I promised I'd get this chapter out fast, and I aim to please! This was actually a rather difficult chapter to write as there was a lot of emotion going on which is always a challenge to get just right. I still have my doubts as to how well I did, so if there are areas for improvement, let me know. You all know I rely on your feedback as a guide to how well I'm writing! You all rock :)
Chapter 24
If you worked at the hospital long enough, you learned all of its secrets. You discovered that the pharmacy closet in the fifth floor geriatrics department was the best place to have sex standing up. You got invited to the high-stakes rooftop poker game where pagers were used to prop open the door and the smoking members of the janitorial nightshift were treated the same as the head of pediatrics. You also learned that the best time to visit the cafeteria for morning coffee was nine forty-five.
Chairs and cots were uncomfortable and the family members forced to sleep in them were always up at the crack of dawn. They stumbled into the brightly-lit foodcourt in search of coffee that would only make them more anxious and donuts that they could eat on the way back to the wards. Most of the nurses arrived by seven-thirty and were gone by eight. The doctors followed soon thereafter. That left only the visitors and they marched through with flowers under their arms and giftbags filled with candy that only other visitors would eat and books that many patients were too sick to read. Visiting hours started at nine-thirty and so those conscientious were on their way to the elevators by nine forty-five.
Wilson arrived at nine fifty. Telling patients that they were in remission was one of the greatest pleasures of his job and the opportunity came far less frequently than he wished. He invariably celebrated with a large cappuccino and a cheese danish. He paid the cashier and walked towards the door, shoes clapping against the tile floor, hot coffee warming the palm of his hand.
He turned abruptly and headed in the opposite direction, towards another exit. The sound of his footsteps was louder and faster as he moved quickly across the open space.
"Wilson!"
Damnit.
"Wilson!" House shouted again, ignoring the fact that he was shouting across the room and attracting the attention of the few people scattered at the tables. One woman dared to look at him with an annoyed expression and he sneered at her and stuck out his tongue.
Wilson slowly turned around and waited for House to catch up to him. "You called?" he said dryly.
"Cameron."
Damnit again.
"Huh?"
House looked perturbed. "Have you seen Dr. Cameron?" he said as if his previous one word demand had been completely obvious.
"Umm… She's in the hospital," he said hesitantly, starting towards the door again and hoping that House would stay behind.
No such luck.
"I know that," House huffed. "I saw her things on her desk. I want to know if you've spoken to her. She's not in the lab or the department, and she called and cancelled our…" His mouth snapped shut as he thought of a better way to phrase that. "She called last night and said she wasn't feeling well."
House knew he was probably being ridiculous. Cameron had just said she was feeling run-down and getting a headache. Unfortunately being exceedingly good at what he did prevented House from ever taking an illness lightly. It had been a month since Cameron's surgery but there were still plenty of things that could go wrong and he'd spent the morning with them running through his mind alphabetically.
The two doctors were almost to the clinic and Wilson was looking for a way to escape when House swung in front of him and planted his cane on Wilson's foot.
"Have you seen her?" he demanded. "Is she up in cardiology?"
Wilson was startled by the look in House's eyes. The man was really worried. Wilson folded for the second time in two hours. He was very glad that he'd only joined that late night poker game twice.
"Yeah, I talked to her," he said. "She's perfectly fine, but you're going to need to start coming up with a good reason for your dumbass actions."
House's eyes shot open and he directed Wilson into an empty exam room. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that Paulson's office called her, told her that I made the appointment, and not surprisingly she can put two and two together. She was in my office this morning."
The expression on House's face had gone from baffled to pissed-off in record time. "Well what the hell were they doing calling her? You were supposed to make the appointment and tell me about it or at least tell them to say that her own doctor arranged it. Damn it!"
Wilson was amazed that House was managing to shift the blame to someone other than himself, and his astonishment showed. "Well gee, Greg, you didn't fill me in on the rest of your flawless plan to get your girlfriend under the knife!"
House glared at him. "Just tell me what she said."
An image of Cameron, looking brave and hurt flashed into Wilson's mind and was juxtaposed against an indignant looking House. Wilson shook his head, feeling much more sympathetic for the young doctor.
"You really want to know?" he asked, then quickly went on. "The first thing wanted to know was if you wanted her to get the surgery because you were sick of looking at her." Wilson had put his coffee and food on the counter and now both fists were on his hips.
"What?"
"Yeah, that's right, House. Remember when I told you it wasn't a good idea? Maybe next time you'll listen to me."
Was this what it felt like to get punched in the gut? It had been a few years, but House thought the sensation was amazingly similar.
"Well what did you tell her?"
Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. Why did he always end up feeling sorry for the guy? Was it the eyes? Yeah. Definitely the eyes.
"I told her she was wrong, but that she should talk to you."
Leaning against the examination table, House continued to stare straight ahead at Wilson. "And now she's avoiding me."
"Or maybe she's doing her job," Wilson suggested. "You know, that little thing we're supposed to do while we're on the premises?"
A snide look popped onto House's face automatically. "I happen to be scheduled in the clinic, so I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
"Well goodie for you. I'm supposed to be three floors up, so if you're done with me?" He motioned towards the door, which was currently blocked by House's outstretched legs and cane.
House stopped leaning against the table and stood up straight. "Yeah, you can go." He opened the door and followed Wilson towards the elevators, standing with him while the red numbers lit up in reverse sequence. "Hey," he said as the doors opened. "How upset was she?"
Wilson shrugged and tried not to give too much away. "She was pretty upset, Greg. I have a feeling you might actually have to apologize this time."
Once the elevator doors closed, House stalked back to the nurses' station and quickly picked up the phone. He punched in a few numbers, grabbed a patient chart and went to cure the latest stuffy nose while he waited.
It was a short wait, and he'd only seen two patients when Cameron rushed into the exam room where he was just writing a prescription for a man with an ear infection. She looked at him quizzically while he showed the man out with nary a sarcastic jibe.
"You said it was a minor emergency?" she said when he closed the door. "Where's the patient? I was helping Dr. Washington with an MRI.
"I didn't realize you were farming out your services," he said blandly. "That would explain why I couldn't find you this morning."
Cameron glanced at the chart in her hands rather than House's face. "Well we didn't have a patient and I wanted to keep busy."
"You wanted to keep away from me."
House had dropped the sarcastic tone and Cameron looked up, taking a deep breath when she saw the vulnerable look on his face. Obviously he'd spoken to Wilson and now he wanted to talk.
"I guess I did," she admitted.
"Cameron…"
"We can't talk about this here," she stopped him from continuing.
"Why not? No one's around. We've got the room to ourselves."
"Because we're at work, House. We can't get into this now."
"Oh, now you tell me," he said with an exaggerated drawl. "I guess I was thrown by the rest of the personal discussions we've had here… most started by you, I might add."
Her throat tightened and he could see it and mentally slapped himself.
"Cameron, I didn't mean it like that."
"No. You're right, but that was then and this is now. I came back because we both agreed that we could keep our relationship separate from work. We need to stick to that agreement. I need to stick to that agreement. Because if I don't, I'm just going to get upset and I can't work when I'm upset. I just can't. So please, just drop it for now, okay?"
Damn. He could see that her eyes were getting that shine to them that signaled tears, and he really didn't want to see them, especially not here. She was right. When had she started being right about so many things?
"Okay," he agreed. "But we need to talk. I need to talk. After work. My place?"
She nodded.
"I've got clinic hours all day unless a patient comes in. I get sprung at five."
"I'll meet you there at five thirty."
"Good. Good," he repeated as she turned to leave. He reached out and stopped her and dropped an unexpected kiss on her cheek. "Don't be upset."
"I'm trying," she replied, and then she left and closed the door on her way out, robbing him of the pleasure of watching her until she was out of sight.
At exactly five-thirty, Cameron found herself walking from her car to House's townhouse, hands clenched in nervous anticipation, body held stiffly erect. She didn't have to knock on his door because it swung open as she walked up the steps towards it. House stood to the side holding it and she stepped inside. Neither of them said anything and the sound of the door closing seemed overly-loud. They both moved to the sofa but only Cameron sat down. House paced a few steps beyond it and then paced back the other way.
"So did you help out in the immunology department all day?" he asked. He was making conversation… something he hated and usually refused to do.
"Yes. They were short-staffed. Dr. Chen is out on maternity leave." Cameron sighed and followed House's lanky form as he paced. She hated small-talk almost as much as he did. "Why did you get me that appointment?" she asked while hoping that her voice sounded stronger than it felt. "Dr. Wilson said--"
House wheeled around and thumped his cane hard against the floor. "I am not sick of looking at you!" he said forcefully. He took a breath and collected himself as he saw the startled look flash in Cameron's eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to shout."
Cameron was quiet for a second. "Dr. Wilson yelled when I asked that too," she told him. "He said you're just a jackass."
A humorless smile turned up House's lips. "He's probably right."
"So if you're not sick of looking at me, then you must think I'm sick of looking at myself," she reasoned.
He hesitated. This seemed like a trap and he wasn't sure how to answer. "Aren't you?" he said slowly.
Her eyes wavered and she dropped her gaze.
"You really think I'm that vain?"
"You won't let me touch it anymore. You cover yourself up as soon as possible. I know that it bothers you and I wanted to help. That's all I wanted. I would have explained it all to you if the morons at Paulson's office hadn't fucked everything up."
Cameron looked at him again, searching his face for answers. Everything he'd said was true, but it just went so much deeper than that. "Of course it bothers me, but that doesn't mean I want it gone."
House threw his hands into the air and slumped down onto the opposite end of the sofa. "Well then you're going to have to explain it to me because if someone told me tomorrow that I could have my damn leg back, I'd be administering the anesthesia to myself."
"But no one told me anything," Cameron said, sadness and anger warring in her voice. "You did it all on your own. You went to Wilson and told him all about your poor girlfriend crying into her pillow over her ruined body, and you tried to arrange to have everything fixed, but you never asked me. I forced myself to believe that you weren't really trying to hurt me, but it wasn't easy."
"I wasn't trying to hurt you," House insisted, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. Why the hell hadn't he listened to Wilson? More to the point, why hadn't Wilson smacked him upside the head with his own cane?
"Taking away the scar won't fix me, if that's what you think."
"You're not broken," House argued.
"Maybe I'm not broken, but I'm not exactly whole either, and I don't know when I will be. I know that's not what you thought you were signing up for."
"I told you, I don't give a fuck about you waking me. If you need to call me every night, I'll be there and I'm the one who told you not to push yourself or punish yourself for how you feel."
His vehement outburst unnerved her. "I know that," she said, feeling her anger ebb away. Memories of her late-night calls to House flitted through her mind. She'd never said much, and neither had he, but just listening to him breathe had been enough to calm her down and the sound of his piano had become a touchstone for her. He'd never made her feel like she was bothering him.
House leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against the handle of his cane. "I'm not trying to fix you," he said, thinking about the times that he'd accused her of wanting him as her project. He'd been heartless and almost cruel about it. Nothing like having the tables turned to realize what a bastard you'd been in the past. "The scar seemed to bother you, and I wanted to get you something that would help. That's all. No hidden agendas. No personal motivations. I know that thoughtfulness on my part is a foreign concept. Not too surprising that I failed miserably at one of my first attempts."
The sofa cushions released low squeaking noises as Cameron slid along the smooth leather until she was beside House, their warm legs touching from knee to hip. "I think you've had more success than failure so far. She bent her head in his direction and he looked up, seeing the flash of silver in her hair.
"You wore it today?" he asked, knowing that she had to have been upset with him since the previous evening.
"Just because I was upset doesn't mean I didn't want to feel close to you. It reminded me that you've never tried to hurt me." She shrugged slightly. "Well, not recently anyway," she corrected, with a wry look, remembering a few painful conversations from before she'd quit.
"In my own fucked up way I was trying to protect you back then," House said by way of apology.
"And yourself," Cameron suggested.
"Yeah. That too."
They sat quietly, House staring down at his cane, Cameron's eyes unfocused but aimed towards the piano. Eventually House sat upright and looked over at her profile, features soft and thoughtful.
"What do you want to do about the appointment with Paulson?" he asked.
One slender shoulder moved up and down. She leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I'm not sure."
Proceeding with caution, House said, slowly, "The scar obviously bothers you."
"Yes, but even if it's gone, I'll always remember. I'm not falling apart. I'm not that far gone," she said as she shook her head, "but I still think about it every day… even if it's only for a second."
"And you don't need a scar reminding you more every time you see it," House maintained.
She turned her head to meet his gaze and let one hand brush against his forearm. "Not all of the memories that came from it are horrible."
House didn't blink. "You just said that you'll always remember."
Her eyes dropped to her hand, marking a path along his arm to his hand. "I know. I'm just not sure what I want to do."
"You don't have to make up your mind tonight."
"No, I guess not."
"So," he said as he took hold of her wandering hand and moved, tugging her into his embrace, "is there some sort of 'three strikes and you're out' rule that I should know about? Looks like I've already used two."
Cameron let herself relax with her back flush against his chest, and his arm tight around her waist. "If I was smart I'd say yes."
"If you were smart you wouldn't be standing here in my arms in the first place."
She covered the large hand that was resting against her stomach and stroked her thumb along the prominent blue vein. "No, if I was smart I'd have found a way to get here without getting shot."
He rested his chin on the crown of her head. "You have a point," he snarked, lightly.
Cameron rolled her eyes up at him mouth curled in mock-annoyance. "You're a real sweet-talker, House. No wonder why you thought giving me plastic surgery would be a good idea."
"It's part of my gruff, devil-may-care charm," House replied, smirk still firmly in place. "What was I supposed to say?"
"Oh, something romantic. Maybe 'Well now that you're here, I'm not letting go,' or something sappy like that," Cameron joked.
His warm breath ruffled her hair as he lowered his mouth towards her ear. "I love you and I'm not letting you go." The words fell easily from his lips, far easier than he'd ever imagined.
He waited for Cameron's inevitable amazement, but she barely moved. Her hand tightened slightly and he thought he could feel her heartbeat quicken, but maybe that was his own, pounding against the inside of his chest. He was beginning to get worried when she finally spoke.
"I love you, too," her voice was thick with emotion, "and you know, you'll win every argument we ever have if you close with those three words."
Bodies shifted and everything else in the room, and outside of it, fell away. House looked down into Cameron's hopeful face and couldn't contain one last smirk.
"Let's hope we don't have to test your theory for a while," he said, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and willingly lost himself in her kiss.
