So you sailed away
into a gray sky morning
now I'm here to stay
love can be so boring
Three.
Okay. Okay. Focus. Fight. "So I see how it is, work gets tough so you just run away. That's great, Cameron, way to be strong."
Cameron filled with rage, but she pushed it down, her voice tight, she spoke through clenched teeth. "That's nice, House. Aren't you the one who's questioned my decision to become a doctor since day one? Too soft? Too emotional?"
Oops. "You're a good doctor. You're learning."
"I appreciate that. And don't think I'm considering leaving because of you, because you don't like me, because you're too hard on me."
His eyes on her. "I do like you."
A sad smile. "I know." She stood, the swing behind her swaying in her path. Still moving. Still gone. She walked over to the lake and House followed, loping slowly in her wake. He had an intense desire to wrap his arms around her and rest his head on hers. Instead, he yanked on a chunk of her hair.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I figured you'd get mad if I tried to knock some sense into you. This was the next best thing. That, or toss you in the lake."
"Physical abuse isn't going to change my mind. I haven't even made up my mind yet."
"What about sex?"
She stared, wide eyed. "Are you offering to sleep with me to get me to stay?"
House shrugged. "Wouldn't take much to get me to have sex with you."
The joke fell flat. Cameron sighed. "Do you remember Cindy?"
A blank stare.
To the water, "Of course you wouldn't."
"Young woman, lung cancer, probably dead by now."
"She's not. Still holding on," another sad smile. "You're not the only one. Wilson gets on me about my apparent inability to tell a patient they are going to die." She paused, and turned to face him. "I told Wilson that when a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. Somebody should be upset. I still don't understand what's so wrong with a doctor caring whether or not a patient dies. We're supposed to care."
"But we're not supposed to take it home."
"I know that," a bit petulant. "Andie's dead."
House's head snapped up. "Already?"
"Yeah. Caught the flu from school, turned to pneumonia, compromised immune system… Chase called me right before dinner."
"And you're telling me now because?"
"I thought you'd want to know."
He rubbed his face. "Andie, Cindy, what are you trying to get at, Cameron? Patients die. It's a part of life. You're a doctor, you watched your husband die, you know what happens at the end of the line. What now? What changed?"
"I did." Firm, unyielding.
He didn't want to acknowledge that he'd noticed. He wanted to blame hormones, blood sugar, misfiring neurons, something. Not a new Cameron.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going home for a while. I haven't seen my parents in far too long. I want to see my sister and brother, my nieces and nephews."
"So take a vacation."
She shook her head. "I need to not have work weighing on my brain. I need a break. Technically, I'm not quitting. It's a leave, a sabbatical. I could still come back."
"But you're not going to," amazed he sounded so like a child. A sideways glance, unable to meet her eyes.
"I don't know."
"You're a good doctor, Allison."
Crunch. Heart. Broken. "Thank you," a whisper. "I can't stay."
"I know."
She wondered how they'd ended up in this 1940s drama. Frankly, my dear… "It's not because of you."
Everybody lies. He watched the lake. A fish darted up, raising ripples in the surface. He watched them flow toward the sand, felt it flow right through him.
His arm reached out, across her back, squeezed her shoulder. She turned into him, sighing into the nape of his neck. House wrapped his arms around her waist, finding comfort in the gesture, unfamiliar and yet familiar. A sense of home. He allowed himself to just hold her, breathing deeply, taking in her scent of sweet pea and soap. Even her hair smelled good.
"It's not you," she said again, into his neck, tightening her arms around him.
"Yeah, it is." Like Midas, except everything he touched turned cold.
Cameron pulled back. She spoke, her voice quiet. "You didn't kill my husband, you didn't shape my emotional process. You've changed me, made me stronger, make me question myself – made me challenge the status quo. You made my cry, made me hate you, made me hate myself." He tore his gaze from her and looked over her shoulder and into the black of the lake. "I'm not leaving because I want you to chase after me, or because I'm afraid, or because I love you. I'm leaving because I need to. For me. I know you think I handle things by leaving, and maybe I do, but right now, taking a break from work, getting away, is what I need."
House continued to stare at the water, Cameron's words, like pebbles, dotting the surface of his brain. It was the first time that she actually admitted out loud that she loved him. He felt her hand on his cheek, soft and warm against his stubble. He drew his eyes toward her. Bad move. Crystal blue, surprisingly calm, searching his. Damn.
He lowered his lips to hers, a gentle kiss. She tasted sweet and seemed to melt into him. The exact stereotypical soap opera kiss he would have expected from her. Except it was real. Too real. It wasn't possible. She was half his age, all wrong for him – needy and dependent. And yet kissing her awakened something within him that he had thought was long dead.
She ended the kiss, nuzzling her head into his neck, sighing into the smooth of his skin. House stiffened for a moment, instantly regretting letting his guard down, if even for a second.
They stood, unmoving, a gentle breeze floating off the water. House allowed her to linger there, realizing it may be his last opportunity to keep her near. She surprised him by pulling back first. She looked up, those blue eyes meeting his.
"Take me home."
He nodded. They walked back to the motorcycle, Cameron's hand in his, fitting far too well.
They snapped on their helmets and House climbed on first, Cameron nestling in behind him.
He drove fast, too fast, and Cameron wondered if it would be considered a comedy or a tragedy if the cripple and the ingénue died in a motorcycle accident, twisted together as one in death as they could never be in life. Pleasant.
He slowed as they neared the city, Cameron refraining from commenting as he drove back to his place, not hers. They both knew what was going to happen – both taking advantage of her inevitable departure.
He pulled into the garage and she let herself into the house, removing her leather jacket, letting it fall to the floor. House stared at the black puddle, dead, crumpled on the floor. Leather boots followed, then belt, with a crack, metal on wood.
And he crashed into her, lips pressed to hers, hands thrust into her hair, getting lost in the silkiness. He backed her against a wall, drawing his lips from her mouth to devour her neck. A moan. Cane to the floor with a thud. Hard. Wood.
His hands continued to roam, finding everything smooth, so smooth, and he reached for the buttons on her sweater, fumbling. She pulled back, and House cringed inwardly, anticipating the protest. He the fire, she the wet blanked. But he was wrong.
Smoldering eyes made him grow harder and he wondered again what someone like her wanted with someone like him. She kissed him once at the corner of his mouth, nibbled on his lower lip. His turn to moan. Slender fingers worked buttons, his, hers, pushed the cotton off his shoulders. He reached for her but she pushed him back. A wicked smile he could never have imagined on sweet Cameron, his Cameron.
"Bedroom."
A nod.
She headed down the hall, seeming to instinctively know where to go.
He thumped after her, the pain in his leg forgotten as her sweater fell to the floor. She crawled into his bed, darkness enveloping her, and House was on top of her, hands exploring under the silk of her camisole. Her back arched in response as his hands touched the most sensitive parts of her skin.
He kept waiting, kept anticipating her words, excuses, explanations for what they were doing, why it was a good idea, bad idea, oooh so good as she slid her hand down his pants.
But there were no words, no words of substance, only moans and groans and oh god oh god and she was so tight, and he felt strangely honored to be one of the few. He held on to her, thrust into her, a perfect fit, and oh god oh god oh Greg and he believed in that moment that he was a little bit in love with her.