Cane-undrum
A.N. This chapter is my Hameron take on a scene in S3E21 'Family'.
House and Cameron were driving around in the car looking for a place to park. "Why's it so busy?", she wondered aloud. "It's the middle of the workday!".
"Oh, sweet summer child", laughed House, though, of course, forgetting the state of his ribs and wincing loudly.
"I wish it was summer", grumbled Cameron. "Anyway, you shouldn't be laughing, moron".
"Over there", House pointed through the window at a vacant bay on the side of the road.
"It's only for handicapped people", she replied doubtfully.
"Err, hello?".
"You're not handicapped".
"The wheelchair in the trunk begs to differ".
"But you don't have a badge". Cameron's innate desire to follow the rules necessitated that she put up some semblance of resistance, though in truth it really did look like there was no other option.
"It'll be fine. If you get a ticket, we'll throw our toys out of the cot and allege persecution. It works for Republicans. Come on, CB, my leg's seizing up".
"OK, OK, sorry". She duly swung the car around, parked in the disabled spot, and retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk. Once it was unpacked she made her way around to House's side, opened the door, and helped him slip into the padded seat. The process, though of course laborious, felt a little smoother each time. Both of them were still rather new at this. "Ready?", she asked.
"Yeah. The cane place is just a couple of minutes further down. Full speed ahead, Mr. Sulu", announced House, gesturing forwards.
Behind the pushbar Cameron smiled as she navigated them both to the sidewalk and set off in the direction indicated. The pavements were crowded, but the one benefit of wheelchairs was that people actually tried to get out of the way. "I always preferred Voyager to the original series".
"You like Star Trek?". House's tone mixed surprise and excitement.
"I like Voyager. Does that qualify?", she laughed, always delighted when his enthusiasm made an appearance. The man so often exuded apathy and aloofness; this gave him a somewhat chilly aura. But she had known him long enough to understand that, like anyone else, he had his passions and projects. Indeed, given his obsessiveness and fierce intelligence, when these passions emerged, they did so with an intensity that seemed innocently childlike. This paradoxical reality had always fascinated and attracted Cameron in equal measure.
"Sure it qualifies. I like that series myself. Let's cross here".
The pair waited patiently for the green man to appear. Instead of resuming the conversation immediately, Cameron momentarily closed her eyes, enjoying the spring smells and sounds. The urban hubbub complemented the faintest trace of tree pollen on the air. Given that she usually worked at this time of day, it was refreshing to experience noontime Princeton, and even though she had complained earlier about the absence of summer, she could still feel the slightest warmth from the sun's rays. Adding into the mix House's company, and her heart began to soar.
"It's green". House could not have known her temporary euphoria and had evidently read her delay as inattentiveness.
"Sorry", she replied as they crossed the road and resumed their journey.
"Cameron?".
"Mmm?".
"How can you like Star Trek Voyager but not have seen Star Wars? That just doesn't make sense".
"But I have seen Star Wars. I watched it with you, remember? You insisted on marathon-ing the original trilogy one Saturday instead of having sex with me". Ordinarily she would have refrained from mentioning this on a public street due to her own shyness, but happiness was a powerful drug.
"Oh, come on, that's not fair".
"Yeah, well, life's not fair".
"We're agreed on that", he muttered, tapping the leg cast with a finger. The thing was starting to itch.
"I'm surprised you're a Voyager fan. I wouldn't've thought Janeway to be your cup of tea".
"Her I can take or leave", he admitted. "But I like the premise: a starship crew stranded thousands of light years from home with nothing but their brains and wits".
"Ahh", she mused, thinking back to their conversation yesterday. "You like the return. The nostos".
"Guilty. Anyway, we're here".
"Really?". Cameron appraised the storefront. "This isn't a medical supply stop".
"The hell would I go there?".
"To, um, buy a cane?".
"Nah, this is the place to be: more bitchin' choices. If I gotta be lurching around again, then I may as well look good doing it. Speaking of looking good, think it's best if I enter the premises under my own steam: don't want the dude thinking I'm a pathetic cripple and charging me extra".
"Interesting logic", she declared, holding the door open as he rolled through. On the point of following him in, her eyes cast across the street and alighted upon a homeware store. "Hey, Greg?", she called. "Can you manage by yourself for a bit?".
House had made his way to the guy behind the counter and looked back. "Sure. I'll be here a while".
"How's it going, man?", Cameron asked a while later, re-joining House amidst a mountain of assorted paraphernalia and other miscellaneous objects. The proprietor gave her a quick glance and then got back to playing a game on his phone. They were the only customers.
"Y'know", he considered, still turned away examining an item, "I was originally not convinced you could pull off 'man' unironically, but it's actually pretty cute".
"I'm glad you think so, because I've been searching for alternatives to 'House' and 'Greg' for months. Your shopping progressing well?".
Rather than answer this question directly, he asked one of his own: "what did you buy, then?".
"Tampons", she replied immediately. "I forgot to bring some over from my place and it's my time of the month". This response, intended to discourage further questions, would've grossed out normal guys.
Unfortunately, however, House was not a normal guy. "Uhuh, sure, sure; thing is, I learnt your cycle even before we got together".
"Goddamit", she grumbled. "Why do I need to tell you everything, anyway? Can't we have secrets from each other?".
House fixed her with a trademark blue-eyed stare, and Cameron, who was beginning to regret not just telling him straight out, got the distinct impression that this wasn't over. But he eventually relented with a grunted 'fine'.
"Great. So, have you picked a cane yet?".
"I've narrowed it down to a couple of choices". He held out a pair, one in each hand. "But it's proving to be a bit of a conundrum".
"A cane-undrum, if you will?".
"Indeed", he chuckled, though quickly setting his mouth in a line. "Still, in all seriousness, I make the jokes around here".
"Sorry", she grinned widely. This place seemed to harbour all sorts of random stuff. Over House's shoulder she could spot a set of three bowling balls, and dangling from the ceiling was an ornate chandelier with 'DO NOT TOUCH ($80!)' scrawled in thick pencil. Quite why anyone would spend eighty dollars on a chandelier was anyone's guess. But then again, bowling balls were hardly high on the list, either.
"So…we have flames with exhibit 'A'", he waved that in his left hand, "or skull handle with exhibit 'B'", now he brandished that in his right.
She assessed the options. "Fine specimens, for sure. Are we thinking the skull is a little too 'Marilyn Manson in a retirement home'?".
"Hmm". He considered her observation, stroking the chrome skull softly before gazing once more at the one in his other hand. "Maybe you're right; it is pretty hardcore. You think I should go for the flames?".
Cameron, now facing the shelves, was flicking through the dusty pages of an old book on the Salem witch trials. "I think you should go for whichever you want, babe", she muttered distractedly. The woman froze as soon as the word left her mouth. House disliked that term of affection at the best of times, but they were not even together. And it was her fault they were not together. God, I'm such a moron.
"I do like the flames". House twirled the cane gently, his eyes on the intricate patterning. "Plus, it would make it seem like I'm going faster".
"Um, yeah, yeah, good point". Cameron, having turned around somewhat clenched, looked uncertainly in his direction. There was no way he could not have heard. Maybe he wouldn't yell at her, but she was at least expecting some form of rebuke.
"A third option the guy suggested: genuine bull penis. But you gotta draw the line somewhere, I feel. Having that in my hand every day and it's basically like I'm jerking off a bovine. Indirectly, anyway".
"Besides, penis canes are murder", she added.
"That too", he nodded thoughtfully. "So, it'll have to be the flame cannon". With that, he inverted it and pretended to spray her with imaginary bullets from his seated position.
Cameron laughed. "I like it, you big goof. Picking up a second one just in case? Maybe Marilyn Manson would look good, after all".
"Nah, no need". House winced a little: the shooting motion had perhaps not been the wisest move considering his heavily bruised ribs.
"Give me that before you rip your stitches out". She plucked the cane from his grasp and walked over to the man behind the cash register. House, meanwhile, retrieved the Salem witch trials book, rested it in his lap, and rolled along in her wake.
When the pair returned to Baker Street, House remained sitting in his wheelchair, but still clasping the fire cane. "Hmm".
Cameron ruffled her hair, deposited her handbag in a convenient nook by the door, and looked at him apprehensively. "What's up? I think it's about time for your next dose of painkillers".
"Yeah. Would you grab me a glass of water?".
"Of course". Cameron took off her boots and disappeared into the kitchen.
House, meanwhile, reached with the cane, snagged the handbag by its handles, and opened it quickly. It didn't take long to locate the wrapping of the homeware store from earlier today. Even though he had been talking to the owner about cane options, he had still observed as she crossed the road and entered the shop over the way.
Cameron returned thirty seconds later with the water. "I've got your pills-, oh, for God's sake".
"It was just a coffee mug, Cameron", he mused, holding up the brand-new red one freshly liberated from her bag.
"Why do you insist on rooting through my stuff? There is such a thing as 'boundaries', House".
"No, there's not. You're literally helping me go to the bathroom".
"Yeah, well, that's different".
House merely shrugged before holding out the mug and exchanging it for the water and pills. "It's not different; it's you and me".
The immunologist eyed him with a mixture of disapproval and tenderness. In truth she didn't much mind about the breach of privacy—House operated on a different plane of behaviour and it would be pointless to pretend otherwise. But she had hoped either to slip the new mug under the radar, or to surprise him with it. Quite which of these outcomes she most desired had not yet been (and, now, would not be) decided upon. On the one hand, she hadn't wanted it to be a formal gift, because that might be construed as a crossing of the line between business and pleasure, a line which she had unintentionally muddied with her 'babe'-blurting (the intimate camera images from this morning didn't count: they were simply quid pro quo). On the other hand, though, she did want it to be a gift, because she did want to muddy that line. The whole thing was a conundrum. A not necessarily unpleasant conundrum.
If he knew the mental gymnastics going on in your brain right now he would laugh at you.
"Mmm, thanks". House handed back the empty glass. "And thanks for the mug", he added.
"OK, that's enough thanks for one day", she managed, trying to maintain an air of stern annoyance by standing solidly by the door.
House's eyes flickered knowingly, but he wheeled to the sofa, using the new cane to facilitate his moving from one seat to another in record time. A minor achievement but an achievement, nonetheless. None of this was ideal. The pain still felt extreme, and he could easily envisage a situation where opioids became necessary. But at least he had a cane now. And it looked damn good. He twirled it in his hand.
Cameron experienced a flashback to the many times she had witnessed a similar movement in the months and years she had worked at Diagnostics under his tutelage. Often, while writing at the whiteboard, or digesting the input of his fellows during differential diagnoses, he flicked, span, juggled, swung, and twirled his cane. It was, she knew, part of his process. Were it not for the fact that its return symbolised, also, the return of his pain, she would almost have been nostalgic. Nostalgia—a pining for a return. A return to…diagnostics? Love?
"Are you gonna sulk all day?", he asked casually from the couch.
A throat clear snapped her out of these reflections and she returned her handbag to its location by the key bowl. "No. You bought me that book, you're seriously injured, and you're too annoying to stay mad at for long".
"Aww, thanks. Well…".
"Well what?".
"How's about testing out that new mug? I'm desperate for a coffee".
Cameron snorted and picked up her bag again, tossing it over. "Here. I'll save you the trouble of rousing yourself a second time. Have at it".
"You're the best, blondie". House had a stupid grin on his face.
"You can say that again", she called back over her shoulder on the way to the kitchen.
"You're the best…babe", he whispered quietly to himself.
