neck, as she answers the phone. Her fingers press into sweat and she sighs.
“What?”
“You answered,” and it’s House, House’s amusement low and thick in his voice. She smiles only because he can’t see her and it feels spiteful. She leans against the wall nearby the door and watches people as they come in and out of the bar.
“One usually does that when there’s a phone call,” she says.
There’s an eruption of loud music when the door stays open, suddenly, and a swarm of car horns rush by her. There are no flashes and it takes her a minute to remind herself that hospital is not close by, and it’s the reason why her friend got her to agree to any of this.
“Where are you?” House asks loudly.
She blinks. “You’re calling.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says.
“That doesn’t answer mine,” she shoots back. “But then again, you really never answer, and when you do answer, you’re answering because you want something and when you want something, you’re usually - oh god.”
Her hand brushes over her eyes. She’s not drunk. Two glasses of wine, she thinks. She’s only had two of them. It’s the third that’s sitting on the bar untouched. She can’t even remember what her friend was trying to talk about, just pieces of a conversation she wasn’t paying attention too.
“I’m not drunk,” she mutters, more for herself.
“You’re drunk and I’m not there.” There’s amusement in his voice and she flushes. “This makes me really sad,” he says.
“Shut up.”
“Seriously sad,” he says and there’s a laugh, or something that sounds like a laugh, she’s not entirely sure because she can’t see him and that makes her irritated as her mind starts to step back into everything that’s happened before.
She’s not going back to him. And she tells him, “I’m not going back to see you,” and she decides that’s more than enough to tell him again: “I’m not going back to see you so whatever you’re trying to do, stop.”
There’s that sound again, the almost-laugh, low like it’s brushing against her ear. She remembers what it’s like to be close to him and that’s part of it, part of the problem; she’s craving something that she can’t have and as much as he thinks he’s letting her, he isn’t. There’s a new distance here and she’s not sure what to do about it.
“Stop what?” he asks.
He’s mocking her, she decides. She growls and it just slips:
“Stop talking and do something about it,” she says.
The cab takes an early turn before her neighborhood. She has a headache but still smiles when she pays the guy, stumbling out just before he pulls away from the curb. Her friend had laughed about something like girl power and it was funny, but Cameron doesn’t care enough to remember again.
When she looks up, there is House sitting on her steps, but it takes her a few, long seconds to recognize him, maybe even more to process it, along with a few steps to walk closer. Her arms immediately fold against her chest. He pokes his bag with his cane and smirks, shrugging.
“I’m doing something about it,” he calls.
She stops. Her heart is racing and it’s ridiculous, being too aware, because she wants to be angry. She wants to be angry for once without having to see him or knowing that he’s there. But he’s here too. It forces her to be everywhere at once, to grasp what she can without preparing or knowing how to prepare. There’s no best, there’s no worst, and looking at him, she feels too much of the same thing.
Just more again, she thinks. “Did you figure it out?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer. He pushes himself up to stand and she watches, biting her lip. He leans hard into his cane and she almost reaches for him.
“No,” he says.
He meets her gaze. “No,” he says again. “But I want to be here.”
Don’t make me think they’re just words, she doesn’t say. She thinks it. Part of her knows it too; some of the things that he says, most of them when involving some sort of change, are just words, words that he can give and take away. She just can’t do that anymore. Not with him, not with anyone else.
She looks at him and she’s tired. She doesn’t shy away from him seeing it. She has nothing left. She told him once, she told him again, and it’s ready to be told once more. She’s protecting herself.
But House takes a step forward. He presses a palm into her cheek and she lets out a sigh, her lips parting. They feel dry, even as his fingers slide over them. Her gaze wavers under the motion, but she tries not to look away. He softens or she thinks he softens. It feels too much like something she needs, and very little of something that she wants; they are not the same anymore. She doesn’t think well, he’ll mean it this time or how badly she wants him to me something, anything, whether it be goodbye or this is it.
She’s not ready to expect anything different. House leans forward, pressing into her.
Then he says it: “Let me be here.”