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The Truth
by Gena Fisher
The Truth
"He likes me, I know he does," Cameron murmured to herself. "He's just trying to save me. He thinks I would be wasting my time and my life on a miserable person like him." A wide grin lit her face and she glanced at it in the mirror. "He thinks he isn't good enough for me!" She was good looking, he'd said so, he would overcome his reluctance and she could be persistent. She eased the car onto his street, it was late but she knew he didn't sleep much. She'd overheard Wilson asking him on numerous occasions how he was doing, if he'd gotten any sleep. House usually just growled at the oncologist in reply and it made her wonder why Wilson kept asking. Obviously House didn't like the intrusion into his personal life; some people never got the hint. Still there were times House looked as if he hadn't slept in a week and she had to halt her impulse to ask if he needed anything. "Just needs someone to look after him," Cameron said aloud. She pulled into a parking spot near his apartment and took a moment to compose herself.
There had been times when looking after Jonathan had nearly destroyed her. His illness had moved so quickly, taking away so much of the man she had loved. She had thought that by staying with him, finishing what she had started that it would take away her doubt and fear. It hadn't. She had emerged on the other side still frightened, still lonely, still afraid she wasn't good enough. It would be different with House, he needed help but wasn't helpless. He was in pain, she knew that. His pain made him angry and bitter but she could change it for him. She would help him, she'd take away his pain and he would love her.
Streetlights pooled yellow on the pavement as she walked to House's building. She'd been there a couple of times, the most recent the night of their non-date. She remembered the music which had hung in the air after her knock. A piano. She'd pictured him more as a drummer, a wild irreverent musician banging away at convention. She'd chastised herself later, she should have known, he had the hands of a pianist. That night he'd been playing Brahms and the notes which had echoed out into the hallway when he pulled the door open had been gentle and soothing and he'd smiled when he greeted her. It had been fun, exciting even and she'd had a great time. There had been a couple of awkward moments, just as they were entering the park House's cell phone had rung. He'd glanced at the caller ID, sworn under his breath and then turned away to take the call. His voice had hissed with anger and he'd hunched over his cane, stabbing it into the ground while he spoke. She could tell from his tone the person on the other end had some hold on House, some connection and for a instant something hot had tightened in her chest. He'd asked her to go with him and now someone else was competing for his attention. It wasn't until he sighed, a soft weary echo that sounded a lot like "Wilson" that she'd realized it was nothing. And later, when she had asked if he'd ever been married, his answer hadn't been the one she'd expected. Still, she had covered her relief and teased him with the cotton candy. She'd hoped for a kiss, and when she stopped in front of his place, he'd leaned in close. Her heart had thundered in her ears, drowning out his words but not the cool brush of his hand on her face. The hat settled over her hair like a whisper and he'd grinned. She'd mustered a smile, and watched him make his way slowly inside his building.
Tonight would end much differently. She knew that. He liked her. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked her and she - she would prove it. Cameron stepped into the pool of yellow light, holding her breath like a diver searching the depths for pearls. The world seemed to ripple around her and House's words crested in her memory making her dizzy. He said - No, he lied. But House never lied. Everyone lied. Everyone liked her, but not House. Cameron steadied herself and took another deep breath, forging through the deep unknown towards the light she could see in his window. There wasn't any music tonight, just a silence that weighed heavily on the night around her. She knocked softly and heard the harsh, uneven sound of his steps when he wasn't using his cane. When he opened the door she smiled. House didn't smile back, instead his expressive face folded into a frown. "Have all those cell phones finally canceled each other out and the world been reduced to face to face communication?"
"Uh, no," she said softly. He didn't step back to let her in so she stood just outside his world wanting. "I - before when you said," she feels her face heat. This isn't how it was suppose to be. "When you said you didn't like me -" Cameron pauses again, looking at him and willing him to say something.
House looked away. He's barefoot, wearing only jeans and a Creed t-shirt but there's a formal air to his manner, as if they were in his office and he was about to lecture her on some mistake. "I can't like you," he says just as softly. Cameron stares at him, wishing for the white board so they could list everything wrong with the situation.
"But -" There's a sound behind him and House almost turns towards it. Cameron doesn't need to turn, she can see quite clearly from where she is. James Wilson moves into the light. He's still wearing his tie but it's lose and his hair is falling into his eyes. He crosses the space she can see, moving with a familiarity that makes her eyes sting. He comes to House's side, the black cane in his hand.
"Use this," he orders and Cameron sees the worry in his eyes. House takes the cane, his eyes giving him away and leans on it heavily. "Are you all right, Allison?" Wilson asks in his gentle way and she knows he means it.
"Sure," she says. Wilson nods, his eyes searching her face before he turns away. She sees the hand which touches House's arm, silent communication where no words are needed. She realizes House has someone to worry about him, someone he lets worry about him, care for him.
He doesn't like her. It wasn't his lie, it was hers. Tired, Cameron turns away. The door closes and she walks back to her car. Everyone likes her. They do - but it doesn't erase the pain that lingers. She glances up at House's apartment and sees a dark shape at the window. For just a moment the sound of a piano floats down to her then she starts her car and drives home.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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