Pieces

By: Emmy

Summary: You weren't there. It's his mantra and he's surprised that it slips past his lips again.

Spoilers: No Reason… actually pretty much everything. It's sort of drabble-ish though, so there isn't anything too solid.

A/N: Well. I said last time that I might try writing House's POV instead of Cameron's. There is also dialogue… which was kinda fun… in that 'they never quite say everything with just words' way. If you catch my drift. I got interrupted for half a day between .then. and .now., so sorry if the style changed a little. I tried to keep it consistent, but the interruption was kind of big-time so I wouldn't be surprised if the rest is a little more melancholy. This is House/Cameron, because they rock together. Sort of. Alright then, please enjoy.

.then. .adjective. being at that time, or existing or belonging to the time mentioned

He wakes and everything and nothing hurts. It's dull and muted and he knew (he always knows everything) that they had him on a little too much morphine. He doesn't say anything to anyone about it because he needs it.

She's not there.

There are plenty of nurses though, and one with really great tits. They fussed and checked his pulse (it's a rhythm and it's life and she's not there) and when he opened his mouth to say something incredibly witty to the Nurse With Nice Tits and nothing other then a croak came out they gave him water.

If he were a nice person he'd appreciate the fact that there seemed to be an absurd amount of nurses in his room. If he were himself in his normal condition he would be annoying and rude until they all just left. But he wasn't and he wasn't and (she's not there) he wasn't.

He watched as they hustled and bustled and thought that maybe he could see Cuddy standing in the door watching him. But he also thought that she was wearing slacks and smudged mascara. Clearly he hallucinated her and were they really giving him that much morphine? But suddenly he became more tired then he'd ever been before in his life and he thinks that it's because of whatever they'd put in the IV.

He really hates hospitals.

(she's not there. she's not there. she's not there.)

(greg is alone. all by himself. nobody cares.)

.now. .adverb. at the present time, often as opposed to in the past or in the future

This time waking up is hard. There's a fog that messes up his thoughts and he knows that if he tries to move he'll feel weak and wrong and (she wasn't there) alone. He makes his eyes open because (he wants cameron to be there. cameron. cameron. allison. cameron. don't leave greg all alone.) he needs whichever nurse is there to give him a drink and more of whatever they used to knock him out before.

She's sitting there though. With someone's file on her lap and a large Starbucks cup sitting on her armrest. One hand is tapping a rhythm on the lid. The other is fiddling with his hospital bracelet. He needs her to stop because she's messing up his thoughts and she's not following the rules. (no touching. too much temptation.)

You weren't there. His voice sounds tired and broken and rough around the edges. He blames sleep and bullets and morphine. Her hands stop and she's looking at him with wide eyes behind her glasses. Her lips are turned down into a small frown. Concern? He thinks it's more likely stress. He has no idea how longs he's been out and he remembers times when one of his (because he owns them. because they need him. because he needs them.) ducklings weren't there to help him.

She opens her mouth to say something, changes her mind and breathes a frustrated sigh. She gets up and hands him a glass of water. There are suspicious looking lip marks on the rim, and he watches her carefully as he sips (his lips are over the ghost of hers. she wears watermelon lip balm. stacy always wore raspberry. he hates raspberry.). He thinks that maybe she's blushing but it might be the light or the morphine or his overactive imagination.

People need to sleep, you know. It takes him a second to realize that she said anything and two to figure out what she said. He thinks the drugs are messing a little too much with his system because he was looking straight at her when she spoke. Her hair is a little rumpled and she's in a sweater and jeans. And suddenly he hates her all over again because she's clenching like she expects him to lash out at her. He thinks she must have short term memory loss because he distinctly remembers promising not to crush her.

You weren't there. It's his mantra and he's surprised that it slips past his lips again. He hates his lack of self-control because mantras are meant to stay inside people's heads. He hates that she clenches just a little bit more and watches him with her wide, wide eyes. (greg wants to kiss her. greg wants her to kiss him. greg wants a lot of things.)

I would've stayed she tells him. And suddenly this isn't about bullets or drugs or now. It's about legs and pain and (greg alone in his cold, cold bed, broken into little bits. stacy gone and breaking just a little bit for him. james staring at the destruction and breaking for the both of them.) hurt. He's angry now and it burns in his stomach and eyes and he wishes his throat didn't hurt as much as it does.

You weren't there this time. It's a reminder and a reprimand and he loves the dull ache it's leaving somewhere in the region of his heart. He needs to remind himself because this is what happens when you let people matter and Wilson is the only one that can matter because Wilson is the only one that's never left. But he knows it's a delusion because where is Wilson now? (smiling and laughing and ready to help.)

I'm not leaving again. He doesn't know what she means because she's left him (alone and hurting and wanting) before in so many ways. She's been leaving since Stacy and he isn't sure if it's a blessing or a curse. He knows it hurts and he knows he hates it but he thinks he needs it. He thinks he needs his old life back too and he thinks he might like to see her naked. He wants to see if she has a tattoo. So he sinks into his pillow and closes his eyes because hiding is better then hurting.

Good. She's holding his hand before he realizes he opened it in offering and it's a little bit cold. (he can feel her pulse and it's beating to her rhythm because everything is made of rhythm and reason.) He hears the scrape of her chair as she drags it closer and the rustle of paper. He's not entirely sure what she's doing but she hasn't let go and maybe (just maybe) that's enough for now.

(he realizes too late that he opened up just a little too much.)

(when he sleeps he dreams of her pulse and her rhythm and her hand in his.)

.soon. .adverb. within or after a short time

When he wakes up next he'll open his eyes and see her curled into an awkward position with her hand lax in his own. She'll look tiny and her wrist will look even tinier and he might just feel a little bit worried for her. She'll look tired and worn and the delicate skin around her eyes will be red from being scrubbed at. He'll wonder who she was crying for with a thumb tracing a vein because it means that she's alive and real and there. (he won't ever admit to needing the reassurance. he won't admit because admitting means acknowledging and acknowledging something means it matters.)

When her eyes open it won't be with a pretty flutter but a world-weary groan and a free hand scrubbing at her temple, eyes and neck. Her back will crack painfully four times as she stretches and he'll look guilty when her gaze finally settles on him. His thumb will stop moving and she'll turn her gaze to their hands with a soft smile and a comforting squeeze. His mouth will twitch slightly with a mixture of a grin and a scowl and he'll sever the contact (aching and slowly) with regret. She will nod with resignation and might just clench a tiny bit.

The heart monitor… he'll trail off because she's going to clench and squeeze her eyes shut with a shake of her head. This is the part of her that fascinates him most because it means that she's complex and because it means she's sad (and how could a sad person smile and laugh and be like her?). He won't ever finish the sentence because he'll have his answer and he will think that maybe he feels just a little bit bad for her.

She'll pass him a drink and he might just twist his mouth into a quick grin of thanks. It won't be entirely sincere (the muscles contract and his lips curl up. the muscles relax and they fall back to the almost scowl that is most comfortable.) but it will be his gift to her. She will settle back into her seat with a small wince and he is going to know that she is regretting sleeping in the chair and he will know exactly the right way to massage it better. (stacy used to pull all-nighters and so did he and so they learnt because it was nice to have someone out there who knew exactly the right way to stop the pain.)

I didn't leave she's going to whisper into the silence. He will marvel at the way her voice curls through the air and reaches his ears and twists its way into his stomach with an almost-pain. (he remembers stacy calling it butterflies but he hasn't had them since her and it makes him hate himself.) He's going to ponder her declaration for a few moments before nodding.

You'll regret it. It's a promise but he wont be quite sure what he's promising. There are so many things that could come of what is going to happen between them that he's not sure. He won't ever figure out their formula. (stacy and him were fire and paper and he's surprised that he never looked far enough into the future to figure out that the paper was going to run out one day. they were doomed from the first spark. he just wishes that the embers would cool down enough to be forgotten.) It will fascinate him forever and ever and he will obsess because obsession is the way he functions. She will reach for his hand and he won't protest because he thinks she is the most amazing thing in the world and he's been obsessing since he first met her.

Maybe. There is no comfort in her voice (he thinks maybe that is the most comforting thing about it.) and he will let his thumb resume tracing her veins. She will watch the perpetual movement with a soft and slow curve of her lips. She won't pull away and neither will he. It will be a truce and a secret and he'll fall asleep again because a nurse will come in and wreck the moment.

(greg is back in a cold, cold bed. greg is still broken.)

(stacy is still gone. stacy is still a little bit broken for greg.)

(allison is still far too close to the constant toning of a heart monitor. allison is still broken.)

(james will watch as the pieces blunt with time and change. james will know that the pieces won't ever fit together again.)

(james is wise enough to know that it doesn't matter.)