Chapter 11
The Finish Line

"Take a deep breath,
Take in all that you could want…"

House arrived back at his office with the firm decision of ignoring and forgetting Wilson's preaching, and hiding away behind closed blinds, alone with the most distracting PSP game he could find, from everybody and everything outside his safe shell. But after the third descending sound effect in five minutes from the device in his hands, he threw it back on his desk, and picked up the ball instead.

He forced his brain to focus on their patient's mysterious seizures, but his sore shoulder, plus the uncomfortably tight throat and chest kept distracting him. He felt a slight panic at the unusual lack of full control. He had no doubts he would eventually regain it, yet the feeling sucked.

What could he have said that had brought Wilson to this categorical conclusion? If anyone else had come up with something like "ooee, I can tell she means a thing to you", he'd have sarcastically laughed them in the face. But it was Jim; and the thought that his friend knew something about him that he wasn't fully aware of scared the hell out of him.

The thing that finally defeated his intentions of perfect ignorance was a ridiculous little nothing; something so insignificant that perhaps he wouldn't even have noticed if his nerves hadn't been stirred by Wilson's unasked heart-to heart monologue.

When his bouncing ball swept a file off his untidy desk, it revealed Cameron's reading glasses.

This little piece of her amongst his stuff made him picture her sitting just where he was now, brows furrowed over thin black rims, little hands trying to fight their way through his mess. He couldn't help but suddenly realize that this had always worked like that. Ever since she'd been there (for him), she'd always cleaned after him; either in relieving him of torturously boring paperwork, or believing in him when no-one else did, defending his ideas, or just contrarily, standing up to him, reminding him it was a human being they were dealing with, which point of view usually held the key to the final solution (despite him claiming it a useless distraction). All in all, suddenly he saw her in an entirely different light: something like a compliment to his imperfections, no matter how sappy this sounded in his head.

And the forgotten glasses, an unexpected forgetfulness from someone usually so annoyingly accurate rendered him soft for good; a temporary but serious weakness that he was sure he would regret the consequences of for a lifetime. But it was too late not thinking and, what's worse, acting on it. Wilson's words were replaying in his head over and over: "you would fit each other right". The idea may as crazy and it could be; but why not test it to find out for sure, like he used to do with his extreme medical theories?

Before he could have reconsidered, he fell in step with his prettiest underling in the hallway.

"So" – he started suddenly awkward, losing most of his determination – "how was that about Jeff passing out from sharing a steamy room with the sweaty Dr. Chase, again?"

"Jack." – a reproachful tone and a matching glance – "We were constantly checking his vitals, when after fourteen minutes…"

"Would you like to get a drink?"

It was out so quickly he didn't have time to get frightened himself.

He stopped and turned to face her, so she turned, too, frozen in her place. Her mind had been so much on her professional role that the first shock wasn't the unexpected proposal, but the shock of Dr. House changing topic from an unsolved case. She couldn't do anything but stare.

"What?" – House continued, blue gaze hungrily scanning her face for reaction – "I drink. You drink. We could do it at the same time. At the same table." – He hesitated, then lifted up his right a bit. – "See? Now I'm a puppy with two achy paws to take care of." – Oh please, shut up.

Cameron's facial muscles still refused to obey her. The only thing she could think of was thank you, James.

*

"The wide side's too short. You're gonna look like Lou Costello."

House impatiently tugged on the ends of his tie, and started the complicated process all over again.

He had no idea how a nonchalant invitation for a drink had turned into a reservation at Café Spiletto, and him currently standing in front of his wardrobe, staring at his own fast and nervous movements in the mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. He seemed to have the need, once he'd finally brought himself to do something, to do it properly.

After a particularly sharp pain in his shoulder, he ripped the helpless piece of fabric off his neck. It wouldn't be visible under the damn sling anyway. But then he remembered the no tie, no service policy, so he started silently cursing his choice of date location again. Date. Damn.

"This is a mistake."

Wilson made a face. Of course it is: why have dinner with the most wonderful woman of the world? He sat up a bit higher from his position of fake nonchalance, stretched out on House's couch, rustling with the newspaper he was staring at the same line of for a half an hour. No, House can't screw this up now. He won't let him to, no matter what.

"Open doors for her. Help her with her chair." – he explained, slowly, like to a dummy. House cut him off irritably.

"I have been on a date."

"Er… Not since disco died." – Wilson pointed out. – "Comment on her shoes, her earrings; then move on to D.H.A."

House's hand stopped in mid-air while trying to give his hairstyle a bit more of a groomed look.

"Her dreams, hopes and aspirations."

House grimaced. Why this has to be so complicated? Why the empty clichés again? He wanted it so badly to be different this time.

"Trust me." – Wilson assured him. – "Just tell her what you think of her. Tell her how…" – He bit his tongue in the last instant. House was already eyeing him suspiciously from the mirror. He really couldn't say out loud what he would say to Cameron himself. This is not about him tonight. Actually, this isn't about him at all.

"I should cancel." – House started again. He limped to the fridge and opened it.

"That's a good idea. Settle your nerves. Get me a beer too." – Wilson commented. Yeah, he could use some booze right now.

House shook his head, still just staring.

"No beer."

"You're gonna eat before dinner?!"

House finally reached into the fridge and when he pulled back, Wilson couldn't believe his own eyes. Between the long fingers, there was a fragile little corsage, in a plastic box, tied around with a white ribbon.

"This is pretty lame, right?" – House held it up, a little embarrassed. Wilson had to get up and take a closer look to make sure he hadn't misseen anything. He stopped next to his friend, hands on hips, and a wide smile of relief shone up on his face. He was almost grateful for House's thoughtfulness now. Allison will be so happy.

"I think she likes lame." – he managed to say softly.

*

Gentle fingertips brushed over white petals, and Cameron raised her gleaming eyes to House.

"It's beautiful." – And I love you, she wanted to say, but didn't want to scare him off now, in the finish line. So she put her feelings in encrypted words instead. – "And you look very handsome."

House hated himself for feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you." – he said awkwardly. Cameron tried to lighten the mood with a weak attempt of small talk.

"I've always loved this restaurant."

Fortunately, House gratefully snapped at the opportunity.

"Yeah. It's changed a lot since the last time I was here. Used to be a strip joint."

Cameron chuckled and it sent House's blood rush to his face. He instinctively wanted to express some of what she made him feel, but he kept to Wilson's advice instead.

"Nice earrings."

Cameron looked surprised, otherwise pleased.

"My mom's, thank you." – She eyed him a bit suspiciously. Her premonitions were proven right when House continued.

"Nice shoes." – He was stirring in his chair in complete disarray. – "Comfortable?" – Well, this didn't come out too good. He already dreaded the D.H.A. part and the scale of the screw-ups he was most likely about to make there.

Cameron let out a short sigh of resignation, and tried to capture House's gaze.

"I'm not expecting you to be someone you're not." – she assured him. She hoped he got the significance and deeper meaning of her words. She started feeling seriously sorry for him. Discomfort was screaming from each of his features. He looked everywhere but at her. She was getting awkward, too, so she reached to the wine card for help, but her eyes kept flickering back to him. It seemed like three completely different men: his intimidating boss, the passionate lover who had kissed her breathless not even so long ago, and this one in his sky blue shirt and neatly bond tie (she quickly shooed away the mental image of Wilson fixing it for him – though she'd never know…), looking as nervous and lost as one could be. She couldn't help but love all three of them with each cell of her body.

She slammed the card shut and set it aside. She took a deep breath as if plunging into water.

"According to Freud, and I'm paraphrasing…" – she started with determined, parallel gestures. House's eyes widened in an exasperated grimace. She can't seriously come up with this crap right now.

"…the instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it." – Oh yes, she can. Welcome to hell. – "And if a person feels they can't control the object, or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. …Like an eight-grade boy punching a girl."

Please let James be right about being pushy to him, she thought desperately. Or else he is leaving her and her analysis at the table in a second.

House still had a rather suffering expression on.

"I treat you like garbage, so I must really want to go out with you."

Cameron smiled at him brightly. He's in more trouble than he thought.

"Given your Freudian theory, what does it mean that I asked you out?"

Cameron's grin got even wider.

"That you're getting in touch with your feelings."

House snorted sarcastically.

"So there's absolutely no point in trying to say I just wanted to assure you again I still thought this was the worst idea possible?"

Cameron held his gaze now firmly, eyes filled with excited hope.

"Sorry, no."

The corner of House's mouth just twitched a bit; he dared not smile at her. He still was full of terrible doubts he saw no chance to defeat soon. Cameron must have felt something of it, because her face grew more serious.

"Perhaps you're right, and this is really my last chance with you. I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel. About me." – she specified, as if it hadn't been obvious. She felt dizzy from her own straightforwardness. This evening she'll remember as the day of either her best decision ever, or the worst.

House examined her face for a second (more open than ever), then he bent forward, not wanting anyone to overhear his words.

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect." – He wasn't avoiding her glance this time, but he held his eyes back from showing anything of his soul. He really didn't mean to be harsh, but he couldn't stop his overflowing thoughts from forming words. – "That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer."

Cameron's smile faded, but he went on mercilessly.

"You don't love – you need. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case."

She felt her stomach turn, but House's next words put the speech into a different light for her.

"That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age. I'm not… great looking. I'm not charming. I'm not even nice." – This time he didn't release her gaze, and she could literally see the change in his eyes, from defiant to broken. – "What I am is what you need. I'm damaged."

He felt pure loathing for himself for not being able to start the monologue with the words that held the truth: I'm so afraid that…

He couldn't stand her sit there, literally frozen, with that broken light in her eyes. He could have banged himself in the head with the huge yellow flower installation next to them. How did they get this far?

Now he would have done anything to change her expression. Her hand lay on the table, fingertips touching the stem of her glass. He didn't have the courage to touch her, but he swallowed and laid his large hand down next to hers.

His heart jumped when her knuckles brushed against his palm as if some magnetic force had pulled them together, but an instant later he realized she had just moved her hand to take it off the table. He felt his world crumble, and, bizarre enough, he heard his PSP's game over signal faintly in his head.

Her features didn't loosen up any as she sat up higher in her chair and looked House straight in the eye.

"Nice argumentation. Extra points for the fact that you used all the relevant information you've got."

Her voice cut like a knife and for the first time in his life, House felt like sinking under the ground.

"Also another mentionable effort to push me away." – she continued – "A short while ago, it would even have worked."

Whoa, wait. He had to blink. It'd have worked then, this means now… How's this possible?

"You know, I'd say your enormous insecurities aren't any of my business so don't push it all on me, but I'm afraid if we want any kind of… anything, they actually are."

If we want, she'd said. He was getting the impression he'd gotten his equal rival this time.

"So I rather say that though it tears me apart, hearing you talk of yourself like this, you have full right to feel that way. But don't you ever dare doubt me or my feelings for you again."

What he saw wasn't a girl with a crush that he liked to imagine when trying to brush the whole issue off, but a woman in love, eyes flaming, ready fight for what she wanted; and all he could do was stare, astonished.