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Spelled Milk
by gena
Spelled Milk
Dr. Allison Cameron stood in the Diagnostic Medicine office with the file in her hands, her face completely devoid of expression though dark emotions shifted behind her gray eyes. Outside on the balcony House leaned against the short dividing wall while Wilson stood beside it. They didn't appear to be speaking at all but she could see the lines of communication passing between them, shimmering like heat waves. They turned at the same moment, and a smile crossed House's lined face like a battalion making a last rush for the front. Wilson 's boyish face stood firm for a full ten seconds before his grin broke apart, a deep rumble of laughter drifted in on the cool air. She saw Wilson 's hand come up and brush the graying hair of House's temple with infinite tenderness. It was the only time she could remember seeing them touch intimately but it was enough to cause a red haze of anger to form before her eyes.
"No," Cameron whispered. She turned on her heel and strode from the room, determined to do something - whatever it took - to make House hers. She didn't know how she'd accomplish the task but she knew what the first step would have to be - she had to get Wilson out of his life. Without James Wilson, House would be lost, he would turn to her then, he would turn to her and everything would be okay. She took the elevator down to the lobby and strong-armed the doors to the clinic open.
"Are you okay?" Brenda asked when she signed in.
"Sure, why?"
Brenda gave her a hard look, "You're shredding that file without benefit of modern technology." Cameron looked down at the folder still in her hands. It was wrinkled and creased from where she had unconsciously been clenching her fists. She forced herself to relax, smiling what she hoped was a pleasant smile.
"Just - stressed. Got an easy case for me?"
"I saved this one for you," Nurse Brenda told Cameron with a conspiratorial wink. "I think you might need to break out your Birds & Bees speech."
"Oh," Cameron said, sighing. "It's been a while." Situated as it was, PPTH's clinic saw its share of young adults and the problems they faced in a modern world but there were times when younger kids came in worried and uncertain. They were almost always given a young doctor who could answer questions and provide gentle guidance no matter how serious the situation. "Boy or girl?"
"Girls," Brenda said, "two of them."
Cameron raised her eyebrows and turned to open the exam room door. Inside two young girls struggled to project a nonchalant air of sophistication and world weariness belied by the black cargo pants, heavy boots and Little Miss Spooky t-shirts. Both had jet black hair though one had green tips and the other flaming red. "Hi, girls," Cameron said, flipping open the chart. The one with green tips nudged the other's arm, nodding vigorously. "So, you have a problem?" Cameron mentally rehearsed her "your body is maturing" speech but flaming red cut her off.
"We're cursed."
Not exactly what Cameron had expected but everyone had their own take on the menstrual cycle. "It's not a curse," she explained gently. "It's natural -"
"Not that!" Horrified green tips crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "We are cursed - by witchcraft." Flaming red nodded. "Show her."
Red hefted a huge shoulder bag festooned with dozens of jingling keychains and decorated with tiny skulls. She reached in and removed a small book, its leather cover cracked with age and shiny with handling and held it out for Cameron to see. A pentagram had been drawn on the front in gold and some sort of marks that could have been letters but looked more like a childish attempt at replicating arcane symbols ran down one side. "I - see," Cameron said.
"It's true," Tips assured her. "Emily," she indicated Red, "found it in her attic and bad things started happening to us once we used it."
"What kind of bad things?"
Emily shot Tips a glance. "Ashley's hair started falling out," she whispered. "Really bad."
"Emily started scratching and couldn't stop for three days! And Jared dumped her for Kylie even though he said he never would - ever!"
"Look, girls," Cameron said but the dual rolling of eyes let her know she'd lost them, at 25 she was way past cool in their book. "Hair lose could be caused by the dye you use and a rash could be anything from a new detergent to allergies and don't get me started on men. This is life not a curse, there's no such thing."
"Then why did Kylie get in a car wreck?" Emily asked, beginning to cry.
Ashley turned to Cameron, her own eyes red and watery. "We- we used it. We said the spell to be rid of an enemy and Kylie," she gulped, voice shaking, "The next day Kylie's car hit a tree. She's hurt really bad - really - bad."
Cameron opened her mouth; she could see the guilt in their young faces and knew nothing she could say would erase that. "Girls, spells, magic, they can't hurt people."
"Then you keep it!" Emily shoved the book into Cameron's hands. She grabbed Ashley and pulled her off the table. "Just - just be careful, okay?" They left quickly, leaving Cameron standing there holding the small book and looking after them. Witchcraft. She flipped through the pages; how to become rich, protection spells, healing spells, love spells - her eyes fell on another page and her heart quickened - how to be rid of a rival. Cameron read the ritual and in that moment, despite years of skepticism in anything but science, a little part of her wanted it to be true. Cameron tucked the book into her lab coat pocket and headed for her next patient.
It wasn't until nine thirty and she was readying for home that the book crossed her mind again. She shrugged off her lab coat, puzzled at first by the bulky weight in her pocket, but quickly remembering her strange encounter with Emily and Ashley. Cameron cast a glance towards House's office, he'd left early, shooed home by Wilson . The memory of that little scene left her struggling to hold onto her temper. She'd brought House some tea, easing into his office as quietly as she could and crouching beside the yellow chair where he sat. It had taken all her control not to run a hand across his cheek, he looked so tired. He'd opened his eyes, staring at her in that way he sometimes had; like he could see inside her, like he understand her every secret.
In those moments Cameron knew he was just like her, he had been hurt and misunderstood his whole life, the physical pain he felt could not mask the emotional pain that lingered in his eyes. Most people though Greg House the most unfeeling man in the world but she knew better, House felt more than anyone; he was too sensitive, too empathetic, and all his sarcasm was merely a shield from more hurt. He had to shut himself off or be overwhelmed. She could see it so clearly, but she was the only one and it hurt her to know how much he had to endure at the hands of those who could not see the real House. Cameron had almost said something then, enticed by the nearly magical spell night and need had woven around them.
But Wilson had ruined it. He'd slipped into the office in that arrogant way he had so sure of his reception, his voice startling her, making her spill the tea, and earning her one of House's cutting remarks. That would have been humiliating enough but then Wilson had done his domineering protector routine, issuing orders as if he had every right to run House's life for him. It had always annoyed Cameron, that attitude of his, he would order House to do things, forbid him to do others, and just generally act as if House were a child or an invalid and it his duty to keep him from harm. Cameron had never figured out why House put up with it, why more often than not he listened to Wilson.
She hadn't quite figured out what subtle manipulation Wilson used, but as she watched the tired lines in House's face had smoothed and he'd given a small nod. Getting to his feet, he'd taken his backpack from Wilson and limped out the door with a wave. Anger and jealousy had spread through her gut, eroding her resolve not to push what she and House had. She had long ago realized that the feelings between them were too powerful for anyone, even stubborn Gregory House, to ignore forever. She'd promised herself she would be patience and let him discover on his own that the bond between them was much deeper and stronger than anything he could share with Wilson but it was hard to do.
Absently Cameron drew the book out of her pocket, flipping the pages until she came to the one she had noted earlier. It was called Foe's Milk and the yellowed page contained a list of ingredients and instructions on how to perform the ritual. She read it through a couple of times, a smile growing on her lips. In junior high she and her friends had played with Ouija boards, Tarot cards, and love spells, giggling in the dark as they pretended to cast spells and read the future. It had been silly but fun and there had been nights when they scared themselves so badly they had slept with the lights on. She had never told the others but she'd wanted the magic to work with all her heart. Allison Cameron who got A's in science had clutched at the hope that dreams came true and you could make things happen just by wanting it. It never had, but a part of her had clung to the possibility and it was that part intrigued by the spellbook.
The ritual called for her to offer her rival a drink which she had said the beginnings of the spell over then using it and a ritual to remove the person from any aspect of her life. Cameron, a flutter in her stomach betraying her anxiety, scurried to House's office, looked out the door, and saw that Wilson was still at work. A crazy, unreasonable urge took hold of her in that instant and before she could think about the insanity of her actions, Cameron set about brewing a fresh pot of coffee. Twice she poured it out but each time the memory of Wilson's proprietary look when he dealt with House popped back into her mind. In the end, under a final wave of jealousy and feeling completely silly, she poured two cups of steaming coffee, reading aloud the strange words written on the page and then carried both cups around to his office. She had nothing to lose.
"Hey," she greeted Wilson . He looked up from the work on his desk, rubbing his eyes and smiling tiredly. He always wore his fatigue like a badge "look at me - I work so hard" and people fawned over him, even House. She'd seen House hobble around Wilson 's office, dimming lights and pulling blinds while the oncologist lay like a fainted virgin on the couch. He'd perfected looking fragile and frail, his claims of a migraine always coincided with some slight House had done him. She knew this was Wilson 's way of punishing House, by playing on their friendship.
"Dr. Cameron," he said, "to what do I owe this visit?"
"I saw your light," she set the coffee down, "thought you might need a break."
"You drew the short straw and House sent everyone else home," Wilson guessed.
Cameron reigned in her annoyance. "I had some paperwork to finish."
"Mmmm, that reminds me," he leafed through a pile of papers on his desk and pulled out several bulging folders. "I finished House's equipment requests and the monthly report."
"I could have -"
"I'm use to it,' Wilson said, cutting her off. And he was, she knew. According to hospital scuttlebutt Wilson had been doing the drudge work for House for years, he took care of the things House wouldn't bother with, not with martyred resignation but with a kind of self importance that Cameron found revolting. It was just another example of his trying to run House's life for him, and House was just too blinded by the faade Wilson presented to see him as the manipulative bastard he was.
"You must be tired."
Wilson nodded, "Yeah. I am." His left hand reached for the mug and Cameron found herself holding her breath as he drank. "Thanks," he said, "I needed this."
Cameron smiled, "Not as much as I did." They sat in silence, each seemingly lost in some ether of contemplation, Wilson sitting back in his chair, eyes on the darkened balcony outside his office. Cameron leaned forward, carefully slipping a small item off Wilson's desk before glancing around the room, amazed once again by the evidence of Wilson's deceit. His bookshelves were overflowing with gifts from patients and their families. He had stuffed bears and little plaques and silly toys everywhere. She half expected to see a collection of childish drawings with YOR THE BEST CANSER DOKTER IN THE WORLD scrawled across them in crayon. He was, by all accounts, popular with patients and staff but then again they never saw how he treated House. She didn't let the knowledge of how House treated patients and staff color her judgment of Wilson, just went on consigning him to a level of disdain usually reserved for bureaucrats and telemarketers.
Eventually Wilson sighed, glanced at his watch and drained the mug. "You should go home, House will be a bear if you're late tomorrow."
"You're right," she said, wishing she could tell him to mind his own business. If House was hard on her, Chase and Foreman it was for their good, but Wilson had always run interference which Chase and Foreman appreciated but then again they had never understood House and his methods the way she did. "Good-bye, Dr. Wilson ," she murmured.
"What?"
"I said, good night." Cameron rose, retrieved the mug from Wilson's desk, an involuntary smile spreading across her face. She carried it carefully, unwilling to risk spilling the little bit that remained in the bottom and detoured by the supply closet for a plastic bag to secure it in before gathering her belongings and heading home. It was almost 2AM by the time she had set up everything she needed.
With the mug on her coffee table like a scarlet accusation, she laid out the pen she had taken from Wilson's desk, a small amount of soured milk from her under-stocked fridge, the red candle her mother had given her for Christmas and a bottle of olive oil from the kitchen. She rooted around her bookcase until she had a copy of the PPTH newsletter and ripped out the picture of James E. Wilson that always accompanied news from the Oncology department. "Okay," she said decisively. Using the pilfered ink pen she began etching Wilson's name down the sides of the candle. As she scratched his name she pictured his self-righteous expression as he lectured House on some point about his behavior. Once she was done she took the olive oil and anointed the wax with it, starting in the middle and working towards the ends all the while recalling his ever jibe at House's expense, and the expression in House's eyes whenever Wilson hurt him.
Cameron checked her directions then poured the soured milk into the cup with its skiff of coffee, and placed the candle into the cup, lighting it. She tore out the photo of Wilson and read aloud the words written on the page. "To the ends of the earth, to the limits of time," she chanted, "All that I want will soon be mine. You must go, do as bid, my rival, my foe I will be rid." She repeated the spell three times, each time circling the burning wick with the photo before dashing Wilson's smiling face with oil and feeding it into the candle's flame. Allison Cameron, child of science, did not believe in magic, but as she watched the photograph of James Wilson blacken and curl, his handsome visage devoured by the fire, a thrill when through her and for just a moment she was twelve again and possibilities were unlimited. She cast a nervous glance around the room but nothing had changed and all she could do was laugh at her own foolishness. She was not a child and the world operated by a specific set of rules, she knew that. With a wistful laugh, she blew out the candles and tossed the book onto the coffee table.
The alarm clock did not go off. She realized that as soon as she answered her cell phone and House growled "Where the fuck are you?" into her ear. Not a good start especially after a night filled with strange, sinister dreams. She hurried through a shower, flung on clothes and did her makeup at stoplights, reaching the hospital twenty minutes after answering the phone. It was with a nervous system begging for caffeine, and her lab coat tucked under her arm that she started to enter the Diagnostic Medicine conference room only to stumble to an abrupt halt on the threshold. House wasn't the neatest person she knew, his clothes were always wrinkled and his shirttail hanging, but he was obsessive about his office. He didn't like things on the floor to trip him, and his bookshelves were a monument to organization - normally. Cameron took an involuntary step back before steeling herself and going in to where Chase and Foreman waited.
"What-"
"He's finally lost it," Foreman said with a slow shake of his head.
Chase was a bit more helpful. "He's upset." Cameron nodded. It looked as if a cyclone had sprung up in House's office, a whirling wind that had cut a swath of destruction from desk to door and wall to wall. Books lay like shingles ripped from a roof, magazines with pages fanned, dotted the ruined landscape. And through it, House limped like a scavenger picking through the rubble for small trinkets. His cane poked here and there, tipping books over, scattering papers, creating even more of a mess than whatever trauma had first caused the destruction. Cameron turned away, her mouth slack, eyes wide. "We tried talking to him, but he's," Chase hesitated, "not in the mood for chitchat."
"He growled at me," Foreman said, "like an animal." He paused, then added, "he's got a lot of teeth." Cameron frowned and moved towards the door. "I don't think that's a good idea," Foreman warned but Cameron knew that she was the only person who would be able to reason with House when he was in this mood. She took a deep breath and pushed inside, stepping over three volumes of medical encyclopedias, a couple of journals written in Finnish, and a tangled Slinky.
"Post modern apocalypse?" She kept her tone light, her delivery even but quirky and saw House glance over at her on his circuit around the room. "If you want I can get a couple of orderlies to tip over the desk and make this a real pigsty."
"That would make wallowing more than figurative," House muttered, still making his agitated way around the room. At Cameron's bland look he said, "it's not an infection."
"I -"
"Forget it," House snapped. He jerked his head back towards the conference room. "Those tests you ran yesterday - run them again."
"But you said it wasn't an infection," Cameron protested.
"It's not."
"Then why-"
"Run them again and get a CT of his abdomen and I want it without any concerned looks or irritating personal questions."
"I wasn't going -"
"Yes, you were and now!" House stabbed the glass door with his cane, shoving it wide enough for Cameron's slim body to squeeze through. She tried to put every ounce of devotion into her eyes as she stared at him but House had turned away, his silhouette a dark stain against the morning light as he looked out towards Wilson 's office.
Cameron knew there was nothing else to do but relay House's instructions to Chase and Foreman. When he was in a nasty mood House was like a caged animal, he would pace and growl and draw blood if anyone got too close. The exception was Wilson , somehow he seemed impervious to House's anger, letting it slid off him with a smooth shrug of his shoulders. Cameron froze. Like nitro added to a race car engine, memory kicked in sending her brain into overdrive and causing images to fly by in a sickening blur. Details of what she had done only hours earlier raced before her mind's eye and she felt her throat dry, one hand flew to her mouth. Wilson! Damn. She turned to Chase, asking, "Have you seen Wilson this morning?"
"Are you kidding? We tried finding him before House got into his towering rage," the young doctor explained. "He's not anywhere on the premises." He pushed open the office door and led the way down the hall.
Foreman shook his head. "We shouldn't have to rely on Wilson to control him."
"Maybe not," Chase agreed, "but it's usually easier." Foreman considered then nodded. "Come on, if we don't rerun every test he's going to explode."
Cameron had no chance to find out what had become of Wilson. They spent hours retesting their patient and pouring over the results, comparing the second time to the first and listening to various reports on House's deteriorating mood. Even for him the attacks on anyone who strayed too close to him were extreme, verbal rages and wanton use of his cane as a weapon. House was always grumpy and sarcastic but rarely vicious unless provoked, though his definition of provoked and normal society's often varied, but twice Cameron saw Cuddy huddled with what appeared to be upset patients and one of the floor nurses was spotted in tears just after House had stormed by. People were beginning to speculate on the reason for House's temper and Wilson's name kept coming up in hushed conversations but these seemed to die off whenever Cameron got close enough to hear.
It wasn't until late afternoonthat Cameron got a break to check on Wilson's whereabouts. She stopped by the Oncology floor, furtively looking for the Head of Department and finding only whispering nurses. She pretended to check a patient's file, frowning seriously as she eavesdropped but all she heard were vague allusions to Wilson's failure to appear. Seeing one of Wilson's long time staff, Cameron hurried up, "Betty! House is driving us crazy. I really need to talk to Wilson." Cameron saw a flicker of worry in the woman's eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Dr. Wilson is unavailable." Cameron opened her mouth but the nurse cut her off. "We haven't been informed when he'll be back." So even his staff didn't know what was going on. Cameron tried again, cornering one of the newest members of Wilson's staff, a young intern who knew she worked for House and was still impressed by House's reputation but hadn't been brutally humiliated by a face to face meeting.
"Uh, Stephen, isn't it?"
"Dr. Cameron."
"Stephen, Dr. House really needs a consult with Wilson," she leaned in close, one hand on his arm and a warm smile on her lips. "No one seems to know where he is. Have you heard anything - anything at all?"
Stephen cast a quick look around before also leaning in. "He's disappeared. No one knows where he is."
"Is someone taking his cases? Does it look like he's gone for some time?" Stephen's wary expression gave way to one eager to share gossip. "What?" She asked.
"I heard Dr. Cuddy came down this morning and arranged for Ferguson and McWilliams to see his patients. She was upset and wouldn't even talk about it." Cameron thanked him, keeping her demeanor professional but could barely hide her grin as she turned away. Still a niggling need for proof remained with her. She headed for the elevator and Wilson's office on the fourth floor and came to a screeching halt at the sight which greeted her.
"What - what's going on? Where's Dr. Wilson?" Cameron stood in the hallway watching as two burly moving men carried out the last of the furniture from Wilson's office, leaving one broken lamp, a Vertigo poster leaning against the wall and the name on the door - James Wilson, MD.
"We just clear `em," the younger of the two told her.
"But - but - I didn't mean to -" Cameron stuttered to a halt. Hadn't she meant to do exactly what she'd done? Hadn't she meant to remove Wilson from House's life? She could feel her heart racing in her chest, and the blood singing in her ears. It had worked. Somehow, beyond all logical explanation, it had worked. She sank down onto a bench outside Wilson's office, watching the last remains of his existence being carried away. Wilson was gone - she had made him go away. No. No, magic wasn't real. There had to be some explanation. Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, Cameron rushed down to the parking lot, got into her car and drove off. She knew where Wilson was living, she had seen the address on House's blotter and thought at the time that even though Wilson was moving out, he was sticking pretty close to House's apartment. Cordell Street was another upscale rehab project like Baker Street only it lacked the charm of House's neighborhood, lined with warehouses turned condos where Baker street was historic brick townhouses brought back from ruin.
She pulled up in front of 1331 and parked, staring up at the darkened windows. A ridiculous bubble had formed in her chest, sending sparks of lightheaded delight through her. Cameron kept flashing back to those slumber party nights, she and her friends chanting little rhymes over yearbook photos of the cutest guy in class. She'd been convinced it would work, that if you wanted something enough you could manipulate the cosmos and it would grant you your heart's desire, but it never had. Now, at 25, here she sat outside Wilson's apartment half afraid those childish imaginings could really be real. That sense of being able to change the world to her liking had dimmed with age, rekindled only when she began to pursue her career in medicine. There she had power, she could find the source of their pain and fix it. She held human life in her hands, that was real magic but what about this? What if she had been given a chance to change things, to make the world right with means beyond the norm? And getting rid of Wilson would make the world right. She had a shot at House without the nagging presence of James Wilson distracting him, without Wilson working against her, poisoning House to her good qualities. She had a chance now, a rush of excitement went through her and Cameron climbed from her car and dashed across the street.
She buzzed the manager's apartment, not even having to think before launching into a story of forgotten files and patient emergencies. Her PPTH identity and a beguiling smile got her into apartment 307 but couldn't help her discover anything there. Wilson's place was dark, Spartan, and very clean. No dirty dishes, no stacks of porn movies, no pizza boxes, just Lemon Fresh Dawn on the draining board, dust on the coffee table and a potted plant wilting near the balcony doors. Cameron resisted the urge to race through the apartment, searching for any sign of Wilson, instead she did as House had taught her; moving methodically, opening cabinets and drawers, looking under furniture, in closets and on top shelves. Wilson was not there. There were signs someone had been there at some time; a carelessly made bed and a single towel in the bathroom but to her mind this place had been abandoned. Cameron staggered to the bed on weakened legs, sinking to the mattress before her knees could give way and dump her on the floor. She had done it - really done it. Wilson was gone. A kind of bizarre, half-hopeful bubble rose within her, a giddy longing that she attempted to squash with reason but it refused to die, it bobbed along unconquerable.
She made it back to the hospital before anyone noticed her absence only to find herself grinning at odd moments. Chase and Foreman were still running tests and House was still hold up in his office like an ogre in a cave. There was no more mention of the missing Wilson that day or the next but House's bad mood continued, descending into depths of cruelty he had never reached before. "Either the bastard is lying or you three are even more incompetent than the other morons at this hospital," he railed when they approached him about the patient's condition, "And that's saying a lot because Douglas in Cardiology can't walk and talk at the same time! Now get out of here and don't come back until you've learned something useful or he's dead. I don't care which."
Even the brilliant, last minute solution to their case, pulled out of a chance remark by Foreman about the patient's sodium levels, didn't alleviate his ire. House remained closeted in his office; sullen, belligerent and unresponsive to any threat Cuddy posed to shake him out of his anger. On the third day of Wilson's absence, House did not show up at the hospital and he was a no-show on the fourth day as well. Cuddy came in, tossing a thin file on House's desk and Foreman fell on it like a vulture. She and Chase exchanged put upon looks; Foreman always tried to take the lead when House wasn't around. The case turned out to be interesting but nothing House's training hadn't taught them to cope with and Cameron took advantage of an early resolution, leaving Chase and Foreman to dole out the treatment. Cameron grabbed her purse, fingers damp on the small leather book still tucked within and climbed into her car, already formulating the plan that would seal House to her.
She knew where he lived, she'd been there once when she resigned, the memory of that night a burning ember that ate at her peace of mind. Cameron pulled her car to a stop outside the townhouse, seeing the orange motorcycle parked on the sidewalk beside 221 B and the ghostly blue light of a TV playing. She hurried to the door, knocked and waited before knocking again.
"Go away!" House's voice came from shockingly close and she realized he was standing just on the other side of the door, needing her help.
"No, I am not leaving until we talk!" She knew it was an empty threat, all he had to do was refuse to open the door but a moment later the latch clicked and it swung open on its hinges. She expected him to be leaning on his cane in that way he had when they were working, the one that made him look like some kind of crazed prophet spouting doom and gloom, but he was slumped against the back of the couch, his skin gray with exhaustion under his stubble and his large blue eyes sunken and dulled. Cameron couldn't stop the gasp which rose in her throat. She had never seen House looking so rough, even after a week detoxing, he'd looked better than this. "Ohmygod, House!" She rushed to him, hands hovering mere inches form his skin, uncertain if he would tolerate her touch. She steeled herself for his anger and grabbed his arm.
"Don't touch me!" House roared, pulling away. He swayed, almost toppling as if unable to hold himself up even with the aid of his cane, but Cameron tightened her hold, forcing him back onto his feet. "Don't touch me," House shouted again.
"Why? Because I'm not Wilson?"
"What the hell do you want?"
She knew what to do, she'd studied the way Wilson acted with House, she could do this. "I came to make sure you were okay," Cameron told him. She eased her hold, letting go of him once she knew he wouldn't fall. "You've been upset the last few days." She glanced around, "Where's Wilson?" House ignored her question, moving painfully around the couch, falling onto the cushions, hand already flashing upwards as his head tipped back. She could see how much effort it took but he acted as if there was nothing wrong. "You need to look after yourself."
" Wilson looks after me," House said airily.
"And why is that?"
"Masochist? Gullible? Idiot? Take your pick," House told her with a vague wave of his hand.
Cameron couldn't fight the anger building inside her. "No, House, he does it because he wants to own you. He wants to use you just like he does everyone else. He gets some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing you hurting, seeing you need him." She didn't notice the cold seeping into House's blue eyes until they were as hard and flat as a frozen lake.
" Wilson does what I let him," House said, his words flint brittle and just as sharp. "If I didn't want him screwing with my life I'd get rid of him."
"Too late," Cameron muttered then changed tact. She'd watched them, studying the way Wilson acted around House and knew she could duplicate it. She drew herself up, striving for that sharp edged way that they interacted, the biting sarcasm that never reached their eyes. "You don't have a life to be screwed with," she pointed out, "And despite the three wives even Wilson isn't that much of a masochist." She wanted to stand up to House like Wilson did, she longed to be the one he confided in, the one he admitted into the strange world in which he lived. She wanted it and now she had it, an overwhelming sense of power rushed through her.
Cameron straightened, having seen Wilson deal with House a hundred times when he got like this she dug in her heels and set to work. She went to the kitchen, rooting through cabinets until she had found a box of mac-n-cheese and a battered can of tuna. It didn't take long to make the meal, and though it smelled edible when she brought it into the living room House ignored it. "Eat," she ordered, imitating the no-nonsense tone she'd heard from Wilson a hundred times. House gazed dully at her before reaching for the pill bottle on the coffee table. Cameron thought she remembered seeing him swallow one when he sat down on the couch, but he took two more before she could stop him. Eventually the scent of food swirled around the room and House leaned forward to poke at the plate with the tip of his cane. "What is this crap? Looks like a cat threw up."
"Cat puke isn't as thick," she pointed out. "You don't look much better than it does, House, so just eat it." Cameron watched him eye the dish then her, finally hunger won out over stubbornness and he began to eat. Deliberately casual she went back to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Knowing House's fondness for the stuff she'd figured he would have fresh milk, she pulled out the glass jug and filled a cup. Her hand touched the small book she had thrust into her pocket, fingering the smooth leather surface, and finding it warm against her skin. She knew what to say, the whispered words tumbling freely from her lips as, after a moment's hesitation, she added a bit of cinnamon and chocolate, warming the mixture in the microwave. A smile curled her lips when she brought the drink to House and watched his tentative first bites turn into a ravenous stuffing of his face. After a few seconds he grabbed the cup and drank the warmed chocolate. "Not bad, is it?"
"No," House admitted, "for cat puke." He yawned and sank back against the cushions. Cameron could see the dark circles under his eyes and the ashen tint to his skin. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, and kept rubbing his right hand over his thigh. She remembered the pain he couldn't keep from showing in his eyes these last few days, and he'd been limping worse than ever. This was Wilson's fault. He'd made House dependant on him, Wilson wanted House to need him, and now that Wilson had been removed from the picture, House was suffering. She clenched her hand around the book, shaking with emotion. "What's with the glare?"
"I'm not glaring," Cameron insisted. "I was just - thinking - about Wilson. No one's seen him in days. Is anything wrong?"
House's tired face went still, "I don't want to talk about Wilson." He grabbed the remote, turning up the sound on the muted TV. Cameron sighed and took a seat on the black chair across from him, content to wait for a chance to make things happen the way she wanted. A thrill of excitement went through her, House was so close to being hers - just one more spell and he would be bound to her for all eternity. Sitting in the semidarkness she knew the sheer surrealness of the night should have scared her but everything had conspired in her favor. Call it Fate or call it Magic, but she had knocked away the last obstacle between her and House and before she knew it he would be hers.
She didn't have long to wait, a full stomach, exhaustion and the drugs she'd seen him down soon had House nodding. Cameron waited until his soft snores punctuated the inane chatter of some late night talk show, before moving quietly to pick up and open the book she'd taken to carrying everywhere. The words were beautiful and slipped off her tongue with sensual agility. Continuing to recite the spell, Cameron flicked the annoying TV off, her words now blanketing the still room, making the air feel heavy, nearly oppressive. A moment passed, then two and House began to move restlessly on the couch, unconsciously reacting to the forces Cameron could feel building around them. "Wha-" he muttered, bleary eyes struggling to focus on her as fought to stay awake. Cameron knelt beside him.
"Ssshhh," she quieted. "It's going to be okay."
She gently eased him back onto the couch, helping him stretch out, stroking his hair, looking into his eyes and smiling when they seemed to fill with gratitude and happiness. He knew - he knew she was there and she would take care of him. "J'mmy," he slurred.
Cameron sucked in a gasp, heart clenching with anguish but that pain quickly changed to rage. Wilson again. Telling herself House was just calling for Wilson because Wilson had made sure he was the one always on hand to help, Cameron forced herself calm. "It's okay," she soothed, lulling House back into that twilight state between sleep and wakefulness. She kept up the rhythmic crooning, letting the actual words fade until she merely hummed a melodic and repetitive sound that seeped into every nook and cranny of the room, unfolding like some exotic flower whose pungent scent intoxicates without notice until it's too late and the prey is drunk on it. House sighed, his body relaxing under the onslaught. Cameron, resuming the hypnotic hum of the spell, picked up her bag and pulled out the candles she had brought with her, arranging them around the couch in the form of a triangle. She'd brought small vials of scented herbs with her, and tipped lavender and cinnamon, rose petals and mint out in thick lines across the polished coffee table, their heady aroma adding layers of luxurious sensation to the room. She lit the candles one by one, red for love, white for faith and yellow for eternity, whispering, "Love me, love, me, love me," as the flames burned brightly.
House stirred, and she leaned forward, her mouth meeting his in a searing kiss. In the instant of their lips touching an electric charge went through Cameron. She deepened the kiss, seeking the heat of House's body, pressing herself to his chest and feeling its rise and fall as he breathed. Years seemed to drop away, the pain of loving without hope of happiness, the agony of giving and never knowing return, disappeared. She had dreamed of happily ever after, of finding the person who needed her and making whole what was broken. She'd known all along that her destiny lay in House, that she could wipe away his pain and show him that love was indeed something people could share without deceit.
His hands came up, touching her face, one cupping her breast and causing her to moan. Pleasure coursed through her making her wet with want and need, sending that thrill of excitement up along her center until her heart hammered her ribs and her head pounded in time. House uttered a low groan, his mouth pulling away from hers but she pursued him desperately. "House, House," she cried, seeking him out, her mouth open against his cheek to taste the sweet flavor of his skin, her breath warming the air around them until it felt like the flames of her candles burning through their flesh. She could feel him begin to fight her, his sluggish movements those of someone waking from a dream - or a nightmare but Cameron could not bring herself to believe anything other than it had worked.
This was magic - destiny. She had said the spell and performed the rituals so House should be hers. The little voice of reason, crushed under the weight of fear and longing, exhausted from years of searching for someone to heal, tried to make itself heard but Cameron ruthlessly disregarded it. House wanted this, he needed to free of Wilson just as much as she did. Who cared if it was magic - if magic existed even - they were here and she was in his arms and -
A torrent of cold air blasted through the townhouse like a vengeful presence no one could ignore, breaking the seal of their kiss and sending Cameron reeling backwards. Beside her the candles guttered and went out, their curls of white smoke rising like tiny exclamations of shock. A shadow loomed over her and Cameron looked up - straight into the brown eyes of James Wilson. For some reason he did not seem pleased to see her there - on her knees with her tongue in House's ear.
"Am I - interrupting?" His voice struck hard and flat, chipped stones falling from a great height.
"I - I just-" Cameron could feel her cheeks flame and a knot of fear being to form in her stomach, the passion which had only seconds earlier spiked through her turned to bitter ash and swirled away. Wilson was not a man easily angered, his long friendship with House had proven that time and again but his eyes were cold, the line of his mouth as thin as a blade and the set of his wide shoulders screamed fury though he made no sound at all. An instant past, a lifetime that left Cameron feeling as if she had been striped naked and tossed away. He dismissed her with a final glance, his gaze locking to House who was lying limp against the cushions, his face white.
"House!" Wilson moved like a bolt of lightning, dropping the bag in his hand and vaulting the couch. He crouched beside House, one hand instantly checking his pulse, the other a gentle caress to his cheek. "House? Can you hear me?" He whirled on Cameron. "What did you do to him?" He demanded, the savagery of his tone like a slap to her face.
"I didn't - I wouldn't hurt him," Cameron cried in protest. "You can't think that!" Wilson looked ready to strike her and might have but at that moment House seemed to rouse.
"Wilson?" He groaned. "You're - here?"
Wilson turned back to House, eyeing him critically as he helped him sit up. Cameron took advantage of his distraction and quickly wiped the evidence of what she'd done back into her bag, leaving only the candles which she could not reach. "Are you okay?" Wilson asked. House nodded, still looking drugged, but Wilson took the fact he was responding as a good sign. "So what's Cameron doing here?"
"Cameron?" House repeated. "Oh, she - came by and made me eat."
Wilson sat down beside House, his left shoulder wedged against House, keeping him upright. He gave Cameron an appraising look, though it held little warmth. "Thank you."
"I - I thought you were gone," she said. She could feel sweat breaking out along her hairline, and on her palms. The realization of just how foolish she had been finally hit home as Wilson smiled crookedly.
"Yes," he murmured. "I went out of town unexpectedly."
"Idiot," House growled. "You went to Washington, didn't you? They have doctors, they don't need you." Cameron gaped at him, it had long been rumored that as one of the leading oncologists on the Eastern seaboard, Wilson consulted on cases calling for the utmost discretion; politicians, their families, high profile people who wished their illness kept low-key. "You go running off any time they call you like some lap-dog." His voice turned sharp, "You didn't even tell me."
"I couldn't," Wilson said gently but something in his tone rang false and Cameron swallowed her trepidation with a gulp. He offered House a small smile, but House turned away.
The tiny surge of hope that House would remain angry which flared died almost immediately when Wilson nudged House with his shoulder and the older man shrugged, his mouth twisting into an exaggerated pout. "Did you at least bring me something?"
"Of course!" Wilson pulled a book out of his pocket and handed it over. "It's the latest issue of Lesbian Lumberjacks. I know you haven't read that one."
"What about your office?" Cameron tried. "I saw them clearing it out." How had she been so wrong?
"Cuddy authorized it to be repainted," Wilson explained. "I'm allergic to paint fumes so I figured that would be a good time to do it while I was gone."
"I told them to paint it lime green," House teased, "to match your eyes."
Wilson laughed, "Not mine." His gaze returned to Cameron and she felt as if he had read every detail of what she had done in her eyes.
"I have to go," Cameron said quickly. She rose, surreptitiously searching for the small leather book that had seduced her with hope. It lay on the far end of the table. She swallowed against the wave of panic and started towards it only to have Wilson stand and block her way.
"I'll show you out," Wilson said. He did not move and she was forced to pick up her bag and go around the other end of the coffee table. She cast a last look back at House. He was reading the back of the book Wilson has brought him, his face suddenly looking younger, free of the exhaustion and stress that had been there only a short while ago. She turned away. At the door Wilson's voice stopped her. "Goodnight," he said coldly. When she looked up at him she could see a terrible expression in his eyes, a look that made her afraid the crazy thing she had attempted had succeeded on some level and Wilson would not forget that. Cameron stumbled past him with a sense of dread so palpable it was as if he had uttered a warning.
"What exactly are you doing," House asked later, leaning on his cane. He'd changed into pajama pants and a t-shirt, and stood barefoot and rumpled in the doorway to the living room.
"Playing with fire," Wilson said.
"Ah," House said sagely, "I might not have invited you to move in if I'd suspected you were a pyromaniac at heart. Still, psychosis - that's one more reason I love you." Wilson grinned, dropping his gaze to the table before him. Two elegant white candles, bound together with slender silver threads, sat surrounded by half a dozen red candles on a bed of charred leather and paper. Stubby and heavily coated in dripped wax, the red ones appeared to have been well used over a long period of time. He pursed his lips, blowing a slow steady breath across the candles. The flames flickered and one by one went out, the curling trails of smoke rising slowly to embrace the two men. As the pair of white candles' flames was extinguished, Wilson looked up, locking gazes with House.
"I know," he said with a sly quirk of one thick brow, his words a melodic hum.
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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 NBC/Universal, 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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