A brief thank-you to everyone who has reviewed! I'm very glad you are enjoying it!
Oh... and I'm going to fix that little technical problem... thanks for the heads-up! Any other fact-checking or criticism is warmly welcomed.
Chapter 3
Sitting in his office, surrounded by paperwork, Bohemian Rhapsody blaring through his computer speakers, it was difficult to believe that the past day and a half was a part of reality. Forty-eight hours ago he'd been trying to adjust to the fact that he would most likely never see Dr. Allison Cameron again. Now she was lying two floors above him and he was the reason she was still alive.
He didn't think that with any sense of smug superiority, but rather intense, nearly mind-boggling relief. If he hadn't been sulking in his office. If Cuddy hadn't gotten the call. If she hadn't immediately told him about it. If Cameron had been taken to another hospital. If. If. If. A person could go insane thinking about the multitude of seemingly random circumstances that could make the difference in a life or death situation.
A brief memory pushed its way into his thoughts. He was thirteen and his mother was in the hospital. Cancer, his father had told him but had never specified what kind. Now that he was older he suspected that it must have been ovarian. He remembered his father sitting him down. Explaining things to him. He'd been very pragmatic. "Son, right now there's nothing we can do. It's not up to us to save her."
To a thirteen-year-old, those words had seemed like the coldest, harshest words ever spoken, but he'd been right. She'd ended up recovering. She'd even outlived her husband by almost ten years. Still, House had never forgotten those words. He'd never wanted to be in that situation again. That was impossible, of course. Over the years he'd lived through variations of that scenario a hundred times. But not this time. This time it had been up to him, and this time, he'd been there to do something.
The song ended and another one started, but he shook his head and turned it down. He wasn't in the mood for anything slow. The pile of mail in his inbox was about to topple under its own weight. Well, he'd have plenty of time to deal with that. He'd been ignoring it since Cameron had left. Sorting through the crap was something she did well and something he despised. With a long-suffering sigh he picked up the top half of the stack and started sorting it into two piles: definitely crap and probably crap.
He didn't bother to look up when Cuddy walked in.
"Did you leave this on my desk?" she asked, holding up a computer printout and a credit card.
"Unless someone recently stole my identity, yes," he replied, still not looking up.
"How did you even get this? Patient records are supposed to be confidential."
House smirked and gave her a look she'd seen a dozen times before. "And since when has hospital policy ever stopped me? If I recall correctly, my ability to get around the system is one of the things you love about me."
Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"And your credit card?"
"It's good. Charge away."
"You want me to put over ten thousand dollars worth of medical bills on your American Express card?"
A sarcastic reply was on the tip of his tongue but for once, he held back. "Yep, that's exactly what I want. Oh, and if you could just have the rest of those bills sent directly to me, that would be keen."
Taking a deep breath, Cuddy centered herself and forced herself to remember that she was supposed to be the rational one. "House, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
He was wishing he'd gone with the sarcastic reply. "Look, she doesn't have another job yet. Even if she elected COBRA benefits the bills would be crippling. She'll already be paying off student loans until she's geriatric."
Cuddy shook her head again, trying to adjust to this new, semi-benevolent version of House. "She's not going to let you do this. You know that."
"Well yes, that's the other thing I need you to do for me. Explain to her why there isn't any bill. Lie, if necessary… and it will be necessary. Tell her that her coverage extended to the end of the month or something. I'm sure you can get creative when the mood strikes you." He raised one eyebrow in a lascivious smirk.
She tossed the bill and the card onto his desk. "Maybe I'll see what I can do to make that the truth," she said. "Save your money. You may end up needing it more than her." Her tone was serious but almost sympathetic.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll manage to muddle through."
"You know you aren't even supposed to be here."
"Au contraire. I'm not allowed to work on patients. I can spend as much time here in the hospital as my little heart desires."
She didn't bother to argue with him, and he was actually grateful for that. He wasn't in the mood to explain that the hospital without patients was still better than his apartment with nothing.
Cameron was hurting, bored and lonely; not exactly the best combination for someone recovering from major surgery. She was happy to be alive, of course, happy and incredibly grateful, but unfortunately human nature made dwelling on the bad much easier than celebrating the good, no matter how good it was.
The heart monitor and oxygen tank were gone but the IV remained. Some of her lab results had shown the possible beginnings of an infection so now in addition to extra fluids they were pumping her full of antibiotics. She was at least grateful that the morphine drip was gone, replaced by shots of Demerol. They made her a little drowsy, but it was nothing compared to the morphine.
She took a cautious breath, slowly filling her chest to the point where the pain took over. It was frustrating not to be able to breathe deeply. Hell, it was frustrating to be eating hospital jello, peeing in a pan and counting the ceiling tiles for entertainment. The television was droning on in the background, but constantly flipping the channels had given her a headache so it was mainly on to cut the unbearable silence that filled the room otherwise.
After a lot of in-mind-debating she'd finally called her parents and told them what had happened. They'd wanted to fly right out, but she'd managed to dissuade them. Cameron loved them, but they owned a dairy farm out in the Midwest. Who could they get to look after it? Damn, and if House ever found out that she was raised on a farm, surrounded by animals and family he'd be even more sarcastic about her innate niceness.
Sometimes she even made herself sick. She was like a walking, talking stereotype of the sweet girl-next door, and when she tried to be wild and crazy some of that purity still managed to slipped in. Hell, she'd faced off with House a few times, but he still got the last word ninety percent of the time. She mentally rolled her eyes. Maybe she just needed more practice.
She let her head fall back against the pillows and sighed. Honestly, she hadn't just been worried about who they'd get to watch the farm. She had been worried about the hundred and one conversations that she didn't want to have, chief among them the "why did you quit?" harangue and the "you just tell me who he is and I'll take care of it" possessive rant.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the chair he'd sat in last night. He'd been gone by morning of course, and she wondered how long he'd ended up sitting with her. An hour? Two? Did she dare to think about the possibility that it had been longer?
Would he be back? When? Maybe she could page Wilson again. God, she really did feel like she was back in high school again. She could practically smell the hairspray and the oxyclean. She'd already apologized once. The last thing she needed to do was start the whole damn cycle over again. But he hadn't been able to shake her hand. And he'd sat with her last night. That had to mean something, didn't it?
She hadn't had a chance to ask him about the review board, not that he'd tell her anything anyway. Maybe Foreman or Chase would stop by and she could ask them. Chase would be only too happy to relay bad news. She tried to remember when he'd started changing into an insufferable prick. It was difficult to pinpoint and exact date.
A cheerful knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Yes, the knock had actually sounded cheerful. It had to be one of the nurses. She didn't tell her to come in but the door opened anyway.
"How are you feeling?" It was Heather, one of the younger nurses and Cameron liked her.
"Not bad. Not woozy for a change."
Heather laughed. "Not bad? Man, you're the biggest liar on the floor!"
"All right, not that great either."
"Dr. Fraser wants you to walk around a little bit. You think you're up for that?"
She really wasn't but it beat lying in bed alone. "Sure, I'll give it a try."
"Here, you may want to put this on first. I'll give you a hand. It was left for you at the nurses' station." She handed over a plastic bag from Tower Records.
Cameron's confusion was quickly followed by a tight, nervous feeling in her chest as she opened the bag and saw her favorite nightgown with her hairbrush resting on top of it. Had he gone to her apartment? Had he been there looking for things to make her feel more comfortable? The nightgown had been hanging on a hook on the back of her bathroom door, and her brush was always on the counter.
"My nightgown," she muttered without realizing it.
"Yeah, Dr. Foreman said he thought you'd want it."
Foreman. Right. Of course. He and Chase had been over to her apartment plenty of times. It was the closest one to the hospital and particularly convenient when they needed to crash for a few hours during an urgent case. The combination of nerves and excitement vanished, replaced by an inevitable stab of disappointment. She mentally marked off 'hopeless romantic' on her good girl check-list.
"Yes," she replied, "definitely better than hospital issue."
"Yeah, those don't leave much to the imagination when you're walking around. I'll give you a hand and then we'll see how far you feel like going."
She didn't feel like going anywhere. Well maybe home. Home would be nice. Except that it was even quieter and lonelier there. She knew the drill. They'd probably keep her in the hospital for another three or four days but even after she was released she wasn't going to be able to do much. Not that she had much to do. She had her resume out to every hospital in New England, but it had only been a few weeks. It could be weeks more before she heard anything. Damn, and here she was racking up the bills. She could almost see her savings dripping from the IV and into her arm.
Cameron took nightgown out of the bag and Heather moved to untie the chintzy hospital gown. At least it would be nice to be able to use the bathroom and stretch her legs. It would hurt like hell, but that wasn't exactly a change from how she was already feeling.
It took some time and maneuvering to get changed, and by the time Cameron put her feet on the floor she was already feeling tired and winded. The cool cotton of her nightgown felt nice against her skin, though, and standing up relieved kinks in her back that she hadn't realized were there. She swayed just a bit and reached out to grab the IV stand.
Heather was at her side and put a supportive hand at her back. "We'll just try going down the hall a ways and see how far you feel like going. Let me know if you need to stop."
Cameron nodded. "Thanks. I know the drill."
"Right. Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you're a doctor. Down in Dr. House's department, right? What's he like to work with? I almost bumped into him in the elevator one morning and he practically took my head off."
"Yeah, that sounds like him," Cameron replied with a wry grin as she moved one foot in front of the other until they were finally out of the room.
"So he's like that all the time? How do you stand it?"
The stitches were pulling across her chest, and her legs felt like they hadn't been used in weeks rather than days, but Heather's question made her more uncomfortable than any of her physical aches. "I'm actually not working for him anymore," she said, attempting to keep her tone flat and neutral, "but he wasn't that bad. He was actually great to work for."
Whether it was the tone of Cameron's voice or just some indefinable womanly sixth sense, Heather spotted a sore point and quickly backed away from it. "The weather's really warmed up over the past few days. If you're feeling up to it we can take the elevator and go up to the patient garden."
The rooftop garden was built for patient comfort, with potted trees, plants, raised garden beds, wide benches, comfortable chairs and a high wall all around to keep out much of the wind. Cameron had been up there a few times when the stress had started to get to her. It was more private than the lounge and a hell of a lot prettier. The elevator was just at the end of the hall and she gauged her waning strength.
"Sure. I think I can make it," she decided.
Heather's hand was at her elbow and she used the IV stand for support on her other side. Just a few more feet and they'd be at the elevator. Then a two-minute ride and she could sit down in the sun. She could close her eyes and let the warmth soak into her and take away all her troubling thoughts. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and ignoring the pain in her chest.
"Are you sure you can make it? You're looking a little pale. I can get a wheelchair if you want."
"I'm fine," Cameron snapped, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I'm not very comfortable being on this side of the patient/doctor relationship."
"Don't worry about it. You're right about doctors making the worst patients and most of them don't apologize."
Cameron gave a little nod and then thankfully they were at the elevator. Heather leaned forward to push the button and the two women tilted their heads back to watch the numbers light up as the elevator approached the fourth floor. A high pitched pinging noise signaled its arrival and Cameron pushed her IV stand along and took a step forward as the door opened. She hadn't realized how much she'd been leaning on the stand and she definitely wasn't prepared when one of the wheels caught on the threshold.
There was a clattering sound and the world spun dizzily for a moment as she was pitched forward, but her meeting with the floor was postponed when a pair of hands caught her under her arms and managed to hoist her to her feet. She looked up into eyes so blue she could almost see through them to the thoughts inside and instantly felt every nerve ending fire as her face blushed scarlet.
Another pair of hands gripped her arm, and "Are you all right?" Heather asked as she helped Cameron grab hold of the IV stand again.
"Why yes, I'm just fine," House muttered as he struggled to pick up his cane. "What the hell is she doing out of bed? She's pale as a ghost… or at least, she was a second ago."
"I'm sorry, Dr. House," Heather replied. "Dr. Fraser wants her up and walking around."
"Yes. Walking being the operative word, not falling. You do realize that she had a bullet dug out of her chest barely two days ago, right?"
Cameron wanted to get seriously pissed at the two of them talking about her as if she wasn't there, but suddenly all of the blood drained back out of her face and she watched the world being reduced to two pinpoints of light. House nearly dropped his cane again as he jerked forward and grabbed her around the waist, holding her up until she came back to her senses a moment later.
"Why don't you do something useful and get a damn wheelchair. I can't hold her like this forever," House wasn't shouting, but he might as well have been. Heather beat a hasty retreat.
"I'm fine. I'm fine," Cameron insisted, shaking her head to clear her vision. "Just a little lightheadedness. Perfectly normal."
"Yeah, perfectly normal, but hitting the ground with forty stitches running up your chest really wouldn't be a good idea."
Cameron closed her eyes and took a breath. "I really wish you wouldn't do that," she said quietly.
"Do what?" Usually when House asked that question he was being sarcastic because he knew perfectly well what, but this time he wasn't sure. He started releasing his grip on her, thinking that was probably what she meant.
"I wish you wouldn't talk about what's wrong with me like that. I'm not one of your patients. I'm standing right here in front of you. Would it kill you to be just a little bit more sensitive." She couldn't look at him when she spoke.
House swallowed a couple of times and her words echoed around in his head. "I guess I wasn't thinking about how it sounded." He finally said. "I didn't mean to upset you."
She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have brought it up. Can't teach an old dog new tricks, right?"
He didn't have time to respond because Heather reappeared pushing a wheelchair and smiling hesitantly. "Here you go, Allison. Just have a seat. You still want to go to the garden?"
Cameron winced as Heather helped ease her down into the chair. "Yes, I need to breathe some air that isn't filled with disinfectant."
"Whatever you say." She turned to House and eyed him warily. "What floor were you going to?" she asked. When they'd hit the hold button all of the floor buttons had gone dim.
"Seven," House lied. "Look. Why don't I take Dr. Cameron to the roof, and you go find some nice obese gentleman who needs a sponge-bath. I promise to get her home before dark."
Heather was trying to think of a good retort, but the look in Cameron's eyes told her not to bother. She glared at him instead. "Fine. But try to hold back from pushing her off the roof if she pisses you off."
"Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about that," House replied. "Now shoo… shoo… I think I can hear the fat man calling."
He was standing behind her wheelchair, his body casting a long shadow over hers. Cameron folded her hands on her lap, then unfolded them and picked invisible lint off her nightgown. It was disconcerting having him so near, especially being at such a disadvantage. She had been foolishly hoping that he would stop by for at least a quick visit, but in her mind she'd had time to prepare. In her mind she definitely hadn't literally fallen at his feet. He wasn't talking. Why wasn't he talking? She couldn't take the silence anymore.
"Sorry about all this," she gave a slight wave of her hand. "You were on your way somewhere. Heather could have taken me up."
He didn't bother telling her that his destination had been the fourth floor nurses' station to get his third report of the day on her condition.
"Let the nurse who almost dropped you twice, take you to the roof? You're a hell of a lot braver than I am."
"It was an accident. She's very nice."
"Nice, she may be, but competent she is not. I wouldn't trust her with my cat, if I had a cat."
Cameron rolled her eyes and sighed. He hadn't exactly been Mr. Sensitive, as he put it, the night before, but there had been something there… a hint of tenderness maybe, a slight lowering of the hard mask he always wore. Apparently daylight had pushed even Mr. Not-Quite-Sensitive back into hiding.
"Nice nightgown, by the way," he continued as the elevator reached the roof.
Nervous fingers finally stopped their plucking and Cameron took a quick breath. "Thanks," she murmured, then squinted as he pushed her out into the sunshine.
It was a beautiful day out and Cameron took as deep a breath as she dared. It was nice to be breathing fresh air for a change. Spring flowers were blooming in concrete planters spaced out around the roof, interspersed with potted evergreens and even dogwood and cherry trees. House pushed her underneath one of the cherries and sat down in a comfortable lounge chair next to her.
"Are you comfortable in that chair or do you want to stretch out more?" he asked, and she was a little surprised at the offer.
"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to get a little sun. This is good." She closed her eyes and let the dappled sunlight through the pink tinged branches warm her face. She tried to forget about the man sitting next to her, and concentrate on the feel of the sun and the scent of the flowers around her. Within minutes she was asleep.
She wasn't sure how long she actually slept but the sun had definitely moved in the sky, so it had probably been close to an hour, probably more. A tangle of shadows now fell on her face and a slight chill ran through her body. She looked around, surprised that House hadn't woken her and taken her back to her room. When she spotted him, she froze. He was still in the lounge chair next to her, but he looked almost like a different man.
His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines smoothed away and replaced by a vulnerability that Cameron had never seen before. It almost felt like spying to watch him, but something about the way the slight breeze ruffled his hair forward, along with the peaceful look on his face, made it difficult to look away. She was seeing a part of him that few people saw. Maybe only one. Stacy. The woman he'd lived with. She'd overheard Wilson mention her name, and had put one and one together. It was hard to imagine him as part of a couple, but even harder to imagine him splitting up with someone she could only guess he had loved. As cold as he could be, he still didn't strike her as the love 'em and leave 'em type. Ugh. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to stop staring at him.
Cameron reached out to give his arm a little shake. "House? Dr. House?" she called lightly, watching with amusement as his face screwed up into a distinctly annoyed expression before he woke up, eyes blinking at the bright sunlight.
"We fell asleep," she told him as his bleary eyes regained their focus.
"So it would appear. Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night," he muttered, unintentionally answering Cameron's earlier question about how long he had stayed with her.
"That's all right. I'm just surprised you weren't paged. I'm sure Foreman and Chase have been looking for you."
Damn it. They were approaching dangerous territory. "No, it's been a slow day. Nothing exciting. But it is getting late. Nurse Nancy probably thinks I strangled you with your IV line and shoved you behind a potted rose."
It didn't take a genius to recognize a distraction. "They suspended you, didn't they?"
Shit. He didn't bother lying. "Two weeks. Pending another review board meeting. It's just a slap on the wrist. Probably wouldn't have even come to that if that walking dick Nihquist wasn't involved, not to mention Vogler. It's a nice little break actually. I get out of clinic hours too. No snot-nosed toddlers and constipated eighty-year-olds."
It was a lame attempt at levity and Cameron frowned. "I'm sorry," she said remorsefully.
"Oh Jesus, here we go," House rolled his eyes and hoisted himself to his feet with the aid of his cane.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"You. Looking at me like I'm some noble savior. I'm nobody's savior, Dr. Cameron. I did what I had to do. I would have done the same even if it had been goddamned Vogler on the table. I just wouldn't have been as happy about him actually surviving." He paced in front of her but never glanced in her direction. Shit. Fuck. Damn. What the hell was he saying? He couldn't seem to shut up. "You look at me with those big doe-eyes and make me wish Foreman knew how to keep his big mouth shut."
Cameron sat there and felt her anger rising. "It's not my fault you're the one who saved me. I can't help it if I'm grateful. I can't help it if I wish you weren't such a miserable bastard all the time."
He spun and faced her, nearly shouting at her. "But I am, Allison. This is who I am. This is the way I'm always going to be. You're not going to kiss me and turn me into your romantic ideal, a prince among men, the man of your dreams."
"You have no idea what I dream about." The color had risen in her cheeks and she hated that he could always do that to her. "If you think I look at you like a savior, then you look at me like I'm some goddamned saint. A model of pure and virtuous womanhood, displayed for you to study and dissect. I'm nice. You're right. And what a crime that is," she stole some of his trademarked sarcasm. "But you don't know my thoughts. You don't know what I want or what I need."
House stepped closer and briefly touched her cheek. "I know what you don't need, and that's to be chained to a bitter, miserable bastard."
She opened her mouth to reply but something in his expression stopped her. He wasn't looking at her coldly, or meanly. His eyes just held a mix of sadness and longing. She was afraid to flatter herself that the longing was for her and not simply for a piece of himself that had fallen away and been lost somewhere; maybe the part that thought he might deserve to be something other than a bitter, miserable bastard. Whatever it was, it was only there for a moment, and then he moved around behind her chair.
"We need to get you back to your room," he said flatly. "You're due for your meds."
