House was ready to be home, but he wasn't looking forward to sharing his home with Cameron's little brother for the weekend. He had tried his best to pout about it but she insisted he give Sam another try and from the sounds of it, Cameron had given Sam the same persuasive speech about him.
He was shoving handfuls of dirty clothes into his bag when he heard the door open and he saw Wilson walking in.
"Got you something," he said, trying to hide the slight smirk making its way onto his face. He tossed a light box toward House who dropped the clothes when he caught it against his chest.
"Um, thanks…I think," looking down at the box wedged against his body, "but as far as I can recall it's not my birthday and Christmas was about five months ago."
House looked up at Wilson, "Besides, you don't even celebrate Christmas."
"Then Happy Cinco de Mayo."
"Muchas Gracias. No sabía que hablas español," rolled off of House's tongue, accent included.
"Whatever, just open it." Wilson rolled his eyes but couldn't help the slight grin crossing his features. He shoved his hands in his pockets and waited anxiously for him to open the gift.
House sat down on the edge of the bed and held the box to his ear, "Hmmm, don't hear any ticking." He eyed the box suspiciously. "Too light to be a bomb. Maybe it's one of those..."
"Oh…just open the damn thing!" Wilson was growing impatient.
"Do you always have to make everything so difficult?" Wilson groaned, plopping himself down in the chair in the corner of the room, resting his elbows on the arms.
"I'm enjoying watching you squirm," he smirked, hesitating for a few seconds then glancing over at Wilson seeing how unimpressed his friend was, "Fine…ya baby."
He pried the box open and removed the white paper covering the gift. Inside was a vibrant stuffed red parrot and an eye patch. House couldn't help but smile. Only Wilson could get away with something like this. He picked up the bird and turned it around in his hand. He looked back in the box as if expecting more, "Where's my cool pirate hat?"
"Sorry no room. Use your Gravedigger hat with the skull and crossbones and pretend," Wilson replied, "besides, haven't you seen Pirates of the Caribbean? All the cool pirates wear do rags now."
"And eyeliner. They've totally gone Goth." House added.
Wilson looked around the room, "Almost ready to go home?"
House stood up, still needing to use his hands to balance himself at first, then tossed the empty box in Wilson's direction causing him to flinch, but instead banking it off both walls in the corner, and into the trash can, "I was ready three weeks ago," he mumbled.
Wilson suddenly quieted down and a hesitant look crossed his features. "Listen..."
"Uh oh. Here it comes." House continued toying with the eye patch and parrot, starting to feel uncomfortable with the impending conversation about to occur, whatever it was going to be about. Wilson's moods were so predictable.
"Can you look at me for one second?"
House turned and looked at him, eye patch covering his left eye, right eye wide with mock interest.
"You're impossible." Wilson leaned forward in his chair, looking at the floor.
Removing the eye patch and taking a more serious tone, House looked back at his friend, "I'm listening. Now get your sappy speech over please so we can get out of here some time today."
Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Wilson continued, "I just…I wanted to tell you…I'm sorry about…" Wilson's voice fell away as he glanced over at House's leg then looked up to meet his eyes.
"What are you sorry about?" House asked with a quiet gruff. He looked away distracting himself with packing his things, looking for whatever he could find to shove in his bag and mumbled, "You weren't the idiot that tried passing on the shoulder."
Wilson just gave a single thoughtful nod and looked toward the window. House suspected Wilson had gotten his hands on a police report at some point but they'd never discussed what really happened. He figured there might be a time when he would, but he doubted it.
"But I was there. It was my call," he added quietly, looking back up at him.
"Stop," House placed both fists on the bed, staring down at the duffel bag in front of him.
"I saw the file, read the notes, saw the films. There was no call to make," he hesitated with his next words and made eye contact with Wilson, "You did the right thing."
Wilson just sat in the quiet of House's room, relieved he understood. He watched his friend pace from the bathroom to his bed, gathering his things. Slowly learning how to accept his new leg – now a part of him for the rest of his life.
"I have a three o'clock, so I'm just going to let Sam take you guys home, is that alright?"
House wished he had his bike so he could just take himself home – or maybe not even home, maybe a nice long ride in the country that would last, oh, until Sam left. He's sure he could manage it by now. Hell, he was sure he could manage driving that shit-pile Chrysler he'd won from video rental guy in an exceptionally brilliant night of poker. It was a very uncool piece of crap to be seen in. But on the occasional rainy day when he got the chance to go out of his way to pass one particular bus stop, honking and waving at now suitably named 'bus stop guy' as he drove by, it was worth all the humiliation.
Unfortunately, it wasn't sitting in the parking lot of the hospital either and he was sure there was no talking Wilson, or anyone else for that matter, into going and getting it for him, except maybe Sam. From the glances he'd gotten from him earlier, he wasn't too thrilled about the arrangement either. He was certain that when Sam offered to come and help, he hadn't figured in the crippled, rude boss turned boyfriend who was screwing up his sister's life and had almost killed her.
Sam was only looking out for his sister, wanting what was best for her, and he'd obviously deduced House wasn't it. But in all honesty, Sam and House probably agreed on that. Cameron could do so much better, but she was still there, for whatever reason. Reasons that would take him to places that he just wasn't in the mood for. He was getting out of this rehab hell and headed home to his own bed, cold beer, his piano, Steve, and feeling Cameron up whenever he damn well felt like it without someone interrupting them. The latter would probably have to wait until a certain brother was gone.
"House?" Wilson asked, trying to pull him back into their conversation, "alright if I just drop by after work?"
"Oh, it'll be a cozy little evening," House mumbled, "don't bother to show up without pizza," he added, shoving his iPod into his bag and glancing at the parrot by his pillow. "And thanks for the new pet," he said while limping back into the bathroom.
House got re-acquainted with Steve and Cameron checked the refrigerator and the cabinets for food. Sam made at least a half dozen trips carrying their stuff in from the car. Most of it was House's. He not only had his new leg now, which came with it's own case, but he had three different foot attachments, too. But it was the other items they sent home with him that House wasn't all too happy about. Things like crutches and a bench for the shower. Reminders of his new reality, one that wasn't going away once his leg healed.
House sat on his couch with Steve's cage on his lap. "Does he remember you?" Cameron leaned down and asked over his shoulder, looking at Steve sniffing around the treat House had just given him.
"Of course," he answered, closing and latching the door. They both quietly watched the rat suspiciously investigate the little morsel.
"Thank you," she said, still looking at Steve.
House turned to her, "For what?"
"Being civil with Sam…and letting him come and help."
"Like I had a choice," he grumbled half-heartedly.
"Hey, that's not true," Cameron looked seriously at him.
"I'm just ready to be left the hell alone, that's all," House looked back at Steve now nibbling his way through the treat.
Cameron fought her knee-jerk reaction to his tone and thought for a moment. House wasn't the only one in this relationship with insecurities.
"Is it okay that I'm here?" she asked honestly.
He turned and looked at her then back to Steve, "Of course." Something about it sounded genuine and put Cameron a little more at ease.
She folded her arms on the back of the couch and rested her chin on his shoulder then joined him watching Steve bury the rest of his treat under the shredded paper in the corner of his cage. There was something about House's affection for that little rodent that put a tingle in Cameron's chest. She'd once wondered if he had any feelings for anything at all. But what she'd found was that his feelings ran deeper than most people she knew. He just never knew what to do with them, or he was so afraid of them that he'd learned to push them down.
House turned to look at her, but she was still watching Steve…thinking. Just as he looked away, she finally glanced over at him, causing him to quickly turn back to her then he kissed her softly on the lips. Cameron smiled at him finally being the one to make the first move since the accident. She knew that he had to be uncomfortable on so many different levels. He had yet to mention his leg in any way that made Cameron feel he was okay with her being around it, touching it, or even looking at it.
They heard the door slam behind them, quickly followed by Sam announcing he'd finally hauled in the last of it.
House closed his eyes and let go of a frustrated sigh while Cameron insisted on kissing him a few moments more before straightening up and announcing to both of them that she was going to take a shower.
His eyes pleaded with her not to leave him alone with her kid brother, but she only smiled at him, then glared at Sam, "Play nice."
"What did I do?" Sam asked with a surprised look on his face, innocently shrugging his shoulders and lifting his hands to question his sister.
House just turned to him and smirked like a bratty little kid who'd just managed to unjustly escape being chastised.
Then Sam plopped down in the chair opposite the couch while Cameron disappeared down the hallway.
House lifted Steve's cage off of his lap and back onto the coffee table then grabbed the remote, clicking the television on, desperate for a distraction. He lifted his left leg up on the table beside the cage and just stretched his new leg out in front of him.
"I heard mom and dad came down for a little surprise visit the other day," Sam watched House flip through the channels.
House's eyes glanced over at him, trying to gauge his attitude. Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued thoughtfully, "Ya know, come to think of it, I don't think I've ever heard my mom say the word groping before." He chuckled as he shuddered, "That was just weird."
House wondered how long this kid would continue to talk to himself. It had already been about thirty seconds too much. But if he was going to be stuck here with him, he was going to try to make it productive.
"Yeah, couldn't believe the things Patricia let slip out," House eyed Sam for his reaction, then continued, "That stuff about Blake and all that." The worm was on the hook and the line dropped in the water. Now, House just waited for the bobber to sink.
"Hhmm, yeah," Sam narrowed his eyes and looked back at him, "Funny," he paused, "I was talking to Alli about that and she said she hasn't told you about," Sam exaggerated quotes with his fingers then stressed, "all that."
House had to admit this was a smarter fish that he thought. He'd need craftier bait – later.
House leaned over and picked up the other remote. He couldn't find anything distracting enough on TV so he wondered what his TiVo had managed to pick up in the four weeks since he'd been gone.
He finally heard the water in the shower start to run and he looked at his watch. House huffed out a long breath knowing she would be in there at least another thirty minutes. House surprised Sam, tossing him the remote and hitting him in the chest. After struggling to get up off the couch, he grabbed his cane and scooped up his keys with one swipe as he passed the table by the front door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked, surprised.
"Out. You're boring me," he turned around and smirked uncomfortably.
Sam stood up, eyeing the keys in House's hand, "Should you be doing that?"
"You gonna stop me?" he said with a daring laugh.
Sam walked quickly down the hallway, "Alli!" he tried yelling through the door and over the water, "House is trying to leave!"
House just stood by the door, leaning on his cane and the doorknob with a defiant grin on his face. This was just too good.
When Sam didn't hear anything, he knocked on the bathroom door, "Alli!" he yelled louder. A muffled 'what?' came from the other side. House could hear the water falling to the bottom of the tub in bunches and he knew she must be washing her hair. His thoughts took him only briefly in the shower, remembering the last time he'd been there with her, when the pesky houseguest pulled him back to reality.
"House has his keys and he says he's leaving!" he yelled at the door then turned back to see House waiting and grinning. Little did Sam know the grin was only partly due to his amusement over someone else finally being the one that was acting like a six-year-old. The rest of the grin belonged to his thoughts about just what he'd like to be doing to Sam's sister in the shower.
"What do you want me to do about it, Sam? Let him go."
House crunched up his face and stuck his tongue out, "Tattletale. Looks like Alli likes me more," he gloated then opened the door and walked out. He steadied himself with his cane and held onto the wall as he maneuvered the step down to the sidewalk. He'd only just started working on steps and inclines and was still pretty unsure of himself.
He stuck the key into the driver's side door of his Chrysler, forcing it to moan with pain as he opened it and unceremoniously climbed in. He stretched his prosthetic out under the middle of the dash, put his left foot on the gas and tried starting the engine. At first it protested, having been neglected for over a month, then finally it turned over.
With a couple chokes and coughs, a puff of black smoke came out the exhaust and House hit the gas a little too uncontrolled and the engine revved and choked again. House quickly let off the gas realizing that driving with his left foot might be a little more challenging than he thought it would be. Actually, this would be so much easier if his prosthetic were just gone for the moment because there wasn't enough room to wedge his right foot under the console. But there was no going back now, he said he was leaving and he meant it.
Getting out of the parallel parking spot without bumping the other cars was going to be his first problem. He moved his foot from the gas to the brake and after jerking a couple times forwards and backwards he managed to maneuver himself out and into the street. A few ungraceful stops and starts at the first couple intersections and he quickly got the hang of it.
House, like any good cripple, made a point of knowing where all the drive-thrus were in Princeton and the closest one was over on campus. He headed down the street and pulled into the left-hand turn lane like he would any other time but seeing the sign directing him to the expressway shot a wave of memories through him. Images of the wreck, Cameron lying in the bed of the truck and what he'd done to her, the EMTs rushing around, the smell of the burnt rubber and oil all came rushing back to him.
House was jerked back to the present when the idiot behind him started honking his horn. Looking up and seeing the green light he went for the gas but his right foot was in the way. He leaned down and tried pushing it away then finally hit the gas spitting another puff of black smoke. House drove away flipping the guy off in his rearview mirror. He swerved back into the straight lane from the left turn lane and tried to get the images of that day out of his mind.
He quickly glanced down then blindly reached for the radio and clicked it on. Of course this retro pile of scrap metal only had AM, so he turned the dial and heard it scratch and squawk until he found a broadcast of the Yankees baseball game. He turned the knob a little more finding a preacher yelling about eternal damnation; pass. He finally settled on two men discussing the condition of New Jersey agriculture and the price of hogs, anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the expressway.
Forty-five minutes later, he arrived in front of his apartment, relieved to see two empty spots next to each other so he could just gently pull in. Using his cane, he walked around to the other side of the car and pulled out his twelve pack of Sam Adams and a plastic grocery bag with his free hand. He leaned in and placed them next to his door while he grabbed the wall again, carefully taking one step at a time.
When he walked inside, he found Cameron sitting on his couch, her hair wet, wearing a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts. She was sorting through their things and creating various piles of laundry. Sam was slouched down in the chair asleep, the remote barely dangling from his fingers. House eyed her little brother again, stepped inside, and slammed the door causing him to jerk and drop the remote to the floor.
"Honey, I'm home," House bellowed like he was acting in a black and white sixties sitcom.
Cameron just turned to him and tried not to grin then looked over at her startled brother.
"Where'd you go?" she asked innocently.
"Out."
Cameron rolled her eyes at him. "You drove?"
"No, I ran all the way to the drive-thru," he answered seriously, "and carrying back this heavy gallon of mint chocolate chip ice-cream was a real bitch." He lifted the bag and motioned it towards her.
"Mint chocolate chip?" her eyes widened.
"Yep, and beer and chips. We're set."
Cameron chuckled, "We haven't been here for a month and all you bring back is beer and chips?"
"And ice-cream," he scolded her.
"Anyway, he's here to help isn't he?" hands full, House motioned his head towards Sam, "he can leave and go get whatever else you think we need."
House added the beer to his hand that was already holding the bag and skillfully made his way to the kitchen. All of this extra weight on his left side was seriously throwing off his balance. He dumped the bag on the table, fished out the ice cream and put it in the freezer then slid the case of beer into the fridge. He pulled out a couple cold ones and shut the door.
Carrying both bottles in one hand, he walked back into the living room and hit Sam on the arm with one of them. Sam turned around and looked up at him surprised, and hesitantly took it from him. House walked around the back of his chair and stood at the end of the couch while Sam just watched, taken a little off guard by his gesture.
House took a drink of his beer and motioned towards the piles of clothes, "Why don't you let him do that? He's here to help isn't he?"
"Take it easy," she scolded, "he's going to do it as soon as I get it sorted out."
"Yeah," Sam punctuated, returning the childish smirk he'd gotten from him earlier.
House sat his beer down on the coffee table. His leg was really hurting. Trying to hide it, he caught himself before he grabbed it and limped towards his bedroom picking up the crutches that were leaning against the wall on his way there. He could feel Cameron's concern boring a hole in the back of his head as he walked away.
He'd clearly overdone it with the leg today and the walk to Mickey's yesterday hadn't helped. He used his cane to shut the door behind him and sat down heavily on the bed, thinking how he was going to manage this on his own. He's sure Ben would have gone over it had he stuck around long enough, and as much as he hated the help he'd gotten in the rehab wing, he had to admit he still needed it. But there had to be a way around this. House pushed himself back up and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them to his knees and sat back down on the edge of the bed.
He took a deep breath before rolling onto his left side, loosening the suction and disconnecting the plastic-like mold from his right hip and thigh. He pulled it gently off of his stump and winced as it began to throb as soon as it left the confines of the encasement. He remained on his left side for a moment before sitting back up, unrolling the silicone liner and soft sock from his leg before gently touching it. He looked closely at it and could see the areas that were red and starting to blister. Ben warned him this would happen if he tried using it too much at first.
House just sat there; jeans around his knees, prosthetic dangling inside them, and what was left of his leg was hurting like hell. But now it was a different kind of pain, one that he hoped could be relieved with an ice pack, ibuprofen and a little rest rather than one that was impossible to relieve at all. He lay back on his bed in frustration, covering his closed eyes with his forearm, questioning which existence was worse.
Suddenly, House was startled by a light knock at the door. He pulled his arm from his eyes realizing he must have fallen asleep then lifted his head to look at the clock. He struggled to sit up when he heard Cameron, "House?"
"What?" he grumped quietly.
She hesitated before saying, "Can I come in?" but opened the door anyway.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, trying not to look concerned.
"The tool for my foot," he answered, hopelessly trying to act like he was messing with his prosthetic.
Cameron turned and walked away and House took a deep breath and let it out slowly, running his hands down his bristly face, thinking there was literally no way out of this one while keeping what was left of his dignity intact. She returned, shutting the door behind her and dragging the chair from the corner of his room so she could sit opposite him. Without asking permission she lifted his prosthetic foot into her lap and started trying to figure out just how it worked. He knew it was only a matter of time before she'd notice the condition of his leg and make some kind of a caring or sympathetic remark.
House pointed to the foot and directed her, "There's a spot there by the ankle."
He grabbed the edge of the mattress while Cameron held it up closer and finally saw what he was talking about, "I see it," she answered and released the foot from the rest of the leg. House pulled on the top of it lifting it out of his pants leg and laying it on the bed. Cameron handed him his foot, hardly making any eye contact.
He could tell how hard she was trying to act like this was no big deal. But he knew her, and he knew how big of a deal this was for her. He knew it had to be bothering her that he hadn't yet given her any indication he was okay with her being anywhere near his leg. He knew it had to happen eventually and tried hard to convince himself that if he were to trust anyone, it would be her. But she wasn't Dr Fulton coming in for an exam. She wasn't one of the random nurses professionally changing his bandages. She was the one person whose opinion really mattered to him, and he just wasn't ready to see how ugly she found it. He knew it wasn't rational. He knew, almost for certain, that she was likely more comfortable with it than he was at the moment, but he couldn't convince his insecurities to agree.
"It looks sore," Cameron said, carefully looking up at him.
"It is," he admitted, looking back at her for only a moment then looking out the window at nothing, silently pleading with her not to touch it…please.
"Let me go get you something. Some ice maybe? Ibuprofen?" she offered.
"Sam's going to wonder what you're doing in here," he mumbled. In other words, Sam is going to think you're in here having to tend to your old, helpless and crippled boyfriend.
"He's gone," Cameron answered cryptically. His eyes met hers and questioned her.
"I sent him to the grocery store," she grinned, "about fifteen minutes ago."
House just gave a subtle nod and turned his eyes toward the window again, "About time."
"Sam's a good guy," she paused, "I really wish you'd try to relax around him."
Sam hadn't given him any good reason to be acting the way he was towards him. Everything just felt so different. Four weeks ago he'd lost what little control he had of his life and everything felt like it had slowly slid downhill ever since.
He missed the intellectual puzzles of work, there was something about his relationship with Cameron that he missed but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, and he missed his leg.
"Well, I'm going to get some ibuprofen and ice," she repeated, getting up and walking out.
He closed his eyes, detecting just a hint of disappointment in her voice and lectured himself asking why he just couldn't let her take care of him like he knew she wanted to. As pathetic as it felt, there was no arguing that he could use a little TLC right about now.
She returned with a plastic bag full of ice wrapped in a towel, a glass of water, and a bottle of pain killers.
Unfortunately, not the kind he was finding himself craving more and more. She sat back down and handed him the bottle, letting him shake out the dosage he wanted then she held out the water. He tipped the glass back keeping her hands and that bag of ice in his view. You can do this. He handed the still half-full glass back to her and he returned his hands to the edge of the mattress and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable.
"Here," she offered, handing him the bag of ice.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, a little puzzled.
"It's probably going to swell if you don't get this on there," she added.
"What's wrong?" he asked, bordering on accusing.
"What?" Cameron questioned his tone.
"You don't want anything to do with it." It was definitely accusing now, but he had no reason to believe it was true. He felt his defenses rearing uncontrollably out of nowhere.
"With what?" she asked carefully, afraid of where this was headed, "Your leg?"
House scoffed at her, "What the hell else would I be talking about?"
Cameron took a moment before continuing, "That's not true. Tell me what's going on," she said quietly.
"You're just being Cameron, that's what's going on."
Cameron started to respond then stopped and looked at him, he held onto her eyes and dared her to disagree with him.
"I thought we were so far past this. Why don't you just tell me what the problem is?" she looked away then put the lid back on the medicine bottle and mumbled out of frustration, "like I don't know."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he blurted out.
"It means," she looked directly at him and her voice was strong, "four weeks and you still tense up any time I get anywhere near that leg."
House had no response. He didn't want to fight about this. Hell, he didn't even want to talk about this.
"I should have just taken my chances again and gotten it over with," she hesitated before deciding to continue in a calmer tone, "but I thought this time maybe you could trust me instead. But I see that isn't happening."
House's gaze returned to the window as he felt Cameron's expectant eyes looking at him, waiting for him to respond. The intensity of the emotions coursing through him was paralyzing. He found himself totally incapable of responding yet he knew his silence would only put other doubts and questions in her mind.
God, he wished she would just say something or better yet, do something – like go ahead and touch his damn leg and this argument would be over. Instead, she mumbled a quiet, 'okay', picked up the glass of water then slid the chair back to the corner and left the room.
House bent over and struggled to remove his shoe throwing it hard against his closet door and soon after his jeans were lying in a heap on top of it. He fell back on his bed putting both arms over his eyes and tried to recall the sensation of a white, bitter, haze-filled Vicodin at the back of his throat.
Cameron sat down among the piles of their dirty laundry and rested her head on the back of the couch, still holding the half-empty glass of water in her hand. For the first time since they'd been together, she started to entertain doubts of where any of this was headed. She should have just dealt with his leg from the beginning but she really thought giving him the time and space to do it himself was what he would have wanted. For her though, the issue wasn't his leg at all. It was after six months of being together, he still hesitated to trust her and her feelings for him. If anything could drive her away, that would be it. Her heart sank at the very notion of that possibility.
She lifted her head then stared down at the glass in her hands, absently turning it around, running her thumb along the smooth sides of it. She looked around and saw her things placed randomly around the room, wondering if maybe she and Sam should just go back to her place for the weekend. Wilson could always come over if House needed someone here. Although she doubted that he'd ask, but maybe that wasn't her problem. Regardless of what he'd said, she didn't exactly feel welcome here now.
Cameron heard the thump-step of House coming down the hall on his crutches and she closed her eyes, wondering what he was going to do or say…or what kind of mood he was going to be in. Now she felt like the one avoiding the situation. He came around the opposite end of the couch, brushed a few pieces of clothing out of the way and sat down, gently dropping his crutches to the floor. Before leaning back, he grabbed the remote off the coffee table and clicked the TV on. He picked up his abandoned beer too but thought better of it and put it back down, it was probably warm by now.
Cameron saw him turn to look at her but she didn't look back. She just sat there, staring at the glass, wondering what she should do. He flipped the channels, not settling on anything until Cameron pushed herself up and limped in between him and the TV and into the kitchen. The distracting channel surfing stopped on what sounded like some quilting show that she knew House would find extremely boring and have no interest in.
She emptied the water into the sink and placed the glass on the counter, looking aimlessly out the kitchen window while her mind drifted off to who knows where. She was at a complete loss for what to do, and she thought about her options. If she and Sam were leaving she couldn't go at least until he came back from the store.
She wished she would have carried in a load of laundry so she could busy herself with it, but now she didn't want to go back in there to get it. She hated this. She'd never felt like this around him before. But then again they'd never spoken to each other the way they just had either, not outside of work. Not when it involved them. Her fears about how everything between them had been too good to be true were creeping back into her mind.
Cameron put her hands on the edge of the sink and fixed her stare on the grassy area behind House's apartment. She'd completely missed Spring and it was her favorite season of the year. Now she'd have to wait twelve more months for another one and she wondered if she'd be here at this window a year from now. She wondered if she'd be in Princeton a year from now. Her thoughts were pulled back into the kitchen when she heard the clatter of House's crutches as he got off the couch and clicked off the TV.
This was ridiculous. Cameron tried accusing herself of being overly dramatic. This was one blip on the radar and she had herself thinking this could be the end of it. But if House couldn't trust her, they honestly had little hope of moving any further than they already were. Not that the current condition of their relationship was a bad place to be but Cameron wanted more.
The shuffling sound of House on his crutches got closer as she heard him walk into the kitchen. He stepped up behind her shoulder and leaned into her, dumping the warm beer into the sink. His silent presence sent waves of heat throughout her body. God, how did this man have such control over her? The last thing she wanted to do with him right now was fight.
When the bottle was empty, he stepped away and dropped it in the trashcan on his way out of the room. Cameron heard the rumble of the piano bench slide across the hardwood floor. It creaked when he sat down as if to ask him where he'd been and that it had missed him.
Cameron turned on the faucet to wash the smell of warm beer down the drain then she walked into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She leaned against the wall and watched him delicately touch the keys, trying to decide what to play. Cameron could tell a lot about what was going on inside him when he sat down to his piano. His music always seemed to match his mood.
"Would it be better if Sam and I just went to my place this weekend?" quietly breaking the silence between them.
"Is that what you wanna do?" he asked, looking at the keys.
"No," she said simply but when he didn't respond she added, "but if that's…" then House interrupted her.
"Then don't go," he stopped for a moment, put his hands on the edge of the piano bench then turned to her, "I don't want you to go."
An overwhelming feeling came over her, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. She hoped that someday they could get to a place where House could feel comfortable to just come out and say whatever it was he tried so hard to avoid. But that small admission was enough for now. She believed what he said.
"I'm sorry," she offered quietly. She wasn't really sure what for, but she wanted to put it out there anyway.
House put his hands back on the keys and said, "You have nothing to be sorry about."
Cameron walked over to him and slid her arms down his shoulders and across his chest, placing her cheek up next to his while he started to put down the first few chords to Piano Man, Cameron's favorite song that he played.
"Oh yeah," Cameron growled playfully, kissing him on the cheek.
Then, unfortunately, they both heard the rattle of the doorknob just before Sam came walking in, arms full of groceries rambling on about finding a parking place on the street.
House stopped playing, closed his eyes, and mumbled out slowly, "Un…believable," while Cameron just laughed quietly.