Grabbing onto the sink for support, House absentmindedly acknowledges its placement to be the reason he remains on his feet as he continues to stare down at the gore streaking Cameron's bathtub. Deep maroon splashes create a stark contrast to the white of the tub, and despite all of his years of medical practice, there is something about the four smudges of scarlet that paint the rim of the tub - something about the way that they look almost like the leftovers of a handprint, Cameron's handprint - that has him swallowing thickly as he rubs anxiously at his jaw.
What the hell have you done?
He is unsure whether these words are directed towards the blonde or towards himself; suddenly plagued by the demand to know how he could have been so damned stupid to leave her alone after the events of the previous day.
It wasn't stupid. She was fine, she said so herself!
Yes, and we all know how forthcoming Cameron can be about pain and personal issues...
But she was fine, it was just a nick, just a cut. A deep cut, yes, but nothing worth hanging around for...
"Cameron!?"
Stumbling from the bathroom, House hurries back to the blonde's bedroom; circling her bed before checking her closet. It's not that he imagines she might be hiding, he just doesn't think the civil decency to collapse in plain sight would have been paramount in her train of thought. Coming up empty and limping into the living room, he checks behind her kitchen island, in the little nook where she keeps her vacuum cleaner and ironing board, and behind her sofa.
Pausing as he circles the sofa, he fingers stained wool with clenched teeth; the blood speckling the throw dull and dry, but no more preferable for it. Falling heavily onto the sofa, House tugs at his lip distractedly, wondering where the blonde could have got to and trying both to gauge and to deny the state she must be in given the state of her apartment.
"Where in the hell are you?"
He mutters, pulling out his phone and dialling her number. He'd tried to call her back at the hospital - readying an excuse for doing so, lest she believe he might simply be checking to see if she was alright - but had received no answer. Now, as a dial tone greets him from the useless hunk of plastic in his hand, he frowns as he makes out a telling hum coming from her bedroom.
"Fuck!"
And just like that, his phone smashes into several smaller pieces as he hurls it at her front door. Sighing at the useless remains of his anger, he supposes it would make sense for the blonde to have called for help given the amount of blood staining her tub.
Not that Cameron has always made that much sense.
What the hell happened?
Why didn't you call me?
... You wouldn't have answered...
Hating the truth to this last admission, he pushes himself up from the sofa and limps defeatedly towards the blonde's bedroom, deciding to hunt out her phone with the intent to call the hospital.
Spotting an outdated iPhone charging on her bedside table, House settles onto the grey cotton of Cameron's bedspread and brings it to life.
Two missed calls: his, and one from Nancy Pierce.
Miss I-Can't-Stand-The-Sight-Of-Blood-But-I'm-A-Doctor.
Two text messages: one from Chase asking if she has plans, and one from Dominic.
Not the best day at work? What do u mean? Are u ok?
Friend? More than that?
BTW, are u coming down for Mindy's birthday or shall I tell dad that ur busy? Like always. Every year.
Brother.
Resisting the urge to snoop through previous messages - Cameron's private and family life something she has forever kept suspiciously close to her chest - he scrolls through her contacts with a frown before realising the reason he can't find Cuddy's details might be due to the fact that the blonde probably hasn't saved her number under 'Party Pants'.
Scrolling back up to 'L', House jumps and fumbles with the phone when a sudden thud comes from the other room. Frowning, he grabs his cane and limps towards the source of the noise.
"Cameron?!"
The blonde lets out a cry as she drops her coat and raises her hands in what is presumably supposed to resemble some form of defence. Catching her breath, she glowers at her intruder nervously, using the backrest of one of the chairs surrounding her table to support herself.
"What the hell, House!?"
She demands.
"What the hell?! I should be asking you the same question! I come over here and you're nowhere to be found, and it looks like you've been slaughtering cute little woodland animals in your bathroom! I-"
"-I didn't answer the door so you broke in?!"
"I-... I don't know why you're surprised."
House shrugs irritably, his expression purposefully disinterested, but he allows his gaze to roam baggy fabric and chalky features as the blonde shakes her head with a groan and picks her coat up off the floor. Noting the tentative way she goes about doing so, House sighs and moves towards the table, pulling out a chair and pointing to it.
"Sit."
"I'm not a child."
Cameron grumbles, but she does as she's told; the fatigue of the day overshadowing her irritation. Sitting back and regarding House as he takes a seat opposite her, she sighs when he seems suddenly more interested in the grain of the wood of the table rather than herself.
"What are you doing here?"
"Wilson said you weren't at work when he tried to find you."
"He needed me?"
Looking up and noting the concern written across the blonde's face, House rolls his eyes.
"We were talking about you, remember?"
"Actually, I thought we were talking about you and why you broke into my apartment..."
"I wanted to finish what the guy in the ER started?"
Cameron chuckles weakly at this, and House reprimands the small voice in his head that pipes up that he can always count on her to react to his bleak humour.
Whether she always appreciates it or not is another thing.
"Actually, it looks like you tried to finish what the guy in the ER started. What the hell happened?"
"I woke up and the dressing was soaked through and there was a tonne of bruising... I reckoned it was probably internal bleeding and tried to figure out what was going on, so I-"
"-You idiot!"
"... I wish people would stop calling me that."
"Well, you are. Honestly, It sounds like something I would do."
"Well, I learnt from the best."
"Flattery will get you nowhere. What happened?"
House repeats seriously.
"Chase came by to see if I was free for drinks, and I figured I'd done all the damage I was willing to do, so, I went to the hospital, got myself sorted again - this time with some additional internal work - and... Good as new."
She smiles, and House fights the urge to demand that she stop doing so as it only serves to exaggerate the pallor of her complexion and the tiredness in her eyes.
"Hardly."
"Hmm... Rude."
Shrugging, House pushes himself from his chair; suddenly wishing to get as far away from the blonde as possible.
She's fine. She will be fine. He has no reason to stay.
But what if she hadn't been...
"I'm going to go. All this breaking and entering has got me beat."
"So wait, you broke into my house and you didn't even want anything?"
The blonde snaps incredulously, and House studies her levelly; taking in the twitch to the side of her mouth and suddenly willing to bet anything that she's playing him.
Trying to get him to admit he had been worried about her.
"You were MIA. I wanted to solve the mystery."
"Right... And your phone?"
She points to the fractured remnants scattered across the floor and he silently damns her for her ability to read a situation so easily despite her current condition.
But then, isn't that part of her appeal?
What appeal?
Hmm... Smooth.
"Dropped it."
"Uhuh..."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What?"
"That noise; 'uhuh', why the doubt?"
"... Nothing."
Grunting in response, House nods and places his hand on the doorknob.
"You know, you could always stay around and help me cook..."
Cameron speaks up quietly, and House raises a brow; looking first at the blonde and then down at his hand resting so temptingly on his means of escape.
"I, uh-... My cooking's not-"
"-House, relax, I'm not trying to jump you. I just don't think I can reach the plates is all."
"Ah! So you need the help of a big, strong man, Dr Cameron?"
"Well, that would be preferable, yeah, but I suppose I'll have to settle for you as you're here."
"Want me to spit in your dinner?"
"I think I'll pass... But let's start with drinks before things get too crazy."
"... Perhaps I was wrong about you."
"Oh, shut up. Top cabinet, whatever you like. Mine's a gin and tonic. Glasses are above the sink."