Happy
A.N. In the actual world, it's Valentine's Day (soon). But in this fictional world, it's not. Nevertheless, this is an incredibly fluffy entry. I'm not apologising, because I really do enjoy writing this stuff. Fair warning, though, I do have a diabolical masterplan.
"Where to now?", House asked as they made it out into the fresh early evening air having spent the entire afternoon in the museum.
"I'm hungry", Cameron announced.
"Chinatown isn't far on the tube. Near Leicester square, I think".
"OK, but are you gonna be able to stay awake if we have a big meal? I'm not finished with you quite yet".
"I'm not that old. I was joking when I told Wethersnap my age was one hundred and eleven. Let's go". The sidewalks were still full of people hurrying about in the twilight. The museum may be closing, but the London nightlife and restaurant scene was just beginning to stir. Indeed, as the pair navigated towards the underground station, it became possible to tell between those pedestrians on the way out after a day in the shops or the office, and those heading into the city for an evening meal or a session at the clubs.
"I know exactly how old you are, House. Remember, I got you a birthday present soon after I started".
"Ah, yes. D'you know how disappointed I was when I opened it and found out that it wasn't tickets to monster trucks or pictures of you in various states of undress?".
"Hah. I'd like to know which of those two options you'd value more highly".
"Now that is an interesting question. Hang on, we're here. Need to check the route". House tugged Cameron towards the map and they both studied it, the former using his finger to trace the stops. "So we are…here. And we need to get…here".
"Piccadilly line to Leicester Square. It's actually really close. Could easily walk it".
"Yeah", he agreed, "but I fancied the underground".
"Look at you using the local lingo: cricket, 'tube', 'underground'. Are you sure you're not secretly a Brit playing at being an American?".
House scoffed. "Gotta blend in, haven't you? When in Rome and all that".
Cameron smiled at the phrasing for it immediately reminded her of their meal in his apartment when he had cooked and opened the door wearing a Pink Floyd apron. The pair tapped in through the barriers and boarded a train which was completely full. Chicago had its 'L' and New York its subway, but there was something venerable and alluringly mechanical about the tube as it screeched along in the pitch black at breakneck speed. It was too loud to talk, so instead they stood in silence holding tightly to the handrail, the swaying of the carriage surprisingly soothing and at odds with the roar outside the rattling windows.
At length, the train pulled into Leicester Square and they disembarked. On the way across the concourse House spotted a public piano and toyed with the idea of sidling over for a play. Cameron saw the direction of his gaze. "Off you go, then".
"Tempted", he admitted, "but I'm hungry and it's rush hour; too many people. If it's still there on the way back I'll give it a crack".
"My issue", declared Cameron, holding the laminated paper aloft, "is that this menu is almost entirely in…Mandarin?". They had found a small place off the main Chinatown thoroughfare. A quick glance around revealed that they were the only non-Chinese in the dining room, and even the young waitress seemed almost apologetic as she led them to an empty table, having attempted to explain that the English menus were currently 'in the laundry', whatever that meant.
"The proper food is always in the place where the Chinese eat. If you see more than five white people, it's best to steer clear", assured House as he scanned the menu himself. "I'll translate for you".
"Fine. What's this?", she pointed.
He tilted his head, examining the characters. "Beef fried in chilli and garlic".
"This?".
"Fish balls in broth".
"And these two?". Another point.
Another head tilt. "You don't want those".
"Excuse me, sir. I said I eat anything when you cooked me dinner, remember? I'll be the judge".
"Fair enough", smirked House. "That", he pointed at the first, "is stewed ox tongue. And these", he pointed at the second, "are smoked chicken feet".
"Hmm", she mused. "How about you just order for us both? I trust your taste".
"Rice or noodles?".
"I don't mind. You choose. I'm just going to use the washroom real quick". Cameron excused herself from the table and scouted around for the universal 'ladies' sign which she found before long. Finishing up, she washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. The face staring back was, of course, very similar to that all those months ago in the middle of a rainy night in Princeton, when she had awoken from a nightmare of House's shooting. Cameron ran a hand through her long brown hair, smiling at how events had developed, but also excited for the future. Then it struck her: there was one difference between that Cameron and this one. Happiness. Though not necessarily unhappy back then, she was certainly beginning to appreciate the very real difference between 'not being unhappy' and 'being happy'.
House, as she soon discovered, was engaged in conversation with the waitress. They were speaking Chinese. Because obviously. The woman saw Cameron returning to her seat and spoke rapidly to House who merely laughed.
"What was that about, then?", she asked once they were alone again.
"She thought you were a fourteen-year-old boy. I didn't correct her", he winked.
"You're teasing me".
He poured her some tea and took a sip of his own before coughing discreetly: "she wondered aloud if I had slipped you a secret love potion to explain why you were with me. At least I think that's what she said. Else she was offering 'to love me long time' after her shift finishes".
"Is that racist? It feels racist".
"Only to Vietnamese. And these guys are from Fuzhou, so it's all good".
"And whereabouts is that in China?".
"South east coast, opposite Taiwan".
"And Beijing?", she asked over the rim of the teacup.
"North east. Why do you keep asking me all these questions? First in the museum, now here".
"Why? Does it annoy you?".
"I just want to know", he reiterated, holding her gaze.
Cameron shrugged. "Because I love how knowledgeable you are. When I first started my fellowship I found it incredibly annoying. But now…I think it's great".
"Well, I'm not infallible. I make mistakes".
"I know. But you asked 'why the questions?' and I was just explaining", she smiled.
This answer satisfied the other, who sat back as the two lapsed into a comfortable silence until their food arrived. House had seemingly gone for a selection of meat dishes. Everything smelled fantastic, but Cameron looked in vain for cutlery. "Could you, er, ask them to bring me a spoon, please?".
House looked up in surprise. "You can't use chopsticks?".
"I missed that class in school, unfortunately. Spoon?".
"Sorry, but I can't allow any girlfriend of mine to remain a chopstick virgin. Here. Kuàizi. You try saying it". House handed over fresh implements as she mimicked his pronunciation with some success. "Not bad. We'll make a linguist out of you yet. OK, so you want the bottom one to remain rigid, nestling between your thumb and hand".
"Like this?". Cameron followed the guidance, watching him reach across and adjust her position.
"Yep. That'll be your support. Then you take the top one between your index and middle fingers and rest it against your thumb, like so". Once more he acted out his instructions.
"And the fourth finger?".
"That rests just underneath the bottom one". Again, House reached over and shifted her fingers. "Great. Now try grabbing this chunk of chicken".
A bowl was pushed in front of her, and she failed spectacularly. "I don't think I can do this", she laughed.
House laughed at her laugh. It always disarmed him. "Don't be silly. Here". He picked up his chair and moved it to sit next to her, across from his own plate. "Watch my hand". He neatly trapped the same piece of meat and popped it into her mouth. "See?".
"Do it again", she commanded, still munching. This he did, but instead of eating the proffered food she pecked him on the mouth. "Oops. I missed".
"I'm trying to teach you here…".
"OK, OK. I'm serious now. Show me the technique once more". House complied, performing the action in slow motion. Cameron pretended to be looking at the chopsticks, but really she was regarding his profile keenly. When he started chewing, she kissed him on the cheek, loving the scratchiness of his stubble against her lips.
"We're not leaving here 'til you get this down, by the way. Kissing me won't help".
"Yessir", she saluted. "Hang on". She whipped out her phone before he could move back to his side of the table. "I want a picture of us together. I realised recently that I didn't have one".
House sighed but nevertheless allowed her to pull him close and take a couple of selfies. "Let's see?", he asked, and she showed him the screen with one hand while sipping tea with the other. The first had them pulling a stupid face; the second was simply a pair of idiots grinning into the camera. "We look happy", he admitted.
"We do", she agreed. "Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in happiness".
"I believe in it. I just don't trust it". House reached across and starting piling more rice into their bowls, still remaining on her side of the table. "Now, come on: try again. It's sticky rice, so should be a piece of cake for those nimble fingers of yours".
On the way back they stopped at the piano in the train station. "Well", he observed drily, "it looks like this thing made it through the evening".
"Yep. I guess you'll have to play something after all".
House sat down on the stool and pushed it slightly further back to access the pedals, flexing his fingers. "Sit", he said, patting the empty space beside him. "You can be my distraction carnifex".
"No idea what that means but OK". Cameron did as asked, ensuring that their legs were brushing under the piano.
"It means the people passing by will be too busy looking at you to worry about what I'm doing. Right…let's see now". A few exploratory notes first; then a couple of scales up and down the register. Satisfied, he turned to the side. "Deep and meaningful or light and jolly?".
"Deep and meaningful. Make me cry".
"Make you cry, hmm. How about: you're a fat ugly bitch with shit for brains? Also Chicago sucks".
She wiped away an imaginary tear. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me".
House grinned before turning back to the keys and clearing his throat. He began a little haltingly, obviously working from memory, but before long, as he warmed up, the most beautiful tune emerged. Cameron watched the slender fingers dance across the piano and she could feel his thighs and calves flexing as he manipulated the pedals. The song lasted for several minutes, tempo varying between segments, and when at last it finished he chanced a glance at his neighbour, who had remained quiet. "Verdict?".
"Yeah, good". Cameron's voice was thick and she had to swallow a couple of times. "Did you write that?".
"I wish. It's called 'River Flows in You'. Korean".
"Hits you right in the feels, doesn't it?", she commented, retrieving a Kleenex from her pocket and blowing her nose loudly.
"Are you crying?".
"No. I have allergies".
"What kind of allergies can you get in November?".
"The 'I might have lupus' kind. God, I thought you knew medicine".
House exhaled through his nose. "Well, it's a pretty song, for sure. Quite easy to play as well. Onwards to the hotel then?". But before he could push back the piano stool, he felt something on his jeans. Glancing down, he saw a small hand resting just above his knee; its owner was a boy with shiny green wellington boots and a Postman Pat woolly hat and coat. House looked into the wide, innocent eyes, momentarily lost for words. "Umm, hello", he said finally.
"Hello", replied the boy. "My name is Charlie", he added after a few seconds. "I live in Camden".
"House. I live in Equatorial Guinea".
"Is that near Camden?". Charlie's hand remained where it was, ensuring the man stayed put.
"It's a long walk".
"House is a place not a name".
"If it isn't a name then why am I called it?".
This answer foxed the boy, who wiped his nose on his sleeve as he thought deeply. "I liked that song", he said, having evidently decided to change the subject.
"Maybe you should learn to play the piano, then". House was trying to find a way to bring the conversation to a speedy conclusion.
"Can't. My fingers are too small".
"Interesting. Anyway…".
"I'm five and a half", he announced.
"But you don't look a day over three feet".
"Mummy says I can play piano when I am older. Mummy says if I ask nicely you might play that song again". Charlie wiped his nose on his sleeve as if to emphasise the statement. "Please?".
"Ah, well, look…the lady and I have somewhere-", House began.
"-of course he'll play the song for you again, Charlie", Cameron, who had been watching the adorable exchange, piped up. "Hey, you wanna come and sit up here with us if mommy agrees?".
"Yes!".
The immunologist glanced over to a woman on a cell phone hovering nearby, though still watching her son keenly. At the mimed sitting gesture, she gave a thumbs up and got back to talking rapidly into the phone. "OK", Cameron said, patting a space next to her on the stool, "hop on".
"Not convinced about this", grumbled House, eyeing a tendril of mucus which was slowly drying on Postman Pat's face. "I'm basically hanging off the end here, and the little dude looks like he's absolutely swimming in germs".
"I go swimming every Tuesday with my friends Darren and Joshua. Miss Hunter is teaching us vest stroke". Charlie had clambered up and sandwiched himself between the two adults.
"Give him a Kleenex, would you?", House asked over Charlie's bobble hat. The woman merely grinned and shook her head. "It's breaststroke, by the way", he added.
"Breaststroke", Charlie repeated solemnly before looking up at House. "Play".
"Play", echoed Cameron, grinning like a crazy person.
House sighed, batting a chubby finger away from the keys. "If I'm doing this you need to keep your paws to yourself".
"Only cats have paws".
"What about dogs?", asked Cameron.
"Cats and dogs", nodded the boy.
"And the Upper Mississippi Valley raccoon", interjected House.
"Upper…Miss, Missy…Missus…sipp…". Charlie's face was screwed up in concentration.
He began to play, thinking it best to start before their companion mastered the words. Second time around the song was much smoother, even if he had to stretch a bit to reach all the keys, given his precarious position balanced on the stool's edge. The kid sat entranced, legs swinging happily to the rhythm. At the end, Charlie laughed. "Again!".
But his mother, who had finished her call and was watching just behind, had other ideas. "Come now, champ; daddy is waiting for us at home. If you're good, we'll consider an extra serving of ice cream before bed".
Torture and indecision played out on his face as he attempted to compute the enjoyment gained from listening to the music on the one hand with that from dessert on the other. Eventually he hopped down and waddled over to his mom, but not before looking back and grinning: "bye bye!". The woman inclined her head in thanks and the pair made their way to the exit.
House and Cameron watched them go. "We off, then?", asked the former, already thinking about what awaited once they got back to the hotel room.
The latter smiled, a feeling of warm happiness spreading through her limbs as they walked leisurely onwards hand in hand. "Yes, we are off". A few moments passed in silence before she nudged him.
"Mmm?".
"Thanks for such a wonderful day".
House merely grunted in acknowledgement, though he turned to the side and softly kissed Cameron's hat-covered hair as they headed out into the night.
