A nice long chapter. I recently looked at the 'stats' for this story and am just AMAZED by how many people are reading it (assuming it's not just the same few people rereading over and over again ;-) ) Thank you all for your attention, and I hope you enjoy this chapter... it ends with slightly less resolution than I usually prefer, but I will get the next one out as quickly as possible.
Chapter 23
Coffee. He was pouring coffee into his red mug and searching for the sugar. He kept picking up the little packets and squinting at them but he couldn't seem to make out the letters. They were all backwards or sideways or something, and he kept getting distracted and putting them down only to sip the black coffee and grimace before struggling to tell the difference between the sugar and the dreaded Equal. Where was Cameron? She always knew which was which. Damnit, why wasn't she there yet? She was supposed to be at work. Another whiff of coffee floated into his nostrils and he breathed deeply. The office was getting darker, and now one of the walls was missing. Were they doing construction? A hand was on his shoulder and he grunted and turned around but no one was there although he still felt pressure on his arm, and then things were getting lighter again and he heard Cameron calling his name. He turned around, looking for her anxiously and then his eyes opened and he was awake.
Cameron was standing at the side of the bed with two mugs in her hand. She was wrapped in a light robe and her hair was free to slide against her silk-clad shoulders. House was still half-asleep so he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he was probably almost smiling.
"Coffee?" she asked as House pushed himself up to lean against the headboard.
"Thanks." His voice was rough from sleep and he cleared his throat as he took the mug she was offering. "What time?"
"It's only six o'clock. Still pretty early," she answered, walking back around to her side of the bed and climbing in to sit cross-legged beside him, the edges of her robe barely covering her knees.
"Didn't you sleep well?" House was a little surprised that she had clearly been awake for some time. Usually he was the first to wake, the need for vicodin rousing him from even the deepest sleep.
His concern was subtle, but Cameron recognized and cherished it. "I slept fine. I have an alarm on my watch and it woke me up. I know you have to go home to get fresh clothes so I figured I'd make some coffee to wake you up with."
"Good call," he replied, taking another long sip and enjoying the burn down his throat.
Cameron watched him out of the corner of her eye and took a drink of her own coffee, licking her top lip afterwards and tracing the mug's PPTH logo with her thumb. She took another swallow before speaking again.
"That movie you mentioned yesterday is starting tonight," she said. "If you're interested."
A sly grin crept onto House's face. "So the waiting period is definitely over, eh?"
His look of amusement was clearly at her expense but she took it well. A slight spark lit in her eyes and she grinned at him.
"Definitely."
"Another good call."
"So… movies?"
"I'll even buy you popcorn."
"Extra butter," she warned.
"Hey, they're your arteries." He shifted slightly as he spoke, and a stab of pain ran from thigh to hip.
He didn't think his expression had changed, but Cameron's did. Her eyebrows drew together and she reached into her pocket and pulled out his pills.
"They fell out of your jacket when I was picking it up," she explained as she handed them to him.
He gave a little nod of thanks and popped the lid off with his thumb. When he did a quick inventory he was surprised to see more pills than he expected. He'd had the bottle for over a week and he still had a number of pills left.
"Something wrong?" Cameron asked when he didn't immediately toss back two of the pain killers.
"No… nothing's wrong," House answered, palming a single pill and swallowing it down with a mouthful of sweet coffee.
House reached across his body to put the bottle on the nightstand, giving it another little rattle before he set it down. When he turned back towards Cameron she was taking a sip of coffee and looking quietly serene. It was a good look for her and House wanted to see more of it. He let his hand drop to her knee and squeezed it gently, stroking the soft material that covered it. When Cameron settled her palm over his fingers he gave another squeeze.
"Good morning," she said happily. "I forgot to say that before."
His lungs filled with a deep breath of spring air and coffee. He didn't smile, but the tiny wrinkles around his eyes seemed to smooth out, and he wondered if plastic surgeons knew that coffee in bed could be as good as Botox.
"She's sixteen, she's got chestpain, she's got muscle weakness and she passed out in class. Let's hear it, people. Differential diagnosis."
After a quick shower and change of clothes at his place, House had still managed to arrive at the hospital before everyone but Cameron. She was already sitting at her desk when he got there, and she stood up waving a patient chart like a flag as soon as he walked into the department. They had a new patient.
"She's also at least fifteen pounds underweight," Chases said dismissively. She's got an eating disorder and it's catching up with her. Send her up to psych."
House wrote 'anorexic' on the white board as a possibility and turned back to the other doctors.
"Thyroid condition?" Foreman tossed out.
"I'm telling you, I've seen girls like this before. We're wasting our time."
"That's what you said about Jessica Simms too," Cameron shot back. "What's with you and adolescent weight issues? First a girl's just too fat, now a girl's just too thin. There are any number of reasons why she could be having these symptoms. Pulmonary embolus, pericarditis, mitral valve prolapse, esophogitis… Should I go on?"
Chase stared at her with his mouth set in a perpetual scowl and said nothing.
"Right," House said, quickly moving things along. "Let's run the standard blood tests and get her ready for an echocardiogram and chest x-ray. Cameron, draw the blood. Foreman, go find her mother. Chase, call down and get her set for the other tests." House tossed his marker onto the table, gave everyone another stern look and then limped quickly out of the room.
Foreman pushed his chair back from the table, the casters clicking slightly along the linoleum floor. Cameron gathered up their new patient's file and stood up, ready to head down and get the necessary supplies to do the blood draws. Only Chase remained in his chair looking annoyed and crabby.
He swiveled his chair in Foreman's direction and muttered, "Well that wasn't too surprising. What'd I tell you? And it hasn't even been a week."
Cameron was half-way across the room when he spoke, but she still heard him and her stomach tightened into a Gordian knot as a flushed feeling swept through her limbs. She ground her teeth together and prepared to take another step towards the door, but suddenly she was spinning around and marching back to the conference table.
"Just what is that supposed to mean?" she asked heatedly, words tumbling over each other on their way out of her mouth. "Are you saying that Dr. House is only treating this girl because of what I said? Are you trying to say that because of what's happening between us outside the hospital things have changed inside? Are you implying that we've been anything other than professional since I came back?"
Chase was taken aback by the force behind Cameron's speech, but rather than stifling his antagonism it inflamed it and he stood up to face her. "Well I admit House probably hasn't had such a good piece of ass in years, but I bet he didn't have to pay as much when he picked it up off the streets."
The sound of Cameron's hand striking Chase's face reverberated in the large room. Foreman was on his feet about ready to beat the other doctor to a pulp, but Cameron quickly held up a hand to stop him. Chase touched his cheek gingerly and glared at Cameron.
"I'm a damn good doctor and don't you ever, EVER even hint that I'm here for any other reason ," Cameron hissed. Her anger had flared but as she stared at him her expression shifted and she shook her head. "We used to be friends. We used to have a really good time together. What happened?" she asked sadly.
Chase just shrugged his shoulders and stared, rubbing the sting and hoping there wasn't a mark.
Cameron shook her head again. "Let's just agree to treat each other with respect. That's all I'm asking for. Dr. House doesn't play favorites, and I don't have time to play games with you." She didn't wait for a reply before walking away.
The silence in the room was as charged as a high tension wire and Foreman took a step in Chase's direction.
"You going to have a go at me now?"
"No, man. Cam can protect herself." He took another step. "But if I were you, I'd adjust my attitude, because I doubt if House'll take kindly to your bitching. Maybe you should check yourself into the psych ward and get yourself some damn therapy." He snorted in disgust before turning and heading out the door.
Chase was still clinging to his righteous indignation as he slowly made his way out of the conference room only to be stopped by a tall man with a cane blocking the door.
"Dr. House," he said cordially.
"Dr. Chase," House's words dripped with acid and Chase's petulant look returned.
"Oh, so she went running right to you. That figures."
House took a step forward, forcing Chase to take a step back. "Actually, no. She left here and didn't even see me. You see, after years of avoiding Dr. Cuddy, I've gotten pretty damn good at appearing invisible. No, she… and I assume you mean Dr. Cameron," he said sarcastically, "she didn't have to tell me anything. I heard it for myself."
"Yeah… well…"
"Oh, that's a very good defense. I'll have to remember that one the next time I get called before a review board."
Annoyance bubbled quickly to the surface. "I don't need to defend myself. I didn't say anything that half the hospital isn't going to be thinking."
House was so close now that his hot breath fanned over Chase's face. "That's where you're wrong, Dr. Chase. No one else in this hospital is going to think anything because there's nothing to think. Dr. Cameron is an asset to this department, and you should be jumping for joy that having her here tends to keep me on an even keel. You think I favor her? Wait until she makes a mistake and you'll see how wrong you are. But you know what, Chase? Maybe I do treat her better. Any idea why that might be?"
Chase scowled but held his tongue at the clearly rhetorical question.
"Could it be because she didn't go around trying to undermine me? Maybe it's because instead of scrambling for an underhanded way to keep her job she thought up a way for all of you to stay. Or perhaps it's because she fucking knows what she's doing and she doesn't let her pissy mood distract her from her job."
"I've already…"
"Right. You've already apologized for trying to stab me in the back. Sorry if I'm not the forgive and forget type. But you think I was miserable to you after Vogler? You say one more fucking word to Cameron and you'll see how miserable I can be. You'll be down in the clinic for every irritable bowel rectal exam and yeast infection that comes through the door. I don't know what the hell I did to you that I haven't done to Foreman or Cameron, but you'd better get over it, because if you don't, I can guarantee that you will be wearing your ass as a hat. I see that Cameron stopped with one slap." House glared and his fists tightened. "I won't."
He waited to see if Chase would say anything, but the Aussi just stood there, expression changing from enmity to disgust to resignation.
"Good. I see we understand each other. Now get to work."
House stepped aside to let Chase leave and only then did he relax, leaning on his cane and settling his breathing. He walked from conference room to office and on through the door into Cameron's area. Her light perfume lingered in the air and the smell calmed him further. Damn, he was glad she was back.
Cameron never mentioned her little conversation with Chase, and neither did House. He did catch himself looking at her with shades of pride and respect in his gaze, but his lanky body was safely obscured behind a plant at the time, and Cameron never noticed him. Chase wisely kept his distance from both of them and his mouth shut. It was a particularly good move on his part since House's hand was feeling twitchy and it wouldn't have taken much for the cranky doctor to mistake a blond head for a lacrosse ball.
Two days and a very tiring weekend later, none of Cameron's diagnoses ended up being the correct one, but it wasn't anorexia either. Eventually House had pinpointed an obscure thyroid gland abnormality and the girl showed improvement after only a few hours of treatment. House and Cameron had been either too busy or too exhausted to think about anything but sleep during their brief periods away from the hospital, but somehow they had ended up in the same bed two out of three nights. All they did was hold hands and sleep but they both felt content even when their dueling pagers woke them.
After the correct diagnosis and pats on the back from the grateful parents Cuddy magnanimously gave House and his staff the remainder of the afternoon off. It would have been more impressive if it hadn't been an extremely slow Monday with no real problem cases to speak of, but it was still a nice gesture. Naturally House tried to downplay it by insulting her blouse, the hospital and the human population in general, but Cuddy was so used to it that it the words slid off easily and barely grazed her ears.
Chase was the first to beat a hasty retreat, followed quickly by Foreman. Cameron took her time organizing the files, gathering her things and waiting to see if House would come and find her. Her attempts at subtlety had always been a little shy of the mark. Luckily House had little patience for subtleties.
"Late lunch or early dinner?" he asked as he entered the office.
Cameron looked up and the corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. The fact that he just assumed that she would say yes to one or the other amused her. She'd always known that he wouldn't be interested in playing stupid romantic games.
"It's three thirty already."
"Early dinner it is," House announced with exaggerated cheerfulness.
"I need to go home and change," she replied, smiling at his good mood.
"Well go, go, go," his words were accented by his snapping fingers. "I'll pick you up at five."
Cameron chuckled and threw her pocketbook across her shoulder. "It's a good thing I'm used to your bossiness."
House caught her hand tightly within his as she brushed past him. "That's what happens when you fall for your boss," he said slyly.
"I guess you're right," she said, as smirked up at him and squeezed his hand, knowing better than to stand on her toes and kiss him despite the fact that her body was telling her to do just that. "But make it quarter past five. I want to wash my hair."
A quick nod from him and then he released her hand and watched her walk out of the office. He suddenly felt very much like a figurehead.
One of the benefits of leaving early was that Cameron was able to beat the traffic. She arrived home at just past four thirty, with plenty of time to shower, change and get ready for her date with House. She had to smile as she thought about that. Date. It seemed so funny to call them that, almost as strange as thinking of him as her 'boyfriend'.
She dropped her pocketbook on the chair in the living room and then noticed that the message light on her answering machine was blinking. She'd spoken to her parents just the day before, and if it was the hospital she would have been paged and not called. She's just left House and he probably would have paged or called her cell phone, so it couldn't be him. That left telemarketers and similar people she had no interest in talking to, but she pushed the button on the machine anyway.
"Hello Dr. Cameron, this is Donna with Dr. Paulson's office. We're able to fit you in Wednesday at 2:30 for your consultation. Please give us a call if that isn't convenient." Donna then left a telephone number and hung up after a cheerful goodbye.
Dr. Paulson. She knew that name. Her doctor had even recommended him. Had he made an appointment for her? Cameron stared at the phone for a minute before picking up the phone and dialing the plastic surgeon's office.
"Yes, this is Allison Cameron," she said after the initial pleasantries were out of the way. "You left a message about an appointment on Wednesday? Did my doctor schedule it?"
"Ah, yes. Dr. Wilson came up and arranged that. We're normally booked up months in advance, but we managed to shuffle a few appointments around. Is the time not good? We've actually had a cancellation on Friday as well if that suits you better."
Dr. Wilson? Why would he-- Cameron's thoughts ground to a halt but she had the presence of mind to answer the woman on the other end of the phone.
"No… no, Wednesday is fine," she said, automatically.
"Good. Then we'll see you then. Have a nice evening, Dr. Cameron."
"Thanks," she replied, a hollowness in her voice that couldn't be blamed entirely on the poor phone connection.
She hung up, carefully set the phone back in its cradle and then slumped down into the easy chair. Her face was screwed up into at least five emotions, the most prominent being confusion, sadness and worry. The shock-induced nausea was fading quickly, but it left a feeling of emptiness in its place. She knew that Wilson hadn't just decided to call a plastic surgeon out of the blue. House had told him to do it.
She still couldn't quite think and goosebumps followed the flush of heat that raced from her head to her toes. Why would he want her to see Paulson? Well that was actually pretty obvious. He wanted her scar removed, and he wanted it done as soon as possible. Not only that, but he'd gone behind her back and even talked to Dr. Wilson about it. Did it bother him that much? It just didn't make sense. He was the one who'd told her that it didn't matter to him. He was the one who touched it so gently and placed delicate kisses along the healing skin.
Cameron closed her eyes and then snapped them open, looking at the clock on the VCR. It was almost four-thirty and she didn't have any appetite at all. She picked up the phone again and called House's cell phone. She'd say she was just too tired. She'd say she was coming down with a headache. She'd say she didn't want to get sick from letting herself get run-down. Then she'd close with a sexy little joke and he'd never notice that her voice was a little high and her words a little too fast.
The phone felt very heavy in her hand after speaking to House, and she let it slip from her fingers and onto the chair as she stood up. She still wanted to take a shower… a long one… and she hoped the hot water heater would be up to the challenge. After shedding her clothes carelessly onto her bedroom floor she walked into the bathroom and stepped straight into the tub. She'd turned the water on before undressing and it was just a few degrees below scalding. Steam billowed up around her and the water flowed down her face, neck, hair, body, to pool at her feet before swirling down the drain. The wonderful thing about showers was that it was impossible to tell the difference between the water and tears. Even Cameron couldn't be sure how many squeezed past her eyelids to join the rivulets cascading over her cheeks.
Her shower lasted even longer than she'd planned, and when she finally got out she had to open the door and the window to release the build-up of steam in the room. Even the blue-painted walls were damp with condensation. Her silk robe was on the back of the door and she pulled it on but didn't bother tying it. Instead she used the side of her hand to clear the fog from the mirror and then took a long look at herself and the slowly healing wound on her chest.
A pink circular mark, slightly puckered around the edges, marked the bullet wound now, the skin taut and new. It would fade in time until it wasn't very noticeable and could be overlooked as a childhood injury or a mole removal. The long scar down the middle would never be so easily dismissed. It was healing nicely, the ridge where the skin joined no longer as prominent, and the tiny puncture marks from the stitches nearly gone, but the wound itself was still very much in evidence. The skin had turned from dark pink, to light pink, and now it was fading out to a shiny white, in contrast to the light peach tone of the rest of her chest.
House had told her she was more than a fucking scar. He'd touched it gently that night and every night they were together. It was only recently that he'd stopped placing kisses along its length, and that was due as much to Cameron's actions as anything else. She had taken to shifting around when he paid too much attention to it, and claiming his mouth with her own in order to distract him. Was that it? Was that why he'd made the appointment? Cameron rubbed her eyes and then pulled her robe tightly closed without looking at herself again.
It was still very bright out and she didn't bother with any lights as she wandered back into the living room and lowered herself to the sofa. She had taken the shower to clear her head, but it hadn't worked. Logically there were two possibilities but logic was difficult to apply to emotions and Cameron had an especially hard time with that. Slender fingers rubbed little circles at her temples and she closed her eyes.
Option one was the possibility that she didn't want to think about. It was the one that would require her to rethink everything she currently believed. Basically, option one was that House was just as big a masochist as he'd tried to appear, and his recent niceness had really just been a ploy. Yes, he'd been upset and maybe made sentimental by her injuries, but at heart he was really a callus manipulator and as the sentiment faded he realized that he wanted the perfect package she'd offered to begin with, and not some damaged irregular.
She wanted to dismiss the idea immediately but her heart kept seizing unexpectedly when her brain sent little reminders about his early behavior around her and everyone else. He could be a real bastard. He'd lied. He'd snuck around. He'd been harsh and even brutal in his honesty. She'd fallen for him not despite all those things but because she thought she could see who he was behind all of those actions, and she often even admired him for them. That was why she couldn't accept option one. She couldn't accept that she'd been so wrong, and she couldn't accept that he didn't really care for her despite his inability to say so. She couldn't believe that he'd do anything to hurt her.
Option two wasn't much better. That one meant that House thought so little of her self-image that he'd decided to try and 'fix' her… exactly as he'd always accused her of wanting to do to him. It said almost as much about her as it did about him. Had she really acted so vain that he'd imagine plastic surgery was the only solution? Did he think she was shallow and superficial? Those were words she'd called herself when she'd been at her lowest, but they were words she'd never wanted him to associate with her. It had taken her weeks to accept it, but she knew now that even if the scar was gone tomorrow she'd still be damaged. The nightmares would still be waiting for her in the dark. It wasn't something that could be fixed so easily and it made her angry and hurt to think that House might believe that it was. Even her feelings about the scar itself had changed over time. Yes, most of the time it made her remember that night, but it also reminded her of House, and the fact that he had been there to save her. She knew it was unforgivably sappy and sentimental, but she couldn't help it. Her rational mind wanted to believe that if a relationship had been in the cards for them then it would have happened with or without the attack, but she couldn't deny the fact that it had been the attack that had brought them closer together.
The remote control was on the coffee table and she reached for it and then curled up in the corner of the sofa. She didn't want to think anymore. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out which option was true. In her heart she already knew. House wouldn't hurt her on purpose but he seemed to have a knack for doing it accidentally.
The door was open. Dr. Wilson's door was always open. Nevertheless, Cameron paused in the doorway and rapped on the doorjamb. The metal support made a low, hollow sound and hurt her knuckles.
Wilson was seated at his desk and he looked up, eyebrows pulling together in confusion, then quickly relaxing as he motioned her inside. "Dr. Cameron, what's House need this time?" He wasn't sure why he asked that when he knew she wasn't there about anything to do with a patient. Years of dealing with cancer patients had honed his ability to read expressions and Cameron's screamed 'personal business' loud and clear.
"House didn't actually send me," she said, just as he'd anticipated. She considered sitting down but decided she was better off standing. "He asked you to make me an appointment with Dr. Paulson, didn't he?" she said, the words not really a question.
Shit. He'd known damn well that listening to House about that was huge mistake, and man was he ever right. His right hand came up automatically to scratch the back of his neck while he searched for the right words.
"Umm… yeah… he knows that Paulson and I play racquetball together. Guess he figured I'd have some pull getting you in." He watched her impassive eyes as he spoke. "Damn, I knew it was a bad idea," his cool innocent act fell apart and he shook his head.
Standing was too hard. Cameron dropped into the chair opposite Wilson's desk and he felt like an asshole as he watched her expression waver and then fall. There weren't any tears, and her chin didn't even quiver, but the line of her mouth, the tiny crinkle over the bridge of her nose, and the look in her eyes gave away everything.
"May I ask if he told you why he wanted it?" she said, still keeping her voice tight and as professional as possible.
Wilson looked at her, slightly perplexed. "Why he wanted it?"
Bright white teeth pulled at a carefully made-up lip. "Yeah," she said, her carefully prepared speech failing her. "Was it because he didn't want to look at me anymore or--"
"Shit! No!" Wilson cut her off and stood up, swiftly moving to close the door and then sitting down in the chair next to hers. "Allison, no," he said softer, shaking his head. "He may be a stupid jackass, but he loves you. He's got some idea that you want the surgery and I think he just decided that if it was something you wanted then he was going to make sure you got it."
Cameron's breath caught at the easy way Wilson was able to throw around the word 'love'. Did he know that House had never said that word to her? Was he really so certain that House felt that way?
"Look, Cameron, you need to talk to House about this."
She swallowed and her nails dug into her thighs. "I know I do. I just wanted to be properly armed for whatever he threw at me."
Wilson was surprised at his current level of irritation with his best friend. How long had Cameron been worrying about this? He was also mad at himself. He should have known better than to go along with it. He was like Ethel to House's Lucy and they were always acting out some tragic version of the black and white classic, but in painful living color.
"Blame it on hormones or out of control emotions or something," Wilson said. "God knows he hasn't dealt with either of those in a long time. It was a damn stupid idea but he did it because he cares."
The corners of her mouth tilted up slightly. "He has a really strange way of showing it."
"Yeah, that's House all right," Wilson said with exasperation. He looked at Cameron closely, reading her face again. "Do you want the surgery?"
"It's really too early," she hedged and then answered honestly, "I don't know. I used to think so but I'm not sure any more. It won't really change things." She wasn't about to admit the other reasons that made her sound like a Harlequin romance heroine.
"If you want it removed then keep the appointment. Don't let an argument with House change your mind," Wilson told her.
A weak smile curved over her lips but didn't touch her eyes. "Thanks. I didn't mean to get you involved."
Wilson chuckled derisively. "A little too late for that, I'm afraid. I should be apologizing to you."
She shrugged. "He's your best friend," she said simply as she stood up. "And he's pretty hard to deny."
"You've got that right," Wilson admitted, standing up and walking her to the door. "Remember what I said, okay? He didn't mean to hurt you."
"Thanks, Dr. Wilson. I was hoping that was true."
He impulsively reached out and squeezed her arm. "Trust me. It's true."
