Disclaimer: Don't own, so don't sue. I do find it interesting though, i mean it is clearly marked fanfiction, it's even the site's name. Ah...the world is a strange place...
A/N: This is a one shot. Rating: M. Pairing: House/Cameron. Have a great time being our bitter doctor.
Break-in' the Ice
You have your back toward her. But you can still see the tumbling waves of her dark auburn glistening in the sun—wait, there is no sun. You are frozen rigid in a sea of snow. This must be what it feels like to be an icicle, you muse to yourself.
You are cold. You take both interpretations into account.
You immediately regret being where you stand as a winter coat brushed against your side and remained in place.
"It's freezing!"
A voice all too familiar that you can pick out from any howling crowd sounded beside you. It's her. Of course, you had already known that when you heard the faint scrunching of her footsteps coming closer in the snow.
"What is? That person waiting at the bus stop? You're right. I can't tell if it's a he or a she."
You are surprised how fast something like that shot out of your mouth, when the rest of your body is frozen numb. You seem not to feel your leg anymore, which might as well be a good thing.
"I'm freezing, happy?"
You feel her edge close and a sliver of the warmth radiating from her seeps into your arm.
"Not really. If you get sick, I'll be short one staff, and I never liked Cuddy's lectures on how it's all my fault." You say and linger for a bit before taking a step forward, breaking the petty contact of your coats. It's pathetic, you know. "We'll just check for any contaminants around his property. After that, there should be the idyllic heaven of heaters waiting for us back at the hospital."
You start your best at a trudge through the thick layer of white. This is supposed to be Chase and Foreman's damn job, you curse to yourself. Too bad they are assisting the patient's surgery today. You are just doing this to satisfy your curiosity of the cause. Plus, you think to yourself, picking through ice and snow is just a tad more inviting than picking through guts and organs.
Why she is trailing behind you right this moment is a completely different story. An insisting woman is as stubborn as a bull. And frankly, you hope never to find out what wrestling with a bull feels like.
"Wait up, House."
You hear that she is running. By the time she has two hands on your arm to steady her, the two of you are facing a small lake, its surface frozen solid. The momentum of her run sends both of you skimming beyond the edge of the banks. Your leg gives in for just a second and you lose the little balance you had. Your arms swing out reflexively to break you fall. She lets out a yelp as she comes down beside you. You hear yourself grunt as you connected firmly with the ice. You both hold your breaths, and wait for that first crack to shatter beneath you.
It didn't come.
As relief starts to wash over you and your pounding heart slows its rhythm, her chuckle replaces the silence around you and eventually turns into a relieved laugh.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" She shakes her head, and those dark locks sweep about her cheeks. You quickly adjust your gaze to the far end of the lake and let out a sigh. "I think that's enough adventure for today." You turn your head back and realize she has already gotten herself ashore. She extends an arm, her palm faces slightly upward.
A small flicker of light inside tells you to take it. It begs you. But an icy breeze pierces through your ribs and blows it out.
You clench your jaws and brace an arm on the crisp cool surface. It shakes slightly as you shift your body weight to a pinpoint beneath your palm. You are really glad you can't feel the leg when you remember you had left the vicodin in your jacket when you switched to something warmer.
"House," You hear her call out softly, her arms still outstretched. "It's fine." You manage and push down hard against the ice. Before you realize what is happening, the numbing cold water is already above your head. You recall hearing an abrupt scream of your name. You try to kick your good leg but it feels as if it weighs a ton. Screw your high school teachers that told you things weigh less underwater. You claw around with your arms in desperation and sense a splinter of hope when you feel yourself rising. Your fingers extend beyond their limit to reach for the open air.
Your heart turns into an anchor when your fingertips connect with something hard. Groping around wildly with your palms, you feel nothing but the merciless slab of ice. It finally dons you when a gulp of icy water forces its way into your lungs, that it's over.
Your life starts to flash before you. You see a little boy swinging on an old tire, a youth with his graduation hat, the eternity in medical school, the job, the silhouette of a leaving woman, the bitter years, eating cotton candy at a monster truck rally with—As you were about to slip into unconsciousness, you hear a woman whisper you name. Or scream it, from someplace distant. You want to ignore it but it was the voice all too familiar that you can pick out from any howling crowd. It's her. She whispers, or, screams your name again.
The ice burns your lungs but you try one last time for the open surface. Your fingers scrape against the solid slab once more, but then they connect with something just alike themselves. They were slender, more delicate, but strong. Because once they wrapped themselves around your hand, you know from the grip that she is not going to let go.
As your head penetrates above water level, raw air rushes in to fill your lungs and it feels so good it stings. You inhale as deep as your rib cages would expand. It hurts, but you don't care.
She pulls you ashore with effort and in an apprehension of deja vu, you find the air knocked out of you yet again, as she binds her arms around your shoulders. Her head buries in your chest and you feel her sobbing against you. You ease her arms loose and she places her hands against your chest. You want to wrap your arms around her but they're shake so much you can't control them. You want to open your mouth and tell her it's alright but your lips refuse to budge. They feel frostbitten, purple, and stuck.
She looks up with her water rimmed green yes. And you see that they look more grey than usual. She lifts a frail hand and touches your lips. You feel nothing. She emits a deep frown between her brows. Is it concern you see? Or fear? "House," she croaks, her voice broken up, like one of the radio stations with bad transmission. "We need to get you somewhere warm right now."
You want to nod but your neck is frozen stiff. Then without warning, she tilts her head up and captures your lips with her own. Immediately, her tender warmth pours into you and you think that just maybe, it isn't over. You take both interpretations into account. You want to kiss her back with all the things you can never say but your lips can barely part. So all you do is close your eyes.
After a blissful while, she pulls away slowly. You inhale her scent and savor its heat before the space grows larger between you. Suddenly, you want less room to breathe. You open your eyes and see the tearstains on her cheeks. You want to brush them away but your hands are still shaking.
You see her turn her head and search wildly for shelter around the barren bleakness around you. She clutches your shirt so tight as if you'd disappear if she let go.
"Cam . . ." You mouth, inaudible.
"There!" Her eyes lights up momentarily as she sees what looks to be an old storage shelter. "Come on."
You don't know how you can ever make it to the place, it looks so far away, but you do. As you stumble through the battered door, you wonder if you even have your leg anymore. You sure as hell can't feel a thing.
She trips over the crap laid askew on the floor and rummages through some boxes at the far wall. She shoves out a clear space with her feet and lays her find on the floor. It's a blanket. "I'm sorry, but it's better than nothing."
You see her advance toward you and feel her take your quivering hand. The fact that you can now feel did little to comfort you. You feel guilty for soaking in the warmth from her as she pulls you over to the blanket and gently lays you down. You want to stop her, but again, you can't. The feeling of helplessness sweeps over you when she peels your coat away and unbuttons your shirt. You are confused and curious, but you have no strength to fling her hand away. But as she throws her own coat aside and unbuttons her blouse, you gather up all your reserves and open your mouth.
"Cameron . . . what are y. . ." You fix your eyes on her face and try to read her expression as her blouse joins her coat on the floor.
"Your clothes are going to stick to your body, frostbite! What do you think I'm doing?" She sounds exasperated. You want to scream at her that it has nothing to do with her taking off her own clothes, but you have used up all your energy.
A curtain of her soft auburn falls before her face and shields her eyes from view. You know they're watering up again. You want to reach up and give her a reassuring touch on the cheek, but instead, you lie there awkwardly as she removes your pants and moves on to her own. Now you want to shout and ask her what the fuck she was doing, it was a shame you already know. Primal instincts for survival shrieked body heat is the only way if you want to live. You did nothing to block it out, and even if you did, your stiff, numb limbs are useless.
When she reaches for your boxers, you turn your head to focus on the pile of your soggy clothes, you don't want or need to remember this moment. Your brows wince when you feel her hesitate, but she manages to remove it in one swift motion. If this was the time and place, you'd think why she is so efficient, but it's not.
You realize that you are stripped bare and she is in her undergarments. Slowly, she lowers herself down and lays her body in perfect unison with yours. She eases your rigid fist open and entwines her finger with yours.
Every inch of your body is coursing under her warmth and you feel the life return to your veins. She lays the side of her face against your chest and moves her hands to support the base of your neck.
"Hold me." She breathes softly against your skin. You know you shouldn't, but a moment later your arms are against her side and your hands resting on the small curve of her back.
Did you do it out of instinct, lust, or love? It does not matter, you think, as you slip leisurely into a deep, unconscious sleep.
Maybe there is a sun after all. Because she is the ray of sunlight that melted all the bitter ice.