Wilson's face
A.N. In the show, 'Wilson's Heart' (S4E16) is a very serious and sombre episode. I thought I'd do a less serious version with an adapted line suggested to me by a reader.
Chase entered Diagnostics that morning to the sight of Foreman working at House's desk, a common occurrence over the last week or so. He personally found it quite amusing. There was nothing wrong with working hard, of course, but he couldn't shake the impression that Foreman simply wished to display to passers-by (and Cuddy?) that he was working hard. It reminded Chase of a recent date at a coffee shop where the neighbouring table had been occupied by a guy with his laptop open on a white page entitled 'untitled screenplay'. By the time of the date's ending only about twenty words had materialised. Sure, conspicuous workers were not as annoying as conspicuous writers, but it was a close-run thing.
Stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his colleague through the glass, Chase turned on the coffee machine, shrugged into his white coat which he had begun draping over the chair as Cameron used to do, and booted up the shared desktop machine. Since her leaving, House himself had assumed main responsibility for the departmental account. But now that he, too, was out of action, the three remaining fellows took turns dealing with email.
Foreman came through a few minutes later and went to the machine, pouring himself a cup. "Hey, thanks for this. You want one?".
"Yeah, cheers", muttered Chase, his eyes on the screen. "Nice of you to still let Cameron use this thing".
"Mmm?". Foreman looked up from stirring in milk.
"Cameron's still using this account. I think you're getting soft, mate", he laughed.
"I didn't know she was, to be honest. Not that it matters, but what's she saying?".
"Something to do with a roundtable at Mount Sinai next month organised by…", Chase scanned the sign-off, "…Genevieve Taylor. Not heard the name. Have you?".
"She was in London; I saw them talking together. Kinda odd that she didn't just use her personal hospital email for this stuff. In fact…", Foreman examined the message more closely, leaning over the other's shoulder, "…Cameron didn't write this".
"Why's she signed it, then, Sherlock?".
"'my boss is just so brilliant and handsome and amazing that no one else really comes close'. No way she wrote that".
"Who knows what kind of pillow talk they have", remarked Chase sourly. Why anyone would want to share a bed with House was already a mystery; but quite why Cameron, who was objectively beautiful, would want that was an even greater enigma that he had not yet, and probably would not ever, get to the bottom of.
"First off: they aren't even together, so 'pillow talk' is unlikely. Secondly, my money's on House playing a prank or something".
"Speaking of House, you just gonna chill out in his office?", asked Chase with a little smirk, intentionally changing the subject to something he found more interesting and, to be sure, more provocative.
"Yeah", Foreman replied matter-of-factly. "I mean, that place is for the boss, y'know?".
"Oh, I know, uhuh. Just make sure you don't put his books back on the wrong shelf or something".
"Yeah, right", he snorted.
"Have you guys spoken?".
"Nah, not since we both saw him the day of his discharge". Foreman went to stand by the window and gazed out onto the familiar scene. Spring was here, and the sun, though not strong, peeked out from behind white clouds. "I still can't believe that he nearly died".
"Mmm. Talk about 'wrong place, wrong time'", mused Chase, stretching his arms above his head.
"Still, at least he's in good hands".
Something about the tone made Chase glance across. "In what sense?".
"Y'know…Cameron's, er, looking after him". Foreman slowly turned back to face the other, whose expression had darkened.
"I didn't know. What, she's driving over every day, or…?".
"She's living there; sleeping on the couch".
"Standard", Chase scoffed before muttering indistinguishably to himself for a few moments.
"Dunno how long-term it is".
"I don't get why she'd wanna do that".
Foreman, who knew exactly why she'd volunteered herself, kept quiet and sipped his coffee. Fortunately, Thirteen's arrival precluded further talk. She smiled at both men.
"Morning, Remy", Foreman smiled back warmly. He was searching for the right time to ask her out. Katie, the drug rep and his not-quite-girlfriend for the past few months, could take a hike.
"Honestly, Thirteen's fine", she nodded. "Do we have a case?".
"Yes. I'll just grab the files from next door. Be right with you".
"I mean", continued Chase, reasoning things out to himself, "what can she even be doing over there? Preparing his breakfast? Helping him take a shower? What kind of crap is that for a highly skilled doctor?".
"Are you, uh, talking to me?", asked Thirteen, who had been making herself a decaf coffee in the kitchen area.
"Oh, no, sorry", answered Chase hurriedly as Foreman re-emerged and began distributing the tell-tale blue folders.
"OK, I'll help you take a shower then do your breakfast". Cameron, in what was fast becoming a morning ritual, sat on the edge of House's bed and watched as he swallowed his first allocation of painkillers. The 'nurse' part of her brain claimed that she was only doing her job in overseeing his medication. The 'woman' part of her brain knew and accepted the simple pleasure she took in seeing his face each morning.
"Breakfast? No way", House replied instantly. "I am not drinking it through a straw again. No more, Butchie; no more of this".
"Hmm", she mused, eyes glazing momentarily. "Nope, dunno".
"The Sopranos? Phil Leotardo didn't do twenty fuckin' years in the can for nothin'".
"That's actually a pretty decent New Jersey accent", she admitted. House had always been good at voices. Before falling in love with him she had found this talent annoying, not least because he tended to bring out his impersonations at unsuitable times. But now, like so much of what he did, she regarded them as a cherished aspect of his individuality.
"Well, technically, Leotardo's crew was New York. Tony Soprano's guys were the ones based in New Jersey".
"Not seen the show".
"We should watch it together. Wilson gets a bit stale as a viewing buddy".
"Maybe", she smiled.
"What have you seen?".
"Nu-uh, no. You're not putting this off any longer. We're showering". Cameron sensed that he was trying to side-track her long enough so that they hit the time at which she needed to log on for a virtual consult with the immunology department. Unfortunately for him, however, she had already pushed the call back by forty-five minutes in anticipation of his delaying tactics.
"You were more fun when you were a wide-eyed and gullible first-year", House sighed. "Scratch that, actually, because you're still pretty gullible".
"Come on, buster". Her tone had acquired an almost imperceptible edge to it.
House sighed once again. Since returning home after the accident he had managed to get by with a combination of sinkwater, a washcloth, and a studied refusal to acknowledge his own smell. But there was no avoiding it now. "Ugh, fine. Toss me the flame cannon".
"The wheelchair, too?", she asked, having handed over his cane.
"Nah, I wanna walk there under my own steam".
Cameron, who privately thought that he was overdoing physical activity, considered resisting this suggestion. Instead, though, she bit her tongue. House was the most stubborn man she had ever met and rarely heeded other people's input into aspects of his personal life.
"And I don't want you hovering over me like a clucking hen, either", he cautioned. "If we're doing this you need to keep your opinions to yourself-".
"-are we talking about the journey to the bathroom or the actual act of showering?".
"Both. I know what I'm doing. This ain't my first rodeo".
"I believe you. Your hair's looking a little greyer these days. I'd say you're certainly a seasoned clown".
House's eyes narrowed, but since he had initiated the rodeo metaphor he couldn't really complain that Cameron had taken it further. Still, his ego compelled him to mutter: "like you know anything about rodeo clowns. You haven't even seen The Sopranos".
"I fail to see how those two are connected".
Instead of replying, House hauled himself up unceremoniously (it took all of Cameron's self-control not to assist him) and began hobbling out of the room and down the hallway.
House and Cameron were in the bathroom.
"OK", he said, pointing to the leg cast, "this thing is an absolute bitch".
"No worries". Cameron had tied her hair up into a high ponytail and changed into a baggy t-shirt and shorts in anticipation of backsplash. The simple act of showering was about to be transformed into a minor military operation.
"Also, d'you mind, uh, sort of, closing your eyes?", he added a little sheepishly.
"You mean while you undress?".
"Yeah".
She tilted her head curiously. "House, I've seen you naked loads of times".
"I know but…would you just do it?".
"Of course", she shrugged, duly closing her eyes and hearing him begin removing his clothes.
"OK", he said eventually, breathing ever-so-slightly laboured. "Now I will need your help".
"Can I open my eyes now?".
"Guess so, yeah; can't be helped", muttered House glumly.
Cameron found him sitting on the toilet seat still with his pyjama bottoms on.
"I can't get these stupid things over this stupid thing…". The leg cast received a sharp knuckle rap.
"Well, that's what I'm here for". She knelt down and helped him remove his shorts, much as she had done all those months ago in a London hotel bathroom. This time, however, she kept her glances to herself, noting only that the bruising on his torso and shoulders had lessened considerably. "I just need to remove the rest of these dressings and check your stitches".
"I thought we agreed you'd keep your opinions to yourself".
"I'm your nurse. Deal with it".
Washing her hands thoroughly in the sink, she spent the next couple of minutes removing bandages and placing them to the side for disposal. Then, with tender care, she inspected his stitches, trying hard to ignore the fact that not only were their heads close together, but also that her fingers were dancing on familiar skin. How many times had she scraped her nails over these same areas? How many times had she rested her head right here?
He's so sexy.
"What's the damage?", grunted House suddenly.
Cameron was snapped brutally out of the spell. "Oh, um, yeah, no, you look good-, I mean, the stitches look good. They've, er, healed nicely, yes. Good genes, I think".
House raised an eyebrow at her stumbled words and she could feel herself blush. Nevertheless, he soon ran a practised gaze over his own injuries, even prodding the regions himself, though stifling a wince. "Yeah, agreed. Doubt we'll need to replace the dressings".
"How's your pain?". She still remained crouching down, heroically maintaining eye contact despite the fact that he was sitting on the toilet seat completely naked. The request earlier that she avert her eyes seemed fairly redundant now, though she suspected it stemmed from a psychological need to retain a degree of control rather than from shyness.
"Severe, but manageable".
"You know", she said quietly, bracing herself for a sharp retort, "we can always discuss Vicodin".
As expected, House's reply was immediate and hard. "I've decided that I'm not taking that shit. It controlled my life for years. It's not controlling me again".
"Fair enough". Cameron nodded and flashed him a smile before getting to her feet and reaching over to retrieve a large plastic bag. "Shall we give the shower a try, then? I'll just tie this cover over your cast to keep it dry".
"Gee, thanks for explaining that, doctor", he smirked, bringing out his thick Alabama drawl. "Goshdarnit, I'd'a been real confused otherwise, I reckon so".
"Guess I deserved that", she conceded, helping him to his feet and activating the shower. While the water warmed she lay out towels on the floor to soak up splashes; then she assisted him into the stall and onto the just-installed seat.
"You're gonna get wet", he grimaced as the water hit his raw skin.
"For sure".
"Let's see this over with quickly".
They showered for the next fifteen minutes, House managing to do much of the scrubbing himself, relegating Cameron simply to dispensing soap. But when it came to body parts that necessitated raising bruised arms up high or down low, he had to cede control to his nurse. With the door open she could reach in from outside pretty well. However, since the shower seat was set against the far wall, it remained difficult to access certain areas.
"Ah, screw it", she declared eventually, stepping into the stall properly.
"What are you-, you'll be soaked".
"No big deal. I need to wash your hair; stay still".
House considered complaining but in the event decided to accept his fate, closing his eyes against the running water. Though he would never admit this aloud, it actually felt quite nice having his hair washed, her fingers creating a good lather.
Unfortunately, however, since Cameron was upright and he was seated, his eyes were level with her chest, which had taken a few direct hits from the shower head. The white baggy t-shirt soon began to stick to her skin and, before long, her breasts were well-defined, nipples pressed proudly into the plain white fabric.
Oh dear.
Several problems were rapidly developing for House: firstly, he had not had sex for many months and so was unusually sensitive; secondly, Cameron was a ridiculously beautiful woman anyway, and so even had he been sexually active, it would have been a struggle to remain composed; finally, and this was the biggest issue, he had absolutely nowhere to hide.
Through sheer force of will House dragged his eyes downwards, intending to focus on the plughole. But on the way he caught sight of her shorts, which were tight anyway, clinging to her hips like a second skin; long legs glistening with water; he knew from experience they would feel like silk. She was so close to him.
Fuck.
"Just gonna rinse", came the voice above him. "Then I'll do your lower body".
"Umm, nah, no need for that", he managed through the shampoo suds.
"There is a need. Nurse's orders".
House had to turn himself off in double quick time. Fortunately, he possessed a tried and tested method, honed after many years: Wilson's face.
Wilson's face.
That annoying, stupid, meddling face.
There's nothing sexy about Wilson's face. In fact, it's physically repulsive. It makes you sick to your stomach.
What a disgusting guy. He stinks, too. Like shit.
Down, boy. You can't get excited at Wilson's face. That would just be wrong.
"You can open your eyes now", said Cameron, who had crouched in front of him. Her blonde hair was plastered to her face in the most seductive way and rivulets of water trailed down her pale skin to disappear under the t-shirt. "How're you feeling?".
"Fine", House croaked before clearing his throat.
Cameron set about lathering up a loofah, which had replaced the cloth. He didn't own a loofah; she had probably brought it from her apartment. "We're nearly done, but you'll need to spread your legs a little".
"Um, I don't think-".
"-House, this is happening. I've seen it all before".
He complied, thinking of Wilson's repugnant face as she carefully scrubbed his thighs and calves. Fortunately, she had no reason to touch his crotch as he had managed that area himself, and he covered it with his hands.
At length, Cameron stood to the side and scrubbed his shoulders and back, trying to ignore how the muscles flexed under the sponge. As she had long since admitted to herself, one of the first things she had noticed upon his return to work after the shooting was his increased bulk. Liberation, she knew, had been enjoyed to the full first time around, and though she had never seen free weights lying about, he had taken to swimming several days a week. The months after their breakup, too, seemed to have been spent exercising. Underneath the bruising and stitches he looked…solid. By no means obviously muscular, but nevertheless broader than before. Cameron was self-aware enough to recognise the bases of her attraction. And House undeniably, inevitably, uniquely, ticked all her boxes: fierce intellect combined with emotional vulnerability and a physical ruggedness.
Yummy.
She suddenly experienced an overpowering urge to bite his shoulder.
"I think you got it", he murmured eventually.
"Oh, yeah, sorry", she replied quickly, turning off the water to hide a deep sigh. "D'you mind if I shake off the excess?". Without waiting for a reply, and still within the stall, she ran her hands through her hair, down her body, before wringing out the t-shirt, exposing her midriff.
House averted his eyes for the most part, though still couldn't resist a glimpse. I'm only human.
Finally Cameron stepped out, before helping House do the same. He quickly wrapped a towel around himself, the waterproof bag around his cumbersome leg cast emerging from beneath the folds.
"Well", she said, dripping from head to toe in a now almost completely see-through top, "that went pretty well, don't you think?".
"I said you'd get wet".
Cameron's face flushed pink through the steam. "You did", she nodded. "And I am incredibly wet right now".
House cleared his throat a touch and found himself resorting once again to Wilson's hideous visage. Desperate measures.
"So…same time tomorrow?", she asked cheerfully.
