Title: Tragic - PT 10B
Rating: R (language)
Summary: Cameron's life is tragic at times... (Cam's POV)
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, just playing...
Note: PT 10 cont'd Part B - House makes a surprise visit to Cam

Sorry so, here is the longer part! Hope you like it!

Note: As always, I hate good punctuation, I am horrible with grammar (esp. in this part), and I reserve everything to be a work in progress... And I apologize if I screwed up tenses with this POV --oh yeah, this still stands!

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You are awake in your bed, listening to the sounds of the city, watching the lights change on your walls. For the first time, everything seems so foreign, so new, so uncomfortable. This room doesn't feel like your room, although it has some of your personal touches, it feels empty and lonely. You try not to think about the man stretched out on your sofa down the hall. It's too hard to think about him, too confusing. You try not to strain your ears to listen to his breathing, signs of gentle snoring, to see if he's sleeping yet.

You swallow these words and thoughts deep into yourself, a black pit that you try to cover and hide. You miss this man terribly. Every day. You choke back a tear. You won't let yourself cry. You don't know what it is about him, because he makes you crazy, miserable at times, and you don't know what the hell it is that you two share, but this odd connection - that neither one of you is good at verbalizing - you have been missing it every day since you have left Princeton. You have been lucky enough to keep busy that you have not dwelt on it, you haven't allowed yourself. You're happy he's here, your happy he made that first move and you didn't have to beg him, in any sense or form, for contact. You feel so hollow. You long to have him lying beside you. You want to curl up behind his body and wrap your arms around him, nuzzle your nose in his neck, feel his warmth. That would be home. Somehow you fall asleep between choking tears and imagining holding him tight.

Your sleep is plagued by erotic dreams. Images of House finding you asleep on your bed, dressed in your black lace bra and panties that you were wearing earlier. He approaches you like you are his prey (you are). He teases you without mercy, holding your arms down, kissing and nipping at your entire body. He is fully clothed and dominating you, it is turning you on. You allow yourself to be vulnerable to him, and he is slowly taking care of you . . . your dream is shattered by clanging pots and you are jolted away, breathless.

What the hell is going on? You smell bacon.

You try to fix yourself up a bit and head for the kitchen where you find House at the stove and Pearl in her highchair.

House is holding a spatula in his hand. He looks at you, then Pearl, "Sorry," he smiles, "we wanted mommy to sleep in a little longer, but we screwed up, didn't we munchkin?" Pearl actually baby babbles back and bangs her little hands on the highchair tray.

Well, good morning. Sleep okay? You pour yourself a cup of coffee, surveying your kitchen, you see House made himself at home, and made bit of a mess.

"Well, your other couch is much more comfortable than this one," he responds, pretending to grab his aching back.

Sorry, it's in storage. With all your other stuff.

"Hungry?"

A bit. He places a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of you. "Toast is on the way!"

Was all this in your fridge?

"No, Pearl and I got up early and took a little walk down to the market." He puts the pan in the sink and sits across from you. "By the way, you should really clean out your purse, I couldn't find a damn thing!"

He went snooping in your purse?

"For keys to the apartment! Chill!" mouth full of eggs, "and I had to convince your doorman not to call and wake you up and that I wasn't stealing your daughter, so could you please call down there later and tell them I'm an 'approved' guest and I don't need to keep checking in . . . I mean the security is great, but what a pain in the ass."

You tell him it's your way of keeping tabs on him. You wink.

"Ha ha."

You thank him for letting you sleep in and for breakfast, as you try to brush the sleep out of your eyes and the dream out of your mind.

"No problem. It's the least I could do for barging in and all." He shrugs. "Besides, I got some more quality time with my little munchkin, didn't I?"

You can't believe he's actually baby talking to her. Where is a video camera when you need one. If his co-workers at PPTH could see this now. Well, they would be wondering where the alien came from that has taken over House's body. You watch them with raised eyebrow, fork midway to your mouth. He's actually tickling her, and they're both laughing. You must be in the wrong apartment.

He turns and sees your face. "What?"

Nothing. Who is he?

"Stop, can't I enjoy the innocence of a child?" he asks.

You shrug and continue with your eggs.

The three of you spend the day together enjoying the early spring of Manhattan. You go to the park and push Pearl in the swing for a little, House watching you from the bench. When she falls asleep for a bit in her stroller, you sit next to him in the sun.

"Do you like it here?"

It's hard to say. You haven't been here long enough. And you really haven't had a chance to make any new friends yet.

"What about Johnny?"

What about him? You glance at him, he's not looking at you, you're not surprised. You sigh. You tell him, it's nothing really, you just met him, he seems nice, it was good to have an adult conversation with someone outside work. (Not that it's any of his business.)

"You could have called."

You point out that he could have also.

"I'm not so good on the phone."

You tell him you're both not so good on the phone. You seem to have a problem communicating as it is. He finally looks at you. You're not quite sure what his eyes are telling you, you don't know if you have the patience to decipher it. You sometimes wish he could just spit it out, like he so often does with other things. You're glad when Pearl starts stirring in her stroller. You lift her out, hand her to House and grab a bottle from the bag as he tries to shush her.

You tell him that you kind of miss Princeton, that it felt like home. (You don't tell him it's because he's there. You just feel better when he's around. You don't tell him because you refuse to let him know that you're that weak. That you could possibly need him.)

You start heading back to the apartment, but not before stopping at the local Häagen-Dazs for a small ice cream cake. Somehow House convinces the sales person to write on this very tiny cake, Happy 1/2 B-Day Pearl and Happy Early B-Day Old Man. You shake your head.

You introduce House to your favorite new Chinese take out place. He approves. You both sit on the floor in front of the coffee table picking out of the cartons. You didn't even bother with the plates. The babysitter is coming at eight. House is insisting that you have the ice cream cake tonight, though it's not officially Pearl's half birthday until tomorrow (he has something for her for tomorrow. You just know he's going to spoil the shit out of her). You agree on having the ice cream cake tonight.

You both argue over how many candles to put on the cake. Neither one of you can decide how many would make the most sense, so you end up choosing four for the month of April. Besides, the cake is so darn small, it just doesn't make any sense to put more than four. You're still shocked by all the lettering on the cake. You insist on taking a picture. And you get a great shot of House and Pearl smiling in front of the lit candles - yes, even House is smiling. You let Pearl taste the melted vanilla parts of the ice cream, which she of course, loves. She keeps opening her mouth for more, her little pink tongue reaching out toward her tiny spoon, hoping it's filled with more sweet ice cream. (Someone is picking up someone else's sweet tooth already. They're not even related by blood, for god's sake!)

So, where to tonight?

"We are going to a blues club down in the village. It's off West Fourth, by some really loud Mexican place," he says with pride. "This place is great, trust me. I haven't been there in years, but I'm sure they're still there. It's a total hole in the wall, tiny little place, sawdust on the floor type of place, but the best music you want to hear . . . so go get dressed, and I'll get the kid ready for bed."

What should you wear?

"God, Cameron," he sneers at you, "you're not going to work, so jeans and T-shirt will pretty much work here. Aw, too bad, I don't have the bike with me, which would of been great, to go down there on the bike."

The bike?

"Oh yeah, I bought a motorcycle?"

Does he have a death wish?

"Nah, I was just feeling a little bored. Besides, my distractions were gone," he smirks at you as he carries Pearl toward the sink to wipe her face and fingers clean of the sticky ice cream.

You shake your head and go to change. Jeans and T-shirt it is. Jeez, he's making it easy. Favorite pair of dark blue boot-cut low-ride jeans. Black v-neck T-shirt, black healed suede boots. Just a little makeup, so you don't look like you're thirteen and you're good to go.

The doorbell rings, the babysitter arrives. You give her your list of instructions and emergency numbers, kiss Pearl a hundred times, as House is practically dragging you out the door. "Hey, it's my birthday too!" he's reminding you.

As you're waiting for a cab, you're take a plastic clip out of your bag. You twist your hair up and clip into place. House turns and watches you. "Uh uh. Cameron, this isn't Mommy and me night, give me that," he says, grabbing the clip out of your hair, you hair spiraling down around your shoulders.

What is he doing?

He drops the clip to the ground and smashes it with his cane. "We're going out tonight to have fun, like a bunch of stupid college kids. No need to put your hair up like you're impressing some friends who need to think you're conservative mom or some shit like that."

You tell him he could have just handed it back to you instead of smashing it to pieces at your feet.

"We'll stop at CVS or Duane Reade tomorrow and I'll buy you a new one, 'kay? Will that satisfy you?"

He just stuns you, but you can't help but laugh.

"Just get in the cab," he swats at you with his cane as the cab pulls to curb.

He's right. The bar is a hole in the wall. If you didn't know to look for it, you would never know it's there. There's no sign above the nondescript door, and there are high windows, so you can't see into the place. The bar is long and narrow. On the left side along the length of the wall runs the bar, on the right side there is a long cushioned bench, tables and chairs facing it. At the far end there is a stage, a u-shaped bar wrapped around it, surrounded by more chairs. It is a tight space. You are arriving fairly early, so you have your choice of seating at the moment, but not for long.

House guides you over to cushioned bench, the closest spot to the door, where there is a partition; there will be no one seated on one side of you two. "Here, sit next to me," he says as he slides in on the bench next to the partition. "Once the music really starts going - and it will - and the place gets crowded, I'll never be able to hear you otherwise."

You scoot in next to him, taking you coat off and lying it across your lap for the moment. He orders two scotches. In a matter of minutes, the place starts filling up and there is barely a seat to be found. There is a couple sitting across from the two of you, people are squeezing on to the bench, you have to keep inching closer to House. There are people crowded around the bar and around the stage. It's getting warm in the bar. Maybe it's the scotch.

You ask him how he found this place.

"Oh god, years ago, some drunken night, wandering around the city on a winter night. I barely remember," he pauses, "I think Wilson was with me. I just remember the music being fantastic. From what I recall they often have open Mic.-night, or the bands usually call up other musicians and jam, it was just amazing. I came a few times, but it's been years. I always wanted to come back. I'm glad it's still here." He's talking into your ear; his breath is tickling your neck. You pick up drink and take a gulp.

The music is amazing. The range of blues goes from soulful to funky to bluegrass. Musicians trading off and jamming with each other, creating poetry in unrehearsed moments. The palette on the stage is invigorating and moving, the music so full of depth. You are enjoying yourself immensely. You feel House tap his hand along to the bass line of a dark bluesy song, and two scotches in, you are craving a cigarette. Your vice.

You lean over and tell him how you're not used to un-smoky bars in Manhattan, it kind of freaks you out in a way.

"Yeah, it is kind of weird, especially in a blues club," he says, "thankfully, you can still get lung cancer in New Jersey."

You tell him you're craving a cigarette.

He pulls his head back in shock. "You? My moral compass of all that is good and sweet in this world? You craving a cancer stick?"

Hey, everyone has their vices. No one told him to put you on a pedestal, you're only human (hopefully he can see that you are real and make mistakes and are human and everything! What a shocker!).

"Dr. Cameron," he shakes his head, "Well, golly, I am just shocked!"

You laugh lightly at him. Now your fingers tapping at the table, trying to get rid of the urge to finger a cigarette. You haven't had that craving in a while. It doesn't happen to you often. Only occasionally do a few things trigger it - anger, alcohol and lust. Sometimes nervousness too, but not as often.

The band takes a break. Music is played on some speakers. You can see the smokers head outside right away, and the line for the bathroom is already long. You order your third scotch, this time with water (you better slow down, especially if House plans to keep you out until four in the morning).

You turn and face him as he's giving the waitress the rest of his order.

"So, do you like it?"

You love it, you tell him. You're having a great time. What about him? It's his birthday, wasn't this what he wanted?

"Yes, this is great," he smiles (again! This makes you happy).

"So, you're not mad at me for barging in on you this weekend?"

No, you're over it. Though, a little more notice, would have been considerate, so you would have been better prepared for his arrival. You realize you're beaming at him, so you turn away and lift your drink to your mouth. No really, it's good to see him, and Pearl loves him, she obviously hasn't forgotten him at all, which is hysterical. He laughs.

"Who would have thought?"

Yes, who would have thought that grumpy Dr. House would be totally smitten by a six month old baby and be totally wrapped around her little pinkie you ask him.

His drink in his hand pauses halfway to his mouth as he absorbs that statement. You are shocked that he has no quick comeback. You are relieved that you are saved by the music starting up and patrons filing back into their seats. Again, you are forced closer into House's body. Now, he has his arm along the top edge of the bench, so you are seated much more intimately than before. You glance up at him to see if he realizes this. He does, because he pulls you a little closer into him.

He leans down and whispers hotly through your hair into your ear. "You know, I didn't miss Pearl more than I missed you."

You feel a pang in your stomach. Slowly, you turn your head toward him and look up to his face. You see it before you can react. You feel before you can think. Soft lips on yours, cool tongue gliding slowly along your lips, gently, yet aggressively, entering your mouth, gliding over your tongue. He pulls away. "I missed you . . . a lot." Pecks your mouth one more time and brings his attention back to the stage.

He's good at shocking you. You'll give him that. He always has you on your toes. Because you did not expect that. Not from him. Not ever. Especially in a public place. Wow. That was incredible. You run your tongue along the inside your mouth, savoring the taste he left there. (Where is a speed a-dial girlfriend when you need one? Shit, you don't have any. Crap. You could really use some advice here).

You take your left hand and place it on his knee. The knee to his bad leg. He doesn't flinch, and he doesn't move your hand. A few songs later, you feel him put his left hand over yours and hold it, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand. You close your grip over his fingers a bit. You let the music, a little bit of the scotch, and the feelings just wash over you.

END PT 10B