Note: Written for the hc smut-a-thon LJ community's smut challenge, this fic is based loosely around Creed's "One Last Breath." Actual lyrics were not used.
Note of Thanks: Much love and gratitude to B. for beta'ing.
Warning: Spoilers up to and including "Merry Little Christmas."
The pain was increasingHe could feel it radiating into his every fiber, gnawing at the tissue until his leg throbbed in protest and his palms began to sweat. It was ridiculous, really, that he'd been able to hold it off thus far. He knew that his decision to swipe the meds was gonna return to bite him in the ass, and that he'd probably regret it. At the time, however, he couldn't bring himself to care. Hell, he couldn't bring himself to think straight. The only thing he could think about was the fix, the meds, and how he could get his hands on them.
And now they were quickly disappearing.
Grabbing the bottle from the table, he flipped it over and over in his hand, watching as the tiny white capsules clinked from one end of the container to the other. Clink, plunk, clink, plunk. The sound was rhythmic, and he found himself fixating on it. Clink, plunk, clink, plunk. How easy it would be to just swallow them all and down his scotch in one smooth motion. Block out all pain for a few hours at least.
And then he began to wonder. When exactly had his life become nothing more than a haze of pain?
Cameron watched him leave the hospital with a mixture of indecision and regret. He looked so much healthier, so much happier, hobbling jauntily through those double doors, and she knew that he had somehow gotten his hands on some meds. The problem was, medicine had a funny way of running out and she had a feeling that Cuddy and/or Wilson were going to make sure that his newest method of procuring pain medication couldn't be repeated. And she couldn't say that she disagreed with them, no matter how much grief she'd given Wilson about his motives. House was quickly heading down a spiral, and pain medication wasn't the answer.
She just didn't know what the answer was.
The scene in his apartment earlier still weighed heavily on her mind. The look that had been in his eyes as she'd bandaged his arm, the plaintive quality of his voice when he'd told her that he'd needed the distraction. He had been in so much pain, and she had felt so damn helpless. Her chest constricted just thinking about it. Sighing heavily, she crossed her arms over her chest and watched as he pushed past the double doors and moved into the parking lot.
It wasn't until she had gotten into her car five minutes later that she realized where she was headed.
When he had entered medicine, he had done it to piss off the General. Well, that and the fact that it was damn cool to be able to solve people and their respective illnesses like they were jigsaw puzzles. After awhile, however, he had learned that it was an excellent means of escape. He could box himself off in the world of science and medicine while still having some means of human contact. The perfect way to guard himself from the stupidity of the human race, but not actually shut himself off altogether.
He'd excelled at this game in life, too. Never showing more emotion than he had to, always holding the upper hand. He had found the answer to that age old question: How to be a member of the human race without actually being a part of it. Now, as the bitter ache gradually began to return to his leg, he was starting to wonder if maybe he'd answered the wrong question.
Sighing heavily, he continued to flip the tiny bottle over and over in his hand while a million thoughts shot through his mind like bullets from a gun. Wilson's betrayal. The rat bastard, Tritter. God, how he wanted him to walk back into the clinic so he could perform an impromptu makeshift vasectomy. No pain killers involved.
And Cameron . . . well, just being Cameron. Cameron with her platitudes about life, love and happiness. Cameron, with her naivete and hopefulness, and her endless devotion to champion humanity. Cameron, with her utter inability to give up on someone who was so obviously a lost cause. Cameron.
He had once asked her what a guy had to do to make her hate him, and he was beginning to think that it just wasn't possible. After everything he had done – the amount of times he had tried to push her away – she was still on his side. Part of him wanted to break her in two, shake some sense into her. The other part of him wanted to hold onto her and refuse to let go. This part recognized that he was sinking fast, and she just might be the only thing that could keep him afloat.
What scared the hell out of him was that this latter desire was becoming more prevalent every day.
Cameron had been going in circles for over an hour. She'd get close to House's apartment, then she'd rethink her decision and make a U-Turn. She was surprised she wasn't being tailed by law enforcement by now. Or at the very least, the funny farm.
He was cutting himself. She knew that. God, she wished she hadn't learned that. But she had. And she couldn't let it go without checking on him at least once. Or so she kept telling herself. The problem was, she kept chickening out every time she got anywhere near his place. It was ridiculous. She was a doctor, and he was in pain. It was her job to treat him.
If only it was that simple.
No, this was far from simple. Far from an ordinary case at the hospital. For starters, House wasn't her patient and she wasn't his doctor. And then there was the fact that she knew she cared about him far more than any doctor should ever care for a patient. And by going over to his apartment, she was going to expose herself to so much more than just an opportunity to rebandage his wounds. She was going to open herself up to that which she had closed herself off to for the past two years.
Sighing heavily, she made another U-Turn in the direction of his place.
He was falling. He knew that. He'd known it for awhile, actually, despite Cuddy and Wilson's acrobatics with his pills and his patients. Someone really ought to open a playground at the hospital and build some monkey bars. Those two would fit right in. Wilson could watch while Cuddy twirled around the bars, sans panties. It would give them both something better to do than pretend like they were helping him.
He took a deep, sharp breath as the pain made a particularly fierce jab directly into his thigh, then radiated outward from there.
Damn it. He was running out of pills, he had no hope of replacement, and he was quickly heading for rock bottom. He'd known for some time that he was an addict, but he hadn't realized just how bad it was until Cuddy had cut off all supply routes to his precious vicodin. Now, as the pain continued to sink into his thigh in increasing ferocity, he began to wonder if maybe rock bottom might be welcome. At least then he would have nowhere left to turn.
She was sitting in the parking lot now. Her car was in park, but the engine was still running. She'd been fighting an internal battle for the last ten minutes. She could either get out of the car and knock on the door, which would inevitably lead to a situation which she'd spared herself from for the last two years. Or she could put the transmission in reverse and get the hell out of here, as fast as her tires could carry her. Call Wilson and ask him to check up on House – if he would. After everything the oncologist had pulled in the last two days, she wasn't sure she trusted him to do so.
But at least if Wilson was the one checking on House, two years of carefully laid out denial wouldn't go to waste.
She shook her head and turned off the ignition. This was crazy. House was in pain, and he needed her help. Pocketing the keys, she opened the door and jammed her hands into the pockets of her overcoat, then walked quickly toward the apartment. The stairs. The door.
And raised her hand to knock.
The air was thick, heady. Silent. He was suddenly struck by the old adage about being able to hear a pin drop, and knew that it might hold true here. And then he scoffed at himself for thinking it in the first place. God, he really was losing it. And his thigh was starting to hurt like a bitch.
He'd just gotten off the phone with his mother. His mother. He hadn't called his mother on Christmas for . . . he couldn't remember how long. Five years? Ten? He still couldn't quite remember why he had made the call. It had just seemed like a good idea at the time. Sort of like a life line, he thought. And then he scoffed again for thinking that. He really was losing it.
And his apartment was so damn quiet. Wasn't it supposed to rain in December? Shouldn't it be hammering on his roof right about now? He listened for the pounding rain followed by the raucous thunder. Anything to alert him to the fact that he was still alive, still here. But it never came. Then he remembered that it was snowing, and thunder didn't accompany snow.
He suddenly realized that his hand was free. And the bottle of pills was sitting on his coffee table. He made a hasty grab for them and flipped them over once again in his hand. So few left. How the hell had he gone through the entire bottle in . . . a day? He knew he had gotten them just that morning, but it felt so much longer.
And he only had a few left.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, the idea of downing them with scotch entered his mind once again. He nodded at the thought. Might as well make the most of them. Soon he'd be pain killer free.
With this in mind, he popped open the bottle and shook the smooth white capsules into his waiting palm. Tilted his head back. Got ready to be numb.
And then the thunder sounded.
As if moving on its own accord, her fist rapped heavily on House's front door. Once. Twice. Three times. And then she waited.
It was freezing outside. Snow billowed around her shoulders, fell upon her hair, tickled her nose. Sniffling, she realized that her face was turning numb. A stark contrast to the feelings caused by the rapid beating of her heart and the nerves coursing through her veins. She felt like a school girl, ready for her first date. She had to roll her eyes at the metaphor.
She forced herself to take a deep breath as she waited for House to open the door.
Then she realized that she hadn't yet heard any movement inside the apartment. "House?!" she called, knocking again. "House, are you in there?! Are you okay?"
Nothing. No movement. No sound.
Furrowing her brow, she turned around and noticed that his motorcycle was parked at the curb. Knowing that he wouldn't be out with Wilson, and that there was no way he'd be walking in the cold when he was running out of pain killers and his leg was surely killing him, she reasoned that he had to be inside. So she tried again. "House?!"she shouted through the cold night air. "It's me, Cameron. Are you home?"
Nothing. No movement. No sound.
She was getting worried now.
Still grasping the bottle of pills, House stared blankly at the door while the steady knocking continued. Inside, he was fighting a raging battle. Part of him wanted to answer the door, greet the interloper. Return to reality. Far from the pain gnawing at his leg and the confusion gnawing at his head. The other part of him wanted them to go away. It was this part that held him captive on his couch while the interloper persisted in knocking.
And then he heard her voice. Like a beacon in a storm. "House?!" she shouted – If you could call anything Cameron did shouting. "House, are you in there?! Are you okay?"
Swallowing, his chest constricted at the sound as his body sank still further into the soft confines of the couch. What was she? A masochist?
He continued to stare at the door, a million reasons for not answering coursing through his mind. He didn't want to deal with anybody. Opening the door to her would lead to more trouble than it was worth. He was in pain, he was sick, he was tired.
He was helpless.
It was this last that kept him rooted to the spot. The last thing he needed was to open himself up to Cameron. To be her charity case. He'd let her in and she'd look at him with those sad eyes, crooning about how she just wanted to help. And then he'd let her. As evidenced earlier, he didn't have the strength to refuse. As evidenced earlier, he didn't want to refuse. Though he was loathe to admit it, he actually liked having her take care of him.
No, it was much better that he stay on the couch staring at the door until she went away.
The problem was, it didn't look like she was getting the message. Minutes after the last attack, the knocking returned and Cameron was again calling out her presence. And then, before he could stop himself, he was rising from the couch to open the door.
At least then he could tell her to go away.
When he finally opened the door, Cameron felt herself forcibly blink and then raise her brow. For all intents and purposes, he still looked fairly healthy. The innocent bystander might take one look at him and simply ascertain that he was tired. But Cameron knew better. Gone was the usual quirk of his lip and snark in his eyes. In their place was a sallow, sunken eyed expression that scared her more than she cared to admit.
"House," she said softly, reaching out for the arm that she had recently bandaged. He followed her hand's path with his eyes. Eyes which she met with her own serious, caring blue-green. "Are you okay?" she asked, knowing the truth but asking the question anyway. She knew he'd never admit it.
The moment he'd opened the door, he'd known it was a mistake. When he saw her standing on his stoop with concerned eyes and tense stature, he knew he couldn't turn her away. And when she reached out to touch his arm, he knew that it was through sheer willpower that he hadn't reached across to cover her hand with his own. He knew all of this, yet he would admit to none of it.
"I'm fine," he said, annoyed to hear the gravelly quality to his voice. She'd pick up on it immediately. Sure enough, her expression turned just a little more concerned and his chest clenched just a little more tightly. As always, he fell back on sarcasm. "Just getting ready to bust out the eggnog and sing some carols. I'd invite you to stay, but the hooker should be here any minute and I don't like to share."
The ability to dish out snark lifted his spirits a little. If he could keep the lid on tight, maybe she'd decide that he wasn't an injured puppy after all. Maybe she'd realize that she had better things to do, and leave him alone.
The problem was, he was fighting a losing battle.
Taking a deep breath, Cameron cocked her head to the side and shot House her best 'it's not going to work on me' look. After everything they'd been through together – all the bickering and sarcasm and lies – she knew when he was trying to change the subject. Knew when he was trying to keep her at arm's length. And this time, she wasn't going to let him. "How are you feeling?" she tried again, smiling gently. Firmly. She had come this far. Why back down now?
House sighed heavily and tried to ignore the increased heart rate that came with that smile, the increase in warmth that came with the touch of her hand on his arm. "I was much better a minute ago," he said, the sarcasm still very much a factor. "But gosh darn, it looks like I've got company. I really should remember to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door."
"Wouldn't work," she said, giving her head the slightest shake while the gentle smile remained in place. "I'd just ignore it."
Despite himself, the affirmation caused a pang to sound in his chest. He gritted his teeth at the knowledge, angry at himself for letting her affect him this way. "Don't you have some orphans to coddle?" he asked, the gravelly tone in his voice giving way to a hardened edge as a jolt of pain coursed through his thigh. "Some family members to annoy?" Some other reason to leave me alone and let me finish my downward descent? At least then I won't have to feel.
Now her expression turned disapproving. He was irritated to find that he gave a damn. "You can't just keep pushing people away," she said. "Eventually there isn't going to be anyone left."
The finality of her statement caused him to give him to give her a long, hard look. "Maybe that's the way I want it," he finally said, knowing the words were the furthest thing from the truth but telling himself that he didn't care.
He should have known that she'd call his bluff.
Cameron was becoming increasingly frustrated by the second. She'd known this wasn't going to be easy. House's defenses were difficult to break through under ordinary circumstances, and this circumstance was far from ordinary. Still, she didn't have time for this. He was detoxing, she was freezing, and she wanted to come inside. "Bull," she said in answer to his previous proclamation. "You say you don't need people, you say you don't care. But I know better. You care so much that it kills you."
She could tell the words affected him by the way he flinched when they pierced the still night air. Unfortunately, he refused to budge. "I'll tell you what kills me," he said, and she saw his hand wander down to massage his thigh. "What kills me is the fact that you people can't take a hint. You think you're helping me, with your ridiculous preaching and platitudes. You know how you can help me? Get me some damn vicodin."
There were the words. Vicodin. Everything boiled down to his precious vicodin. Clenching her jaw, she gave him a hard look and uttered one very clear word. "No."
The word was like a slap in the face. Narrowing his eyes, he fixed her with a cold blue stare. "Then go away," he said, hating himself for saying it but doing so anyway. He needed the drugs. She wasn't going to give him the drugs. What the hell did he need her for?
He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind that told him to stop.
The words were like a slap in the face. Narrowing her eyes, she fixed him with a cold blue-green stare. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she said, anger clouding her voice. "Because then you could go back to pretending like none of this is affecting you. Like you're not going down a spiral that's only going to end in pain."
"I'm in pain," he shot back. "And none of you is doing a damn thing to help me."
She couldn't help but throw up her hands in frustration. "Fine," she said, at the end of her rope. "Fine. You want me to go away? I'm leaving."
And with that, she turned heel and started to walk away.
She hoped he would stop her.
His stomach sank when she turned her back on him. Somehow, he hadn't thought it would be that easy. Somehow, he had believed she would force him to let her help. He should have known she would eventually break. Everyone did.
He just didn't know why it mattered.
Why did it matter that she was walking away when he had told her less than a minute ago that all he wanted was his drugs?
Because you need her to save you.
She felt like she was walking through wet cement. Each new step was harder than the last. Part of her had no idea why she wanted him to call her back so badly. After everything he'd done, all the offers of help he'd refused, it should be easy to just walk away. The other part of her knew that she could no more walk away from him than she could walk away from herself. So it was with sheer relief that she heard him call out her name.
"Cameron," he said. "Wait."
He watched with bated breath as she came to a stop and slowly turned around. Arched her brow and began walking back in his direction. Opened her mouth to speak.
"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she returned to the entryway. He noticed then that her eyes were bright from the chill(when had it gotten so cold?) and her hair was dotted with snow. She had never looked so beautiful.
Because I need you to stay.
The words wouldn't come. Instead, he leaned down and brushed her lips with his own.
Cameron's eyes widened as the thought ricocheted through her mind that House was kissing her. The feel of his rough, warm mouth shocked her more than any cold night ever could. Her arms remained motionless by her sides as he began to devour her mouth and her mind tried to entertain the possibility that she really was kissing her boss on his front stoop on Christmas Eve in the middle of a snow storm.
If someone had told him two years ago that kissing Cameron would feel this good, he might have abandoned all hopeless attempts at pushing her away. As it was, he hadn't known until now that there was something better than vicodin. Running his hands down the smooth skin of her pale arms, he relished the feel of her mouth working simultaneously with his own. If this was how she wanted to help him, he was all for it.
And then she raised her hands to his chest and pushed him away.
"House," Cameron whispered, pushing against his chest and staring up into his smoky blue eyes. "What are we doing?"
She felt her pulse increase as he quirked his mouth upward into a smirk. "You see, Doctor Cameron," he said, his gravelly tone much huskier now. "When a man and a woman –"
"That's not what I meant," she said, quieting him. "I mean, what are we doing?"
He broke eye contact then, and she suddenly became afraid that he was going to tell her to leave again. When he did speak, it was nowhere near what she had been expecting. "I need you to take away my pain."
House felt like he was slipping. Any minute now, he was going to sink through the threshold of his apartment and into nothingness. The snow billowed around his shoulders, falling to the floor of his home. He knew he should go inside – should probably invite Cameron in as well – but all he could do was stare at her ear as his heart rate accelerated with each passing second. His lips still burned from their kiss.
And then she was moving her hand to touch his cheek, and moving his face so that he was once again making eye contact. He swallowed when he saw what was reflected there.
"Okay," she whispered. Before he knew what was happening, she was kissing him again.
She wasn't entirely sure how they'd gotten into his bedroom. One moment she had been kissing him on his front stoop, the next they had been backing hastily into his apartment and down the hall. Along the way, she had shed her coat and begun exploring other parts of his body. Placing desperate kisses along his rough jaw. Running her tongue in lazy circles over his left ear lobe. Nibbling greedily on the soft skin of his neck.
Now her own throat burned in blessed agony as his stubbled chin played across her exposed skin, his lips and tongue moving ardently along the small of her throat. "Mmm, House," she murmured again, pulling him flush against her. She found herself groaning inadvertently when his hardened cock brushed against her increasingly wet center.
If this was the way he needed to take away his pain, she was more than willing to do the deed.
The growing pain in his thigh was quickly becoming a distant memory. Running his hands along the small of Cameron's back and down to the smooth curves of her luxurious ass – still covered in slacks – he discovered himself hardening even further. "I think you're wearing entirely too many clothes," he muttered, abandoning his work along her silky throat and raising his mouth to whisper into her ear. "Wouldn't want you to get too hot or anything." With this said, he reached into the waistband of her slacks and panties, then pushed them both down over her ass. "Much better."
Within moments, he had reached down to cup her crisp curls and then ever so slowly begun to insert a single finger into her satiny wet folds.
Cameron groaned against House's cheek as he began to gently tease her gradually swelling clit. "Oh, God," she murmured, placing quick kisses across the stubbled surface of his face. "Oh God, House." She took a deep, shaky breath as he traced slow circles over her tiny, throbbing button and caused her abdomen to begin to tighten in exquisite pleasure.
"Everything okay?" he asked, and she could hear the teasing quality to his tone. If her legs weren't beginning to shake, she might have reflected on the fact that the gravelly quality seemed to have dissipated. As it was, the only thing she could do was writhe in ecstasy as he placed yet another finger inside her eager folds.
She was beginning to become undone.
This was so much better than sitting on his couch flipping a medicine bottle back and forth. Placing a second finger into Cameron's hot wet pussy, he moved them both away from her clit and down to her more than willing opening. Now coated with her juices, he dipped both fingers into her center as far as they could go, and then scissored them for added affect. The groans this elected caused him to tighten still further in the confines of his jeans and moan against her ear. God, she was amazing. And she was almost ready to come.
Unfortunately, his leg was also almost ready to give way. With this in mind, he added his thumb to the package and started to massage her clit with renewed abandon. Within seconds, she was crying out in ecstasy and tightening around his fingers.
White hot sparks of pleasure zipped down Cameron's spine as she convulsed sporadically around House's hand. Oh, God. He worked wonders with those hands of his. Taking several deep breaths, she attempted to come down from the high to which he had just brought her. It was several seconds longer before she could finally register her surroundings. When she had done so, she realized he was sitting on his bed and massaging his thigh.
She decided then that it was his turn.
Arching a brow, she fixed him with her most impish grin. "You're pretty good with those hands of yours," she told him, stepping out of her slacks and moving slowly up to the side of the bed. "You'd think you were a doctor or something."
"Would you like to play 'doctor,' Allison?" he asked, leering at her.
Cameron smiled at his use of her first name, and grinned when she noticed that his eyes were roving silently over her exposed sex. "I have an examination I'd like to perform on you, Greg," she said, kneeling beside the bed. Her grin widened as a look of surprise registered upon his face.
Then she reached down and unzipped his jeans, pulling him out through the hole in his boxer shorts.
House moaned as she took him in her hand, then bucked himself into her fist. "Is this procedure AMA approved, Doctor Cameron?" he asked, his voice low and husky. And was it an octave above its normal register? If so, she didn't seem to notice the change.
Instead: "I haven't had any complaints," she said before she lowered her mouth to his cock and began to run her tongue over the tip.
Yes, this was definitely the best way to take away the pain, he decided as his mind went blissfully blank.
Cameron started slow, running her tongue over the head of his penis and licking away the pre-cum. She wanted him to feel this, to savor it. She wanted him to forget the pills, forget the pain, and completely give himself to her. It looked like she was going to get her wish.
As she swirled her tongue along the tip of his erection, he dropped his head back onto his bed and began to moan in pleasure. His breathing was becoming erratic, and when she moved his cock into her mouth she heard him take a sharp breath. She smiled as she began moving her mouth along the length of him, suctioning here and running her tongue along there.
Apparently there was help after Vicodin.
House was quickly losing control. Cameron was truly gifted with her implement. Pleasure raced from the head of his cock down through his spine, an urgent pressure built along the length of him. The euphoria was growing, his body was taking over, and he knew that if he didn't stop her now he wasn't going to be able to. "Stop," he groaned, reaching down to place his hand upon her arm.
Blinking in surprise, she raised her head to look at him. "Am I doing something wrong?" she asked curiously, vixenishly. Her lips quirked upward into a smirk.
He fathomed answering her with a snarky remark, but quickly put the idea to rest. He was too far gone, and he wanted her NOW. "I want to . . . be inside . . . of you," he said, his statement coming out in between sporadic breaths. God, did he want to be inside of her. Every agonizing inch.
He was only too happy when she rose to his demands.
Grabbing a condom from the night stand, Cameron rapidly unwrapped it and rolled it onto House's swollen shaft, causing him to groan as she once again took him in her hand. "Feeling better?" she asked him, positioning herself directly above his erection.
"I don't know," he replied in a sultry tone that sent shivers down her spine. "You might want to give me a check up. Ensure that my anatomy is still working correctly."
It was something she was more than happy to do. Sliding herself down along the length of his shaft until they were completely joined, she took a deep breath as her stomach muscles tightened once again in growing ecstasy.
Slowly, she began to tighten her walls around his glorious cock.
Pumping rhythmically into Cameron's tight wet pussy, every muscle screamed out in pleasure. It felt like the floodgates were building behind his shaft and with each new thrust he was closer to exquisite release. He pumped harder and faster still, eager for that moment when he would experience the ultimate absolution.
Cameron was writhing in pleasure above him. Her gorgeous skin was glistening with droplets of sweat, her blue-green eyes were filled with lustful desire. And as she continued to clench her muscles around his shaft, as she met him thrust for blissful thrust, as she groaned in heated ecstasy, he knew he had never felt more alive.
And when they finally gave in to the pleasure several moments later, he decided then and there that maybe it wasn't too late for him.