AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, who put caffeine in my tea? Seriously, I know I said that this was almost ready, but it's so pivotal that I've been quite reluctant to publish it. Also, I've created a bit of a back story for Cameron, and I've been rather worried about how you'd all take to it. However, I am currently awake with a severe case of insomnia, and the story was just calling to me. So here it is. Something you've all been waiting for . . .
DISCLAIMER: Jake belongs to me! Mwahahaha! (However, I am currently involved in negotiations with House and Cameron.)
DEDICATION: This chapter is dedicated to all of you, who have been so faithfully reviewing. It's thanks to you that I have the creative juices to complete these things.
The 13-year old girl sat on her bed, headphones firmly in place as the music blasted out the sound of the fight below. She wished desperately for her older brother. He'd have known what to do. And even if he hadn't been able to put a stop to this, his just being there would have made her feel so much better. Unfortunately, with Jeff far away at college, her only company was the golden retriever with his head nestled on her lap. Sighing heavily, she absentmindedly rubbed behind the dog's ears and allowed her mind to wander.
The moment she'd arrived home from school, she'd known something was wrong. Her parents had been sitting on opposite couches, her father staring at the wall in front of him as her mother looked down at her hands. The girl had been surprised to see the tears brimming in her mother's grey eyes. Her mom never cried. In fact, the girl had come to accept that her mom was a master at hiding all emotions. Jeff had once said that this stemmed from her mother's own rocky childhood, but she didn't know much more than that.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," she said cheerfully, pasting a fake smile onto her face.
"Hi, Allie," her father replied, fixing her with his own artificial grin. (Her mother continued to stare at her hands.) "How was school?"
"Fine," the girl told him, then glanced curiously at her mom.
"Mom?" she asked gently, her brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?" The question made the girl a bit uncomfortable, as she was unused to addressing her mother in such a manner. The two had always had a businesslike relationship, if anything. Her mom would ensure that she was fed and clothed, and the girl would ensure that she would do as she was told. Nevertheless, she couldn't stand to see her mom look so sad.
Startled by the question, the woman raised her gaze and locked eyes with her daughter. "I'm fine," she whispered, and the girl could swear she saw an expression of gratefulness waft across her mother's face. It wasn't something she was used to seeing, and it caused her smile to become genuine.
"Okay," the girl replied, her brow still creased.
"Listen, Princess," her father said, jarring the girl from her concern over her mother. "Your mom and I really need to talk. Why don't you go on upstairs to your room?"
"Sure," the girl replied, shooting her dad a puzzled look. What could cause her mom to act so out of character, and her dad to be so serious?
She got her answer almost immediately. The moment her door had closed, the yelling began. After several minutes, the girl was able to discern the words 'asshole,' 'divorced,' and 'cheated,' all sounding in her mother's voice. Suddenly, she put two and two together and her eyes went wide. Her father had cheated on her mother. She felt as if her insides had been frozen. She had known they'd had their problems, but . . . How could he have cheated on her? Her dad, who she loved so much? Who had always been there whenever she'd had a problem? It couldn't be possible. But why would her mom say it if it weren't true?
At this point, she couldn't take it anymore. Donning her headphones, she attempted to drown out the fight.
About an hour later, her door opened and her father stepped into her room sporting the same artificial smile he had worn downstairs.
At first the girl didn't want to take off her headphones. Finally, however, she forced herself to do so. Placing her hands back onto the comforting coat of her dog, she stared at the floor and quietly asked: "Are you going away?"
Her father sighed. "I'm afraid so, kiddo," he said, taking a seat on her bed. "Your mother and I . . . we just aren't getting along."
"I know," the girl whispered. Then, a bit of an accusatory tone entering her voice: "You cheated on her."
The man took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. Finally, he responded with: "You know you can come visit me any time."
"Right," the girl replied, fingering her dog's golden hair. She was fighting an internal battle. She loved her father dearly. But she couldn't get the sorrow in her mother's eyes out of her head.
"Hey, Princess," her dad placed his finger under her chin, lifting her face so that she was looking at him. "I'm just going to be right downtown. We're still going to do things together."
The girl stared at him for a long moment. Finally, despite her inner turmoil, her lips curled into a slight smile. "Promise?"
"I promise," her father replied.
He left shortly thereafter, and within a year her parents divorced. Her father kept his promise. For the next year, the girl visited him on a regular basis, and the two kept up a steady relationship. Unfortunately, with the knowledge of her father's unfaithfulness and the difficulty of living in separate households, the relationship was strained at best. This strain was helped along by the fact that the divorce caused her mother to become disturbingly aloof – a fact which the girl noticed with sadness and anger. And her brother made excuse after excuse to keep from coming home. She knew that he'd made his escape, and he wasn't coming back.
So the girl was alone. In truth, this earned her a streak of independence. With no one around to really depend upon, she learned to depend upon herself. But it didn't improve her relationship with her father. By the time she was 15, their visits had all but ceased. The next year, he moved out-of-state. Aside from the occasional birthday card and Christmas gift, she didn't hear from him again until after she'd started college.
She chose to ignore the pain that this caused her. In fact, angry over what his transgression had done to her family, she told herself that she didn't care.
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Cameron walked briskly down the halls, knowing that it would be foolish to press her luck. She briefly wondered what had possessed her to manipulate this situation in the first place. To expose her little boy to the ticking time bomb that was his father. But then thoughts of the previous week came flooding back to her, and she sighed in frustration. If House didn't fold soon, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. And Jake deserved a father.
Pausing outside the door to the diagnostic's office, she took a deep breath and prepared to step inside. What she saw, however, made her change her mind.
Jake had just finished rooting through his diaper bag, and was now toddling up to his father, a book in his tiny fist. ('The Velveteen Rabbit,' she thought with fondness.) Through the glass, she could just make out the word, "Story," and see her son banging the book against House's good leg. She couldn't help but smirk.
Her expression became serious, however, when House glanced down at the toddler and grabbed the book out of his hand. Was he really going to read to Jake? No, she realized with disappointment. He was turning it over and reading the back to himself instead. Finally, he shot a look in Wilson's direction. "No wonder everybody lies," she heard him state faintly. "They've got books convincing children that damn bunnies can become real."
Cameron rolled her eyes. 'Leave it to House to ruin even a children's book,' she thought as she redirected her gaze to her son.
"Damn bunny!" the child repeated, then began to laugh hysterically.
At this point, the immunologist sighed and decided that she should enter the office before House taught her innocent child any more colorful language. "What are you teaching my son?" she asked, opening the door and stepping inside. ("Mama!" Jake cried, running up to her and attaching himself to her leg. Cameron placed her hand on top of his head.)
House looked up from the book and fixed Cameron with a steely gaze. "Well, I considered exhibitionism," he replied dryly. "But it looks like you've already got that covered."
"So only the best family values," Cameron retorted, meeting House's steely gaze with her own heated look.
After a moment, Wilson decided that he'd had enough. "I should go," he interjected, heading for the door. "It's good to see you again, Allison."
The statement brought Cameron back to the present, and she broke eye contact with House. "You, too, Wilson," she replied, smiling at the oncologist as he headed out the door. Then, deciding she'd rather ignore her stubborn ass of an ex-boss, she turned her attention to Jake.
"Hey, buddy," Cameron said warmly, running her fingers through his soft curly hair. "Mommy has to work late tonight. You ready to go home and meet your new sitter?"
House's eyes narrowed. "You're exposing the kid to another baby-sitter?" he asked sharply. "Are you trying to kill him before his second birthday?"
Visibly tensing, Cameron shot him an exasperated look. "Right. Because I just go out onto the streets and find Jake's next sitters," she returned.
"You might as well," House replied. "So far you've exposed him to an infectious disease and Evil Incarnate. Is there a special place you go to find these people, or do you just get lucky?"
Cameron pursed her lips, annoyed. "If you don't like the sitters I find," she replied smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest, "then why don't you come over and baby-sit him yourself?"
House blinked at this unexpected response. "I would," he said lamely, "but I've already scheduled the hooker for tonight."
Cameron shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Come on, honey," she said, turning back to her son. "Let's get going."
"So that's it?" House asked, watching her strap the kid into his stroller. "You're just going to put him in the hands of another sitter?"
"Unless the working girl wants to baby-sit," she retorted, turning the stroller toward the door. "But then he hasn't had his rabies shot." She paused, considering whether to say anything else. Finally, she settled on: "Good night, House," and stepped out of the office, pushing Jake's stroller ahead of her.
House stared after them as they left the room.
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The moment the conference had ended, the irate doctor pushed himself out of his chair and quickly hobbled past his executioners and out of the room.
"House, wait!" Cameron called, running up to him.
"Go away," he said, his jaw working furiously.
Cameron sighed and briefly closed her eyes, allowing him to move a couple steps down the hall without her. Soon, however, her resolve caught up to her and she once again fell into step beside her boss. "House, I'm sorry. But what was I supposed to do? You were unconscious on the floor!"
"I don't know," House replied, his expression livid. "It's a shame you aren't a doctor."
"That's not fair."
No, it wasn't. But at the moment, he didn't give a damn. "I'll tell you what's not fair," he said, wheeling around on her. "What's not fair is this damn pain in my leg. What's not fair is that you people can't take a god damned hint. You keep picking and prodding, expecting me to crack. Become all warm and fuzzy, admit that I need someone to love me. That my leg pain is just in my mind," These last two sentences were spoken with sarcastic burlesque, but the next was spoken with utter finality and House's eyes flashed with their meaning. "You're. Wasting. Your. Time."
Cameron opened her mouth, perhaps to respond, perhaps simply to gape. Whatever the case, she didn't get a chance. Because the moment House was done delivering his monologue, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hospital, and she was left to stare after him in consternation and shock.
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Five minutes after Cameron left his office, House had grabbed his tennis ball and begun bouncing it in a steady rhythm, creating a muffled staccato beat against the carpet. Ten minutes after that, he'd begun to pace around the room, the muffled beat transferring from the ball to his shoes. Twenty minutes later, he'd grabbed his helmet from the floor by his desk and quickly left the office. Now, two hours afterwards, he found himself in an increasingly familiar position. He was straddling his bike, parked at the edge of a park . . . and staring at the newly rented condo. It was 7:30.
House sighed and pulled his keys from the ignition. If he was going to do this, he wanted to get it over with. Throwing back two vicodin, he swung his leg over the bike, popped his cane from its holder, and started across the street.
"Can I help you?" the woman asked, opening the door. At first glance, she looked fine. Wearing a pullover sweater and faded jeans, she appeared to be a graduate student. The previously unacknowledged knots began to disintegrate in the pit of House's stomach, and the lines disappeared from his forehead. Maybe Cameron had gotten lucky after all. He was about to make up an excuse about knocking on the wrong door when the woman wrinkled her nose and let out a horrendous sneeze. "Sorry," she said, rubbing her nose with her hand. (House narrowed his eyes.) "By allergies are killing be." With that, she leaned forward in a sneezing fit.
A petulant smile spread across House's face. "Your shift's over," he said, stepping past her into the house.
"Excuse be?" the woman asked, once again rubbing her nose with her hand. This at least seemed to clear up her nasal cavities, and she began to talk normally again. "Who are you? The owner's not here, so I really can't –"
"I'm from the Center for Disease Control," House replied. "There've been complaints that you're exposing small children to infectious diseases."
"What?" A look of concerned confusion entered the woman's eyes. "Did Johnny put you up to this? Because –"
"It would be best for all involved if you just leave," House broke in. "Wouldn't want to break out the handcuffs or anything." He paused and looked the woman from head to foot. "Or maybe I would, but now really isn't the best time. Feel free to leave your name and number, though."
"Excuse me!" the woman cried, affronted. "Look, you're going to have to le –"
But she didn't get to finish her sentence, because suddenly a loud thump sounded from far into the condo. "Where's the kid?" House asked, already heading toward the noise.
The woman followed quickly after him. "I put him to bed," she said worriedly, just before a loud wail began to emanate from the child's bedroom.
"Apparently you didn't do a very good job," House snapped, throwing open the door to the room and walking inside. It took him a moment to figure out exactly where the cry was coming from. Finally, however, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room and he saw the small figure curled up on the floor, clutching his tiny head. A blanket led from the top of his crib to his small ankle. House's eyebrows arched in mild shock. Had the child actually dived head-first out of his crib? What on earth would possess him to do something like that? And then he got his answer.
"Dada!" the little boy cried piteously, lifting his arms into the air. "Dada!"
Upon hearing the word 'Dada,' the woman relaxed a little. On the other hand, House tensed noticeably. He stared at the little boy, a dozen emotions playing themselves out on his face. What was he supposed to do? He didn't have experience with kids . . . well, unless you counted pulling fire trucks out of noses and scaring them senseless. But here was this little boy, cradling his small head in his hands and lying helplessly on the ground, crying out for him. Finally, after several seconds and many more cries of 'Dada,' he did the only thing he could think of. Swallowing hard, he leaned down and scooped the small child off the floor. Still, his entire body remained rigid as an internal battle waged itself in his mind. But then a strange thing happened. The child wrapped his arms around his father's neck and rested his head against House's shoulder. Suddenly, and for some reason unbeknownst to House, an unidentifiable warmness began to seep into his chest and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath in order to steady himself. "It's okay," the shell shocked doctor whispered, subconsciously moving his hand to rub it awkwardly against the little boy's back.
"Um, excuse me," the woman interjected, stepping in front of House.
The interruption jarred House back to the present, and his eyes flew open as he fixed the woman with a calloused look. "You can go now," he stated.
"But I'm supposed to –"
"Annoy the hell out of me and hurt my son?" House interrupted. He knew the accusation was unfair, but the rush of emotions currently coursing throughout his gut mandated a definite indifference to the truth. "Congratulations, you've finished the job."
"I didn't hurt him!" The woman cried, a look of shock flitting across her features.
Okay, maybe not. But she was definitely annoying. And she had 'infectious disease carrier' stamped all over her. Which was why the next words out of House's mouth were an ultimatum. "You have five seconds," he stated, looking at her pointedly.
"But –"
"Five. Four. Three."
The woman shot him a disgusted look. "I don't get paid enough for this," she grumbled before turning around and quickly walking out of the room. A minute later, the sound and reverberation of a slamming door told House that she had left.
He turned his attention back to the child cradled in his arms, now fast on the way to sleep. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to put the boy back into his crib. So, after quickly scouring the small head for any serious bumps or bruises, he hobbled to the rocking chair taking up residence in the corner of the room and took a seat. When the child shifted position, House leaned back in the chair and attempted to make them both as comfortable as possible. Soon afterward, the exhaustion from the previous two weeks caught up with him and he, too, fell asleep.
He was still sleeping when Cameron returned several hours later, completely perplexed as to why she couldn't find her baby-sitter. Consequently, he didn't get to see the bittersweet smile that graced her lips as she entered the child's room, nor did he get to see the tears that filled her hazel eyes at the sight of her small son being loved by the father he so desperately deserved. It was only when she placed a blanket over the pair that he awoke and blinked in confusion. It took a moment for him to realize that the weight in his arms was the child, and that his back was stiff from sitting in the rocking chair for so long. And then he saw Cameron.
"Hey," he said gruffly, gazing at her with tired eyes.
"Hey," she replied, a small smile playing along her lips as she attempted to ignore the feelings that were coursing through her body at the sight of House cradling her son. "What happened to the baby-sitter?"
House shrugged (an act made harder by the limited use of his arms). "I took one look at her and thought she might have malaria, so I sent her home," he replied nonchalantly.
Cameron couldn't help but roll her eyes. "How could I have missed that?" she retorted, and a look of guarded affection found its way upon her face as she gazed down at the man in front of her.
It wasn't lost on House. Suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted position and hesitantly handed the kid to Cameron. "I should get going," he said, pushing himself out of the chair after she had taken the boy. (Jake shifted slightly but remained fast asleep.)
"It is late," Cameron agreed, knowing that he would need his space now more than ever. She adjusted her balance so that she could wrap her arms tightly around her son.
House nodded, then glanced at the child and an unbidden smile fell upon his lips. "He's a terror," he stated, inclining his chin toward the toddler.
"Must be in the genes," Cameron replied, glossing over the statement as a wistful hue found itself upon her lips.
House scoffed. "Must be your side." The statement, made in playfulness and without thinking, caused the two to gaze at each other for a long moment, a slew of emotions reflected in their eyes. Humor. Sadness. And . . . longing? Finally, House cleared his throat in discomfort and said: "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Right," Cameron replied, still cradling her child. "Tomorrow . . . Good night, House."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he gazed at the child, cradled in his mother's arms. "Good night," he finally said. And then he was walking quickly through the condo and stepping out into the cool night air, where a sigh of relief escaped his lips.
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We are once again transported to a television studio, but this time we appear to be skirting along the halls of a makeshift hospital. Camera pans in on a steady shot of a rabbit hopping along the hallway, while several nurses, doctors, and patients all stare. The rabbit comes to a stop in front of a glass door.
Camera pans to a shot of a man with a scrubby beard and electric blue eyes. The man is smiling in appreciation as he looks closely at what appears to be the 'New Jersey Journal of Cardiology.' The journal is rotated so that the man is viewing it lengthwise. He lets out a low whistle as he examines the centerpiece. Suddenly, the man is distracted when the door to his office opens. In hops the rabbit.
The man stares at the rabbit for several long moments, while the rabbit stares at the man. Finally, they speak.
Rabbit: He is real!
Man: He is real!
Both faint dead away. Suddenly, a woman with short brown hair and serious eyes steps over both bodies. Oh, wait! That's me. And I have a microphone.
Me: We interrupt this broadcast of an incredibly lame remake of the old M&M's commercial to bring you this news. Recent reports of hostage situations have reached the desk of Writer's Anonymous. It appears that a rather witty and intelligent writer . . . Hey, that wasn't in the original script! How did that get there? (I clear my throat) Sorry. It appears that the entire cast of the hit T.V. show 'House' have been taken hostage by a writer who states that she is "determined to have her wicked way with them." At this point in time, the writer is engaged in negotiation talks with officials. Apparently, she's delivered this ultimatum. If readers review, she'll consider letting the hostages go. Did you get that? If readers review, she will consider letting the hostages go. It is unsure whether this ultimatum will be met. Stay tuned for further details.
I smile toothily at the camera for a moment before it fades to black.
Scene.
