Beauty and the beast
A.N. Merry Christmas! For those in the UK, sorry for the late upload time but I wanted to get this out. For those in the US, stay safe in the storms. For those in other countries, also stay safe.
The first part of this chapter presents a picture of obnoxious and aggressive male behaviour which some may find triggering. In the first draft it also contained a phrase used in The Sopranos which, in turn, contained the worst swear word in the English language. But I couldn't in all good conscience keep it in. In general I value swearing, used sparingly, as a useful expressive tool. But there are lines even my delicate British ears won't allow me to cross!
Past
Cameron had accepted the invitation to go for a drink only because she felt it necessary to make a token effort at bonding with her new colleagues in the ER. Her heart still nursed a House-shaped hole, the breakup having occurred very recently, and she would very happily be curled up on the sofa at home right now. Instead, here she was in an unknown bar talking to an unknown man who, apparently, had started at PPTH just two months prior.
"…so, yeah, then we moved to New Jersey. Jasmine kept clamouring for it, 'cos it's near her mom's, y'know? I was like, 'yeah, like I wanna live near your fucking mom', haha. I know what you're gonna say…", (Cameron merely smiled thinly and swilled her cocktail), "…'typical man hating the in-laws', but, believe me, Allison, you'd be on my side—completely loco, y'know?".
Cameron hummed softly.
"So, anyway, we got a place not far from the hospital. It's OK. Nothing glamorous, but it does a job. Not managed to scope out all the bars and clubs yet, though. Still time, I guess? Haha".
This man had an annoying tendency to laugh at his own 'jokes'. She glanced around and saw that various other members of her new team were dispersed around the nearby tables. Unfortunately, however, none were immediately to hand.
"Not as young as I was, sure. I mean, no one's twenty-three forever, are they?", he continued after a rapid slug of beer, "but I work out a lot; benching pretty high, so…guess you could say I still manage my fair share of hookups".
At that, Cameron glanced up from her drink.
"Oh, don't worry", he assured her, perhaps mistaking the glance for interest, "Jasmine never finds out. I just say it's a conference or some shit, haha. What about you? Seeing anyone?".
"No. Excuse me. I need to…", she gestured in the direction of the bathroom, hoping to use it as an escape route.
"Yeah, no worries, no worries. I know what you gals are like!".
Cameron swept up her handbag and headed for the bathroom, navigating a path through the people clustered around the bar. The clientele seemed young and hipsterish—not really her crowd. None of these people were her crowd. The ER ran largely on informality, a fact to which she had not yet become used, especially since she had spent the last three years referring to her colleagues in Diagnostics by their second names, even in social situations outside the hospital. In any case, Foreman and Chase could be annoying, but at least they knew how to talk acceptably. And conversations with House were always interesting.
House…
Pleased to find the ladies' restroom deserted, she planted her hands on a sink edge and examined her face in the mirror. It would be better for her own wellbeing if she avoided turning over familiar feelings.
Think of anything but him.
Dewy-eyed, Cameron made a half-hearted effort to touch up a couple of areas in the mirror. Then she grabbed a fistful of paper towels and blew her nose loudly. With a bit of luck that obnoxious guy, whose name she couldn't remember, would take the hint and get lost.
Tossing the tissues in the trash, she made her way out of the bathroom only to come face to face with him. "Hey, Allison".
"Excuse me".
But the man didn't budge. "I think you're really sexy", he said, taking a step closer. "Do you like what you see?".
"No", she replied, swallowing adrenaline. "You're not my type. Please stand aside".
"Not your type? We've been speaking for the last forty-five minutes". Still the guy remained in close. He must have been over six feet and broad in the shoulders.
"You spoke", she retorted. "I was just trying to phase it out. Now, move".
"I have a better idea". Another step forwards, forcing her to backpedal. "How about we go into one of those stalls…", his head tilted towards the door through which she had just exited, "…and we see how much of my dick you can take in that pretty little mouth of yours?".
Cameron's stomach turned and her mouth dried. But the fact that they were in a public place, with colleagues not far away, instilled confidence. And anger. Her next words emerged in a hard tone: "what was your name again? Doctor…?".
"Turner". His leering was momentarily disrupted by the question.
"Well, Dr. Turner", she started, not allowing her green-eyed gaze to waver from his, "you're clearly wasted. You're also clearly a creep. If you don't move, I will bury you in harassment suits. I will end you. I know the Dean, and the owner of the hospital. Now get the hell out of my way and leave me alone".
Turner physically bridled at the tongue-lashing. "So, that's your game?", he hissed. "You lead guys on and act all prim and proper when they read your signals?".
"The only signals I gave you were ones to leave me alone", she replied as levelly as possible, though her heart was still beating at a hundred miles per hour.
Suddenly, Turner jammed his face millimetres from hers, so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You're a malignant little whore, aren't you?".
"And you", she shot back, lip curling, "are a disgusting slimeball. Beat it".
For a moment it seemed as if he would ignore the demand but, finally, Turner snorted through his nose and disappeared into the men's bathroom.
Cameron's reserve, meanwhile, collapsed. She took a few shuddering breaths and rested a supporting hand on the wall, willing herself not to cry.
Present
Cameron was pushing House towards the hospital entrance for his first on-site medical check-ups since the accident. The early April sunshine reflected off puddles here and there, the result of a torrential downpour earlier that morning, and the wheelchair left faint tracks in its wake.
"I still don't get why you wouldn't just let me walk with the flame cannon. I'm not a goddam invalid", he grumped from the seat.
"As I've already explained", replied Cameron patiently, "I am not risking you slipping in this water".
"Water isn't ice, blondie". House laced his hands firmly in his lap, casting his eyes towards the hospital edifice as they crossed the parking lot. He had worked at this place for many years; decades, even. Most of the time with a cane, a few blissful months without it, and now in a wheelchair.
Another difference was the woman behind him. These last few weeks had made the whole thing, even the pain, somewhat bearable. And Cameron's flirting was an added bonus. Indeed, part of him revelled in the fact that she still seemed to harbour an attraction even after seeing him at his lowest. He himself still followed his self-set rules to be respectful, of course, if only because he sensed that it quietly provoked her. At some point, no doubt, things would come to a head. Something to look forward to.
"But ice is water, right?", she asked.
"I mean…yes?".
"That's good".
"I'm starting to think you're a natural blonde, after all", he grunted as they reached the entrance.
"Finally. It only took you four months".
The pair wheeled up to the front desk and Cameron signed in, sharing a few words with the nurse on reception. House rolled his eyes and tuned out. He never could understand the compulsion of females to gossip about each other's lives. Frankly, talking about his own life was boring enough—people should just do what they do and leave other people the hell alone. Eventually, however, he came to, noticing that the receptionist was snatching glances in his direction. A scowl soon put a stop to them.
"OK", said Cameron as she wheeled him towards the elevator. "Hayley has said Wildermuth is already waiting for us in the surgery wing".
"Hayley was looking at me".
"Unsurprising. You have a ruggedly handsome face", she stated matter-of-factly, entering the elevator and pressing the button.
House snorted, but said nothing further.
"Now", Cameron continued, "I'll drop you off, go do my own thing, then we'll meet later, OK? Unless you'd like me to stay?".
"Nah, go ahead".
"Afterwards we can have lunch with Cuddy and Wilson in the cafeteria, and then-".
"-wow, it sounds like you've got the whole day planned out", he laughed. "It's only a medical check-up, Cameron".
"Sure, sure. I just like to be organised. But if you'd rather head back home directly, I'm fine with that, too". She caught his eye in the elevator mirror and threw him a smile.
"Well, I guess I could talk with the Jew and Big Tits". Now that he thought about it, House reflected that Wilson had never got around to sharing the results of his search for the blonde woman who'd helped him on the bus after the crash.
The elevator dinged at their floor and Cameron shepherded him out. They journeyed down the corridors, drawing a few glances from passing staff members. The vast majority had no idea House had been injured, so the sight of him now stirred curiosity even if no one actually stopped to speak; whether out of politeness or dislike it was impossible to tell. Every now and then, though, young male doctors (and patients) eyed Cameron hungrily.
"Does this always happen?", he asked sourly. It suddenly occurred to him that he generally only ever walked through the hospital with Cameron as a part of the Diagnostics team, and so presumably missed the attention she evidently received. Though he did clearly remember, during his covert operations shortly after his return to work last year, how many men had approached her in the lunch queue on virtually consecutive days.
"Does what always happen?".
"Guys…smiling at you".
"Yeah. But that's the least of it", she admitted as they rounded another corner. The surgery wing was largely disconnected from the rest of the hospital so it took time to reach.
"What do you mean?".
"Well, generally it's a combination of glances, a few whistles; maybe some words or an 'innocent' touch".
"What the…? Words? Touching? Are you being serious right now?".
"There's nothing you can do. I've got used to it".
"Man, men in the outside world are pigs", muttered House, almost to himself.
"Not just in the outside world. In the hospital, too. Anyway-".
"-what did you just say?". House's words emerged rapidly and he physically turned in his seat to glance up, over his shoulder. The blue eyes were dark.
"I just said that men in the hospital are pigs, too", she replied softly, knocking on the door to Wildermuth's office.
"Explain. Which men?".
"No, we're here", she glanced through the glass window and Wildermuth rose from his chair within and moved to open the door. Before long, House had been whisked inside and further conversation was prevented.
House was wheeling himself through the hospital lobby later that evening having spent the entire day being examined, prodded, and scanned. He was due to meet with Cameron, who had left on her own business shortly after lunch with Wilson and Cuddy. It had been a long day—the first time in a while that had necessitated extensive contact with other humans.
He intended to relax in Cuddy's lazy chairs, but a voice calling his name caused a halt.
"Hi, Dr. House? Sorry". Fiona Townsend drew level and looked down at him with a small smile.
"Miss Townsend", he managed.
"Fiona. How're you feeling? I'm sorry I haven't managed to check-in with you since your accident".
House inclined his head.
"Where are you headed?".
"Cuddy's office to wait for Cameron".
"Would you like a push? Going there myself". She waved a wad of papers.
"Sure", he shrugged, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"So", she continued, helping him through the double doors into the vacant office, "can I ask what your prognosis is?".
"Stitches are out and bandages are off. But this stupid leg cast still needs to be on for a while yet. Quite a severe break. Hand me my cane? It's just round the back there".
"Ah, of course. Here". She did as asked and watched him lever himself from the wheelchair into the soft chairs. "You're improving gradually, then?".
"Gradually. No doubt in large part to Cameron. Listen, I gotta rest my eyes…".
"No problem. I'll just dump these things and be out of your hair".
Townsend walked to the desk just as Cameron entered: "there you are. Sorry about-, oh, hello, Fiona", said the immunologist, noticing the other for the first time.
"Hi, Dr. Cameron. I was just catching up with Dr. House about his condition. I hear his improvements are down to you?".
"Dunno about that—he's probably just being nice". Even though it was months in the past she still disliked Townsend for her blatant flirting with House the day she and her father had toured the department. Cameron recognised her own jealousy and pettiness (after all, Townsend had not known that they were together), but still maintained it, nonetheless.
"Nice? I find that hard to believe!", laughed Fiona. "Anyway, I'll leave you alone. Nice to see you, Dr. House. I look forward to your full recovery". With that, she left the office in a swish of red hair.
Cameron frowned after the woman, but her expression visibly softened as she turned her attention to House. "You ready to go home?".
"Sit with me? I need a few minutes to catch my breath". Truly, he felt bone-tired. All the fitness he had accrued during the months following his ketamine treatment seemed to have disappeared. It would be recovered in due course, but right now he just needed some time.
"Of course", she smiled, dropping into the next seat along.
Before House could second-guess himself, he took Cameron's hand in his and brought it up to his cheek, rubbing her palm against his stubble and sighing softly. "Wildermuth said he'd never seen anyone heal as quickly as myself and, to be honest, neither have I".
"Good genes explains it, as I've always said", she grinned.
House shook his head. "Not good genes. You".
"Stop that. You'll make me cry".
"You'd be a strange person to cry at the truth", he shrugged.
"Well…we still need to get you fighting fit. You'll be back annoying everyone in no time". Cameron lightly scratched his cheek with her nails, the way she used to do.
He sighed contentedly, still with his eyes closed, still pressing her hand to his skin. "It relaxes me", he explained.
"I have two, so we're fine for now".
Only after a minute of silence did he murmur softly: "which men?".
Immediately, she knew this to be a reference to their conversation from this morning. But she really didn't want to overburden him with things that had happened long in the past. "It was no big deal, honestly. I handled it. You don't need to worry".
"I'm not asking because I want to be your knight in shining armour, Allison. I'm asking because I'd like to know".
Cameron sighed. The fact that he had used her first name suggested this issue meant something to him, and past experience taught that he wouldn't drop it. "If I tell you, you have to promise that you won't do anything drastic. I dealt with it at the time. OK?".
"My leg's still messed up, so I literally can't do anything". House brought her hand back to the gap between them, though he still held it.
"But do you promise?".
"Yes…".
"It was months ago, shortly after joining the ER. I went out with a few people and one of my…colleagues, sort of, accosted me by the bathroom".
"Accosted how?". The grip on her fingers tightened slightly.
Cameron looked to the floor, decidedly uncomfortable with recalling the memory. "Just, kinda, backed me up against the wall, got in my face, asked if I wanted to, um, do things…and when I refused called me a cockteasing slut. Y'know, standard stuff", she laughed mirthlessly.
"Standard stuff…? Did he touch you?". House's granite tone, and the ever-tightening grip on her fingers, had caused her to look up once again. His face was thunderous and the blue eyes were inky black. "Did he touch you?", he asked again.
"Not really. I held my ground and he went away".
House nodded shortly. Cameron's strength didn't surprise him anymore. As he had more than once reflected, she now was far different from she of three years ago.
"I know that look. You promised me, Greg. I sorted it at the time, in my own way".
"You filed an official complaint?", he growled, attempting to control his swelling rage. "Grounds for summary dismissal, maybe even prosecution".
Were it not for the seriousness of their conversation topic, Cameron would have found it amusing that House was even aware of the appropriate disciplinary guidelines. "No. I didn't want to go through the procedures; just asked Porter to ensure our paths didn't cross. And they haven't—not seen him since".
"But he still works here?".
"Dunno".
House shook his head. "I wish you'd come to see me".
"We'd just broken up. It didn't feel right".
"You should've told me", he insisted.
"Yeah? What would you have done?", she smiled softly.
House looked her straight in the eye. "Thrown the guy off the hospital roof".
Cameron knew him well enough to guess that he probably wasn't joking and decided to change the subject. "Well, anyway…it is what it is. Are you ready to go home?".
He sighed and got to his feet, finally releasing her hand, and settling into the wheelchair which she had pulled across. "Hey, Cameron?", he asked casually.
"Mmm?".
"What's this motherless fuck's name?".
"So you can throw him from the roof? No. I'm fine now; I'm with you. Let's go home".
"But he works in the ER?", he persisted.
"Let's go".
The pair of them left Cuddy's office, crossed the still bustling hospital lobby, and headed out into the early Princeton evening.
