Only one chapter left after this! Well... actually, there may be an epilogue as well... I just want to take a minute to thank everyone who has joined me on this loooong ride... April28th I started posting this story, and now, four months later it is finally drawing to a close. Through that time I've had the pleasure of emailing with some wonderful people, reading inspiring and blush-inducing reviews and enjoying a welcome return of my creativity. I've also faced a health crisis, and been met with such caring words of support that I'm sure they (and my desire not to hold you all in suspense!) helped me to start back on the road to recovery. In short (yes, I know, too late) you have all given me countless smiles and warm-fuzzy feelings along with constructive criticism and thoughtful commentary. Thank you all so much for your support... I hope you find the last few chapters of this epic story as satisfactory as the previous 28.
Chapter29
Cameron still hadn't gotten used to the sound of her own stifled cries waking her up. Even when accompanied by House's sleep-rough voice and hard palm against her jaw she was still disoriented at first and had a tendency to either curl into herself or strike out. She'd spotted a bruise on House's shoulder once, and another on his shin, but he never mentioned them. Night sliding into day turned him into an amnesiac that way.
He'd dropped her off at her place so that she could shower, get another change of clothes and drive her own car into work. She'd need it later when she went to the courthouse. She hadn't noticed the scratch on his neck until she went to kiss him goodbye. Fingers, two nails lightly tipped with red, went to reach for it, but he caught them and kissed her fiercely, then let out one of his endless supply of one-liners and sent her on her way. She didn't look down at her hand again until after she was clean.
She pulled into the hospital garage a few minutes late by her clock, but still earlier than just about everyone else. House was there, and she thought she spotted Dr. Cuddy's silver Mercedes, but that was it. She parked in her usual spot, half-way down the fourth row, so that she could get a little extra walk even though there were spots open closer to the doors. The eerily cavernous space with it's flickering lights and strange shadows should have unnerved her, but she felt safer there than most places. No one could possibly sneak up on her with all that echoing.
"Good morning, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy greeted her with a friendly smile as she approached the main desk in the clinic. "House beat you in. You really are a good influence on him."
"I try," she replied, pushing the past and the near future out of her mind and concentrating on the immediate present. Her quick grin wasn't as bright as usual, but Cuddy wasn't one to notice things like that.
"I sent a patient file over to him. See if you can get him to admit the woman."
A slow turn, and raised brow. "You don't really think I have that much influence on him, do you?" she asked with a tone of light disbelief.
Cuddy released a rare chuckle. "No, not really."
They parted and Cameron took the stairs up to the diagnostics department. She still needed to burn off the nervous energy that refused to leave her. The hallway leading to the department was still quiet and unpopulated aside from one nurse who looked like she was on a mission. House wasn't in his office though, so she couldn't be running from him. Cameron smirked at the thought. House's snide way with the hospital staff had never amused her before but now she had to admit that she found it funny. Maybe it was because she was now on the inside… or at least on the front porch hovering on the threshold.
Pushing through the door into her office, Cameron's pace slowed for a step and then she started forward again, eyes fixed on her desk. There was a travel-cup sitting in the middle of it, with a white index card propped against it. It was the kind they sold at Starbucks, covered with a pattern of girly looking flowers. Cameron could see the vestiges of dissolving whipped cream poking through the opening in the lid and she sat down and took a sip. Mocha. With a shot of caramel. She'd gotten one just like it on the drive to Atlantic city, only she hadn't sprung for the overpriced fourteen dollar cup. She turned over the index card and felt herself finally relaxing. All it said was 'Good Morning', written in a familiar scrawl, but she stared at it for a minute and then tucked it into her pocketbook.
She was just finishing the last of the coffee when Foreman and Chase arrived, followed almost immediately by House, who passed out patient charts and took his place by the whiteboard, waiting for Cameron to move from her office area to the conference room at large. His eyes flicked from the cup in her hands to her face, but they didn't linger. Just a quick look to gauge her mood before moving on to the first differential diagnosis of the day.
"You need to get going." House almost, but not quite, bumped shoulders with her as she stood looking down into the microscope.
"It's not that far."
"Traffic during lunch hour is a bitch."
She sighed and looked up. "You're right," she admitted.
"You're coming back afterwards?"
"Shouldn't take that long. He's already heard it all before."
House knew that, which was one of the reasons he was irritated about her having to repeat herself again. Rationally, he understood the necessity, but the DA wasn't the one dealing with her in the middle of the night and dabbing neosporin on his neck in the morning.
They were silent as they walked to the diagnostics department. Cameron wondered if House was going to ask her again if she wanted him to go with her. She hoped not. She wanted to go alone but wasn't sure if she could refuse him a second time. When he broke step with her to head into his own office while she continued on, she was slightly relieved.
Foreman and Chase were down in the cafeteria so there was no one there to tease her about going out for lunch. She grabbed keys and pocketbook and headed back out the door. She wasn't going to look into House's office as she passed, but the sound of something hitting the glass wall startled her into turning her head. It was House's tennis ball, now bouncing along the floor after what had to have been a light toss. House wasn't looking at it or her. He had his feet propped on his desk, and one hand occupied by a gossip-rag magazine. In his other hand he held his cell phone, and as she watched, he flipped it open, flipped it closed, and placed it into his shirt pocket. Cameron bit her lip and squared her shoulders before continuing down the hall. She was very glad that she spoke House.
The clinic was much busier than the last time she'd been through it, but Cameron slipped through with just a nod to a couple of the nurses. She didn't notice that she was breathing hard until she got her first breath of exhaust-laden air in the garage. A quick glance at her watch and she paused and centered herself before setting off towards her car. She had half an hour to go the twelve miles to Trenton.
House was right about the traffic, and she was glad he'd pushed her to leave. Just getting out of Princeton took almost ten minutes, and the Mercer County Courthouse was in the center of the city. A few quick minutes on the freeway and she was back in traffic and crawling along the lunch-crowded streets. Parking was impossible to find and she circled the block twice before a space freed up. She didn't really want to be there in the first place, and she'd be damned if she was going to pay fifteen dollars to park in the municipal garage.
The courthouse was all stone and concrete, with the thick walls looking in need of sandblasting, and the sun high above glinting off its enormous windows and pillared entrance. It wasn't the biggest building she'd seen. It could have been a university library or a museum, with its neatly manicured patch of grass and shrubs, and its wide steps leading up to the front doors. It was far smaller than the hospital, and not as grim looking as the police station, but at the moment it was imposing in a way that made her feel weak and embarrassed. Cameron looked at her watch again and hurried across the street, still not sure why she was rushing. She was a minute late, but it wasn't as if she was running to class or to work. She wasn't the one in trouble here. It was annoying how often she had to remind herself of that.
There were people milling around outside on the sidewalk and steps. A mother with two kids, looking nervous, perfectly dressed, clutching them closer, afraid she might lose them. Three men in suits bargaining over their palm pilots, scribbling numbers and figures. Lawyers and clients, innocent bystanders, witnesses, victims, and Allison Cameron. She walked up the steps and into the heavily air-conditioned building, suppressing a shudder as the pleasant heat from the sun immediately abandoned her. Inside, the front of the lobby was bordered by metal detectors, and she passed through one of them, giving a tight nod to the guard standing in front of it. The hard, polished stone floor echoed even louder than the cement in the hospital garage, and she walked a little slower and a little lighter, trying to minimize the sound of her footsteps. There was a large information desk with another guard sitting behind it and she approached him and angled her head towards the elevators.
"I'm supposed to meet with the Assistant District Attorney… Mr. Atherton… he said you'd know…"
"Just take the elevator right up the third floor, ma'am. His office is at the end of the hall. He just went up a few minutes ago."
"Thanks," Cameron replied without really looking at him, and stepped towards the art deco inspired bank of elevators.
Cameron was grateful that no one else got onto hers, and she was soon walking down a carpeted hallway lined with office doors that proudly displayed name and rank within the court system. Atherton's office was the second from the end, right next to the District Attorney's.
The door was wide open, and he saw her as she approached and was on his feet and extending a hand towards her as she stepped inside.
"Dr. Cameron. Thank you for coming down. I'll try not to keep you long. I'm sure you have patients who need you."
"Just one, right now," she replied, for lack of anything else to say.
He led her to a comfortable chair, offered to get her water, tea, soda, coffee. She shook her head to all of them and perched stiffly at the edge of her seat. Her pocketbook rested on her lap, and she clasped her hands around it, the professional female version of a stuffed bear.
Atherton was experienced with dealing with victims. He'd started off in the criminal court and never left, unlike many of his colleagues who burned out after seeing one to many broken bodies. Some living. Some dead. The woman sitting before him looked stronger than many he'd seen, but signs of her current fragility weren't hard to spot.
"The trial should only last a few days, and I'll call you the day before you're scheduled to testify. It will probably be the second day of the trial as long as Mr. Prentis' lawyer doesn't try for another plea bargain."
"Plea bargain?" Cameron wasn't stupid and her voice rose at the idea that he could plead down to a lesser charge.
"Don't worry. There's nothing he has that we need. He could write a confession and tie it with a bow and it wouldn't matter. Between the evidence and your testimony we have an extremely solid case."
Cameron nodded and pressed her lips together, a little startled by her own outburst.
"Now, I'm just going to ask you the same questions I'll be asking you on the stand, and then I'll go over what his lawyer is likely to ask you, if he even decides to cross-examine. He might decide that hearing you talk more will only dig a deeper hole for his client." He tilted his head to catch Cameron's eye and make sure she was still listening. "You know there were pictures taken of you following the attack."
"Yes…" the muffled sound of her own voice irritated her, and she cleared her throat softly and repeated herself. "Yes. I was pretty out of it, but the investigator said they'd be used as evidence."
"Correct. They'll be entered just before you testify. You will not have to see them," he assured her, "and only the jury, the judge and the lawyers will look at them."
Somehow the thought that only twelve to eighteen people would get to see her broken, naked body failed to give her any comfort. Her knuckles turned white as she nodded that she understood. She kept nodding as he explained how the rest of the session would go, and then he gave her what she knew was supposed to be an encouraging smile before asking her the questions that had answers she wanted to forget.
When he had finished, she had a tissue in her hands, shredded but unused, and two flaming spots on her otherwise preternaturally pale face. The light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out in stark contrast to her skin, and her eyes had shaded from blue to grey, the spark completely deadened by the effort needed to keep every emotion in check.
Atherton's sincere thanks and words of praise for her bravery and strength were designed to make her feel better while easing his own twinge of guilt for causing her distress. Cameron tried to give him a kind smile in return, but she knew it had to look tense and out of place on her face. The words he gave to her were too similar to words she'd given to patients time and again when they were forced to undergo painful procedures. She always meant them, and she was sure he did too, but now she knew just how ineffectual they were.
He walked her to the elevator and they shook hands again, and then she fled the building and the city as quickly as she could, pointing her car back to Princeton and home.
House's mood after Cameron's departure turned quickly dark as he kept himself isolated in his office. He alternated between playing game after mindless game of Tetris and obsessing over old case files. When he eventually dropped by the conference room to get an update on Mrs. Drake's condition he didn't hide his scowl or his dangerously sharp eyes. They were warning cues that Foreman caught but Chase ignored.
"How's she doing?" he asked, cane punctuating his speech.
"So far, so good. She should be stable for surgery tomorrow," Foreman said, taking one look at House's face before looking back at the chart he was updating. Cameron's absence and House's growl. It didn't take a stretch of imagination to connect the two.
"Yes," Chase said and then continued snidely "She was asking where Cameron was, but I see you've given her the afternoon off." In fact their patient hadn't asked for Cameron, but that didn't stop Chase from putting in his little dig. It was a miscalculation on his part and Foreman gathered his paperwork as House pounded his way over to the conference table and slammed his cane down on the surface.
"Well obviously she'd rather have Dr. Cameron looking after her than a floppy haired rat-bastard," House spat.
Foreman slipped out as quickly as possible and didn't look back. Chase stood up and looked like he was finally ready to go toe-to-toe with his boss. At the last moment he changed his mind and spun around, tipping over a chair as he did so and stalking towards the door.
"Chase!" House shouted, surprising the younger doctor enough to turn around.
"What?" he shouted back.
House had his cane in his hand again and was more than prepared to use it as a bat, but he took two steps forward and just stopped. He leaned on the sturdy wood and used his other hand to sweep across his tension-lined face. How long was this going to go on? Why had he let it get this far? Just because he enjoyed being pushed into reacting? He was pushed enough by other things. He didn't need this. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and then dropped his hand and looked up.
"I'm sorry about your father."
If there were any words Chase was less expecting to hear, he couldn't think of them, and it took him a second to react.
"Yeah, sure," he replied, infusing them with a venom he didn't quite feel at the moment.
"He was a good doctor. You take after him."
"I take after my mother."
House released a tired sounding sigh and took another step. "Chase, it wasn't my secret to tell," he said, cutting right to the point.
"And that's always stopped you in the past," Chase scoffed. "He was dying and you didn't think I deserved to know. Or maybe you just liked knowing more than everyone else."
"No. I wish I hadn't figured it out. But what would you have done if I'd told you?"
Chase opened his mouth but nothing came out and he snapped it shut again.
"Tried to make up for lost time, maybe? Pretended none of those bad years happened? Spent six months cursing him for not being the father you wanted?"
"It would have been my choice."
"And keeping it a secret was his. He knew what would really happen. You'd have spent six extra months mourning the father you'd already lost twenty years ago. He was trying to do something right for a change. Watching someone die really isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Chase remained silent but his posture had gone from adversarial to merely sullen. Their eyes met and caught for just an instant. Understanding didn't pass between them, but there were shades of acceptance. Chase thrust his hands into his labcoat pockets and House stood up straighter, losing some of his sympathetic attitude as he switched subjects.
"As to where Dr. Cameron is, she's at the courthouse in Trenton going over some of the worst moments of her life. Unless you want to start experiencing some bad moments of your own, you'll leave her the hell alone, now and in the future."
A slight acknowledgement from Chase and House turned and started walking towards the connecting door.
"Dr. House."
He looked back over his shoulder. "Yes? Something else you needed to get off your chest?"
"He was a good doctor."
House stared straight into the young doctor's face. "One of the best," was all he said before continuing on his path to the solitude of his office.
House preferred the hospital hallways to be empty. No people meant that he wouldn't be stopped by anyone, and he could stretch out his limping gait without danger of wacking someone with a cane. The diagnostics department was located away from any hospital hot-spots so usually he got his wish within his own domain. The lab, on the other hand, with its glass walls and dim lighting, was right at the crossroads of four intersecting hallways. Today, however, seemed to be his lucky day. He walked from lab to elevator, un-harassed, and when he stepped off and started for his office he spotted only two doctors, conversing near a potted plant, and a nurse who was busy cataloguing supplies. Chase and Foreman were with the patient, Cuddy was in a meeting, life was good. Except for the fact that he had the annoying urge to talk to someone. Anyone, really. Anything to drown out the sound of his own voice. He almost did the unthinkable and headed back down to the clinic.
The nurse turned towards him when she heard his footsteps, but she knew him well enough not to bother voicing any pleasantries. In his current mood, her glance alone was enough to set House off and he had just opened his mouth to make a trademark snide comment and ease his tension when the phone in his pocket started sending "Put on A Happy Face." Cameron's idea of a little joke during their weekend away. A month later and he still hadn't found the time to change it. Or so he said.
He pulled the phone out and answered it while moving with uncommon grace towards his office. It was the nurse's lucky day too.
"House," he tried not to make it sound snappy, but his clipped tone didn't allow for much else.
"It's me."
Pushing the door closed, he locked it and then took the two steps to his chair and sat down. He leaned forward, one elbow on his knee instead of swinging both legs onto the ottoman like he usually did. The tense muscle in his forearm bunched and flexed with rhythmic regularity.
"All right?"
"I'm on my way back." She sounded drained but not tearful.
"We've scheduled Mrs. Drake for surgery tomorrow morning. We're just watching her until then. You can just go home. If you want." Sentences short but not pithy. He hated when words abandoned him.
"No. I'll just work in the clinic then. I'd rather…" I'd rather not have to hear myself anymore. I'd rather be around people. I'd rather be around you.
"I should probably put in a few more hours there myself. Cuddy's liable to blow a gasket if I don't start catching up." Such a nice lie, nestled amongst the truth.
"You'd rather poke yourself in the eye with a fork than willingly work the clinic," Cameron said. Her voice sounded lighter. He could see her eyes clearing.
"There's where you're wrong. I'd rather scoop them out with a spoon. Forks are off the table."
The laugh that answered him was very soft and sounded as if it was being pushed out against its will, but he was still glad to hear it.
"Meet you there?" He had regained his equilibrium and his voice sounded familiar to his ear again.
"Fifteen minutes," she answered.
"Don't be late."
"I won't be."
