Chapter 26- Chasing Rabbits

Cameron's apartment 10.45pm

Five minutes had elapsed. House was still propping the bathroom door up. Eyes were still closed. Opened only once to make sure he was awake, then firmly snapped shut again. What to do? Couldn't stay in here for ever. Couldn't face going back out into the surreal scenario he had just played a part in creating. Surreal but oh so very pleasant for that brief moment. When he'd allowed himself to stop thinking and start feeling. Well, hadn't allowed it as such, it hadn't been a conscious decision. Just testosterone, Vicodin and Frankie-boy making him act irrationally and now, the music muted, Vicodin wearing off rapidly and testosterone supplanted by adrenaline, he was at a loss as to how he was supposed to feel. Think. Act.

He sat on the stool alongside the bath, oblivious to the satin robe and slip already lying there. Oblivious until he felt himself sliding sharply off and landing unceremoniously on his backside. With a thud, cane sent flying, head under the basin. Alerted by the noise (having had her ear firmly glued to the door ever since he'd swiftly abandoned her) and the trail of expletives that emanated from within, Cameron pushed the door open. And burst out laughing. The sight of House laid on her bathroom floor with a cream satin negligee entangling him was too much.

'What? It's not funny!'

'Actually it's not. It's hilarious.' She stooped to help him up.

'I can manage,' he said gruffly, drawing his knees up and turning himself around to a kneeling position. Using the edge of the tub for leverage, he clawed his way back to an upright state, pausing halfway to retrieve his cane. 'You always lay traps in your bathroom?'

'No, normally the bedroom.' She laughed. 'How was I supposed to know you'd shut yourself in here and sit on my nightwear.'

He glared at her, before hooking the cause of his fall from grace up with the handle of his stick. 'Nice. But not what I figured you'd wear. Had you down as more of a shorts and vest kind of girl. Anyone'd think I'd seen you in your PJ's before. Oh that's right, I have. When we acted out scene one of this comedy of errors. Were you expecting a little action tonight leaving this out on display? Or is it left over from some R-rated shenanigans last night? Gotta tell you, it works for me either way. Works even better if you tell me you'd left it out expecting to hit it off with Sarah tonight.'

She snatched the robe and slip from him. 'Pick your mind back up out of the gutter House. I was not expecting anything of the sort, as well you know. I don't have to explain to you why I leave MY bedroom attire in MY bathroom. Ok?'

'Ok….you're funny when you're embarrassed. Makes you get a little crinkle in your brow. Cute.'

Cameron tried rectifying the crinkle that she never knew she had, as her anger began to rise. 'Well, maybe so, but at least I don't run and hide when I'm embarrassed. What did you plan on doing? Sneaking out the window? Unfortunately for you there isn't one in here. Nowhere to run huh?' She turned her back and stormed out.

House, looked round to confirm the window situation. Definitely worth knowing for any potential future reoccurrences. He shambled out of the bathroom after her. Cameron was in the kitchen, randomly shuffling pots and pans loudly, without rhyme or reason. Sinatra replaced by Alanis Morissette. Oh hell, she's really pissed, she's got man-hater music on. The battle lines are drawn. Great. Well played Greg, only you get to go straight from a kiss to imminent castration with a bread knife in under ten minutes.

'I suppose this is where I get you to call me a cab.'

'If you want,' Cameron replied without looking at him, finding stainless steel implements more of her attention. 'Your call.'

'Hmm. Guess that's a yes then.' He paused, trying to read any sort of emotion she may be displaying other than anger. Hard to tell from the back of her head, he thought. He took a couple of steps forward to try and catch a glimpse of her face. 'I don't normally say sorry. In fact I don't think I've ever said it. So consider yourself honoured. But I am. Sorry, that is.'

Cameron spun around, frying pan in hand, causing him to take a step back. 'For what? For kissing me? For running away? For suggesting I have a penchant for women? What?'

'Ok, you're mad. I get it. Quit yelling. It only makes me want to laugh.' He looked intently at her. 'For causing you distress, it wasn't my intention. Hard to believe I know, given the fact that I do get off on causing emotional turmoil in people as a rule, but with you it's no fun. Like stepping on a puppy's tail, just makes you sad.'

'I'm a puppy?'

'That was the analogy I was making, yes.'

'What kind?'

'Sorry?'

'What kind? Of puppy?'

House was surprised at her response. 'It makes a difference?' She increased her glare. 'Oh, the wild look in your eyes suggests it does. Chocolate labrador.'

'Because?'

'What is this? Twenty questions?'

'Humour me. Why am I a chocolate Labrador?'

House opened the fridge, buying himself a few extra moments to formulate a reply. And as he grabbed himself a beer, he answered, 'Because you scamper along, bounding about, frantically waving your tail in a "love me, love me" manner. You crash into things, 'cause your mind isn't focused on the realities around you. Your head is elsewhere, imagining what toy you can bring your master next so that he'll think you're really cute and adore you a little bit more than he did before. You want to snuggle up on a fleecy throw in front of an open fire, only rousing occasionally to rub yourself against their leg so that they'll pet you and tell you how special you are. You'll faithfully lie on the foot of the bed, never leaving their side till they drop off to sleep, then you'll take a wander, stretch your legs and return to them, sleeping uneasily until they wake, eager for their cuddles and kisses when you slobber all over them.'

Cameron was speechless. Had he just made that up, or was that his long-held opinion of her. And what was he thinking helping himself to the contents of her fridge. Unnerved by his speech, she grabbed herself a beer and took a swig.

'Jack Russell.'

'Huh. No, I said chocolate lab.'

'No, you. You're a Jack Russell.'

'Because?'

'Oh, I knew you'd want some sort of justification. Differential coming right up.' She took another swig and jumped up onto the counter. 'You're snappy, always biting at someone's heels. Only you don't restrict it to the mailman or intruders. Your brain runs at a thousand rpm, never resting. You're constantly edgy, like you're always looking out for a stray rabbit. In chasing the rabbit, you're so single-minded, you get your swollen head stuck in the rabbit hole. And refuse to accept help getting it unstuck. You're frantic, lively, stubborn, and ego-centric. You dominate everything and everybody. And sulk when you don't have it your way. You're playful, replacing tennis balls for banter and double-talk. You get a hold of something and shake it till it submits, or until you've had enough of the game. Need I go on?'

'No, I got the picture. Could have been worse. You could have said I was a cat. Or piranha.'

'I think we're even, don't you?' She took another gulp from the bottle. 'So, you want to talk about it?'

'It? Sex? What do you need to know?'

She tutted disapprovingly. 'No, the kiss.'

'Rodin? I knew you spent your free time going round galleries. Very you.'

'Fine. Don't worry. It's history already.'

House was distracted, having spotted something that at that moment in time took on far more significance than anything she could possibly say or do. On the fridge door was a small credit card sized object. Held in place by a oversized heart shaped magnet. Squinting hard, he saw the item it was attached to was a printed card, the outside of which was decorated with a floral border. Within the border was a poem, 'Not Waving, But Drowning.' Again, she never ceased to amaze him. Had she already had it before his quote from their drink-sodden rendezvous? Spooky if that was the case. Or had she felt the need to memorialise his words and gone out to get something tangible to remind her of it? He couldn't tell, she was a walking contradiction, that much he had already decided. Either way, he struggled with the fact that there was far more of a connection there than he had previously wanted to acknowledge.

Taking a step closer to the fridge, and in doing so, drawing nearer to her, he looked at her and in meeting her gaze, he looked again at the poem. 'When?'

'When what?'

'When did you get that?'

'Yesterday. Why?'

'I needed to know. Now I do.' His question answered, he sighed and downed the remainder of the bottle's contents and took yet another step closer to the counter. Partly in order to put the empty bottle down, partly because he wanted to know if he bridged the physical divide, he could reconcile the thoughts running through his head. Thoughts that confused and alarmed him at the same time. This isn't how it was supposed to be, he thought. Been there, done it, would've bought the t-shirt only my fingers were too burned to handle the ten dollar bill. It can only end in upset. Someone had to get hurt, badly. And it would be her. No doubt. Bad idea. So why did he edge closer still?

'I'm going to call a cab now,' he said uneasily. 'It's been a long day, and I need to rest.' She tried hard to focus on him, but his face was too close and if she leant back she would hit her head on the cupboard, moving sideways would just look odd and forwards would be inappropriate. So instead she looked down at the label she had been feverishly peeling off.

In doing so, it made House's next move a whole lot easier. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, as he leant forward and kissed her again. Softer this time, with less urgency. But with far more intensity than his earlier attempt. And as he savoured the moment, how he would have imagined it would feel if he had ever allowed himself the luxury, again he met no resistance. He broke the embrace less than a minute later, feeling the moment was right.

Looking at her bewildered expression, he said, 'Don't analyse it. Just accept it for what it is, nothing more, nothing less.' He stepped back, a long way back. 'I really have to go. Try and have a good weekend.'

Cameron, in shock, blinked hard. 'That's it?'

'Yes.'

She began to try and edge herself down from the counter top. 'No, stay, I can let myself out. You know how clumsy you are, probably end up face down on the tiles. I'll see you Monday. Don't be late.'

And with that he was gone. Cameron didn't know whether to rejoice or cry. Was it possible to do both at the same time? Just accept it? Accept what? That he had kissed her twice in one evening, sober. He'd made the first move, she hadn't led him on, applied any pressure. Crying had won over the urge to rejoice, and as the mascara began to sting, she decided desperate times called for desperate measures, and got down from the worktop and grabbed a half empty bottle of Chablis from the fridge and a litre tub of Haagen-Daaz from the icebox. Unaware, that a confused, restless, playful little terrier was propping up her front door, from the outside wishing he knew what the consequences of his unplanned actions would be.