Fic: you remember your sources
you remember your sources
house md ; house/cameron ; 3,636 words ; PG
change means a different city with a name. spoilers for lockdown and the finale.
notes: Final part in a series following check your facts, you could be more understanding, when writing distance, chicago the windy city, so remember now: one and two, and neighborhoods, what makes a line, and you wrote your myths. For the wonderful, ever-so supportive blueheronz, as my love affair with this series wouldn’t be possible without you.
-
The second week he’s in Chicago, they’re walking out of her parents’ townhouse. There is a cab waiting.
“I don’t expect to be happy,” he tells her. It means so many things.
He buys a place of his own. It’s funny, when she thinks about it. It works too. It’s a strange way of declaring the kind of space that they need.
“I had a kid today that called me power hungry,” he says. He grins widely, boyishly and she shakes her head. “It makes me sexy,” he adds.
“Charming too,” she says dryly.
He makes her dinner twice a week. They stand in his kitchen and she watches, still fascinated as he moves around. There is a pot here, vegetables there, and such an impressive array of colors that overwhelm her too. It’s silly, thinking about it, but he continues to surprise her in more ways than one.
“I don’t miss it,” he says and she turns, just as she leans against the counter. There’s a window by her side and they’re greeted by the city skyline, all grays and bright lights. She keeps waiting to see Princeton, for whatever reason. It’s still hard to think of House as being here and being somewhat responsible for that choice.
“No?” she still asks.
He shrugs. “I do what I do. I can do it from wherever. So people don’t like me, which is fine, but I have my name.”
“You do,” she says.
“Your boss hates me,” he says, and she laughs.
He hands her a jar to open as he turns to the stove. The smells in the kitchen are wonderful. She opens the jar and moves to him, watching as he drops a towel on the side. He takes the jar from her.
“I met her once,” he says. “She hated me then too,” he says.
Her hair falls over her eyes when she looks up at him. He’s amused and leans forward, brushing his mouth against her jaw.
“Well, you’re - tough?” Cameron tells him, and he smirks. It’s no secret that what universally exists is some sort of heavy apathy and sympathy when it comes to acknowledging some sort of connection with House. Dr. Richards is no different. “But I like her, “she adds too.
“You would.”
It’s too late to have dinner, she thinks anyway, and somehow the two of them have completely made this idea of time irrelevant. She rubs her eyes.
He cooks quietly. She moves around the kitchen, setting the table outside. She pours herself a glass of wine. Everything feels good, not easy, and she isn’t sure where she should place this.
The thing is there is more of him and her here. In the bedroom, she knows that sheets are pulled back into a mess. They spend more time here.
“It’s strange,” he says slowly, looking down. His feet shuffle over the tiles. She watches as he hooks his cane over the counter. “I didn’t expect not to want to go back, not to have that drive to be in a place that’s supposed to be comfortable to me. It feels different. All of this,” he says.
He turns towards her too, stepping forward. He touches her hip.
“Is that okay?” she asks.
His mouth curls in amusement. He steps forward, then stands over her. His hands press into her shoulders. She shakes her head.
“Stop,” she murmurs. “I’m trying to be serious,” she says.
“I know,” he says.
“Then?”
He leans in and kisses her. Her mouth curls against his and he sighs. His fingers spread against the back of her neck, sliding slowly into her hair. They press back against the counter, her hip hitting the ledge. She feels herself sigh against his mouth and House, just as he laughs back.
She tastes the sound, opening her mouth back over his. She slips her tongue inside, along his lip and over his tongue. He makes another sound, then one more, and she turns them, pressing against him and the counter. Her hands curl around his and she pins them back. Her fingers curl into his palm and she pushes his hands back. She leans against him, up on her toes and lets him sigh into her mouth.
“It’s going to take me some time,” he breathes, then moans, and he turns her again, hard against the counter. Dinner is forgotten. She tries to breathe but his fingers are pulling into her hair. Her hips arch into his and they sort of stumble against each other, held up by the pressure of the counter.
“I know,” she breathes too, finally. She has to draw back.
She trembles. His hips still press back into hers. She remembers dinner but doesn’t push him away from her.
“Do you really?”
She rubs her eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to reassure me. You’re here and that’s - well, I never expected this either.”
The words feel unsettling. She still knows his mouth. Her fingers press against her throat, her own mouth, and she looks up at him, just as he catches her. His mouth turns and he shakes his head.
House pats her hip. He steps around her too.
“The thing is,” she says and leans against the counter. “We’re not perfect.”
He turns again, quickly. She doesn’t catch him and he presses his mouth over her skin. She sighs breathlessly. He makes a sound against her shoulder. A laugh, maybe. It’s easier to see him smirk. When his lips touch her neck again, he sighs.
“I’m not,” he says.
There is a coffee shop around the corner from the hospital now. It’s closer than the one she remembers walking to with him, around the first time he came to see her. They sit together by a window. House pushes his coffee towards her. She smiles faintly before picking it up.
“I’m fine,” she says, and it’s funny because they didn’t talk about this, and they certainly don’t talk about pieces of her past yet. The fact remains that Lydia is another name and looking at House, watching him as he studies her hands and his coffee, she can’t help but worry about him.
“I’m not,” he says.
She nods. She says nothing. I’m here for you sounds redundant, heavy even. It’s the sort of thing that remains unnecessary for both of them. For Cameron, it’s just something to get used to.
“She found me,” he says, and he looks at her too, curiously, openly, as if he were expecting her to flinch and react. They sit elbow to elbow too. She reaches over and brushes her fingers over his wrist.
“Are you sure you want me here?” and she’s honest because she doesn’t know how else to say it. She respects his privacy and because he’s here, because they’re here, she wants nothing more than to show him. Her fingers curl around his coffee and she pulls it to her mouth.
“I can head back to the hospital.” Her mouth twists. “Finish up paperwork, be home early and all.”
He doesn’t look at her. Somehow, she can’t remember the last time she’s really been in her apartment. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. He nods, finally.
“Yeah,” he says. His shoulders drop back. His gaze meets hers and his eyes are too bright.
They wait. House reaches for his coffee again.
When she gets back to the hospital, it’s a madhouse. There is a bus accident in the middle of the city and she catches the driver, just as they pull him out of the ambulance. Her fingers are buried deep in his leg to catch the wound.
She barely remembers that Lydia is late, was late, and any opportunity to see the other woman is long gone. She focuses on the task at hand. There are nurses swarming and this energy pulses through her; she can never explain it right, all she knows is that she’s useful, that she feels useful, and that drives her in a way that she still isn’t used to.
But when the madness dies down, Cameron manages to sneak outside for some air. Her hands are over her face, then in her hair, and she’s pulling it loose, thinking about how much she’s looking forward to being home and how she really hasn’t had that feeling in a really long time.
There’s an empty bench by the sidewalk. She sits, pulls up her legs and crosses them underneath her. Cameron rests her elbows over her knees and sighs. Her phone buzzes at her hip. She doesn’t touch it.
It takes a minute for her to see them too. When she does, they are walking side-by-side and comfortable from the street. The woman is smiling at House, carefully, but that disappears as soon as he acknowledges Cameron.
They stop in front of her. House bends forward, brushing his mouth over her forehead. “This is Lydia,” he says.
It takes her awhile to process Lydia’s name. The woman stands in front of her, bright-eyed and shy. There’s a smile somewhere between the three of them and House seems to watch them carefully, almost as if he weren’t here to meet either of them. It bothers her, for whatever reason.
“Hello,” she murmurs, and the woman smiles too, looking at her critically even. Cameron’s too tired to stand but offers her hand anyway. “It’s pleasure,” she says. I’ve heard so much about you, she doesn’t say. There are rules for this one.
“You as well,” Lydia says. “I’m sorry - did we catch you at a bad time?”
Cameron shakes her head. “No.”
This is different, she thinks too. Somehow she’s already made the acknowledgement that they are always going to have a lot to learn about each other. In some ways, House has met her halfway there too. She wonders if this is a part of it.
“It’s just been a long day,” she offers kindly. The woman smiles in turn too. “I promise,” Cameron says, “that I’m not always like that.”
The other woman laughs. House steps closer to Cameron. His fingers gaze her shoulder and she can’t help but lean into him a little bit. It’s strange and awkward, but there’s so little of her that tries to make that better. House isn’t Chase and she’s different in kind with House.
“My sister’s a musician,” Lydia says too, and shares a look with House. Cameron doesn’t miss it. She thinks of her mother. “She has a show tomorrow night - I’d like to extend an invitation to the two of you.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, and she stands.
Her attention is caught, briefly, by the cry of sirens that comes running closer. Cameron feels herself automatically tense, but the sound passes. She can’t help but shake her head and then watches as a few of her nurses wander outside, just to check.
There are habits that she’s picked that are still very much her thing, but open. She worries and doesn’t apologize. She gets angry. She pushes. It’s still sort of unreal how she left the city and now, why she came back.
“It’s early tomorrow,” Lydia says.
House moves to stand next to her. “Easy,” he says too, grunting. Cameron looks up at him and his mouth shifts, slightly. She looks back to Lydia then.
“I’d love to,” she says.
“Good,” the woman says. “I’ll pass along the tickets for the two of you. Hopefully, we’ll be able to chat more. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Allison.”
Cameron blinks. Then as quickly as she came, the other woman is gone with a few goodbyes. It’s as if she was merely meant to exist as a kind afterthought, one of those that stick with you far too romantic with its memories.
When House turns back, he looks down at her. There’s a slight smile and Cameron can’t help but smile back, heavier in amusement.
“Heard a lot, huh?” There’s a brief thought of Princeton, but she lets it go. She sits back done too, as if staying static would make the rest of her night move faster. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“She asked,” he says. “And you introduced me to your mother. Somehow, that means some kind of declaration of love.”
Cameron laughs, rubbing her eyes. She blushes too. “I did not. It was more like, I forgot we had a lunch and my mother decided to introduce herself to you. But okay.”
He sits next to her.
“What happened?”
The question is awkward, forced. She appreciates the attempt. Her hand reaches out and brushes over his arm. He’s teaching, still different from the years that he’s used to; but then again, since his breakdown, since things have changed for her, nothing’s really been the same either.
She’s of the belief that somehow, they understand each other through similarity. There are choices that she’s made that are parallel to things that have happened to him. She’s understood him for so long as something she’s never been able to have.
But when he leans into her, his mouth brushes along her jaw. Her eyes close and she thinks that there’s a reason for whatever this is. She doesn’t know how far or where it might go. Somehow, there’s something about that for her that’s okay.
“What happened?” he asks again, catching her. She blinks and her thoughts drop as she blushes. It’s cooling tonight and she pulls at her scrubs. She hates fidgeting and fidgeting in front of him. Most of the time, she can catch some sort of amusement when he looks at her.
But he’s serious here, looking to her and then the hospital. It takes her a minute to remind herself that he’s teaching too and that there’s a part of him that probably misses this.
“It’s an emergency room. Things happen.” It’s one of those conversations. He’s sincere, but the motion isn’t a fit for the two of them. She looks up and leans forward, kissing his jaw too. “You would’ve hated today,” she adds.
He scoffs. Then he chuckles softly.
“I don’t miss it.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s weird. I’m supposed to, right? But anyone can call me evil, a bastard, and a tremendous waste of time - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong, since I have the power to fail them.”
She can’t help but laugh. He smirks. There’s some kind of enjoyment underneath what he says that she picks up on. He’s sharing and she knows how to keep that close to her.
She sobers too. She thinks of the accident. Then she thinks of Lydia: beautiful woman, bright eyes and that kind of smile that sort of splits itself between Stacey and Cuddy in a strange, strange way. There’s lots of sadness too and there’s that relationship, something that thrives even without acknowledgement.
Swallowing, she looks at House.
“Do you want to?” she asks and then nearly kicks herself, looking away. It’s stupid question but she can’t help herself. “I mean, you did say this is a sabbatical.”
“I know. It is.”
“Right.”
There is a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. It’s awkward to think about. Maybe she’s worried about him going back, about him leaving after this runs its course or leaving even before that. These are the things that she hates herself most for thinking, that seem unforgiving at best.
Her feet push herself up to stand. She goes through the motions and turns, fidgeting. Brushing her fingers over his hands, just as they rest over his cane, she leans closer to him, peering down at him too.
“Do you want to stay?” she asks, and carefully, trying to be careful and not think about it at the same time. It’s impossible, really. She knows that he’s been here long enough where it’s something that she can’t even begin to separate; he’s more a part of her life than ever.
Her eyes burn. She touches the back of one of his hands, then his knuckles. Underneath the tips of her fingers, his hands seem to relax.
“I don’t want to keep you here,” she says. “I don’t want to be that person that keeps you back, you know? I don’t mean to sound redundant, but I just - do you want to stay here, sabbatical or otherwise?”
Her words taste a little funny. He makes a noise, deep and from the back of his throat. He lays the cane over his lap, shifting forward.
When he leans up, into her, kiss her, she stops him. Her fingers brush against his mouth and she stays serious, quiet.
“I just want you to be honest with me,” she says.
“All right,” he says.
She looks at him. “I’m serious,” she murmurs. “I’m not asking for much. I’m not into -well, you know. I just need that from you, okay?”
His fingers brush against her hair. He tucks a few strands away from her eyes. She has to be okay with this too, she thinks. Then there are other things that she can’t be. She doesn’t know where this fits.
House doesn’t answer. Cameron shakes her head.
“Okay,” she says, and somehow, his lack of answer disappoints her. She steps back, away from him, straightening and readying herself to go back inside to work. Later, she’ll probably find him waiting in her office. That’s another routine.
He stands too. She straightens her shirt again and turns away from him too. Her fingers pull through her hair and she wraps it into a tight bun. Don’t be silly, she tells herself. This isn’t fair to get angry with him like this.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened either, or the last, and it’s one of those things where she’s got to go and accept that it stands this way. She told him she loved him. There’s just no coming back from that.
Her hands drop at her sides. There’s more of this, she thinks, that she’s not ready for, that they’re not ready for. It’s still the same; maybe she just needs that reassurance back, maybe she doesn’t needs him to mean it.
“I have a couple more hours,” she fills the silence. “I’ll call you when I’m done - it won’t be another morning thing -”
“Hey,” he says suddenly, cutting her off. His cane drops on the ground, clatters and rests between the two of them. She sees it when she turns. “Sorry,” he mutters.
She shakes her head. Without thinking, she moves and picks it up. He slides a hand into his pocket. He looks away too, almost embarrassed. But she doesn’t give his cane back to him either.
This is new, she remembers somehow. The wood is dark, older with some of its scratches. It weighs nothing in her hands. She rolls it between her fingers and then pulls it against her chest.
When he stands, he stays close to the seats. They stare at each other and it’s quiet. He’s looking at her seriously, in one of those rare ways that she knows it’s very much still just him and her and that this isn’t for anyone else.
He takes another step forward. His hand brushes over the cane. She lets her fingers tighten over the wood, keeping it closer to her. He murmurs something, but she doesn’t catch it and their voices are somewhat lost to the drifting company that comes in and out of the emergency room exit all of the sudden.
But she doesn’t care. His fingers then trail over the arch of his cane, against her chest, and then up, over her jaw. His mouth brushes against her forehead and she lets out a soft sigh. Then, she lets herself breathe.
He rests against her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
In the end they sit behind the couple, Lydia and her husband and her son, as her sister walks onto the stage to her waiting cello, front and center. Next to Cameron, House sighs softly. She looks over at him and he shakes his head.
“We met at the crazy house,” he mutters, and it’s all he says, settling as the musicians begin warm up. The story is there and Cameron respects that. They both catch a look from Lydia too, a delicate smile at her and a nod at him; it’s some sort of thank you that makes sense only briefly.
This is Chicago though and the world, if anything, feels entirely too small. The thought is almost funny, considering what’s happened. It’s a full circle. As the music starts, really starts, she lets herself give in to a small smile and then a laugh. There’s nothing to go back to.
“You okay?” he asks and turns slightly. The woman next to Cameron fidgets with a huff and House rolls his eyes. “Seriously,” he mutters too. He then pushes himself to press against her seat, his hip against her armrest as he leans in and brushes his mouth against her ear.
She listens to him sigh. There’s a pause and the music around them begins to get louder. Somewhere behind Cameron, she can hear programs whispering and fidgeting and can’t help but think that this is different again.
On the podium, the conductor begins to flail his arms, carrying the music. “I love you,” he says and she nearly misses it. Her heart is racing and she looks at him, completely caught off-guard. There’s no follow up and she can’t help but laugh, out loud, bewildered as she looks at him.
There are people who send them looks. He may never say this again, she thinks.
When she laughs again, softly, House covers her hand with his. It still means everything.
They look back at the stage.
-
More notes:
I started this story with every intention of making it a one-parter because of my aversion to writing series and what have you. But I couldn’t help it, you know? I have so many FEELINGS about House and what’s happened, and sort of went through this weird rebirth of love when Cameron came back that second time.
This was written for you, R, because I love you very much and your emails are always so much fun and very few people have the ability to make me fall in love with things all over again like you do. You’re amazing and an amazing author as well and I never get tired of telling you, but this was such an awesome pleasure to write.
And thank you so much to everybody else with your awesome response and being so incredibly patient with me as I finished this up. I hope you enjoyed it!
house md ; house/cameron ; 3,636 words ; PG
change means a different city with a name. spoilers for lockdown and the finale.
notes: Final part in a series following check your facts, you could be more understanding, when writing distance, chicago the windy city, so remember now: one and two, and neighborhoods, what makes a line, and you wrote your myths. For the wonderful, ever-so supportive blueheronz, as my love affair with this series wouldn’t be possible without you.
-
The second week he’s in Chicago, they’re walking out of her parents’ townhouse. There is a cab waiting.
“I don’t expect to be happy,” he tells her. It means so many things.
He buys a place of his own. It’s funny, when she thinks about it. It works too. It’s a strange way of declaring the kind of space that they need.
“I had a kid today that called me power hungry,” he says. He grins widely, boyishly and she shakes her head. “It makes me sexy,” he adds.
“Charming too,” she says dryly.
He makes her dinner twice a week. They stand in his kitchen and she watches, still fascinated as he moves around. There is a pot here, vegetables there, and such an impressive array of colors that overwhelm her too. It’s silly, thinking about it, but he continues to surprise her in more ways than one.
“I don’t miss it,” he says and she turns, just as she leans against the counter. There’s a window by her side and they’re greeted by the city skyline, all grays and bright lights. She keeps waiting to see Princeton, for whatever reason. It’s still hard to think of House as being here and being somewhat responsible for that choice.
“No?” she still asks.
He shrugs. “I do what I do. I can do it from wherever. So people don’t like me, which is fine, but I have my name.”
“You do,” she says.
“Your boss hates me,” he says, and she laughs.
He hands her a jar to open as he turns to the stove. The smells in the kitchen are wonderful. She opens the jar and moves to him, watching as he drops a towel on the side. He takes the jar from her.
“I met her once,” he says. “She hated me then too,” he says.
Her hair falls over her eyes when she looks up at him. He’s amused and leans forward, brushing his mouth against her jaw.
“Well, you’re - tough?” Cameron tells him, and he smirks. It’s no secret that what universally exists is some sort of heavy apathy and sympathy when it comes to acknowledging some sort of connection with House. Dr. Richards is no different. “But I like her, “she adds too.
“You would.”
It’s too late to have dinner, she thinks anyway, and somehow the two of them have completely made this idea of time irrelevant. She rubs her eyes.
He cooks quietly. She moves around the kitchen, setting the table outside. She pours herself a glass of wine. Everything feels good, not easy, and she isn’t sure where she should place this.
The thing is there is more of him and her here. In the bedroom, she knows that sheets are pulled back into a mess. They spend more time here.
“It’s strange,” he says slowly, looking down. His feet shuffle over the tiles. She watches as he hooks his cane over the counter. “I didn’t expect not to want to go back, not to have that drive to be in a place that’s supposed to be comfortable to me. It feels different. All of this,” he says.
He turns towards her too, stepping forward. He touches her hip.
“Is that okay?” she asks.
His mouth curls in amusement. He steps forward, then stands over her. His hands press into her shoulders. She shakes her head.
“Stop,” she murmurs. “I’m trying to be serious,” she says.
“I know,” he says.
“Then?”
He leans in and kisses her. Her mouth curls against his and he sighs. His fingers spread against the back of her neck, sliding slowly into her hair. They press back against the counter, her hip hitting the ledge. She feels herself sigh against his mouth and House, just as he laughs back.
She tastes the sound, opening her mouth back over his. She slips her tongue inside, along his lip and over his tongue. He makes another sound, then one more, and she turns them, pressing against him and the counter. Her hands curl around his and she pins them back. Her fingers curl into his palm and she pushes his hands back. She leans against him, up on her toes and lets him sigh into her mouth.
“It’s going to take me some time,” he breathes, then moans, and he turns her again, hard against the counter. Dinner is forgotten. She tries to breathe but his fingers are pulling into her hair. Her hips arch into his and they sort of stumble against each other, held up by the pressure of the counter.
“I know,” she breathes too, finally. She has to draw back.
She trembles. His hips still press back into hers. She remembers dinner but doesn’t push him away from her.
“Do you really?”
She rubs her eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to reassure me. You’re here and that’s - well, I never expected this either.”
The words feel unsettling. She still knows his mouth. Her fingers press against her throat, her own mouth, and she looks up at him, just as he catches her. His mouth turns and he shakes his head.
House pats her hip. He steps around her too.
“The thing is,” she says and leans against the counter. “We’re not perfect.”
He turns again, quickly. She doesn’t catch him and he presses his mouth over her skin. She sighs breathlessly. He makes a sound against her shoulder. A laugh, maybe. It’s easier to see him smirk. When his lips touch her neck again, he sighs.
“I’m not,” he says.
There is a coffee shop around the corner from the hospital now. It’s closer than the one she remembers walking to with him, around the first time he came to see her. They sit together by a window. House pushes his coffee towards her. She smiles faintly before picking it up.
“I’m fine,” she says, and it’s funny because they didn’t talk about this, and they certainly don’t talk about pieces of her past yet. The fact remains that Lydia is another name and looking at House, watching him as he studies her hands and his coffee, she can’t help but worry about him.
“I’m not,” he says.
She nods. She says nothing. I’m here for you sounds redundant, heavy even. It’s the sort of thing that remains unnecessary for both of them. For Cameron, it’s just something to get used to.
“She found me,” he says, and he looks at her too, curiously, openly, as if he were expecting her to flinch and react. They sit elbow to elbow too. She reaches over and brushes her fingers over his wrist.
“Are you sure you want me here?” and she’s honest because she doesn’t know how else to say it. She respects his privacy and because he’s here, because they’re here, she wants nothing more than to show him. Her fingers curl around his coffee and she pulls it to her mouth.
“I can head back to the hospital.” Her mouth twists. “Finish up paperwork, be home early and all.”
He doesn’t look at her. Somehow, she can’t remember the last time she’s really been in her apartment. It doesn’t matter, she thinks. He nods, finally.
“Yeah,” he says. His shoulders drop back. His gaze meets hers and his eyes are too bright.
They wait. House reaches for his coffee again.
When she gets back to the hospital, it’s a madhouse. There is a bus accident in the middle of the city and she catches the driver, just as they pull him out of the ambulance. Her fingers are buried deep in his leg to catch the wound.
She barely remembers that Lydia is late, was late, and any opportunity to see the other woman is long gone. She focuses on the task at hand. There are nurses swarming and this energy pulses through her; she can never explain it right, all she knows is that she’s useful, that she feels useful, and that drives her in a way that she still isn’t used to.
But when the madness dies down, Cameron manages to sneak outside for some air. Her hands are over her face, then in her hair, and she’s pulling it loose, thinking about how much she’s looking forward to being home and how she really hasn’t had that feeling in a really long time.
There’s an empty bench by the sidewalk. She sits, pulls up her legs and crosses them underneath her. Cameron rests her elbows over her knees and sighs. Her phone buzzes at her hip. She doesn’t touch it.
It takes a minute for her to see them too. When she does, they are walking side-by-side and comfortable from the street. The woman is smiling at House, carefully, but that disappears as soon as he acknowledges Cameron.
They stop in front of her. House bends forward, brushing his mouth over her forehead. “This is Lydia,” he says.
It takes her awhile to process Lydia’s name. The woman stands in front of her, bright-eyed and shy. There’s a smile somewhere between the three of them and House seems to watch them carefully, almost as if he weren’t here to meet either of them. It bothers her, for whatever reason.
“Hello,” she murmurs, and the woman smiles too, looking at her critically even. Cameron’s too tired to stand but offers her hand anyway. “It’s pleasure,” she says. I’ve heard so much about you, she doesn’t say. There are rules for this one.
“You as well,” Lydia says. “I’m sorry - did we catch you at a bad time?”
Cameron shakes her head. “No.”
This is different, she thinks too. Somehow she’s already made the acknowledgement that they are always going to have a lot to learn about each other. In some ways, House has met her halfway there too. She wonders if this is a part of it.
“It’s just been a long day,” she offers kindly. The woman smiles in turn too. “I promise,” Cameron says, “that I’m not always like that.”
The other woman laughs. House steps closer to Cameron. His fingers gaze her shoulder and she can’t help but lean into him a little bit. It’s strange and awkward, but there’s so little of her that tries to make that better. House isn’t Chase and she’s different in kind with House.
“My sister’s a musician,” Lydia says too, and shares a look with House. Cameron doesn’t miss it. She thinks of her mother. “She has a show tomorrow night - I’d like to extend an invitation to the two of you.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, and she stands.
Her attention is caught, briefly, by the cry of sirens that comes running closer. Cameron feels herself automatically tense, but the sound passes. She can’t help but shake her head and then watches as a few of her nurses wander outside, just to check.
There are habits that she’s picked that are still very much her thing, but open. She worries and doesn’t apologize. She gets angry. She pushes. It’s still sort of unreal how she left the city and now, why she came back.
“It’s early tomorrow,” Lydia says.
House moves to stand next to her. “Easy,” he says too, grunting. Cameron looks up at him and his mouth shifts, slightly. She looks back to Lydia then.
“I’d love to,” she says.
“Good,” the woman says. “I’ll pass along the tickets for the two of you. Hopefully, we’ll be able to chat more. I’ve heard quite a bit about you, Allison.”
Cameron blinks. Then as quickly as she came, the other woman is gone with a few goodbyes. It’s as if she was merely meant to exist as a kind afterthought, one of those that stick with you far too romantic with its memories.
When House turns back, he looks down at her. There’s a slight smile and Cameron can’t help but smile back, heavier in amusement.
“Heard a lot, huh?” There’s a brief thought of Princeton, but she lets it go. She sits back done too, as if staying static would make the rest of her night move faster. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
“She asked,” he says. “And you introduced me to your mother. Somehow, that means some kind of declaration of love.”
Cameron laughs, rubbing her eyes. She blushes too. “I did not. It was more like, I forgot we had a lunch and my mother decided to introduce herself to you. But okay.”
He sits next to her.
“What happened?”
The question is awkward, forced. She appreciates the attempt. Her hand reaches out and brushes over his arm. He’s teaching, still different from the years that he’s used to; but then again, since his breakdown, since things have changed for her, nothing’s really been the same either.
She’s of the belief that somehow, they understand each other through similarity. There are choices that she’s made that are parallel to things that have happened to him. She’s understood him for so long as something she’s never been able to have.
But when he leans into her, his mouth brushes along her jaw. Her eyes close and she thinks that there’s a reason for whatever this is. She doesn’t know how far or where it might go. Somehow, there’s something about that for her that’s okay.
“What happened?” he asks again, catching her. She blinks and her thoughts drop as she blushes. It’s cooling tonight and she pulls at her scrubs. She hates fidgeting and fidgeting in front of him. Most of the time, she can catch some sort of amusement when he looks at her.
But he’s serious here, looking to her and then the hospital. It takes her a minute to remind herself that he’s teaching too and that there’s a part of him that probably misses this.
“It’s an emergency room. Things happen.” It’s one of those conversations. He’s sincere, but the motion isn’t a fit for the two of them. She looks up and leans forward, kissing his jaw too. “You would’ve hated today,” she adds.
He scoffs. Then he chuckles softly.
“I don’t miss it.”
She blinks. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s weird. I’m supposed to, right? But anyone can call me evil, a bastard, and a tremendous waste of time - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong, since I have the power to fail them.”
She can’t help but laugh. He smirks. There’s some kind of enjoyment underneath what he says that she picks up on. He’s sharing and she knows how to keep that close to her.
She sobers too. She thinks of the accident. Then she thinks of Lydia: beautiful woman, bright eyes and that kind of smile that sort of splits itself between Stacey and Cuddy in a strange, strange way. There’s lots of sadness too and there’s that relationship, something that thrives even without acknowledgement.
Swallowing, she looks at House.
“Do you want to?” she asks and then nearly kicks herself, looking away. It’s stupid question but she can’t help herself. “I mean, you did say this is a sabbatical.”
“I know. It is.”
“Right.”
There is a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. It’s awkward to think about. Maybe she’s worried about him going back, about him leaving after this runs its course or leaving even before that. These are the things that she hates herself most for thinking, that seem unforgiving at best.
Her feet push herself up to stand. She goes through the motions and turns, fidgeting. Brushing her fingers over his hands, just as they rest over his cane, she leans closer to him, peering down at him too.
“Do you want to stay?” she asks, and carefully, trying to be careful and not think about it at the same time. It’s impossible, really. She knows that he’s been here long enough where it’s something that she can’t even begin to separate; he’s more a part of her life than ever.
Her eyes burn. She touches the back of one of his hands, then his knuckles. Underneath the tips of her fingers, his hands seem to relax.
“I don’t want to keep you here,” she says. “I don’t want to be that person that keeps you back, you know? I don’t mean to sound redundant, but I just - do you want to stay here, sabbatical or otherwise?”
Her words taste a little funny. He makes a noise, deep and from the back of his throat. He lays the cane over his lap, shifting forward.
When he leans up, into her, kiss her, she stops him. Her fingers brush against his mouth and she stays serious, quiet.
“I just want you to be honest with me,” she says.
“All right,” he says.
She looks at him. “I’m serious,” she murmurs. “I’m not asking for much. I’m not into -well, you know. I just need that from you, okay?”
His fingers brush against her hair. He tucks a few strands away from her eyes. She has to be okay with this too, she thinks. Then there are other things that she can’t be. She doesn’t know where this fits.
House doesn’t answer. Cameron shakes her head.
“Okay,” she says, and somehow, his lack of answer disappoints her. She steps back, away from him, straightening and readying herself to go back inside to work. Later, she’ll probably find him waiting in her office. That’s another routine.
He stands too. She straightens her shirt again and turns away from him too. Her fingers pull through her hair and she wraps it into a tight bun. Don’t be silly, she tells herself. This isn’t fair to get angry with him like this.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened either, or the last, and it’s one of those things where she’s got to go and accept that it stands this way. She told him she loved him. There’s just no coming back from that.
Her hands drop at her sides. There’s more of this, she thinks, that she’s not ready for, that they’re not ready for. It’s still the same; maybe she just needs that reassurance back, maybe she doesn’t needs him to mean it.
“I have a couple more hours,” she fills the silence. “I’ll call you when I’m done - it won’t be another morning thing -”
“Hey,” he says suddenly, cutting her off. His cane drops on the ground, clatters and rests between the two of them. She sees it when she turns. “Sorry,” he mutters.
She shakes her head. Without thinking, she moves and picks it up. He slides a hand into his pocket. He looks away too, almost embarrassed. But she doesn’t give his cane back to him either.
This is new, she remembers somehow. The wood is dark, older with some of its scratches. It weighs nothing in her hands. She rolls it between her fingers and then pulls it against her chest.
When he stands, he stays close to the seats. They stare at each other and it’s quiet. He’s looking at her seriously, in one of those rare ways that she knows it’s very much still just him and her and that this isn’t for anyone else.
He takes another step forward. His hand brushes over the cane. She lets her fingers tighten over the wood, keeping it closer to her. He murmurs something, but she doesn’t catch it and their voices are somewhat lost to the drifting company that comes in and out of the emergency room exit all of the sudden.
But she doesn’t care. His fingers then trail over the arch of his cane, against her chest, and then up, over her jaw. His mouth brushes against her forehead and she lets out a soft sigh. Then, she lets herself breathe.
He rests against her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says.
In the end they sit behind the couple, Lydia and her husband and her son, as her sister walks onto the stage to her waiting cello, front and center. Next to Cameron, House sighs softly. She looks over at him and he shakes his head.
“We met at the crazy house,” he mutters, and it’s all he says, settling as the musicians begin warm up. The story is there and Cameron respects that. They both catch a look from Lydia too, a delicate smile at her and a nod at him; it’s some sort of thank you that makes sense only briefly.
This is Chicago though and the world, if anything, feels entirely too small. The thought is almost funny, considering what’s happened. It’s a full circle. As the music starts, really starts, she lets herself give in to a small smile and then a laugh. There’s nothing to go back to.
“You okay?” he asks and turns slightly. The woman next to Cameron fidgets with a huff and House rolls his eyes. “Seriously,” he mutters too. He then pushes himself to press against her seat, his hip against her armrest as he leans in and brushes his mouth against her ear.
She listens to him sigh. There’s a pause and the music around them begins to get louder. Somewhere behind Cameron, she can hear programs whispering and fidgeting and can’t help but think that this is different again.
On the podium, the conductor begins to flail his arms, carrying the music. “I love you,” he says and she nearly misses it. Her heart is racing and she looks at him, completely caught off-guard. There’s no follow up and she can’t help but laugh, out loud, bewildered as she looks at him.
There are people who send them looks. He may never say this again, she thinks.
When she laughs again, softly, House covers her hand with his. It still means everything.
They look back at the stage.
-
More notes:
I started this story with every intention of making it a one-parter because of my aversion to writing series and what have you. But I couldn’t help it, you know? I have so many FEELINGS about House and what’s happened, and sort of went through this weird rebirth of love when Cameron came back that second time.
This was written for you, R, because I love you very much and your emails are always so much fun and very few people have the ability to make me fall in love with things all over again like you do. You’re amazing and an amazing author as well and I never get tired of telling you, but this was such an awesome pleasure to write.
And thank you so much to everybody else with your awesome response and being so incredibly patient with me as I finished this up. I hope you enjoyed it!