Chapter Text
She knew it was him even before she heard the voice. That achingly familiar sound of the cane hitting the floor, bit more pronounced than she remembered, Cameron briefly wondered if it was due to increasing pain or if he did it for her benefit – a warning shot of sorts. It did the trick though, she took a steadying breath and turned around, just as his voice cut through the crowded conference hall.
“Doctor Cameron, what a coincidence!” he didn’t even brother feigning surprise, possibly guessing that she would see right through his charade.
“And here I thought you hated coincidence.”
“I’d say this one is a divine intervention.”
“Glad to see your God complex is still intact.” She wanted to sound annoyed, but a small, treacherous smile tugging at the corners of her lips before she could stop herself, probably ruined the intended effect.
Ever since their lives diverged, slipping into a relative safety of two parallel universes – hers in Boston and his still in Princeton – she found herself a bit off balance every time they met face to face. Rare occasions, indeed, but ironically not rare enough, given that parallel lines were never supposed to intersect in the first place. Yet here they were again – defying the odds and laws of geometry alike, as if life itself enjoyed throwing them together just to see what would happen.
Taking on the phone was easy, liberating almost. She briefly wondered if both of them unwittingly used those calls as some sort of twisted exposure therapy. Whatever it was, it worked. Once frustration over his latest stunt fully faded into a slightly bitter, but distant memory, her strange connection with House became a source of comfort, something she started to look forward to at the end of a tiring day – although, she would never admit the latter out loud. Plus, phone calls offered a bit of a hideaway – not seeing him was easier, not letting him see through her was even better.
But that also meant that each time they would meet in person, she would be caught off guard when faced with the force of nature that House was. Each new meeting would start with her discreetly observing latest changes in him, just like she did now, her gaze taking in familiar and still captivating blue of his eyes, a couple of new worry lines on his forehead, a satisfied smirk on his face. She briefly wondered if he did the same when looking at her, cataloguing subtle souvenirs of time and life, trying to read between the lines.
Somehow she missed the moment when they moved to stand closer together than they probably needed to, even in the crowded room. In an attempt to break this ever-present disorienting pull between them, she finally tore her eyes away and looked around, trying to spot another familiar face in the sea of people.
“So who is on babysitting duty today?”
“You don’t think I can handle this pathetic vanity fair on my own?”
“You could, but I am not sure Cuddy would be taking any chances, not with your track record, she needs good press and donors.”
“Wilson.” House confirmed her assumption, and Cameron felt relieved and a touch disappointed at the same time. Relieved, since Wilson would definitely serve as a safety buffer both professionally and personally. Disappointed… just a little bit, she reminded herself, because their renewed trust and still fragile connection with House never held up well in a company, always failing a crash test of other people’s assumptions and expectations, however well-meant.
Then House chuckled wryly and added, as if reading her thoughts, “But he suddenly caught a stomach bug on the day of the flight.” And that’s how she knew – she’d bet anything that this particular strain of stomach bug bore the name of Gregory House, MD. “So here I am, alone in all my glory.”
“What a coincidence.”
She made a point to stress the last word, outraged on Wilson’s behalf and just a tiny bit relieved for all the wrong reasons. She fixed House with a look though, the one usually trained on him whenever he did something particularly appalling in early days of her fellowship, before she developed a tolerance for outrageous.
“Oh, he’ll be fine in a day or two, don’t get all worked up.”
***
As the conference progressed, Cameron braced herself, waiting for a proverbial shipwreck with House on one of the panels, but surprisingly… it went better than she expected, at least, by his usual stands of public speaking disasters. Oh, he was still bitingly sarcastic and terrifyingly unconventional but also utterly brilliant, reminding her why she had been enthralled my his medical genius in the first place. He could still impress her, even after all these years.
Immunology break-out obviously seemed a bit less lively after his show, but for once Cameron welcomed it, a lull of predictable questions and arguments doing wonders for her nerves. Most importantly, as she stepped on stage, Cameron felt none of the imposter syndrome that had plagued her during the first months after the promotion: she earned her right to be here, and this certainty was absolutely and infinitely gratifying.
She expected House to sneak out before Rogers’ panel, since he hadn’t been known to stay at these things longer than absolutely necessary, and he already stayed for her section. Cameron tried not to read too much into the latter – a coincidence and nothing more, yet a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that today seemed suspiciously packed with coincidences. As House sunk into a chair next to her, she had to concede internally – packed, indeed.
“Purely academic interest, huh?” he mocked her previous excuse.
She shushed him and went on to listen, cataloguing details of Rogers’ late onset MS research for further reference.
As they opened the floor for questions sometime later, Cameron was tempted to probe, mind filled with a dozen of possibilities, but eventually stopped herself: others in this room would benefit from the Q&A more, their motives definitely professional rather than personal. She heaved a resigned sign and leaned back into her chair, inwardly cursing her innate sense of empathy and responsibility.
She was still lost in her thoughts, when House’s voice brought her back to reality. Only… he wasn’t speaking to her. He started asking questions – everything she wanted to know and then some - as if he was also following the topic, as if he knew exactly where she would probe. There was practiced precision, laser-sharp attention to details, bit of provocation to his arguments, and it dawned on Cameron: somehow, he noticed her hesitation, he understood, and did her a favor.
And that was the most thoughtful thing anyone had done for her in a while.
Cameron chose to believe that there was no need to define their regular calls. Why put a label on something that could be easily brushed aside, hidden in a middle of the night with no way to spill over to their parallel lives unfolding in the light of the day? She also knew herself well enough to admit it was a lie, a yet another self-delusion she created out of fear of getting hurt.
Their meetings though… these rare moments filled with uncomfortable truths, soothing silences and penetrating gazes, unspoken understanding and sarcasm as defence mechanism… it was difficult to negotiate with herself on those – too real, too disorienting and still affecting her too much.
As the conference was winding down, she realised that she didn’t want this one to be over, not just yet.
“On the scale of 1 to 10, how bored are you?”
“One hundred give or take.”
Cameron opened her emails on her cell, looking up the latest receipt from the familiar menswear store.
“Have a funny case for you, obvious, really, but a diagnostician hasn’t been able to figure it out for half a year or so.”
“What a clueless idiot.” House remarked, taking the phone from her outstretched hand.
As realization dawned on him, his face transforming from confused to astonished in a matter of seconds, Cameron couldn’t bite back her laughter.
“Don’t you say.”
***
Figures, they ended up in his room this evening. Just like the last time.
“The niceness will be the end of you.” Of course House would call her out on what happened at the lecture, although there was no bite in this voice, just a mere observation.
“I’ll drink to that.”
Possibly her tiredness was catching up with her, Cameron kicked off her shoes, settling more comfortably in a chair, any barriers or reservations she had long gone. A headache was beginning to build in her temples, so she started pulling the pins out of her hair, trying to ease the tension.
House handled her a glass when she was done, and sat in a chair opposite, stretching out his legs to alleviate the pain of his own.
“I kind of hoped you’d learn to be more selfish.”
“Motives do matter, House. Mine…” she drew a breath, wondering if she should continue, or not. There would be no leverage, no mystery, no puzzle to lure him, should she need his help in future. Yet, against her better judgment, words came spilling out in a torrent of suppressed worry mixed with relief, “mine weren’t professional. The ADEM,” she did make a point to stress it, preventing any further arguments, “was a family matter”.
This admission would give House a clue to figure out the mystery of her obsession with the not-quite-MS case and the lingering fear in her bones. But at the moment she didn’t care, she felt light, as if the weight of second guessing herself was suddenly lifted from her chest, and she could finally breathe, fully, deeply, peacefully. Fancy that, oxygen could be more intoxicating than alcohol, Cameron stared at her untouched glass, trying to catch her distorted reflection in the gold liquid. “I’ve changed and then I haven’t.”
“Don’t you say.”
She raised her head just in time to catch the gleam of uncharacteristic softness in his eyes, but it was gone all to soon, just as his gaze landed on the handle of his cane.
“The pain never goes away, neither does the addiction.”
With that, something shifted in the air between them. To anyone else, it would seem like just an offhanded remark, but she knew, sensed it even before she caught his eyes again – so impossibly blue, penetrating and suddenly serious – he was opening up, meeting her admission with the one of his own.
House went on:
“There will be a time and place, and slipping back will be the best and easiest thing to do.”
“Thought you hate easy solutions?”
“Not always. There will be no big revelation, Cameron. Pain makes people make bad decisions. Fear of pain is almost as big of a motivator.”
“Fear generally is. Of pain, truth, disappointment, failure, future.”
House, Robert, her dad, Wilson. Allison Cameron, MD. The list went on and on.
“Care to offer a solution? Apart from preaching, that one is getting old.”
“Just face both, the fear can turn just as ugly and paralysing as the pain itself.”
“Then why are you running away each time?”
Leave it to House to see right through her. Her throat suddenly went dry, one more admission burning let lips as she whispered:
“Because that’s in my control.”
Funny, she never thought of it that way, but as different as they were, polar opposites to an outside observer, deep inside both were equally damaged. She could see House understood and could relate in his own way - once Vicodin had been his own personal escape, the only thing in his control that allowed to deny the reality of the infraction, but once the drug had started controlling him, he had to learn anew how to face the world without it.
Would she be able to do it? To stop running and face her fears?
Before she could change her mind, she stood up and closed the distance between them. Having a height advantage was nice for a change, but she willingly surrendered it, sitting down on the arm of his chair, ever mindful not to put any weight of his bad leg. There it was again - that damn intoxicating pull that made her feel precariously close and not close enough.
“This is always when you say something, and we move on.” She muttered, trying to regain the last bit of sanity, daring him to be the one to stop this madness, after all, he always did when it came to them.
House reached out and gently held her chin, looking in her eyes with familiar intensity. She could not break the contact even if she wanted to, and for now she really, really didn’t.
“So, you aren’t drunk.” He said in a moment, delivering a verdict, more to himself than her.
“Learned my lesson.”
“Good girl, try not to jump people when high or drunk. Never ends well.”
She chucked, leave it to him to take a dig at the disastrous start of her affair with Robert, now of all times. Whatever else he wanted to say, was lost as her lips touched his.
No hidden agendas this time, no needles in her pocket. Just a subtle move of her lips against his, tentative at first, but growing more possessive with every minute, and the line they had never dared to cross, tiptoeing on the very edge again and again, became a distant memory.
Contrary to what others may have thought, sex was never a problem for her. Intimacy was.
That’s why during her HIV scare she turned to Robert while looking for a one night stand – it was never supposed to get anywhere beyond physical.
With House, though, sex would complicate things… but then it wouldn’t, not really, for they had become too intimately, almost painfully intervened long before it entered the equation. It would just add another symptom on the board. The last rational part of her mind whispered that the world would not go away just because she wanted it to, that long distance relationships would not work, that there was too much baggage, personal and professional. Yet for once, she let go of her fear of getting too close, overcome by the heady sense of recklessness and hope - they would figure something out, they were too good at defying the odds.
Cameron tasted all their what-ifs on his lips, felt them in the faint burning of his stubble as he kissed her neck, sending small shivers down her spine; traced them as she drew haphazard patterns on his shoulders with her fingertips and nails; dissolved in them as his breath caressed her tights, stealing oxygen from her lungs…
Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets.
***
Contrary to what others may have thought, an idea of sex with Cameron was never a problem, underlying vulnerability was.
Once he had arrogantly promised that he would not crush her, but there was still a chance, however small, however improbable that he would, and an even smaller but still real chance that she would crush him, if he let her get too close. Knowing his track record, not a conforming prospect. Yet all his previous attempts to choose a lesser evil, when it came to her, ended up in a disaster. So might as well finally choose something that makes them both vulnerable, at least they would be in this together.
As his lips traced a pattern against her bare skin that sent small shivers down her spine, as she leaned into his kiss and touch, her eyes fluttering shut, he couldn’t find a reason not to. The rush of endorphins, expected as well as intoxicating, lulled the ever present pain for a few blissful moments, constricting his awareness of the world to the taste of her lips, the heat of her skin and deceptive fragility that was so uniquely her.
The brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, respiration becomes rapid and shallow.
Just another symptom on the board… that reaffirmed the diagnosis they both had tried to deny time after time.
Now that they silently acknowledged the truth, it was time to beat the odds. Together.