[house/cameron] this is the sound of your skin

For the house_cameron ficathon.

For: fliz0ntoast
Title: This is the sound of your skin
Fandom: House, M.D
Assignment: #20
Spoilers: Up to Honeymoon
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2041
Summary: She wanted him to tell her the answers, so she’d stop exhausting herself trying to find them out.
Disclaimer: So not mine. But oh, I wish they were.
A/N: fliz0ntoast wanted these in the fic: 1. An optimistic ending. (Not fluffy or sappy, but positive and happy with the feeling like good things are to come in the future.) 2. An awkward first kiss in the strangest place you can think of. 3. Wilson/House snark, with Cam joining in on all the snarky fun. Didn’t want: 1. Anything OOC (no sudden declarations of love, etc) 2. No death. At all. 3. Wimpy, wishy-washy Cam.

Hope you enjoy. ♥


This is the sound of your skin

*

The first time he kisses her, she wants to hit him.

It’s sudden. It’s hard. His lips are on hers, rough and warm and urgent, and it’s all so strangely familiar so she’s kissing him back like they’ve done this countless times before.

Then she opens her eyes slowly, sees him there, and she wants to hit him.

So she does.

*

She was the first to arrive that morning (she was normally the first to arrive) and because it was Monday and the start of a new week and because she’d had a full night’s sleep and because it was so very quiet and peaceful with no one else in the office, Cameron fooled herself into thinking that things were going to be okay. Fooled herself into thinking that she felt okay.

She even managed a small, almost content smile as she sat at House’s desk with a steaming cup of coffee and sorted through his mail. Smiling was something that she hadn’t been in the habit of doing lately.

“Someone looks like they had a satisfying weekend.”

Cameron looked up from the mail, her eyes easily finding his. “Just restful, actually.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and moved into the office and towards the desk. “Sure, ‘restful’. I know that ‘I-got-me-some-last-night’ smile when I see it. I invented it.”

She shook her head slightly, ignoring his comment, and looked back down to continue opening the pile of envelopes. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

A pause. A tilt of his head. “I work here. You?”

Not even looking back at him, she rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. It’s an entire hour before nine o’clock. And on a Monday morning too.”

“So?"

“So you’re never usually here until at least after nine-thirty.”

House sat down at the desk, opposite her, and twirled his cane between his fingers. “Can’t a guy show up early to work every now and then without being drilled about it?” He stilled his cane; looked at her. “Besides, you’re here early all the time.”

She quirked an eyebrow, sitting up and pulling away from the mail. “Since when did that matter?”

He shrugged. Removed his gaze from her. Began twirling his cane again. “It doesn’t.”

*

She makes him coffee. He doesn’t say thank you; he never does. She stopped expecting him to a long time ago.

*

She moved through the day steadily, keeping herself focused and not allowing her thoughts to stray. She allowed herself to think about the patient; his treatments, his condition, how he was improving and how he wasn’t. She allowed herself to think about what she was going to do for dinner that night; chicken satay stir-fry with rice, possibly accompanied by a glass of white wine while she settled down with a good book.

Cameron most certainly didn’t allow herself to think about House. She didn’t allow herself to think about anything relating to him; his shirt choice for the day (The Clash), why he had arrived so early this morning, how he smelt of aftershave and cigar smoke and something lingering that was unmistakably him, and most of all she didn’t allow herself to think about how his eyes sought out Stacy whenever she was around, and the burning looks he’d send her.

She was trying to have a pleasant day, after all.

She rounded the corner, carrying the latest test results in her hands, when she noticed Wilson and House talking together in the hallway. She paused, debating on whether she should interrupt them or just wait for House back at his office, when she heard Wilson’s voice grow undeniably rougher.

“You can’t keep on doing this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to her. She’s married now, Greg.”

He shifted slightly. Tapped his cane on the floor twice. “And?”

“And that means that she made a commitment to her husband. You remember him, right? He’s lying in a hospital bed, just down the hall there.”

“You just had to bring the sick husband into it, didn’t you?”

Wilson’s shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh and shook his head. “This is going to kill you if you don’t stop.”

“Then let it.” House reached into his pocket, pulling out two vicodin and swallowing them easily. He shrugged at Wilson, and began to walk away. “We’re all going to die sometime, right?”

Cameron took a small step backwards; suddenly feeling like she had intruded on something that she shouldn’t have seen. She frowned a little as she watched House walk away, his expression blank and unreadable, and saw Wilson still standing, his hand rubbing at his temples.

She moved towards him, wanting to talk to him although she wasn’t sure what she would say. She wanted to ask him why House was doing this, why he was acting the way he was to her, why he was so angry and cold and distant, why he couldn’t just love her. She wanted him to tell her the answers, so she’d stop exhausting herself trying to find them out.

But before she reached him, Wilson turned and walked away. She didn’t follow him.

It was probably for the best.

As she blinked slowly, ready to focus herself once again on her job and concentrate on the test results that were in her hand, Stacy walked past her. All strong and powerful and poised. She smiled and nodded at Cameron as she passed.

“Hello Dr. Cameron.”

And Cameron felt something inside of her break.

*

They were in his office. House had just rattled off another round of tests that he wanted them to do. His brow was furrowed, he twirled his cane, and he kept glaring back and forth at Wilson. He was confused about the patient’s condition, that much was certain, but Cameron knew there was something else bothering him.

Someone else bothering him.

And suddenly, she wanted to throw up.

Foreman touched her shoulder lightly, and she looked up at him, noticing that Chase was lingering in the door way and watching her too. Foreman’s eyes were filled with concern, and his voice was gentle. He was worried about her. He’d been worried about her far too often lately.

His words said, “Are you coming?”, but underneath that, the tone in his voice said, ‘Are you okay?’

She shook her head slightly, almost like she was trying to wake herself up from a dream. “Yeah,” she began to rise from her chair. “Just thinking about something.”

His hand stayed on her shoulder, firm and comforting. “You sure you’re alright?”

She opened her mouth, ready to reply --

“Cameron’s a big girl, Foreman. No need to play the protective big brother.”

She pressed her lips together, glaring at House and feeling a familiar twist in her chest. He could still get to her with these little words, and she hated it.

“Come on House,” Wilson muttered lowly; a warning, a suggestion.

It was ignored.

He narrowed his eyes, wrinkling in the corners. “Oh, Sorry Wilson. Did I leave you out? Don’t worry -- you’re a big girl too.”

A sigh. “You don’t have to be so --”

Cameron, now standing, nodded sharply at Wilson. “Thank you Dr Wilson, but I can take it from here.” Her gaze flew to House, burning and hard. “After all, I am a big girl. And you know what, House? So are you.”

He stood from his chair, cane tapping the ground loudly. He was staring at her, head titled slightly, eyes curious. This reaction that he was getting from her; so heated, so intense, so angry -- it interested him. “And what gave it away, Cameron? My girly stubble? All those exceptionally girly skirts that I wear?”

She took a heavy step forward, her lab coat fluttering from the movement. “Just because having Stacy around is making you feel miserable and inadequate and insecure does not mean that you can take your frustrations out on me.”

The air in the room stilled and grew heavy. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Things had begun to shift.

Wilson looked quickly from House to Cameron, and then cleared his throat, moving towards the door. “Uh, I think we’ll start running those tests.” He motioned for Chase and Foreman to leave the room.

Chase looked to Foreman, unsure. “Should we just leave those two?”

Foreman frowned as Wilson moved towards him. “I’m not going to leave Cameron alone with him; not like this.”

“They need to sort this out,” Wilson muttered, “and you have jobs to do.”

Shrugging, Chase followed him out of the office. After a moment’s hesitation, and shooting a disapproving look at House, Foreman left.

Clear blue fixed upon cold grey. His voice was thick. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Then why do you keep dragging me into it?”

House looked away, again tapping his cane on the floor. “I can’t believe that you somehow managed to make this about you. What Stacy and I have --”

She let out a scoff, harsh and low. “A pitiful obsession with the ghost of a long dead relationship?”

“-- it has nothing to do with you. Stop trying to understand it. Stop trying to make this something that it isn’t.”

Cameron inhaled sharply, her entire jaw clenching. She wanted to yell at him, wanted to scream at him, wanted to fight back; and instead she stared at him, long and hard, then turned and walked away.

*

He found her in the women’s toilet, standing by the sink and breathing heavily. She turned to him. Cold. Angry. Chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

“You can’t be in here.”

“Apparently I’m a big girl, remember?” He moved closer. “And here I was, putting up with those disgusting urinals all this time.”

She turned away, unamused. Tried to steady her breathing. Tried to calm her pounding heart. Her world was slanting to one side and she could feel him moving closer and she just wanted it all to go away.

There was a hand on her back. Firm and telling and she turned around, not wanting him to touch her. But he grabbed her wrist as she turned, and she looked down at his hand clutching at her skin. She frowned.

And then he kissed her.

*
Her knees were buckling; she couldn’t breathe, she felt as though she was choking; her heart felt tight and twisted and wrong and yet she didn’t want this feeling to stop.

His lips were on hers, needy and pushing and pulling. She felt his tongue slip into her mouth -- so hot and exactly what she needed -- and a soft moan escaped from the back of her throat.

Then she opened her eyes. Realised what he was doing. What they were doing. And she hit him. A hard, heavy slap to his left cheek. The sound resonated off the tiles and throughout the empty bathroom.

Her ragged breathing filled the air before he managed to speak. “Is that your idea of foreplay?” He brought his hand up to his cheek, the skin beginning to burn. “Because I’m more into massages and role-playing and --”

“This isn’t what you want.”

And he was confused. Because he thought that the way he kissed her said that this was exactly what he wanted.

Her voice was soft. “Do you think that this is what I want?”

And he was even more confused. Because he thought that the way she was looking at him said that this was exactly what she wanted.

She hated herself, she began to cry. Guilty tears; tears she never wanted him to see, tears that he didn’t deserve. “This isn’t how I want it to be.”

“What?”

“This.” She flung her hand towards him, swallowing hard. “You. Me. I don’t want to be the one you come to when Stacy refuses you. I can’t live under her shadow like that. It will wreck me. And that’s not how I want it to be.”

His hand was on her hip. She felt him trembling. His voice was raw, his words hesitant.

“Tell me how you want it to be.”

*

Now, she wants to kiss him.





End.