brokentoy | it's good to sink in yet another habit

Title: it's good to sink in yet another kind of habit. Author:

brokentoy85Rating: PG Character pairing: House/Cameron Summary: he develops another kind of ~~addiction~~ habit. Spoilers: S1 and S2, up to no reason. Disclaimer: not house, not his cane, not his bike, i own nothing of him -.- this is not beta'd :)

First time it happened, was the evening of his speech at the PPTH class. Right after Stacy came back. You came home after a night out with Chase and Foreman and found him slaunched outside your apartment door, eyes closed and possibly really, really drunk. He opened his eyes upon hearing your steps towards him, and looked at you through the alchool induced haze he was in. - I loved her. He said while you opened the door. You held it open for him to follow, and he did. Without saying another word, you led him in your bedroom, taking out a set of clean linings and a couple of pillows from your closet. That night he slept in your bed, while you where confined on the couch in the living room. In the morning you woke up and he was gone. At work nothing changed. * Second time was after Mark was well diagnosed and ready to therapy. You had gone out to do some grocery shopping, and he was there, his back to the door, head hung low, and cane rotating in his hand. His iPod headphones hanging from his neck. He raised his head, looked at you. He was drunk already. At 5pm. - She won't leave him. He said. You opened the door and he followed you. He collapsed on the couch while you busied yourself with dinner. He slept half the night on the couch, while you where napping on the bean bag you didn't use that often anymore, just in case his leg would hurt and he felt the need to sleep on the bed. He did. At about 4am you heard him limping through your bedroom. Your eyes still closed, giving him the privacy he needed. Next morning, when you woke up to your jogging routine, he was gone. * Third time was after the whole ordeal with Andy. You thought that little girl did not affect him that much, but as sometimes happens, you where wrong. He was not drunk, just silent. Didn't say a word until you where inside your apartment. He took off his blazer and button down, standing in his red t-shirt and jeans. Kicked off his shoes on the carpet, and took something out from his bag. - Found this today. He said, shoving something on your coffee table. Without another word, he walked to your bedroom, shut the door, and closed himself from the world. On the table layed a motorcycles brochure. One of the bikes had a red-ink ring around it. A Honda CBR1000RR Repsol Replica. That night you slept on the couch with the brochure in your hand. Next morning, it was not there anymore, just like him. That day at work, while he was having lunch with Wilson, you put your apartment spare key with a brand new honda-logo keychain in his blazer, left on the chair in his office. There was no point in letting him wait outside anymore, you thought. * Fourth time you didn't find him outside your apartment. He came late the night after you slept with Chase. 1am and you awoke to the sound of a cane pounding to your door. You opened it, and found him there. Never saw him that drunk before. And angry. He was really angry. And he did not had any intention of using the key. You where tired, still dealing with the aftermath of what happened in the last two days, with the first round of pills to contrast your possible HIV already in circle. You didn't have any strenght to deal with his crap right now. You left the door open, and refused to give up your bed. Tonight he could help himself on the couch. The moment before you entered your bedroom you heard him talk. - You didn't call me. You paused, thought it over, and said. - You wouldn't have answered. A moment of silence and then he spoke. - I know. You closed the door and laid on the bed. You where asleep in 5 minutes, thanks to stress and pills all together. Next morning, the couch was empty, and on the spot where he slept -seemed still warm, but you refused to unknowledge it- was a medical brochure with all the different types of HIV tests you'll have to take. * Fifth time was after his conference in Baltimore. You did not expect to find him waiting for you to come back from your weekly appointment with the HIV related doctor. He was sitting on the carpet outside your door, holding a chinese takeout bag. It seemed he refused to use your key, choosing to wait outside. Inside the apartment he was the only one eating. You didn't even remember the last time you were hungry for something other than salad. After dinner -his dinner, anyway- he got up, looked at you, and opened the door to your room. - I kissed her - was the last thing you heard before he closed the door and went to sleep. That night you fell asleep a mere half an hour before he walked out in the morning. * Sixth time he had your HIV test result in his hand. Inside the apartment he gave it you, whispering something that was wonderfully similar to 'negative' while your hand was shaking and you understood that he ripped open the letter to find out the result before you. You were still shaking when he spoke alound for the first time. -You're not dying. And as you heard the door shut down you thought that maybe there was relief in his voice. Morning comes, and he's gone. * Seventh time is after a while. Stacy was gone for good, and he had been distracting himself in different ways that did not include you. You found him with a bottle of champaign in his hand, sitting cross legged on the floor, drunk and still clad in his smoking after you spent all night curing Ian and he spent it chasing the memory of Esther from his mind. You opened the door in silence, and you both went in. Next thing you knew your back was touching the wall and his face was inches from yours. You could smell champaign in his breath as he leaned in, barely touching your ear with his lips, while the tips of his left fingers lingered on your hair. - Red suits you. He says. You closed your eyes, and when you finally trusted yourself to open them again he was already inside your bedroom, with the door closed. When you woke up, the apartment was empty again. * Eight time was after Foreman almost died. You where gone out for a run to wash the stress away with your sweat, and when you came home you found him asleep, with his head resting on the door. You idly asked yourself why he still refused to let himself in with the key you gave him, but you wisely choose to not give the matter a second thought. You gently caressed his hair while trying to wake him up, and were surprised when his hand shot up and he caught your wrist. He had his eyes still closed, but said: - I saved you. He then got up, and you went inside, your wrist still trapped in his hand. After your shower, he was already sleeping in your bed. You propped yourself on the couch, and saw a movie in muted mode, so you could hear his relaxed breathing on the other side of the door. When you woke up it was already 6,30am, and he was gone. * A couple of weeks later he was shot. * You stayed by his side while he was unconscious, taking care of him, talking to him. When he woke up he stated you were pathetic. You did not mind, 'cause you actually are pathetic when it comes to him. He was treated with ketamine, and was sent home for six weeks. You did not find him outside your apartment anymore. * You knew that now he was able to walk properly again. Hell, he could run now. You mentally kicked yourself for hoping he would need you now that he had back the one thing he always wanted. * Last time it happened, you did not expect it to. You woke up to the sound of someone sitting on your bed, laying next to you. Next thing you knew, you where facing him, and were cradled in his arms. You did not say anything, you just enjoyed his warmt. - I will not run anymore. You kept yourself from talking, closing your eyes and waiting for him to continue. He did not. He kissed you on the lips, and after a couple of minutes he was sleeping. Before falling asleep you briefly addressed the fact that this time he used his key. * When you woke up next morning, he was not there anymore. He was in the kitchen, making pancakes.

Current Mood: anxious
Current Location: my room