She tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
House stirred when the old grandfather clock in his living room struck twice. The remembrance of only a few hours ago came screaming back. His eyes flashed open and he realized that Cameron wasn't there. He noticed that she left the towel folded up carefully on his table. He reached down and touched it gently. How long ago had she left?
His question was answered when the start of an engine sounded outside. He stood up quickly—too quickly—and the pain in his leg was too much and too abrupt. His recovery was not to be and he fell to the floor, twisting his bad leg underneath him as he did so.
He moaned loudly and touched his leg gently. Frustrated, he flung his cane about wildly, throwing it across the room. It smacked the wall and he was glad he didn't live in a condo. He sighed and leaned his back against the chair. He was drowning in his self-pity and he was defiant—he was not moving from the floor.
There would be too much time and effort wasted in trying to get up off his ass and back into some semblance of a man. Shambles and scattered pieces were what his body was and he gave up even on the Vicodin. If he died now, who would care? Cameron was gone—probably not to come back and he didn't need the awkward moments at the hospital anyway. Wilson would mourn for a few days—their odd little friendship personified the words "opposites attract". Well, considering that he was the bitterest, most bastardly man in the state of New Jersey, he was a lot of people's opposite, so the heading did not really apply to just Wilson. Cuddy would also mourn for his brilliance and maybe their sharp retorts and verbal tangles, but not for long. Foreman and Chase would miss him perhaps, but did it matter anymore?
Stacy was the one that once counted, but it didn't matter to him anymore. She was as dead to him as he hoped to be in a few hours. If only the Vicodin was nearer. He'd take as many as he could shove down his throat and end his stupid life. It just wasn't worth it anymore. He closed his eyes and hoped to die.
Cameron, with tears in her eyes, started her car. She had to leave. He'd wake up in the morning and throw her out without even thinking. She leaned her head on the steering wheel and thought for a few minutes. She needed to leave now.
Get away from here as fast as you can. Save yourself.
The voices inside her head grew louder. But her heart was throwing a tantrum.
You leave now and you lose everything!
She didn't know what to do when logic and reason were being replaced by love and passion. Go back inside and sit with him all night and take what you can. Leave in the morning and pretend nothing happen. Leave now and take your dignity with you.
She made the decision when she gave her logic a satisfying reason to go back inside.
She was not leaving without Dylan in the car.
When she opened the door that she had not locked when she left, she saw House's cane and a dented wall. She gasped and hurried over to the chair where she had left him. She found him slumped against the armchair and gasped again. He was pallid looking and his eyes were closed.
"House!" She exclaimed.
"Heaven? Please tell me I've made it there?"
"You think you're dead?"
"Cameron! Hell it must be then!"
But the comment lacked the sting it normally carried with it, for House's voice was oddly emotionless.
"Oh, House!"
House, she knew didn't want the sympathy, but he was delusional. Seeing him sitting on the floor, prone and prostrate was an image that would be seared into her mind, much like those memories of her husband and best friend dying were.
"Not this time. Not with me around."
The mantra was uttered and she slung her arm underneath his shoulders. House's face bespoke his surprise.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"You're going to bed."
"You can't lift me."
"Watch me."
"Fine, fine, I'll get up. I can hobble better than you can carry me."
House grasped the edge of the cushion and managed, with an infinite amount of strength Cameron was figuring that he was drawing from his orneriness. He pulled himself up and then managed to collapse in back onto the chair.
"Oh, that was fun," House's dry remark broke through the silence.
"Are you going to stay there all night?" Cameron asked softly.
"Of course. I'm used to sleeping on the couch. Women have a tendency to kick me out and make me sleep here. I'm just so damn charming."
"You're going to your bed."
"You coming with me?"
"If that's what it takes."
House smirked.
"Then we have ourselves a deal."
House stood up and looped his arm around Cameron's shoulder and he felt her stiffen in resistance to his body's weight. She straightened herself and helped him limp to his room. She grabbed his cane on the way and handed it to him, letting him have the option of walking on his own.
"No, you came back and this is your penance for leaving the first place."
House's tone was soft and firm. Cameron looked into the ice of his eyes that covered the ice of his heart. House turned away from Cameron's stare as they continued their odyssey to the bedroom.
"I have to leave before you wake whether you like it or not," Cameron informed him as they stood on the threshold of the bedroom.
"Yes, well, we all have things we must do, now don't we? I don't care what you do."
"And the bitter shell returns."
"It never left."
"Don't bullshit me. Now you're the one lying. Sit down on your bed and stay there. I'm getting my Dylan CD and leaving. He's the one I came back for."
"That's seven, now. Lucky seven!"
The slap resounded in the room. House swayed slightly, held his hand to his face, and looked back at Cameron slightly astonished.
"I guess I deserved that."
"Good guess."
The silence fell between the two as each pondered their next move. In a chess match of wits, both feared they would lose this match. Neither one of them wanted to lose.
Neither one of them were sure they wanted to win, either.
