Broken
House, M.D.
Amos Whirly

Perspectives -- Part Two: Dr. Cameron

It was loud, louder than anything she had ever heard. The roaring engines revved and gunned with deafening vibrato that made her lungs rattle and her head spin. The intensifying timbre of the massive engines caused her heart rate to increase, and she couldn't help but gasp in amazement as the giant machines drove over ramps, climbing into the air as if they weighed little more than the hypo-allergenic pillows stored in the closet next to her locker at the hospital.

He was smiling. Really smiling. Actually enjoying himself. Her mind flipped through a bevy of memories, of images, watching him over the brief time she had known him. Never did she remember seeing such a smile on his face, or the same sparkle in his eyes.

His eyes. That was what had made her stop the first time she had met him. So blue, so piercing, so intelligent – she'd never seen such eyes. They showed all his moods, when he was pensive, when he was impatient, when he was angry, when he was – well – when he wasn't angry? Was that the expression she saw presently? Excitement? Almost boyish joy?

She couldn't tell. She'd learned already to read his other moods, when he was teasing (which seemed to be a perpetual state with House) and when he was deadly serious. But she wasn't exactly sure how to read happiness in his face or if what she saw actually was happiness.

He tapped on her shoulder and pointed down on the main floor where a mechanic was climbing up inside one of the monster trucks to work on something. The man was probably six feet tall, but he climbed inside the giant truck with ease and disappeared like a flea in a dog's fur.

She watched him grin as he tapped the pass around her neck, and she nodded back. Maybe after the show they could go down and get a closer look at the huge vehicles.

When the show ended, he led her down the stands and onto the main arena floor, and for the next hour and a half he moved from truck to truck, excitedly commenting about anything and everything. She was genuinely fascinated by the monster trucks, having never seen one at all let alone up close, but what enthralled her most of all was watching Dr. House. The surly, sarcastic diagnostician, every intern's worst nightmare, almost like a caterpillar, had undergone some kind of metamorphosis and emerged a different being altogether. He buzzed happily around the floor, his limp suddenly not so obvious, as animated as a kid in a candy store.

On the way out, they stopped at a concession stand, and she bought two cotton candies. He hadn't brought much money with him, and since he had bought the tickets, she felt it was the least she could do.

Besides, she giggled to herself, it's another way to convince Foreman that this isn't a date.

As they headed for the exit gate slowly, eating their cotton candy, she couldn't help but sigh in contentment. She had learned less this night about trucks and more about her boss.

"That was amazing!" she exclaimed as they approached the exit gates.

She felt his eyes on her and fought the temptation to blush. He looked at her all the time at work. It shouldn't be any different now.

"Gravedigger never fails to disappoint," he countered.

Something in his voice made her smile. Pride at his favorite monster truck? Pleasure that she had enjoyed herself? She couldn't tell.

She looked up as a couple passed them, sharing a drink and talking quietly about the show. She picked at her cotton candy, a sudden question forming in her mind.

You wouldn't dare, her mind sent a freezing chill of fear down her spine. Just talk about the show. Don't get personal.

But her mouth wasn't listening. The question came out anyway.

"Were you ever married?"

She hated herself the moment she asked it, risking a glance upward at him. His face shadowed by his green ball cap faltered for a moment as he limped beside her. When he answered, his tone was gentle but sad.

"Let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal."

She felt her heart squeeze.

Stupid, Cameron. Stupid! Why can't you just mind your own business? She bit her lip. If he wants to tell you, he'll tell you. You don't need to go prying—

"I lived with someone once."

She looked up at him, trying to mask the shock in her eyes.

He lived with someone? I wonder—stop. Shut up. Don't talk. Just nod. She smiled and nodded.

He nodded back, and they continued toward the exit.

"You gonna' finish that?" he gestured to her half-eaten cotton candy.

Hm, her mind clicked as she handed it to him, he likes cotton candy.

He took a big bite, and she grabbed it out of his hands and dashed through the gates. "I'll race you to the car!"

She had been teasing. It was just a joke. She hadn't expected him to actually do it.

"You're on!"

He started half-running, half-limping with extraordinary speed. She'd seen him do it before in the hospital when he was concentrating on getting somewhere fast. She laughed and chased after him, dashing through the parked cars to get to her little sedan.

It was surreal.

She slowed down purposefully to let him get ahead. She hadn't intended for them to race at all. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt his feelings by beating him.

It would have been close anyway, she realized, when she reached the car moments behind him. They leaned against the sedan, laughing.

Laughing?

She looked up at him. He was really laughing, a sound she had never heard from him before.

It was a nice sound.

As they quieted and caught their breaths, they watched the moon come out. She crossed her arms and glanced up at him again. The artificial lights in the parking lot high lighted his face.

She wouldn't have called him a handsome man. He had a weak chin, a big nose, and a high forehead. His hair was always messed up, and he had a perpetual stubble. But still, there was something alluring about him, something captivating about his unusual features.

She felt her face growing red, and she looked away. "This was fun," she commented.

"Yeah," he answered, his deep voice shaking every bone in her body.

"Thanks for asking me." She looked up at him yet again and smiled, her fingers clenching into a fist as he looked down at her, piercing straight through her with his steel blue eyes.

"Anytime."

She took a deep breath and tilted her head. You're being presumptuous, Cameron, her mind hissed. But she didn't listen. "I don't suppose—"

"—We could do it again sometime?"

Was that hope in his voice?

What did she say? What should she say? Her mouth had gone dry. Somehow, she managed a cocky smile, and her voice whispered, "Anything's possible."

The ride back to his apartment was quiet. She had the radio playing. It was some soft instrumental song. She didn't really recognize it, but it was soothing.

"I can't believe you'd never heard of monster trucks."

She giggled at his shock. "Me neither. I think I missed out big."

She felt his eyes on her again, probing, searching, trying to understand her. "I suppose you were into Barbie dolls like any other self-respecting girl."

She felt herself beginning to blush again. Why did he have to ask that? She could still feel his gaze. Say something.

"Actually—," she struggled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're blushing," his voice sounded mildly amused.

Oh, no. He can see it?

"That's not nothing," he prodded. "Unless you have some kind of skin condition I wasn't aware of, and in that case I can recommend a fungal cream that'll clear it right up." His eyes were sparkling intensely, having found another mystery to unravel.

She pursed her lips.

Tell him. It's stupid, but tell him. He opened up to you. It's the least you can do for him.

"I ran a clinic."

"Huh?"

Her blush increased.

"A clinic," she looked away from him. "I fixed all my friends' dolls that had been broken. Stitched up stuffed animals, glued Transformers back together. Stupid stuff, like that."

She waited for the sneer, some condescending comment intended to get a rise out of her. That's what he did all the time, after all. He was perpetually hounding the three members of his staff, almost as if they were some kind of science experiment in human behavior.

For a moment, her mind reverted to a moment in his office not too long ago, when she had asked him why he had hired her.

He hired me because I'm pretty, she remembered. That's what he told me. Not for my grades, my internships, my credentials – for my looks. At first it had completely enraged her. All the work she had done, all the classes she had taken, the crap she'd put up with for all her years at medical school – it was all meaningless. Until he finished what he was saying.

"Beautiful women don't go to medical school."

He was right. She had been given offers to model, to be an actress, a spokesperson – but all she'd ever wanted to do was help sick people get better. Ever since her husband had died.

"Practice, huh?" he broke into her thoughts.

"Yeah."

He knew she had worked hard to get where she was, and what was more important he knew she hadn't had to. But she had anyway.

So, she steeled herself, ready for whatever cruel remark he had in wait for her, knowing that whatever he said would only make her stronger in the end, that it would make her a better doctor.

"That's not stupid."

She stared at him in astonishment. "It's not?" She had been expecting some derisive comment, something bitter and biting and vindictive.

"No."

She couldn't stop a smile.

She pulled the car up to his apartment shortly thereafter, and he climbed out as gracefully as he could. "It wasn't a date, remember," he stuck his head back into the sedan.

"I remember," she grinned. "If it had been, you would have driven and paid for the cotton candy."

"I'll reimburse you. Promise."

"Don't mention it," she laughed.

House paused, leaning on the car roof and peering into the interior. Gosh, his eyes were beautiful.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked, mainly to keep from thinking about his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered somewhat absently. "Tomorrow. And, Cameron?"

"Yeah?" she arched her eyebrows, wondering what he would ask next.

"You really liked it?" The tenor of his voice was skeptical.

This is important to him, her mind realized. It's not just a monster truck show. It's part of his life, it's something that he likes to do, and he invited you to come with him.

"Yeah," she answered genuinely. "I really did."

He nodded and pushed away from the car. "Good night."

"Good night, Dr. House."

He shut the car door, and she accelerated away. She glanced in the rearview mirror, watching him limp up the stairs to his apartment door. He disappeared inside.

She turned the radio off and drove the rest of the way to her apartment in silence, thinking.

When she reached her one-bedroom flat, she flung herself down on her bed prostrate and fingered her quilt.

"I wonder if we'll do something again," she muttered. "Probably shouldn't get my hopes up."

She sat up and regarded herself in the mirror. "You probably bored him tonight. You and your inexperience with cars and trucks and oil and grease."

With a giggle, she slid off the bed and went to the kitchen. She made a sandwich with mustard and lean turkey on wheat bread. She looked up as she heard a loud car drive down her street.

She had enjoyed herself immensely, and she wouldn't hesitate to tell Chase and Foreman in the morning.

She jumped when the phone suddenly rang. She eyed it suspiciously and glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. No one should have been calling. She picked it up cautiously and nestled it against her ear as she poured a glass of water.

"Hello?"

"Do you like piano?"

She almost laughed out loud. "Dr. House?"

"Do you like piano?"

"Uh—"

"You do know what a piano is, right?"

"Of course, I know what a piano is."

"Do you like them?"

"Yes. Why? Is there a symphony coming to town?"

"Actually—"

"Is there really?"

He chuckled. "You want to go?" He couldn't mask the undertone of eagerness in his voice.

"When?"

"Next Friday?"

"Sounds great," she was blushing violently now. "But—"

"But what?" His voice took on a sudden anxiety.

"But," she fought against a giggle trapped in the back of her throat, "you're buying the cotton candy this time."