Title: Tragic - PT 17
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: MA
Summary: Cameron's life (Cam's POV) - In the morning, was it real or was it a figment of Cameron's mind? Did House really come to her?
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, just playing...
Note: S2 does not exist in this story.
Beta: Many thanks to the lovely yutamiyu who has been experiencing horrible internet problems. She found a creative solution (and yummy place) to get this back to me! Thank you thank you! hugs

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You open your eyes to a sunlit Saturday morning, white gray city light pouring through your windows onto your bed, faint sounds of city below reaching up to you in soft tones, your room feeling like an angelic city cloud. You are lying half-naked on your bed, your silk robe barely covering you, edges of you soft comforter pulled around you -- you never got under the blankets last night. You begin to wonder if House's appearance was really just part of your twisted dreams -- a figment of your mind, imagination, hopes and dreams -- or was it a reality? You feel his soft touch on your skin, his mouth on yours, his arms around you warming you... you want to believe that what you remember last night was -- no, is real.

Your dreams were tangled journeys down familiar and unfamiliar paths, some lit so bright they were blinding; other paths you stumbled through were covered in extreme darkness, you moving cautiously, your feet feeling out open spaces before you moved, your hands reaching out to touch walls and organic things as you made your way down twisty passages. You were an explorer last night, Indiana Jones in the jungle of your own mind, in quest of some thing, of some truth. You see flashes of images and colors and have feelings that you can't seem to connect into one complete picture, pieces of the puzzle missing. How you wish you could record your dreams.

You glance at the clock, surprised that you haven't heard Pearl stir yet. As you clamor to the edge of your bed, you suddenly note the photo albums neatly stacked on the floor. And then you see evidence that House wasn't a dream – not just a figment of your mind, your heart... You see his jacket, and button down tossed over your chair, belt on the seat, wallet and watch on the bedside table, sneakers tossed at the end of the bed. It wasn't an illusion.

A hearty laugh and baby giggles filter toward your bedroom and stir you from your set gaze. Pulling your robe around you, you stumble toward your kitchen and wonder when you became such a heavy sleeper. The aroma and sweet sounds coming from the kitchen beckon you. First you see Pearl in her highchair, her colorful cups and Cheerios spread before her, bib on, crusted baby cereal on her smiling baby cheeks. You turn the corner to see a socked House, whistling, and flipping pancakes. He looks up and see you, gives you what amounts to be a bashful grin, so you think.

"Hiya."

Pearl turns her head, sees you, squeals like a little piglet and bangs her baby palms on the highchair tray. You go over to her and kiss her head, smoothing over her tousled curls. It's the nicest greeting you've gotten from her all week.

Hi, you say, feeling a little awkward, though trying your best not to, and at the same time trying not to jump out of your skin... because you want to put your arms around him, just for being here, for saying what he said last night, your mind becoming more focused, hoping what he said was real. You're still, very still. You're afraid that whatever happened last night was temporary or a dream, even though you're remembering more and more with each waking moment. You're afraid to look away or move. You watch his eyes, but you're not sure what they are telling you right now, temporary curtains hanging, though there is light shining through.

"You hungry?"

He breaks eye contact first. (Damn him.)

"I made pancakes. Wilson's special recipe -- Macadamia Nut."

You move to sit down at the table, feeling, for some reason, a little defeated.

A mug of coffee is put in front of you. You focus your eyes on it, as you feel a hand on your shoulder and a mouth place a kiss on that marked spot discovered on your clavicle last night. You feel him touch the tips of your hair as he walks back to the stove, goose bumps covering your body, you tingling inside and out. You are startled by his display of affection, but you accept it, take it, greedily inhale it into you, and move on, a warm blush covering the inside of your body.

Macadamia nuts? You didn't know you had them.

"You didn't," he says blankly, "I brought a stash I stole from Wilson."

You raise your eyebrow, but he can't see you. You sip your coffee, your eyes focusing on displays on warm swirls of cream in your cup.

You try to quiet your mind, questions and emotions firing as quickly as synapses sending messages in your brain. What's going on? What does this mean? What is he doing? What do you feel? What does he feel? What does he want? What does he expect? What does he see? Does he love you? Does he love you like you love him? What about Pearl? What about everything?

You imagine your eyes are like ping pong balls being swatted across the table in rapid succession, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, because suddenly you realize House has pulled up a chair next to you and has laid a warm palm on your leg.

"Cameron, it's okay," he says softly, unlike him. "We have time."

You look at him, and you know your eyes betray the questions and the worry swamping your brain. You wish they didn't, but you know how transparent you can be, even when you don't want to be.

"It's okay," he tells you again, his voice soft in your ear, his lips grazing your face. "Here, eat." He pushes in front of you his favorite breakfast.

You know you need to be assured by his words, by his quiet actions -- these large grand steps for him. You are so afraid. You hear ghostly echoes in your head reminding you to take the chance, that you were once happy, that you still can be. You look at House flipping pancakes on the griddle, making a silver dollar pancake without nuts and cooling it down for Pearl. You watch her mash the small cake into bits with her fingers, eating the warm crumbs, licking her little pudgy baby fingers.

House sits between the two of you, breaking a piece of his pancake off and feeding it into her open mouth, he laughs, she giggles, he turns to look at you with a goofy smile and unusually twinkly blue eyes. Without realizing it, you take a deep breath and cross that line. You reach out and put a hand on his leg and start enjoying breakfast.

Breakfast pretty much is focused on Pearl and conversation is light and airy. It doesn't feel right to you. You think it's awkward for him too, you're both forcing it. But you have a child. And even though she can't quite understand your words, she can feel some of your emotions and understand your facial expressions and it just doesn't seem right to be talking in front of her. This is so difficult. Your chest feels so tight like boa constrictors wrapped around you ready to squeeze the life out of you. But at the same time you feel so grateful that House is here, that you have this chance -- both of you -- to talk, to be, or at least try to be, and that is so new.

You instinctively know how much House secretly loves being around Pearl, so you start gathering breakfast plates and let him tend to cleaning her up. You smile to yourself when you hear him talking to her. You are lost in your own chuckles and washing maple syrup off plates, when you feel a caned-hand and arm wrap around your waist. You gasp lightly at his touch, such a gift and a pleasure to you now.

You turn off the water, drying your hands on a dish rag and turn towards him. He has Pearl on his left hip. She is quietly tracing her fingers over the elaborate pattern on his T-shirt, examining the picture very thoroughly. House watches her intently, his cane pressed against your back, the three of you in a little hug, your arms falling lightly around his waist and in support of Pearl.

His affectionate gestures are still shocking to you, but you are accepting them quietly and without big reactions. Is this the private House? Is this the sharing House? You are tickled on the inside, feeling the pull low within you, and you try not to let it show in your face or eyes too easily.

"So," he says slowly, "normally, well, there is no normal here...but I would never think to ask this of you, but today, I think the circumstances are slightly different."

Yes? You raise an eyebrow in question.

"Any chance," he hesitates, looks quickly at you, at Pearl, back to you, then drops his eyes to the floor, "we could drop Pearl with a babysitter today... so, so we could talk?"

(Greg House wants to talk? You want to mock him, just to tease him, like you guys normally would, but you don't.)

You look at him, note his eyes are full of concern and worry, conflicted by question he has just posed, but you understand why.

Before you answer, he continues, "But tomorrow... tomorrow, we'll spend the whole day with her."

Tomorrow? You smile.

You laugh. He plans on still being here tomorrow. You have a ray of sunshine in you. You suddenly feel like a teenager again.

"And maybe Monday too?" he shrugs and pulls you a little closer. You feel the roughness of his jeans through your robe.

Ok, you laugh, pulling away before the heat of him gets too intense, the smell of his skin so close, the coarseness of his jeans against your silk tingling against your skin. You quickly grab the cordless phone in the kitchen and start dialing away.

Luckily, you soon find an available babysitter that you have used before who is close by, and said she would be more than happy to take Pearl for the day. You feel bad -- you told a white lie. You said you had an emergency at work, and she would be dropped off by her 'godfather.' (He offered. He likes to walk.)

You get Pearl ready and pack together all her things for the day. You send her off with 'Uncle Greg' with a kiss on the head and good directions for her Uncle for the four or so blocks they need to go. You always hate letting her go, even though you've adjusted in order to go back to work, you still miss her during the day. How does he always continue to read you so well? Just knowing how you hate to give up your weekend days with her...you think about taking Monday off.

Although you got some good sleep last night, you're still a bit tired. You know talking with Greg is going to be a bit draining, and you feel you need to pep up and recharge. You run a hot tub, thinking a quick soak will rest your body and enliven your soul for the day. You are at the same time nervous and scared, and excited and joyful to be spending this unusual alone time with Greg. Greg -- you're not used to calling him that, but you're going to try.

The times you two have spent alone together before have been many layers of gray, unanswered questions and unspoken words floating like rain heavy clouds through the room. Even the one night of pleasure you shared together was full of the unspoken -- the things you dared not to say, thoughts and emotions you could not put words to, the explicit pleasure you two joined in becoming a disappointment because of the things you avoided, the fear you discovered later in both of your eyes, the things you were both afraid to see. Do you still have that same fear? Why are you trying now?

You sink further into your hot bubbles, finding one of Pearl's bath toys with your toe. You lift it up with your foot and toss it into the sink. You think about that fear again, that black blanket that both have covered yourselves with for a long time. Why let go now? You should shoot yourself. You roll your eyes and laugh at yourself and recall the many times you tried to let white bubbles replace the dark blanket as you cried in the tub, deep sobs echoing off tile walls. You were lonely. You've been truly alone. You have missed him. Him. His friendship. His companionship. Even his sharp, acerbic manner and tongue. You blush at your thoughts -- just thinking of him -- and bring your hand to your forehead and cover your face.

"Allison?"

You nearly jump out of the bathtub, water and bubbles splashing up the walls and onto the floor, your heart in your throat muffling a scream.

House is standing in the open doorway. He laughs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

You try to calm yourself, your hands braced over your chest to calm your heart. You look at him and laugh.

He got back rather quickly.

"It wasn't far," he limps into the bathroom. "You were in deep in thought," he states, grabbing a spare towel and tossing it on the wet floor.

Hmm. Yes, you guess. Just thinking, you tell him.

"Really?" He's unbuttoning his oxford and toeing off his shoes, his cane hanging on the towel rack.

You watch him. You ask him what is he doing?

"Joining you," he says matter-of-factly.

You must look surprised. His T-shirt is now with his oxford, socks in sneakers, he looks at you. "Cover your eyes."

Seriously?

"Seriously."

You're insanely smiling as you shut your eyes tight. (You laugh a little to yourself, keeping it all inside, you've already seen his thigh, he's already seen your pregnancy stretch marks and your breasts before and after pregnancy -- which are obviously not the same. What is there left to hide?) You don't know what to think. You like the idea of him joining you in your tub -- for his company and his closeness (you smirk on the inside). You two have this crazy, weird bathroom thing; you actually feel pretty comfortable sitting naked in a tub with him around.

What's weird is that you've never really dated. And what would you define what you two have? Is it any semblance of a relationship? What two people share a tub for Pete's sake? Your head is spinning.

You hear the water splash lightly as a limb is inserted into the tub, the level of warm water shifting around your skin. You say to him, he's pretty comfortable in the bathroom with you, huh?

"I don't know quite how to answer that yet," he answers as you hear him continue to lower his body into the water, little waves rippling up against your skin tickling you, his feet brushing with yours. "We always seem to have somewhat serious conversations in the bathroom..."

True, you laugh.

"I don't know why, it's kind of weird, but I guess it works." He pauses. "Ok, you can open them."

You open your eyes to see him seated across from you, his legs running up along your thighs feel like silk in the water, his feet playfully tapping at your hips. You enjoy the view of his muscular arms relaxing along the edge of the tub, long fingers tapping out a tune on the porcelain. You want to gasp, but you control yourself. But, God, he's sexy. You are trying to maintain your control and not crawl yourself across the tub and straddle yourself across his lap, so your fingers and your mouth can explore every inch of his chest and neck, face, mouth, hair, nibble his ears, stare into those blue blue eyes, feel his stubble on your skin. You are holding back a grin.

He gives you a quick and large cheesy smile that he quickly puts away. You laugh and he grabs at your foot and pulls your body towards him. You lose your balance, your torso falling back into the water. Greg grabs at your elbow, pulling you out of the soapy water and bringing you closer to him, a small beautiful smile gracing his face. Again, you are surprised by his actions -- but you love when he surprises you.

Water is running down your back, your hair dripping with bubbles, he pulls you closer to his chest -- one hand wrapped around your waist, one holding your wrist. "I've got to tell you, I've been wanting to do this for too long."

He leans in and kisses you hotly, lips caressing yours, his hot thick tongue delving into your mouth, probing your tongue, exploring you, tasting you, his scruff burning your cheek. His hand holding your wrists tightly between your two chests, he releases his hand upward to caress your cheek. You moan lightly into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue.

He pulls away and nuzzles your neck, your body responding in every way -- your breathing becoming hitched, wet nipples hardening in the cool air and just against the touch of his skin, hot wetness between your thighs in the water. You instantly feel relaxed, feel worries melting away from your frame, you feel enraptured by his touch, his mouth, his steely gaze on you. His hands are remapping your body, your buttocks, your breasts. You are at his will.

Abruptly he pushes you back. You know your eyes are heavy with lust and question. His are strong and sturdy, and also heavy with desire. "I want you, badly. Don't doubt that," he says shaking his head at the bath pool, "but that's not why I got in here... well, not the main reason," he continues, a small smile briefly grazing his lips, you watch his chest breathing heavily.

You calm yourself a little to listen to him, though you are heaving and throbbing with desire.

He holds your wrists gently. "I came here," he says, indicating the whole space around you both, "hoping you would talk to me. And well, you didn't throw me out the door like I deserved, but I don't want you to think I don't want to talk about some of the things that we need to talk about -- and you know I'm pulling my own teeth here, because we should. And I don't want to fuck this up. Okay?" You know he's stumbling and searching for the right words, you see the strain in his face, the difficulty of making those sentences.

Okay, you agree.

He looks relieved by your agreement.

But, you begin, A) if we stay in the tub, we're going to get all shriveled and pruney and B), you say, standing in the tub in front of him, reaching out your hand to him, if we don't do something right away with this excess 'energy' (you wink), the two of you will never be able to talk seriously.

You pull the stopper, and you see his face drain with the water. You are still standing in front of him, feet in a stance over his legs. He sits up a bit and leans himself forward, his warm tongue licking up your inner thighs. A sigh escapes you. Long fingers part your curls and a tongue darts softly and wetly over you little nub, as his fingers start to explore your folds. Your legs feel weak.

He removes his mouth. An evil smirk appears on his face, "I agree. Hand me my cane, would you?"

You step gingerly out of the tub, his fingers grazing your skin as your feet move from porcelain to bath mat. You hand him his cane, you're about to ask him if needs your help but you're not sure if you should, when he says, "I don't need your help, but wait for me."

You quickly dry off with a towel and go to the cabinet for another one for Greg. He quickly takes it from you, wrapping it around his waist. You can't help but notice his erection making its declaration through the terry cloth.

You start to head into your bedroom, you place a hand out behind you for Greg, which he accepts, interlacing his fingers with yours. He pulls you close to him, and the two of you travel as one, he removing your towel as you walk, hands exploring your breasts again, his mouth nuzzling your neck -- right away remembering that spot that made you squirm and scream. You feel his cock pressing through the towel right up against you. You want to touch him, stroke him, taste him.

You fall onto the bed together. Hands and mouths exploring each other rapidly and with great pleasure. This intimacy so different than last time. Now you are both more playful -- teasing, smiling... happy. There is thorough exploration of each other's bodies -- time taken that wasn't taken before. Greg's mouth and tongue a wonderful sweet sponge exploring, tasting, pleasuring you. You love when he spreads your legs wide and explores your entire sex with his mouth and tongue -- taking his time to stroke you to the edge, and then backing you down, and doing it all over again. Hot kisses up along thighs are tantalizing you, your nipples aching to be held between his teeth.

He seems forever lapping between your legs; you could die from the pleasure. His fingers spread you apart, his tongue flat against you running the entire length of you, teasing you clit. He rubs his scruff gently along you, the painful pleasure making you cry out for more, your back arching. He lifts your hips and ass toward him, wrapping your legs over his shoulders. His tongue darts in and out of you, but you need more, he's tantalizing you without mercy. Then you feel a long finger slip into you, you cry out aching for more. You catch his eyes, urging him on, your hands going down to his hair, your legs wrapping tighter around his shoulders. As he slips in another finger, you feel your muscles tightening a bit. You are in ecstasy. You feel him slip in a third, and you moan. His tongue stops tracing the length of you and finds your swollen nub. He swirls it, you feel hot flashes behind your eyes.

You coo 'Oh Baby,' not realizing the words slipping out of your mouth. Your body starts forcing itself down onto his face, his fingers fucking you faster, his tongue sucking at your clit and your gone, you're screaming out, grabbing a fistful of his hair, wanting to fuck now, wanting to fuck him now, as electricity shudders from your head down through your spine to your toes and you fall back totally wasted and sated. He pulling and draining from you an amazing climax.

You suddenly feel very bashful and aware and vulnerable. Greg smiles at you, but doesn't move from his position between your legs. Slowly he begins to lap up all your juices. You want to protest, but you are filled with aftershocks by each lap, your body betraying you. He works his way upward, laying baby kisses across your belly, sucking on breasts, finally finding your mouth and inhaling it deeply -- you tasting yourself on him.

"Feeling better?" he smiles, burying his face in your neck, his body hot pressed up against yours.

You're speechless. You cannot speak.

"Good. We can talk now with much less distraction," he says smartly.

You are in awe of him. Your eyes wide, your mouth silent.

"Great pussy, by the way," he smiles.

You smack him lightly on the arm, roll on top of him, and start kissing his neck and chest, running your tongue along his jaw, nibbling on his ear in the way you noticed makes him curl his toes. You are not done. You need to pleasure him, or bring him to climax the way he did for you. There would be a distraction, for you, if you didn't. Or if you didn't at least consummate this day, bring it all together, as you have been coming together since the early morning hours. Things clicking all together into places like they never have before.

You open a bedside drawer and pull out a condom (for some reason, you decided to stock up after your last encounter, wishful thinking come true). He looks at you with raised eyebrows. You roll it onto his cock and slowly lower yourself onto him. He closes his eyes, gasping quietly. You feel his hands come around and grab your ass. You love the control you have in riding him -- the speed, the pressure, the tightness of your muscles.

You can tell he is feeling impatient as he starts to thrust upwards to you. You hold him down with your hips to make that harder and smile at him, leaning over to lick to him lips and grin evilly at him. Slowly you clench, and roll yourself around his cock so tightly he lets out a loud moan. You bring yourself up to the tip of his length and come down hard and tight, you increase your speed. The friction is bringing you to climax again, you feel wanton, sweaty, your breasts heaving, you are losing yourself in this enjoyment.

You see him watching you, getting more aroused the hotter and more wanton you feel and display, his hand exploring your body, running over your back and your breasts. You suddenly feel very light and you know you are coming to come again, you tell him. He holds your hips, thrusting into you hard as you cry out, ripples exploding through your body. You watch his face wince -- a mixture of pain and pleasure, a certain heat filling you, a flush immediately crawling up his neck. You collapse against him, and Greg wraps his arms around you, kissing your head.

Your face nestled against his sweat laced chest, his fine hairs tickling your cheek. His fingers are running up and down your back, the afternoon sun white, glistening the room in an unusual snowy softness, everything feeling downy. You feel like you are floating on a cloud. You feel like you two are finally fitting your pieces together.

Okay, you tell him, we can talk now.

END PT 17