No Season 2 spoilers … pity us Brits, for we are still on Season 1. One shot, set just after the end of episode 19, Kids. House tackles some stairs and reflects on his moment of madness. Some House/Cameron vibes, but I'm a House/Cuddy shipper myself so I've tried to squash them ;) This is the first fic I've written in an incredibly long time, so please be gentle :)
Stairs
Step. Thud. Step. Thud.
House limped down the corridor from Cameron's apartment. The elevator was out of order. Typical. He shifted his cane to his left hand and, leaning heavily on the banister, began his slow descent of the stairs.
Step. Wince. Step. Wince.
He couldn't work out why he had agreed. He could have said no. It would have been so easy. He said it every single day; he had no qualms about using the word.
So why hadn't he?
Because you had climbed up five flights of stairs to speak to her in the first place, and you were damn well going to make sure you came away with what you wanted, said a firm voice in his head.
Because you wanted her to come back, said another.
Step. Wince. Step. Wince.
It wasn't even like it was that big a deal, he thought. It was just dinner. No big deal. No one else need ever know. It was dinner, and that was all.
But that wasn't what she was calling it, was it? It wasn't going to be a dinner. It was a Date.
Stop. A pause for some vidocin.
A Date. So that probably meant she'd be expecting something a little more fancy than the Chinese take away down the road. And monster truck racing was almost certainly out this time, too. No, this time, he felt, there would have to be a table booked at a restaurant. And flowers. Flowers were definitely part of it. They usually were.
A Date. He hadn't been on a Date since—
Step. Wince.
What sort of person lived on the fifth floor in a place where the elevator didn't work? The same sort of person who fell in l – who had feelings for her boss, clearly, he thought glumly, as he began his assault on the third flight of stairs. Well, hopefully this would be an end to the whole saga. He'd keep his end of the bargain and take her for dinner, and she'd realise that she'd be better off finding some other problem case to unleash her Mother Hen complex on. And that would be that. She would find someone who needed her, and was preferably a little closer to her in age. And he could just get on with life.
Step. Wince. Step. Wince.
Why had he been so adamant that she came back? She was a good doctor, true enough, but so was Miss Insecurity-Prada-Shoes, and he had refused her the job, even after the talk about foreplay. Why Cameron? She made a good cup of coffee and knew where the sugar was, but after a few weeks of careful training even Dr. Rebellion could have that skill nailed. Cameron had shut the door in his face just yesterday, and yet he had still risked this elevator-less nightmare to try just one more time. Because it was his fault. If it weren't for him, she wouldn't have had to leave in the first place. Because he felt guilty. And that was all.
Step. Wince. Pause.
Oh, God. If she turned up to work in Prada shoes, Wilson was going to have a field day.
I'd love to hear any comments, good or bad :)