Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. See the first page.
A/N: The thing that struck me with the House/Cameron goodbye scene, was her reaction to him not taking her hand; not even looking at her. If I were her, as sensitive and connected to him as she was, I would take that very badly I think. I tried to portray that here. The confusion ensues!
Thanks for the comments. Part III will be up soon, but after that, it stops for a while. I want to see what Fox will do before I move on. So we'll see. ;)
Cameron could feel the heat rising in her cheeks-- the hot tears prickling her mossy eyes.
"No" she ordered herself, "enough is enough".
Swallowing thickly, blinking back the unshed tears, Cameron slowly returned her hand to her side.
"He won't even..." her heart wrenched.
Straightening, Cameron forced herself to speak.
"There are only two ways I can deal with things" she croaked, throat tight, forcing down a swell of tears.
Why wouldn't he look at her! She came to him, not just to quit, to say goodbye, but because she needed to see him. She knew why he had done it; that, even to protect her --no, not her, all of them-- he couldn't compromise his principles: "You do it because it's right". That was true, that was why she...
She had to be sure he was alright. That's all.
"One is in my control-- that's to leave".
She pursed her lips, struggling.
It was painful-- more painful that she had anticipated-- saying goodbye to him, letting him go once and for all.
How had she become attached so quickly?
"Goodbye House".
The words stung her lips-- shards of her heart biting into her flesh-- but not so much as his reaction. He had no reaction!
Turning, she gripped the doorknob tightly, willing herself to remain standing, to not let him see how her body trembled, and let herself out.
A single tear snaked its' way down the curve of her cheek and fell from her set chin. She walked, briskly, to her car and fumbled with the keys, another tear following a similar path.
"Damn it" she muttered, chestnut locks falling over her damp face, blocking her view.
Her hand shook as she struggled to unlock the door, bitter tears blurring his vision.
"Damn it!" she bit, louder, kicking the driver's side door in a sudden loss of control.
Finally, her key found its' way through the lock and she flung herself into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind her.
Cameron rested her throbbing head on her arms, folded over the steering wheel.
"He wouldn't even look at me..." she breathed through quiet sobs.
"He wouldn't... even, shake my hand!". The anger flowed freely from her now.
"I'm so... repulsive he wouldn't even touch me!"
Tears burned slow trails down her cheeks-- dejected, hurt, he couldn't even look at her...
She had been wasting her time. How could she have been so ridiculous to assume that he wanted her? He couldn't even bring himself to touch her when she was leaving. What more could he want? She was going-- out of his life, never again to complicate things for him.
"And he couldn't even look at me..." she sighed, broken.
Head resting on her folded arms, Cameron forced her breathing to slow. After a few moments, she turned the ignition and the engine started-- a rough, growling, guttural sound to match the gnawing in her heart.
She lifted her tear-streaked face from her arms and smudged away the salty lines before fastening her seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.
"I should have just kept my mouth shut" she admonished herself softly.
"If only I'd just..." she stopped at a red light, sighing heavily.
Opening the drivers' side window, Cameron let the cool, evening breeze lift the dark tendrils of hair from her neck and tickle her ears.
"No..." she breathed.
"I had to be honest. If not with him, than at least with myself."
The light flicked to green and Cameron pressed on-- homeward.
Her townhouse was dark and stuffy. Cameron unlocked the door-- her hand had ceased shaking. Turning on the inner light, she closed and locked the door behind her and gazed into her empty home: the white sofa and high-backed arm chair --an antique, given to her and James by his mother as a wedding present, it was beautiful, crushed wine velvet and gold rope trim, so elegant; the pristine order of things, the bookshelves carefully stacked and organized by genre, like a library; a candle here or there.
Order-- she ordered the things around her: her home, her job-- it was a way to maintain control. Even becoming a doctor had been a way to seize control-- control over illness, the situation. Knowledge was power, and even though she knew that not everyone could be saved, she still had control over what might be done. She needed it, control, power over her situation. She had no such control when her husband's life had been extinguished before her young eyes.
"One is in my control-- that's to leave". The words she had spoken not long before echoed in her mind.
She couldn't control House, not that she wanted to. He was like a force of nature-- wild, free, and destructive, at times, she had to admit.
"Why wouln't he look at me?"
Her voice was a whisper, soft and small like a child's, but it rang clearly in the solitude of her quiet home, and it startled her.
No, she couldn't control him, wouldn't-- she couldn't control how he felt, or didn't feel, for that matter. But worst of all, she couldn't control herself-- that much was clear. If she could, she might not have gone to him tonight to...
"He wouldn't even look at me..." the fact burned her to the core and shattered her, deeper than she had ever imagined.
Pain. Why so much pain? Hadn't she had enough of that? And now, like some emotional masochist, she had sought out the one man who was incapable of feeling, not only for her, but at all!
"I've brought this on myself" she thought wearily.
Removing her coat, she let it fall to the floor in a rumpled heap.
"But... he wouldn't even... look..." Cameron's resolve crumbled as she dissolved into helpless tears, covering her face with her hands.