Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Don't get your panties all in a bunch about borrowing the characters and messing around with them either. I'll put them back when I'm done. Honest.
Title: Warm and Fuzzy
Author: DragonChaos
Feedback: Sure! Love to hear your thoughts.
Author's Note: Wow, I can't believe some of the feedback I've been getting for this. I absolutely love you guys. Love; not like, love! You are the reasons that make me want to continue writing this story, even when the going gets tough. You all helped me through this particular chapter as it was a little harder for me to write because I had to do a lot of research for some of the medical info (and I probably got it wrong anyway ducks), college midterms assaulted me left and right, and life just kept coming at me from all angles. It also took me a while to write it because I tend to reread a lot and rewrite parts that either don't make much sense to me or just sound wrong, like something the characters do or say that seem way out of character.
So, I apologize in advance for any errors in the medical part of the story. I am not a doctor…though I play one on TV…
Also, Trinityblade, thank you very much for your support. It made my day!
And, I'd like to thank you all for your constructive criticisms and kind words. They are very helpful, and I read every single one of them with a smile on my face. It makes me feel wonderful knowing that you guys are taking such an interest in this fic. I will endeavor to make the new chapter sooner this next go around.
Chapter Summary: And the hunted becomes the hunter…
Chapter Two: Space
"Turncoat."
The accusation was just above a whisper, and it caused the alleged defector to open a bleary eye and give him a, "Oh, you know you wish you were me right now!" look before shutting it and curling into an even tighter ball of black fur. The only bit of white now visible was on his little toes that poked out from underneath his chin.
The person who's lap the small feline was currently having an afternoon siesta on also happened to be having a catnap of her own. Much to House's dismay, she was having it on his shoulder.
House shook his head and sent a glare back at the kitten before glancing around the room, wincing slightly as he rubbed his bum leg soothingly.
It was then that he realized he was in the middle of a difficult dilemma.
His jacket was on the other end of the couch, wherein his vicodin was contained in the inner breast pocket. His leg was throbbing, and his watch was telling him he was twenty minutes overdue for his next dose. However, with his arm around his sleeping companion's shoulder, he was unable to move without waking her.
He shook his head again, as though trying to clear it. This shouldn't even be a consideration. He shouldn't care that he might wake Cameron up, and he also shouldn't care how adorable she looked with her lips pursed like that and a teeny little bit of saliva oozing from her mouth…
Oh, for Christ's sake!
He nudged her sharply with his shoulder.
"Hey!" House said, much louder than necessary. "You're getting your cooties all over my favorite shirt!" Two blue-green eyes blinked open and he could see the moment the realization of her situation kicked in, that sudden spark she always got in the flecks of her irises that signaled when she'd solved a puzzle. He saw it often when they were working on a case, when the pieces finally fell together to form a coherent picture in her mind.
A woman with a brain: such a turn-on.
"Oh…Oh!" She pulled away as though stung, jostling the fuzzball in her lap in the process. Mick shot Cameron an evil look before stretching and trying to readjust himself more comfortably. "I'm so sor…"
"Just…" House held up a finger to silence her. "…Scoot over a tad." He pulled his arm from the back of the couch with a grimace as what felt like little needles began poking his arm, telling House that it was asleep. He leaned across the couch and grabbed his coat, the rattle of his vicodin in their amber bottle a welcome sound.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep like that…" The vehement look House gave her as he popped the lid of the bottle made her regret her words, so she tried again. "What did I miss?" She asked, gesturing towards the television. House shook out a single white pilled and put in his mouth, crunching it thoughtfully.
"Oh, you know, Ramirez's evil twin came back from the dead and slept with a woman who might actually be his mother," he answered, looking around the room absently.
"Sounds very Oedipus Rex to me," Cameron said with a smirk.
"I always said the Greeks started the soap opera," House said as he set his jacket back on the other end of the couch and sat back up, and he accidentally (on purpose) found himself brushing shoulders with Cameron again. She glanced at him warily out of the corner of her eye before changing the channel again and petting Mick as he slept on her thigh.
Cameron was still being very tentative around him, trying to push the limits without really pushing them. House observed that she was like a shy, unsure schoolgirl, and he had to wonder whether that was her true nature and if the forward, up-front attitude she put on at work was just an act. At the hospital, she said and did things her way and was independent, letting him know when he'd crossed the line. Here, in his home, she was trying to adapt, to be unobtrusive, and to follow his lead. Both of these aspects about her were pleasing to House, because they kept him on his toes.
He never knew when "work-Cameron" was going to rear her head in the "home-Cameron's" space, or vice-versa.
It was then that he realized he'd been staring at her rather than the television, so he quickly averted his gaze.
"So you're going to keep Mick, then?" Cameron asked quietly. It was her turn to stare at him, as though trying to scry the answer from his stubble with her gaze.
"Nope. Think I'm gonna give him to the Humane Society," he replied, his light blue eyes never leaving the television screen. The twitch of his jaw muscle gave him away, though; his serious tone wasn't fooling her.
Typical House.
"That's good. He needs a good home." Cameron lifted the kitten from her lap and placed him gently onto House's good leg. He jumped at her actions when the back of her knuckles brushed his knee. His eyes snapped to hers, his jaw clenched with restraint.
"Where you going?" He asked gruffly, watching her closely as she straightened, stretching her arms above her head. When she did so, the little bit of her tummy that peeked out from underneath her sweater distracted House.
Only a little farther to her belly button…
"Thinking about going home," she informed him as she tugged the hem of her sweater back down, giving him a pointed look. "Don't want to give you any more cooties." She turned and made her way over to his front door, stopping to put on her coat and pick up her duffel.
"Is this what you're going to do every time I piss you off?" House asked, exasperated. "Act like you're going to leave?" House quickly moved Mick onto a pillow before he seized his cane and hauled himself up, turning so he could face her. "We both know you want to stay."
"What, am I not allowed to leave or something?" Cameron folded her arms over her chest. "Or am I only allowed to leave on your terms?" Ah. There was work-Cameron. She shook her head. "Besides, I'm not leaving right now because I'm angry. I'm leaving because…I have things to do."
"Right," House said sarcastically.
Just let her leave, House. It's obvious she doesn't want to stay with you…
"Just…" House let out frustrated sigh. "Just answer one question, before you go." She hung her head in defeat, but nodded in acquiescence.
"Shoot."
"Why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
Cameron heard the question, but it immediately went through the House translator in her brain.
Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me? What did I do? Please don't go.
She raised her head and met his ice blue eyes full on and considered her response.
"I need some space, some time to think," she answered finally. He stared at her for a few moments longer before nodding, seemingly convinced that her answer was truthful. He limped over to the door and opened it for her, watching as she smiled at the gesture and stepped past him. He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling when her nearness made his heart skip a beat, annoyed with the way his body was betraying his mind.
Taking his eyes off of her was a fatal mistake.
She swooped in and gave him a swift, soft kiss on his whiskery cheek before setting off down the hall at a very quick pace.
"I'll bring take-out next time I come over!" She called over her shoulder before rounding the corner on the way to the elevator.
He failed to notice or respond to the fact that she'd just invited herself back over to his apartment. House was still standing in the doorway, his eyes still on that crack in the ceiling, completely and totally dumbstruck.
The memory of her lips on his cheek stole his breath, and he was finding it very hard to get any oxygen into his lungs. A small smile ghosted across his expression before he realized what was going on.
His case of Cameronitis had metastasized to his brain and was causing him to lose his ability to speak and breathe. His heartbeat slowed to its regular pace and his attention was garnered by a certain small, furry fuzzball.
Mew?
House scooped the feline up and shut the door with his cane. He held Mick close to his face, looking the kitten square in the eye.
"This is all your fault."
House, MD
He watched his prey with a keen, hunter's eye. Swiftly and silently, he darted to the dark shadows, concealing his position. His senses were on full alert, and he waited patiently for the right moment to strike. The target turned its back on him, unsuspecting, and the hunter prepared to attack, every muscle in his body tense. The quarry turned again, and made to move away from him, still unaware that he was being stalked.
The hunter launched himself into action in one smooth motion, the elegant grace of his movements rapidly closing the distance between him and his victim. As he neared, he tried to slow but he lost his footing on the slippery surface, and he lost control of his carefully planned attack.
Bam!
He crashed into a solid object headlong, and landed in an uncelebratory heap on top of House's shoe.
The diagnostician looked down to see the eight week old kitten staring up at him reprovingly, as though the whole incident was somehow his responsibility.
He bent over and picked the indignant feline up by grasping him around the middle (he had gotten too big to fit in the palm of his hand, but just barely), and gently placed Mick on his left shoulder. The cat had taken to riding around on House's shoulder, despite the fact that the doctor's limping gait tended to upset Mick's balance. As he grew, Mick's stability did as well, and it was almost second nature to the kitten to adjust his position as the shoulder he rode upon moved up and down. He even managed to do so with little use of his claws, much to House's relief.
House told himself that the only reason for even carrying the kitten around was so that he wouldn't have to worry about accidentally hitting him with his cane or stepping on him, and thereby causing himself to trip and possibly fall, which would then cause a tremendous of pain to his leg. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Mick would rub against his neck and purr in his ear while he was sitting there, and it also had nothing to do with the fact that it felt good to have some sort of tangible contact with another being.
When people are alone all the time, they tend to forget what the sense of touch really does for a person. In the five weeks since finding Mick, House noticed that his apartment didn't seem so barren, that it felt warmer in his place than it had in years. Whether or not House would admit it, the small furry creature was having an impact on his life.
He made it into the kitchen and set about making some coffee before he headed to work. Mick jumped down to the floor from his perch on House's shoulder and sauntered over to his food dish, stopping in front of it and looking at House expectantly as he sat back on his haunches.
"You really need to learn how to use the can opener," House informed Mick as he begrudgingly opened the cabinet containing the cans of cat food. At least it gave him something to do while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. After opening the can, he plopped the smelly, brown goo unceremoniously into Mick's food dish and threw the can away, trying very hard the whole time to ignore the kitten's adamant rubbing against his legs. "You're a pushy little bastard, aren't you?" House grumbled as he scratched the top of Mick's head affectionately. The only response he got was the sounds of smacking as the kitten wolfed down his food with gusto. "Gonna have to work on those table manners, too." House then shook his head. "Also gonna have to work on talking to the cat. People might think I'm crazy or something."
House drank his coffee, patted Mick on the head, and then left for work in the next fifteen minutes.
House, MD
Doctor Eric Foreman was looking over the new patient file that had been hand-delivered by Cuddy herself when House hobbled into the office.
"Whatcha got there, homie G?" House asked with a small smirk. When Foreman first started working for House, that snide comment might have gotten a rise out of him. Now, like so much of the content that came spilling forth from House's mouth, he let it roll right off of him without even blinking.
"Our new case," the younger man answered, not missing a beat. He got up from his normal seat at the conference table and handed House the file. "It's a referral from the clinic." When House rolled his eyes and moved to throw the file onto Foreman's desk, he pressed on quickly. "The patient is experiencing numbness in his extremities and he's beginning to lose his sight; he's been complaining of tunnel vision, and from the time when he came into the clinic to the time when he was referred, his vision went from 20/20 to 20/60. The lapse of time was about a week and a half."
"And no one could figure out why," House grumbled, opening the file with reluctance. His curiosity always got the better of him.
"Oh, and the patient's only nine years old," Doctor Robert Chase spoke up from his position at the entryway, where he'd just walked in to hear the last part of the other two men's conversation.
"Just your type, then, eh?" House quipped, earning himself a glare from the blonde doctor. House smirked at him for a second before returning his attention to the file, reading through it more thoroughly this time, checking for anything his underlings might have missed.
"Where's Cameron?" Foreman asked, looking at Chase expectantly.
"Dunno," the Australian replied, shrugging. "Haven't seen her yet this morning."
"Me either," Foreman said, his brow knitting in concern. "I thought she might've been down in the clinic or something…"
"Nope," Chase put in. "I was just there to check on Tyler and she wasn't there."
"When are they moving him to this floor?"
"The nurses were prepping him when I left…"
House turned abruptly and went into his office without saying a word. He was too busy concentrating on the file he held to be bothered with the all the menial conversation that Wombat and Delinquent were having.
He had only stuck around long enough to hear where Cameron was, anyway. It wasn't like her to be late; she was usually the first person to arrive at the office.
Bayley, Tyler: Age 9, Weight: 69 lbs. Height 4'7" Symptoms: Painful tingling in the fingers and toes, numbness in arms and legs, headaches, loss of vision. No family history of these symptoms, and seems to have sudden onset. There were more notes made, but the one at the very bottom caught his eye.
Refer to Dr. Gregory House.
That little loopy "G"…
So it was Cameron who referred this case.
Then where the hell was she?
Hmm, numbness, loss of vision. It could be MS. But then, they almost always thought it was MS, and it never was. It could also be Type I diabetes, but those symptoms usually occurred in patients who'd had the disease for a while and hadn't been taking care of themselves. Maybe some routine blood tests could help rule it out.
At least he had something to tell the Three Musketeers. House turned a one-eighty to head back into the conference room to tell them his idea and what tests to run when the glass door to his office opened.
Wham!
Right into his nose.
House stumbled backwards a few steps and his free hand came up to grasp his nose, the pain etched in his face.
"Oh, my God, House! I'm so sorry!"
Well, at least he'd found Dr. Cameron.
He looked at her briefly to see her concerned expression as she ushered him over to his computer chair before tilting his head back as he sat down on the leather cushions, pinching his nose the entire time. He felt tissues being pressed into the palm of his other hand and he quickly covered his nose with them, hoping to stem the blood flow before it really got started.
"I'll go get you some ice," Cameron said after hovering for a second, her trepidation obvious in her voice and stance.
"It's fine," House replied sharply, his voice somewhat muffled by the tissues. "It's not really that bad." He then realized that they were not alone in the room, and the little incident with the door attracted the attention of Foreman and Chase, who were both now standing there staring at him.
Foreman stood there with his arms crossed, a smirk planted firmly on his face. He was probably more amused that Cameron was so upset about the situation than by anything else, but he was pretty sure that Chase was just plain amused by the fact that House was in pain.
House glared at the Australian.
"I know you get off on pain, but you could please stop staring at me?" House asked, his annoyance at Chase's scrutiny obvious. "I mean, I don't want you to use this as one of your fantasies later…That's just gross." Chase harrumphed and turned away, stalking out of the office to the adjacent room, making House feel loads better. He looked at Foreman, slightly less irked. "And you, go run some blood tests, and make sure to check the kid's blood sugar. Also, see if the family has a history of Type I diabetes."
"If it was such a simple diagnosis, wouldn't the doctor at the clinic have caught that?" Foreman inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't know, why don't we ask the doctor who referred him to us?" He looked pointedly at Cameron, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
"How did you…"
"Loopy G's."
"Oh." She looked down, crestfallen. Foreman watched the exchange between them with interest before clearing his throat, hoping to get the conversation back on track.
"Well, I thought of diabetes, too, but his symptoms came on too fast and he's so young…" Cameron trailed off, her confidence withering under House's intense stare.
"Run the tests, Foreman," House ordered without looking at the younger man. "And tell Mr. S & M talk to the family." Foreman stood there for a moment longer before nodding, turning, and leaving, the soft swoosh of the door the only sound he made during his exit.
House took a moment to sum his situation up in his mind.
His nose was probably going to swell up like a big red balloon, his leg hurt from stumbling around after losing his balance when being struck by the door, and he hadn't been alone with Cameron like this since the day she'd come over to his house and fallen asleep on his shoulder. They'd hardly even shared a single word with each other that didn't have to do with work, and when they did, it was usually her inquiring after little Mick Jagger. He'd had the sense that she'd been avoiding him, but five weeks was verging on the ridiculous. And now, here he was, finally alone with her, and all he was doing was staring at her.
Speak, say something, anything!
"You've been avoiding me," he stated, finally breaking the strange, uncomfortable silence that had befallen his office.
"I…Well…"
"What I want to know is why," he interjected before she either A) made up some lame excuse or B) apologized in that annoyingly nice way of hers. Her lower lip was currently being chewed by very straight, white teeth as she looked away, unable to withstand the force of his gaze.
"Well, um, I thought…" Her voice died again before she could form a full sentence.
"You thought what?" He asked impatiently.
"I thought you wanted space, so I was giving it to you," she responded almost instantly. Half-truths were almost as bad as lies, sometimes.
She certainly wouldn't have made it through the Spanish Inquisition.
"Space from what? You're the one that wanted space," he reminded her, his tone somewhat biting. She nodded in understanding, which confused him more, but it didn't take him long to figure out what she really meant. "So basically you're saying that you needed space," he said as he shook his head, more to himself than to her. "For five weeks." When she made no reply other than to stand there dumbly, he blew out a frustrated breath between pursed lips.
What on Earth did she need "space" from? All she'd done was cuddle with him on his couch and kiss him on the cheek when she left. Nothing too embarrassing, nothing to indicate to him that five weeks of silence would be following shortly thereafter. "Fine, go have some space in the lab." He waved his cane at her, a gesture telling her he'd tired of her presence.
He didn't miss the forlorn expression she gave him just before she crossed the threshold to the hallway. He also didn't miss how his heart sunk into the bowels of his stomach.
And people thought he gave mixed signals.
House, MD
Cameron was peering at a blood sample through a microscope in the lab when Foreman walked in holding a file. She glanced up at him to acknowledge his presence, but she immediately turned her attention back to her work without even saying so much as a greeting.
"Here's some of the results from the other blood tests," he said as he laid them near her on the bench. "Tyler's blood sugar is a little out of whack, but it's in within acceptable parameters." She finally turned and looked at him. "His pancreas is making insulin, as well, so it can't be Type I, and he's not overweight, so it's highly unlikely that it's Type II…"
"Could his kidneys be causing the problem?" She inquired.
"Or maybe MS? That could explain the tingling sensation, and the loss of vision…"
"But he's so young!" Cameron exclaimed.
"I know, it's unlikely to develop the disease at that age, but it has been known to happen," Foreman stated matter-of-factly.
"Then go run the tests to check your theory." The deep timbre of the voice coming from the doorway made Cameron shiver. She wondered how long House had been listening to them before making his presence known. Cameron felt a slight wave of guilt when she saw his nose, still red and still a little swollen from Operation: Whammo earlier that morning. She also had to suppress a grin when she realized how silly he looked with that nose and that serious expression. It was like looking at a frowning clown.
Foreman looked from House to Cameron, giving her a slightly concerned look. He was probably wondering why House was bothering her so much as of late. She gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head, letting him know it was okay, before he gave her one last look as he left the lab to go get samples for more tests. Cameron turned back to her work even though the test she was running had to do with diabetes and that had been ruled out.
She needed to have something to look at other than the man who could make her nervous just by being in the same room.
It took her a second to realize that this was the second time in one day that they were alone together, and she also picked up on the fact that he had sought her out.
That didn't happen very often.
And the last time that it had, there hadn't been a happy ending for those involved. Cameron didn't think that that was going to change this time around either.
"People often don't really need as much space as they might think," House told her. "And I think you've had too much space. So, as a result of your oversight, you have to be reprimanded." Her eyes locked with his, widening in fear in anticipation of what he might say next and narrowing in anger for him making this personal issue interfere with their professional lives.
"Reprimanded?" She demanded hotly. "I've done nothing wrong! I've consulted you on cases, I've participated in diagnoses…" She began ticking off the reasons he was insane on her fingers. "I've been to work on time…"
"You assaulted your boss with a glass door…" He interrupted, pointing to his nose. "So, I've decided that there's only one thing that fits your transgression." He paused for dramatic effect, letting her worry some more before… "Dinner."
"Um…P-pardon?" She sputtered. "Din-dinner? You're telling me you're going to punish me for acting professionally for the past few weeks by taking me to dinner?"
"Apparently you're not the only one who bribes people into dates around here," he responded, intrigued by the way her eyes could express so many emotions all at once; fear, rage, elation, giddiness, confusion and…an expression he did not expect: remorse.
House was hoping that during all this turmoil boiling within her, she would fail to notice how he was nervously clenching his jaw, how he thumping his cane on the floor with rhythmic unease.
Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for her, and fortunately for us, she did notice. She processed this information slowly, her hands clenching and unclenching in time with the cogs in her mind, slowly working their way around the puzzle that is House.
She decided to test him.
"What are my alternatives?" I'm not afraid of you. She lifted her chin defiantly.
"There are none." You should be. He lowered his chin and stared hard at her from under hooded lids.
"What if I say no?" I know your game.
"You won't." You don't know Jack, missy.
Before she could continue on her tirade, he said, "My place, Friday, seven o'clock. Bring that take-out you promised five weeks ago." He turned and quickly left the lab without a backwards glance, leaving her with no room for argument. Cameron realized that she had just been blindsided by the man she swore would never date ever again, but she couldn't help but be completely taken by surprise by this sudden turn of events.
Was this really how he asked women out?
No wonder House never had dates.
House, MD
When House arrived home that night, he found Mick perched on the piano, looking at the keys keenly, as though willing it to play him a melody. He remembered how the kitten had been deathly afraid of the large musical apparatus at first, running for cover the first time House had played for him.
Not exactly a great reception, but Mick's courage had grown nonetheless, and and eventually started seating himself on the piano whenever House sat on the piano seat.
House was brought back to the present when he heard the sound of a note being played as he took off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. His amusement increased tenfold when he looked back to the kitten to see Mick's outstretched, white-toed paw dangling over a key, as though he'd surprised himself by causing that sound. House grinned and shook his head bemusedly.
Mick looked up at House with big, yellow eyes as the man approached him and sat on the bench in front of the baby grand. The doctor leant his cane against the bench and spread his fingers over the keys, working the joints of his fingers experimentally before he began to make music with the beautiful black and off-white ivory keys.
The notes danced through the air effortlessly. Mick watched House's fingers intently as they played over the instrument, gliding fluidly and flawlessly as they created a story written entirely in treble and bass, sharp and flat, the opposites coming together to create beautiful harmony that flowed into the triangular ears of the cat held spellbound by the melody.
In the world of music, opposites need each other so desperately in order to survive. Without the other, there would nothing to compare or test, nothing with which to alter or combine.
There would be no way to love or hate music, because it would lack depth and would only contain shallow feeling.
Sometimes, music and life collide in such a way that it brings about the greatest of change in people.
You could choose to love, or to hate.
House made his decision.
Mick curled up and was lulled to sleep by the song woven by his human.