"...What?"
Cameron raises her head from the comfort of her knees but doesn't look around. Still, House can spy the line of her jaw and the downward curve of her mouth from his seat on the bench and he allows himself to believe that she looks more confused than she does angry. Fortunately. She has always intrigued him when she's shown whatever brief spats of fury she will allow herself, but this situation feels different to him and he is perplexed to find that he doesn't relish the idea of her retaliating against his recent outburst.
What she might choose to say would be interesting...
But he knows deep down that it would hurt.
Ah, but isn't that a grand display of hypocrisy.
Yes. It is. And he places a hand gently on her shoulder before he can think better of it; removing it as though scalded when she stiffens beneath his touch.
He wants to tell her he's sorry. He wants to offer her just those two, simple words.
But he can't.
He's never been able to tell her outright how miserable he feels once he's attacked her for little or no reason other than that she allows him to.
"Why would you want to?"
She asks with a frown, and House finds himself unable to hide a small breath of laughter despite the awkward tension that looms over them like thunder.
It's just- if taken entirely outside of the context that has led them here and pinkened the blonde's eyes- her confusion would be endearingly amusing. Shrugging when she shoots him a wounded glance in response to his laughter- and oh, he wants to tell her to lighten up and that it's not at her expense, but he supposes he can understand why she might be on the defensive at present- he placates
"Cameron, there's a whole host of reasons why I pushed you away; some good, some not. There's never been any reason I haven't wanted to kiss you."
"Typical."
She responds eventually in a small, prim voice, and then he is absolutely astounded when she laughs herself.
"Well, men only want one thing."
He advises solemnly, aware that he skates on thin ice but never able to cut himself off entirely when it comes to poking at the young doctor in the hopes that she'll show him her teeth.
"Some do."
She agrees cooly, before playing him at his own game and calling him out pensively; still averting her attention towards the lockers.
"You don't."
"I see. You're a psychiatrist now. Well, I suppose working in the ER leaves you some extra time to study up on new talents in order to curb the boredom of a life devoid of-"
"-Of you? You think my life has become boring because you're not in it every waking moment?"
"... Has it?"
"It's... I've never slept so well."
"That's hardly an answer."
"It's entirely off subject."
She snaps, and he nods slowly while hiding a slight smirk.
"If you only wanted one thing, you wouldn't have kissed me."
"How do you figure that? Seems like the very definition of wanting one thing."
"No... I know that you really do realise- begrudgingly, I'm sure- that I've never sat merging our names onto my medical notes, nor imagined what you might look like in a suit on our wedding day."
"Suits make me look gangly."
"Everything does... If you had just wanted sex, there were times, several of them, when I pretty much offered it to you. I've even kissed you once-"
"-Yes, I'm not sure cunning ploys to stab me with a syringe count as an amorous interlude."
"You kissed back... And I would have thought that might be just your thing."
"Is it yours? Oh god, please tell me you-"
"-I'm not telling you anything. You've made fun of me for years for what you presume I might or might not enjoy, think, feel or know. I get it, it's what you do. But, sometimes I get tired of taking it. That's not because I'm weak, or pathetic, or any of the other things you've said. It's because you hound me. You enjoy sticking the knife into my side and seeing just how slowly you can twist until I fold. I know that. I've always known that. I never thought I would change you. Why do you think I left?"
"You look better in pink?"
"Ha. And here I always thought you appreciated the fitted pants."
"I do recall commenting on them once or twice, but then that was simply my duty as your boss. Boosting morale."
"Right."
She smiles, and he is pleased that she's smiling but he has no clue where this leaves them. Her comment that she's offered herself up to him in the past sits in the air between them tangibly, and not just because he currently wonders- contemplating the sharp lines of her profile- why he'd passed them by.
You know why!
Still... It's out there now. She's left those words out in the open.
Clearing his throat, he goes to throw her an underhand comment to break through the heaviness of the moment, before she continues quietly; finally looking at him.
"I guess when a knife was quite literally stuck into my side, you surprised me, though."
"Well... The cleaning staff work hard around here; it seemed a little rude to risk you messing up their floor."
"Hey. I'm glad."
"Yes, I'm sure Juanita and Marcella are, too."
"Actually, it's Janice and Larry. No, I mean, I'm glad you did what you did. You were worried about me."
"Never."
"Before, back when I found the way I felt about you hard to deal with, you told me several times that you didn't want to hurt me. To crush me. And I know, coming from you, those were pretty big words, but I still couldn't help but think mostly you were telling me that because you thought it was the quickest way to shut me up. I guess it was the quickest way... I never minded- honestly- whether you cared for me or not. I would have liked you to, of course. I would have really liked you to. But, I figured I was never going to know whether you really did, and it didn't change the fact that I liked and cared about you. I was fine with it. Not always happy with it, but resigned to the way things were and content... I guess now I know you actually do care about me a little... And you can think whatever you want about the fact that something like that matters to me, but you won't make me any less happy about it."
"... I'm not going to rain all over your parade. Not when it took a violent stabbing to make you happy the first time. Who knows what will have to occur to beat that."
She laughs at this, and it's a laugh he remembers witnessing often when she and the boys had been immersed in conversation, but it had rarely been directed towards himself back then. He'd made her nervous, and, if he's honest, he supposes he had infrequently allowed her anything to laugh about. His best offer back when she'd worked beneath him had been a polite giggle, or- more often- a derisive yet amused exhalation most often accompanied by a rolling of her eyes. The more relaxed husky chuckling she offers him now is still rather new to their troubled relationship, but it's a breed he's entirely in favour of. It's both strangely familiar- comfortable- and just a little bit sexy, and he supposes that she's right in saying it's always going to be more than just one thing between them.
Speaking up before he can allow himself a chance to back out, he sweeps over any lingering discomfort casually.
"In fact, while on the topic of tradition-"
"-We weren't talking about trad-"
"-I tend to find drinking in my office after the death of a patient loses some of its appeal. Do you know the Tipping Cup?"
"On thirty-seventh?"
"Yes... Tradition is to order Jim Beam blue label and lament a toast."
Regarding House silently for a minute, not sure whether it's a good idea or not, Cameron eventually casts her busy thoughts aside and pushes herself up to stand over him.
"Well. If it's tradition..."