Hold On

Hold On
Chapter 11
Author: Kris Morene
House/Cameron
Spoilers: None
Timeline: Between Seasons 1 and 2
Rating: R/MA
Warnings: none for this chapter

Previous parts here.


Thanks again to everyone who reads and reviews! Your comments are really helpful and encouraging, and they definitely help me write faster. =)

-K-

He awoke with a jolt to the shrill sound of his telephone. Rolling over, he picked up the handset and growled “What?”

“House? It’s Cameron. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Yeah. What time is it anyway?” He flopped back into the pillows.

“Nine-thirty.”

“Ah. Cuddy’s going to be pissed.” He really should’ve left fifteen minutes ago.

“When is Cuddy not pissed at you?”

“Good point.” His sleep-fogged brain finally dredged up the fact that Cameron calling him at home at nine-thirty in the morning was not a usual event. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. I was wondering, if you have time, if you could give me a ride to work?” She seemed hesitant, as if expecting him to say no.

“Cameron, you aren’t due back at work for another two weeks. Broken ribs ring a bell?” What the hell was she thinking, wanting to go back to work the day after being released?

“I know. I need a ride to work. I’m not going to work. I have an appointment with Dr. Westein, and I don’t have my car, and even if I did, I’m still taking the vicodin, so I shouldn’t drive it anyway.”

He’d forgotten that she was seeing one of the hospital shrinks. “Yeah. You, driving on painkillers. We’d better tell the little old ladies to stay off the sidewalk. What time is your appointment?”

“Not until one, but I’ll bring a book or get some charting done or something while I’m waiting. Something non-strenuous.”

“You do my charting, and you’ve got a ride.” It was a win-win situation. Cameron got her ride. House probably got a few charts finished, and a perfectly good excuse to shut Cuddy up when she complained about him not showing up until almost eleven. Shutting Cuddy up was well worth the detour, especially if it meant shutting Cuddy up about the clinic duty he was supposed to be doing this morning.

“Deal. See you in about forty-five minutes?”

“Sounds good.” He hung up, rolled over to reach his vicodin, swallowed one and dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

Once clean and dressed, he grabbed his wallet, keys, cane and coat and headed out the door. The sharp chill in the air prompted him to don his coat, and he looked around as a familiar scent washed over him. Curious, he bent his head down to sniff the collar, and felt the memory of holding her last night push to the front of his thoughts. The soft vanilla scent hung in the wool of the coat, and, breathing it in, he closed his eyes for a moment before he realized what he was doing.

Standing up straight, he shook off his reverie and continued to his car, making a mental note to drop the coat off at the cleaners. Vanilla shampoo was a distraction he could not afford. In frustration, he swung his cane at a nearby trashcan, knocking the empty can to the sidewalk with a crash. She had been there for a year now. Why did it have to be right now, right at the wrong time, for him to notice her hair, her smile, her damn shampoo?

She was unattainable right now. That had to be it. When she wanted a date him with him, he didn’t want it. Now, when intimate contact was probably the last thing she’d want, now she was fascinating. Now, she was forbidden fruit.

Deciding that he’d successfully psychoanalyzed himself, he smugly classified the feelings as plain lust and temporary infatuation and pushed them deep into the neat box in his head that he reserved for emotions he did not want to deal with. After all, lust and infatuation fade, so why should he bother confronting the feelings when nothing could ever come of them anyway?

Brushing his prior uncharacteristic self-reflection out of his mind, he shed his coat and tossed it onto the passenger seat and headed off to collect Cameron for her appointment. It appeared as if she had been watching for him, because she opened her door just as he stopped the car. He tossed the coat into the back seat as she opened the car door, still looking half-asleep, and he reached out a hand to help her in. After all, the ‘vette was a low car, and she was obviously still drugged up, at least slightly. Besides, he thought he’d seen ice on that side of the driveway also, and he didn’t want to have to get out and walk all the way around the car to pick her ass up off the concrete. Even though it was a particularly nice ass, he’d prefer to spare himself the walk. She let him grasp her wrist to steady her footing as she climbed in, settling back against the seat.

She yawned as he backed the car out of the driveway, and he looked over, slightly concerned. “Sleep well?” Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone last night. What if she’d had another nightmare or woken up in the dark with no lights?

She nodded. “I fell asleep on the beanbag chair in the living room. I don’t remember much after making tea, though.”

“You’re on vicodin and flexeril. They’ll both knock you out and make it difficult to think. Fatigue is a common side effect.” He knew he was telling her what she already knew, but wasn’t quite sure what else to say.

“Strange dreams, though. Were you really playing the piano last night, or was I dreaming?” She looked worried, as if he was going to berate her for dreaming about him.

“No. You asked me to play after we finished the tea.” He pointed his eyes at the road and left them there.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He didn’t reply. He was still disturbed that he’d played just because she’d asked. There were things that he didn’t want to acknowledge, and that was at the top of the list.

They turned into the hospital lot, and he was relieved to find his parking space unoccupied. Taking her by the elbow, he walked inside, angered to see her look down as some of the lobby staff openly stared. Apparently the incident, as he’d started to think of it, had gotten around.

He directed his most malevolent stare at the offenders. “Is there a problem, people?”

He quickly saw the heads bend back down, trying to look as if their paperwork was the most fascinating thing ever.

They stepped into the elevator and Allison leaned against the wall. “They were all staring at me.”

“They’re idiots.”

“They were just doing what everyone else will.” She looked down, studying the carpet.

“Eventually, something else interesting will happen and they’ll be gossiping about that.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to protect herself from a cold that her wool sweater couldn’t keep out. “It was like they were looking through me. That they could see it. All they saw was it. They couldn’t see me.”

“It?” House asked curiously, not quite sure what she was talking about.

“The filth he left behind. I can still feel it. It’s as if all the soap in the world wouldn’t help.” She shivered, still not meeting his eyes.

The elevator indicator showed that they were almost to their floor. He smacked the stop button, and she looked up in surprise as the elevator lurched and stopped. He stood for a moment, facing the door. For the first time in this ordeal, he found himself angry with her. Not just angry, furious. He felt his fists clench. How could she allow a man who had to be the scum of the earth, combined with some incredibly stupid lobby assistants, make her doubt her self worth? Didn’t she know better?

He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the fury. His anger wouldn’t help her now, and he knew it. Seeing him angry would exacerbate the problem, add to her feelings of guilt, and probably cause her to pull away. He didn’t want to frighten her; it would be counterproductive to her healing. As far as he knew, the only people she was speaking to about the situation were himself and her shrink, and he wasn’t about to say something stupid that would make her doubt his support.

Turning back to her, he took her chin in his hand and directed her eyes to meet his. He wanted her to see his honesty when he spoke, and hoped he was doing a decent job of hiding his anger. “You know this wasn’t your fault.”

“I went out there. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even see him until he grabbed me, and I didn’t even think to scream.” She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her.

It wasn’t your fault, Allison. You should’ve been safe in the parking lot. It was daylight; you were at work.”

She shrugged. “Maybe if I’d seen him --” She looked back down at her shoes.

“Allison, the only fault here is his. You did nothing to deserve it, and even if you’d seen him, you may not have been able to prevent it. Second guessing yourself isn’t going to help, because you did nothing wrong.”

She sighed. “It’s just so damn hard to believe that, even though intellectually, I know you’re right.”

“There you have it. Not your fault, and your brain knows it. Stop trying to analyze yourself. You’re talking yourself out of believing the truth. Stop going over the what-ifs, and eventually, the rest of you will believe what your brain is telling you.” He tipped her chin up with his index finger. “You believe me, right? You have to, because I’m always right, aren’t I?”

“Not always.” His remark had evoked the intended small smile.

“But you know I’m right about this.” A statement, not a question. He didn’t want to leave her any room to question this. She nodded reluctantly. He focused on her with one of his most intensive stares. “You know I’m right.” She wasn’t going to get away with a nod. She needed to acknowledge it.

“Yes.” She whispered softly.

“Yes what?” He knew he was pressing her. He hoped it was the right thing to do.

“It wasn’t my fault.” The same soft whisper.

“What?” He pushed a little harder.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Louder this time, more confident.

He let go of her chin. “Good. Don’t forget that.”

He watched her take a shaky breath, and he closed his hand over her arm in support, careful to stay to her side, to avoid backing her into a corner. “I don’t like feeling like this, House. I don’t want to be a victim.”

“Then stop acting like one.” She looked up at him in surprise. He continued, “Take back control of your life, Allison. Do what you need to do to feel safe and strong. Then you won’t be a victim. You’ll be a survivor.”

That hadn’t really come out right at all; although the words carried his intent, he hadn’t meant to be so harsh. He saw her nod slightly, and figured that was probably the best response he was going to get. “Ready to go?”

She nodded, still looking a bit uncertain.

He brushed his thumb over her arm lightly. “Good.” He turned and released the elevator stop, and the doors opened to their floor a moment later.

She took a tentative step out and he was about to remove his hand from her arm, but she paused and appeared to draw strength from the contact, so he left it there as he guided her to the couch in his office.

He seated her on the couch and grabbed a pile of files and a pen, setting them on the end table at the edge of the couch. “Here’s the charting, but only if you get bored. You should probably rest instead.” She nodded. As an afterthought, he removed his gameboy from his coat pocket and wordlessly placed it on top of the charts, hanging the coat from the hook behind the door.

“I’ve got clinic duty. Need to keep Cuddy off my ass, you know, but if you need anything, page me.” He gave her his best pleading look. “Please, page me.” She smirked and he added, “I’ll make sure that someone is here to walk you to your appointment.”

She looked like she was about to protest that she didn’t need a babysitter or escort, but she didn’t, and instead reached over and picked up one of his charts.

He gave her a last look and left the room, heading down to the clinic. Maybe he could get lucky and avoid Cuddy en route.