Hold On

Chapter 14

“House?” He suddenly realized he’d been standing there staring at her. “It’s okay. Forget I asked.”

She started to close the door, and he blocked it with his cane. “Food? Sure. I don’t think I have any of that at home. Unless scotch counts as food.” He decided he could stay for a bit, if she wanted company. After all, he had told her to ask for whatever she needed. And, of course, there was the offer of food that he didn’t have to cook or call for delivery.

He trailed inside after her and settled in the kitchen. He watched as Allison chopped vegetables and put pasta on the stove, and after he once again reminded her that mushrooms were fungi, he was shooed from the kitchen. He amused himself by going through Allison’s video collection. As she brought in steaming bowls of pasta, something caught his eye.

“You have Jeeves and Wooster!”

She nodded. “I’ve never seen those. They were my grandmother’s.”

House immediately popped the discs into the DVD changer.

She had brought in glasses of chianti for them, and he raised an eyebrow. “Painkillers and alcohol, Dr. Cameron?”

“I’ve only taken one pain pill today, and that was hours ago.”

House eyed her suspiciously. “Then you’re not taking them often enough. They’re there so you’re not in pain.”

“I’m not.” He watched as she caved under his suspicious glare. “Well, not a lot. I just took some ibuprofen. The vicodin makes me feel high.”

“Not everyone would find that a negative.”

“It makes me feel out of control.”

His mind flashed back to his conversation with Dr. Westein. Feeling in control would be important to her. “As long as the pain is manageable. Otherwise, you’ll have trouble getting comfortable and sleeping, and that will delay the healing. You know the ribs should start feeling much better in a few days. It’s been almost three weeks.”

“Believe me, I’m looking forward to it. It would be nice to be able to laugh without wincing.”

He nodded and hit the play button on the remote control. The wine was good. The pasta was better. The sauce had come from a jar, but Allison had doctored it with fresh veggies and some kind of meat. House was a competent cook, but cooking for one was usually more trouble than it was worth, and he certainly wasn’t going to cook for Wilson. That would be way too weird.

At the end of episode one, the empty pasta bowls had been placed on the end tables. By the end of episode two, House had his feet on the coffee table, after looking over at Allison cautiously, making sure he wasn’t going to be yelled at for it. Halfway through the next one, Allison had tucked her feet under her, yawning and covering herself with her blanket, but insisting that yes, she was awake, and wanted to see the next episode. By the beginning of disc two, her head was resting on his shoulder as she napped.

House found himself yawning halfway through the second disc, but realized he couldn’t get up without waking Allison. She’d been having so much trouble with nightmares that he didn’t want to disrupt what little peaceful sleep she could get. He leaned his head back, again inhaling that subtle vanilla. She was soft and warm against him, and it was a pleasant feeling, but his arm was falling asleep.

Gently, he lowered her to rest her head in his lap, and she curled her knees, snuggling closer to him in her sleep. He reached down and grabbed the corner of her blanket, pulling it over his legs while keeping her covered to her chin. Tentatively, his hand moved to brush her hair back, and he found that even now, with her hair tangled and her cheekbone still puffy and mottled green and yellow, she was beautiful. His hand tangled in her hair as he pulled it away from her face, the back of his knuckles tracing her jawline.

Her hair was soft and she smelled nice, and he couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was where her arm brushed his. Settling back into the couch, he tried to relax and just enjoy the contact, but he found himself unable to quiet his thoughts. This wasn’t like him. He had never let Stacy sleep with her head in his lap, and they’d been having sex. He wasn’t one to touch a woman like this unless it was going to lead to sex, and there was definitely no sex on the agenda. Gregory House was not the snuggling kind, but he hadn’t known it could feel like this. This feeling of contentment was utterly alien.

He couldn’t remember what Stacy’s shampoo had smelled like, but he felt that he’d never forget Allison’s vanilla. No, not Allison. Cameron. When did he start thinking of her as Allison? She was his employee, his colleague. That’s all.

But if that was all, then why was she asleep with her head in his lap, and, more importantly, why was he letting her stay there?