Return
A.N. I've said before (see note at ch. 54 'Domestic delight') that I personally really enjoy the bits of the series that showcase simple everyday life. Now that Hameron are under the same roof, this domestic theme will once again reappear in the coming chapters. Hopefully you guys don't find it too tiresome.
I'm on holiday in France for a couple of weeks, so this'll be the last upload until the beginning of August. In the meantime, happy reading!
Having parked up alongside House's own car and motorbike, Cameron set about unpacking the wheelchair from the trunk; then, she helped him transfer himself from one seat to another. Given the need to avoid jolting his injuries, and the fact that he was a good deal larger than her, the process was necessarily laborious. "Yeah, no, this is gonna get real old, real fast", he grumbled, looking mournfully down at his leg cast.
"See, I'd have thought that rolling around on two wheels would have appealed to you". Cameron doublechecked that she had the apartment keys, locked the car, and began wheeling him towards the entrance.
"Did you grab the rest of my stuff from the locker?".
"Yep; will get you settled in then come back out for it". As they crossed the lobby and went up the hallway Cameron had a sudden flashback to the innumerable times she had made this journey herself. Because they all dated to the period after their getting together, the memories were unfailingly happy. Indeed, an early occurrence probably remained her favourite: their third date, but first night. House had cooked, and the smells had permeated this corridor and led her on. Prawn cocktail, ragoût (pork sausage, beef thigh, full cream), white rice, sticky toffee pudding. The dress she had worn still hung reverently in her closet. It had not seen use since.
"'Settling in'", he scoffed. "You make it sound so simple. Should've accepted Wilson's offer to help".
"No need. We can manage". In truth, and for admittedly largely selfish reasons, Cameron wanted to personally oversee his care and living situation as much as possible.
Reaching the front door, Cameron was on the point of putting the key in the lock when House stopped her. His next words were somewhat sheepish: "er, just so you know, work the last month has been really busy, so my place is not as, ah, tidy as it could be".
"You know I lived with two football-mad brothers, right? I'm used to mess".
"Right on. Is that where you got your own love for the pig skin?".
"I don't love football", she sighed.
"Not sure I can believe anything you say. I mean, we've already established that you're a praying atheist".
"I was worried about you—pardon me for caring".
This response caused House a sharp intake of breath and a spike in adrenaline. Cameron had uttered these exact words while she sat at his bedside during the first hallucination after the shooting. An eery coincidence, and for a split second the thought rushed through his mind that today, right now, was a mirage as well. But he spent a moment rationalising: the woman was 'caring till your eyes pop out' so his brain had simply taken that information and concocted an appropriate turn of phrase for her appearance in his fever dream. And now, in the real world, all it meant, surely, was that he knew her so well that he could supply 'dream' Cameron with appropriate and accurate expressions from the original version. "Canon is a bitch", he muttered.
"Hmm?". The other had swung open the front door and missed his brief crisis of confidence.
"Nothing".
They entered House's apartment and once more Cameron experienced a momentary jolt of nostalgia. Such a silly thing to feel this way about a place.
"You OK?", he asked from his seat, believing her to be contemplating the mess.
She considered making an excuse, but given his own recent openness to confessions, decided to tell the truth instead. "Yeah, just, er, feeling a bit nostalgic. I haven't been here for a few months".
"Hmm. You know what 'nostalgia' means?". House wheeled himself over to the couch. When Cameron attempted to assist he waved her away. Carefully, gingerly, he used the armrests to lever himself up and drop into the squeaking leather. A deep breath, but he looked at her expectantly, evidently waiting for a response to his question.
"Sure, yeah, but I imagine you're going to tell me I've got it wrong all these years", she smiled, remembering his conspicuous knowledge at the British Museum in London when they visited the Sutton Hoo exhibits.
"In Greek, nostos means 'return' and algos means 'pain'. So 'nostalgia' means 'pining for a return'".
"That's cool. I figured you knew Greek from those green books on your shelf. And when you signed your name in Greek on those charts".
"Don't remember that", he murmured, tilting his head back and resting his eyes.
"The day you returned to the office? Foreman, Chase, and I had to clear mountains of your paperwork". It was also the day when Chase and she had got into a blazing row at Café Spoleto over her apparent feelings for House.
"Ah, good times". House waited a few seconds, then opened an eye: "well?".
"Well what?". Cameron, for some reason, hadn't moved from just inside the threshold.
"No comment about the state of my place, Dr. 'I-like-to-clean-every-weekend'?".
"It is a touch messy, will grant you that", she admitted. There were plates, takeout boxes, whiskey tumblers, and Coke cans on various surfaces, and a number of books strewn over the floor. Not obviously dirty, it just needed a good clear-out. "Presumably the kitchen and rooms are shaping up similarly?".
"Yes, ma'am".
"You're in luck, Greg", she nodded appreciatively.
House glanced pointedly down at his leg cast and the bandages emerging from under his loose-fitting shirt. "I don't feel lucky, punk".
Cameron flexed her arms and neck, before grinning widely. "I love to clean. So I suggest you wheel yourself into your study and let me work my magic for an hour or two. I'll go back to the car, retrieve your stuff, then get to it. Where're your cleaning products, vacuum, broom, et cetera?".
"Bathroom and hallway", he gestured. "But it's not your job to-".
"-you kidding? This is Christmas. Now beat it: you're in the way".
The man raised an eyebrow. No one could possibly enjoy cleaning to this extent. But Cameron appeared deadly serious. In fact, she was beginning to glare at him. Bitches be scary. "I guess I could play some computer games", he relented.
"Off you go then". With that she opened the front door again and strode back out to the car. House, meanwhile, wheeled slowly down the hallway, a smile breaking across his face.
It took a few minutes to fit the wheelchair close enough to the keyboard. Unfortunately the PlayStation, because it was in the living room, remained out of reach while Cameron set about fixing up his place. So that meant playing games on his desktop. Before booting up, though, he fished out his phone and Googled a handyman—he needed a seat put into his shower and a couple of grab bars. Ordinarily he would install such things himself but Cuddy had offered hospital funds and he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. A brief conversation and an appointment booked for the day after tomorrow.
He massaged his ribs gently and winced. The strong painkillers from the hospital were beginning to wear off. By tonight, maybe tomorrow, their last traces would have left his bloodstream. The prospect of serious pain in the coming days, even weeks, caused a flicker of fear, especially since it had been so long. Pain management, he knew from experience, was something you got better at. And right now he was out of practice.
But this time he would have someone quite literally in his corner. House cocked his ear towards the study door and listened to the faint scrapes and bangs as Cameron bustled around his apartment. He had absolutely no idea how they would manage in each other's pockets, and even less of an idea how she would manage to balance taking care of him with also maintaining her own life, let alone her job. And yet, if there was one thing he had learnt about her in these months, it was that she was a strong woman. House was already grateful for that strength, and would be many more times in the future, he knew.
He also knew, obviously, that he remained horribly in love.
But that's a problem for future House to solve.
With a final little smile, he reached for his state-of-the-art gaming headphones and booted up Deus Ex.
Two or three hours later House emerged, ostensibly for some food, but really because he was curious to observe the fruits of Cameron's labour. The air smelled of cleaning product. "Cameron?", he called.
No answer.
"Cameron?".
No answer.
Aiming for the fridge, House rolled down the gleaming corridor, past the idle vacuum, and into the kitchen. The woman had a bucket of soapy water on the floor beside a canister of Easy-Off he didn't know he owned, and her head in the oven, scrubbing furiously at the interior. "Err, how's it going?", he asked, trying manfully not to stare at her butt. For a slender person, she filled out a pair of jeans magnificently.
"Oh, hey!". Cameron sat back on her haunches and smiled. "Sorry, I had my pods in. You OK? I forgot to check on you".
"I'm fine. Honestly, you don't need to do the oven; can get someone in for that". House, who rarely cared about such things, nevertheless felt a little embarrassed that the effort of cleaning his apartment had caused her to work up a sweat.
"Oh, it's no trouble; this stuff", she waved the canister, "is pretty efficient. I'm surprised you even own it". Cameron paused her music and wiped an arm across her forehead. She had knotted her t-shirt at the hem, presumably to avoid splashback, leaving her midriff bare.
House swallowed. It didn't help that he had not had sex for several months. This is what he got for refusing even to touch hookers these days. Pull yourself together, you fucking loser. "Same", he managed. "Maybe Stacy bought it".
"I hope you don't mind, but I figured I'd just do the whole place while I'm in the zone". Cameron wringed out the cloth in the bucket, whose water was a shade of black.
"Umm, no, no, that's great. Thanks. You want a drink? Was gonna grab a Coke". House could feel his eyes drift to her taut stomach again and focused instead on her yellow rubber gloves. Phew. Nothing sexy about rubber gloves.
"Sure". Cameron seemed completely unaware of his inner turmoil and wandering eye. "Could use a drink break before finishing this monster off. When was the last time you cleaned it?".
The other had wheeled over to the fridge (which, predictably, was spotless), and returned with a pair of cans. "Who can say?".
"So, a decade, then".
"Give or take a few years", he admitted.
Cameron nodded, but said nothing further as she downed half the can in one slug. "Thirsty", she explained. "Anyway, I've finished most of the apartment. Your study, obviously-".
"-is not on the cleaning schedule", he finished firmly.
"No worries. As for food, I'm getting hungry. Was thinking takeout. Any preferences?".
"There's a Greek place opened up down the road. Been meaning to give it a try. My treat".
"Not necessary. I can pay my way while I'm here. After all, costs will rise with two people under this roof for the foreseeable future".
"Well, y'know, I do head my own department: salary's pretty bitchin'", he grinned. "In any case, Cuddy's subsidising my care. And that covers you, nurse".
Cameron laughed and leant against the worktop. "Yeah, well, I don't have a uniform, alas".
"I'll use my imagination". The phrase, which emerged automatically, brought to mind that which he had uttered when Cameron had stripped for him in the bathroom of their London hotel. She had apologised for the lack of a dancing pole. House swallowed again and urged his heart to slow, trying not to focus on the attractive flush of her face.
Fortunately, Cameron, as before, seemed not to notice. "Cool. I'll need to drive to mine in a sec to pick up some stuff. Sleeping on your couch will take some preparation!".
"OK. I'll pull up the menu, order, and hopefully the food'll be here when you return".
"Sounds like a plan. How's the pain?".
"Could be worse". Oddly enough, the pain had lessened while he had been in the kitchen talking to Cameron. House didn't need to be a genius to figure out why.