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morgynleriTitle: Choice
Word Count: 1656
Status: Complete, hopefully
Genre: AU, Drama, Angst
Warnings: dark themes, drug use, self-destructive tendencies
Rating: R
"You still haven't told me what happened with Doctor Cameron." She rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand as she looked down at him, a pale form in the dim light of pre-dawn.
"I don't want to talk about her." House levered himself up, turning his back on her, trying to ignore the dull ache that warned him he needed to take something to dull the pain soon. Something. Anything. "Were you able to get some Vicodin?"
"Maybe. What happened with Doctor Cameron after the trial?" The matress shifted as she got off, her feet making no noise on the cheap carpet, no doubt going to fetch whatever she brought him from her purse.
"She told me that I needed to learn how to survive without the Vicodin. That it would be better for me. You happy?"
She shrugged as she came back into view, a small bag in her hand, with two familiar pale pills in it. "I want more details. But I can be patient." She dropped one of the Vicodin pills into his outstretched hand, watching with an impassive expression as he swallowed it dry. "You could have saved your career, and taken the deal the detective offered you. Why did you let your pride get in the way?"
"Not my pride. My pain." House glared up at her, reaching for his cane. "Why do you keep at this?"
She picked up a shirt from where it had gotten draped over a chair the night before. "Because I want to know your story before you take that last step off the cliff. Even if everyone else who knew you thinks it's a pointless endevor."
"Get out." House scowled, pushing himself to his feet, wondering how he'd come to this, hobbling towards the bathroom of the motel room. "Leave the Vicodin."
"I'll be where I usually am if you want to talk more, Doctor House." She pulled on pants, without underwear, holding his gaze for a long moment. "If you need me."
"I don't need anyone."
Her lips twitched up in a sad half-smile as she closed the laptop that had sat open, listening, all night. "I know."
~ ~~ ~
"You had forged a piece of evidence that could have saved his career. Why did you decide not to use it?" The woman watched Cuddy through unreadable, dark eyes, the digital voice recorder sitting stark on the desk between them.
"House... He needed help, and he wouldn't reach out for it, even when all he had to do was say yes to one simple deal. To accept that he's not above the rules." Cuddy sighed, leaning back in her chair. "He was the best doctor we had, but I couldn't keep watching him slowly destroy himself by denying he had a problem. It wouldn't have done him any favors."
"Do you ever wonder what happened to him?"
"He made it clear he didn't want anything to do with us after he got out of prison. I have other problems to worry about."
"You didn't answer my question, Doctor Cuddy."
"Yes, I do wonder, sometimes. I haven't seen him in almost a decade, and I still worry about him. How much longer is this interview supposed to last? I need to pick up my daughter from school in an hour." Cuddy glared at her, and the woman smiled, reaching out to pick up the recorder.
"I can come back later, if I have more questions." She flicked it off, tucking it into her purse as she stood up. She turned to leave, and Cuddy thought she caught a faint hint of pain flicker across the woman's reflection in the glass door before she opened it, leaving it withut another word.
~ ~~ ~
"Thank you for seeing me, Doctor Foreman."
"Not a problem. You made quite a trip just to talk to me, the least I can do is give you a few hours of my time." Foreman escorted the petite woman into the small dining room, offering her a seat and a drink. "There's milk or apple juice. Or water, if you want."
"Water will be fine. I just need to keep my throat from getting dry." She paused, setting the case she carried on the table. "Would you mind if I recorded the interview?"
"No, not at all." Foreman stepped into the kitchen, coming back with two cups of water. "What's this about, anyway?"
"I'm interviewing people who knew Gregory House." She accepted the cup, studying his face as she spoke. "Your name came up as someone who'd worked with him in the past."
"You could say that." Foreman sat down, glad his wife had the children out at the zoo. "What did you want to know?"
"What kind of man he was, before the trial, and the conviction."
"He was an ass, but he was a good doctor, most of the time." Foreman shrugged. "He pushed us all to our limits, and beyond. I don't think I'd be where I am if I hadn't taken the fellowship under him."
She pressed her lips together, a small line appearing between her brows. "He treated everyone the same?"
"Pretty much. I mean, sometimes he picked on one of us more than the others, but in the end, it was all even." Foreman paused. "There was that one time after Cameron quit that he agreed to a date with her to get her to come back to work."
"Why?"
Foreman shrugged. "I don't know. He never really made it clear why. I mean, there was a little speculation that maybe it was because he liked her, but I don't think so. House.. it just doesn't sound like him."
"So tell me what was like him." A faint hint of amusement flashed through her eyes, gone before Foreman could even be sure he had seen what he thought he saw.
~ ~~ ~
"I don't want to talk about him." Wilson looked down at the plate in front of him, feeling vaguely guilty for taking the writer up on her offer of dinner. "House... House used to be a friend."
"Until what?"
"I told you, I don't want to talk about it." Wilson set his fork down, looking up into her dark eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, I really can't talk about House." He reached for his wallet to pay his half of the bill, and she shook her head.
"I said I'd pay for dinner." She stood, pulling a hundred from her purse. "Go ahead and finish eating without me. If I stay, I'll keep asking you questions you don't want to answer." She picked up the digital recorder, leaving the money in its place as she walked away.
Wilson wondered if it had been his imagination, or he had really seen sympathy in her face before she left.
~ ~~ ~
"I'm sorry, miss, but the doctors aren't taking visitors." The housekeeper smiled at the woman on the doorstep, the expression never reaching her eyes.
"Oh, I'm not visiting. I just came to deliver a message. Tell Doctor Cameron that he's doing just fine." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she turned to go.
"Miss?"
"Just tell her." The woman paused at her car. "She'll understand."
The housekeeper closed the door as the woman got into her car, frowning in confusion.
"What did she want?" Cameron stood in the doorway to her office, one eyebrow raising in question.
"She said to tell you he's doing just fine. What was she talking about?"
Cameron smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Nothing you need to worry about." She stepped back into her office a moment, coming out with her purse and gym bag. "I have to run some errands. If anyone calls, I won't be availible until Monday."
"Ma'am?"
"I'll be fine."
~ ~~ ~
"You're late." House lifted his head as he heard footsteps on the path, and blinked. "You're not supposed to be here."
"And I learned your games better than you'd like to think." Cameron sat on the bench beside House, setting a gym bag on the ground between them. "She's not going to bring you the Vicodin again."
"I knew I shouldn't have trusted her."
"She works for me."
"You?"
"Us." Cameron shrugged, looking out over the river. "Chase is a decent room mate, especially when his room is on the far side of the house, and we work different schedules. That was how we arranged it."
"I'm surprised you haven't found some other pathetic project to work on."
"I haven't finished the last pathetic project. He still needs someone to look out for him. Even if I could loose my liscence and freedom by doing so."
"You're crazy, you know that."
"You said that a lot, House. And maybe I am. But even if you don't want my help, or anyone else's, I'm not going to let you go quietly into the night."
"Quoting at me isn't going to make me all better."
"Maybe not." Cameron nudged the bag towards him. "Clean clothes, and some money. No need to go stringing my detective along."
"More like she's stringing me along. Did you pay her to bring me Vicodin?"
"Always."
"What else do you have her doing?"
"That's something you'll have to make it through rehab to learn about." Cameron turned to meet his angry gaze. "I'm not about to tell you my secrets, House. Knowledge is power. Knowledge someone else wants is power over that person."
"And you think that you can get me to go to rehab by knowing what she's doing."
"When you're her assignement, no matter what she's doing, I think I might have a chance. Even if you don't, at least I have something left when you finally self-destruct."
House pushed himself up from the bench, starting to walk away, the stiff line of his shoulders and the frigid silence telling Cameron she'd pushed too far. Again.
She sighed, picking up the gym bag. "Maybe next year."
FIN?
Word Count: 1656
Status: Complete, hopefully
Genre: AU, Drama, Angst
Warnings: dark themes, drug use, self-destructive tendencies
Rating: R
"You still haven't told me what happened with Doctor Cameron." She rolled onto her side, propping her head on one hand as she looked down at him, a pale form in the dim light of pre-dawn.
"I don't want to talk about her." House levered himself up, turning his back on her, trying to ignore the dull ache that warned him he needed to take something to dull the pain soon. Something. Anything. "Were you able to get some Vicodin?"
"Maybe. What happened with Doctor Cameron after the trial?" The matress shifted as she got off, her feet making no noise on the cheap carpet, no doubt going to fetch whatever she brought him from her purse.
"She told me that I needed to learn how to survive without the Vicodin. That it would be better for me. You happy?"
She shrugged as she came back into view, a small bag in her hand, with two familiar pale pills in it. "I want more details. But I can be patient." She dropped one of the Vicodin pills into his outstretched hand, watching with an impassive expression as he swallowed it dry. "You could have saved your career, and taken the deal the detective offered you. Why did you let your pride get in the way?"
"Not my pride. My pain." House glared up at her, reaching for his cane. "Why do you keep at this?"
She picked up a shirt from where it had gotten draped over a chair the night before. "Because I want to know your story before you take that last step off the cliff. Even if everyone else who knew you thinks it's a pointless endevor."
"Get out." House scowled, pushing himself to his feet, wondering how he'd come to this, hobbling towards the bathroom of the motel room. "Leave the Vicodin."
"I'll be where I usually am if you want to talk more, Doctor House." She pulled on pants, without underwear, holding his gaze for a long moment. "If you need me."
"I don't need anyone."
Her lips twitched up in a sad half-smile as she closed the laptop that had sat open, listening, all night. "I know."
"You had forged a piece of evidence that could have saved his career. Why did you decide not to use it?" The woman watched Cuddy through unreadable, dark eyes, the digital voice recorder sitting stark on the desk between them.
"House... He needed help, and he wouldn't reach out for it, even when all he had to do was say yes to one simple deal. To accept that he's not above the rules." Cuddy sighed, leaning back in her chair. "He was the best doctor we had, but I couldn't keep watching him slowly destroy himself by denying he had a problem. It wouldn't have done him any favors."
"Do you ever wonder what happened to him?"
"He made it clear he didn't want anything to do with us after he got out of prison. I have other problems to worry about."
"You didn't answer my question, Doctor Cuddy."
"Yes, I do wonder, sometimes. I haven't seen him in almost a decade, and I still worry about him. How much longer is this interview supposed to last? I need to pick up my daughter from school in an hour." Cuddy glared at her, and the woman smiled, reaching out to pick up the recorder.
"I can come back later, if I have more questions." She flicked it off, tucking it into her purse as she stood up. She turned to leave, and Cuddy thought she caught a faint hint of pain flicker across the woman's reflection in the glass door before she opened it, leaving it withut another word.
"Thank you for seeing me, Doctor Foreman."
"Not a problem. You made quite a trip just to talk to me, the least I can do is give you a few hours of my time." Foreman escorted the petite woman into the small dining room, offering her a seat and a drink. "There's milk or apple juice. Or water, if you want."
"Water will be fine. I just need to keep my throat from getting dry." She paused, setting the case she carried on the table. "Would you mind if I recorded the interview?"
"No, not at all." Foreman stepped into the kitchen, coming back with two cups of water. "What's this about, anyway?"
"I'm interviewing people who knew Gregory House." She accepted the cup, studying his face as she spoke. "Your name came up as someone who'd worked with him in the past."
"You could say that." Foreman sat down, glad his wife had the children out at the zoo. "What did you want to know?"
"What kind of man he was, before the trial, and the conviction."
"He was an ass, but he was a good doctor, most of the time." Foreman shrugged. "He pushed us all to our limits, and beyond. I don't think I'd be where I am if I hadn't taken the fellowship under him."
She pressed her lips together, a small line appearing between her brows. "He treated everyone the same?"
"Pretty much. I mean, sometimes he picked on one of us more than the others, but in the end, it was all even." Foreman paused. "There was that one time after Cameron quit that he agreed to a date with her to get her to come back to work."
"Why?"
Foreman shrugged. "I don't know. He never really made it clear why. I mean, there was a little speculation that maybe it was because he liked her, but I don't think so. House.. it just doesn't sound like him."
"So tell me what was like him." A faint hint of amusement flashed through her eyes, gone before Foreman could even be sure he had seen what he thought he saw.
"I don't want to talk about him." Wilson looked down at the plate in front of him, feeling vaguely guilty for taking the writer up on her offer of dinner. "House... House used to be a friend."
"Until what?"
"I told you, I don't want to talk about it." Wilson set his fork down, looking up into her dark eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, I really can't talk about House." He reached for his wallet to pay his half of the bill, and she shook her head.
"I said I'd pay for dinner." She stood, pulling a hundred from her purse. "Go ahead and finish eating without me. If I stay, I'll keep asking you questions you don't want to answer." She picked up the digital recorder, leaving the money in its place as she walked away.
Wilson wondered if it had been his imagination, or he had really seen sympathy in her face before she left.
"I'm sorry, miss, but the doctors aren't taking visitors." The housekeeper smiled at the woman on the doorstep, the expression never reaching her eyes.
"Oh, I'm not visiting. I just came to deliver a message. Tell Doctor Cameron that he's doing just fine." She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she turned to go.
"Miss?"
"Just tell her." The woman paused at her car. "She'll understand."
The housekeeper closed the door as the woman got into her car, frowning in confusion.
"What did she want?" Cameron stood in the doorway to her office, one eyebrow raising in question.
"She said to tell you he's doing just fine. What was she talking about?"
Cameron smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Nothing you need to worry about." She stepped back into her office a moment, coming out with her purse and gym bag. "I have to run some errands. If anyone calls, I won't be availible until Monday."
"Ma'am?"
"I'll be fine."
"You're late." House lifted his head as he heard footsteps on the path, and blinked. "You're not supposed to be here."
"And I learned your games better than you'd like to think." Cameron sat on the bench beside House, setting a gym bag on the ground between them. "She's not going to bring you the Vicodin again."
"I knew I shouldn't have trusted her."
"She works for me."
"You?"
"Us." Cameron shrugged, looking out over the river. "Chase is a decent room mate, especially when his room is on the far side of the house, and we work different schedules. That was how we arranged it."
"I'm surprised you haven't found some other pathetic project to work on."
"I haven't finished the last pathetic project. He still needs someone to look out for him. Even if I could loose my liscence and freedom by doing so."
"You're crazy, you know that."
"You said that a lot, House. And maybe I am. But even if you don't want my help, or anyone else's, I'm not going to let you go quietly into the night."
"Quoting at me isn't going to make me all better."
"Maybe not." Cameron nudged the bag towards him. "Clean clothes, and some money. No need to go stringing my detective along."
"More like she's stringing me along. Did you pay her to bring me Vicodin?"
"Always."
"What else do you have her doing?"
"That's something you'll have to make it through rehab to learn about." Cameron turned to meet his angry gaze. "I'm not about to tell you my secrets, House. Knowledge is power. Knowledge someone else wants is power over that person."
"And you think that you can get me to go to rehab by knowing what she's doing."
"When you're her assignement, no matter what she's doing, I think I might have a chance. Even if you don't, at least I have something left when you finally self-destruct."
House pushed himself up from the bench, starting to walk away, the stiff line of his shoulders and the frigid silence telling Cameron she'd pushed too far. Again.
She sighed, picking up the gym bag. "Maybe next year."