A/N: More House/Cameron randomness that came upon me when I should be finishing all the story ideas I already have. Meh.
Feedback: Is love. Please review!
The little shepherd boy cried, "Wolf!" and laughed at the villagers when they came.
House walked Cameron to her car after dinner, the glow from the restaurant the only thing that brightened the parking lot. Cameron hadn't said a word since his caustic speech before the main course, all her comebacks and psychoanalysis bubbling beneath the surface. He could tell, when she took a deep breath and turned to face him in the dim light, that she'd picked her moment. It made sense—it was easier to talk to someone when you couldn't look them in the eye. "Say that I am damaged, just going after you because you're damaged too. I wouldn't think you'd care, House."
He looked not at her but around her, watching as what little light there was in the parking lot outlined her hair in a halo of pale, soft gold. "I'd just hurt you in the end."
Anger hit him in waves, and he could hear the frustrated edge to her voice as she spoke again. "You think you know me a lot better than you really do."
She turned slightly, and House could just make out her eyes, staring, glaring at him. So, so naïve.
"No, I know you a lot better than you think."
He woke up from the ketamine coma, too groggy and disoriented to even wonder about his leg. He rolled his head to the side. There was Cameron, just as she'd been in his hallucination. "You're pathetic," he rasped.
His voice jerked her attention away from the magazine in her lap, and she sprang into action, checking monitors and readouts before flashing a penlight in his eyes. "Not pathetic, just worried. I think I'm allowed to be worried."
The words took a while to make their way through his muddled mind. "Yeah, worry. Stop trying, Cameron. It's never going to happen. I'd just end up hurting you."
Cameron smiled at him softly. "I think I'm a little stronger than that."
He was half asleep again before her response even processed. "Mmm. Maybe."
Their patient wasn't responding to treatment, his underlings were all being hounded by that stupid detective, and Cameron was pissed at him, again, for some reason he'd already dismissed. He didn't even look up from his Gameboy. "I told you before—you can't actually pierce me with your stare."
Her reply chilled the air in the room. "It's better than killing you. House, I can't believe—"
He threw the videogame down. "Oh, really? You can't believe I did something that might be a little illegal, or unethical, or just plain mean? I thought I'd taught you better by now, Cameron. I hurt people. I'd hurt you, too."
They stared at each other, the seconds stretching on in silence. Cameron finally looked away first, an indescribable emotion that House had never seen from her before flashing in her eyes. "Maybe you would."
House fingered the pack of cigarettes in his hands, turning it over and over as he did his cane. Trading one vice for another. Rehab was a strange place.
He looked up at the other person in his room, leaning against the door. "You didn't have to come."
Cameron scoffed. "I know that, House. I just wanted to see how you were doing, see if you needed anything."
Feeling the opportunity, he slid into the well-worn routine. He'd snark, she'd parry. It was the only familiar thing in his upside down world. "Yeah, right. You just wanted to see if you could get into my pants. It'll never happen, Cameron. I'd just hurt you in the end."
She just stared at him, a sad smile curling up the corners of her lips, that strange emotion in her eyes again. He recognized it now, finally.
Resignation. Surrender.
Quirking an eyebrow, she replied, so, so softly. "And you haven't already?"
And when the wolf truly came, no one believed the little shepherd boy's cries.