Two days passed without incident or change.
House had yet to leave the hospital. He spent nights watching Cameron sleep and attempting to sleep himself, on the couch in his office; it was painful, but he persisted with his martyrdom. His own twisted form of 'corporal mortification'.
The first day he spent his time trying to eat, dropping into Cuddy's office to get an update on Cameron's progress two or three (or a dozen) times, sneaking past her room careful to stay out of sight, lest Cameron should see him. Glancing inside he could see the room was awash with brightly colored balloons and presents wishing her a speedy recovery. It was also this day that Harpo, the guy with the huge swollen tongue that wasn't nearly as funny as it was two days ago, was discharged with anti-histamines and told not to eat wheat.
He woke up at four that night from a nightmare where he was locked in the conference room as it slowly filled with blood that threatened to drown him.
He didn't go back to sleep.
The second day he ate half a bagel and half a Ruben. He thanked Wilson when he walked unceremoniously into his office and dropped a backpack full of his clothes on his desk, despite the fact that Wilson said he was beginning to smell like a tramp. Dressed in fresh jeans, a new shirt and a crumpled but clean button down he watched from a carefully measured distance as she was moved from the ICU to her own room in the neurology department. On a trip to Cuddy's office she informed him that the cops had called; she stalled them for another few days in the hopes that Cameron would regain her speech.
Apparently the shooter had pleaded guilty and Cameron's statement was just a formality.
He wasn't going to bring up assault charges either.
He slept from four until seven that night, waking up in a cold sweat, his heart thumping out his chest, breathing ragged and shallow. The details of his nightmare were lost the instant his eyes opened, but it left him chilled to the bone.
Even after a hot shower and a fresh shirt, there was still a coolness that he couldn't escape. Something in him craved coffee, hoping that it would warm him but it reminded him too much of her. He settled on being cold.
Little did he know that it was this day that things would change.
It was a little after lunch (a half Ruben) and picking up a fresh prescription, on one of his calculated sweeps past Cameron's room.
He knew that Cameron's parents would be in the cafeteria around now, if their movements of the past two days were anything to go by.
Though someone did seem to be with her all the time, he was glad (and so was she) that they allowed her some time each day to face what happened in her own company. He'd watch her stare out of the window to the overcast skies of New Jersey as she thought it all over, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
Not once did he see one fall.
He didn't know whether it was a good or a bad thing; but something burned in him at the sight of her in so much pain. But still he watched from a distance, like some absent guardian angel.
He leaned against a pillar and glanced towards the room as he had done many times before.
But this time it was different.
She wasn't looking out to the world with a wistful look on her face and sadness brimming in her tearful eyes. Instead she smiled in a placating manor, but he wasn't fooled. The smile did not reach her once shinning eyes. They were dull and almost lifeless at the effort of her forced smile.
House tensed instantly.
Only then did he realise that she was not alone in her room.
His blood boiled, he saw red and before he realised what he was doing he pulled so hard at the glass door that it threatened to shatter as he entered her room.
Its occupants instantly became still.
"Get out!" he shouted, his eyes filled with a wild anger.
20 interns holding clipboards quivered before him, Richards' gaze no longer as cool as it was before.
"Doctor House, Allison said that..."
"No!" House shouted, his voice putting the glass in jeopardy once more, "She didn't say anything! And you call yourself a neurologist! You're not even a real doctor! How could you be when I saw you bullshit her parents with medical jargon when it came to telling them she had Aphasia. In your case, I think M.D. must stand for massive dip-shit because it sure as hell has nothing to do with medicine. She," he said pointing his cane towards a rather shocked Cameron, "is a real doctor, and she deserves to be treated as such instead of some lab rat for school kids to gawp over."
"Now get out." He repeated in a low intimidating tone.
Three interns ran for it while the others looked to the quivering wreck that was Richards.
"Those must be the only three with half a brain cell. The rest of you better pay attention. If you want to be even half as good a doctor as Doctor Cameron or I, I suggest that you don't listen to a single word this man says and leave this room."
Nothing happened.
"Now!" he bellowed.
The remaining interns clambered over each other to reach the exit, some landing in an undignified heap on the other side of the glass.
Richards stood aghast and staring at the menacing ferocious form that was House.
"Dicky, seems like your it." House said his voice low dangerous as he advanced on the neurologist.
The man seemed to trip over his own feet, crashing none too gently into a table before picking himself up and running from the room, House's dark gaze following his entire unsteady progress.
"Do you know how to close a door?!" House shouted after him.
At which point Richards sheepishly made his way back to the room and closed the door with a soft thud.
House exhaled deeply as anger seeped from his body.
He turned slowly to be faced with an amused smile and warm kind eyes.
He couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face in reply, the chill of the morning's nightmare long forgotten. Something almost like happiness seeped through him as if he'd just been given a vacation, or rather coming home after being away too long.
She lifted her chin just a little. "Hey." he imagined her soft voice sound.
"Hey."
He drew awkwardly closer, moving to her left side.
"You alright?" he asked as he hooked his cane on her bedside table, now leaning heavily on her bed for support allowing his thigh a short respite.
She nodded.
"Are you in pain? More morphine?"
She shook her head and reached across to the control panel with her left hand, just touching it but not changing the flow.
Smart girl. Self medication.
He stared into her eyes as she brought her hand back to her. They were suddenly filled with curiosity and concern as he felt her fingertips brush his right forearm.
Glancing down he saw his bandaged hand.
"It's nothing, a few broken bones but it was worth it. He," he said the word with such venom that there was no chance of the identity of 'he' being unknown, "now has a broken zygoma. Much more painful."
She smiled softly and shook her head at his antics, her left hand coming to rest near his.
"You're not even going to try to talk."
He saw a look of pure fear move through her eyes.
Little did he know that it had taken over five minutes for Richards and Foreman to calm Cameron after she discovered her Aphasia, a far cry from the seconds it had taken House to calm her after she discovered that she had been shot. Foreman was entirely glad that House at been at her side at that moment, knowing that if it were him he would be unable to calm her, the result of which would probably be her death.
House calmed her once more.
"Hey, it's okay." he said soothingly his eyes still connected with hers.
The warmth of those kind eyes returned albeit slowly.
House cleared his throat in an official sort of manor.
"Do you know who I am?"
She nodded. "Yes, of course." her voice sounded in his head.
"What it the last thing you remember?"
She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, considering the paper and pen at her right hand.
Her right hand didn't move.
Instead he felt the long delicate fingers of her left hand move around his wrist. He offered no resistance as she lifted his hand to cup her right cheek as her hand moved to press against the back of his.
He smiled ever so slightly, letting his thumb brush the soft skin beneath it.
" Cam..." he started, and then sighed softly, "Allison, I'm so sorry."
He watched her smile as a mother would smile at a child who had just done something terribly naughty; no matter what the child did you couldn't stop loving them.
She moved his hand; bringing his palm to her lips for the softest gentlest kiss he'd ever been given.
His skin and flesh seared white hot, as if her touch, her kiss, was too pure for his sinful being.
He meant to pull his hand from her grasp and bring it to the safety of his dark shadow; he didn't want to be burned again.
Instead, his hand did slip from her fingers only to move to her chest brushing across the rough (yet healing) skin burned from the continued use of the defibrillator. Her fingers gripped his wrist once more, this time far tighter; he could feel his own pulse beating fast against her fingers.
Glancing up to her eyes they were filled with questioning and a hint of anger.
"I'm not going to take advantage of you. Unless you want me too, of course." he said with a wicked grin.
She smiled wildly, her stomach jerking slightly as she fought to hold in her laughter.
"I am a doctor you know." he said slightly softer.
She rolled her eyes and let her hand fall to her side.
His fingers continued to move softly across the red rectangular blemish on her alabaster skin. He smiled inwardly feeling goose-bumps form beneath his fingertips; a smile he could not contain when he heard the bleep of the heart monitor increase it's pace.
He chuckled as she looked incredulously at the traitorous machinery.
At the sound of his amusement, her eyes met his.
They shared a serious moment before she smiled softly and shrugged her left shoulder, she relaxed further in to the warm soft pillows but keeping her sharp eyes trained on his movements.
His eyes and fingers moved over her gown and around the swell of her breast, her heart beating fast beneath his fingertips before they moved across her lower ribs, he moved his fingertips along each one before the skin beneath her gown was no longer smooth. As he traced another rectangular shape he could imagine the red mark that marred her smooth skin and it tore at his heart. He rested his palm against her ribs wishing he could just brush it away.
With a sigh he cast his eyes to the corner of a bandage peeking out from under her gown. As delicately and carefully as possible he pushed at the thin paper-like material, always making sure that she was kept covered and he didn't disturb the stillness required for her shoulder blade to heal.
A pristine white shined up at him.
"Do you want me to redo that for you?" he asked quietly.
Both of them knew that the bandage had been replaced within the last few hours, but he needed this.
Needed to see the wound and the scar he'd leave on her body.
She waited for his gaze to meet hers before nodding slowly.
"Okay." he breathed.
Unhooking his cane he made his way to the other side of her bed, catching a wheeled stool on the way. He sat at her right side pulling at drawers and laying out equipment to clean and re-bandage the wound. He was almost loathe to put on the surgical glove, the warmth of her skin entirely enticing but he didn't want to put her in any more danger than he already had.
Even operating single-handed-ly he was meticulous and precise as ever; a frown constantly marring his scruffy features.
He carefully removed the bandage, muttering an apology when he saw her wince. He stared at the small red mark on her skin, no bigger than a dime, for a short eternity. It was surrounded bruises varying in color; vivid blues, dull yellows, sickly greens, dark purples, grim blacks and mucky browns. They wouldn't have needed an x-ray to show her shoulder blade was broken, the rainbow of evidence was all over her skin. Through thin latex he let his fingers trail over the colors, still able to feel the warmth of her healing flesh. The actual wound was a crimson red, black stitches neatly crossing it. He sighed softly before carefully brushing across it with a soaked cotton ball, returning to him tinged pink with traces of her blood. He glanced up, finding Cameron's curious gaze watching his fingers movements, something indistinguishable in her eyes.
He readied the new bandage and gently laid it over the wound, before he could dwell on that look too long. His fingers moved delicately around the edge of the bandage, encouraging the adhesive to take to her skin.
He tossed various papers and a single latex glove in the trash before rearranging her gown.
The sound of a pen scratching across paper reached his ears.
I don't know why anyone complains about your bedside manor.
He saw her grin and smiled once again.
"Well, you sure seemed to enjoy it." he said, wagging his eyebrows in a suggestive manor.
Her incredulous look returned, now fixated on him; but that did not hide the tinge of red that crept across her cheeks.
"Rest up. My mail is growing over my desk and I haven't had any coffee in four days. I want you back on your feet soon."
She nodded mutedly, a few stray strands of hair falling across her face.
Without thinking he reached forward and brushed them to the side, before his hand cupped her cheek once more.
It had amazed him that after all she'd been through she still trusted him to check her wounds. Hell, he was amazed that she hadn't called to have him removed the second he stepped over the threshold of the room.
She amazed him.
He smiled, something akin to pride shining in his eyes before he turned and left, the door thudding softly behind him.
