Author: bluejulie
Title: Purpose in pain (from Lord Lytton's quote: There is purpose in pain, otherwise it were devilish.)
Pairing: Cameron/House
Raiting:fanfic - t (teen) [13 and older
Genre: angst
Words: 4.100
Spoilers: slightly spoilery for the fourth season
Summary: It's Christmas, can House and Cameron come to terms with their feelings?
PURPOSE IN PAIN
It had been a long day, the new fellows made quite a few mistakes that he had to correct and he was in a bad mood and tired. But it wasn't a physical exhaustion, it was something less tangible and far deeper. He needed … something. He needed to get away from all these Christmas crazed people. Did everyone go nuts before the holidays? There was so much noise in the hospital lobby so that his ears hurt from the eerie silence when he stepped outside, where the snow drowned the voices.
The first thing he saw in the light of street-lamps was Cameron who slipped on a patch of ice amidst the three inches of snow on the ground. She fell on her back, her legs jutting in the air. He snickered and then hurried, as much as he dared with his cane on the slippery sidewalk, towards her.
"Next time when you fall, do it when Wilson's around so he can run helping you. A cripple is pretty useless in a situation like this," he said as he came close enough for her to hear him.
At first she didn't respond, then her shoulders started to shake and he thought she must've hurt herself and was crying. Then he heard laughter. Sweet, unreserved laughter that was resonating from the snow surrounding them.
Now he was facing her and he offered her his hand. She took it but only to compliment his nice gesture, she stood up without using him for support. He didn't know whether to be insulted because she didn't trust his strength or thankful for her thoughtfulness. Still laughing, she brushed the snow from her coat.
"Did you hurt yourself?" he inquired.
She shook her head and when she looked up he noticed she had a snowflake on her eyelashes and her cheeks were flushed. She was so innocently pretty.
She picked up her purse.
"How about a drink?" he spontaneously suggested.
She hesitated, watching him, then she finally agreed and they walked down the street together. He knew she and Chase had broken up just days ago and he was dying to ask her about it, but he felt he needed to prepare the terrain first. He thought that rushed and unconnected questions weren't as effective as when you skillfully led the person to reveal themselves and they then realized that they gave themselves away.
"What are you doing for the holidays?"
"My parents are flying in to spend Christmas with me," she said sheepishly.
He nodded.
"You?"
He shrugged, "I'm gonna get drunk. Probably with Wilson. Or alone."
"Nice," she grinned. She wondered what it must be like to be alone on every holiday, on every Christmas. "Your parents never come to celebrate with you?"
"Not really a Christmas family, us," he joked.
"You could come join me and mine," she suggested with a wide grin and he made a face at her.
They reached the first bar on the street, decorated with a myriad of colorful lights, a Christmas tree in front of it and inside and a sprig of mistletoe above the door. She didn't mention it, he didn't notice it.
She sat down gingerly like she were still in pain from the fall. House followed her and the corners of his lips curled up thinking they were a nice pair, both battered and in pain.
He ordered a scotch, Cameron a strong coffee. Just to pull herself together, she said. Maybe she'd order something stronger afterwards.
"Sure, if you're paying," he teased.
She rolled her eyes at him, but before she could show her full response to his words, he already posed another question.
"So … the wombat and you?" He couldn't resist any longer. To hell with tactics, he thought.
She knew what he was talking about, but wasn't certain weather he was asking about the reasons for their breakup or about something else. So she shrugged, "What?"
"You're finished?"
"Obviously."
"You don't seem too upset about it," he commented, knowing she would elaborate on her feelings. She always did that, feeling the need to state everything clearly and unequivocally.
"That's because I'm not."
That was it? He couldn't believe she closed up from him, refusing to say anything. Apparently he'd have to pry everything out of her.
"How come?" She had no idea how stubborn he could be.
"Because we broke up. Because we obviously weren't meant to be and we realized that."
It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear but for now he lost interest because she really didn't seem too distressed about it.
He made a sip of the scotch thinking that she changed, that he didn't know her as well as he used to. Or maybe he had only thought he knew her. Could have he been so wrong about her? He was proud of his powers of observation. They rarely let him down.
"How are the new fellows?" she asked butting unceremoniously into his thoughts.
"Idiotic," he snapped.
Not reacting to his crude answer she continued, "I thought all along you'd hire Cutthroat bitch."
He raised his eyebrows.
"You know, the complete opposite of me so you wouldn't have to put up with needless sympathy and sickening humaneness anymore. But I guess the good looks of the brunette prevailed," she finished with slight bitterness in her tone. She thought he wouldn't notice.
"And it never occurred to you that Thirteen might remind me of you and I hired her for that?" he smirked.
At first, she was confused but then she managed to say, "She's nothing like me, how could she remind you of me? We're completely different."
"I know," he shrugged and she realized he was only trying to establish what exactly she thought of his choice and how she'd react to his words. Curious as always, she snickered inside. It amazed her how interested he was in what others thought about what he did and who he was, considering that he really didn't give a damn about their opinions, much less follow their advice. He was only curious, he just needed to know for the sake of knowing.
"So you're saying you like Thirteen?" she asked with a grin.
"She's got a great body," he said with a lecherous expression on his face.
Cameron sipped her coffee thoughtfully, looking at the surface of the table, before she formed her thoughts into the next question. She'd wanted to ask it for a very long time, but the situation was never right and, to be honest, she never had the guts.
"There's something I've been really wanting to know," she started and from the slight blush he knew it'd be a personal question that'd be far more innocent than she thought it was. But it was very Cameron-like to make a big and awkward deal out of nothing.
He sat silently watching her, the almost empty glass dangling from his long fingers like he had forgotten about it altogether. His eyes were burning into her until she lowered her gaze again.
"I want to know how come you've never found me attractive." She paused, but then continued to explain, fearing he might misunderstand her, "I mean, you're practically attracted all the women you know. Cuddy, Stacy, Thirteen, that CIA woman … So … why not me?"
Was that curiosity or was in there somewhere a bit of envy too? he wondered. He knew thinking about that was just an excuse so he didn't have to think about her question. He didn't have an easy answer.
"Why would you say that?"
"Say what?"
"That I'm attracted to Cuddy … or Thirteen …" He was stalling. He knew it but she didn't seem to notice.
"If Cuddy just hinted she wanted you, you wouldn't hesitate for a split second. You know it and I know it. And probably Cuddy does too. For God's sake, you're a man who's willing to pay for sex, but you're not willing to sleep with me," her voice rose and when she realized where they were she frantically turned around to see whether anyone caught the s-word. No one was paying attention to them, their table was too removed from the rest of the customers.
House couldn't care less about the people around them hearing Cameron's words. He was deeply immersed in his musings as to what spurred Cameron to ask this. Did she still have feelings for him or was just her female pride talking? And which was worse? Or, for that matter, which was better? In the end, he realized he didn't have an answer. What do you say to that, anyway?
"Are you offering yourself to me?" he said, wriggling his eyebrows at her.
She gave him a bored expression in response.
"I never said I wasn't attracted to you," he then replied rather lamely for him.
"Pha!" she exclaimed and surprised him by her passionate reaction. "Do you think I'm blind? You don't have to say things for me to notice them."
"True," he said amused.
She kept staring at him, at his blue eyes, the furrowed brow, the wry smile on his lips. When he still didn't answer her question she spread her arms as if silently saying, So?
He wondered whether he was really that good. Could it be that she didn't notice anything? That she actually thought he didn't feel attracted to her when his skin was fairly bristling every time he stood too close to her, not to mention when he touched her, accidentally or when his need overcame him and he simply couldn't hold back.
"I never said I wasn't attracted to you," he repeated, trying to form a sensible and satisfying continuation to that in his scrambled brain. She had no idea, he thought, almost proud of himself.
She looked annoyed at him and opened her mouth to say something.
"Will you let me finish?" His face lost the amused look. It expressed a certain seriousness, even difficulty. Cameron couldn't interpret it in a way that would fit House.
"And I never showed you that I wanted you, either. I thought it was for the best that way." The second lame excuse in half an hour. He was getting old and sloppy. He emptied the glass and called the waitress over to order another one. Cameron ordered a martini rosso on the rocks. She couldn't wait for the woman to disappear so she could return to their conversation, knowing very well that every second counted in her battle against House's intelligence and his ability to come up with comebacks to which it was impossible to respond smartly.
"The best? For whom? And why's Thirteen different now? I heard the story of the anterograde amnesia patient and how he mirrored your lust for her," she said stubbornly.
"I wouldn't call that lust, just mild interest," he commented dismissively.
"You're not answering my questions," she complained and looked at him severely. She was hot when she was angry, he thought. And dangerous.
"Why should I answer your questions, anyway? Am I in a hearing?" he said derisively.
She just stared at him for a second, disappointment showing in her eyes, then she started getting up.
"Fine, I'll go then."
He didn't know what made him reach for her arm and pull her back into her seat. He didn't know who put the word "Wait!" into his mouth and made him say it out loud. Wilson would've already written a whole chapter of Freudian explanations and implications about it. But Wilson wasn't there to give advice, as useless as it usually was. He was alone, with a frightful task of placating Cameron, not hurting her ego or her feelings and at the same time not saying too much.
They were served their drinks again and House made a long sip right away, avoiding Cameron's eyes, in his head hurriedly turning and tossing formulas of diplomatic replies that had worked in the past. The only problem was that there were few such formulas in his very undiplomatic brain. He wondered why he cared anyhow, he could've simply humiliated her and make sure she'd never raise the question again.
"I was your boss," he finally said somewhat unconvincingly.
She waited.
"And you expressed your feelings for me rather unambiguously. I didn't want for things to get complicated if …" He gestured with his hand instead of continuing.
"Things went bad for us?"
He nodded and averted his eyes.
"Let me get this straight," she slowly said. "You were attracted to me, but you refused to show you wanted me precisely because I wanted you?"
She made a long pause before she leaned closer and nearly whispered, "You only want the women that don't want you?" It was half a question, half a statement.
He only shrugged. That conclusion of hers was neutral enough. He couldn't know she wouldn't leave it at that.
"So you … probably subconsciously, only feel attracted to the women that don't want you and are as a result not dangerous to you because obviously your pining after them is useless and never realized? You're avoiding emotional contact by wanting women that are certain not to return your feelings? That's why you prefer hookers? Because they're emotionally detached." By the end she sounded incredulous.
"I thought your specialty was immunology not psychology," he ridiculed.
"Well, you're not immune to feelings, House," she scoffed.
"Says who?" he asked, secretly admiring her nice pun.
"I've seen you with your parents, remember?"
He frowned. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"You love your mom. You are capable of loving, just not loving me."
She stood up, this time he didn't grab her arm to detain her. She picked up her coat and walked to the door without looking back. Her drink was left untouched on the table, the seat opposite him felt terribly empty.
She was alone in the elevator until Wilson prevented the door from closing the last second and entered.
"Morning," she greeted him. He seemed distracted by some papers until he noticed it was her.
"Cameron."
He started staring at the elevator door very intently, so she knew something was up.
"What?" she said, surprised by the edge in her voice.
He looked at her, still pretending for a moment that it was nothing, till he finally spoke, "For the quiet, temperate woman you seem to be you have an uncanny ability to shake House of out his stupor every now and then."
She nearly snickered at how amused Wilson looked. She felt that no matter how much Wilson cared about House he still enjoyed it whenever anyone managed to beat House in his own battle field. It was a rare occurrence and that much more delightful.
"What did I do this time?" She couldn't quite imagine why House could be upset over their little discussion. If anyone, it was her who could feel insulted.
"I'm not really clear on that. I was just forced to bear the brunt of his annoyance. Next time, if you have to upset him, please stay around to bear the consequences too."
"I had no idea it had such an effect on him. He acted like he usually does, he didn't show the slightest trace of being insulted or anything," she said excusing herself although there was no reason for it.
"What did you do?"
"We just talked over a drink. He refused to answer some of my questions and I left," she shrugged.
Wilson shook his head with a small smile. "I suppose those questions had nothing to do with your relationship?"
"Did he say that?" she frowned.
"He said nothing."
The door opened and Wilson offered no further explanation as he left her behind, befuddled.
She shook her head confused and followed him out. She turned around, feeling lost on this floor, on House's floor. She looked around for Chase and she caught a glimpse of him disappearing into a hallway. She hurried his way.
"Robert," she called and he turned.
Slightly breathless, she handed him a paper bag. "The things you left at my apartment."
Right that second House appeared out of nowhere, having his knapsack thrown over his shoulder. He was on his way home.
"Quick, put them in your pouch and off you go," House mocked. "Wait, do wombats have pouches too, or are that just the 'roos?"
Chase didn't pay attention to him. He took the bag from Cameron and thanked her with a smile. "Are your parents coming tomorrow?"
"Doubt it, the airport's closed due to the blizzards in their area," she said, glimpsing at House, feeling awkward talking to Chase in his presence.
"Hope they make it," Chase said, looked at House, then left.
"Hmm," House looked appreciatively after him. "He is growing up. I thought he'd be sobbing all over you to take him back."
"We've been through this," she said curtly.
"We've been through a lot, nonetheless you keep bringing it up," he quipped. She knew he was referring to her professing her love for him. She wanted to retort something smart and sharp, but after a ten hour shift she was too exhausted to battle with House's intelligence. In that respect she would never reach him.
"So you'll be alone on Christmas?" he asked with a small smile.
"Does that make you happy?" she snapped.
"No."
They entered the elevator together and when they reached the first floor he escorted her out of the hospital. They were silent almost till they reached the parking lot.
"House …"
"Don't start again," he rolled his eyes.
"But I have to. Don't you see? I just want it to make some sense. You're the one who always says there's a reason to everything."
"I also say that everybody lies," he retorted.
He made a step forward, but she didn't follow him. When he didn't hear her steps, he stopped and turned. He threw his hands in the air. "Fine! You wanna know why I didn't sleep with you?"
She looked at him with her big, dark eyes.
"You worked for me, I didn't want for things to get complicated. That's it!"
"That's bullshit," she said and a couple turned to look at her. House grinned, knowing she was on the brink of losing her patience and revealing everything that she was trying so hard to keep inside.
"You wanted to know, I told you." Again, he started walking away from her.
"House!" she said annoyed and he again turned to face her, very slowly.
"If you wanted me I was right there and I wasn't all that reluctant. So, finding excuse in not wanting to complicate things and in you being my boss … That's just so lame, House, and you know it. Why can't you for once be honest with me?"
He was amused and slightly taken aback by her outburst, by her being so direct and fierce. She forgave and cared and loved, she wasn't aggressive and direct. What had happened to Cameron? A second later he realized she was already showing signs of being around him for too long. He had to distance himself from her. He saw no other option.
The muscle in his cheek twitched when he started to form a sentence in his head.
"What exactly do you want, Cameron? You're asking questions you probably don't want answered, you're being all brave, but what if I say I simply don't find you attractive? You'll make that face of yours that's supposed to make people feel sorry for you and you'll run away all hurt and wounded trying to make me feel guilty. I don't play these games, Cameron. So stop it!"
"House …"
"Saints may be good and nice, but you're also boring. And I hate boring," he said spitefully over his shoulder when he turned with more difficulty than he anticipated as his leg gave him grief because of the bitter cold and long standing. He walked away slowly, as nonchalantly as he could, feeling Cameron's eyes burning into his back, just around the area where his heart was supposed to be. But he wondered whether there was anything at all in his chest or was there just one big emptiness because that was all he felt there now.
She looked astounded after him. How could he be so cruel to her? Didn't he feel the slightest thing? She felt like everything inside her crumbled into a heap of rubble. Like this was the end of it, the end of everything.
Things had happened between them, things no one could deny, but it seemed like they had no lasting impression on House. She had seen him high (literally), and she saw him low, caught him lying, stealing, saw him crushed and without a shred of dignity left. But every time she saw him it was still like they met for the first time, like she had never left a mark on him.
She wondered, did he ever cry. Has he ever cried in his adult life? Because she knew he had caused her to cry more than enough for the two of them. But it seemed like she hadn't cried all the tears over Gregory House yet. It hurt her just to move, to walk, to go home alone, because she hoped that if she stayed there long enough, if she insisted, he'd finally realize he didn't want to hurt her and he'd come back. But the dark night remained still and silent. House didn't change his mind.
As he sat on his couch the level of the scotch in the bottle was lowering dangerously fast and his drunkenness was blurring his vision and dulled the sharp discomfort in his chest. His apartment was enveloped in darkness. He had no Christmas decorations, no tree.
The ringing of the phone startled him. He almost reached for the receiver, then he remembered the answering machine was turned on. After the third ring Cameron's voice echoed through the room, like a cry in the darkness. Just the thing he needed.
"House? Pick up if you're there." Pause. He made another sip from the glass.
"Fine, I can say it anyway," she sounded defying, then her voice changed, became softer and timid. "I know you're mad at me. I know you didn't mean what you said yesterday and you probably also know I meant every word I've ever said to you. It seems like nothing I do … or nothing you do could change how I feel about you. You think you hate me for it, but that is nothing compared to how much I hate myself, but I just can't help it."
He thought he heard her sniff, but the voice continued.
"When we again meet at the hospital, you'll avoid me. You'll insult me and laugh at me. When you won't be able to ignore me, you'll pretend you're looking at someone else, maybe at Thirteen, or Terzi. I know that, and I just wanted to tell you that I understand … because I love you."
A long silence.
"Merry Christmas, House."
Then the click. The period to a long, complicated sentence. The period to a life.
He heard the clock on the mantelpiece ticking. He made a sip, this time straight from the bottle. He could see her like she were standing in front of him. Her eyes moist with unshed tears, her lower lip quivering with the effort to behave rationally and adult-like even when there was no one there to see her raging and sobbing. And he felt such a strong need to stroke her dark hair that his hand trembled and he doubled over when the pain shot through his insides. Gall rose to his mouth, its disgusting taste making him want to puke. He pinched the tears away before they dared slide down his face. He didn't know which pain had caused them.
The red light showing there was a message taped on the machine blinked into the darkness, like a lone, but persistent Christmas decoration that was determined to bring the holiday cheer into this somber apartment.
He stood up with a bone-deep fatigue. He limped to his bedroom and hesitated on the threshold thinking of the cold sheets awaiting him. Then, he slipped into his bed, shivering from the cold and exhaustion. The worst was that he knew in the morning things wouldn't be better, it wouldn't just all go away simply because he wished it. It would be there. Always. A reminder of things he couldn't have.