Apologies for the long wait! I was rather blown away by this week's episode and had to regroup my own creative energy after seeing something so perfectly conceived and executed. Then I came down with conjunctivitis and staring at a computer has been somewhat less than fun!
As usual, thank you for all your encouraging comments and compliments! They totally make my day! I actually have another story I've been working on as well, but it is not rated for this site and I'd rather not be banned. Anyone with interest is welcome to email me about it... please make the subject line something about House fanfic.
Chapter 11
Cameron woke up when the sun was just beginning to send rosy tendrils across the sky. It was the longest she'd slept since the attack, not counting the nights she was in a drugged stupor. At first the feeling of a warm weight pinning her to the bed startled her, but then the memory of the previous night came back to her.
She pressed her eyes closed again and breathed deeply, concentrating on the momentary feeling of security that being in House's embrace provided.
This was what she wanted. After all the pacing and crying and flashes of memory, she wanted his arms around her, his breath in her ear. It wouldn't change anything. She'd still wake up in pain. She'd still be startled by the sound of raccoons in the trash. But she wouldn't be alone, and neither would he. It was corny as hell but they would be stronger together.
The sun rose higher, warm light glinting off the mirror and pooling at their feet. House's voice broke the silence and to Cameron it felt like the breaking of a spell. Now they would have to get up and face the day, something that no longer gave her any joy.
"Are you awake?"
"Yes," was her whispered reply.
"Hungry?"
"No."
"In pain?"
"No."
"Liar."
"I'm tired of taking pills."
"So am I, but it beats the alternative." House rolled away from her and then groaned as his own pain hit him hard. "Shit," he muttered, throwing back the covers.
Cameron was slightly faster, swinging her legs out of bed, one hand protectively clutching her chest. "I'll get them," she said as she leaned on the bed and walked around it, picking up House's jacket from the floor, a task which proved more painful than she had anticipated.
The pills rattled and she reached into the pocket and retrieved them, then sat down on the bed, looking at House with concern. He had closed his eyes and lines of pain marred his features.
"Is it always this bad in the morning?"
House grimaced. "Who's nursing who, here?" he asked as he snatched the pills from her hand. He swallowed two before looking back at her and feeling a stab of guilt. "Some mornings are worse than others," he said grudgingly.
Cameron's hands clutched at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sure sleeping with me didn't help."
House tilted his head and looked at her, then hesitantly reached out and awkwardly patted her leg. "Actually this is one of the good mornings. I didn't even think about the damn leg until I started moving."
His words made her inexplicably relieved, pleased even, and her hands released their death-grip on the sheets.
"Why don't you take your pills like a good girl and get back in bed while we wait for the miracle of modern medicine to kick in."
"I told you-"
"Right. You're above painkillers. I get it. Tell me, do you like seeing a look of pain on my face? Because I don't enjoy seeing one on yours. So take the damn demerol and get back in bed."
She honestly hadn't considered that he even noticed when she was in pain beyond a purely clinical interest. Now she regretted being so stubborn. She made her way back to her side of the bed and took a painkiller. There was still a little water in the glass on her nightstand and she used that to wash it down.
The sheets were still warm and it felt nice to slide in between them again, especially when she felt the heat from House's body radiating out towards her. They lay there, side by side, shoulders not quite touching, eyes drifting closed.
"Did you get any sleep last night?"
"Yes." She turned and glanced at his profile. "Thanks for staying with me."
"It was the least I could do."
Cameron couldn't quite read his tone of voice and she was surprised to hear him say such a thing. She waited for him to say something else, some little jibe, but he remained silent for so long that she thought he had drifted back to sleep. She turned to face the ceiling again and followed the shadows cast by a large tree outside her window.
"I wanted to kill that fucking bastard."
The words were laced with pure hatred and Cameron's stomach turned over as she was thrown back to the police station; it's clean and airy atmosphere covering up the despicable acts that were recorded and combated there. The sheets rustled as she slowly rolled onto her side to face House. He was still on his back, eyes closed, hands at his sides.
The pragmatic response would be to tell him that she didn't think that would solve anything. The brave response would be to tell him that she didn't need him to fight her battles for her. The thoughtful response would be to tell him that she didn't expect him to be her avenger.
"I wish you could have," was what she actually said.
His eyes opened and he moved to face her, pale blue staring into her, through her. She didn't blink.
"I felt like a complete ass sitting there waiting for you. A waste of space and air."
"I was glad you were there."
"There to do what? Honestly, Cameron, I don't know what you get out of having me around. Hell, you should have asked Wilson to take you. At least he would have had his arms around you and let you cry into his shoulder."
"That wasn't what I needed. If I'd cried then I never would have been able to go into that room and see him. And you held me last night. When I asked you to be here for me, you were."
House shook his head but he didn't say anything else. There was only just so much soul-baring he could take at one time, and anyway, Cameron didn't need to know that he'd been so angry he'd nearly taken Wilson out with his cane. He reached out and touched her shoulder where it peeked out from under the sheets.
"You don't need to hear me tell you this, but I was proud of you when you went in there." He shook his head again. "No, that's not it. I wasn't proud of you… I knew all along that you'd never shirk a responsibility no matter how painful. I was proud to know you. That's what I was proud of."
"I didn't do anything really. I was just glad I didn't embarrass myself by falling apart."
"No one would have blamed you."
"I would have blamed me." She closed her eyes slightly, shutting the open window between them and glancing down at the sheets. "I blame myself right now. You always said I was a soft-hearted, naïve little innocent and I guess you were right. I did what I had to do, but that doesn't make me brave or strong. I came back here, threw up and spent half the afternoon crying. How's that for brave?"
He knew he needed to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He just stared at her, shocked at the level of self-loathing he could see in her expression. The hand he had resting on her shoulder moved down to cup her cheek, tilting her face up so that she could see his eyes again and hoped that what she saw there would be enough.
In those few moments Cameron knew that she could tell him everything. She could tell him all that she remembered and how it had made her feel and how it was still making her feel. She could tell him about the flashbacks and the way she'd been afraid to look her attacker in the face. She could tell him everything, but the problem was that she didn't want to. Talking about it was like reliving it and she wasn't ready for that. Just thinking about it was making her throat close up with unexpressed emotion and she blinked rapidly and hoped in vain that he wouldn't notice.
"You know, I think I'm hungry after all."
"Cameron."
"Really," she said quickly. "And you know I have to take my meds with food."
House slowly pulled his hand away from her face. So this was what it felt like every time he deflected one of her well-meaning questions or caring remarks. Definitely not a good feeling. How had she lasted a month working with him, nevermind a year? Wilson was right. She was stronger than she looked. There she lay, obviously feeling weaker than she wanted to be, despite the fact that it had to take a soul with the strength of steel to put up with his abuse day and day out and never strike back. If she didn't want to talk he was the last person who had a right to force her.
"Omelets?" he asked as he prepared to get out of bed.
She shook her head. "No, you don't have to make me anything. I just want some toast and maybe cereal." She was suddenly wondering if she'd even be able to keep that down.
More rustling sheets and the gentle movement of the mattress and she was out of bed again and walking out of the room. House was left lying there staring after her, wondering if maybe he should have said something else after all. The vicodin had done its job and he was able to get up with only minimal difficulty and one muttered curse. He picked up his cane and headed towards the kitchen, not particularly surprised to find her standing by the counter staring at the milk rather than pouring it. He pretended not to notice and stepped around her to put on a pot of coffee.
"I'm sorry."
House turned and looked at the stiff line of Cameron's back. She was still staring down at the milk.
"Stop fucking saying you're sorry," he said sharply. "What do you have to be sorry for? Being attacked? Getting shot? Having trouble dealing with the fact you were almost raped and murdered?"
She appeared to collapse in on herself, shoulders slumping and then trembling.
"Shit." The vein in House's forehead began to throb and he stepped up behind Cameron and put one hand on her shoulder, not ready to see the look in her eyes. "When it comes to keeping everything in, you're talking to the master. You aren't sorry because you think you've done something wrong. You're sorry because you're not meeting some self-imposed expectation of healing. You feel guilty because I'm here and in your ridiculously selfless mind you think that you should be opening up and telling me everything even though you're not ready. Hell, maybe you'll never be ready, or maybe you'll be ready to talk, but not to me. I was a prick yesterday, but that had nothing to do with you. Trust me; if you want to talk, I'll listen, but if you don't, I'm not going to hold it against you."
Her shoulders were still shaking and he couldn't tell if she was crying but he didn't want to see her face. It would only make him want to get in his car, speed down to the police station and commit a justifiable homicide. Cameron seemed to know this, in that innate way she had of knowing so many things about him. There were tears pricking the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, and instead she quietly pulled herself together while his hand moved up and down her back.
"Better?" he asked after she took a deep, cleansing breath.
"Better." She knew better than to add the 'thanks' that was in her head.
"Good. Now eat." He walked back to the coffee machine, leaving her to make prepare her cereal and settle herself at the table. When he brought over the coffee she was almost done eating and the flushed look on her face had begun to fade. He just had to avoid looking directly in her eyes, because they still held the remains of silent tears.
"I know you're still on suspension, but are you going to the hospital today?" Cameron asked, keeping her face slightly averted.
"I suppose so. Why? You need to pass a note to Wilson? Or maybe Chase?"
The familiar sarcastic tone set her at ease in a way that foreign sounding sentiment never could. A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and she rolled her eyes.
"No. No notes. I'm supposed to go back for tests and to have the sutures removed today. It's been ten days." Ten days. It felt like a lifetime and the blink of an eye. How was that possible?
"You know I could pull them for you in the clinic."
"I know, but he wants a full run-down anyway. I may as well let him do it." She couldn't tell him that the last thing she wanted was for him to get yet another look at the damage. Maybe in a few weeks. After the scar had healed more. Maybe then.
House looked at her downcast face and tried to read what she was thinking, but with her eyes turned away it was impossible. "All right," he answered her, "I'll drive you in. See Fraser and then come find me and I'll bring you home. Maybe I'll even stop and let you pick out some stereotypical sappy movie on the way back."
Another shy smile appeared at the casual way he was basically inviting himself back to her apartment for the afternoon… or maybe even the evening. "Maybe I'll surprise you and rent 'TombRaider'.
House smirked and gulped down the last of his coffee. "You can never go wrong with Angelina."
Cameron finished her cereal and House paced the living room while she got dressed and ready to go to the hospital. Then it was her turn to pace when he stopped at his place to change out of his even more rumpled than usual, slept-in clothes. She had only been there once before and hadn't actually seen anything except House in his black shirt, and rumpled hair, smelling faintly of scotch and cigars. She remembered the piano and the leather chair but not much else.
He had stacks of books next to the piano and on every table. Some medical, but most were subjects as varied as the art of ancient China and Stephen Hawkins' 'A Brief History of Time'. She wanted to leaf through his sheet music and study the black and white photographs on the wall, but he was faster than she expected and was soon ushering her out the door.
On the drive to the hospital Cameron struck up a conversation about music and House seemed startled and then pleasantly surprised that she knew the difference between Billie Holiday and Billy Idol. It was a completely normal conversation, and those had been few and far between for them. Between work and bantering they usually weren't at a loss for words, but casual conversation? No, that was something they didn't normally engage in. House tried to remember the last person he'd really talked to besides Wilson. He couldn't think of anyone. A quick glance at Cameron and he saw that she looked relaxed, animated even, in a way she rarely was at the hospital. It was enough to make him relax as well.
She grew quieter as they neared the hospital, and by the time they pulled in the parking garage she was silently looking out the window, fingers toying with the long strap of her pocketbook. House's usual spot was open and he parked and shut off the engine. Neither of them moved.
"Fraser's office is on the second floor over in the other wing. I probably should have parked closer to it," House muttered.
"No, this is fine. There's never any parking over there."
"You'll come to my office when you're done?"
"Yes. Hopefully it won't take long."
"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will probably want to see you. I'll let them know you're around."
House finally opened his door and Cameron followed suit. He didn't know why it felt so strange, then recognized, with some degree of annoyance, that it was because he didn't really want Cameron going off on her own. He didn't trust any other doctor to take care of her. He decided to blame those feelings on his own ego rather than a preposterous over-protectiveness towards her.
They walked to the door, side by side, and then parted without saying another word, but House watched her as she made her way down the hall towards the south wing elevators. Even after she was out of sight it took a few seconds for him to head off in the opposite direction and he rolled his eyes at himself, limping along with a particularly forceful use of his cane.
Cameron stared up at the fluorescent light and tried to avoid flinching as Dr. Fraser removed the surgical staples which had held her incision closed. The tinny sound of them landing on the metal instrument tray seemed to echo in the small exam room.
"What have you been doing, aerobics?" Fraser asked. "Two of these almost pulled out. You're lucky you didn't have to come back in."
She knew he was still annoyed that she had threatened to sign herself out of the hospital. "Dr. House was with me when that happened. It was nothing."
"Mmm-hmm." Fraser sounded unconvinced. He pulled the last one and pushed back from the table. "There. All set. It's actually looking very good."
The idea that a scar could look good was almost enough to make Cameron laugh… or cry. She wasn't sure which. Dr. Fraser helped her sit up and she glanced down at the pink line running from the bottom of her rib cage to the top of her chest. The tiny holes from each staple were still visible, and the whole scar was slightly raised. A smaller scar, to the left of the incision was a paler pink. Strange that the bullet had left less of a mark than the scalpel used to save her life. She felt her stomach roll over and looked away.
"Your EKG and blood gasses all look good," Fraser was speaking to her but looking over her chart at the same time. "You're lucky it was only a .22 caliber. You probably wouldn't be sitting here otherwise. Have you had any more pain from where the bullet nicked that left lower rib? That was another lucky thing. At least we didn't have to deal with an exit wound. You had enough blood-loss without one."
"No. Sore, but not horrible," she replied. She didn't want to be talking about this. Why was he talking to her like a colleague instead of a patient? She didn't want to hear the gory details. She just wanted to be told that she was doing fine and ready to go.
"Well be careful anyway. It's definitely cracked and if you're not careful it could break. Have you had any shortness of breath? Dizziness?"
Cameron thought about standing in the police station looking at man number five. That dizziness hadn't been caused by any medical problem. "No. Really, I've been doing fine."
"Well I'm going to want to see you back in two weeks just to be sure."
She nodded and pulled the flimsy gown tighter covering up the scar she couldn't stand looking at. The fabric was so thin that she could still feel the pronounced ridge beneath her fingertips and she crossed her arms and gripped her waist to try to rid herself of the feeling.
Glancing up from the chat, Dr. Fraser saw Cameron move. "We could probably set you up with someone in plastics," he said, sympathetically.
A slight shake of her head. "We both know it's too early to even think about that."
"Yes, but a consult couldn't hurt."
Now she shrugged in addition to shaking her head again. "Plastic surgery isn't usually the first thing people think about right after having the equivalent of open heart surgery."
"Well most patients who have open heart surgery aren't thirty-one years old."
Cameron pressed her lips together and remained silent. He was right, but she didn't want to admit it.
"Fine. If you change your mind, you know where the office is" Fraser tossed her chart onto the counter. "I'm sure you've heard the rest of the drill already. No full-time work for at least two more weeks. No baths or swimming. No heavy lifting. No driving for another week."
Cameron nodded at each point. Yes, she knew the drill. It was depressing to think about the fact that none of those restrictions, even the one about work, would have any great impact on her. A sudden feeling of nausea rolled over her and then passed as she realized that she still hadn't gotten a bill for her surgery or anything else. Maybe she would stop by Dr. Cuddy's office and see if she could arrange for some sort of payment plan. She brought herself back to the present when she noticed that Dr. Fraser's mouth was still moving.
"Any sharp pains, weakness, or palpitations and you need to get to the ER."
"Right. I'll remember," as if she wouldn't recognize the sudden onset of a heart attack.
Fraser gathered up her chart and his instruments and started to leave the room in order to give her some privacy to change back into her clothes. He paused at the door and looked back at her.
"I heard on the news that they caught the guy?"
An instant of dismay and then, "Yes, day before yesterday," she said, never missing a beat.
"Good. Last thing we need is scum like that wandering the streets. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in two weeks," and then he was gone and Cameron was alone in the cold room wearing a completely inadequate gown and staring at her distorted image in the stainless steel cabinets.
It took a minute for her to comprehend that she wasn't tearing up, she wasn't shaking, and her fingernails weren't digging little half-moons into her palms. She took a deep breath as she reached for her shirt. It was a baby step but she would take what she could get. Maybe she was stronger than she thought after all.
