Chapter Text
Cameron was washing her hands when she heard the insistent knocking. Turning off the water, she made a mental note to put on her ring later and hurried to the front door. She wasn't expecting any visitors, so it had to be someone from the hotel service checking in or passing a message from the airline company. If she was lucky enough, she would eventually fly to Chicago this night despite a strike. But once she left the bathroom and took the first two steps into the room, she froze. The knocking. All too familiar, even though these sounds had ripped the silence of her old apartment only two times in the past six years.
In the past she had hurried to the door, trying to seem calm yet perfectly aware of her increasing pulse and uneven breathing when she had thought of what might happen. Childish hopes for a miracle - her old habits that die hard. The first time she'd had an excuse, a treadmill had worn her out, after all. The second, she hadn't even bothered deluding herself, mindful of the real reason - a dinner, and not just a meal between two colleagues, a date. The third time never came, that very evening she'd met him outside, unwilling to make him climb all the stairs to her apartment. Afterwards, things started going awry. Though not as much as they did of late.
Cameron closed her eyes, hoping that the sounds would miraculously fade away. She didn't have the strength to deal with anyone at the moment, least of all with him. She bit her lip and started counting mentally: one-two-three-four... If fate had any ounce of mercy left for her, in several minutes he would be gone.
"Cameron, open the damn thing up, or I'll wake up the entire hotel."
Obviously, the mercy was reserved for someone else tonight. Cameron walked to the door - she knew better than doubt that he'd fulfil this promise with the trademark flamboyance. She hadn't expected House here of all places. It took all her willpower to go away without looking back, from him, from Robert. Ironically, both of them, previously so different and now more and more alike, seemed equally frozen when she tried to say goodbye. House had been stiff; her husband hadn't even moved a hand. Someone was bound to get hurt, apparently all of them were, only the intensity of pain differed.
"What do you need, House?" At least she could prevent him from coming in: Allison gripped the doorframe leaving the other hand on the handle.
"Oh, peachy. Try again - would you come in, do you fancy a glass of scotch, House?"
“The bar is downstairs.”
"So, you do want me to wake up people in the other rooms."
"Try it, and I'll call security, or better yet someone else will."
"You're bluffing, but the attempt was impressive."
"What do you need?"
"Let me in."
"No."
"Cameron."
House was scrutinizing her once again, maybe he did have a mental microscope of sorts, letting him see what was behind her exterior, somewhat faded and withered these days.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I'm a genius, remember?"
"Right." The knuckles of her hands must have gone white.
"The airline strike, and only two hotels nearby. Start connecting the dots."
"Whatever."
"Are we going to play 20 questions all night, or will you let me in?"
"Why? I thought we've already said everything"
"Actually, that was you who did all the talking, and my leg is hurting, need to sit down."
"Go home, or to the lobby."
"It is hurting. Really." He showed her his cell. "The battery is dead."
Cameron knew better than to buy it at face value. Anyone at the reception would be able to make the damn call but… House was unpredictable so he could well get into more trouble, and if she was honest with herself she still hated seeing him in pain, no matter how much of her own he caused. Pathetic.
"Come in, I'll call a taxi." She let go of the doorframe, knowing all too well that she was conceding. Once again. Her only consolation was that it'd be over tomorrow, once she would be out of his reach. She would manage to cut the strings loose.
"So," he looked around her small hotel room, as she dialled the number and started talking with an operator, "running away again," he pointed the cane at her suitcases near the wall.
She closed her phone.
"What are you really doing here?"
"Wanted you to bring me a Bulls cap on the way back."
"Try asking someone else, it'll take less time."
He looked at her for a few seconds and then smirked, acknowledging that she didn’t take the bait.
"Smart girl."
House seemed pensive for a moment, and then poked at one of her suitcases.
“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall,” he quoted with a dramatic flair.
“Shakespeare and not Jagger? Wonders would never cease.”
“I am the man of many talents,” she smiled at his retort, against her better judgement. The smile faded the moment he pressed on. “Saint Cameron leaving… the act is getting old, you know.”
"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" Cameron could tell he was searching for an answer, something was amiss in the puzzle he had solved long ago, and it irritated him. That was one of the reasons for his visit, not the only one, of course, with House things were never that simple. "That's what bugs you, not that I'm leaving, not what Robert and you've done."
"What bugs me is Wilson's snoring I hear through the wall, but you can't help with that."
"Stop it.” Deep breaths Cameron reminded herself, nails digging painfully into her palms, she hoped he would hear the warning notes in her voice.
"It's you who needs to stop.” Leave it to House to disregard any warnings. “Lecturing others on right and wrong, trying to fix everything. The world doesn't work that way, you know? People do what they think is necessary, no matter whether it corresponds to your moral principles or not. Stop running and face it.”
And that’s where her calm facade, already dangerously fragile, shuttered to pieces. Figures it would be House to deal the final blow.
"Face what? How you bend rules just for the hell of it? How Robert and the others concede to you time after time? How you risk a patient's life because of a stupid game?"
Cameron folded her arms to anchor herself, as she felt small shivers born out exhaustion and stress taking over her body. She took a deep breath to calm down. Then she went on, her voice barely a whisper. "It… sooner or later it'll start crushing down on you. I won't… can't just stand by, looking at this."
Cameron knew that he probably wouldn't understand, would consider her a coward or a quitter, but it was the only way. She had seen her first husband die, it had hurt like hell, but she couldn't fight nature, no matter how much she wanted to. She survived it, eventually. But seeing Robert destroy himself, witnessing House play his stupid power-games, more twisted that ever… She would try to fight it and fail miserably all over again, she already had - Robert's choice made it painfully obvious. But if she stayed, she would still try, carrying on a Don Quixote-like attempt to make them understand, until… She feared that moment – the one that would break even her.
"Thought you were an optimist."
"Whatever. Your taxi will be here in twenty minutes or so, wait in the lobby."
House ignored her and limped to the bed, leaning heavily on his cane.
"You should've taken a room with a couch, and a working TV."
Airline companies rarely offer big rooms if a flight is cancelled, hers had only a tiny bedroom and a shower, plus a malfunctioning TV, but she didn’t care.
"I wasn't expecting any…" Cameron stopped before she started offering excuses for nothing. "Nice try." She answered as he sat on the bed, twisting the cane in his fingers. "Still doesn't answer the question what are you doing here."
"Got a case of the self-righteous duckling who throws the "there is no way back for you" crap and walks away. Once again." He looked at her expectantly; apparently, neither her words from a minute ago, nor what she'd told him earlier in his office sufficed as an explanation, or he didn't want them to.
"Until now I… used to believe you saw the right and wrong. You used to push things, to bend rules too much, but I knew that in the end you'd return to some balance. Lives mattered for you, and that mattered for me."
"I've never had noble motives. A hero-worship gone wrong."
"That's what fits, right?"
She knew all too well where he was going with this impromptu differential, vividly remembering the last one of five years ago.
"Would it make a difference, if you knew about Chase?"
Finally. The question she'd been dreading to ask herself. She averted her eyes.
"I would have…" Honestly, she didn't know how to finish the sentence. "We could've talked." A lame comeback, even she felt it.
"Sure, and after your brainwashing he would've run to the police. Is that what you want?"
"I would never…"
"Ouch, wrong one. If you knew, you wouldn't feel any differently. You resent what he did, you'd just start nagging him earlier." He leaned his chin on the handle of his cane.
"Robert needed support, still needs it. I wanted to help… feared that one day he'd become like you, treating lives like nothing but puzzles. But I was too late, once again." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to block the memories.
"You also hated the guy, by the way. Remember all your "he doesn't deserve treatment" rants?"
Cameron shook her head; she doubted that House would understand how the sense of duty had outweighed her resentment to Diabala, however conflicting it may have been.
"I do. You know what else I remember? That my husband lied to me, he schemed, manipulated and you were Ok with this. All of you were."
"So now it's the matter of being left out?"
"It wasn't about me, House." She had a feeling that they were speaking different languages. Whatever she said, whatever she tried to explain, he would twist, turn until it fitted perfectly into his own picture. But she still tried. "It was about our marriage, the people I trusted… But that's exactly what you don't get."
"Yeah, Chase lied. Time to make up and move on. But that's the catch. You’d rather sacrifice your marriage than your principles.”
"Is that what you told Robert?" She needed to ask even if he wouldn't say anything definitive. For she'd imagined too many answers on her own. Ignorance was bliss, but possibilities could be a torture.
"Am I right?"
"You don't need my answer, never had."
Even if something in his puzzle didn't fit now, he would make the pieces connect later; after all, she wouldn't be there to prove him wrong. He didn't need her answer during their date, ready and willing to put a label on her. Had she wanted to fix him? He wouldn't understand that healing and fixing were two different things. The former was mutual. She did want to make him a bit more content with his life. Not a purely altruistic desire, but a very selfish one. She'd needed, wanted all of him: his brilliance, irony, ability to read people that scared and fascinated her, his eyes, gestures. She had simply needed him, with the flaws that mirrored her own, twisting them, turning them upside-down.
"Humor me." His voice pulled Cameron out of her thoughts.
"Why did you come?” She knew he wouldn’t answer, but the two could play this game, he taught her damn well how to turn the tables. “Want to make me feel even worse? Well, it's hardly possible. You've always liked a challenge, but I don't want to be the one, not now."
Cameron felt the headache building. It had become her loyal friend for the past month or so. The month too absurd, twisted and screwed to find the reality in this distortion. Once all events, like odd touches on impressionist's paintings had finally fallen into place, once she'd stepped back and made out the whole picture – she'd lost it. Maybe she shouldn't have searched in the first place.
"Once you said you loved me."
"Yes and that I was an idiot for doing it."
"You were, indeed."
Indeed. Loved. Such a damn cliché, it was. The answer wasn't that simple, never had been. Love, need, fascination, desire, empathy – she didn't know what was more powerful. Throughout these years she had witnessed his highs and lows, yet she still cared, more than she should have had. It was much easier to pretend indifference than actually be. Although, apparently she failed even at pretending: suspicious glances from Robert and Cuddy had rubbed it in her face more than once.
Loved. Not a rosy or starry-eyed kind of love. He had done a great job at shattering her illusions long ago, but the feelings remained. Neither all-absorbing nor blinding. The symptoms had changed, had become less evident, but the illness was there; it had simply progressed to another stage. Who knew how many of them were still in store for her.
Before she could deliver any comeback, he pulled a medium-sized bottle of scotch from his coat pocket.
"Want some? You know, we'll spill tears over ruined lives and all." Against her better judgment, she also sat, but on the floor, leaning her back on the bed.
"And what's your reason for drinking?" Cameron bit her lip before "Saw Cuddy with the other guy?" slipped. She wouldn't hit the sore spot, couldn't, even now.
House remained silent, not bothering to look for a glass, he took a gulp and gave the bottle to her. She took a small sip, scotch was never her favorite drink, but it would do. Strange, though, House's presence was almost comforting now, maybe because she knew that tomorrow she would be far away from him, from everything. She wouldn't have to face him, to fight him, to strive to impress him, to care for him. Distance should help, eventually. She hadn't expected her goodbye to be so achingly long, but for some ridiculous reason now she didn't want to run from this pain. Not yet.
"So how was the conference?"
"Trying small talk?"
Cameron shrugged her shoulders.
"It was… irritating, for the most part, though sometimes fun." House turned away, but she caught the wistful look in his eyes. Something must have happened. But she shouldn't care. Really shouldn't. Out of habit, she rubbed her ring-finger that seemed strikingly bare without her wedding band, which was currently resting on a shelf in the bathroom. Cameron wondered whether she'd have to get used to this feeling.
"We had a study in our new apartment." The thought had been tormenting her as she was going through the rooms at their flat, packing her things for the flight, but until now she didn't have anyone to voice it to. Not that House was the best confidant.
"My ducklings can read? A shocker." He jumped at the opportunity to change the subject.
"You don't get it, do you? We didn't need to rent a new flat, we didn't need the damn study! A bright new future." Cameron smirked sadly as she let her head rest on her hands. "So easy to turn into a nursery if I get pregnant and house-hunting takes longer…"
House remained silent, just run his hand through his hair. Force of habit – not that he needed it these days with the much-shorter haircut. Alcohol never did a good job at dulling his wit and desire to mock at others, so he was holding back for some other reason. Possibly finally feeling responsible? At least partly? Once she would have savored the moment, engraved it in her memory, over and over again searching for a veiled meaning. But not today.
"I thought you would stand by your man. You used to."
For a moment Cameron wondered whether House meant her late husband or all those times when he'd screwed up and yet she was behind him.
"I would. You know what the catch is? I thought Robert would also stand by me. That's what the whole "hand in hand" is about, right? But seems like… you won," Allison was looking at the wall as she uttered these words. She didn't even have to turn away from House, she simply didn't turn to him like she had been doing a few moments before it. "You always do, no matter at what cost."
"What're you gonna do?"
"Frankly? No idea."
"Ok, but I still want my Bulls cap."
"I'll send it to you."
"And you owe me naked pictures."
Cameron couldn't help giggling, but she blamed it on the scotch.
"Sorry, House, but Wilson's been a better boy, so he gets them."
"Damn."
"I should hate you right now."
"But you don't."
"I should." Barely a whisper. An unspoken "but" was almost tangible. Cameron finally turned to face him, afraid to see him mocking at her admission. But House was uncharacteristically serious, looking at her with the intensity that hadn't been there since his return from Mayfield or maybe since their brief encounter in his office. She couldn't be sure about the last: overwhelmed with too many conflicting emotions, prevailing of which was the bitter sense of loss, Cameron couldn't fully take in his gaze then.
The ringing of the phone broke the silence. Or the spell, their eternal almost something and might have been. Cameron stood up to answer it, not knowing whether to be grateful or sorry for the interruption. At least it gave her time to compose herself.
"The taxi is here." She hang up and turned to him, crossing her arms on her chest.
"Guess the party is over then." He stood up, leaning on the cane, and made several steps to the door, not looking at her.
"Just…" Cameron uttered before even realizing it. One last time. A Don Quixote, indeed. "House. Please, just don't go any further, and… don't lead them there."
"Chase will be sulking, and that's my privilege, by the way."
"I hope… he'll get over it." Cameron said, leaning on the doorframe and watching him stand near the door making no move to open it.
"Will you?"
"Take care, House." Cameron put her hand on the handle, intending to open it and finally finish this surreal evening, maybe it was her time to start running.
"Will you?" House firmly took her wrist and moved her hand from the handle, piercing Cameron with his eyes.
"Wish I knew." Cameron felt her voice shudder, as she tried to look away. Anywhere but at him, anywhere but at his thumb lightly caressing her wrist.
"It won't solve anything, you know." He looked at her suitcase.
"I can't..."
"Try, but you'll find out that I'm right. As always."
"About diagnoses. Not about people."
A "rarely about me" that was running through her mind was left unsaid.
"We'll check it when you come back. I might even buy scotch." He finally let go of her wrist and opened the door.
"Just so you know, I prefer wine. Goodbye, House." Cameron said as she closed the door behind him.