with a violin and a song to sing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
origamiflowers) wrote2006-09-22 09:56 pm
origamiflowers) wrote2006-09-22 09:56 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Cameron - We've Got Time
Title: We've Got Time
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters/Pairing: Cameron, House (not shippy)
Spoilers: through 2x15, "Clueless"
Rating: PG, because House says a bad word
Length: ~900 words
Author's Notes: This isn't "House/Cameron" as much as it's just "Cameron." Cameron reflects on her husband during the events of the episode "Clueless." House is present, but in a peripheral kind of way. House doesn't belong to me; no infringement or disrespect of any kind is intended.
*
When the couple first comes in to the hospital, comparisons pop, unbidden, into her head. They always do that to her, the married couples. This time, though, it's worse. The wife, helpless and stricken. The husband, joking and lighthearted. For her sake. Of course. It feels like watching an old movie, worn from being watched, over and over. Reeking of unwanted familiarity. [Sepia-toned, Cameron thinks; her life is sepia-toned.]
Sometimes Cameron wonders if they're the same, these two women. She winces at the thought [it's not as though Cameron wants the husband to die, she tells herself].
*
House is leaning back in one of the conference room chairs, fingers laced behind his head, looking devilishly casual and handsome [or so he likes to believe, Cameron thinks uncharitably, and then chides herself].
"So. Been talking to our little wife?" Delivered while staring out the window. Pointedly not looking at her, she thinks, and is surprised at the depth of her own paranoia when it comes to House.
"Why would you think that?" She winces at how clueless her voice sounds.
"Because nobody likes making friends with dying people more than you." He turns to face her, finally, fixing her with his gaze, light and mocking. She finds herself immediately wishing he hadn't looked at her. Anonymity is so much safer around House.
"House, the wife isn't dying. She's not our patient." Cameron can hear the fear, naked, in her voice, and prays to a god she doesn't believe in that he doesn't care, won't notice. She just wants to be left alone. House, of all people, should get it.
He cocks his head. "But her husband is, isn't he?"
Her eyebrows scrunch in the middle of her forehead. Eyes darken. "I don't know what you're getting at." She stalks forward, swipes the husband's file from the conference table without looking him in the eye.
House rolls his eyes - it's an exaggerated gesture, meant for her benefit, she knows. "Now I don't know what you're talking about."
Her lips purse the way they always do when she disapproves of something House has done. It's always like this, she thinks. The back-and-forth, the push-and-pull. Until one of them [she] breaks.
He eases himself up and leans on his cane. "Oh, quit being pissy," he says, looking exasperated.
She slaps the file shut and glares at him.
"Not everything is about you, you know," he adds.
He takes a few steps, until he's standing beside her [shoulder-to-shoulder, facing opposite directions, and Cameron thinks this should mean something significant, something symbolic about their relationship]. He looks at her sideways. At the carpet. The door. Finally, a mutter: "Don't get too mixed up with them" [so it is about her; she is disgusted by the flutter of triumph and hope in her belly]. He walks out. Doesn't look back - it's something she notices about him. He never looks back.
*
It's too late for her, though - whether they know it or not, Cameron is tangled with these star-crossed lovers, with their fears and their hopes and their mutual reassurances. She watches them through an observation window: the way he puts a hand on her knees, squeezing. How she hunches over his bed, touches his forehead. Pretends not to be crying.
There is a quiet desperation in every movement the wife makes.
Cameron knows it well.
*
"Are you married?"
The question makes Cameron squirm in her chair a little. "No," she blurts out, and then wonders if she should have told the truth.
The wife just nods, though, and looks smug in the way that only married people can - thinking that they're more experienced at life, that they know more than these poor single professionals. Part of Cameron wants to hit her, tell her she knows nothing about pain, or grief, or even love; that the wife is practically a child. So she turns back to her work.
*
"I said I wasn't married before." There she goes again, with the blurting.
The wife only raises an eyebrow. "No ring. Divorced?"
"Widowed." And Cameron winces at the rawness of the word, at the plea hidden underneath [please understand me]. "I ... don't talk about it much."
"But you thought I should know?" [Unspoken challenge: Do you think I will be like you? In her eyes: Denial. Rejection. Cameron should have known better.]
Cameron can't look her in the eyes. "Yeah. No. I don't know. Sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, I mean."
The wife only nods, looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry, too." [Cameron isn't sure what she's sorry for. Later - ]
*
When she sees the wife's purple-stained fingertips, Cameron feels betrayed. It's irrational, she knows, but she feels that there's been a kinship, an understanding or acknowledgement between the two of them. Now Cameron doesn't know anything.
I never said you didn't love him, House had said to the wife, and Cameron wonders if he thinks that about her, too.
"Ignorance is bliss," she says simply to House, and wishes she knew a little less about pain and grief and even love.
*
Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic, house_cameron, and house_everyone.
Fandom: House, M.D.
Characters/Pairing: Cameron, House (not shippy)
Spoilers: through 2x15, "Clueless"
Rating: PG, because House says a bad word
Length: ~900 words
Author's Notes: This isn't "House/Cameron" as much as it's just "Cameron." Cameron reflects on her husband during the events of the episode "Clueless." House is present, but in a peripheral kind of way. House doesn't belong to me; no infringement or disrespect of any kind is intended.
*
When the couple first comes in to the hospital, comparisons pop, unbidden, into her head. They always do that to her, the married couples. This time, though, it's worse. The wife, helpless and stricken. The husband, joking and lighthearted. For her sake. Of course. It feels like watching an old movie, worn from being watched, over and over. Reeking of unwanted familiarity. [Sepia-toned, Cameron thinks; her life is sepia-toned.]
Sometimes Cameron wonders if they're the same, these two women. She winces at the thought [it's not as though Cameron wants the husband to die, she tells herself].
*
House is leaning back in one of the conference room chairs, fingers laced behind his head, looking devilishly casual and handsome [or so he likes to believe, Cameron thinks uncharitably, and then chides herself].
"So. Been talking to our little wife?" Delivered while staring out the window. Pointedly not looking at her, she thinks, and is surprised at the depth of her own paranoia when it comes to House.
"Why would you think that?" She winces at how clueless her voice sounds.
"Because nobody likes making friends with dying people more than you." He turns to face her, finally, fixing her with his gaze, light and mocking. She finds herself immediately wishing he hadn't looked at her. Anonymity is so much safer around House.
"House, the wife isn't dying. She's not our patient." Cameron can hear the fear, naked, in her voice, and prays to a god she doesn't believe in that he doesn't care, won't notice. She just wants to be left alone. House, of all people, should get it.
He cocks his head. "But her husband is, isn't he?"
Her eyebrows scrunch in the middle of her forehead. Eyes darken. "I don't know what you're getting at." She stalks forward, swipes the husband's file from the conference table without looking him in the eye.
House rolls his eyes - it's an exaggerated gesture, meant for her benefit, she knows. "Now I don't know what you're talking about."
Her lips purse the way they always do when she disapproves of something House has done. It's always like this, she thinks. The back-and-forth, the push-and-pull. Until one of them [she] breaks.
He eases himself up and leans on his cane. "Oh, quit being pissy," he says, looking exasperated.
She slaps the file shut and glares at him.
"Not everything is about you, you know," he adds.
He takes a few steps, until he's standing beside her [shoulder-to-shoulder, facing opposite directions, and Cameron thinks this should mean something significant, something symbolic about their relationship]. He looks at her sideways. At the carpet. The door. Finally, a mutter: "Don't get too mixed up with them" [so it is about her; she is disgusted by the flutter of triumph and hope in her belly]. He walks out. Doesn't look back - it's something she notices about him. He never looks back.
*
It's too late for her, though - whether they know it or not, Cameron is tangled with these star-crossed lovers, with their fears and their hopes and their mutual reassurances. She watches them through an observation window: the way he puts a hand on her knees, squeezing. How she hunches over his bed, touches his forehead. Pretends not to be crying.
There is a quiet desperation in every movement the wife makes.
Cameron knows it well.
*
"Are you married?"
The question makes Cameron squirm in her chair a little. "No," she blurts out, and then wonders if she should have told the truth.
The wife just nods, though, and looks smug in the way that only married people can - thinking that they're more experienced at life, that they know more than these poor single professionals. Part of Cameron wants to hit her, tell her she knows nothing about pain, or grief, or even love; that the wife is practically a child. So she turns back to her work.
*
"I said I wasn't married before." There she goes again, with the blurting.
The wife only raises an eyebrow. "No ring. Divorced?"
"Widowed." And Cameron winces at the rawness of the word, at the plea hidden underneath [please understand me]. "I ... don't talk about it much."
"But you thought I should know?" [Unspoken challenge: Do you think I will be like you? In her eyes: Denial. Rejection. Cameron should have known better.]
Cameron can't look her in the eyes. "Yeah. No. I don't know. Sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, I mean."
The wife only nods, looks down at her hands. "I'm sorry, too." [Cameron isn't sure what she's sorry for. Later - ]
*
When she sees the wife's purple-stained fingertips, Cameron feels betrayed. It's irrational, she knows, but she feels that there's been a kinship, an understanding or acknowledgement between the two of them. Now Cameron doesn't know anything.
I never said you didn't love him, House had said to the wife, and Cameron wonders if he thinks that about her, too.
"Ignorance is bliss," she says simply to House, and wishes she knew a little less about pain and grief and even love.
*
Cross-posted to
housefic, house_cameron, and house_everyone.