House of Cards

Part Three: Crutch

Warnings: Language again, probably; less angst. I'm sticking as close to the spoilers I've read as I can without throwing out my own plot, but I'm not making it clear what's on the show's actual schedule, so there shouldn't be a problem.

Rating: Ehh... PG-13?

Notes: Follows Crush, Bad Ideas, and the rest of the House of Cards thing.

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Maybe for my birthday?

Summary: In which Daddy is a suspicious bastard, Cameron is bitter, and House makes a pathetic attempt at an apology.

Comments: So appreciated. I love feedback. Really. bribes with more House and less angst

/h

She didn't tell her parents what House had said, and she didn't let herself dwell on it. He'd said possibly permanent (you're in denial), and anyway she needed someone to have children with before that became an issue. By the time House left the room her parents had guessed there was something seriously wrong with her- otherwise why had he stayed for so long?- but she'd somehow convinced them it was all professional, all scolding for having quit.

"Why did you quit?" her mother asked, and she felt her father's gaze dig into her. He'd always known her best.

"House was going to have to fire one of us anyway. And we couldn't do an MRI until one of us was gone and I didn't want to-"

Her father cut off her rambling with a sharp, matter of fact statement. "You didn't want to wait and see if it would be you."

Yes. She'd wanted to believe, wanted so badly to believe, that it wouldn't be her. But she'd been disappointed by life, by herself, by House enough times that she wasn't willing to bet on anything. She was one rejection over the coping quota.

House always yelled at her for that.

"I couldn't work with him anymore," she said, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

She wished her father wasn't such a suspicious bastard. "Was he harassing you? Is that why you quit?"

Cameron had to choke back a self-deprecating laugh. Actually, Dad, I was doing my best to harass him. I had to fall for the one guy on the planet who's not interested. "No! No, nothing like that. He can just be a little... abrasive."

"You quit because he's blunt?" her mother asked incredulously. "Because he rubs people the wrong way? Honey, you picked the wrong profession."

Sighing, she defended, "No- I told you, we needed the MRI or the kid was going to die-" Died anyway, chimed in her helpful conscience.

Her father laid a hand on her mother's arm. "Leave it. She's a big girl; she can make her own decisions." His expression said, We'll talk about this later.

When her mother excused herself to go to the washroom, her dad sat on the wheeled stool House had vacated a little over two hours previously. "So." He leaned forwards on his elbows and settled his head in his hands. "What's the story, princess?"

She closed her eyes. So much had happened in the past few days- weeks, even. Taking a deep breath, feeling the morphine in her veins, she felt the reluctant truth slide past her lips. "I'm protecting myself."

He looked at her calculatingly until she shifted under the weight of his gaze. "That's funny. You've never been that careful when it comes to yourself." A beat. "Allison. Who else are you protecting?"

The words hung in the air for a moment before he passed his judgment. "You're in love with him."

Cameron flinched. She had been avoiding that word- and any words that sounded like it- even within the space of her own mind. The two of them were the last people on the planet that were ready to use that word. But this was her father, and he might have been right on some level, some level she couldn't reach, some level above her head, so she didn't bother denying it and skipped straight to self-justification. "It would never work. He's got more issues than I do."

There was a prolonged silence, and then her father stood up. "That's your choice to make." She always felt like she was three years old when he used that tone of voice. "It's just not like you to give up so easily."

She didn't tell him she'd been trying desperately to find a reason not to give up for months.

/h

"You awake?"

Cameron looked up, surprised that Chase was still in the hospital. She slid a bookmark into her novel- romantic drivel that her mother had picked out ("bodice ripper" would have been an appropriate term)- and gestured for him to come in. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I just..." He looked uncomfortable. Apparently she had that effect on people when she wasn't looking herself. "I wanted to say goodbye."

She blinked, confused. "Goodbye? I've got at least another two days in this joint." She trailed off. "And that isn't at all what you meant and someone's keeping me in the dark."

"House didn't tell you?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. House had been a little scarce lately, not that she blamed him at all. "What, do you think he hides from Cuddy in here or something? He'd probably rather be in the clinic!" But now her curiosity was definitely piqued. "What are you talking about?"

He paced by the foot of her bed, then stopped and leaned against the wall. "My dad's dying of lung cancer. I took a leave of absence. A long one."

"You're not coming back," she said softly, half an apology in her voice. If he was trying to make up for what an ass he'd been for the past few weeks- something he'd been working on since she ended up on the wrong side of the IV- he had a long way to go. Still, she wasn't going to be mean to him when someone he loved was dying of cancer. She'd been through too much to be cruel.

"It should've been me." He sighed deeply in the half-darkness. "House should have fired me."

If she hadn't been feeling so self-righteous just then, so raw from the conversation she'd had with her father, she might not have said it. Fuck kindness, he deserves to get a little of what he's been giving. "He tried."

"Yeah, that's not surprising." Chase started to pace again, then finally settled in the chair by the window. "Look, talk to House. Hell, talk to Vogler, if you have to. House will need another staff member."

"I quit, Chase; House didn't fire me."

He snorted. "House would never fire you; he loves you. It would've been Foreman's ass for sure."

Cameron didn't share his conviction. Any of his convictions, really. "House kept me around because he liked to ogle. Don't look so shocked; he's angry and broken, but he's not blind."

"He respects you," Chase argued. "As a doctor and as a person with an extraordinary capacity for kindness." He managed to inflect his words with a tone that was both sullen and complimentary.

"He was fascinated," she countered bitterly. "He figured I was damaged and hired me to solve the puzzle."

There was dead silence in the room. Then, "Did he?"

Why don't you hate me?

A resentful, broken smile. "No."

/h

It was ten days before Dr. Wolf decided she was well enough to go home without being a danger to herself. "If you have any problems keeping food down, excessive soreness, swelling, fever, any signs of growing infection- please stop by the clinic."

She'd heard it all before- said it all before, actually- so she just nodded absently as he proscribed Clavulan and Keflex for keeping the infection in check. They were probably going to mess around with her appetite, her sleeping patterns, and her energy level. This sucked.

On top of it all, her leg was killing her. Now she knew what House felt like. Well, sort of.

The crutches they had given her to walk with were awkward, unwieldy, and the very definition of overkill. Not to mention the fact that using them properly pulled at the stitches in her abdomen, and that made her feel like someone was digging out her flesh with a rusty teaspoon.

Dr. Wolf had left them leaned against the wall next to her bed. Just another few hours and she'd be able to leave this Godforsaken hospital with them under her own power, catch a cab home and go home and lick her wounds for a while.

So of course, before her window of leaving opportunity even appeared, there was a knock at the door. It sounded wooden, which meant-

"Come in, House." She'd meant to tell him to go away, but the painkiller they'd given her was starting to kick in again. She didn't open her eyes.

She heard him step-thump over to the wheeled stool, and the slight slide of metal on tile as he sat and slid closer. "I go to all the trouble of dressing up for you, and you're not even going to look at me?"

Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened both eyes briefly. He was wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt beneath a wrinkled button-down, same as always. She hadn't really expected anything different. "Made you look."

Cameron shook her head, trying to ignore the drug-induced dizziness. "Like an eight year old. Come to see the cripple off?"

"Actually," and here she opened her eyes again, curious. "I brought a peace offering." It was a long, thin package, and heavy. He laid it across her lap somewhat sheepishly. "Happy get out of jail free day."

"Oh." The wrapping paper was ugly, faded, probably several years old. She supposed it didn't particularly matter, and tore it off with as much enthusiasm as she could manage.

It was long and smooth, a dark-polished cherry, ergonomically designed handgrip and everything. She should have known. "House… you didn't have to do this."

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. Funny; he was doing that a lot lately. "Think of it as a retirement gift."

"If you want a race, you'll have to wait until I'm used to it. It's only fair."

"I get the feeling that we won't be seeing that much of each other. I guess I'll have to leave the instruction to your physiotherapist."

House had the strangest way of saying goodbye.