Wesley: Baha. Can't answer those questions right now. You're sending Remy and Cam to take care of my ant issue? Screw ants. We're going to go study. Ahahahaha.
WrongObsession: Sugar cubes are amazing. Baha. I had tea the other day and was so sad...bc there were no sugar cubes. My cousin and I used to by them at the store then hide them under our beds and eat them super early in the morning.
Quirky: I'm glad that you're enjoying it and that I'm managing to put some depth to it!
Angel's: Yeah. If they're even really feelings yet though. It was more just...an attachment.
Roronoa: Aw. School tests from hell are no fun. When my Math teacher gives tests...before he writes the review, he always writes, "Hellish Test #_" on the board. Bahaha. And I love rambling never ending reviews! Seriously. They make my whole day. xD
Somuch: Yeah...I was a little hesitant at first, but not anymore. Glad to know I'm managing to handle it well. Thanks!
Wonderous: Glad you're liking it! And everyone keeps telling me about Glee now. Like...so suddenly. People online, people offline...Kinda scaring me. I feel compelled to watch it now. Ha.
Nameless: Yes, the guy does know Cameron. But...that's all I can say! Baha. I thought about giving you all a hint...but decided to just leave you questioning!
Ina: Psssh. I love theories and stuff. So what if we misunderstand each other? We can always fix it! And rambling/off topic isn't all that bad either. Haha. Glad you dislike Rebecca. I don't like her either.
Amazon: Baha. I have social anxiety. I might not do so well in a club! xD Baha. /You/ think I'm mean? Imagine how much Cameron must hate me with me making her brain stop at that part! -evillaugh- And totally not silly! Teehee. I just made Vanamo choke on a donut by the way. -dies- Now that I'm laughing hysterically and can barely type...
YDPP: Yes, she does know him. But other than that...I can't and won't tell you anything. Even if you scream, beg, cry, or threaten me with the flamethrower you apparently don't own. Ha.
Less than 13: There will be more flashbacks, but I promise there won't be anything graphic. The M rating is only bc rape is mentioned not bc I plan on getting graphic with it. So no worries!
SIGNAL FIRE
CHAPTER SEVEN
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door.
Thirteen's POV:
You don't know how long you've been sitting on the couch, but you're bored as hell. Your mind keeps wandering to Rebecca and how you missed out on a chance for sex with an amazingly hot girl. Knowing there will be other chances with her lessens your aggravation slightly but does nothing for your restlessness.
Cameron is curled up between you and the couch with her head resting on your shoulder. She stopped crying awhile ago but looks completely dazed. Her eyes are glazed over as she stares at the floor, barely even blinking. You're absent-mindedly running your fingers through her hair because you can't think of any way to comfort her. She covers her mouth and coughs a few times then curls up closer to you.
"Why don't you let me get you some more Tylenol?" you ask with an exasperated sigh as you place your hand on her forehead. You don't know why she's suddenly fighting against taking medicine. She shakes her head but you sit straight anyway, pulling her up with you.
"I don't want any," she argues in a hoarse voice, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. "I'm fine. I don't need medicine."
You snort and get to your feet. "You're burning up and can barely talk. Of course you're fine," you reply sarcastically. "How do you expect to get better if you refuse to take anything?"
"It'll run its course," she mumbles, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.
"Either that or you'll end up with Pneumonia," you retort. "If this is some twisted form of self-pity, I'm stopping it in its tracks." You watch tears fill her eyes and regret making her cry again but you don't regret what you said.
"Why do you even care?" she whispers, staring past you. "If I-"
"Stop." You don't even want to hear what she has to say. "I'm trying to be your friend. If you decide you suddenly don't want me to care then go to Cuddy's house." Part of you finds it hard to believe she's even acting like this. How many times have you openly cared about anyone at the hospital, or anyone in general? It figures that your attempts to be nice end up all wrong.
"Trying to be my friend?" she asks. "You're probably just trying to suck up to someone somehow by playing the Good Samaritan. You never tried to be my friend before."
You grit your teeth and narrow your eyes at her. "Are you done insulting me?" How were you supposed to ever be friends with her before? Hi, my name is Thirteen. I'm the doctor House chose to replace you with on the team because he thought I was hot. You're really cute. Want to get coffee sometime?
She stares at you a moment then lowers her head to her hands and presses her palms to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm not thinking. I wasn't…" Her voice trails off and she shakes her head.
You realize she isn't herself right now and that it isn't her fault. Thinking back on everything you've heard about her, everyone seems to like her and she's usually very sweet. You want to tell her that it's fine, but she actually offended you. You're not a shy person, but having a crush on her had something to do with why you never attempted talking to her before this.
"Sorry," she mumbles again.
"I know." You shove your hands into your pockets and realize you haven't changed out of the scrubs you put on after helping her in the shower. She's still in your sweatpants and hoodie. "I'm going to get you more Tylenol, even if you don't want it. We should probably get showers then get changed."
"Alright." She nods and lowers her hands to her lap. She just sits there for a moment then slowly gets to her feet. After grabbing the mugs from the table, she follows you into the kitchen and walks over to the sink.
"You don't have to wash the dishes," you comment as you dig through your medicine cabinet. "I can do them." You grab the Ecstasy on one of the shelves and quickly hide it behind a box of band-aids before taking the Tylenol down and getting one of the pills for her.
"It's okay," she answers, "I need something to do."
"We can think of something better than washing dishes later," you reply. Noticing the amount of steam coming from the water she's using, you place the pill on the table then walk over and place your hand under the water. "Damn it." You pull back as the water scalds you and quickly turn the knob for cold water on.
"I didn't realize it was that hot," she defends herself instantly, pulling her hands from underneath the water.
"Like hell you didn't," you reply. Now you're nervous to let her go take a shower. You turn the water off and grab her hands to examine them. They're red but fortunately not burnt. The last thing you need is another self-destructive person in your life. You have enough trouble handling yourself.
"Sorry," Cameron mumbles. She stares at her hands for a moment then pulls them out of your grip and crosses her arms.
"I'm going to go get a shower." You're half afraid to even leave her alone as you go to do that. "Take the medicine. There's water and orange juice in the refrigerator to take it with or you can make more tea if you want."
"Okay." She nods and seems to hesitate for a moment before walking over to your refrigerator.
You run your fingers through your hair then turn and walk to your bathroom.
You were hoping to be able to stand under the hot water and just completely forget about everything. The shower helps you relax a bit, but you still find your mind constantly on Cameron. You wonder what she's doing, if she's okay, what's going on in her head…It nearly drives you insane. Before you get out and dry off, you take your razors off the shelf and toss them from the shower to on the floor behind your paper can because you know what a temptation they can be when everything in life is going all wrong.
Even though you can't stop thinking about Cameron, you're not exactly eager to leave the bathroom. It's not that you're annoyed with her, but you don't know what to do. The constant change in her moods makes you feel like you're walking on eggshells. It makes you anxious which unfortunately seems to turn into anger. Trying to procrastinate, you end up just standing in front of your mirror blow-drying your hair until it's long past the point of being dry.
You're in the bathroom for probably an hour before you run out of reasons not to leave. You'll have time to yourself while she's in the shower anyway. You know your mind will be on whether or not she's trying to scald herself with the water though. You leave the blow-dryer on the counter incase she wants to use it then wrap a towel around yourself and walk to the living room.
After a long moment of just watching her sit on the couch wringing her hands together, you speak up. "Hey," you say softly. You try not to startle her, but she jumps anyway. "Shower's all yours."
"Oh." She nods and gets to her feet. "Ok. Thanks." She seems like she's trying to look you in the eye, but her gaze keeps wandering to the towel you're wearing.
"Sorry. I should have gotten dressed first," you say quickly, getting the feeling you're making her uncomfortable. She has a way of making you self-conscious about yourself and you can't decide whether or not you enjoy that. Whatever the sudden tension is between you, you have a feeling it's only sexual on your end and you begin scolding yourself. "I'm gonna go do that." You motion back to your room then quickly walk in that direction, groaning inaudibly. Can't you ever think of anything besides sex, Remy? Obviously you can, but right now it sure doesn't feel like it. The fact that she's hurt and you're still thinking about it makes you incredibly pissed off at yourself.
The shower water starts running in the bathroom and you stand in the middle of the bedroom for a moment to just listen to it before walking over to your closet. Letting your towel drop to the floor, you tell yourself you'll worry about picking up that and the articles of clothing on your bedroom floor later. Despite it being cold outside, it's warm in your house and you settle for wearing a black, silk nightgown that comes up to just above your knees.
As you go to shut your closet door, it gets caught on a box on the top shelf. Glaring up at the box, you give the sliding door a hard shove. It pushes the box which falls and nearly hits you in the face. It probably would have hit you if you hadn't jumped back a few inches. Muttering under your breath, you open one of the cardboard flaps to peek inside even though you just plan on putting it back up on the shelf.
A branch of your two-foot tall miniature Christmas tree pokes out. You now vaguely remember putting the box up there some time around Thanksgiving. You had meant to put the tree up in the living room but decided to just screw the holidays this year. Christmas just wasn't worth it when you spent it by yourself. It always felt like just another day whether you decorated for it or not.
You grab a chair from the corner of your room and drag it over to the closet. You're about to lift the box to replace it on the shelf when you're hit with an idea. You leave the box on the floor then climb onto the chair and lower two more boxes to the ground. Maybe you can distract Cameron with decorating. You can picture her being a sickeningly cheery Christmas kind of person.
You drag the boxes one by one to the middle of your living room. The shower water turns off and your blow-dryer turns on as you're in the middle of pulling the second box. You find yourself actually a bit excited. It reminds you of the Grinch's heart growing three sizes because you can't remember the last time you were excited over Christmas.
Once all three boxes are in the living room, you open the other two. The second is filled with lights and a few ornaments and the third has a train track and glass houses in it. You narrow your eyes at the third box and shove it roughly off to the side, your Christmas spirit slowly diminishing.
"What are you doing?"
You glance up as Cameron walks into the living room. She's wearing blue, Christmas pajamas. The top has a reindeer on it and the bottoms have a snowflake patter. "Seriously?" you ask with a goofy grin on your face, thinking she looks ridiculously adorable.
"What?" She wraps her arms around herself self-consciously and takes a slight step back. "It's December."
"I realize that," you answer, laughing. "And you're wearing Prancer or whatever his name is on your shirt."
Cameron stares at you a moment then uncrosses her arms and glances down at the reindeer for a moment before raising a brow at you. "Rudolph is the only reindeer with a red nose." She walks over to the boxes and kneels down, opening the one with the tree in it. Her eyes light up and she grins.
Her smile is contagious and you begin to pull the parts of the tree from the box and place them on the ground. "I thought this might distract us," you say, watching her take out the bottom of the tree then already begin trying to assemble it.
"I never would have taken you for someone who decorates," she comments, scooting over so you can help put the tree together. "This is like a midget tree. Shouldn't it just come already put together?"
"Don't pick on my tree," you tease, pretending to be offended. "You're going to hurt his feelings."
"It's a he?" she asks, her smile growing. "I didn't realize you had such an attachment to him."
"He's usually my only company during the holidays," you answer. "Do you have an issue with the relationship between me and my Christmas tree?"
"No," she giggles. Once the tree is put together, she inches back and claps her hands together. "Look how cute he is!"
You chuckle and shake your head. Not as cute as you are. Ugh, Remy, focus on the tree you really don't even give a damn about. "He needs lights."
"And ornaments!" She crawls on her knees over to the second box with you and helps you pull out rainbow colored lights and miniature red bulbs. "Every year, I always fold my lights so neatly and they come out tangled like this. At least it isn't only mine that seem to do that." She holds up your tangled mess of tree lights and tilts her head to the side.
You sit down cross-legged then take one of the ends and begin to help her untangle the lights. Part of you wonders if she'll be around long enough to spend Christmas with you. You try not to think about it because you don't want to set yourself up for the disappointment of being alone. "Do you put up a lot of decorations at your house?"
She smiles and nods. "It feels good, you know? You walk inside and the tree lights are lit up and everything looks like Christmas. My mom really likes candles so every year she sends me ones that smell like pine and gingerbread and cranberries. It's great. One year she even sent me one that smelled like candy canes." The lights are untangled and she helps wrap them around the tree. "My dad is really good at sculpting polymer clay. Every year he sends me an ornament he made. Last year, he sent me one that was Frosty the Snowman. It's detailed right now to the designs on his hat, scarves, and gloves. It's beautiful."
Your tree suddenly seems very mediocre. Everything about Christmas seems dull. You force the smile to stay on your face as you begin hanging the bulbs on the tree. "My dad sends me a card." Sometimes. You want to match up to her ramblings about the holiday and her family but you know you can't. Yup. My dad sent me three cards over the last five Christmases and never even bothered to take the $1 price tag off. You can feel her eyes on you, but you don't look at her because you know she's getting the feeling something is wrong. "It looks good," you announce, looking at your tree. It looks perfect, but you're too ashamed to feel it.
"Good?" she asks. "Thirteen, it looks amazing." She wraps her arms around you in a tight hug.
You pause then hug her back, burying your face against her hair and closing your eyes.
"What's in that box?" She rubs your back then pulls away and crawls over on her knees to the third box.
"Nothing important," you answer, following her. You reach to hold the cardboard flaps shut, but she already has them open.
"It's like an entire village!" She practically squeals in delight. "We used to have one of these when I was little but my brother broke all the people and houses." She rolls her eyes and exaggerates a sigh. "Boys."
"Oh," is all you can say. "It doesn't really match our tree. I'm just going to put them back in the closet."
"Are you crazy?" Cameron begins pulling out the houses, people, train, and tracks. "You can't just put them away. We have to set them up. Please?" She puts on her best pouty face, seeming oblivious to the fact you're not too eager to set up the little town.
"Fine," you answer with a sigh. You tell yourself you can always just put it all away once she leaves. "Just be careful with them, okay?"
"Of course," she replies. "They seem like they mean a lot to you."
"They don't," you lie. "They're probably worth money though."
"Well, I'll be careful either way." She smiles at you then begins to hook the pieces of the train track together.
You watch for a moment then hesitantly pick up the houses and people and began to make a little town in front of your tree.
You set things up exactly how you remember them when you were younger and they were under the tree in your house. Every year, you would sneak downstairs Christmas Eve night and play with them for hours and hours. Sometimes it would be light out by the time you crept back up to your bedroom. One year, your mom found you downstairs around two in the morning. You thought she was going to yell at you but instead she lied down on her stomach beside you and you spent a full two hours playing with the people. You vividly remember giggling as the two of you made them talk to each other and sing carols in front of the little glass houses. The year after that was when she began to show symptoms of Huntington's. She found you downstairs and threw one of the houses at the wall before screaming at you to get up to bed before Santa decided you shouldn't get any presents. You begged her to play with you and for some reason she got so angry that she literally threw your gifts outside in the snow.
The whistle of the toy train breaks your thoughts. You sit back and watch it begin to make a circle around the tree and village.
Cameron plugs the tree lights in then gets up and turns off the light in the room.
You stare mesmerized at the blinking lights then scoot closer to Cameron as she sits beside you. "Are you-"
"Shhh," she cuts you off and moves to lie down on her stomach, crossing her arms in front of her and resting her chin on them.
Watching her for a moment, you smile softly and admire how beautiful she is as the blinking lights reflect on her face. You want to lie down beside her but don't want to touch her and make her jump. You just want the moment to be peaceful.
"It's okay," she says almost as if she read your mind. She reaches over and grabs your arm, tugging you down beside her. She moves so the two of you are shoulder to shoulder. "When I was younger, my mom used to let me sleep under our tree. I haven't done that in years."
"We're not exactly under the tree," you comment. Even if the train wasn't in the way, you doubt there'd be enough room to even put your head under the tree without getting your eyes poked out from fake needles. It's been a long day and your eyelids are beginning to feel heavy to the point of where the lights are getting blurry. "You really want to sleep on the floor?"
She just smiles then buries her face against her arms. "I'm glad you're letting me stay with you," she mumbles.
"Mm," you answer and muffle a yawn. I'm glad you're staying.