The Nightingale and the prince

A.N. And I'm back. Where were we, again?

There's a clip on the House YouTube channel entitled 'Florence Nightingale' and it centres around Cameron putting off Chase (S5E21). I've adapted the title and the implied nursing theme but none of the content. I regularly re-watch the show for research and have decided that Cameron and Chase are so mopey together. House would've kept her on her toes. If a genie offered me a wish restricted just to long-finished TV shows, I'd wish House and Cameron a prolonged and happy life together! But I digress…


The pair, sharing the sofa but remaining an appropriate distance, had watched a film while they ate their food. As the credits rolled, House glanced across surreptitiously. Presumably exhausted from a half-day spent cleaning and looking after him, Cameron was fast asleep, breathing deeply, curled up into the armrest. He lowered the sound and took the opportunity to observe her, something he hadn't been able to do for many months: mouth slightly open, delicate lips, beautiful pale skin. The golden hair, which she usually caught up in a functional band for work, lay loosely strewn over the worn leather. There was a time when the mere sight of it, brown or blonde, fired his blood.

Times had not changed.

He needed to get a grip on these impulses. Cameron had offered to nurse him out of the goodness of her heart, sacrificing her own quality of life. It wouldn't do to put her in an awkward position. He quietly swore to keep things under control: no wandering eye, no sexual innuendo, no unnecessary touching. For all intents and purposes, Cameron was a man. Yes. Think of her as a man. A fat, ugly, wrinkled man.

Resolve strengthened, House pulled his chair closer and, teeth gritted, managed to transfer himself into it without making too much noise. The bathroom beckoned. First things first, however, and he wheeled to the hallway closet and opened it quietly; a few minutes spent in fruitless exploration for an old friend. Thinking back, there was a more than even chance that he had tossed it into a dumpster. On the point of closing the door in annoyance, an old cricket bat leaning against the inner wall caught his eye. That could work.

Resting it across his lap, he wheeled into the bathroom and over to the toilet, flicking down the seat. Then, bracing the bat on the tiled floor as a makeshift cane, he propped up enough to untie his pants. But he couldn't pull them down sufficiently. "Fuck me", he muttered through gritted teeth.

Sweat pricked his brow. This ordeal took him back to all those bad pain days; days which were no longer consigned to the past.

The leg in its cast throbbed horribly.

A minute to catch his breath, psyching himself up. One, two…three!

House finally managed to shimmy down his pants and get onto the toilet seat. He let out a shuddering sigh as the cricket bat clattered to the floor. That had really hurt. It was victory, but a Pyrrhic one.


Cameron stirred and opened her eyes. The TV still hummed away. "House?", she called sleepily.

"Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you". He wheeled into view, sheets and a couple of pillows resting in his lap.

"Can't believe I fell asleep", she yawned. "I'll just take our plates through to the kitchen—will wash up tomorrow. By the way", she called out from the other room, "I'll need to pop into the hospital at some point. Porter's given me permission to work from here, but I gotta sort out the handover, pick up a laptop and stuff. Is that OK? I'll be back as soon as possible".

No reply.

"House?", she repeated, returning to the living room. The man was motionless in the wheelchair, his face half in shadow.

"Err, yeah, that's fine", he murmured.

Cameron went over and crouched in front of him. His face was white. "What happened?", she asked worriedly. "Your stitches? Your leg?".

"Neither. S'all fine".

She brushed his cheek. "Nu-uh, no. It's not fine. Your skin is clammy. Tell me what happened".

"I, ah, went to the bathroom", he sighed. "Truth be told, it kinda hurt".

"You should've woken me! It's my job to-".

"-I just wanted to see if I could do it by myself. Y'know, to test the boundaries".

"And?". Without waiting for an answer, Cameron jogged back into the kitchen. She returned with a glass of water which she handed over.

"I'll need your help", he admitted glumly, sipping from the glass.

"That's what I'm here for, Greg. Promise me that from now on you'll let me assist you".

"OK, OK". Man, his whole body hurt.

"Can we please discuss painkillers? There's no reason why Vicodin can't be a safe and acceptable part of your treatment". Still she remained crouching down before the wheelchair.

House shook his head. "I'll, I'll swallow Ibuprofen and Tylenol for now and then we'll take stock during the next couple of days".

Cameron chewed her lip but relented. "I understand your reluctance, House, but pills would just be a temporary thing while your body heals".

"We don't know that", he grimaced. "I can't tell if the ketamine has worn off because everything hurts at the moment. If it's gone, things are likely to be pretty uncomfortable for a long time".

"True", she replied softly, holding the glass of water out to him again. "But I'll be with you every step of the way. No matter what".

"What film's that from?", he wondered, sipping dutifully.

"Not every declaration of affection comes from films, y'know", Cameron chuckled, observing as the colour returned to his face. "You look tired".

"Yeah. Reckon I'll hit the hay".

"Come on, then". Cameron wheeled him to the bathroom and waited patiently outside the door while he brushed his teeth and washed his face, both of which he insisted doing himself. Then, they rolled into his bedroom, freshly cleaned and aired.

"I'm, uh, gonna need your help to change", he muttered.

"Yep, I already looked out some baggy PJ shorts. Hopefully there'll be enough room for your leg cast". She knew from experience that he tended to wear thin pyjama bottoms in bed. "I had a search for your cane while cleaning, by the way, but no luck".

"Mmm, same. But then I remembered that I tossed it in a dumpster. Will need to get a new one tomorrow. Not convinced that bat is a long-term solution".

"I'll drive you".

"Thought you were going into work tomorrow?".

"Will do so after. We can get your cane in the morning, I'll make you lunch, then leave for the hospital. Should be back here by five at the latest".

"That works", he grunted, though feeling sorry that she was reduced to his personal taxi service as well as his carer. "I'm sorry about this".

"Sorry about what?". Cameron looked genuinely confused.

"Y'know…", he gestured towards himself.

"This is what I want, Greg: to help you get back on your feet and back on track. You're not to think about my situation anymore, OK? Just assume that if I'm with you, I'm happy. Remember?".

"I remember", he smiled.

"Good". She met his smile with one of her own.

"Help me sit on the bed. Let's get this over with".

Carefully, Cameron supported House as he hauled himself from the wheelchair and onto the bed. After a steadying breath, he looked at her: "well, I guess this is where I need help undressing. Bandages should still be fine from earlier today".

"Got it. How'd you wanna do this, mechanically speaking?", she asked.

"Think if I lean on the armrest this side", House gestured towards the wheelchair, which Cameron pulled closer to him, applying the handbrake to keep it steady, "you take my other side, I'll sorta yank down my pants and slip into the pyjamas".

"Sounds like a plan. We can do it in stages".

Over the next few minutes, Cameron helped the other get changed into his nightwear, being careful to allow him the lead. House was a proud man anyway, but even more so now, given that his independence had been so brutally compromised. As she helped him undress, she couldn't help skipping her eyes over his body, telling herself that this stemmed from a detached professional interest. Yeah, right. In the months since their breakup he had seemingly thrown himself into exercise even more than usual, because under the bruises and bandages his muscles flexed as he changed clothes. The thought of bathing him in the coming days caused Cameron to swallow.

"OK", winced House eventually. "That wasn't so bad".

"Nope. Let me just…". Cameron plumped his pillows and redistributed the duvet more equally to distract him from detecting the signs of her attraction.

"Thanks. I hope it's warm enough for you on the sofa. If not, there're extra blankets in the cupboard. The ones I looked out should do, but if it's not comfortable we'll find-".

"-don't worry about me. I'll leave painkillers on the side here", she gestured towards the bedside table, "and if you need any help in the night, and I mean any help, there's this alarm thing", now she handed it across, "so you press that and I'll come running. OK?".

House examined the device. "It's a rape alarm".

"Yeah", she mused, "I noticed that, too".

"Is it yours?".

"No. Cuddy gave it to me".

"Shall we test? Fingers in ears".

She nodded and jammed her hands over her ears as he pressed the button. The noise was cacophonous.

"That'll work", he winced, massaging his own ears.

"Cool. So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning". Cameron had been sitting on the edge of the bed as they talked and for a split second she almost leant over and kissed his cheek. Every other time she had been in his bedroom they had either been having, or recently had, sex. That muscle memory very nearly reasserted itself. She silently berated herself for thinking these thoughts.

"Yep. Thanks for cleaning. Now get lost, blondie". House gave a little smirk before adding: "you're lucky I'm not a stealthy mover at the moment. When Wilson slept on that couch, I pranked him like no tomorrow".

The woman rose from the bed and went to the door, but his comment caused her to turn back with a grin. "I mean, like, we already know you aren't stealthy anyway, so…".

"You're pretty nasty for a nurse".

"And you need to be getting some sleep—recovery starts right now. May Jesus watch over you, child", Cameron added mischievously, scampering out of the room and down the corridor to the sound of his derisive snort.

The clock on the wall showed it approaching nine, which was a little early for her to be turning in for the night, especially since she had just napped through the second half of their film. A few files lay in the bag brought over from her own apartment, but none of those really appealed. Instead, she merely sank into the sofa and breathed contentedly for a few minutes, enjoying the familiar ambience of House's home.

After this silent meditation, Cameron noticed resting on the coffee table a copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet, which had inexplicably escaped her tidying efforts. The phone buzzed in her pocket as she was studying the climactic scene and she fished it out, reading the message. Jesus watches over no one.

Cameron smiled but remained professional. Sleep.

The reply came quickly. Only if you accept Jesus watches over no one.

I accept nothing. Who knows what, or who, is up there? She could imagine House's annoyance at this evasive statement. Another smile.

Jesus was a man. And he died. Like every man who has ever lived, he died and doesn't know he's dead.

Fine, you win. Now sleep. She returned the phone to the coffee table and picked up the remote, flicking through channels randomly. A few minutes passed. No reply. A flash of disappointment.

She picked up the phone again, thinking the television sound may have blocked out the alert noise. It vibrated again in her hand and she rapidly opened the message: Night, Nightingale.

Good night…, she typed back, finishing the second half of Horatio's line out loud to herself, "…sweet prince".

Cameron whiled away twenty minutes watching television, but when she realised that it was not registering in her brain she went into the kitchen to wash up their dirty plates from dinner. This complete, she wandered back to the living room, picking up her holdall and retrieving her bathroom items. Brushing her teeth in front of the mirror, she reflected on an interesting day. House still had misgivings about this situation; it was her job to ensure that things progressed as smoothly as possible, and if that meant she would need a monastic commitment to juggle her various responsibilities, then so be it—his health was too important; he was too important. Besides, the sooner he recovered, the sooner they could be together again.

As she unfolded the bedding, switched off the main light, and settled into the couch bed, Cameron stared at the ceiling, still thinking things through. On the spur of the moment she took up her phone, and, in the warm half-light of 221B Baker Street, scrolled happily through her message history with House until sleep finally came.