Hold On

The party had gone better than House had hoped. He spent most of his time talking to Wilson while surreptitiously observing Cameron on the other side of the room. At one point she had commented that she felt like she should give everyone a tour of her new home, but that would be silly, since they had all seen it before she had. House pointed out that he hadn’t, and Cameron had laughingly given him permission to poke around.

Permission granted, House wandered upstairs, relieved to get away from the crowd for a few moments. He flipped on the hall light, noticing the small bookshelf in the hallway was covered with picture frames. One in particular caught his eye. An antiqued silver frame, Cameron in a pretty white dress and a young man next to her in a suit and tie. She held a bouquet of lilies and was smiling up at the man. He picked up the frame to examine the photo closely. Her wedding day. She looked happy, but sad at the same time. She was smiling, but it wasn’t that carefree, sparkling smile he was used to. It was a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He didn’t know it was possible to look that young and that old at the same time.

He picked up another photo. Obviously Cameron and her mother. Cameron looked to be about five, wearing a white dress and a daisy crown, held securely in her mother’s arms and holding a rather beat up teddy bear by the leg. He felt better about his gift, knowing she liked bears as a child. He’d had one too. His mother had given it to him and he’d taken it everywhere. A shadow came over his face as he remembered his father throwing the bear away, telling him that men didn’t play with stuffed bears. Pushing the memory to the back of his mind, he continued to wander around upstairs.

The second bathroom seemed ordinary enough, so he moved on to the room nearby, a spare bedroom that had been turned into an office. Cameron’s iMac sat on a mahogany desk that he’d guessed had also been her grandmother’s, and a futon sat against the back wall. He rolled his eyes when he discovered that her grey computer mouse sported whiskers, ears and pink tail. That was way worse than making girly “G”s.

The next room was also a spare bedroom, this one filled with boxes. He guessed these were the personal items the guys had been told to stay out of. Glancing at a few labels, he smirked. “Lingerie. Who the hell labels a moving box ‘lingerie’?” He didn’t pause to contemplate that this apparently meant that Cameron had enough lingerie to fill an entire moving box. “Diaries.” He was temped for about a half-second to take the lid off of that one and snoop, but realized that he’d either end up reading about her dead husband or about her perceptions of her job, as it didn’t appear she had much of a social life here. All her friends were work friends.

He dismissed the diaries and poked his head through the double doors at the end of the hall. Obviously the master bedroom. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of her bedroom. Girly “G”s and sickenly cute computer mouse aside, Cameron’s bedroom didn’t have a trace of pastels or floral prints. The furniture was more mahogany, sturdy and elegant, but not something he’d describe as feminine. Not masculine either, though. More classic. The centerpiece to the room was a four-poster bed. The bedspread and window curtains were a deep burgundy velvet, and he noticed that the pillowcases, and therefore probably the sheets, were either silk or satin. Some kind of soft looking shiny fabric. King sized bed. Candles on the dresser. Allison Cameron either really liked sex or really liked her creature comforts. Maybe both. This wasn’t the kind of room he’d have pictured for her, but now that he thought about it, he didn’t have a problem picturing her in the room.

Once again, he consciously redirected his chain of thought. Cameron had always been smart and beautiful and kind and well, Cameron. That was why he had hired her. Brains and beauty, or at least, a beauty willing to use her brain, was a rarity in House’s experience. He had no idea why he was having these thoughts about her now. Now, of all times. She’d just been through a severe trauma. This was not the time for him to be perving over one of his minions.

Maybe it was the trauma, though. He’d spent more time with her on a personal level over the last two weeks than he had in the last year. Of course, most of that time had been averting panic attacks. It wasn’t like they’d had actual conversation. He’d just talked to her, held her, and helped bring her back to reality. But here, alone in her room, he admitted to himself that it had felt good to hold her. Not good in a sexual way; that had been the last thing on his mind when she was crying, but just nice. Human contact, soft curves, nice smell. Just nice. It had been a very long time since he’d held a woman like that.

He poked his head into the master bathroom, taking note of the Jacuzzi bathtub. He wondered for a moment how Cameron could afford all this, but remembered that Foreman had said she’d gotten some money from her grandmother’s estate.

He checked the clock and noticed the late hour. Wandering back downstairs, he said his goodbyes, took his coat from the hook, and headed home, tossing the coat on the front seat.

The first thing he noticed when he walked in his door was how cold it was. He checked the thermostat, and realized that it was set appropriately, and realized that the heat had gone out. No heat in the middle of a snowstorm. Okay, it wasn’t actually a snowstorm, more of a small dusting of snow, but still. It was damned cold. An hour later, he managed to locate his portable heater in the back of the kitchen cabinet, behind the soup pot. He didn’t even remember he owned a soup pot.

He moved his coat off the couch, reaching for the outlet on the wall when he heard the sound of crumpling paper. Paper? He ran his hand down the cream colored wool and pulled a white paper bag out of the pocket. Shit. He realized that he had Cameron’s meds. Opening the bag, he discovered vicodin and flexeril. Given the broken bones and muscle pain that sometimes came with broken ribs, she was going to need these. He sighed, grabbed his coat and keys, and headed back to her place, noticing that the storm had gotten heavier. They’d have a few more inches by morning.

Turning onto her street, he noticed that all the streetlights were out. No porchlights or lights in windows either. Apparently, the storm had interfered with the power.

He pulled into Cameron’s driveway, noticing that all the other cars were gone. That was good. He didn’t want his colleagues to know that he’d just driven forty-five minutes in a snowstorm to bring Cameron her forgotten painkillers. He felt a bit stupid himself, but he knew what pain was, and he knew how bad it could get when medication wasn’t available. She wouldn’t go without medicine she might need if he could help it.

He knocked sharply on the door with his cane and waited a few moments, then knocked again. A soft voice came through the door. “Who’s there?”

“Cameron, it’s House.”

The door swung open. “Sorry. I couldn’t see it was you. The lights are out.”

He held out the bag with her medicine. “You left these in my coat pocket.”

She took them gratefully. “Thank you. I’d been looking for these.” He nodded and started to turn to go. “House?” He turned back. “I was going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one? It’s cold outside.” She seemed nervous. Too nervous to just be asking about tea. He observed her and realized that this was her first night in a new home, after a traumatic attack, and the power was out. Of course she didn’t want to be alone.

“Tea sounds good.” He could sit with her for a while if that was what she wanted.

She stood back so he could enter and headed toward the kitchen. A brief search of her cupboards assisted with House’s keychain flashlight resulted in locating the teakettle. Cameron rinsed the kettle and filled it with water, turning the gas stove on with a click.

The light from the burner flame illuminated the room, giving her skin a soft, golden glow. She had changed her clothes and was now wearing a snug tank top and flannel pajama pants. Noticing her pajamas caused him to remember the candles he’d seen in her bedroom. “Why are you here in the dark? I saw your candles upstairs.”

She shrugged. “Candles, but I couldn’t find matches or a lighter in the dark. They’re probably still in boxes somewhere.”

After a brief search of her pantry, House located a box of spaghetti, hoping it was the right kind. Setting it on the counter, he ignored her confused look and told her “Stay here where there’s light. I’ll go upstairs and grab a few candles.”

He headed upstairs, stumbling once on the steps he couldn’t see, and grabbed four candles off her dresser. Once downstairs, he set the candles on the countertop and grabbed a spaghetti noodle. He carefully slid the noodle under the kettle and into the flame, and when the pulled it out, a small flame burned merrily at the tip. He lit the candles and ran water over the burning spaghetti.

Cameron looked at him in appreciation. “I didn’t know you could do that with spaghetti.”

“Only sometimes. Some brands burn while others will just smolder. You had the right kind.”

She poured the tea and handed him a cup, placing the candles on a ceramic tray. “Lets sit in the living room.”

She set the tray on the coffee table with a few stone coasters underneath, and handed him a coaster for his tea. They sat in silence for a few minutes until House finally spoke. “How are you doing, Allison?”

She looked up and he guessed she was surprised at his use of her first name. “Okay, I guess. As well as can be expected. Some days are better than others, but I guess you know that.”

He nodded, knowing she was referring to her panic attacks. “If you need anything, you know you can call me. Or Wilson. Or Foreman.”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “But not Chase?”

“I wouldn’t trust the wombat with anything important. Confidentiality isn’t his strong suit.” House stated, slightly bitter about the time Chase had snitched on him to Vogler.

“No. It isn’t.” Cameron agreed.

They lapsed into silence again, and he held the teacup in his hands, letting it warm his fingers before he finished the tea and set the cup down. He saw her eyes slide over to the empty cup. “More tea?”

He shook his head. “It was good, but no, thank you.” He picked up his cup and motioned to hers. “More?” She shook her head; hers wasn’t finished. He took his cup into the kitchen and rinsed it in the sink. He had no qualms about letting dirty dishes sit in his sink, but for some reason didn’t feel comfortable leaving his dishes for Cameron to wash later. At least not in her home. She washed his coffee cup at work all the time.

He headed back into the living room, not sure whether he should sit down or head home. The snow hissed as it struck the glass of the window.

“House?” She clasped her cup in both hands and looked up at him. “There is one thing you could do for me.”

“What’s that?” He raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Play the piano for me? Just for a little while.”

She was inviting him to play that beautiful instrument again. It was late and he was tired, but it was a Steinway, and she had asked. He nodded and sat down on the bench, sliding it over towards the high end of the keyboard so he was sitting on one side. He motioned to her to sit next to him to watch, and she took a last swallow of tea along with one of her vicodin, and set the cup down, standing and moving toward the piano. However, to his surprise, she didn’t sit on the bench. She grabbed a pillow from the back of the couch and tossed it on the floor, settling herself down in front of the bass keys to his left. “This way I’m not in your way, but I can still watch.”

“What would you like to hear?”

“Anything, really. Just not Beethoven’s fifth.”

He nodded at the mention of the dark-sounding symphony. “That’s best with a pipe organ anyway.”

He’d run through most of his memorized classical repertoire earlier so he began to play more of the blues tunes he’d picked up. There was something about Tom Waits’ music that was just so right for instrumental piano. He started with “A Sight for Sore Eyes”. It was a lesser known piece, but the tune was delicate and beautiful. He thought she would like it. His hunch was confirmed when she smiled and said softly “That’s pretty.”

His only response was a nod, and he slowly allowed himself to lose himself in the music. He wasn’t sure how long he had been playing when he felt a warm weight on his left thigh. He looked down and saw that Allison had rested her head softly against his leg. It was the good leg, and he realized he didn’t mind, so he continued to play, fingering melodies with his right hand while his left came to rest gently on her head, fingers tangling in her curls.

After a few more songs, he realized she’d fallen asleep. It was no wonder; it was late, she’d had a long day, and she had taken painkillers she wasn’t used to. “Allison? Wake up.” He touched her shoulder and she looked at him, sleep blurring her eyes. “You’re going to get a sore neck if you fall asleep like that.”

She nodded and stood slowly. “A few more songs?”

“If you go lay on the couch. You’re not used to vicodin, so you’re going to fall asleep again.” He didn’t mind playing a bit longer. There was something almost magical about this piano, something that let him reach out and touch a place with his music that had eluded him before.

She ducked into the den and returned dragging the giant beanbag chair he’d noticed there earlier. One of those seven foot long microfiber bags. She dropped it just inside the room and he noticed with a smile that the bear he’d bought her was sitting on the beanbag. She noticed his look and shrugged. “The couch isn’t very comfortable for lying on.”

She settled into the beanbag and he turned back to the piano, his eyes moving over to check on her occasionally. The bear somehow migrated from the end of the beanbag into Allison’s arms as she closed her eyes. He played soft, simple tunes designed to lull her to sleep. Somewhere between “All Through the Night” and “Brahms’ Lullaby” he realized she’d drifted off again. He stood and took her teacup into the kitchen, turning off all the lightswitches as he went. He didn’t want the power to come back on during the night and wake her with the lights.

He took the folded blanket off the back of the den sofa and draped it over her. He guessed her heater was gas, since it wasn’t too chilly, but just in case. He gathered up his coat and opened the front door, immediately realizing he wasn’t going anywhere for at least a few hours. The snow was falling fast, and the wind was starting to howl. The ‘vette was sporty and handled well, but it wasn’t made for these kinds of storms.

He settled down on her living room couch, using his coat as a blanket. She was right; it wasn’t that comfortable, but he’d manage.

He closed his eyes, and wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he was awoken by a whimper and a whispered “No!” Awake and upright in a split second, the light of the remaining pillar candle showed Allison moving slightly on the beanbag, eyes still closed. “Don’t hurt me.”

Realizing she was dreaming, he walked over and sat on the edge of the beanbag. “Allison, you’re dreaming.” He touched her cheek and felt her hand come up and clamp like a vise around his right wrist.

“Don’t.” She murmured, still asleep.

He brushed her hair out of her face with his other hand. “Allison, it’s House. You’re dreaming. Nobody is going to hurt you. I told you before. I won’t let them.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and stroked her back, trying to soothe her. The vicodin was probably making it hard for her to wake up. She quieted after a moment, her breathing settling back into a more normal rate, the movement of her eyes behind her eyelids slowing. She was no longer dreaming, but she still had a strong grip on his wrist. He tried to gently loosen her fingers with his other hand, but it wasn’t working. Finally, he gave up, turned and blew out the candle, and settled down next to her on his left side, his right arm draped over her waist, the sweet vanilla scent of her shampoo filling his nose as he closed his eyes.

He awoke two hours later to the sound of silence. The snow had stopped hissing on the window, and he couldn’t hear the wind. He belatedly realized she’d let go of his wrist. He slid quietly off the beanbag, careful not to disturb her. He pulled his keys from his pocket and turned the mini-flashlight on. Slipping his coat on, he adjusted the blanket to cover her, and, noticing the bear that had tumbled off the beanbag onto the floor during her nightmare, he picked it up and tucked it into her arms under the blanket.

Finding a real-estate agent’s advertisement notepad in the kitchen, he jotted down a quick note and left it on the fridge.

A-

Thanks for the tea.

-GH

He slipped out the door, making sure it was locked behind him, slid into the ‘vette and drove himself home. Once inside, he turned on the space heater, took off his clothes and fell into bed. As he closed his eyes, he felt strangely empty inside. He pulled the other pillow over, draped his arm across it and rested his knee on it to take the pressure off of his thigh. As he drifted off, he somehow knew that his dreams would be influenced by memories of vanilla.