Yo! Wrote this at ten thirty pm after a terrible bout of writers block. One shot, House's thoughts on Cameron. Not really intended to be romance, but if that's how you want to look at it, go ahead, I ain't stoppin' ya. Reviews are appreciated. Enjoy!
"She wants to talk to you."
House looked up from the mini TV with an expression of mild interest.
"Who wants to do what with me now?"
Cameron stood in front of House, her arms crossed limply over her chest, leaning against the door frame in a manner that could be construed as casual had it not been for the fact that she was nearly slurring her words with exhaustion.
"The patient. She wants to talk with you, she's been asking for you all morning. Why have you been ignoring your pager?"
House sighed and pushed down the antennae, watching with a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction as the screen crackled with static. The screen was blank. He had done that. The show wasn't power; if he turned it back on, he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. "No, I think the question that you meant to ask was how she even found out about me in the first place. Talking with patients isn't my area, tell her I'm busy."
Cameron continued to stare at him, her gaze boring a hole in his forehead. Cameron was a master at what she did. She always made it seem like she was looking you right in the eye—made you feel like she was intimidating, not just a pretty woman with one hell of a tough job—but she never was. Staring at your forehead, that was what she was doing. Brow ridge. Eyebrows. House was fascinated with her fascination with the two appendages, but he wouldn't mention it. Just another method of torture. Most of the time he felt like pointing out everyone's flaws, all of them. This was one of those rare occasions where it was actually more satisfying not to say anything. So she was afraid to look anyone in the eye. That was their little secret that they would never discuss, not even with each other.
"She's not going to believe that you're busy," Cameron persisted. "I've been telling her for days. She's not dumb."
"I notice that you didn't say that she was smart, either," House observed, heaving himself to his feet. "Lesson to be learned: there is no such thing as an intelligent patient." He made his way towards the door, intending to make his way down to OB/GYN, see if the lounge was currently inhabited by any baby people, whatever the hell their profession was called, or if he'd be able to sneak in undisturbed by the nosy self-righteous jerks, but Cameron remained in the doorway. House stopped, leaning all of his weight on hi left leg, raising his eyebrows.
"Are you going to see her?"
"If I say yes will it get you to move?"
Cameron stood firm. "The kid is dying," she said.
"And I'm just one of the billions of people in the world that she will never get to meet." House snipped. "Boo-hoo. Now, excuse me, but you've already ruined one show. Don't spoil another before it even starts."
"You're her Doctor."
"And you're being annoyingly persistent in a matter that I have no desire to pursue. What does it matter? I could be a Buddhist Monk, but would she still want to meet me then?"
He attempted to push past her again. Cameron remained still, her face set, her eyes shining. Four days in the lab and approximately nine hours of sleep had left her eyes glassy; either that or she was on the verge of tears. The patient had advanced lung cancer that had decided to attack the nervous system instead of the lungs. They had dawdled too long on the diagnoses for it to be treatable—just long enough for the fatality factor to set in, just long enough for Cameron to become attached. Patient was sixteen years. Three weeks from death, probably less. And that was if she was lucky.
The patient had it better off. The parents…well, it sucked to be them, House guessed. Sucked even more to be Cameron. She had made nice with the girl, tried to save her, done all the right things. She just hadn't done them fast enough. She didn't just have to watch her newfound friend die, she had to watch her die while treating her at the same time, trying to ease the process. If only there was a drug that could help the people watching.
House didn't have much sympathy. Live die, what the hell. He had never met the kid, didn't intend to. No loss for him, nothing to be sad over. Cameron had spilled a cup of coffee on his pants and the rug that morning, though. That kind of pissed him off. Spilled coffee affected him. Made his day just a little bit harder to bear. It wasn't exactly milk, either, so maybe it was worth crying over. Not the kid. She was milk. Insignificant.
"I wish you'd go see her."
"Wait till night and go find a star," House advised. "Although you might want to try sleeping when that time rolls around."
"Please."
Jesus, she was hardly even putting up a fight. Fatigue, maybe. Probably, though, it was the depression. Cameron was depressed. When was the last time that House had seen her really laugh? Never. She cared too much to laugh. He made jokes. She looked at him like he was crazy, as if to say "How could you be so cruel about such a sensitive topic?" Sometimes she rolled her eyes. That was funny, to House at least. He found some sort of perverse pleasure in the fact that she thought his pleasure was pointless, worthy of eye rolling, thus perpetuating the cycle. She didn't find pleasure in anything. She was nice. She cared. Where was the fun in that?
"Do you ever really complain?" House asked her once. "Or are you really as perfect as you pretend to be?"
"I don't think that there's really anything to be complaining about," Cameron had replied stiffly, filling a cup of coffee and handing it to House, an indication that she wanted the conversation to be over.
"Sure there is," House pressed. "The weather sucks, my head hurts, my salary's too low, you smell funny. You can complain about anything if you can find the right reason."
"I don't really want to complain," Cameron said, sitting down. "I like the way things are."
"No you don't," House said simply, blatantly open, as always. Cameron had tensed just a little.
"Maybe you're just narrow."
"Maybe you're just not very perceptive."
Cameron hadn't said anything after that and House had changed the subject as soon as Chase and Foreman entered with the results of an angiogram. But he didn't forget the look on Cameron's face when she said that she was happy. It was the first time that he had really noticed that her lips turned naturally downwards.
They were turned downwards now, too. She wasn't frowning, nor was she relaxed. Her face was tense from worry, stress, lack of sleep, everything was indicating that she should be frowning, but she wasn't. She was just staring.
House sighed again, leaning his head back and tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. "Okay," he said. "fifty bucks if you get out of my way so that you can go hold your new buddy's hand and I can get out of here in time to catch the end of 'General Hospital.'"
"I'm just asking you to talk to her." Cameron's face remained expressionless, except for the perma-frown.
"Sorry," House said, finally finding his gap and limping past her. "No can do."
"I'll do your clinic duty for the rest of the week." Cameron called after him. He was halfway down the hall, but that made him stop and turn around. It was still only Monday.
He considered her for a moment. She was standing in the hallway now, her hands at her sides, her I.D. lopsided. She looked more disheveled than House had ever seen her, almost like she had gotten smashed over a bottle of Bourbon (although this was a scenario that House was disappointed he would probably never get to see). The glassiness of her eyes, House could now tell, was not from lack of sleep.
If Cameron was going to be moody and weepy all week, then yeah, that was going to affect him. If he didn't go see the girl, she'd be angry with him, but at the same time, too melancholy to actually do anything, and her sullen stares and disconnectedness would be worse that if she yelled at him. Having to deal with that all week was not spilled milk. He exhaled. One week off clinic duty.
"Fine," he said finally. "I'll go visit your newest baby boy-toy."
"It's a she," Cameron said sourly, but she looked slightly happier as she watched him stump off.
On his way to the elevator, House passed Wilson in the hall.
"Hey," he said. "Where are you headed?"
"I have to go clean up some milk," House said, and he kept going. He might as well get this over with.
He had no clinic duty to look forward to for the rest of the week.