Apologies for this being a slightly shorter chapter than usual.

Chapter 9

Dark and cold. Those were the words that best described House's first-floor condo. Even with the lights on it felt somehow dreary and empty. House draped his jacket over the leather sofa on his way to the kitchen. It didn't take long to pour himself a drink, and then he limped back to the living room and sat down at the piano.

He didn't play anything, he just sat there, head down, focused on the keys except for the moments when he looked up to take a drink. He considered lighting a cigar but they were over on the coffee table and frankly he didn't feel like moving. He was more in the mood to wallow in his thoughts.

Dating. He and Cameron were going to date. Maybe they already were. His stomach had formed a knot which had grown ever tighter the further he drove from Cameron's apartment, and he couldn't decide if it was caused by extreme fear or extreme anticipation. Probably a combination.

He wanted to be able to talk himself into the idea that he was only going along with the whole 'dating thing' for her sake. That yes, he liked her, but he knew a relationship would never work and he just didn't want to hurt her so this would be a good way to let her down easy. That after a few dates she would get bored or annoyed and then things would be able to go back to normal. But the truth was that things had never been normal between them, and his feelings were at least as much to blame as hers were.

The truth was that when he looked at her he felt parts of himself slip into place, and he'd felt that way for longer than he wanted to admit. Now it just remained for him to see if he could remember what it felt like to actually have someone who wanted to be around him, and to act accordingly. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be easy. Nothing about his life ever was. He plunked out a few bars of Sinatra's 'The Way You Look Tonight' and thought of how Cameron's face had shone when she'd smiled up at him. Maybe things didn't have to be so hard this time.

His fingers picked up speed as he played the rest of the song, and then moved on to Chopin's Nocturne Op.9, No.2 and back to modern music with a jazz riff on 'Puttin' On the Ritz'. He was half-way through that song when the phone rang. Normally he would have just let the machine get it, but this time he quickly pushed himself off the piano bench and crossed to the end-table to get it. It might be Cameron. Maybe she was feeling worse and needed to go to the ER.

"Hello?"

"Oh, so you decided against spending the night?"

House rolled his eyes and controlled his impulse to hang up. "Did you have a reason for calling?"

Wilson chuckled. "Not really. Just wanted to check in on you."

"Thanks, Mom. I got home safe and sound."

There was another low chuckle and then Wilson spoke again, his voice turning more serious. "You didn't really want to leave her place tonight, did you?"

House lowered himself to the sofa and slumped back against the soft leather. "No." Hell, if he couldn't tell his best friend, who could he tell?

"You and her talk things over?"

"As much as I ever do," he replied.

"And she was satisfied with that?"

Staring at a spot across the room, House saw again the look of understanding in Cameron's eyes. "She was satisfied." He gave a little smirk despite the fact that Wilson couldn't appreciate it. "I think we're dating."

"You think?"

"Fine, call it pre-dating. She isn't exactly up for dinner and a show."

"But when she is?"

House sighed in exasperation at Wilson's relentless yet endearing prying. "When she is, I'll be ready, willing and able."

He could almost see Wilson grinning through the phone. "I don't think you'll regret it. I really don't. She gets you, Greg. I don't know how, but she does."

Completely unexpectedly, House found the knot in his stomach slowly untangling itself. "You're right. God help her, she does."

"All right. I won't keep you up. You coming in to the hospital tomorrow?"

"No. They caught the son of a bitch who shot her and she's supposed to go down to the police station for an ID. I'm driving her."

"They caught him? Shit, I should have been watching the news! Why didn't you tell me before? She must be relieved."

House decided against telling Wilson about Cameron's immediate reaction. "Yes, she's very glad he's off the streets."

"I'll pass the word on to Cuddy and everyone else. I have a feeling they're going to be late tomorrow themselves… there was a bit of a celebration in your office after Vogler's departure."

"Thanks. And if anyone threw up in my trashcan I expect it gone by the time I get back."

"Gotcha. I'll make sure to warn Chase."

They hung up and House headed back to the piano. It was almost eleven and he wasn't even tired. Another sip of scotch made a warm trail down to his stomach and he poised his fingers over the keyboard trying to decide between Bach and Bohemian Rhapsody. He had just settled on Bach's 13th Invention when the phone rang again.

"Talk to the machine, Wilson," he called out.

Three rings and he heard his own voice saying "Leave a message but I probably won't call back."

"Umm… it's Allison… Cameron, I mean… I guess you didn't go home… or maybe you're asleep… you don't have to call…"

House had rushed for the phone before she'd even gotten her full name out. Damn his leg for making him so fucking slow.

He grabbed at the phone and jabbed at the answer button. "Cameron, what's wrong?"

"House?"

"Yeah, I was just letting the machine get it. I'm here and awake. What's wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to climb all the way up to my place tomorrow. I'll meet you on the porch."

If she had been there she would have seen the look of extreme disbelief on House's face.

"Try again. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible liar?"

A short sigh and a pause before she reluctantly answered him. "Okay. Truth. I couldn't sleep. I got scared. I wanted to hear someone's voice, and that someone was you."

House sat down on the sofa again. His heart wasn't actually beating any differently but it felt somehow strange. "Do you want me to come back over?"

"No… look… it was stupid to call you. Please forget that I did, okay? I'm not like this all the time, I swear." Jesus, she was going to scare him off before they went on a single date. Her hand gripped the phone tighter. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Cameron, hold on." Shit. Now what? Fuck why did this have to be so awkward? "Are you sure you're all right? How's the pain?"

"The painkillers took the edge off. I'm fine" she sounded horribly nervous and he could picture her knuckles tightening.

"You don't sound fine."

"Look, I told you I shouldn't have called. Let's just hang up, okay? Please?"

"You wanted to hear my voice."

Shit. "Yes," she said quietly. "Could you try not to hold that against me?"

He wanted to reach through the phone, brush the hair out of her eyes and talk to her without words. "Are you still scared?"

"No. It was just a noise outside. It was stupid."

"Are you still in bed?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying down?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes."

"Okay."

He got up from the sofa and limped over to the piano again, his leg throbbing after his race to the phone. "Eyes still closed?"

"Yes."

He put the phone down on the piano and started playing. His fingers flowed through Nocturne again, slowly and beautifully, every note ringing out clear and true. When he was finished he picked up the phone again.

"Cameron?" he said very quietly, and all he heard was the slow steady sound of her breathing.

A very slight, satisfied smile appeared on his face for an instant and he left the line open and carried the phone with him into the bedroom. For once he felt like sleeping and dreaming instead of dwelling on his pain.


Directly in front of Allison Cameron's front porch grew a very large and very old crabapple tree. Its branches reached outward and skyward in equal measure, gnarled and loaded with blossoms. Birds darted in and out of it, and lazy round bumblebees hovered around it, and Allison Cameron sat on her front steps looking at it. She remembered glancing at it the day she was shot. The flowers had only been plump, pink buds then, and now they were all open, white and clean, palest pink just barely touching their petals. She wanted to bury her face in them and breathe in their scent, but just walking down the stairs had been an ordeal and she satisfied herself with looking.

It was only a few minutes past nine but she had been antsy inside the house. Antsy and nervous, with her mind going over a hundred scenarios of what she should say to House when he arrived. Her mind was still doing that, but at least now she had something prettier than the wall to stare at.

She had woken up with the phone still in her hand. The line had long since gone dead but she'd held it to her ear anyway and sworn she could hear Chopin in the silence. She couldn't believe she had called him and far beyond belief was the memory of him playing her to sleep. It made her heart quicken and her stomach flutter just to think about it. But now she was stuck struggling to think of what to say to him about it. Or maybe she shouldn't say anything.

That might be the safest course of action. Probably the last thing he wanted was a 'thank you' for doing something he no doubt considered insufferably sentimental. And then there was her part in the whole little scene. She had been so horribly stupid to call him in the first place. She had been trying to convince him that she was strong… strong enough to handle anything he could throw at her… and then she had ruined it by calling him and sounding like a lost little girl. Thinking about it made her roll her eyes for the umpteenth time and press her fingers against her temples.

"You getting a headache?"

The sound of his voice startled her and she instantly turned her head in his direction. He was at the end of the walk, heading towards her, look of concern on his face.

"No… no, I'm fine."

"Did you sleep all right?"

Damn, he hadn't meant to ask her that! He hadn't meant to mention anything that could in anyway lead to discussion of the previous night. He couldn't believe what a ridiculous sap he'd been. At the time it had felt right, but in the cold light of five a.m. it had felt sickeningly sweet, like something out of a pathetic chick-flick. She probably thought it was the lamest thing ever, excepting perhaps House himself.

Cameron felt herself blushing. Great. Now she couldn't avoid it. "I slept fine." House was looking at her uncomfortably and she could almost feel the tension coming off him in waves. He had stopped walking towards her. She had to say something. "About last night…"

"Ah, yes, 'About Last Night'. Good movie. Demi Moore before she sold her soul to the devil and made 'Striptease', although that did have its moments." His eyes landed on everything but her face as he spoke, and when they finally ventured back to it she was frowning. Forced jocularity fell away and he took two thumping steps forward. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You were saying?"

Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything at all, but she no longer had a choice. "I was just going to apologize for calling, especially so late. I know I sounded like a needy, insecure little kid. I'll just have to blame the pain meds and swear it won't happen again…" She was staring at his feet, and then his cane, tracing the line up and down with her eyes.

House didn't say anything at first. He studied Cameron's face. Damn. She was looking at him as if she'd expected him to dump her before they even started dating and he was holding onto the words that could erase that expression from her face and yet he hesitated in saying them. Shit he could be a coward sometimes.

"I didn't mind," he said at last.

"What?" She raised her eyes to his as he took two more steps towards her.

"I said that I didn't mind. You're allowed to call me." He took a breath. "I'm just embarrassed to admit that I was glad to hear your voice, and I'm more embarrassed by the fact that I proceeded to destroy my cynical, bitter and wise-assed image."

The expression on Cameron's face lightened and she almost smiled before remembering that it made him uncomfortable. "I think 'destroy' may be going too far. Don't worry. I still think you're bitter and miserable."

"Good. Then everything's hunky-dory." He took the final step forward and then he was bending forward and offering her his left arm to lean on as she stood up.

"Thank you," she murmured and her eyes told him that it was for more than the helping hand.

"You're welcome," he replied.

Her hand was still on his arm, and she pulled on it gently until his face was level with hers and she could place a soft kiss on his cheek. She leaned in further until her lips were beside his ear. "You play beautifully."

House quickly stood back up and cleared his throat. "Right. We'd better get going or we won't have time for breakfast," was all he said, but Cameron could see a surprisingly pleased look in his clear blue eyes.

They drove to a small 50's era diner not far from the police station, and then House watched Cameron spend forty minutes pushing scrambled eggs and toast around on her plate. He considered harassing her into eating but he knew it wouldn't be worth the effort and frankly he didn't have much of an appetite himself.

He just wanted to see the fucking piece of shit who had dared to pull a gun on Cameron. There would probably be glass in between them, but he was pretty sure his cane could take care of that. He glanced over at Cameron again and signaled to their waitress.

"You about done over there?"

Cameron looked up, blinking back to the present. "What? Oh. Yeah. I'm not very hungry. Sorry."

"It's all right." The waitress approached and he handed her his credit card without looking at the bill. "This is going to be quick. Just in and out. You point to the bastard and then we can get the hell out."

His words didn't seem to be reassuring her and she sighed heavily. "I hope you're right. I keep seeing it happen, over and over again and every time I remember something else. Some little detail. Like the fact that I was staring at the moon while I was on the ground, and now I can hear him shouting at me just when the bullet hits."

House was gripping his water glass so hard, it was a miracle it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces. "Maybe it's good to remember. Aren't you supposed to be able to put it behind yourself after that?" he forced the words out as his jaw clenched.

Suddenly pinned by her solemn eyes, he couldn't look away. "I don't care if it's what I'm supposed to do. I don't want to remember anymore. And if I ever do want to remember, all I have to do is look in a mirror."

He didn't know what to say to that, but she didn't give him a chance anyway. She quickly stood up and excused herself to the washroom and he sat there numbly and waited for the waitress to return with his card.

The station was less than a five-minute drive and neither of them spoke. It wasn't a situation that snappy banter could help. House parked as close to the entrance as possible and Cameron was out of the car before he'd even cut the engine. She just wanted to get it over with. She was scared and anxious and furious. She never wanted to see her attacker again, but she wanted him to rot in the ninth circle of hell. If picking him out of a lineup could make that happen, then she'd do it.

House had caught up to her by the time she reached the front door, and he even opened it for her. They passed into the brightly-lit lobby and were directed back through another set of doors to the violent crimes division. That room was brightly lit too, and everything looked much cleaner and much less depressing than the average cop show police station.

"Who are you supposed to talk to?" House asked quietly, but Cameron didn't have time to answer before one of the detectives was in front of them, introducing himself.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm Detective Hughes. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday." He turned to House. "And you're Dr. House. I recognize you from the paper."

House put on a snarky grin. "Ooh, I'm a celebrity."

Detective Hughes didn't know quite how to take that, so he didn't bother replying and instead led them both over to his desk and pulled an extra chair over for House to sit in.

"I know you gave a statement at the hospital, so I just have a few questions for you."

House watched out of the corner of his eye as Cameron visibly stiffened.

"Have you remembered anything beyond what you already told the police? Did he do or say anything else?"

She heard his shouted epithets ringing in her ears, but they weren't really pertinent. They wouldn't make or break a criminal case. She shook her head and kept her lips pressed together to keep her chin from shaking.

Det. Hughes nodded. "Okay then. I'll just give you a rundown of what's going to happen now. The ADA is going to be here in a minute and we're going to take you in for the lineup."

"I know how it goes," Cameron told him. "He can't see me, but I can see him."

"Right. Just point him out and you'll be on your way."

Cameron closed her eyes for only a brief moment but it was a moment too long. Long enough to feel chill night air around her, and remember wishing that she hadn't tossed her jacket in the back seat. His breath was at her ear again, but this time he was talking. 'Don't turn around, bitch.' His hands on her arms hurt, and she was struggling free and spinning around. This time she saw him pull the gun from his waistband as she turned but there still wasn't time to scream before the flash. She saw his face, caught in a paroxysm of rage, shouting at her. 'You goddamned fucking bitch!' She felt all the air forced from her lungs and her blood, first warm, then cooling and sticky, draining away, leaving her empty. She opened her eyes but she could still feel the blood rushing from her face while her heart pounded out sixteenth notes. She was not going to break. Not here. Not with everyone watching.

Cameron forced herself to keep breathing but she couldn't make herself maintain eye contact with the detective. Her hands balled into fists in her lap and she dropped her gaze to stare at them. That was when she saw that House had placed his hand on the edge of her seat; not actually touching her, but there. A sturdy, comforting presence. She snapped her head up to look at him and found that he was staring at her and his eyes weren't filled with gushing sympathy or coddling over-protection but with strength, support and righteous anger on her behalf.

She didn't notice that Det. Hughes was looking strangely at them both but she heard him say, "Are you all right, Dr. Cameron?"

She set her jaw and her chin rose almost defiantly. "I'm ready whenever you are."