Author's note: Anyone already familiar with the story should note that chapter 48 has been changed, please refer to it to make sense of the rest of the story; the near-unforgivable delay for which I'd like to apologize. I've had a lot of "personal crap to work through," and kind of haven't. I also have had the worst writer's block ever. My goal is to make this my longest story yet, at least get to chapter 70 for once, but I kind of hung a hope on getting past 100. Believe me, I have to wait and see myself; writing is hard! I've agonized over this damn thing for so long and I'm finally patching it up and moving on. I profoundly thank anyone who has stuck with it! So, without further ado...
"Just so you know, I wasn't done eating."
Cuddy smiled, but otherwise ignored him as she focused on the road. In the silence, he leaned over and turned on the news station. A riveting story about Northern lights, a briefing about an invasive beetle, a story about sports, and an overly-informative story on a missing and very lovable lapdog finally, finally evolved into a story about Cameron. "In other news, close friends to the missing Allison Cameron have alerted the authorities that she has been located and hospitalized following a gunshot wound; the woman was found in the woods, confused. She was able to determine that nothing was stolen, but was determined to fade in and out of consciousness. Her current condition remains undisclosed, but her friends continue to visit her at the hospital. Unfortunately it didn't work out so well for 45-year-old Aletta Kamp, a college professor from Montréal, whose body was discovered on Western Avenue; officials say the cause of death was an overdose of drugs given to her under the supervision of a med student. Aletta was last seen alive running through the hospital, wearing her hospital gown. When officials found her at 8 PM last night, she was lying naked in front of a mansion belonging to the―"
House leaned forward, shutting off the radio. The car was completely quiet, except for the hum of the motor and the raindrops hitting the windshield.
"Poor Aletta," Cuddy said, her voice barely audible.
"If only she'd been supervised by...someone like us," he muttered falteringly.
"Well, uh, Cameron's alive," she offered, hoping he would go back to being happy House.
No such luck; he was still glowering as a ringtone House wasn't familiar with filled the car.
"Damn it," Cuddy muttered. "Can you get that?"
He obliged, taking the call. "What?" he snapped.
To which there was only a brief delay before the dial tone buzzed in his ear. He looked at the caller ID before the screen went dark, pocketing her phone. "Call Chase," he said.
She smiled, shaking her head. "You brought this on yourself."
"Yeah, I deliberately caused my leg infarction just to be an ass. You fault me as much as you want, but when we were in high school, I was a ray of fucking sunshine."
"No. Moonshine, maybe."
He spared her a grumpy glance. "You have a cold heart."
"You're reckless and distant," came her impulsive reply.
"Maybe," he grumbled, completely oblivious to her reference. He stared out the window, relapsing into another embittered silence, but his attention was quickly brought front and center when white smoke began billowing out of the hood of her car.
"No, no, no, what is this?" she muttered, flipping on her signal and veering off to the side of the road.
"Well, I'm no mechanic, but it looks to me like car trouble."
"No shit," she tossed back, and swiveled in her seat, grabbing her phone. "Lucky for me I owe a car-smart guy a phone call," she practically bragged, and speed-dialed Chase.
His greeting was cold. "House, I don't want to talk to you."
"Would you talk to me?" she asked.
"Yeah. 'Course I would, you're easy. Uh, to talk to."
"Thank you," she said hastily, and ran her fingers through her hair, watching the smoke. "I'm actually, uh, really glad you called. How do I fix a smoking engine?"
"Uh, depends on the color of the smoke. And the location, as well. You're gonna have to be more specific."
"White smoke, from the engine."
"Does it reek?"
"No. No, I don't smell anything," she added, curious if House did. He ignored her comment, so she assumed it was safe.
"Okay, so it's either leaking oil, leaking coolant―" he paused right when there was a knock on Cuddy's window. She rolled it down and Chase knelt, peering into her eyes as he disconnected from the pointless phone call. "Or the wiring's faulty," he said into her car.
Cuddy hung up, not taking her eyes from his.
"What are you doing back here?" House asked.
"Came to see Cameron. But," he added, tapping on the top of the car door where the window was tucked away, "Suppose I could patch you up first."
"Thank you," she sighed.
"Let me just grab the stuff from my car."
"You carry it with you? Who carries it with them?" House rambled.
"Somebody prepared, I guess," Chase answered, in exasperation. He left the car window, which Cuddy left down as they waited.
"He's so not over her," House grumbled. "In fact―I bet you $100 they get back together."
"House, you already owe me $100. Actually, aren't you in debt with everybody?"
"Fair point," he said. "Okay, if you lose, I get $100, but if I lose, I give you double."
"Great."
He hedged, ultimately deciding not to bring up the living room he owed. Plus whatever pain and suffering cost. For everybody's sake. He unbuckled, the noise loud in the silence, and leaned forward to turn her radio on. "So what about us?" he asked. "Is this all we're ever going to be?"
"Um, yeah," she answered, as Chase walked past her window carrying an armload. She looked at him, quietly masking what appeared to be pain as he kept playing with her radio. "I just, I need someone who can let me in. You know, someone who communicates, who doesn't go through my phone, doesn't..."
"Kill people?"
She bit her lip, then surprised him by suddenly placing her hand on his arm. "House," she said, in a gentle voice, "You're not a killer."
"Well, that's true. Only because I gave him the gun."
"Even if you hadn't, I...wouldn't have blamed you," she said, and he finally met her eyes. "Mercy kills, they just...they shouldn't count."
"Yes, they should."
She withdrew her hand as a long, awkward silence filled the car―both of them realizing they sounded like each other. For a moment, all they could hear was Chase, working with the engine, as she slowly brought her hands to her lap and avoided looking at him. He continued to mess with the radio, mostly in an attempt to delay communication―even if only proving her point. She stared at the little portion of Chase that was visible in the crack of her open hood.
"Anyway," he grumbled. "Wilson wouldn't have...been my first."
Realizing, she looked at him in thinly-veiled surprise.
"When I was fourteen," he said, and she waited, "I killed a kid."
"Oh, I find that hard to believe..."
"Believe it," he confirmed.
"Well, what happened?" she asked, when he was frustratingly quiet again.
"We were rock-climbing, and I went to pull him up. But, you know, he slipped away from me, and...cracked his skull open like a sunny-side-up. I climbed down," he continued, "Like a mountain goat. Tried to believe he'd be okay, you know, the doctors would fix him, but I think I always knew, he was dead on impact. And there was nothing they could do."
"Well, that's not murder."
"No, it's not intentional murder. But accidental murder is still murder."
She bowed her head in deeply uncomfortable acknowledgment of his words. "Can we just stop saying murder? And kill?"
He gave a short, bitter chuckle with closed lips. "Thought you wanted to talk about it."
"I did. I do."
"It's one thing to prefer the frog over the prince. But if you can't accept the warts, maybe you shouldn't keep anything from a swamp."
"Oh, no. No, I picked you up from a pond," she said with a smile. "There's even lilies."
"Well, I know they're not in my liver, so where are they?"
"Your mind."
"I suppose it's better than nothing," he said, and their chuckles mingled.
"I've always loved your mind, House. Even when you're being an unbelievable jerk, I know you're still special."
"And yet you're keeping me at arm's length."
She looked over at him. Thankfully before she could do anything she'd regret―like deny, approve, or ignore his request―Chase closed the hood, drawing both of their attention, and gave a repetitive, circular motion with his hand. Taking her cue, Cuddy attempted to start her car. It sputtered and conked out; looking irritated, Chase again opened up the hood, disappearing behind it.
"Well, I think we both know Lenny is specialer than I am," he said, wanting only to not be rejected. "And you don't seem to mind if your partner's an ass. He's your ideal man."
"Noooo," she dragged out, with an upward inflection.
"No?"
"No, I'm not looking to date a caveman! My ideal man is funny, kind, and romantic, sensitive―"
"And we're back to Exhibit A," House said, motioning to himself.
"Well, you sure are funny."
"I care about patients," he said, with fake emotion.
"You care about the puzzle. And I...don't deserve to be treated like a piece."
"What if you're the big picture?"
"Well, then you wouldn't have tried breaking up Logan and Kayla, would you?"
"Unless I was bored."
His only response was another groan. "Why do you have to be so―you―all the time?"
"I can't pull off that skirt," he said, and paused, still looking at it. "I mean, I will if you want me to."
She was rolling her eyes when Chase closed the hood again, glancing at her. She started the car with ease; Chase picked up his things and went to the driver side window.
"Alright, well, I'm off," he said. "Maybe after your run today you let it rest for awhile."
"Thanks, Chase," she said. "I guess we'll see you at the hospital."
"Both'a you?" he asked, and pulled a face. "Gosh, I don't know if they allow dogs."
Her only response was to smile prettily at him, watching him go back to his car. Alone with House, she asked, "What the hell did you do to him?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary."
She smiled, checking over her shoulder and turning on her signal. "Maybe that's the problem. Any chance you remember saying once or twice that people don't change?"
"Yes."
"Try. Just give it your best shot."
He looked reluctantly at her as she pulled away from the curb.
"Here," Chase's voice distracted Cuddy and House, who paused near the hospital entrance. He approached them holding out a piece of paper. "Best mechanics in Williams. In case your car goes for another shit," he said elegantly, surprising a miffed hospital clerk standing not too far from a No swearing sign.
House smiled sardonically as he limped forward alone, tuning out Cuddy's soft answer, "You sure know a lot about Canada."
"Yeah. I come here."
"S'cuse me," House said to the clerk, "Where might Allison Cameron be?"
"So you go down that hallway, and her room is the 10th door to your right," she said, leaning and pointing.
"Thank you."
Chase made a face as he followed House through the hospital corridor. "This takes me back," he grumbled to Cuddy. "Nowhere good."
"Nowhere? You can't think of...anything good?"
"Not him."
House interjected with, "If you're going to talk about me behind my back, maybe you want to get out of earshot first."
"Nah, I'm good."
"For what?" House asked, as he turned to face the 10th door to their right. He looked through the window, but could only see several curtained spaces. He opened the door. And spoke loudly again. "Cameron?" he called, and walked in between the rows of annoyed mutters, floating to him from the other side of the fabric walls.
"I'm over here, House."
Following the sweet sound of Cameron's soft voice, House went to the last curtained space on his left, bathed in late morning light. He pulled it open and went in, well aware of Cuddy and Chase coming up behind him; seeing that Cameron had both feet, he slowed, eyeballing them like she had three.
"M'kay," he greeted her smiling face, "I know we were in very different situations, but have you lost your mind?"
Chase scoffed as he stepped into the curtained space.
"I hope not," Cameron answered, raising a brow at him. "I am on, like...a lot of drugs."
House looked at Chase. "Does that take you back someplace good?"
"Shut up."
Cameron was fully reclined, hair strewn out across her pillow as she took Chase by the hand. "Well, you feel real," she mumbled.
House was rather focused on Cuddy―more accurately, the way she was looking at Cameron; with caution in her eyes, as she refused to get any closer to the bed-ridden patient.
"I think what the unbelievable jerk meant to ask was, is that your real foot?" Chase asked.
"Yeah. Turns out my gunshot was minor. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt like hell."
"So the doctors expect you to gain full function?" Cuddy managed to thaw long enough to ask.
"No. But, most. I'll be able to walk, but I can...get rid of my treadmill," she said with a slight groan.
Finished tapping on his phone, House gave it to her and she read a text message sent to nobody; then her shocked eyes met his. Quietly, she returned her eyes to his phone. "Is this a joke?" she finally asked, and Chase leaned in to read the words on the screen: A mutant erased your memory. With a scoff, she held out his phone with a trembling hand, speaking in a strong voice. "You're so weird."
Chase sat silently. He didn't know why, but he had this weird image of Logan pulling a magnet off his stomach.
"Cameron," Cuddy said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. "It's true."
Now both she and Chase looked at Cuddy and House in stricken silence.
"Um..." Cameron frowned. "I might remember that when the drugs wear off."
"She'll remind you," House replied. "Honestly, she can't shut up about it."
"Yeah," Cameron said, and rested her head back against the pillow. "Well, that's not surprising."
Cuddy frowned at her, but only hit House―very gently, just enough to make him chuckle.
"So you'll walk," Chase said. "But you won't run again?"
"That's how I understand it," the heavily-medicated woman answered hazily. "And there'll be a lot of rehabilitation," her voice was steadily growing softer. "And I'll be wheelchair-bound for awhile, and then there'll be rehabilitation..." She appeared to fall asleep mid-sentence. Still holding her hand, Chase looked somewhat trapped.
"Okay," Cuddy said quietly, "I'm going to go to the café. Anyone want a sandwich?"
"I-I wanna pee," Chase said, but couldn't take his eyes off of Cameron.
"Well, we could amputate her hand," House joked.
"House," was all Chase had to say to silence his chuckles. He gently worked at freeing his hand, rather relieved when she unclenched her fist. She didn't stir, but shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed, obviously wanting to change position. With a quiet moan, she kept resting.
"I'll stay here until you get back," House grumbled.
"House, she just dozed off."
"You didn't turn on the radio today, did you?"
"Pffft," Chase said, as he got up. "Who listens to that anymore?"
Turning around, he found himself inches away from House's cold, winter eyes―his collar in his fist. "She can't be alone," he growled.
"What―why? She's got doctors."
"Listen to me, a woman was just killed here by a med student. And if it means Cameron walks out of here..." House motioned to the chair nearest him. "Then you're stuck with me. Not only throughout rehab―but also rehab. If I have to live here under false pretenses and give you a very true injury every couple of months, don't think I won't."
He released Chase, who barely stumbled.
"Look at you," Chase said into the awkward silence. "Finally doing the right thing."
House waited until Chase had left the curtained area, finally stepping closer to Cameron and, with a trembling hand, brushing her hair off her shoulders. Not realizing that Chase and Cuddy were both watching, he took Chase's seat...and Cameron's hand.
"It's okay," he grumbled to himself. "You're okay."