Title: Tragic - PT 13
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: R (language)
Beta: Yutamiyu
Summary: Cameron's life (Cam's POV) - A Spring Blizzard arrives
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, just playing...

Unfortunately, my headaches are back...grr... so, short transition part here...that I feel iffy about... would love to hear feedback/suggestions/thoughts/comments... I do know where I want it to go, so I kind of see this as a transition part, but I don't know...my head isn't exactly screwed on right... also, way behind in responses and catching up on reading other wonderful fanfics that I so love to read (darn headaches)...and I will..b/c I just love them! Happy Holidays everyone! xo S

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You are full of nervous energy after he leaves. You need to keep your mind occupied. You know that you are burning your candle at both ends, but you need to do this to tire yourself out, so you crash, so you can sleep, so you don't think. Or feel.

You clean like a fiend. Kitchen. Floor. Counters. Refrigerator. Make sure all the cabinets are clean and orderly. A clean house, the opposite of your mind. You are happy that Pearl is quietly playing by herself in her playpen. You feel a tinge of guilt that you are not spending the rest of the day with her, but you just can't stop. Start the laundry, switch the loads. (You love having a washer and dryer in your New York apartment; you know it's a hot commodity, but it's a life saver for you, a single mom with a baby.) Bathroom. Scrub the tub, the walls, the floor, the toilet, the sink...of course, he had to leave something. You stop your rampage momentarily and eye your toothbrush holder. There is an extra brush mingling in the cup with yours. It's green, relatively new. You pick it up and finger it, deciding whether or not to throw it in the trash or not. You hear Pearl cry. Okay, no trash (for now). Just put it in the medicine cabinet, where you won't have to look at it every day. Quickly wipe the sink and head to your child.

You are exhausted. Evening fell earlier than usual for some reason. You haven't had the television on all day, so you have no idea what the weather will be tomorrow. You were supposed to call Emily and Charles, but you just couldn't. And you turned off the phone. You'll call tomorrow. Right now, Pearl is dreaming away in her crib. You are soaking in a hot tub, bubbles, candles, glass of wine, and a cigarette. You're breaking your own rule about smoking in the house, but you realize you've broken many of your own self-imposed rules this weekend, so what's the difference if you have one or two cigarettes in your closed bathroom? You tell yourself you will trash the pack after the bath.

When the water starts becoming cold, and you realize you're starting to drift, you lift yourself out of the tub and towel yourself off. You're almost afraid to touch your body; it feels so different, so raw, so fragile, but you try not to think about it. It doesn't feel like your body. You feel altered. You worry that you won't be able to sleep in your bed. Shit. Your bed. You never changed the sheets. You just avoided your room all day. Let it remain the tornado-ridden land, the place where storms met. God, you're so tired now. And there's not a chance you're sleeping on that couch. You realize if you're going to end up thinking about him in whichever sleeping location you choose, you would rather be in the comfort of your own bed.

Your own bed...for some reason, it just doesn't seem like your bed now. The rumpled and strewn sheets. The smell of sex still permeating the room. Tossed clothes lingering on the margins of your room, black lacy panties twisted on the floor. Stay focused, you tell yourself. You are tired. It's late. You have to go to sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow you will take care of this. Tomorrow.

But tonight, all you can do is smell him on your sheets. Inhale his scent where his head lay. It takes you a bit to realize it, but you're smiling and absently running your arm along the empty side of the bed. You think of his hair and the way it felt against your hand, and how you liked your hand at the nape of his neck, that tender spot that you love, an intimate spot to touch someone, to run your hand along their neck, the place you like to nuzzle your nose and mouth along skin. You feel him, his breath on you, stubble on your skin, arms around you, intertwining legs...

Damn him. Damn him. This shouldn't be so hard. No, you fight with yourself, you are not going to cry again. No. No. No. You struggle with your mind and your senses, and somewhere in your struggle, you fall asleep.

What you didn't know was that you were waking up to snow. A lot of snow. A blizzard. You hadn't watched the news in days. You had no idea. You call the hospital. They decide that you are nonessential and that you should stay home, but they expect you in tomorrow (bearing in mind you can get there) to relieve the doctors who will have been in since Sunday or early Monday.

So, though you normally enjoy the December snow, the last thing you need is another day to yourself to sit and think. Shit. You guess it was a good thing that House left early... What would have it been like if you were snowed in together? You laugh. The Fates are definitely playing with your life somehow, you just haven't figured that part out yet. What are their plans?

You sit in the living room, confined to your apartment, the place that has become the stage to your life, playing with Pearl. Absently staring out the window, you watch the accumulating snow. The snow drifts blowing across the narrow streets, parked cars now looking like sugar lumps in the grey sky. The city has come to a standstill; peaceful, glowing. So different from yesterday. Still so different from how you are feeling, yet the turbulent winds are still so similar.

You make your phone calls. Emily and Charles are thrilled to hear from you, as is their regular response now. They are concerned you sound tired. You tell them not to worry and quickly update them on Pearl and every little new thing she has done in the past week. You try to keep a mental tab running of things to tell them: she tried a new food, she rolled over, sat up, cut a tooth, etc. They're always happy to hear it. You're really glad that the turmoil that you had with them has dissipated into normal grandparent-grandchild relationship stuff. It's so much easier. And you need easy for a while.

The phone rings shortly after lunch. You are wondering if it's House. It's not. It's John. He's calling to say hello and see if you need anything. Well, you're a little short on diapers and hot cocoa, but you'll last until tomorrow, you laugh. He says he's on his way! Do you mind the company? You sit up straight on your couch in surprise. What?

The Midwestern boy in him loves the snow. And he would like to see you, if you wouldn't mind. How about he brings a movie?

Sure. He's making you laugh. And taking your mind off things. Can't be such a bad thing, right?

A half hour later your doorman rings, and you admit John into your secure building. He arrives at your door in layers of flannel, a funny hat and waders. You laugh at him, as he hands you a grocery bag, and he shakes the snow off in the hallway and starts stripping out of his waders.

"Hey. I'm dry," he smiles at you.

You smile back. You're glad to see him. Dealing with him is a little lighter, a little easier. It's a change. And his presence helps you take your mind off other things...at least for a little while. He comes bearing more than just diapers, hot cocoa, and DVD. He fires the stove up and starts cooking you dinner. What does this man not do?

As he is preparing a lovely pasta dish, you are changing Pearl into her PJ's. You have already opened a bottle of wine, and have each enjoyed a glass and you are a bit more relaxed. And you have been laughing and you feel better. It's nice. You are wrist-deep in dirty diaper when you hear the phone ring. You call to John in the kitchen and ask him to answer it; at this time of night, it's probably the hospital calling. You hate it when you're wrong. (And you're starting to realize that you are wrong way too often.)

John rounds the door into Pearl's room and hands you the cordless, saying he must dash back to the kitchen before dinner burns up. He tells you it's Greg House.

Shit. Double shit.

You take the phone from him, cradling it as you finish snapping Pearl up in her pink PJ's. Hello?

"Hi." You wait for the snarky comment. "I just wanted to see how you and Pearl were doing with the weather."

You tell him that you're both fine. You ask him if he got home okay.

He tells you that he did. And that Tate and Donovan are idiots. You laugh.

"So...you have company," he says tentatively.

Yes, you tell him, honestly and strongly. John was kind enough to call and asked you if you needed anything from the store for the baby. You hear him smirk through the phone.

"Well, wasn't that nice of him," he says sarcastically.

Yes, you respond smugly. You don't know how you could have ran out to get diapers with Pearl with you. Silence. Well, you should be going, since you have company.

"Cameron..." he starts.

Yes? You wait. As always.

"It was good to see you this weekend. Thanks for letting me barge in on you. Give Pearl a kiss for me." Before you can respond, he abruptly hangs up. His sincerity surprises you. He's always so quick to cut it short, to not let you respond, like he's appearing so vulnerable to you that you will just stab him and kill him. He's frustrating. This frustration just makes you want to cry. You're tired of crying. They're different types of tears, not always sad, just so emotional. This shouldn't be so hard. You keep thinking this to yourself.

Pearl goes to bed shortly after your clipped phone conversation with House. She's an angel, she's the steady, calm in your life. Though being a mother is demanding and difficult at times, she encompasses you. You are thankful for that.

You enjoy your dinner with John. You drink too much wine and you laugh too much. You know you're forcing it a bit, especially after the phone call and the weekend in general. You put the DVD in but you don't even watch it, you just are talking, which is nice. You like John's warm, pleasant company, his easygoing manner; it's so calming. Inside you feel so stormy. You are masking, you hate masking. You think of your bedroom, the tornado remnants, and know that's what you are, and that you are hidden behind doors.

When John leans in to kiss you, you are startled. Instinctively, you back away. Your hand immediately goes to your mouth. He apologizes. And you shake your head and tell him it's not his fault (it's not). You feel a tear creeping down from the corner of your eye. You lie to him. You tell him you're just not ready; you thought you were, but you're not, and you're sorry. It's been hard having Pearl by yourself, and you have depended greatly on your friends and their support, but you just haven't let go of Ryan (House) yet. He is sympathetic and he understands. When you walk him to the door, he gives you a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek, and with great sincerity tells you that he thinks you're a great person (you hate yourself) and that he hopes that you two can still be friends.

You shut the door behind him. Again, finding yourself trapped within your apartment walls, trapped with the confines of your mind and your body, your spirit withering, your heart in turmoil. You felt like you were cheating. Cheating? How could that be? Your body feels shocked. You shut off the lights and head to bed. Fuck the sheets. You strip naked and savor the smells and the touch and the memories as you reach and stretch your body across the span of your bed. You miss him. You do. You hate him and love him. You just don't know what he is. Or what he wants. Or whom he loves. Or how he loves. You hate him for that. You know he is layered, you know he is complicated. Somewhere, in some closed-off cell in your being, you need him. That clam in you is opening and needing light, and touch, and everything else.

You listen to the sounds of the snow in the city. The silence, the wind, the solitude. It is wrapping you into your apartment, like you are wrapped in your sheets, an entanglement that is unreal, a winter wonderland that will turn ugly. Tomorrow, once the city gets moving again, everything will change. The world will no longer be white and peaceful. Everything will be black and muddy and wet and dirty, icy and dangerous. Nothing has changed. Your short interlude is gone.

Somehow, you know that you will go on, with or without him. In sorrow or not, but somehow you will bury all of this into a deep part of you and keep moving along with the dirty, snow-filled city.

END PT 13