Piano man
A.N. It's the three-year anniversary of Confessions! Thanks for staying with me all this time. A lot has changed in those three years for myself, but this story is one of the real constants. Here's to another year!
A couple of Wednesdays later, the alarm blared on Cameron's phone and, yawning widely, she reached across to silence it, her fingers brushing against something that hadn't been there last night. Resting on the table beside her cell was a steaming cup. "Huh?", she grunted aloud, sweeping tangled hair from her eyes.
After a few moments' stretching—the couch bed often resulted in strange sleep positions that necessitated some vigorous unfolding—she sat up, propping a pillow against an armrest, and took in her surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary through the gloom. "House?".
No answer.
Shrugging internally, and yawning a second time, she sipped from the cup. Coffee. And not half bad. This was surprising, because House's brews usually left just a little to be desired.
For the next fifteen minutes Cameron sat cross-legged on the couch enjoying her morning drink while browsing the internet, which included a readthrough of the Chicago news. At some point she would need to check in with her parents. They of course knew that House had been in a serious accident. They also knew that she was contributing to his care, even if she had kept things intentionally vague in certain areas—her current living situation, for instance. Not that it mattered what they thought of her voluntary demotion to be a live-in nurse, but drama was always best avoided.
Coffee drained, she tossed her phone onto the table and set about her now grooved morning routine: folding the bedding and stowing it unobtrusively by a corner bookcase, scanning email and calendar for today's tasks, and checking in on House.
But when she reached his room, the bed was empty, sheets still messy. "House?".
No answer.
She wandered down the corridor to the bathroom, just to ensure that he was still in one piece, but the lights in the study peeked through the door, which had been pulled to but not closed.
The thought that he might be engaged in a session of self-love flitted through her mind. The opportunity to catch a glimpse could not be wasted. And the door was technically open.
Knocking lightly, she walked in. The man himself was working at the computer, earphones in, keyboard clacking away.
"Greg?". She placed a hand gently on his shoulder and stood over him.
House glanced up and removed his pods. "Oh, hey. You OK?".
"Me? Oh, sure. You?". Even when they were together, he had steadfastly refused to stop asking if she was OK, so now she had simply given up reminding him that such questions were unnecessary.
"Uhuh. Just working on my paper". He gestured redundantly towards the screen.
"So I see. I'm assuming you've taken your first dose of painkillers…?".
"Yes, yes", he replied impatiently. "More interestingly, I think I've figured out a cool angle for this thing".
Cameron, remembering her primary responsibility as his nurse, suppressed the tremor of excitement at his enthusiasm, whose infectiousness she well knew from years working under him in Diagnostics. House's passion for medicine was one of the most pleasurable things about the fellowship position, and invariably swept her along in its wake. "That's great, but it's pretty early. You need to be getting at least ten hours to maximise healing time".
"It's fine. I slept loads yesterday; can really feel the accumulated zee's behind my eyeballs".
"Uhuh, uhuh. No idea what you mean by that, but sure".
"It means I'm good to go. Besides, would I be able to create this masterpiece", House gesticulated at the screen, "if I was lacking sleep? Look".
Cameron blinked, still trying to acclimatise to his energy. "You realise the time, right? It's not even seven". Though she was long used to rising early, nearly a month of working from home had impacted her tolerance for mornings.
"I made you that coffee for a reason. Just read. I can wait". House tilted the screen.
Rubbing her eyes, the immunologist peered over his shoulder at the open file. It took her a couple of minutes to register the contours of his argument, but what there was looked predictably insightful. And provocative. "Hmm, when you say 'much of the literature is mistaken', I can't help but notice that you reference Charles' latest paper".
"Oh, really?", he queried innocently. "Well, gosh, Allison, that's an awful big coincidence".
Cameron laughed and stood up straight, shaking her head slightly. A question she had asked him in the office last year came back to her:
"Why can't you be a normal doctor, publishing perfectly respectable articles on kidney disease or diabetes every year or so? Why must you court controversy in everything?".
"You've known me long enough to answer that yourself, Cameron. If you want a normal doctor as a boyfriend, then I can point you in the direction of a certain oncologist a few doors down. And a certain Australian intensivist who can be found most days working under this very roof".
House was unique in so many ways.
"Anyway", he continued, "I'm not demolishing him completely. For one thing, and it pains me to say this, Charles is actually an excellent scientist. I'm just gonna throw a spanner or two into the works and offer a different perspective. I doubt it'll be a proper research paper".
"Not like your one from London, you mean?".
"Sure. Except I never sent that thing off".
"Yes, I remember our conversation from your hospital room", she said, folding her arms and glaring down at him. The man's talent for procrastination rivalled that he had for deduction.
"What's that look?", he asked with slight confusion.
"You need to get it out there. I'm convinced I saw a finished version on your office PC ages ago".
"I finished it; just didn't, y'know, take the final step of finding a journal".
"What's the delay? Just find one".
House merely shrugged.
"For God's sake-".
"-why do you care so much, anyway?".
"Because it's brilliant, that's why. I'll find a home for it on your behalf, OK?".
"Suit yourself. I'll send you the file".
"Actually, isn't the piece from Tiffany Kim out soon? The one for Scientific Inquiry?".
"Who the hell knows?". He sat back and rubbed his leg cast absentmindedly. Even now, many weeks later, it still felt annoyingly out of place, though the pain wasn't quite as sharp as previously. "How's your thing for the symposium going?".
Cameron pretended not to notice his wince. "Fine. Been meaning to ask whether you'd be happy to take a look at it. I know it's not-".
"-sure. I mean, you've been nursing me for ages. I guess it's the least I can do".
"Cool. When're you free?". It was a completely incidental by-product of their current situation that she had unfettered access to his intellect as well as his schedule. Just a year ago she could only leave a piece on his office desk in the faint hope that he would read it. Now, though…
"Whenever". House's days of late had been a fairly relaxed affair, pain and chronic discomfort notwithstanding.
"I have a virtual meeting this morning, but maybe after lunch? Was thinking of ordering in burritos". House nodded at this suggestion as Cameron made her way to the door: "I'll shower, then do breakfast".
"Go ahead", he murmured, focused once more on his work.
Cameron smiled and left him to it.
The pair were at the coffee table surrounded by tin foil, Mexican beans, and other detritus from their lunch. The laptop was open between them and Cameron watched with a degree of apprehension as House trailed his eyes over the screen. "Well?", she asked.
"Mmm". Having reached the bottom of the document he scrolled back up to the top.
"Is that a good 'mmm' or a bad 'mmm'?".
"It's a good one, though there are some improvements you can make fairly easily".
"Like?". Cameron clicked her pen and hovered over a notepad.
"Well, for starters, I feel like you miss out a couple of steps in your argument here", he highlighted a passage with the mouse, "and here", he repeated the motion. "It's a symposium, so you're not gonna be in charge of the conversation. I'm assuming the contributions are circulated beforehand?".
"Yes".
"So it's best you really spell everything out—no telling what these people are like. But I think your overall point is well made".
"Cool, thanks". She pulled over the laptop and started typing rapidly.
House, meanwhile, sat back and closed his eyes, strongly considering a post-lunch nap. But he needed his dose of painkillers first. "Hey, where are my-?".
Cameron got up, returning a few moments later with his allocation, which he downed. Then she got back to work. They stayed this way, side by side on the couch, for about fifteen minutes.
"I'm wondering", murmured House, still with his eyes closed, "if it's time to start looking at next steps".
"Oh?". Cameron glanced across in surprise. "You don't think it's a bit early?".
House shrugged. "I figure the best bet, at the very least, is to head in and let Wildermuth take a look at these stitches. The cast obviously can't come off yet, but there's no reason why the rest of this crap can't be removed". He gestured to the bandages, which had been replaced only recently.
"Hmm, well, how do you feel in yourself?".
"I feel well enough…to do this". Now he hauled himself up with the flame cannon and ambled lopsidedly to the piano in the corner.
Cameron removed her glasses and followed him over, the apprehension from earlier now returned, except this time it combined with excitement.
"Sit". He patted the cushioned bench.
"It's a squeeze".
"Sit, BB".
She did as instructed. "What was 'BB', again?".
"Blonde bombshell".
"Ah, yes, of course".
"So…deep and meaningful or light and jolly?".
Cameron laughed, remembering the exact same question from the London trip, when he had played at a public piano on a train station concourse. At the time, they had been joined by a young boy named Charlie who, transfixed by House's playing, had inserted himself into the conversation. "How d'you think Charlie from Camden is getting on these days?", she asked.
"Probably still trying to pronounce 'Mississippi Valley Racoon'. Anyway, what's it gonna be?".
"Think you can play 'River Flows in You', again?".
"Only one way to find out".
Just like that day months in the past, House and Cameron sat at the piano, the former managing to land most of the notes despite being in obvious discomfort. Truly, he had come a long way in a little over a month. Of course, the leg cast precluded use of the pedals, but when the song finally finished, he glanced across in triumph, breathing a little heavier.
Cameron's eyes were moist.
"I swear", he chuckled softly, "you always cry when-".
"-you're a remarkable man, House. And I really mean that".
House tugged an ear. "It was just one song".
"I'm not talking about the song. I'm talking about everything. Last month you were at death's door, and now look". Cameron's eyes swam, but her gaze burned so brightly that he had to seek refuge in studying the piano keys.
"Yeah, well…still a way to go with this stupid leg situation".
"Mmm". She reached across for the Kleenex box and blew her nose loudly.
"So, you'll make an appointment at the hospital for these stitches?".
"I will. If you think you're ready for the next phase, then there's no harm in seeing what we can do". With that, she headed back to the laptop and began drafting an email to Wildermuth, House's case lead.
The man himself remained at the piano, carefully working through the tune again.
