Drenched
Summary: House enjoys the company of a patient- obviously signaling the apocalypse, Wilson is getting a divorce, Chase is falling head over heels, Foreman's thinking of leaving the team and Cameron's sister has cancer. At least it's not raining. Yet.
Disclaimer: If I owned House I would be an infinitely cooler person than I actually am. The universe, however, knows better than to give me this title of cooldom, and as such, I am doomed to never possess a smidgen of this TV show of wonderment. Oh woe. House belongs to David Shore and Fox. "It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This" is Nicole Burdette's.
Author's Note: And here it be! We're almost to the end (seriously this time), folks. I'll be posting the epilogue within the next few days, and then the fic will be done!
Major kudos to LastScorpion, who was kind enough to save the writing majors within you all. (Some of the things I did… -sigh-) Worshiping of her glory shall commence immediately! -falls to floor and worships-
This story is cannon-compatible up to "Skin Deep." (Still ignoring cannon!)
Reviews/Reviewers are loved.
Thank you and enjoy!
---
Chapter Eleven: I Want To Believe Everything You Say, Part Two
I
want your strength in my soul
And
I want your soul in my eyes.
I
want to believe everything you say.
And
I do.
And
I want you to tell me what's best for me
When
I don't know.
-Nicole
Burdette
---
There were two sides to the continuum of existence: the way things were and the way things could be. Most people got through their days by attempting to shift as many of these things closer to the 'could be' side as possible. They couldn't move everything, very rarely managed to get any of the aspects of their life to reach the perfect ideal, and more often than not gave up before pushing them even a fraction of that distance. Why should they spend their lives working towards an idyllic vision of the world they could never reach? Why torture themselves?
For Lisa Cuddy, the answer was because she was a control freak, too stubborn to settle for anything less.
Or at least these were her bitter thoughts as she resisted the urge to scream. She was currently in her office, surrounded by what felt like mountains of red tape, and in the midst of skipping lunch in order to get all of her work done properly and in a timely fashion.
She knew that most of the work in front of her didn't have to be done for another month, that estimations for budgets didn't have to be exact. But Lisa had come to the realization that she was a masochist, loving nothing more than to persecute herself, as made apparent by the headache that was currently pounding in her skull.
If she had the time to think about it, she would undoubtedly be disturbed by the fact that she couldn't remember the last time she hadn't had a headache.
Maybe she should listen to people when they told her that she was working too hard. Maybe she really did need a break, a small holiday. Maybe it was time to take that vacation she had been putting off for the last ten years. It wasn't as if she hadn't earned it, had been slacking for a decade or was trying to pull the rug out from under anyone. She just wanted a bit of a breather.
But Cuddy knew that any break would come back to haunt her later. That she would be incapable of relaxing, of setting her mind at ease, until everything was, as House had put it, just right.
She simply wasn't satisfied with anything less. Whereas most could justify these shortcomings, offer themselves reassurances and rationalizations for their acceptance of the imperfect, Cuddy was far less kind to herself. If something wasn't just right, if something went wrong or someone was needlessly harmed due to her carelessness, she would bare the brunt of the blame.
And she doubted she would be capable of carrying that sort of responsibility along with those she already shouldered.
Lisa, in her own mind, was accountable for reaching the ideals that she knew the world was capable of attaining, if only because no one else was willing to strive for them.
She didn't shirk this duty, didn't hide from it or attempt to force it on someone else, not that anyone would be willing to take it on. So few people were willing to attempt change anymore, to insist upon perfection when everything was demanding that they give in and settle for the mediocre. Should she abandon her task, if only for a few days, she had little doubt that everything she had spent so much of herself trying to build would be lost due to the carelessness of those who had long since given up 'the good fight'.
After all, most people stopped trying to reach that elusive 'could be' because of all the work it took to get there. A common misconception was that, when moving upon the continuum, various aspects of existence would stay in their given spots without the help of people to push them along. You'd move your project for an hour or so, go home, go to sleep, maybe take a few days off and then come back to the task later. People didn't understand that it was a constant battle. That when they stopped pushing, whatever aspect they had spend their time shifting would slowly slide back down the range, slowly reduce itself back to its original state without the hard and constant work of individuals to keep it in its place.
It would be a shame for Cuddy to watch everything she had created destroyed for a vacation.
No, Cuddy didn't want a break, not with all of the problems such a rest would entail.
It was just that sometimes, like now, when her head throbbed and her eyes ached from the effort of keeping them open, when she was lonely and had nothing but endless work to look forward to, she wished that someone else could take over for her, if only for a bit.
But then again, Cuddy knew that department bankruptcies got filed and logged a lot faster than wishes.
It would be best to plan her vacation times around this fact accordingly.
Giving her forehead one last rub, Cuddy turned back to her desk, grabbing the nearest pen with determination.
She wouldget this work done.
Or at least, she would have, had Gregory House, her limping nemesis, not backed his way in through her office doors, carting a large TV on wheels with him as he hobbled to a stop in front of her.
Cuddy stared blankly at him, more complex expressions lost to her due to the shock inspired by the unexpected interruption. "What are you doing?"
House hadn't even looked at her, and was currently behind the screen, fiddling with wires. From behind the large box he shouted, "Remember that hot night in Havana I swore never to speak of? Well, I taped it! Thought we could relive the memories."
She rolled her eyes, scowling from behind her desk. "House."
He let out an exasperated sigh, his head poking out above the television. "I'm providing us both with entertainment that is sorely lacking elsewhere." He promptly disappeared again. "Your oncologist is slacking in his extracurricular duties of keeping me occupied, so I thought it was high time I graced you with my presence."
Poor, hapless, Wilson. Cuddy could only imagine the House tolerance level the man had built up over the years. She both envied and pitied this skill. "I'm working," Cuddy muttered, purposely infusing irritation into her tone.
"You were working," House corrected happily, appearing once more and nodding in satisfaction. He snagged the remote off of the top of the device and limped to one of the room's chairs, dragging it closer to the TV. "Now you're watching General Hospital."
She blinked. General Hospital?
"I hope you know that you're not getting paid for this."
"Why not? It's what I'd be doing in the clinic anyway. Now I'm just being more obvious about it."
"Last time I checked, being obvious doesn't make the offense any more acceptable."
"And the acceptableness of an offense doesn't make me any less prone to committing it." House slouched into the chair, flicking on the TV and sending an obnoxious smile Cuddy's way. "I like this game."
Cuddy brought the hand back to her forehead, rubbing once more. The headache seemed to have grown exponentially with House's presence.
Unfortunately, she was quickly beginning to realize as he made himself comfortable, in her office, House seemed as if he had no intention of leaving. Meaning that she had little hope of getting her work done.
When had she lost all of her authority over this man?
Oh, right. From the instant he had set foot in this hospital ten years before.
Flustered, annoyed and hoping that scolding the diagnostician would get him to leave, she asked in a clipped tone, "Where did you get the television?"
"The Oncology lounge."
"You stole a TV from Oncology?" Cuddy asked, incredulous. Out of all of the departments to harass, Oncology seemed to be the least deserving.
House nodded, eyes still locked onto the screen. "Wilson's being a moron, and thus his whole department must suffer." He shot her a glance when she made an annoyed noise. "Don't blame me, I'm just dolling out justice. Besides, it's not like I stole from Pediatrics."
Cuddy raised a brow. "Stealing from Oncologists is better?"
"Depending on how many bald people die daily." He shrugged. "It varies. Very complex system I've created. Now quiet."
With that he adjusted his shoulders, attention fully focused on the drama playing out before him. Not General Hospital, it seemed, but the soap that came on before it.
House shook his head sadly. "It just can't reach the same level of drama."
Cuddy simply blinked pointedly, stunned to silence. Did he honestly think that she was going to let him get away with this?
"How could I, as your boss, possibly allow you to skip out on clinic duty in order to watch television?"
"Take off your badge?"
She glared.
House sighed dramatically, leaning forward in his seat. "I know you watch it. You've quoted lines from this show one too many times for me not to notice. You probably tape the episodes and then go and watch them at home."
Her glare intensified. She hated the fact that House found her so predictable. And that he had managed to sniff out her guilty pleasure.
"Reward yourself, take a break from paperwork." He smirked. "Entertain me if only to keep me from terrorizing the hospital." He leaned back again. "Besides, I need some respite to gather strength to go attack Princess Fluff."
Cuddy frowned. "Cameron?" She really didn't understand his refusal to call people by their proper names. She was one step away from needing a House to English dictionary in order to understand him because of all of the needless subterfuge. "House, what have you got planned?"
She could have sworn his eyes adopted a mischievous glow. "I am going to meddle." A small, eager smile. "It will be awesome."
Cuddy did not envy Cameron.
She gave herself a firm shake. "As wonderful and noble as annoying Cameron may be, that doesn't mean that I'm going to let you stay in my office, waste both your time and mine, and ignore the responsibilities that I pay you to fulfill. Leave."
"Cuuudy," he whined.
Lisa marveled at the man's ability to revert back into a five year-old at will.
"I'm your boss, House. Not your friend." She felt it best to make that point painfully clear. Although she could, possibly, like the man, there was a large gap between being emotionally attached to someone and actually enjoying his company.
Of course, House had made this large gap into a cavernous black abyss, one that Cuddy was far from willing to attempt to bridge. The consequences of failure were much too severe to take such a risk.
House scoffed. "Well obviously not. What would that do to my reputation? Being buddies with 'The Man'?" He gave his head a firm shake, locking his gaze with hers for the first time, attempting to make his position apparent. "This isn't friendship. This is mutual exploitation. I have someone to watch General Hospital with and get to do it without fear of being ratted out."
Cuddy raised an eyebrow, unmoved. "And what do I get?" she asked dully.
House gave a wicked grin. "Gossip."
She stared blankly. "Gossip?"
House, it seemed, could sense her lack of enthusiasm for his offer.
"Come on Cuddy. You know you want in on some of the stuff that's happening around here."
"I don't think I've managed to sink to that level yet, no."
"Sure you have. You just haven't had the opportunity to revel in it properly." He moved to the edge of his seat, obviously eager. "For example, the reason I'm going to go talk to Cameron is because after she had a long chat with her brother, which I got wind of from Foreman of all people, she and Wilson began this lover's quarrel-"
Cuddy had been lost in the whirl of House's jabber until that interesting bit of information caught her attention.
"Wait," she said quickly, knowing she was selling a small piece of her soul as she furrowed her brow and asked, "Wilson and Cameron?"
"My." House made a tuting noise. "You are behind the times."
The furrow deepened. "But I thought…?" She quickly realized there was no subtle way to phrase her query.
In for a penny…
She threw down her pen, leaning forward in her desk and staring intently at her diagnostician. "You like Cameron."
Cuddy could almost feel the hope of House ever viewing her as an individual of status and authority quickly wither and die.
Meanwhile, House blinked dumbly.
She sighed. "Fine, she liked you and you enjoyed ogling her while pretending you weren't interested."
House gave a satisfied nod. "Much better." A small pause. "Except I wasn't pretending."
Or he'd never admit that he had been.
She waved a dismissive hand, uninterested in any of his protests. "What happened?"
"Jimmy the Boy Wonder happened. Did the whole 'rescue mourning damsel' bit and Cameron had no chance."
"With you, House. With Cameron."
"You mean why have I stopped ogling her publicly?" He gave an exaggerated sigh. "It was tough, I'm not going to lie. I'm just trying to give my female coworkers more respect around the workplace. For instance, I haven't looked at your cleavage once since coming in here."
Cuddy scowled. "I'm wearing a turtleneck."
"And if you were wearing a low-cut blouse, my feat would be mighty impressive."
She knew he was trying to distract her with through sheer power of annoying. Normally, this underhanded tactic would have worked quite well, but House had made the unfortunate mistake of making Cuddy interested. She would not be deterred.
"You've been denying having any feelings towards her whatsoever for the past three years, and all the while everyone with half a skull knew better. Now you're going to try and shove her into Wilson's arms?" She examined him intently. "What changed?"
House's attention remained focused on the screen. "Nothing."
Cuddy sighed, unsurprised by the lackluster response but disappointed nonetheless. She was just reaching for her pen, prepared to kick him out of her office and get back to work, when she was stopped short.
"And that's the problem." His eyes remained locked to the screen as he picked up his cane, bouncing it against the ground rhythmically. "She's going to keep waiting for me to change and I'll keep refusing to do it." He turned to her, giving her a small smirk. "It's been fun, but three years of tormenting her with the possibility is getting a bit old. Time to set the little butterfly in her stomach free."
Cuddy frowned, worried.
He couldn't do this. Shouldn't. Cameron was still the only woman who could put up with him, was still the only one who had a chance of getting through all of the sarcasm and bitterness to salvage what was left of the man underneath. She was the only woman left who was naive enough to see what, who, House could be.
If House let Cameron go, who would be left to make sure the stubborn and limping miscreant reached some level of happiness?
"House-"
He gestured to the TV, cutting her off. "It's starting."
Her eyes remained firmly locked on his slumped frame. "House, I can't let you do this."
He turned away from the screen, bringing his gaze to hers.
They both knew she wasn't talking about the television.
"Yes, you can." There was a small, intense pause before he motioned to the screen once more, breaking whatever connection they had formed. "Stop playing mother hen for an hour and watch the damn show. "
Cuddy knew it was the closest thing she would ever get to an explanation.
"Despite whatever you may think, the world's not going to fall apart if you stop fluttering for sixty minutes."
Giving her temple one last, firm, rub, Cuddy let out a sigh. She opened a drawer and pulled out her hidden stash of licorice (another guilty pleasure) before rolling her chair out from behind her desk and bringing it next to House's. "I missed yesterday's episode," she muttered, slumping in her seat.
She needed a break anyway.
"What's happened?"
"Alexis is back in a coma," House said eagerly, clearly relishing this new development.
Cuddy gave an eye roll. "Of course she is." She pulled out a piece of licorice. "It's only been ten months since she was in a coma the last time. One would hope they would've had enough material to last a bit longer than that."
"Drama's just as good the second time around," House stated firmly.
Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you believed that recycling ideas sucked?"
"In medicine. In TV it's just good business." He peered over her shoulder. "Are those Red Vines?"
---
"The fact that you've become inseparable from the Delightful Duo has been really annoying, you know that, right?"
Cameron frowned, looking behind her to see House slouched in the door entry to Diagnostics, an irritated expression on his face.
"The Delightful Duo?"
"You know. The one with the pretty hair and his cap busting partner?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry?" she offered unconvincingly, bringing her attention back to carefully placing her laptop within its case. It was well after five, she had been productive all day, given her full attention to their latest patient and prevented House from causing havoc throughout the hospital, all the while she'd her very best not to think of Wilson.
If she thought about him, it meant she missed him.
And, as a direct result of this long day, she was now tired.
In her rational opinion, House had nothing to complain about.
Of course, House had a tendency to embrace and reject rationality depending on his mood at the given moment.
"We were working most of the time, if that's any comfort."
"It isn't," House said instantly.
And it appeared as if this was one of those many instances during which he chose to reject it. Splendid.
Always encouraging, having a boss so devoted to his practice.
He continued. "You lot suddenly playing the three musketeers has completely destroyed my divide and conquer strategy." He sent her an accusing glare. "I had to stay late just to aggravate you." A sigh. "Why is it that you've managed to turn my one joy into a chore?"
"The same reason you take such pleasure from aggravating me." She gave him a small smirk. "Just to torture you."
"I suspected as much." There was a small pause in which Cameron gathered the last of her things together before House bluntly asked, "Do you like me?"
She turned to face him and gave him an incredulous stare. "What?"
"Do you like me?"
"I'm not sure what-"
House gave an exaggerated sigh, interrupting. "Do you want to grow old together, pop out some kids and get a house with a white picket fence?"
She set down her bag, too shocked by the unexpected turn of the conversation to complete the motion of swinging it over her shoulder. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't trust you," she responded immediately, almost regretting the words as she voiced them. It was a defeat, of a sort, to acknowledge her shaken faith in him. It was like admitting that he had won, that he had been right all along.
She sighed, forging ahead. "And you can't love someone you don't trust."
"Great." He quirked the corner of his mouth and jerked his thumb towards the hallway. "Now go tell Wilson that."
Cameron furrowed her brow as she eyed his sarcastic grin with suspicion. "Wilson?"
"You know. Guy with a pocket protector? Generally surrounded by a bunch of bald kids?"
She shook her head, folding her arms in front of her chest. "No."
House took a step closer. "No?" He scowled. "What do you mean 'no'?"
"Just what it sounds like."
"Why not?"
"It's none of your business, House," she said in a clipped tone as she backed up a fraction.
House did not get to be privy to these matters. Certainly not anymore.
"Your temperamental mood is upsetting the patients and annoying me. I have a right to know why."
"I don't have a temperamental mood and patients haven't been complaining, so no." She locked her eyes with his, resisting the urge to take another pace backwards. House was a very intimidating presence. "You don't."
House ignored her, waving a dismissive arm. "What's your reason for not falling into Wonder Boy's arms?" He kept his gaze level with hers, knowing the unsettling affect on her. House was not above using bullying to get his way. In fact, it was his specialty. "You obviously lied to him about me so that you could get off the hook."
Cameron's eyebrows raised thoughtfully, an internal light bulb bursting to life.
House was never this persistent in his queries. Never this direct. He was annoying, irritatingly playful and rude, but never this forceful.
He never cared this much.
"Why are you doing this?"
House seemed to notice in that instant that he given himself away and retreated, adopting a lazily bored expression as he stepped back. "Do I need a reason to bother you?"
"For something like this, yes." Cameron found herself unclenching her arms and striding forward. "It doesn't fit." She shook her head lightly. "You don't want to know just to know." She smirked. "You want to argue with me." This time House stepped back, coming to a rest next to the glass table, and she resisted the compulsion to smile in triumph. "You want to change my mind."
House brought his eyes down to his cane, grumbling a begrudging, "Yes."
The smile couldn't be contained any longer and she could all but feel her face light up. "Why?" she jabbed.
"Because idiocy irritates me," he snapped. "And you are being an idiot."
"Because I'm doing what you've wanted me to all along?" she snapped back, no longer threatened. "Because I'm protecting myself instead of inviting pain with open arms?" She scoffed, folding her arms once more. "I'm not doing anything that you haven't done yourself, House."
He brought his eyes to hers again, tone stark and serious. "You don't want to be like me."
It was said in a way that could not be argued with, that she had no wish to argue with. And so Cameron found herself reduced to silence.
He let out a loud sigh, quickly destroying the serious atmosphere as he leaned against his cane in a dramatic, exasperated, manner. "Why is the one person you chose to protect yourself from Wilson?" He adopted a sarcastic tone. "Out of all the mean, evil, people in the world, he's probably the least threatening." He snorted. "The most traumatizing thing he could do is terrify the innocents with the sheer volume of his tie collection."
Cameron shook her head, irritated at the man's intentional thickness. "Wilson hurts people, badly, without realizing it."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're mad about him seeing Julie."
"No. Yes." She sighed, walking away from House, further into the room before turning back to him. "He could go back to her." She gave a bitter laugh, completely lacking in humor. "He could go to anyone, leave at any moment, off to go help someone, save someone, and I couldn't stop him."
"You could," House said cruelly. "But you wouldn't."
"No, I wouldn't." She stared at him pointedly. "I know how fruitless it is to want someone who will never want you back."
There was a moment of tense silence, unspoken accusations making the room feel heavy. This was a chance to clear the air between them, to bring all skeletons out of the closet and dispose of their remains, to start anew, begin fresh. Revive something that all assumed had been dead for well over a year.
But it, like many of the moments between the two, passed them by. Became just another opportunity wasted in their long history of encounters.
The only difference being that, this time, Cameron didn't find herself aching at the loss.
There was distance between them now, with him leaning against the Diagnostics table while she stood across from him, the whiteboard brushing at her elbow. She felt safer, this way. Less like an errant child about to be punished by a strict parent and more like a respected adult. Like an equal.
House made an irritated noise. "You're both morons," he pointed an accusing finger, "but you're doing it on purpose. At least Wilson's suspicions are mildly justified."
Cameron simply raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Do you honestly think that Wilson would ever go back to that woman?"
She opened her mouth to respond.
"The woman who aborted his child?"
She winced at the reminder of what Julie had done. It was easy to forget, with Wilson so skilled at hiding the affect it had on him. It was easy to forget its significance.
House sent her a disbelieving, serious, look. "Even Jimmy isn't that forgiving."
"I know." Cameron sighed. "I know he won't go back to Julie." She shook her head. "But it's not just her, House. You know that. You know how he is, how eager he is to help people, how quickly he'll jump to make their lives better, in whatever way he can."
"Yes, he's compassionate to the point of stupidity, Pot," he said while staring at her pointedly.
She felt her cheeks going red.
"But he's not twenty-five anymore. He's learned how to keep Wilson Junior in his pants and his intentions relatively pure, insomuch as any fully functional male can. What more can you ask from the man?" He stopped playing with his cane. "Do you think he's still that dense? That unaware of the consequences of his actions? That he has enough raging hormones left to reduce him to that special sort of idiot? " He sent her an accusing look. "You're a lot dumber than I though if you believe for an instant that Wilson doesn't agonize over every person he's ever wronged." He gave an exasperated sigh. "Looks like I'm going to have to reevaluate my application process."
Cameron locked her gaze to her feet, ashamed.
House leaned forward, voice condescending. "See, had you been just a bit smarter at interpreting your data, you would have asked yourself one vital question."
She glanced up, confused.
"Why is Wilson my," he adopted a overly sappy tone, "best bud forever?"
Cameron scowled. "It's always about you, isn't it?"
"Was there ever a doubt in your mind?" He did his best rendition of a charming smile and then gave his head a dismissive shake. "Now stop distracting me and think like I hired you to."
"You didn't hire me to indulge your compulsion to dig, unnecessarily, into the lives of your coworkers," Cameron muttered.
"That's what you think." He smirked before returning to his original query. "Who else would have put up with me for all this time? We both know that I'm no picnic. Any other, sane and healthy, person would have left me in a gutter to die of liver failure years ago. Why do you think he's stuck around? Because I'm just that charming?" He shook his head. "It's because he makes, demands, himself to stay, even when he'd like nothing more than to beat me to death with my cane. And all of it because he thinks of it as paying his penance."
"Penance to you?" she asked sarcastically.
"To everyone." He stared intently. "To the wives he cheated on and the one he ignored. To his brother for failing him, his parents for not being the Saint they thought he was. To every patient that dies, every member of each family he lets down. For the loss of my rosy complexion when he made me detox, for not protecting you lot from my temper. Jimmy, as the self-sacrificing type, has to make people happy or else he's personally responsible."
"That's-"
"Stupid," House supplied. "I know." He shook his head. "Some people pass it off as noble, but none of them have watched a man give his whole life away to people who don't appreciate it."
He paused, daring her to speak.
And for an instant, she wanted to. Wanted to bite out a cruel, To people like you, House?
But Cameron wasn't like him. Wasn't unkind just to get a reaction, to watch a person squirm.
She wouldn't be.
After a moment, he continued. "That's why he cares so much, about everyone, why he gives so much of himself away." House let out a sigh. "And if he wanted to keep anything so he could have something of his own, he would." He grumbled. "But the idiot of an oncologist has stopped wanting things for himself, has stopped believing that he deserves anything that he actually desires because he's a brainless twit when it comes to keeping himself in a reasonable condition. Nine times out of ten the things he does are done to help someone else, the things he craves for are always on another person's behalf. And that sacrifice makes our moronic Saint happy." He allowed a significant pause. "Except for every now and then, when there's something that, despite it all, he doesn't want to give up." He bounced his cane. "Like his kid." A glance at Cameron. "Like you." He maintained the look. "You're the one thing, person, I've seen Wilson want for himself in a very long time."
Her gaze remained steadily locked to her feet. She wouldn't fool herself again, wouldn't let Wilson's flaws, his need, blind her.
"But," House sighed, bouncing his cane once more. "I wouldn't have hired you if you were a complete idiot, which means you already knew all of that."
Cameron's head jerked up.
"And since you're fully aware of all of the special effects of the James Wilson freak-show, you can't be dim enough to truly believe that he would cheat on you," he gave a small eye roll, "emotionally or otherwise." He smirked, crossing his hands over his chest smugly. "You're lying to yourself."
Cameron shook her head adamantly. Didn't he see? This was the first time she had been completely honest with herself in years.
"House, just stop. This isn't getting you anywhere! I'm not going to change my mind after you chronicling all of Wilson's problems. I've made my decision." She took in a large breath. "And although I like him," she allowed herself a small, pained, smile, "really like him, in spite of how messed up he is-"
"But he's not," House interrupted smoothly, his head tilted with a contemplative expression on his face.
She blinked. "Were you just listening to yourself?"
"Wilson's a pretty loose screw, but he's still functional. If he's damaged it's in a way that's useful and therefore accepted by society." He stared pointedly. "And he doesn't hurt people carelessly, like you want to believe he does to make your running for the hills justified."
Cameron glared.
"Ultimately, he's getting on just fine, if you call what he has just fine. He doesn't need you in that parasitic way you're used to." The intensity of his gaze forced her to raise her eyes to his. "But you need him." He shrugged. "Or at least you have, and that's a role reversal you just aren't prepared to take." He nodded, a smug, patronizing smile on his face. "That's why you avoided Wilson like the plague when your brother-"
Cameron gaped, raising a finger.
"Yes," he muttered, annoyed at the interruption, "I know about your sibling's quarrel too- talked to you. A woman who thinks that her man's going to cheat on her watches him like a hawk, she doesn't exile him." He eyed her critically. "And it's also why the call from Julie put you into such a tizzy. Because you don't want to be like her, pathetic, clingy and desperate, and that's who you see yourself becoming."
She recognized the sharp sting of truth to his words, a recognition that she tried to dismiss instantly.
She raised an eyebrow. "So, according to you, I don't want to be in a relationship with Wilson because I need him?"
House gave his head a firm shake. "No." He pushed himself up off of the table, placing his cane on the ground before him and looking at her gravely. "You don't want to be with Wilson because you don't think he needs you back."
And it was in that instant that Allison Cameron realized what a spectacular fool she had been.
"Which is funny, really," House rambled on, oblivious, squinting towards the ceiling. "Since the only reason he doesn't want to be in a relationship with you is because he thinks you don't love him back." He sighed in mock annoyance. "What neither of you seem realize that love is the greatest and most pathetic of all needs. Congratulations," he said sarcastically. "If you both stopped moping and started thinking, you'd realize that," he took on a sickeningly sweet tone, "you're meant for each other."
She needed him.
She had wanted to push him away, had tried so hard not to cling to him, to depend on him, because by that point she had already needed him so much that the intensity of it was almost paralyzing.
Allison wasn't used to being the one that had to be fixed, and the change was frightening, made her more vulnerable than she had ever been before. She fell to pieces, relying entirely on Wilson being there to pick her up and put her back together without any guarantee that he would do so. And the uncertainty petrified her.
Wilson didn't need her the way she needed him, and, knowing that he could leave at any moment, she had closed her eyes to the truth and left first.
She had run away when she should have stayed, and now there was no going back.
Unless House was right.
Unless Jim did need her.
"Cameron."
She looked up, startled out of her thoughts.
"Why are you still here?" He jerked his thumb towards the door. "He's heading out to his car." He made a shooing gesture with his hands. "Go forth and turn on the sap." He smirked. "Wilson's a sucker for that stuff."
She stared blankly for a second, but just a second, before setting in motion, nearly tripping on her bag as she bolted out of the room.
She heard House yelling, "I expect some sort of financial compensation for all of this emotional turmoil I'm subjecting myself to!" after her down the hall.
---
Wilson, suitcase in hand, thin jacket on, resisted the urge to glare upwards from his position directly outside of the hospital, eyeing the large parking lot with a growing sense of dread.
He had parked outside that day.
And now it was raining.
He seemed to have a knack for picking the wrong days to leave his car a solid sixty feet away from shelter of any kind. And this time he didn't even want to drink himself to oblivion, just sleep. Was that really too much to ask?
Giving in, feeling as if he had earned it, Wilson scowled at the storm currently raging above him.
God was sadistic.
Perhaps a bold statement, but Wilson thought it was applicable in his current situation.
It had been a long week. If Wilson was perfectly honest, it had been a long two weeks, a long ten months, a long thirty-eight years.
He was ready to rest.
However, being ready to rest didn't necessarily mean that he would be able to do so, especially with a vengeful deity and a friend as obnoxious and spiteful as House.
Obviously annoyed at Wilson's outburst of self-defense the day before, the diagnostician had sent him on a scavenger hunt for his keys, gleefully informing Wilson at five that he had granted him the pleasure of hiding them to provide the oncologist with long-denied entertainment.
House only wanted to cheer him up, of course.
Goody.
Forty-five minutes later, Wilson had finally tracked them down to the nurse's station, where Brenda handed him his key-ring with an annoyed look on her face, quickly shooing him out of the lobby as she directed the next patient to the waiting room.
Mission accomplished, Wilson had trekked his way back to the elevator, scaling up the building to his office and grabbing his suitcase before returning to the lift so he could finally go home.
To his cold, bare home where he could collapse and sleep for a few hours, a few decades, before making his way back here once more, to start the cycle anew. It wasn't much, but Wilson wasn't exactly in a state to complain. He couldn't afford to be picky.
It took far more effort than it should have to remind himself of that.
Wilson had two things that worked for him. His third marriage had ended; he still had no kids and Cameron…. Well. That had been a mistake.
There was just his stupid screwed up friendship and his job.
And neither of them seemed to be enough for him any more.
They had been, at one point. Back when he was younger and had still been getting over Sara. When he had married Elise in a loveless union, when he helped House through infarction and Stacy's leaving. When he still had hope that there was a cure and that he could ease pain until it was found, when he married Julie out of obligation. When he fooled House into detoxing in hopes that it would change his friend, when he gave up his job to protect him. When Stacy came and left once more, and he forced House to detox again, and for the last time.
Then his friendship and job had been enough to get him through his day. The satisfaction and joy he had derived from each had been more than sufficient, had been strong enough motivations to get up every morning, to go through the tiresome but necessary necessities of everyday life. Lord knew House had moaned, complained and ditched enough of his obligations for the both of them.
But when he had met Julie for dinner two nights after Cameron left (because he felt sorry for her and he knew that she had needed it), he could feel his insides churning. Even when she had started to cry, started to apologize for aborting the baby, he couldn't quite summon up the sympathy he knew he should have felt. He became incapable of pretending to be moved by her pleas, of pretending to be unaffected by what she had done. He couldn't function the way he knew he should have, the way he was supposed to, because what he had was no longer enough to prompt him into doing so.
And he knew that, somehow, it was all Cameron's fault.
He didn't hold it against her. How could he? During times of great personal strife and suffering, Wilson, out of all people, was perfectly aware of how someone could become confused. How grief and uncertainty could make them believe they wanted something they didn't, make them say things they didn't believe. Desperate feelings called for desperate acts, and with grief hanging over her like a cloud, Allison Cameron had been nothing if not desperate.
Guiltily, Wilson admitted that desperation called to him. It was a hard force for him to deny, for him to pass by without pause, without interest and concern. Really, he was just as much to blame as Cameron for what had occurred between the two of them. He should have known better than to give in, than to clutch at some foolish notion that, perhaps, what had happened had been spurred on by something other than desperation.
But he hadn't known better, not when it really mattered. Instead he had allowed himself to be drawn to her like a fool, knowing perfectly well that she still loved her boss and that he was a temporary placebo to her hurt. Want, once again, had clouded his judgment.
Ultimately, Wilson was forced to agree with House.
He was a moron. A moron who had momentarily given in to an age old vice and, as such, was now being punished by an angry God for it.
Because, perhaps for the first time, Wilson truly and deeply cared for her. More than the mundane caring that he was prone to handing out without thought or discretion, but the real sort that he found himself incapable of shaking, despite every iota of common sense and decency he had screaming for him to do so.
Something in him didn't want to give her up, couldn't quite imagine an existence without her in it.
Not to say that he couldn't manage without her. He could, of course, and he would because he had to (for her and House's sake). But that didn't change how he felt about her, despite how much he wished that it did.
Now, because of her, he couldn't pretend anymore. Couldn't sit and have a pleasant meal with the woman who had aborted his child, couldn't quite keep the truth away from House, and couldn't be as unaffected, content and aloof as he had everyone believing he was.
He couldn't pretend anymore, because for a while she had made it so he didn't have to.
That, at least, was all Cameron's fault.
Wilson sighed, looking back across the expanse of concrete in front of him.
As for the icing on the cake he had baked himself in a fit of idiocy, the powers that be had blessed him with rain and a very large, very wet, parking lot to cross.
He knew God was laughing manically somewhere.
Squaring his shoulders and hunching over, Wilson let out a resigned huff of air before setting out at a fast jog.
He was about halfway across the lot when he heard a faint voice behind him, accompanied by the sound of heels smacking against cement.
"Wilson!" There was a small, barely noticeable, pause. "James!"
He stopped in his tracks, recognizing the voice instantly.
He would know that voice anywhere.
He turned hesitantly. "Cameron?" She came to a halt a few feet in front of him, and upon seeing her Wilson gave a severe frown. "What are you doing?" She was wearing a thin long-sleeved red shirt, slacks and high-heels.
Wilson promptly determined the woman had no sense whatsoever.
"Where's your jacket?"
She panted slightly, pushing her hair out of her eyes that was now plastered to her face from the rain. "Inside."
He continued to give her a disapproving look.
She sent him a glare. "None of that." She gestured to his, now completely soaked, clothes. "You aren't exactly the epitome of practicality either."
He glanced down, taking in his own appearance, noting the water he could feel dripping from his nose and the decidedly squishy feeling of his socks.
She had a point.
Cameron shivered, bringing her arms around her waist. "Jesus, it's cold out here."
Wilson gave a rueful grin. "That can happen in the middle of a rain storm."
"This really did seem like a good idea at the time, you know," she muttered, huddling in on herself and looking at the sky in annoyance.
He stared at her, smiling. "It always does."
And then life threw in things like death, unrequited love and rainstorms.
Wilson felt the grin fading from his face.
He gave his neck a rub before hefting his now useless jacket higher on his shoulders. "Go back in, Cameron."
She removed her gaze from the storm and brought it to him, startled.
"You don't want to get sick." He gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage and then turned back to his car.
"Jim, wait."
She grabbed his elbow and forced him to stop, to look at her. With her big blue-green eyes and that combination of determination and vulnerability that undid him every time.
"I'm sorry."
But not this time. Not again.
"Accepted." He jerked his head back to the hospital, gently pulling his arm away. "Now go inside."
He saw the pained expression on her face, the way her body seemed to fall at the words, how a little light seemed to leave her eyes just before he began to walk away.
And he thought with a sorrowful certainty that he had finally killed whatever they might have shared. That now that he had done the right thing she would go back inside, go to House and the world would return to the way that it should have been all along.
So his surprise was immense when he heard Allison's shoes following him across the lot.
"That's it?"
He frowned at her almost angry tone, glancing behind him and slowing his pace as she caught up.
"You gave an apology, I forgave you. What else is there?"
"I lied," she stated bluntly, giving him an earnest look. "About wanting something else," a small pause, "about House."
Wilson halted, looking at her intently, noting the small blush of shame across her cheeks, the way she couldn't look at him when she said it.
In that instant Wilson envisioned all of the ways in which he could torture the meddling, limping, twerp.
"He harassed you, didn't he?"
Allison's eyes widened innocently as she instantly replied, "No."
Wilson glared.
"Well, okay, yes, but he was right."
He scratched at his neck and muttered, "He can manipulate anyone into thinking he's right, but that doesn't mean it's true." He ran the hand through his dripping hair, glancing towards House's balcony and preparing a mental catalogue as to how, exactly, he was going to kill his friend. "I'll talk to him, try to make him stop-"
"I don't want him to stop, Jim."
Wilson glanced at her, simply raising an eyebrow.
"Well, at least not when he's making sense," she amended quickly.
"It's not exactly reassuring to note that his 'making sense' caused you to do this." He indicated her shivering, soaked form.
"That's my fault, not his."
Wilson sighed, giving up. He was pretty certain House would always be a meddling jerk, even beyond the grave. On reflection, with this in mind, going through all the effort of plotting his murder seemed rather pointless.
Besides, Cameron had obviously been thoroughly convinced by what the hobbling jerk had told her, and nothing Wilson said or did would be able to change that.
He shrugged and started for his car again. "Okay."
She followed him, exasperated. "Jim, I'm trying to talk to you!"
"I know you are," Wilson said, not slowing his pace. "I just don't think there's much we can say."
He told himself that he wasn't running away. He was walking away. Walking quickly away, yes, but it was raining. It wasn't as if he didn't have just cause, wasn't like he didn't want to hear her, to believe her again.
It was just that his socks were soggy.
"Haven't you been listening?" Her tone was frustrated, the length of her step increasing as she tried to catch up to him. "I never wanted House. I lied."
"Or he made you think you did," Wilson responded quickly, shaking his head. "That man's far too crafty for everyone's good."
Suddenly she stepped in front of him, almost gasping from the effort of doing so, but still intimidating, beautiful, as she pinned him to the spot with nothing more than her small, shivering frame.
It wasn't fair, how she could do this to him.
"Why are you so convinced that I don't know how I feel?"
Wilson eyed her seriously. "In my situation, given everything, can you really blame me?"
She had the grace to look ashamed at that, lowering her eyes to the ground.
He kneaded the skin bellow his ear, mourning internally.
He didn't want to do this, didn't want to let her, make her, go.
But he had to.
He would not deceive himself again. Wouldn't take her away from a man who needed her much more than he did again.
"Cameron, we tried, but if you hadn't had doubts, of any kind, you wouldn't have needed to leave." He smiled as best he could. "Go back inside. Be with the person who will make you happy."
Allison made a loud, dramatic and slightly frightening sound of frustration. "James! You are the most infuriating-!"
Wilson raised an eyebrow innocently in confusion, attempting not to be amused by her irritation.
At a loss for words, she reached forward and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him towards her and firmly locking her lips onto his, rainwater mixing with her taste on his tongue.
All in all, Wilson didn't quite know what to make of that, as much as he might have enjoyed it, meaning that when she broke away from him, he was left dumbfounded and mute.
Likely, exactly what she had intended.
She released his jacket. "You make me happy." She was still standing close to him, mere inches away, and he could feel her shiver. "You're that person." She brought her eyes to his. "You."
It was almost enough to make Wilson forget his misgivings, almost enough to make him reach out to her, to try and express how desperately he had missed her, how empty he had been without her.
But Wilson had been tricked by that kiss before.
"Then why did you leave?"
Allison stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. "Because-" She halted, uncertain. "Because you made me need you." She sighed. "I couldn't function without you. Couldn't imagine a life where you'd leave me." She looked up at him. "And that scared me. I don't want to be that person. The dependent one, the needy one. I didn't want to be the one who took everything and gave nothing back."
Wilson couldn't stop a small smirk from forming on his face. "I don't think you're mentally or psychologically capable being that person."
She laughed. "Neither did I." She became serious once more. "But with you I am."
And Wilson wanted to tell her what she did to him. Wanted her to understand how selfish she made him, how blind to everything else, all problems and obligations. He wanted her to know that he hadn't been able to think about anything except her for weeks, months. That being near her made it so hard for him to remember all of the reasons why he shouldn't have her.
He wanted to tell her that she made him forget that he didn't deserve her.
But he didn't, he couldn't.
Not yet.
Instead he held himself back and eyed her skeptically, asking, "What's different now?" Asking, Will you stay?
She smiled gently. "I've stopped being afraid, opened my eyes and seen what I've been missing."
"What's that?"
She came closer, blinking away rain from her eyes and looking at him sincerely. "You love me."
It wasn't meant to be a question, but Wilson felt compelled to respond.
"Yes."
He hadn't known it, until just then. 'Love' wasn't a word he used often, knowing that some of its significance was lost, coming from his lips. Love, to a man like him, meant next to nothing, held no value, no weight. Or at least that's what he had thought.
It was in that instant that Wilson realized that he had never experienced this kind of love before.
"And I love you too, Jimmy." She came even closer, carefully brushing away the hair on his forehead that was getting into his eyes. "And I know you don't believe it, not yet." She took a minuscule step back, her eyes large, blue, green and gray, pleading and demanding that he give in to her request. "But please, let me prove it. Give me another chance to get this right."
Of course, that was the problem. He did believe her. He believed everything she said. He had no choice, when she looked at him like that.
Sara had told him once that love wasn't supposed to need convincing. That it happened naturally, that there came a time when the emotion was just known. Not manufactured, crafted or designed, but felt.
For the first time, James felt it.
Seized by impulse, he eliminated the space between himself and Allison and kissed her, bringing one hand to the small of her back while her arms quickly entwined around his neck, a satisfied hum coming from her throat.
So it was in a parking lot, in the middle of a storm, drenched head to toe (with soggy socks to boot), suitcase still dumbly clenched in one hand while the other was wrapped firmly around Allison's waist, that James Edward Wilson felt the sort of love he had long since ceased to believe he would ever again be allowed to feel.
He broke away briefly, kissing her forehead, hugging the gorgeous, kind and spectacular woman in his arms closer to him.
He just needed a few seconds to reassure himself that she was actually there, that she had no intention of leaving.
He knew this could be a mistake. That they both had doubts and insecurities, faults and points of annoyance, that any or all of these things could come back to destroy them later.
But he also loved her.
And he couldn't let go of that feeling. Not if she might stay. It was far too precious.
From the way her head rested against his and how her hands were firmly situation on his chest, he had the courage to hope that she just might.
Satisfied after a few moments, he brought his mouth to her ear, grinning as he said, "I hope you know that you're going to have to watch a ridiculous number of Hitchcock movies to make this up to me."
He felt her smile against his cheek.