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"Should I just go?"
"If you want."
Cameron slides the milk into the refrigerator before pouring the remains of his soup into a plastic container. She can hear the apathy all the way from where he's sitting on his computer where the hallway begins. Snapping the lid shut on the container, she repeats her actions as she'd done with milk before resting her forehead on the refrigerator door.
"I put your soup away beside your milk."
No answer, though she's not surprised. It's steadily been getting worse, the past four days dividing a wedge between them, and she doesn't know why. Well, she does partly. He's gotten an extremely difficult case, one that she's tried to help on since they usually make an unofficial unstoppable team, but it makes it all that much easier for him to treat her like his duckling once more.
She doesn't miss the anger at the misdiagnosis, the curious hovering over her shoulder, the mocking of her answers, the biting remarks about her closeness with the patient, the sharp jabs at her medical abilities. And she doesn't deserve it. She's a great doctor, and she knows this, everyone knows this. It seems like everyone knows it but him.
The clicking of the mouse is harsh and quick to her ears. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Cameron stands by his door, wanting him to just turn sideways and look at her. They've been together three months and she deserves that little, now. But she reaches for the doorknob, the solid metal cool against her touch, and twists it with a simple lateral rotation of her wrist.
When the warm air of early spring hits her cheeks, she leans against the outside of his door, content for once to just stand here. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why she puts up with this, with him, with these short appearances of loneliness. She loves him. Everyone knows it, had always known even when it wasn't even that true. It seems like everyone knows it but him.
--
Hadley holds the file out to him, wondering if this recent string of need-a-case-every-day is going to end anytime soon. True, it's better than sitting on her ass all day listening to him question her sexuality, but she's not the only one getting worn out by non-stop diagnoses and treatments.
Yanking the red file out of her fingers, House leans forward on his elbows to study the latest could be case, noticing the name of the attending who'd referred the case.
Allison Cameron, M.D.
"Guess what? We're taking a day off."
"If Cameron thinks we should –."
"Take it back!"
Her eyes blink a few times before grabbing the file off his desk and making her exit, but as her fingers curve around the door handle, she halts. "Just because you can't handle your feelings for your ex, doesn't mean you can just toss her judgment off."
"My feelings or lack thereof, are none of your concern."
The door closes as House stands, slowly limping his way to the vertical blinds. Shutting them closed with a smooth flick of the wrist one at a time, his office is suddenly bathed in eerie darkness that's touched by a few random streaks from the outside sun. With no one to spy through the glass walls, House uncomfortably lies down on the carpeted floor that has more than enough memories of this same anatomical position. House assumes it – head straight, feet straight, arms abducted slightly with palms out.
Four days. Four days of knowing, and doing nothing about it. It's not cowardice. It's not fear. It's not anger. It's not regret. It's just…hurt. Gregory House is hurt. How bizarre.
Steps pass by, shuffled and hurried, doors close harshly and voices begin to filter through the world beyond his mind. He can't grasp what's happened to him. Maybe he doesn't want to. Every time he thinks about her, he remembers her being there when he woke up and visiting him after. He'd been somewhat intrigued by her comfort around him, by her newfound confidence that had surfaced as soon as she was left free of his rule, by her friendliness. He won't lie. He'd been turned on by her, though that isn't something new.
"Where's House?"
He knows that obnoxious, needy voice.
"You really think I'd know?"
And he knows that dangerously pregnant voice.
"He's here, isn't he?"
The door handle lowers, but unluckily for Wilson, House has locked it.
"Again, do you really think I'd know?"
"Cameron…you're not as cavalier as you think."
Even from here, House can see that piercing stare she reserves for special occasions.
"It's obvious he doesn't want anything to do with me or my baby."
"He's still adjusting to the news. It takes time."
"Are you saying that for me or are you trying to make yourself believe that for you?"
Touché, Cameron.
"God, Cameron, I'm saying it for both of us."
Ah, Wilson's too needy to lie about that.
"Look, I'm going to be late for my meeting with Cuddy, so--."
"What meeting?"
Yeah, what meeting?
"It's nothing."
"If it's nothing why don't you tell me?"
Yeah, why not?
"Cuddy just wants to make sure I'm not stressing myself out about everything."
Oh.
"Oh, okay."
House hears her heavy footsteps walking away.
"Cameron!"
A pause.
"You're alright…being here, right?"
His ears strain for her undoubtedly softer voice.
"Yeah. Of course."