Just like before
A.N. I know it's been a while since Hameron were together and I really am grateful for your patience with both this story and my slow upload schedule. I trust the pay-off will be worth it in the end. It's all mapped out.
It was Saturday morning and House was bored. Generally more than happy chilling out in his own space, the truth could no longer be avoided: he was bored. This reflection caused a sigh and he scratched the leg cast beneath the bedcovers, its plaster beginning to betray signs of fraying. This damn leg. Legs were a bad luck situation. Most people fortunate enough to be born with a full set of limbs rarely had cause to fear for their integrity. But not only had he suffered an incredibly rare infarction in the first place, he'd then got caught up in a bus crash (itself fiendishly unlucky) and, true to form, that same leg had promptly found itself once more on the chopping block. If he were religious, he'd be having some pretty stern words with the heavens.
It wasn't just about him. Cameron had said last week that she was nowhere near burning out; he assumed that was simply for his benefit, because no normal human being could be content with this living situation. Sure, she got out more than he did, but things were still constrained—though he no longer needed twenty-four hour supervision, help day-to-day was still required, especially with showering. They'd shared several since the first, and each retained a heavy dose of sexual tension, even if he himself strived to keep things respectful. All the same, the 'motivation' she had offered for giving the conference paper still lived rent-free in the back of his mind. Not that he had decided on accepting this favour: it would be fun, in a masochistic sort of way, to insist on clear boundaries.
House sniffed under his arm. At some point, another visit to the shower would indeed be required.
A journey outside wouldn't go amiss, either. Fresh oxygen.
"Good morning. I didn't think you'd be awake". Caught up in his own reflections, he hadn't heard Cameron approach. She sat on the edge of the bed: sleep shorts, Hufflepuff dressing gown, messy hair. Trademark.
"I heard you lumbering towards me a mile off", he lied. Her effortless beauty, and the fact that he couldn't touch her without good reason, caused a spurt of longing which he hid with grumpiness. "No one says 'good morning' anymore", he added.
Cameron merely continued looking at him impassively.
"I'm bored", announced House, slightly louder than intended.
"Mmm, yeah". She ran a hand through her hair, as if expecting such a statement. "I guess the inside of this room could get a bit stale".
"You wanna do something?".
"Like what?".
"I dunno", he swished a hand, "what do wheelchair users do on the weekend besides changing the oil?". The thought struck him that, though Cameron had been here a fair time now, she spent most of her days under this roof anyway.
"Your guess is as good as mine", she laughed.
"What do you normally do?".
"Since we broke up? Not much, to be honest. The ER was pretty busy, so when I wasn't working, I just zonked out in the apartment Saturday and Sunday".
"And before we broke up?", he asked, already anticipating her answer.
"Relationship stuff. As you well know".
This response, as he'd guessed it would, caused a smile. Before long House starting chuckling to himself.
"What're you laughing at?". A raised eyebrow.
"Ah, it's just…I don't get how you can be so hot and such a, a nerd. People who look like you are out dancing and shopping and having guys buy them drinks. They do not stay inside".
Cameron tilted her head curiously. "You think I stay in because I'm a nerd?".
"Yeah. It's weird".
"I am a nerd".
"Exactl-".
"-there could be another reason, though, y'know? Why I choose to stay here more often than not".
"Probably a stupid reason", he muttered. "I don't need twenty-four hour supervision, OK? I'm not completely defenceless".
Once again Cameron looked at him, her eyes twinkling through the tangle of her hair. Sometimes House was completely clueless about things that didn't involve medicine. And the reason why she chose to spend the lion's share of her time at Baker Street didn't involve medicine. "Anyway, what do you want to do today? A push in the park?".
"Lame. We could go watch a movie?".
"I thought you wanted to get out".
"I do, but the movies is 'out'. Not been for ages. Surely it'll be handicap accessible".
"You'd assume so", she nodded. "What's even on?".
"No clue. While you're washing I'll have a look at the showings, then I'll shower, then we'll breakfast and head out. Any preference?".
"Cool. Nope, you pick whatever. You'll need help bathing?".
"Guess so, yeah".
Cameron patted his foot beneath the covers, which was directly by her hand, and headed into the bathroom, a little smile on her face.
Later that morning into the afternoon House and Cameron were at the cinema queueing for snacks. Their shower that morning had been slightly more charged than usual, perhaps because both of them knew that he would soon reach the point where he no longer required her assistance. Neither had mentioned Cameron's potential 'favour' and, though she felt disappointed, she respected his right to opt out. The truth was that she was struggling somewhat with their lack of physical closeness. Even though, or perhaps because, she had been the one who had insisted on not resuming their relationship during the recuperation phase, he seemed extremely careful around her, even respectful. She didn't like that. But, again, because she was responsible for this situation she felt as if there were no one to blame but herself.
Volunteering to nurse House had stemmed from several desires: to ensure that he received the best care, to ensure that he ate properly, and, of course, to float once again in his orbit. The problem with the last-named was the weird reality of being close to him but not being able to do anything further. This particular circumstance, nearly two months in, was beginning to grate. The irony was not lost on her that they had not got around to a movie date while still together, and now here they were, technically, as 'nurse and patient'. Or perhaps 'friends'. Whatever, the likelihood of making out in a dark corner was low. And House was an excellent kisser.
Cameron stifled a sigh in anticipation of an opportunity missed.
This period post-crash had crystallised anew the attraction she felt towards her roommate. These feelings which had been brutally crushed to the background since that fateful night in late December were, now, swelling up with a force that would have surprised her if they concerned anyone else. Everything about him was frighteningly addictive. No other man made her feel so hopelessly, definitively…
When the time comes that I need to move out…
This thought brought on a shiver and a wave of nausea.
"I told you to wear your scarf", House smirked, having evidently mistaken her shudder for cold. "Chicago ain't the only windy city, spring or no spring".
"Yeah, right", she smiled weakly, still feeling strangely lovesick.
"You OK?". Now he was examining her keenly.
Cameron met those blue eyes, willing away her reflections. "I'm with you".
"You are", he nodded, before turning his attention to the snack menu. "You wanna share my popcorn? Can get one of those huge buckets".
"Hmm. Thing is, I have a policy not to eat anything that comes in a bucket—they're the kitchen utensils of the farmyard".
"This is America, though. Buckets are totally viable. Come on; I'll pay".
Cameron made a show of gasping and reached down to touch his forehead. "Maybe I should be asking if you're OK, huh? Offering to pay for food? Gotta be sick".
"Well, you let me pick the movie, so…".
"It's true. I have no idea what I was thinking". She tapped a finger to her lips, as if in deep contemplation.
They reached the counter and the uniformed girl looked expectantly at them.
"Popcorn, then?", House asked the immunologist. "Seems like you get the drink half-price, too".
"Oh, fine. I guess I can break my 'no bucket' rule for one day", she sighed good-naturedly.
"You're OK, you are".
"High praise coming from the grumpiest dude in New Jersey. I'll take it".
The pair collected their food and drinks, flashed their tickets to the disinterested guy on the door, and headed to their screen. It occurred to Cameron that she had not been to the movies for at least two years. And in fact the last person who had asked her had been none other than Sebastian Charles, the night of the crash. A fairly long time ago.
The handicapped seats were right in the middle of the theatre, and Cameron wheeled House to the one with the most leg room. He detached the cane from the back of the chair, levered himself up, and sank into the cushion. Having nestled the wheelchair close to their seats but out of the way, she occupied the neighbouring space.
"I swear, these things are much comfier than the normal ones", said House. "Sometimes it pays to be disabled".
"You're not disabled", she pointed out quietly as the lights began to dim for the previews.
"You know what I meant. Pedant".
"You're calling me pedantic, Mr. May I? Just say 'can' and let it go".
"Yeah, yeah. Here. Open sesame". House reached into the popcorn carton, grabbed a fistful, and started stuffing her mouth to the backdrop of the trailer for the latest Tom Cruise movie.
Since it was virtually pitch black, Cameron was caught completely by surprise. "House-! Stop, mfffmmh…don't need your help-, stop…mmffgh!". Unfortunately, her attempts to ward him off, which because of his injuries were intentionally gentle anyway, merely resulted in more popcorn hitting her mouth. She grabbed his hand instead. "Stop, you. We'll get told off".
House laughed. "It's loud. No one can hear-".
But a hushed "-shhh!" from a few rows back cut through his comeback.
Cameron munched the stuff in her mouth before whispering: "and we just got told off".
"You're right. Into the naughty corner", he hissed back.
At that, an unexpectedly erotic sense shimmered through her body and she had to clear her throat lightly. Still, both sat back and relaxed into the seats. It was at this point that Cameron realised she was still holding his hand, which she had seized in a futile effort to halt the popcorn barrage. About to release it, she felt his fingers tighten.
They held hands until the opening logos flashed across the screen.
"Dinner now?", House asked as they wheeled out of the theatre. "I know it's early but all those explosions really drained me".
"Fine, but I'm deciding where we're going after that thing we just watched". Leaving the complex, the pair made it out to the sidewalk into the early evening air. April, into its second week, was certainly beginning to warm up, and there were a good number of people taking advantage of the improved weather. Fortunately, as usual, those passing took one look at the wheelchair and automatically cleared a path.
"For someone who hadn't seen Star Wars until very recently, you're pretty high and mighty when it comes to movies".
"I just have little time for 'action and nothing else'-type stuff. You up for Indian? There's a place not far from here I saw on one of my runs".
House glanced back over his shoulder. "You've been running? I haven't noticed".
"Tend to head early in the morning before you wake up. Pretty fun, actually. There're a number of interesting routes around your place: got a good rotation going".
A gust of wind blew along the tree-lined avenue and caught up a leaf which lodged itself in the folds of House's baggy cargo pants. He brushed it away before replying: "when I'm better, we should get back into running. I wouldn't even have to let you win this time".
"Uhuh, uhuh. Is that why I dominated you in our run last year—you let me win?".
"Naturally. You're a girl".
Cameron sniffed airily and allowed the conversation to lapse, enjoying being outside with House again. He was correct in his observation this morning that she spent most of her time in the apartment, though she had still ventured out by herself occasionally, not least to do their joint grocery shopping (for which he insisted on paying the full amount himself). But generally, thanks to a multitude of reasons she chose not to dwell on too frequently, she preferred to stay inside.
They reached the restaurant and found a table against a wall, the staff going out of their way to make room for House's wheelchair. It caused her to think back a couple of years to when they had treated Sebastian Charles. House had claimed that people who didn't know him saw simply the cane and automatically treated him as a cripple—they were understanding and accommodating. In reality, of course, he was an ass. The cane hadn't affected that reality in the past, and neither did the wheelchair in the present.
Cameron smiled at the waiting staff in gratitude as she handed him a menu. "People are nice, huh?".
"If only they knew…", he replied, as if reading her prior thoughts.
A couple of minutes passed in comfortable silence, the gentle tinkling of sitar music in the background. The place was only around half-full. They were eating early.
"Shame this menu's all in English. You could've brushed up on your Hindi", Cameron said eventually.
"Oh, sure. It's why I came out tonight—for language lessons".
"I'm ordering the lamb". She scanned the pages a final time before setting it down.
"Keralan fish curry. I do like me some nice seafood. One of my ambitions is to try a proper New England clam chowder".
"Well, New York isn't far".
"I don't mean in the city; I mean, like, somewhere out in the country doing proper food. Connecticut, maybe, or Massachusetts". House's tone seemed faintly wistful as his fingers interlaced on the table surface. A few weeks ago those same hands had been marked with deep scratches from broken glass and bruises from instinctive efforts to soften the impact. But now, on first glance at least, all trace of the bus crash had disappeared. Only the leg cast remained, as it would for a little longer yet.
"You haven't been to those places?", asked Cameron, her eyes nevertheless still on his fingers.
"Not had any reason to", he shrugged. "This might come as a surprise, but I'm not big into vacation time".
"Mmm".
House tilted his head. "What?".
"Huh?". The immunologist, who had momentarily lost herself in thought, jolted back to the now.
"What was that 'mmm'?".
"Nothing. It was just an 'mmm'. As in, 'I acknowledge what you just said but saw no need to speak an actual word'. It's a fairly standard sound in English".
House's eyes were narrowed, but he evidently decided to drop further inquiry because his next words were completely off the wall: "you know how kids learn the sounds of animals: a cow goes 'moo', a frog goes 'ribbit', a horse goes 'neigh', et cetera?".
"Uhuh". Cameron, long used to House's weird trains of thought, barely batted an eyelid.
"In Latin, sheep go 'baba, baba', and wolves go 'uhu'".
"That sounds similar to English 'baa, baa' and 'woooo'".
"Well, how about Greek, where frogs go 'brekekekex koax koax', for instance?".
"Good point", she laughed. "That sounds nothing like 'ribbit'".
"And we got democracy from those weirdos". House took a long slug of his just-arrived Cobra beer.
"But they were conquered by the Romans in the second century BC, so, really, it's probably about right that we have our Latin roots". At House's surprised eyebrow raise she added in mock defensiveness: "what? I read".
"I remember those books you had on Egyptian jewelcrafting techniques…", he had spotted them in her living room one night last year and quizzed her about their provenance, "…and now you're talking about the Roman conquest of Greece. I really have created a monster".
"I'm afraid so", she grinned, angling her wine glass towards him in acknowledgement. "But you already knew that".
"Stick to medicine like a proper doctor".
Cameron made a face. "Ugh. The ER is kinda boring-, well", she clarified quickly, "not boring. Just…".
"…standard", finished House.
"Standard", she nodded. "But it's fine. I guess medicine's medicine either way, right?".
"Mmm". A thought formed as his thumb traced shapes on his beer glass.
"What's that 'mmm'?". Now Cameron was on her guard.
"Nothing. It's a fairly standard sound in English", he shot back.
"You've got that look on your face, Greg".
"Tactical first-naming there, CB. But it's just my face. My long, expressive face".
The immunologist's suspicions grew yet more at this reference to her drunken words in London, but she was interrupted by the arrival of their meals, at which point her dinner companion began shovelling rice and sauce onto his plate with predictable abandon. As she knew, nothing got in the way of House and food, and she may as well join him, for all the good that further questions would accomplish.
Before long, the pair were eating and, soon after that, they were laughing, oblivious to everyone but themselves.