Disclaimer:
Without Prejudice, The names of all characters contained
here-in
are the property of David Shore and FOX Corporation. No
Infringments
of these copyrights are intended, and are used here
without
permission. This fic is rated FRT due to profanity.
Note:
This is my first attempt at fanfiction in about 4 years.
It's
also
my first House fanfic. Be gentle!
She
walked slowly, quietly, down the paved driveway that ran from
the
back
of the hospital's loading dock to the physician's
parking
lot where
83 cars were parked—37 Hondas, 23 Toyotas, 10 Fords, 8
Oldsmobiles,
4 Nissans, and 1 lonely blue Chevy compact, a 1999
Cavalier
to be precise. She sighed as she walked up to her car,
regarding
the new white scratch on the driver's side door, then
glared
at
the white Nissan Altima that was serenely backed into the
space
directly
beside hers.
"Dammit",
she muttered, quickly fishing for her keys in her
purse,
mentally
kicking herself for not having them in her hand as she walked
up.
A hospital was a pretty safe place, but you never knew who could
be
lurking about when the sun went down.
Alison
Cameron was a tall woman, but not an especially strong one.
Sure,
she kept herself fit by jogging 3 miles every other day and
doing
Pilates, but she'd always hated lifting weights. She
realized
that
she wouldn't be able to hold her own in a fight with anyone,
even
her
own sister, who was exactly 3.5 inches shorter than she was.
She
sighed
again.
She
also realized that she'd been doing that a lot
lately—sighing.
It seemed
like every time she went to work these days she'd leave
feeling
physically
drained and utterly exhausted. She was starting to hit the
snooze
button in the mornings too. For the last couple of weeks
she'd
barely
made it in by 7:30am, on time for most, but 15 minutes late for
her.
Not that any of her coworkers would notice—it was usually
7:35am
for both Foreman and Chase.
She
shook her head as she got into the driver's seat. The
cloth
upholstery
wasn't nearly as cold as leather would have been. She
mentally
thanked herself for purchasing the low-end model. She
shivered
as she shut the door, surprised that it was still cold even
at
the end of April.
"I
hate this state," she muttered; as she struggled to throw
her
purse onto
the passenger seat floorboard while simultaneously trying to pull
the
seatbelt over her chest.
She
checked her rearview mirror before starting the engine. She
sighed
for a third time that night. Gregory House, MD was slowly
limping
his way toward her car, waving an arm to get her attention.
She
felt like slamming her head into the steering wheel.
"Shit,"
she growled to herself, irritated at him. She'd
wished
him a Happy
Birthday, hoping sincerely that he might crack a smile, or that
a
corner of his eye might twitch upward, indicating some small
amount
of
pleasure that someone had taken an interest. Instead, he'd
sent
her
on her way with the same sort of sarcastic remark he was always
so
fond
of throwing her way.
Oh,
she'd smiled as she walked away, for sure, but inwardly she
wanted
to
burst into tears, and she didn't even know why. It hurt. It
hurt
a
lot that he hadn't cared enough about himself to even
acknowledge
what
for most people would have been considered a time to smile at
the
fact
that they'd cheated the inevitable for another year.
She'd
never met
anyone else who didn't care about himself. What misery.
She'd
even gotten a small gift for him—nothing much, just a
framed
photograph
of herself, Chase, Foreman, and Dr. Wilson that she'd
gotten
Dr. Lisa Cuddy to take at the December staff meeting.
She'd
even
gone to the trouble of matting it herself at the local art
center,
just to give it a personal touch. She'd even bought a
little
card,
which, though a little corny, read:
Dr, House,
Thanks for all your dedication. Happy birthday.
Dr. Cameron
The
photo lay still wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow inside
her
purse.
"Like his eyes," she thought, glancing at it as
House
strode
up
to the window. She wanted to smack herself for the thought.
"What?" she snapped as she rolled down the window.
"Touchy,"
he responded, cocking his head slightly as he
regarded
the scratch
to the door. "Thought it would be interesting to file
your
fingernails
on primer?"
"Get
real," she responded softly, drawing his gaze with her
own.
"What's
up?" She tried to be civil. She did have to see
him
in the morning
for another day of work.
He
was quiet for a moment and looked down at his feet, a slightly
pained
expression flitting across his fine features before the mask
slammed
back into place. "My car has a flat tire. Would you
mind
dropping
me at my apartment on your way home?"
She
knew her mouth must have been hanging open. House? Asking for a
ride
home? With no sarcastic comment in place? She must have died.
"Excuse
me?" she asked.
He
frowned, then tapped the back wheel with his cane, placing a hand
on
the top of the car frame to steady himself. "My car…has
a
flat…have
you gone deaf or have I suddenly been replaced by some
puzzling
replica of one of your lab specimens?"
Aha,
she knew the demeanor couldn't last. "Yeah, all
right,"
she said,
leaning over to unlock the passenger side door. "Get
in."
She
was quiet as he hobbled around to the other side of the car. She
knew
her face was burning, and she was extremely relieved that it was
dark
outside. She didn't want to give him any excuse to take a
jab
at her.
She just wasn't in the mood.
The
drive to House's apartment was completely silent. "Thank
goodness
it's
only 5 minutes," Alison thought to herself, willing
traffic
lights
to change colors so she could shave a few more seconds off
the
trip.
As
she pulled up to the building, House was already pushing the
door
open.
She didn't even look at him as he started to swing his
feet
out of
the car onto the street. Too late, she realized the end of his
cane
was looped right in the shoulder strap of the purse. As House
pulled
the cane out of the car to help him stand, he pulled the whole
purse
out with it. To Alison's horror, the purse fell to the
street,
spilling
its contents at Dr. Gregory House's feet—gift-wrapped present
and
all.
"Sorry,"
he said unabashedly as he leaned over to put her
things
back in
the purse.
She
nodded mutely, facing forward, hands gripping the steering
wheel,
afraid
that he would—
"What's
this?" Gregory House, MD saw the little package
on
the asphalt,
next to a powder compact and a pocket-sized hairbrush.
"What's
what?" Alison asked, knowing her voice sounded
shrill
in the darkness.
"This."
House picked up the present and swiveled in his
seat,
holding it
up so she could see it.
Alison
knew she couldn't lie. She fought the urge to sigh, not
wanting
to appear defeated in front of him. "It was something I
made
for
your birthday," she started, pausing to catch her breath,
and
continued,
"but it seemed like you didn't think it was a big
deal,
so I
thought I'd just give it to you later or something." She
knew
it sounded
lame, but she didn't know what to say.
House
stared at her for several seconds, rubbing his thumb over
the
delicate
paper. "Thanks," he said quietly, stepping out of
the
car and
turning around to face her. "See you tomorrow?" he
asked,
holding the
package carefully in his left hand as his right gripped the
cane
tightly.
"Yeah,"
she whispered, nodding slightly. "See you
tomorrow."
And before
he could shut the door, she said, "Dr. House?"
"Yes?"
he replied, leaning down and pinning her with his
gaze.
Beautiful eyes. "I meant what I said earlier today."
"What was that?"
"Happy birthday."
He
nodded briefly, and shut the door. She drove away, hardly daring
to
glance backward, momentarily afraid that he might be tossing the
gift
unopened into the gutter. She wanted to cry.
Greg
House followed the little car with his eyes until it made a right
at
the next corner, vanishing into the night. He looked down with
slight
suspicion at the wrapped present, momentarily afraid that it
might
be something extremely personal—like her favorite book of
poems,
signed
on the inside with some sappy letter about how she loved the
one
on page blah blah blah.
He
shook his head. Inwardly, he wouldn't have minded that so
much.
She
tried so hard sometimes…no, there was no point in even
thinking
about
Cameron in that respect. She could never be anything more to
him
than a coworker. Even if he wanted her to be.
He
read the card first, then put it away. Typical Cameron.
Slowly,
deftly,
his nimble fingers worked around the blue bow to the silver
paper.
He cut the tape on the package with a thumbnail, unwilling to
rip
the packaging that she had so willingly wrapped for him.
When
he saw the photograph, he felt a sudden tightening in his chest.
For
a quick second, he thought he might be having a heart attack.
Then
he realized it was just emotion. Dr. Gregory House was
actually
touched.
He turned to walk into his building, clutching the small
picture
in his left hand, against his chest.
The
picture sitting on his desk, beside his computer, was the first
thing
Alison Cameron noticed as she entered his office the next
morning
to drop off his mail at 8:00am. She sighed, contentedly this
time,
as she turned and set off to see her patients. It was going to
be
a nice day.