A/N- Yeah baby, this is what I like. Suffer suffer suffer, people in and out of the story. Please forgive my sadistic nature… Usually I suffer too, and I can see it coming with every chapter. And please keep up the reviews! Your comments are highly and seriously appreciated, and so is the fact that you're reading this! PS Don't forget to read the revised Ch 8.
CHAPTER 9
There are moments in one's life when everything is so condensed in one minute time-cell which contains them that time actually stops moving. Sounds and smells freeze in mid-air, like in really bad, computer-generated animation movies, and one simply stands, waiting, stopping at what they were doing, anticipating the thunder of the universe speeding up after that one fateful instant. One knows that the human heart can only take as much as it had been ordained to take, yet one cannot avoid the clash and the crush of the different dimensions: emotions will scream at the face of reality, memories will reveal themselves as new facsimiles of things craved for, place will collide with time, and time with its inexorable pace will constrain the moment to move on, break the bubble and let its innards ooze out.
She has a file in her hand, a hand that is shaking rather severely. She is looking at her own test results.
It is then she hears the familiar steps. The thump of the cane approaching. She only has time to crumple up the paper and push it deep into her coat pocket.
He watches her as she turns to the documents she had on the desk and ticks off something automatically. For anyone else she might look normal and composed, but his senses are way too acute not to notice the slight emotional shifts she exhibits from time to time.
It has been a week and a half. That next day she had come in to work as usual, no stress showing on her, the only sign that something was off having been her physical weakness. Cuddy had advised her to go for a general checkup, and the boys had been extremely attentive to her. House… well, House was behaving House-like. He did not really have to work too hard. He found the whole situation immensely intriguing and piquant, him having a secret, a dark, luscious secret that he could go back to anytime he wanted, and she having her own version of the same secret. He knew it was sick, but watching her, the victim, perform her daily routine under his nose simply made him exuberant.
He has to give it to her: she is very good. No person alive would be able to tell anything. She moves efficiently, closes down files, stacks them in order, works at her (and his) correspondence, then moves on to patients, and hours later she emerges looking even more tired, but wearing that aura of satisfaction that only people with large amounts of guilt in their system can wear.
Right now she is writing away. No sound, no movement other than her slender wrist racing on white paper. He watches her from the corner of his eye, intently. Occasionally he wonders if he is turning into a psychopath; then he alleviates his remorse by persuading himself that sooner or later he will tell her. Maybe. But not yet. For now, he is enjoying his daily show that is almost as good as General Hospital.
He swallows drily and remembering his coffee, stands up from his desk to move to the coffee machine. By the time his left hand would lift to empty the old filter, she is already there, gently ushering him away, as each and every time, preparing for their own private morning ritual he is sure she delights in as much as he does. Without a word, she opens bag, takes spoon, places cup, presses button, and as usual, he lingers there propped on his cane, eyeing her with silent satisfaction, registering her gestures, smelling all of her in with the poignant odour of freshly made coffee. He knows she thinks of him as he stands there, he can see through her, into her thoughts, and he senses that having someone look at you while you try to act as if you didn't notice it is not only unnerving, but also sensual. He starts a smile, mainly for his own pleasure, as smiling is a luxury he does not relish too often. He is smiling now, taking the whole situation in, adding what had happened before, and what might happen after to the speck of present tense they are both part of.
She stops the machine and her hand is on his cup to give it to him, when he notices her slight hesitation. As her eyelids flutter he wants to ask what is wrong but has no time, and the next thing he knows is that both of his arms are around her tiny frame, her unconscious arms squeezed to his chest from the sudden move, her eyes closed, his cane on the floor. He checks for her pulse which is fine, then leans to the cupboard and balances himself on his good leg. She is so light that he can hardly feel any extra weight. Only her head presses heavy against his shoulder, and his worried thoughts against his conscience.
-Cameron… can you hear me? –he says, gently tapping her soft cheek.
She wakes up in his arms. She can smell him through his shirt, so her nose drinks in the odour of his skin and of his breath. Her ears tingle at the sound of his voice quietly calling out her name. She feels as weak as a withered autumn leaf, but he holds her strongly and she feels her heartbeat fasten dangerously. She allows herself to enjoy the moment a bit longer, taking a long, long whiff of all that surrounds him, and then slowly opens her eyes and pushes him away.
-What the hell was that? –he asks, his hand still on her arm. She stands at the counter, propping herself but not resisting his hand.
-Had no breakfast. Should be smarter at age twenty-nine.
He doesn't reply, only watches her, as she rubs her temple with both hands, and turns away to pick up some papers from her desk. As she is about to exit the conference room, she turns back. She points at the coffee cup and opens her mouth to say something, then decides against it and walks out.
Oh my god, she thinks, staggering in the hall. She has no idea where she is going. She could cry in this very moment when she remembers what it felt like to be part of him, surrounded by him, squeezed in tight between his arms and his wide chest. She inhales rapidly, trying to steady her thoughts. Lust is something she cannot deal with right now. She takes the elevator to the ground floor, then opens the entrance door and steps out to breathe in some fresh air. It travels through her lungs and gives her a little bit of time to steady herself, before her mind jerks back to reality which is yelling into her face from the crumpled paper she is viewing. She reads it again and again, and wishes dearly it wasn't true. Looking up, she sees yellow-greyish clouds racing over the sky at a fierce speed. The win blows her hair into her eyes and mouth, but she never notices any of it. Her mind staggers through a spectrum of emotions in a split second's time. She fears turning back, she fears looking aside, as everything she does from this moment on will change her life forever. She feels alone and miserable, and longs to have his arms around her once more. As tears well up in her eyes, she slowly turns around and walks back into the building.