house fic: distance [1/1]

[dominique012]

Rating: G
Words: 1285
Spoilers: S1 eps again. Date issues. I just can't get out of there. *g* mentions the events of 1x19 Kids, 1x20 Love Hurts
Summary: AU goings on after The Date, as Cameron tries to keep her distance.
Notes:
+ house_cameron ficathon entry for mem_vermelha who wanted a mockable purple mug, an honest conversation, and a park bench. And no babies, Cameron/Chase, or marriage. I hope you enjoy! :)



She stood at the counter, at first staring blankly and then caught between confusion and fascinated horror.

Allison: Noble kind; of the noble sort.

The shiny, diagonal gold script was scrawled across a mug of the most hideously, incandescently garish purple Cameron had ever seen. And it held pride of place at the front of all the coffee mugs in the Diagnostics kitchen.

She pushed back a strand of hair and warily reached for it. It was like some mysterious interloper, attempting to ally itself using her name.

Chase shuffled in, dumping his bag on the table and then walking over to join her. "Hey."

He grinned, eyeing the mug. "'Whoa. That's – " His gaze shifted from the shiny gold lettering to her horrified face. He laughed. "That's really ugly."

She knew it was hopeless, but said anyway, "It's not mine!"

He smirked. "It's…got your name on it."

She shook her head. "Do you really think I'd bring something like this here?"

He shrugged and reached for a plain red mug, still smiling. "I'll just stick to one of these."

She replaced it on the shelf, also grabbing a red mug. Teabag. Water. Confusion. It was some kind of inane, irritating joke.

House walked in, slapping a file down on the table. "Liver failure, anyone?"

+++

She pushed a hand through her hair and stifled a yawn. Looked up from her desk to see House limp out of his darkened office.

He paused at her doorway. "Who are you trying to impress?"

Cameron smiled tightly. "I offered to do an extra seminar during the immunology conference."

He raised his brows loftily. "Ah. That's very…noble…of you." He turned, only just hiding a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. "It's your stupid mug, isn't it?"

"It's got your name on it, Allison." Walking away.

"Whatever you say, Greg."

She watched him leave, determined not to ask, even inwardly, Why?

As she looked back down at her desk, her mind compulsively slid back seven days, to sitting across from him at dinner, hollow and confused and frozen.

She struggled to quell the lurch in her stomach – an incredulous, regret/stupidity combination with an annoyingly persistent side of whybringacorsage?

It felt sickeningly familiar now; days of ruminating and determined forgetting had left her feeling bruised, squashed inside. She slowly squeezed a page of scribbled notes in one fist.

Scanning the seminar papers, she decided to rewrite the first few pages. Auto-immune diseases, bored doctors.

A new strategy. Distance.

No coffee mugs, no corsages.

+++

She was sitting at the meeting table, picking at her sandwich when Chase and Foreman hurried in, both wearing wide grins.

She smiled warily. "Hey, you crazy kids."

Foreman shook his head as Chase threw a quick glance behind himself. "House is on his way."

Cameron cocked her head. "And that's amusing, because..?"

Chase flopped down in the chair beside her. "Some clinic patient bit him." He chortled. "She got sick of his 'constant, filthy tirade.'"

She bit her lip in spite of herself. "Was…it serious?"

Foreman snorted. "He's fine. But pissed."

The door burst open and he walked in, eyes narrow and dark, shadowed jawline sharp. She pressed her lips together, pulling her gaze to the table and then rapidly scanning the rest of him.

His left hand was bandaged. Her eyes rested there for a moment, before she turned back to her lunch. Chase was looking benignly around the room, as Foreman fiddled with his pen, still grinning.

House looked stonily at her. "What? No concern? No questions?"

That’s right.

She shrugged. "You were bitten by a patient? You seem to be surviving."

His eyes widened. "Oh, I’m sorry. I was expecting earnest, compassionate, over-empathizing Cameron."

She nodded slowly. "Right. Leave a message, House."

She met his mocking, doubtful expression steadily. Distance maintained.

+++

Leaves crunched under her boots as she walked briskly across the hospital grounds. She lifted her chin slightly to meet a wisp of cool air; welcome relief after the close, numbing crowd of the conference.

She sank down gratefully on a park bench, taking out a bottle of water for a long drink.

"You look terrible."

She lowered the bottle, but didn't bother to look up. It was funny how these little lines didn't register surprise in her anymore, let alone tempt her to bite. Somehow, he was always just there, pushing. It was their thing. Or used to be.

House continued, "All those immunologists in one place, it's gotta be bad for your health."

She leisurely surveyed the dappled grass around her, before looking coolly and silently up at him.

He shuffled around on the spot for a moment, and she took momentary pleasure in seeing him even slightly perturbed. Her gaze rested on his bandaged hand.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "It's feeling much better."

She inclined her head.

"And yet," he mused, "She doesn't care."

She doesn't care.

"House." Her voice was strained. "What do you want?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. I'm interested…in this cool, detached regime you seem to have developed in the last week."

She exhaled. Of course. His curiosity. She looked at him squarely before speaking, formulating the right response, until a sudden wash of weariness gave way to unexpected honesty.

"I'm moving on. Keeping busy." She looked away for moment, blankly staring at chipped paint on the bench. "I made a mistake."

He walked closer to the bench. "Mind if I sit down? I’m a cripple you know."

"I'll say." Barely a murmur, but he threw her a sidelong grimace anyway. She moved over.

They were silent, and she felt the acute strangeness of sitting with him on a park bench, facing a sunny, tree-filled aspect. It felt peaceful and so…wrong.

She glanced down, noticing his bandaged hand, fingers exposed, resting on the bench inches from her leg.

"So." He didn't look at her, but grinned a little. "You really didn't like the mug?"

She closed her eyes for a second, unsure whether to smile or not.

"House. It's the ugliest mug I've ever seen." She turned to face him, still not asking him why.

He rolled his eyes. "It was there, in the gift shop. Your name is Allison. It was just a way to…I just wanted to… I just thought of you." He fidgeted for a moment and then turned to look into her eyes. "Although, really I was expecting it to say 'Determined' or…'Hopeful'."

She nodded, with a whispered "Yeah."

She looked back down at the bench, at his fingers sticking up above the bandage. Insanely, without thinking, or distance, or caution, she covered the back of his hand with hers, her fingers moving slowly over the soft bandage to reach his fingertips. She stopped, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He froze. It occurred to her that he probably didn’t want to hurt his hand more by moving it away. She stole a glance at his face.

He was staring at her hand, a puzzled frown over bright blue eyes, his lips apart. He seemed paralyzed, and she couldn't discern him breathing. He didn't move, but finally said, "…or Brave'".

He looked at her then, and the distance she'd been cultivating seemed to collapse into the size of half a park bench. Nothing felt right, everything was alien; but the bruised feeling was gone.

"I have to head back." Although really, what chance did the conference stand now?

He nodded, his eyes following her hand as she slowly let go of his and reached for her bag.

"Sure. Have fun. I'll see you later for real work"

As she walked across the grass, she glanced back at him. He looked up from his hand to meet her gaze as she walked away.

end