Disclaimer: I do not own House M.D. or any of the characters from the series.
A/N: I apologize if it seems like I'm dragging this story out. I just can't bring myself to move over a scene too fast. I want your senses to buzz with absolutely everything that's going on.
To all my readers: thank you for being patient.
Chapter 11: Helpless
They sat together in uncomfortable silence for longer than either had hoped for. The silence was dark and thick and devastating. It was more intense than talking; it spoke volumes more than pretense or tongue. Thinking and wondering and waiting for the other speak. It felt like the never-ending winter during a hundred-year struggle for truthfulness. A truthfulness that neither was ready for, despite this blizzard of pain blowing around them.
It seemed they had less to say to each other than back when there was nothing to talk about. House bit his lip as he stared at the wall. Cameron kept her eyes on her hands. The air between them floated about as a medium just waiting for words. Waiting to be filled. Waiting to be acknowledged.
House looked over and noticed his T-shirt on Cameron. It was the first time he really saw it. And immediately, House was jealous; it looked far better on her than on him. Then his eyes drifted farther down. "You sleep in your jeans?" There. He had done it. He had broken the unmerciful silence.
Picking at the ring on her finger, Cameron kept her head down and gave him no more than a shrug.
He winced. Cameron was back to avoiding him. "Would you like some shorts?"
Her eyes stayed on her hands as she shook her head.
House furrowed his brow in defeat and returned his gaze to the wall. More silence. More discomfort. More thinking, wondering, waiting. House couldn't wait any longer. He turned back to the girl. "Sheeze, Cameron. This is not working. You have got to unclench or we're both going to be stiff in the morning."
Finally, Cameron lifted her head and slowly turned it to House. "So it's my fault?"
His eyes glued to hers as he wondered what she was thinking. She had taken his comment out of context. He wasn't trying to fault her for anything; he was just trying to lighten the mood. And she had thrown it back in his face. Why? Were they even on the same page? Maybe she was asking him something else entirely . . .
Searching Cameron's face for some clue as to what she was feeling, House realized she was holding his gaze. She wasn't looking away; she was intent upon getting an answer. And then he knew. He knew what she was asking.
"No, it's not your fault," he said gingerly. And it wasn't. If anything, it was his.
He leaned his head against the headboard and rolled it to face the wall. He closed his eyes and breathed. Just breathed. Tried not to think. Tried not to wonder. Tried not to hurt inside.
Cameron allowed her eyes to fall from House's scruffy face, and she followed his example in closing them. She leaned against the headboard and tried to relax her muscles. Tried to relax her mind.
They were both tired. Of everything.
The world was far too stressful for Cameron to stick around any longer, so she didn't even venture to try. Her respiration shallowed and she immediately drifted away.
As soon as he heard the peaceful, steady rhythm of Cameron's breathing, House reopened his eyes and took advantage of the opportunity to examine her. She was distraught. Even in her sleep, her muscles were tight, and each of her fists were clenched in a ball. Her neck was contorted and her head was beginning to fall. She looked incredibly tense and uncomfortable.
House took the cue and reached over her to turn on the lamp. He clicked it just once and a soft, warm glow cascaded over the walls. It splashed over Cameron's falling face, and sprinkled her features with color. A tiny, silver glint reflected from her necklace as House jostled the bed with his movement.
He sat there for a moment, just staring. Captivated - once again - by the sight of a sleeping woman. There was something about it that stirred him. Made him erratic and erotic and unstable all at once. His chest swelled with pride and pain. His body with unquenchable desire. His mind with the calm of her presence.
There was no middle ground when a man sat staring at a beautiful, sleeping woman. It's either in or out - stay or go. Hold back or risk it all.
Magic eight ball, magic eight ball. Why did I leave you at the office? But he didn't need its guidance. He had already made his decision. And it was just as clear now as it was yesterday and the day before. The only difference was that now, he had a chance to act on it.
He wrapped one hand around Cameron's back and the other around her neck, pulling her away from the headboard and sliding her down the mattress. Once he got her flat on her back, he straightened her neck and laid her arms at her sides, then he tenderly unclenched her fists. Her palms were clammy with tears of perspiration; they cried for Cameron when she couldn't. House took them in his own palms and wiped away the sweat on his shirt. Wiped away the tears on himself.
Careful not to strain his leg, he moved closer to Cameron and straddled her just above her knees. At once, his thigh began burning, and he reached to the floor for his pants. After downing a couple of Vicodin, he placed the pill bottle on top of the night stand and brought his attention back to Cameron. Jeans. No one can sleep in jeans. Well they can, but it's never comfortable. All those lines and seems and pockets. And Cameron's jeans were tighter than most.
Touching the button at the waist of her hiphuggers, House looked up to her precious face. He wanted to make sure she wasn't going to slap him as soon as he got to work. But her eyelids remained closed and her lashes stayed resting on her cheeks. She was far too out of it to know or care that House was unzipping her pants.
With steady fingers, he opened the two flaps of fabric and began peeling the pants down her hips. He soon realized that this wasn't as easy as he'd imagined. In order to get the jeans to Cameron's thighs, her body had to be slightly lifted. And there was no way House could do that. He would need a couple more hands, at the least.
Biting his lower lip, he mulled over the situation. He could always leave the pants alone, but that wasn't a preferable option. So he decided to take his chances. Rocking forward onto his hands, House held himself in a halfway pushup over Cameron's sleeping body. "Lift up," he whispered gruffly into her ear. Then he rocked back onto his knees and, amazingly, Cameron complied. This meant one of two things: either she was awake, or she could hear in her sleep. Whichever the case, she was aiding his cause, and couldn't hate him for his actions in the morning.
House's heart beat just a little bit faster as he eased Cameron's jeans over her perfectly formed rear and to her thighs. He gently pushed her hips back down to the mattress and prepared to unwrap her sweetness. And he would do it slowly. Savor each and every nuance. Sliding the material over her soft, graceful skin, he tried not to get too distracted. But Cameron had remarkable legs. Very taut and warm and . . . kissable.
Oh damn. House felt himself falling even before it happened. But he couldn't stop. It wasn't just his mouth; it was his entire being that was drawn to her. His heart and his stomach and his brain and his soul. His very organs - his blood - in his body obeyed a magnetic pull that was too strong to fight or deny. It overwhelmed him and pushed him forward, leaving his will in a daze.
He pressed his lips into the center of her thigh, right above the edge of her blue jeans, and dissolved against the taste. Oh . . . Too much. Too, too much. The sensation on his mouth was agonizing. He closed his eyes and let the world spin over him. Let it stomp him to the ground, beat him to bruises, and leave him dry and wanting. It robbed him and drained him and forced him to surrender everything. Everything.
He had nothing left. And he didn't want any of it back.
House lifted his lips from the sweet spot, only because he had to. He couldn't stay there. But he found himself going down for another kiss just as soon as he'd pulled away. He couldn't stay off of her either. This was not good. Part of House wanted to stop, but he was no longer in control. It was a terribly wonderful feeling. His mouth met Cameron's skin in beautiful kiss after kiss, each one slow and gentle.
But he didn't want to take advantage of her, so he got back to her jeans and pulled them over her feet. He ran his fingers just as lightly as he could all the way down her legs, caressing her into a deeper, safer sleep.
She trusted him - wholly, fully. Whether she knew it or not.
He blew on her legs and arms - and in the center of her palms - making her nice and cool. Then he covered her with the bed sheet and laid himself back beside her. Leaning on his elbow, he wondered what had gotten into him. He couldn't think straight, he was so entranced.
His face moved closer to Cameron's, and he breathed on her cheek with a breath of life he never even knew he had. Keeping his eyes on her face, he moved a hand to the lamp and darkness poured over the room once again. One more kiss in the crook of Cameron's neck, then he rolled over to lay on his back. The ordeal had left him helpless. It was something he never thought possible. In five years of living with a crippled leg, he had never felt so debilitated as he had just moments ago. That swirl of color and emotion - it was more remorseless than anything he had ever experienced.
His own exhaustion crept deep inside and his eyelids drifted closed.
To be continued . . .
