Author's Note: I've written a lot of fanfiction in the past on a different account which I have now left behind me. The reason for it is that my writing style has adapted over the years, and whilst I remember my early stories fondly, I'd rather let them lay, lost in the early pages of this website. I wrote this short story as part of a writing exercise, to get me back into the swing of things. I got the prompt randomised from
Set during: Beginning of Season 5. Spoiler alert.
Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful and vibrant characters of House, M.D.
PROMPT: "Is silence really golden? Write about a time when silence or quiet played an important role."
Through the slats of the blinds she could see him; sagged forwards, head in hands, elbows on desk. His fingers were curled in his short hair, pressing against the scalp, perhaps trying to drive away a headache. His cane was leaning against the edge of the desk, but all that had once resided on it – save his computer and a glass of scotch – had been swept off onto the floor. An accident? No. More likely in a fit of rage.
He was hurting. She could see it. Everyone could see it. But he wouldn't let himself feel it. This had happened, before, of course; this ignoring of feelings, pushing them aside so they wouldn't have to be dealt with. She had watched it happened again and again through the course of her time as his underling.
The visit from his parents that he'd tried so desperately to get out of. The time he was almost sent to prison because of an addiction he was unwilling to admit he had a problem with. The return of his ex-girlfriend, whom he had pushed away the moment she had showed signs of giving in to him. They were the ones that most stuck in Cameron's memory, but there had been the smaller ones too, perhaps ones that only those who knew him well enough would notice.
She was still watching him go through this misery, even now in her different role, even though she could have chosen to stay well away.
Cameron couldn't do that, though. She couldn't stay away, not when she thought that she could do something to help.
However, now that she was here, she didn't know what to do. All the other times that she and her colleagues had tried to talk some sense into him, tried to bring out a normal emotional response, he'd just shoved it back in their faces.
She couldn't help a surge of anger – not towards House – but towards Wilson. After all, she expected it of House to be a moron when it came to saying what he really meant and felt. But Wilson? She had always thought him the more sensible of the pair; the reasonable one, the sensitive one. However, if Cuddy was anything to go by, it seemed that this time, both men needed a serious talking to. They were both as bad as one another.
So why was she still hovering in front of the door?
She didn't know what she was supposed to say to make it better, to take the pain away. She could be as kind and understanding and sensitive as Mother Theresa and still receive nothing but biting, sarcastic remarks.
So, what, then?
Her answer came a second after and, with renewed determination; she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold into his office. The door swished familiarly behind her and immediately she was greeted with that piercing stare. She had hardened to it over the years but it still managed to send a flutter through her chest. She wasn't sure whether it was just the fact that she had harboured a 'crush' on the man for all these years, but it seemed to her that he had the most expressive eyes of anyone she had ever met. Those mysterious eyes could range from the most electric of blues to the most guarded of greys. Cameron secretly prided herself on being able to read him by the colours in his eyes.
Today they were filled with storm clouds.
When she said nothing, he reached out and downed the scotch in one – almost as if worried she might take it away from him before he had the chance.
"I have to admit, when I dialled for a hooker, I didn't expect them to be so prompt."
Cameron frowned, jaw clenched tightly to prevent a snappy remark she'd only come to regret. She wasn't going to rise to the bait this time. That's exactly what he wanted, after all, and she'd be damned if she gave it to him.
That weathered, handsome face had darkened considerably further by the time she had picked her way gingerly across the office.
"Well this is a change. Normally I can't get them to shut up."
Was she making him nervous? He looked perhaps a little confused, his intense gaze unwavering, his brow creased, head tilted very slightly to the side.
She was standing beside him now and he turned his chair to face her. Only then did she force the frown lines out of her brow, softening her face and her eyes, knowing that he would notice and understand why she was here.
"So what do I—" His voice faltered and Cameron had to keep a smile of victory hidden from sight. There. Finally. Understanding reached.
"Ah, let me guess. Cuddy sent you?" His face was thunderous now and, before she even had a chance to register his sudden shift in mood, he was pushing up from his chair and groping for his cane. What? Did he really think he'd be able to make a getaway? Reacting quickly, Cameron swept out an arm and knocked the cane out of reach, wincing at the sound it made as it struck the thinly carpeted floor.
Then, before she could change her mind - and before he got so angry that her plan came to nothing - she reached out and looped her arms around his waist, snagging her body tightly against his.
He tensed – as she knew he would – his whole body rigid, though from shock or anger she did not know. Then, after a long, pained moment, she felt the hunch in his shoulders ease slightly and allowed herself a moment to enjoy the benefits of this 'silent embrace therapy' she had created. His tapering waist beneath her arms was firm and warm; the heart beneath her ear strong; though she fancied it was beating faster than it normally would.
He did not push her away but neither did he return it, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Cameron, despite having entered into this with good intentions, could not help but ache for his arms about her. To know what it was like to be held by him.
"Okay, you're actually starting to creep me out a little bit." House's gruff voice pierced the silence again and she winced, reluctantly pulling away. In the same moment, House sagged sideways to lean on the desk; taking the weight off of his bad leg.
It took an incredible amount of effort to get her eyes to meet his gaze, but when she managed it, she was surprised at what she saw. There was such openness there; those storm clouds allowing the sun beams to break through and cast dappled light across the world.
Only then could she trust herself to break that silence. Only then did she know he would not throw her heartfelt words back in her face.
"He lost someone he loved." Her voice sounded cracked and thick with of grief. "He will not get over it." She knew that all, too well. The only difference was that she knew she would have to go on without her husband. Wilson had not – and could never have – guessed that his and Amber's relationship would be so tragically cut short. "He's dealing with his grief in the only way he knows how." She paused to give him a chance to respond, but it seemed that he'd opted for silence instead.
His gaze had shifted, dithering on some unseen thing across the room. The hand that stabilised him remained clenched on the desk top, knuckles bleached white. Hesitantly, she reached out and brushed her fingertips across the protruding ridge of bones. His eyes snapped back to her with the vigilance of a dog guarding its territory.
She was trespassing.
"He could do with a friend." The words lulled softly from between her lips.
"We've never been friends." He snarled the words with such hate and hurt that she physically stumbled backwards.
"House…"
"Get out, Cameron."
"If you and Wilson aren't friends." She continued stubbornly. "Then I don't know what friends are." With that, she turned on her heels and left him alone with the sound of the swinging door.
/fin.