A/N: Enjoy :) I promise the storyline will become apparent soon :p Reviews would be lovely!
Tossing over onto his back, House sighs as he contemplates the ceiling of Cameron's living room. He had eventually pulled out her spare bed after his initial attempts to lie across the sofa had been thwarted by his height; his leg cramping punishingly, and his feet dangling over the armrest. He imagines that the blonde might be able to curl up where he could not quite nicely, but as soon as this mental image tiptoes into his mind he banishes it angrily.
Now, he simply waits.
Waits for the luminous red digits on her microwave to read 5:30 AM so that he can call the cab company she'd mentioned and get the hell out of Dodge.
He swallows, understanding that it might not be quite that simple. Cameron isn't just some hooker he can wash from his memory or duck past the next time he runs into her at a regular haunt. She works in the same building as he does, and as much as it sometimes vexes him, they still run very much in the same circles.
Well, you could fire Foreman, hound Chase out... Start afresh as you meant to...
This thought carries some appeal, but he knows that it's not going to solve anything, and the idea of having to replace Foreman with some other pretentious twerp just gives him a headache. He also knows that just as the blonde has never managed to cut ties with him, he is unable to just write her out of his life like that.
What you did was stupid.
Yes, it probably was. Last night is probably high up on the list of stupid things that he's done- and it's a long list!- but he knows deep down that he wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't change the fact that he'd asked Cameron to accompany him to the bar for a drink, nor that he chased her down into the changing rooms to hash out their spat in the labs. The only thing he would change is how he'd reacted towards her once their breathing had returned to normal and she'd waited for him to say something, regarding him nervously while still sat naked on his lap. He had felt her eyes on him just as he had felt her stiffen up as ecstasy had been replaced by tension. He wishes now that he'd at least looked at her, but he doesn't know what she would have wanted him to say.
Evidently not that you find her "perplexing".
No, she'd made that fairly clear when bidding him goodnight, and his brow creases as he has no idea why in the hell he decided to voice that thought out of the thousands swimming in his mind at the time. He has no idea why he hadn't at least cushioned it by reminding her that this is one of his favourite things about her, and that he loves her for it.
What?
No.
No, that wording is grossly skewed, but he does find himself itching to solve each new puzzle she throws his way with her curious behaviour, and he wonders if she knows just how amusing he finds this given how seemingly rational and sensible she portrays herself to be.
"What? I can't have dirty thoughts because I'm a woman?"
"No, you can't have dirty thoughts because you're you."
"Oh, dear. This is going to be very educational for you."
He squeezes his eyes shut with a groan, but it does nothing to stop the image of her pulling her sweater up over her head from burning into his brain. Slinging his arm over his face as he grits his teeth, he finally pushes himself up and abandons his failing attempt to get some sleep. The bloody figures on the microwave read 4:57 AM and he rubs at his scruff as he studies them with a frown.
Bloody figures.
Blood.
Blood in the bath.
The wound to her side had looked neat and in the process of healing, but the memory of the gore slathering her tub is one he doubts he will forget anytime soon.
Swallowing, he swings his feet down onto the soft brush of the rug that stretches between the sofa and the coffee table he has moved to one side, and he throws a glance over at his cane in the corner before limping towards the kitchen and getting himself a glass of water. Her cupboards are just as he'd imagined they'd be- their orderliness something he had missed when helping her cook before as he'd been rather distracted- and he grins as he inspects a row of glasses stacked carefully in size order above a shelf of dry goods organised in much the same way. Everything has been neatly put in place with the label facing outwards, and any opened bags have been clipped shut with matching wooden pegs.
"Cameron."
He muses with a smirk, before closing her regimented militia back into darkness and pouring the rest of his water down the sink. He stands leant over her counter, eyeing a small selection of framed photographs on the windowsill. He notes curiously that none of the pictures are of Cameron herself, save for one faded image of a couple of kids- one dark, one fair- that might be of the blonde when she'd been around four or five. He only assumes this due to the obvious age of the photo itself, and never having heard Cameron talk about any nieces, nephews or godchildren that she might care for enough to have out on display.
Well, until recently, you didn't even know her brother's name...
True. Very true. But he is fairly certain the picture is of Cameron and Dominic; the boy pulling a face with his dark eyes squinted and tongue poking out, while the girl looks away from the camera, unsmiling. It strikes him that if the image is of the blonde and her brother, it is an odd choice given that neither of them seems all that thrilled about having their picture being taken, and he wonders if it has simply been picked due to there being only a limited number of options.
Stop. Stop this. Stop trying to figure her out.
He can't help it, though. It's what he does, and despite being unsure where they currently stand as he knows he has hurt her with his actions- or lack thereof- she remains one of his favourite specimens to dissect.
Next to the two kids, there's a photo of a young man who looks to be in his early twenties, although there is an unhealthy gauntness to his face. Beside him is another man with a much brighter complexion and crooked grin, and House raises a brow as he studies the two shrewdly; sure that they are Cameron's late husband and his friend.
The one the blonde had considered cheating with.
A bizarre choice, or a stern reminder?
Glancing back at her closed bedroom door, House frowns and shakes his head. He has no interest in the other two pictures which are both of inane landscapes that look to have been taken somewhere other than New Jersey, and he limps over to her fridge to pull down the card for the cab company and beings counting down.
7 minutes 18 seconds.
"Hey! Hey, wait up!"
Foreman calls, jogging down the hall until he catches up with Cameron who turns around to study him quizzically.
"Are you alright?"
She asks, looking down at the clipboard in his hands which appears to have a lot more red ink glaring out from it than usual.
"Been better. So have you by the looks of things."
Foreman grunts as he rifles through the papers to find the one he wants. He finally looks back up to find green eyes regarding him warily, and he asks her if he's wrong.
"I'm alright... Just didn't get much sleep."
The blonde confides woodenly, and Foreman frowns as now that he properly looks at her, he'd say she looks distressed rather than tired; her eyes slightly pink and her stance tight and uncomfortable. He doesn't have time to try and coax more of a response from her though, and so he offers her a commiserating smile before getting down to business.
"I need you to look at these test results we got for our patient."
"Look, I glanced at the notes for your last patient as a request, and it didn't work out in my favour. I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I don't think this should become a regular thing... I have my own cases down in the ER."
"I know that, but it's not me that's asking."
"... Who is it then?"
Cameron asks slowly, her breath catching in her throat as she wonders if House has requested her to help out, yet refusing to believe it. She tells herself that her heart skips with dread rather than anything else- anything idiotic- and raises a brow in a request for an explanation. Before Foreman can give it to her, they are interrupted by a sharp bark from down the hall as the steady clicks of the dean's heels accompany her approach.
"Oh good, you're here. You two, my office, please. I'll be there shortly."
Cuddy greets them, before stalking past on her way to the elevators. Cameron looks back at Foreman in surprise as he gestures towards the dean and then back at the papers in his hands.
"Cuddy requested you take a look, or I wouldn't have asked... Chase told me House gave you a hard time after you checked the lab results before."
He sighs as they begin making their way for the stairs that lead to the dean's office.
"Yeah... Does House know about this?"
The blonde asks, her stomach dropping as they make their ascent.
"Not yet."