Excuse me please, one more drink.
Would you make it strong,
Cause I don't need to think.
She broke my heart,
My grace is gone.
Another drink and I'll move on.
One more drink and I'll move on.
Four.
He thought she would want to snuggle, expected her to curl up against him, murmuring sweet nothings borrowed from some romantic comedy. But she didn't. She just smiled at him, a secret sexy smile, and lay on her stomach, the smooth skin of her side pressed to his.
He remembered reading somewhere that those who slept on their stomach were insecure, afraid to face the world. Those who slept on their back were wide open, ready for anything.
He slept on his back.
They fell asleep, side by side, unmoving.
She slept on her stomach.
Somewhere around two, House woke up to find Cameron exploring the curve of his chest with her fingers. Their lovemaking this time was slow and purposeful, lacking the heat of their initial encounter, but not the intensity.
Cameron was amazed as House seemed to hone in on those parts of her which were most sensitive and she did her best in return. Judging by the grunts and groans coming from him, she assumed she succeeded.
When they collapsed, both spent, House wrapped his arms around Cameron's waist, keeping her half on top of him, her left leg wrapped around his, enjoying the weight of her on him.
Cameron listened carefully until House's breathing evened, sleep quick to come, encouraged by physical activity and Vicodin. She carefully extracted herself, resting on her side for a moment as she took in his sleeping profile.
The hidden undertone of pain was gone, as was the perpetual look of incredulity – that classic House "what the hell is wrong with the human race" look. He looked peaceful – happy, almost, and Cameron took a picture with her mind, wanting to preserve him in this rare moment of openness.
She slid out of bed, her movements small and measured, to avoid waking him. She followed her trail of clothing, dressing along the way, skin flushed as she pictured what had happened in that hallway just hours earlier.
Fully dressed, she returned to the bedroom, where House was still out cold, asleep.
She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a sudden wave of sadness enveloping her. It was now or never. She crossed to the bed and softly kissed House on the forehead. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Gently she stroked his cheek, forcing herself to turn back to the door. Once there, she cast a final glace over her shoulder and whispered, "I love you," into the dark.
He woke and first groped blindly for his bottle of Vicodin, unaccustomed to such late night antics. He swallowed two pills dry, leaning back, eyes closed. He then reached for Cameron, opening one than another eye. Empty. He listened for a moment, hearing no other signs of life in his house.
Choosing to be optimistic for once, House dragged himself out of bed, using the spare cane he kept by his nightstand. Not in the bathroom. Looked right, then left down the hallway. Nothing. Out to the kitchen. Empty coffee pot, empty sink, empty life.
He leaned on the counter, equally parts relieved and pissed. Relieved to avoid the awkward "morning after" discussion and pissed at her for being the one to walk out without a goodbye.
He went to the fridge and noticed the slip of paper on the counter. A note – written on a prescription, undoubtedly the only blank paper she could find. Just two words in her perfect curly script: "Goodbye, House."
He slept on his back. She slept on her stomach.
What a load of shit.
Even those who were most accustomed to House admitted that week he was unusually unbearable. Chase and Foreman experienced the brunt of his wrath, especially without Cameron around to placate House, although Wilson experienced his fair share of torture.
By Friday, everyone had had enough. At 3:00, Cuddy called House into her office.
"Good afternoon, Sexretary," House bellowed as he approached her door. He thrust the door open and entered with Kramer-like pizzazz, loudly exclaiming, "No, Cuddy, I will not have a threesome with you and Chase. This has to stop."
Her glare would have brought Superman to his knees, but not the infallible House. He turned in surprise at the click of the door and caught the slightest glimpse of the secretary retreating. "He's like an oompa loompa, mysteriously lurking in the background doing your bidding. Except he's not orange. But I have a patient who can help him with that."
"House!"
"What?"
"Go away."
House plunked down on the couch, twirling his cane like a baton. "You call me away from a dying patient to tell me to go away?"
"Your patient isn't dying. You don't even have a patient right now."
"I'm a doctor for PPTH. I'm sure somewhere in this hospital someone is dying."
Cuddy rubbed at her temples.
"Tumor?" House posed. "'It's not a tumor'," he continued, in his best Schwarzenegger impression.
"What is wrong with you?" Cuddy stood, then changed her mind and sat back down. "Never mind. Don't answer that." She took a deep breath and leveled her gaze at him. "You need to go away. Take a break, a vacation, something. You may frequently take vacations from the clinic, but I can't remember the last time you actually took a day off."
House stared at her curiously. "Why?"
"Because you're driving us nuts." He continued to stare. "More than usual. Look, House, since Cameron left you've been a menace." Cuddy took note of how House's eyes left hers at the mention of the pretty doctor's name. "Chase is ready to quit, Wilson's threatened bodily harm, we've had a half a dozen patients wanting to bring up lawsuits against you this week alone, and even Foreman's mentioned spiking your coffee with Valium."
"Traitor."
Cuddy sighed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"
House blinked quickly, his only sign of surprise. "I thought you knew I slept with all of my female patients. And some of the males. Which one are you talking about?"
"You know who I'm talking about."
"Did you sleep with Cameron?"
"What?" Cuddy was shocked.
"See, you don't like the question either."
"This is the deal," Cuddy got up and walked to the couch where she stood looking hard down at House. "I can't get Cameron to come back. I've tried everything. So has Wilson. If you want her back, you have to go get her. If she doesn't want to come back, you need to get yourself an attitude adjustment, because I am not going to stand for another week like this one."
"You say that all of the time."
"I'm serious this time."
"What are you going to do? Spank me? Please spank me!"
Her patience at an end, Cuddy leaned down so she was eye to eye with him. "Oh, I'll do something much worse."
"Such as?"
"Spread rumors."
"Not a problem. Happens all the time."
"Not those kinds of rumors. Nice rumors. About how kind you were to patients in the clinic. About how you agreed to donate a third of your salary to the pediatric ward. About how you volunteer on the weekends at a homeless shelter. I'll call the local paper. They'll make you Man of the Year."
Light bulbs flashed in House's head as he imagined cameras following him around all day. He'd actually have to see patients. He shuddered.
"Maybe I could use a vacation." He stood, thumping heavily with his cane.
Grinning, Cuddy called after him. "Tell Cameron I said 'hello'."
"Bite me."