The Immortality Contagion
Ch. 06: Only a Dream
Princeton, New Jersey. August 22nd, 2016
Cameron didn't pass him this morning. Might have the day off, or could be working over, he thinks to himself, disappointed as he always is, whenever their schedules fail to align.
He had dreamt of her the night before. Made love to her slowly at first, then again more aggressively, each marking one another, staking a claim on the other's flesh. At one point, he even dreamed he was her prostitute and she'd used him in deliciously kinky ways. Biting and sucking. Licking droplets of blood from his neck and chest where she'd bitten him.
He supposes it must be the byproduct of his previous night with Ronda.
He wishes it didn't have to just be a dream.
If he would only allow himself to have her, he could get back to enjoying her in other non-sexual ways. She's incredibly intelligent and a great doctor. Before the urges became so overwhelming, before the infarction, when he was committed to Stacy and had accepted that Cameron could only be a colleague, they had a budding friendship.
She'd taken an interest in his research and would stop by his lab occasionally when she worked the odd day shift or double. Her mind was as fast as his, and he'd rarely been around someone else he could say that about. Often he'd wished he could get her to work with him in his lab. But she has a thing for fixing broken people. He didn't get it, but then again, it's good that there are doctors who aren't like him or there'd be a lot more broken people in the world.
She'd tried to save his leg, but it was too late, the infarction had done too much damage, too much of the muscle had died. She did, at least, act fast enough to provide him with a chance to avoid amputation. Maybe if she could have followed him past the E.R. things would have turned out differently. Whether that theory could hold true is a moot point, but ever since she'd treated him that day, the whole dynamic shifted to the point that it is nearly impossible to be in the same room with her. If together too long, he's not sure he is strong enough to control the urge to take her.
He wants better than that for her.
His theory is she wants him now for the same reason she needs to work in the E.R.—he's broken; she needs to fix him. He suspects her failure to fully save him ties her to him. The idea of her loving him out of a sense of duty or empathy is unacceptable to House. If she hadn't wanted him while whole, he would not now become a stone tied around her neck because of her fucked-up sense of duty, no matter how much he wants her. That should have been Stacy's responsibility. She was the one who supposedly did love him whole, and was too much of a bitch to love him broken yet too selfish to let him risk death for the chance of being whole.
Cameron doesn't act on the attraction either. He's still not sure why. He's sure his brokenness makes him practically catnip to her. This puzzle doesn't make the situation any easier. Before the infarction he had observed she was resided to being alone, and to remain, herself, broken. Not many other people would have noticed, but he's not other people.
Quite a few men just assumed she was a closet lesbian. And though he loved to imagine that, he knew she projected being off limits for reasons other than her sexual preference. There was always an attraction between them, and there were the occasional lustful looks at others, though she never acted on them. Or if she did, she was one hell of a magician to hide it from him; he has a knack for telling when people were involved.
It had become his great hobby to try to figure her out and the puzzle had once distracted him from the original attraction. They'd both done well to put one another in the friend/colleague column in those few years. It's an anomalous conflict within himself—wishing he could have that simple relationship again but refusing to exercise control over the part of his mind that so badly needs more from her.
Wonder what Wilson is up to? He thinks, forcing his mind away from thoughts of her, as he walks through the lobby and toward the elevators. However, he's unable to continue the train of thought thanks to his path being intersected by Cuddy.
"Good morning, Dr. House. I still need your proposal." Cuddy. His former friend turned inadvertent nemesis.
Sidestepping her, he continues on. "So write it and leave me be."
Her total disregard for his wishes is something he doesn't seem to be capable of forgiving. He'd always trusted her and she betrayed him in the deepest way. Sometimes he wants to forgive her, knows he should forgive her, but in truth, just can't seem to find it in himself.
She turns and falls into stride beside him. "You seem to have forgotten how this process works. You decide what you want to research next, you find the grants available, you write the proposal, then I review and approve or deny said proposal, and get it in the hands of our grant writers."
Reaching the elevator, he raises his cane to press the up button. Doing so repeatedly as if that might somehow make the damned thing lower faster so he could make his escape. When the doors finally open, he steps into the doorway and blocks her path to follow, while holding the closing doors at bay.
"I've got an idea, why not pick something you know you'll approve, get my intern, Don or Dan or whatever his name is, to write it up and work with the grant writers and then let me know what it is I'm supposed to be curing for the next five years or so." The elevator's automated voice chimes in loudly commanding him to "Stand clear of the closing doors." And with that, he steps back and leaves a frustrated Cuddy on the first floor.
If they want grant funding, they can do the damned paperwork themselves. I bring more than enough fucking money to this place as it is.
It had been like this since he came back from his recovery leave. Almost a year, and still he evaded nearly every assignment she gave him. Tenure protected him from losing his job, and so long as he wrote a published paper here or discovered something interesting every few years there, the University and its teaching hospital were happy to keep his name on their faculty list for the purposes of fundraising and recruitment.
He'd done more the ten years prior to his infarction than most in his field do in a lifetime. A few years of wallowing in self-pity will do very little to change what his name alone offers their bottom line.
No need to let Cuddy spoil the mood from my stellar weekend. He thought as he exited the elevator to make his way to Wilson's office. He'd had great sex and great sleep for the first time in two years. That deserves a little bit of happiness, even from a misanthrope.
As always, House barges in, possible patient appointment be damned. Much to Wilson's relief, he was in his office alone when his best friend shoved open the door and planted himself on the couch. "I scored us tickets to a concert this Friday. It's that really badass Steely Dan cover band I was telling you about. It's about as good as your going to get live, short of the real thing."
"Great. What time?" They'd been hoping to catch the band for a while, but between their schedules and the fact that the band nearly always sold out, it had yet to materialize.
"9:00. We can leave from work, grab dinner on the way. You're driving by the way," House ordered and stretched his arms across the back of the couch, and pulled his good leg up placing the ankle on the knee of his bad leg.
"It's a date then," Wilson answered, still more focused on his work than his friend.
"If it's a date I expect sex. Especially with the strings I had to pull to get these," House joked and it was then Wilson heard the difference in House's voice. He looked up and observed the man and it hit him.
"Um, speaking of. You got laid this weekend, didn't you? And not by your normal prostitute; you're practically glowing and you have quite the evidence peeking out from the edge of your collar. You're professional ladies don't normally mark you."
House gave a curt nod and a wicked smirk, "I upgraded my service. Well worth it."
"Wait… You finally had sex with Cameron didn't you?" Wilson shakes his head and laughs, rambling on, eyes returning to his paperwork. If he had taken a moment from his excitement to notice the look on House's face, he'd know he was dead wrong long before inserting his foot completely in his mouth. "You dawg, I knew it was only a matter of time before those looks turned into sex. I should have known it was you that put that smile on her face this morning. I want details. Is she as hot naked as I assume? Is she wild? Into anything kinky… Well, besides you?"
House was deflated. Had she found someone? Wilson wasn't the keen observer of people that he was, but the guy did have a radar for picking up on the signs of being well laid. It was the one area House knew he always stood the strongest chance of losing a bet.
Dammit. He thought. I don't want her fucking someone else.
How's that going to work, genius? You're the one who wants her to go off and be happy without your broken and cranky ass.
Yeah, well I don't have to like it!
His mind argued with itself for a minute, before House stood up and charged out of the room and headed down toward the E.R. Leaving a confused Wilson in his wake. If Wilson had seen her this morning, she may still be here. This was something he needed to observe for himself, to see if he drew the same conclusion.
Well, not the same conclusion, because obviously, you know you didn't fuck her.
Christ, you're my own brain, you know what I fucking mean.
When he got to the E.R. she was signing paperwork at the nurses' station. Hanging back, he looked at her and took in her aura. It was calmer than he'd seen it in weeks. His emotions were conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted more than anything for her to be happy. On the other, he wanted nothing more than the reason for her happiness to be him, and not some other asshole.
Who are you fooling? You can't be the reason for anyone's happiness. You're too fucked up now. If you could have convinced her five years ago maybe, but now… If only either of you was romantic enough to believe that two broken people could make a whole.
She looked up then and met his eyes. It happened again, but this time it was different. Both their primal urges had been sated for the moment and the imagery was calmer.
He placed a hand on her cheek and his head leaned in. Lips barely grazed and his tongue slipped out slowly to request a taste of hers. Granting him entrance, she returned his kiss.
The image triggered something in him. It felt too much like a memory. He shook it off and his eyes focused back to the real world and on Cameron who was now standing before him.
"Hey House. You look good today. I'm glad. It's been awhile." She said with a tenderness and deep affection. Her aura was dominated with calm blues, but there were hints of orange, purple and, of course, the melancholy dark blue which always remained at the center.
"Yeah, I had a really good weekend. I slept well for the first time in forever, I think."
He found it easy to be, quote-unquote, normal, around her. With everyone else, he wielded his biting wit and sarcasm, but he had no need of it with her, at least not when they were alone. Around others, they were both different. Both had walls ten miles high. He could be honest only when with her, and it felt good and perfect.
Why can't we just be like this? He thought to himself.
His mind answered in her voice. Because I'll eventually hurt you in ways you can't fathom, and I'll have to live with that.
He hated that his experience with Stacy had made him this way.
Allison hated that she had to let him think her answer was his imagination. It wasn't. She couldn't risk it. Not after the last time she'd let herself believe she could have a shot at normal. She couldn't bear it. It was hard enough to deny her desire for him before the accident—before everything they shared just after it. The aftermath of that moment made her life with-but-without him miserable, but she gladly paid the price to save him. Her only regret was that he was paying too without understanding why.
"You're working late today. Long night?" He asked, hoping she didn't elaborate on activities that may have happened before her shift.
"Yeah. A big mess of a car wreck early this morning just before I was supposed to get out of here. But it's winding down now and I'm heading home." She began walking towards her office and he followed.
He leaned on the doorway and watch her pack up her things. She was still in scrubs and he wondered if she was heading to the showers. Reining his mind in from the image of that, and the thought of joining her, he tried making small talk instead. "I miss you stopping by the lab. I know I haven't been working on anything interesting and Dave is a boring idiot, but maybe there's something cool we can find to debate. I need someone with half a brain down there sometimes."
Packing away her computer she continued the conversation. "I heard you were between studies."
"I am. Cuddy is on my case to submit a grant proposal. I told her to just pick some worthy disease and send it to the grant writers. I don't think that's going to fly. If you were me, what would you want to study?"
A loaded question indeed. Even if they could undo what had been done, studying her disease would most certainly cost still cost House his life as he knows it. They were so far from a solution without him. Cameron was now convinced Cuddy was right. If there was anyone in the now that had a shot of breaking through, it was him.
Given the turn in events the last year, if she even hinted that she'd had an about-face about enlisting him, they'd press for conversion before he gets much older whether it was wise or not. Lately, her selfish side questions that being a bad thing more and more. Part of her longs to give in. Convert him, just so she could be with him. But the life she's been forced to live has left her as miserable as he is a cripple. But unlike him, her end is nowhere in sight. That truth continues to steal her resolve. What good is trading one guilt-fueled misery for another?
She sighs and answers his question with a lie, "I don't know. But if you want help, I can stop by sometime when I have… "
He surprised her, which was a damned hard thing to do all things considered. But nonetheless, he had taken her arm, turned her and was kissing her.
God dammit, he tastes so fucking good. She laments as, for a moment, she gives in and allows herself to kiss back before breaking the kiss and looking up to his eyes. Sadly, she asks him "Greg, you know we can't do this, right?"
"Allison… I… I'm sorry." Again his gut tells him he's done this before, tasted her before, even though his mind knows better. Both of them will back tears.
"Shh, it's ok." She touches his jaw and looks him in the eyes again. "There is nothing to be sorry for, you just bumped into me by accident. No harm done." It was harder every time she had to rewrite his memory. But it was what they had agreed to do, whether he remembers or not.
