Bea's Heart:

Something Good

Unnecessary disclaimer: None of the characters or storylines appearing in the TV show "House, M. D." belong to me.

Abstract: The flighty Beatrice Cameron falls in love with her professor, a forbidden love that can never be requited. Her mother becomes an unlikely sympathizer, sharing a story of her own love and loss. H/C.

"How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart."

A couple of months had passed, and it was May, the week before Bea's final exams. Bea had been insistent that, since she had the week off, a couple days away from studying would be no problem. She was so insistent that Allison gave in, with the condition that Bea would study on the plane, which is what she was currently doing. But the closer they got to arrival, the more apprehensive Allison became.

The captain announced that they would be coming in for landing soon. Allison felt queasy. "Be right back," she said, and headed for the restroom.

Allison leaned over the counter in the small bathroom and took in several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She was rarely this nervous for anything. She looked up in the mirror and examined herself critically, like he would.

Streaks of silver marred her beautiful hair. Thin wrinkles had formed around her eyes and mouth. She was getting old.

She sighed nervously. Why was she doing this? Every time she had attempted to pursue House it had ended badly.

She reached into her purse, pulling out the carefully folded photocopy. The photo was the one thing that gave her hope that this time maybe he wouldn't be running from her.

She stared at it for a few moments. The memories weren't perfectly clear anymore, but she did love him once. Maybe she still did.

And with the photo, maybe there was a chance that he still loved her too.

The pilot made another announcement about landing. She needed to head back to her seat.

When she sat down, Beatrice grabbed her hand. "Calm down, Mom," she whispered. "It's going to be fine."

Wilson was waiting for them when they arrived. He looked a little greyer than she remembered, but was otherwise the same man she remembered from twenty years prior.

They hugged happily, and Allison introduced him to Bea, for whom he only had words of praise after their continuing correspondence.

"House's room is down the hall," Wilson said, leading them slowly in that direction. Allison tensed with anxiety. What if he really didn't want to see her?

They arrived at his room much more quickly than Allison had hoped, and Wilson knocked on the door. "House!" he called. "Someone here to see you."

"Bull," she heard from the other side of the door.

Allison looked at Wilson, who just shrugged. "I'm bringing her in," he called back, opening the door.

Her eyes zoned in on him immediately. At that moment there was no one else.

She approached with trepidation. His body that once towered over her was now confined to a wheelchair. The brown of his hair was a thing of the past. But two piercing spots of blue peered out from beneath a furrowed brow. She knew those eyes.

She felt apprehensive, felt small. She felt like she was in her twenties again, interviewing for a job with the terrifying man with the beautiful blue eyes.

"Hello, House," she said simply.

He didn't respond, only stared at her intensely. "Wilson!" he yelled. Wilson was nowhere to be found—and neither was Beatrice, Allison realized. The two of them had conveniently disappeared while she wasn't watching.

"Damn him," House said, resigned. He waved to a seat next to him. "You may as well sit down," he said ungraciously. She sat.

"I thought you'd be dead," she said, unable to think of what to say.

"Yeah, well," he replied, "Old bastards like me never die."

She smiled. "How are you?" she asked.

"Never better," he said sarcastically, motioning to his wheelchair. Allison looked down at her hands.

They were quiet for a few moments, and she looked around the room. Even in this place, he kept his piano. He spoke again. "So I hear you popped out a kid," he said unceremoniously.

Allison smiled a bit. "Yeah, twenty years ago," she responded with a touch of sarcasm.

"Don't blame me, I'm not the one who fell off the face of the planet," he accused.

Allison's eyes drifted to the window. "It seemed the best option at the time."

They were silent again.

"You ran away." His eyes were on her accusingly.

"No," she firmly answered. "I was breaking free."

House sneered. "You tried and tried," he said, studying her. "But you never really broke free of me, did you?"

Allison stood and walked towards the window. He could see her fists tighten, as she tried to control her emotions. Satisfaction rose in him when he realized he still knew how to push her buttons.

"I was free of you for twenty-five years," she finally said as she stared out the window.

"Then why are you here?" he asked triumphantly. He had her under his thumb now. It was just so easy.

She turned back towards him, her blue-gray eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Because of this," she answered, pulling a worn, folded paper from her purse.

She held it out to him, and he unfolded it in trepidation. Before him was the picture from his drawer. He looked up at Allison, who smiled triumphantly. "You were never free either, were you?" she asked softly.

He crumpled it decisively in his hand, gripping it tightly, as if by making it small it would go away. "Where did you get this?" he asked. She was silent.

"Where did you get this?" he bellowed.

"Wilson," she responded, clearly unnerved by his demeanor.

House fell back in his chair. The crumpled paper dropped from his hand and rolled away. Damn Wilson. Damn him to hell. He looked over to Allison, who was standing in the corner uneasily.

"What did you think coming here would do?" he demanded. "Did you expect me to fall all over you, tell you how I've always loved you and how I want you still?"

The tears threatened to fall. "No! I—"

He interrupted her. "Do you think I can ever have you now? Stuck in this chair for the rest of my life, withering away like the old useless piece of shit I am! How dare you come here and flaunt what I can never have now." He breathed out angrily. "How dare you!"

Allison fled the room in tears. House fell back in his chair again, exhausted. Perhaps he had been too hard on her… but no, she shouldn't have come.

After regaining his strength he wheeled himself to the window, where she had been just moments before, and looked out on the garden.

Like a ghost, she appeared before him again, weeping in the garden. Oblivious to his spying, she sat down on a nearby bench. He saw in her hands the crumpled page, which she must have picked up without him noticing. She smoothed it out as best she could as he watched.

She was still very beautiful, he decided, even after all these years. The first bloom of youth had faded, that was true. But her eyes were still clear and bright, her skin still soft, and that irresistible something about her, that which made her Allison Cameron… that was still there. He wanted her.

He cursed his body for being too old and weak. He was lucky to be alive, intellectually he knew that, and yet he hated himself for not being young enough, virile enough… worthy enough for her.

Despite everything, he was so drawn to her. He couldn't help himself; he must go to her.

When he went outside, she was staring at the photo. The tears were gone, but her hands shook slightly, like leaves in the breeze. He wheeled himself next to her bench. "That was a good day, wasn't it?" he said, nodding towards the photo.

Allison's face showed a hint of a smile. She stroked her finger across the worn photocopy. Hers and House's likenesses stared back from the page. "Yes, it was." She paused. "I wish there had been more days like that one."

House nodded. He looked around the garden. There were several groups of people milling about the garden. He noticed Wilson and Beatrice chatting animatedly on a bench a bit away. House inclined his head towards them. "What's her name again?" he asked.

Allison looked over and smiled warmly at the sight of her daughter. "Beatrice. After the Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. Though, I'm afraid, Bea is nothing like her at all. She's far too innocent for her age."

"I don't know, writing me was pretty ballsy," House mused.

Allison laughed lightly. "Maybe the Beatrice in her is going to come out after all."

"She sounds like you," House responded after a moment, studying her.

"Too much so, sometimes," Allison said with a sigh. "Too innocent. Too stubborn. Destined to follow single mindedly what she loves, even if it kills her," she finished, looking at House before turning away again. Silence overtook them.

"I'm sorry," House said finally, making Allison look up in surprise.

"For earlier," he clarified. Allison nodded quickly, looking down at her lap.

"I shouldn't have come," she said.

House shook his head. "No… In spite of everything, I'm glad you did."

Allison looked up at him, meeting those bright blue eyes, and smiled.

"I don't know why you keep coming back to me," House said.

Cameron looked down, her smile gone soft. "Like a moth to a flame," she reflected. She smoothed the paper in her hands. "I keep getting burned."

"But you keep coming back," House said, reaching over to place a hand across hers. "I think I will die without understanding you, Allison Cameron."

Allison smiled. "Old bastards like you don't die, remember?"

A/N: To explain the Much Ado About Nothing reference – Beatrice was very daring and independent. It's a great play, and there's a good movie version starring Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson that has Robert Sean Leonard (Wilson!) in it also! You should check it out. :)