rivers_bend

Title: Grey Matter
Fandom: House MD
Rating: PG
Words ~1500
Disclaimer: I have no actual rights to House MD or to any of Jewel’s music, including Grey Matter, but I am not making any money off this and I hope that those who do have the rights will take the compliment intended.
Summary: Cameron takes her new mp3 player to work with her, intending to do some late night charting, and sees something she would rather not have seen.
A/N: If I had the skills or the software, this might have been a fanvid. But I write instead, so this is what you get. Fiction with some song lyrics. But don’t let that put you off. :)



Cameron got out of her car and pulled the mp3 player out of her pocket, looking at it again in wonder. Sure, it was tiny, and probably didn’t cost very much, but she had only just moved on to making a mixed CD for someone rather than a tape. Getting an mp3 player filled with songs from her best friend from high school made her shake her head in disbelief.

The accompanying letter was short and to the point.

Ali,

If I know you, and I think I do, you still have a walkman. Move yourself into the 21st century woman. These songs make me think of you. I bet the Australian you told me about can show you how to use this if you can’t get that boss of yours to play ball.

Love you,
Lexa

It was nearly two in the morning and Cameron wanted to catch up on some paperwork. She figured if House could listen to his iPod at two in the afternoon, there was no reason she couldn’t listen to hers in the middle of the night. She locked the car and put the earphones into her ears. The Spice Girls. Lexa had clearly gone insane.

When she got upstairs, Cameron went to put her key in the lock but saw the door to the conference room was ajar, though the lights were off. A glow was coming from House’s office. Cameron almost turned around and went back home, but figured she had just as much right to be here as he did. She did not want to get further behind, just because it was uncomfortable to be alone with her boss. Maybe he’d stay behind his closed blinds anyway. If she worked in the light shining in from the hallway, he didn’t even have to know she was here. With luck.

Cameron gathered the files she needed to work on to the accompaniment of the Corrs through her headphones. Better than the Spice Girls. When she sat down she saw that there was a gap in the blinds where a slat was stuck on something. She could see House at his desk. He was eating. With chopsticks. She tried to look away, but her gaze was caught by his fingers holding the sticks and by his eyes. He seemed to be looking intently at something on the other side of his desk as he chewed. She watched his throat move as he swallowed. Just as she went to tear her eyes away, another pair of chopsticks moved into view. She scooted backwards to try to see better, stomach knotting with jealousy.

As House moved forward to take the offered bite she saw that the hand holding the chopsticks didn’t belong to a woman as she had expected, but to a man. Blue dress shirt, cuffs buttoned. It must be Wilson. Cameron’s stomach unclenched . And then she saw the look House gave the man with the chopsticks. Completely unguarded. Relaxed. Loving. It was exactly as she had imagined he would look in such a moment. In her imagination however that look had been directed at her. Cameron felt as though she had been punched in the chest.

Suddenly aware she could hear herself breathing, Cameron realised the Corrs were done. The next song began and was completely unfamiliar to her. She concentrated on the sound of the guitar. Anything to forget the look she just saw. Then the singing started.

I hate you, I love you. Leave, please. Don't go away.

Cameron tried to reach up and pull the headphones from her ears but, mesmerized by the song, found she couldn’t. What is Lexa trying to do to me? As she stared at the table, avoiding the view of House in his office, the words burned into her brain.

You're a child but you're malicious. You're sweet but don't remember my name.

The hands still hovering next to her ears moved to wipe tears away instead.

Heads I win, And tails I'm lost, And love equals pain

“Damn you Lexa. Damn you. Damn you…” Cameron didn’t want to feel this. Couldn’t separate the lyrics from the feelings. Missed the irony that it was her friend 2,000 miles away at whom she was directing her anger, and not House. House, who was sitting on the other side of a glass wall, breaking her heart. Again.

Inside my skin I feel your tongue telling me I'm dirty, and licking my bones. A scrape against silence. A knife across a plate makes the sound of need on hate.

Cameron took tiny sips of air, dragged across dry lips and a tongue numb with shock. This woman, whoever she was, had crawled inside her brain and somehow made a song of what she found there.

I am drifting without an anchor, through your ambiguous region. A strange continent, immune to all reason. And I'm flattered by your grey matter.

Cameron examined the player, wanting to go back and hear the words again, but she couldn’t figure out the buttons and the song just carried on.

And I do not understand why a woman can't just love a man.

With tears falling in earnest now, Cameron pushed the files away and finally pulled the earphones out of her ears. She could not listen any more.

Cameron was wiping tears off the table when she heard the office door open. The overhead lights went on, blinding her for a moment. She was glad to have the excuse to cover her eyes. Apparently she was too late.

“Oh my god! Who died? Wait. We don’t have any patients.” Every word House spoke dripped with sarcasm and drilled into her head like a migraine.

“Greg, shut up. Cameron? Are you OK? What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” Wilson walked towards her as he spoke, and reached out as if to put a hand on her shoulder. Without meaning to, Cameron jerked sideways out of his path.

“Nothing. Nothing, just doing some charting. I got behind.” She was amazed to have any voice with which to speak.

Wilson looked at the messy drift of files where she’d shoved them out of her way, the mp3 player, from which the occasional tinny whisper of music could still be heard, and the smears of moisture which the stiff sleeve of her white coat had not been able to completely absorb. “Um… Sad song?”

The noise Cameron made was somewhere between a cry and a bark. She shut her eyes and willed the tears to stay away, the men to leave, the floor to swallow her whole. Why didn’t I just turn and walk away when I saw his light on. Why?

“Were you trying to ruin your eyes charting in the dark?” Wilson’s voice was softer, came from lower and closer. Cameron realized he had crouched down next to her. She could feel his hand hovering inches above her arm, but he was used to reading people he’d have to be, the job he does and he knew she didn’t want to be touched.

“Can you just… Can you please not be nice to me?” Cameron spoke so quietly she wasn’t even sure Wilson could hear her.

“Yeah, Dr. Wilson. Don’t be nice to her. She hates that. Treat ‘em mean and keep ‘em keen.”

Cameron’s eyes flew open as she felt heat flood her skin. Embarrassment, rage, hurt, it was all the same. By the time she opened her mouth to speak I… I… I… Wilson had stood, and grabbing House by the shoulders, pushed him up against the office wall. “Greg! That’s enough!” His furious whisper carried to her ears, but all she could focus on was House’s grin and the wink he gave her over Wilson’s shoulder.

She saw Wilson lay a hand on House’s cheek, like a slap in very slow motion. House finally looked away, looked at Wilson instead of at her. She hated herself for feeling the loss of that cruel gaze. She saw Wilson shake his head, once. A tiny movement. House’s eyes narrowed for a moment and then his face relaxed. He seemed to nod without moving, and Wilson released his face and shoulder simultaneously.

Cameron’s paralysis broke and she swept the mp3 player into her pocket and stood. Ignoring the files and the men staring after her, she pushed past the chair and fled out the door. She could hear Wilson calling after her as she reached the elevator and she hoped he would not follow. The elevator was there, waiting for her, a small miracle, even at this time of night. She jumped inside before the doors were half open and poked repeatedly at the ‘door close’ button.

It seemed forever before the doors finally shut. When they did, her legs gave out and she slid down the wall to the floor. She heard the tinny beat of the music coming from her pocket. She pulled out the mess of wires and plastic. As she brought it closer to her face, the music sounded familiar. She tucked one of the earphones into her ear. The Pixies. Wave of Mutilation.

The man waiting in the lobby for an elevator wondered why there was a doctor sitting in the corner of the one that arrived, laughing until tears ran down her face.