After the Fourth Wedding, 4/4
Feb. 13th, 2007 12:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deelaundryPosted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
housefic
Title: After the Fourth Wedding, part 4 of 4
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: PG
Summary: Six linked drabbles (600 words exactly)
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
houseficTitle: After the Fourth Wedding, part 4 of 4
Author: Dee Laundry
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: PG
Summary: Six linked drabbles (600 words exactly)
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
At thirty-six weeks, Immunology throws her a baby shower. Chase wanders in from the ICU for a quick hug and cake, then wanders back out.
She's opening the second present when House comes in and sits next to her. "Sorry I'm late," he says. "Patient."
They all stare at the impostor; he shrugs. "Cake, presents, and singing Drusilla's praises, what's not to like?" Cameron smiles at their daughter's "prenatal" name and hands him another gift, wrapped in diaper-clad ducks. House eyes it warily but picks at the tape.
The crocheted cane gets a place of honor over the baby’s crib.
"I win."
Wilson’s pose is familiar, from a deep, distant memory. Cameron frowns until it emerges: third grade, when winning at four-square made you ruler of the whole world.
She's out of their eyesight, but sees both of them perfectly. House's eyes hold confusion; he's got the same memory imprint but hasn't puzzled it out. He seems to know what’s behind the words, though.
"You're happy. Don't try to deny it, because you can't. You're happy, which means I win." Wilson is gloating, grinning.
House's head is down; he can't say a thing. Because Wilson is ruler of the world.
Elizabeth Cameron House makes her intentions known at seven a.m. and presents herself to the world at a very polite eight p.m. Near-fisticuffs with the obstetrician forgotten, House looms over the OB nurses as they check her out, trying to direct the action, until the shortest one shoves him back.
“Go hold your wife’s hand,” she orders, and to Cameron’s great surprise, he does. He tells her how proud he is, and when Elizabeth is brought over, they both reach out. Cameron cuddles her close, and when House says, “I love you,” it doesn’t matter which of them he means.
At six weeks old, Elizabeth's sleeping schedule stabilizes, and Cameron finally feels like she can think again. Enough to get some chores done, at least.
She's thrilled to check the final name off the thank-you note list, until she notices someone's missing. Damn.
"I’m writing baby gift thank-you’s. Why can’t I remember what Wilson gave us?”
House looks up. "It was months ago; I already thanked him."
"But what was it?”
House’s eyes have returned to the journal. “This house. Five percent of it, anyway. I’m not sure whether Allison knows, so don’t mention it.”
Cameron goes back to bed.
“You love Wilson,” Cameron whispers as House slides into bed next to her. He demolishes her defenses with his gaze.
“Yes.”
She ducks her head. “We should get divorced.”
“Why?”
“Because –”
“Do you love your father?”
“Yes.”
“And you love me. My relationships with Wilson and with you are different things. It’s not a zero-sum game.”
“You’d save Wilson first from a burning building.”
“I’d save Elizabeth first. And yet you still want to be married to me.”
“That’s different.”
“Not unless you make it so. I’m with you because you make me happy.”
That it's true is enough.
He hardly ever tells her she’s pretty any more.
He tells her she’s raising a headstrong girl who will never know her place.
He works late – and goes off with Wilson for hours – more than she likes, but he drops everything to stay home with Elizabeth when she’s sick.
He tells her she works too much. He tells her she’s stubborn, and irritating, and mystifying, until the middle of the night, in the middle of their bed, when he can only choke out happy incoherent syllables.
He hardly ever tells her she’s pretty.
She likes it much better this way.
How the story ends so often depends on when the story ends. If you're satisfied with this ending, stop. If not, go see the epilogue.
She's opening the second present when House comes in and sits next to her. "Sorry I'm late," he says. "Patient."
They all stare at the impostor; he shrugs. "Cake, presents, and singing Drusilla's praises, what's not to like?" Cameron smiles at their daughter's "prenatal" name and hands him another gift, wrapped in diaper-clad ducks. House eyes it warily but picks at the tape.
The crocheted cane gets a place of honor over the baby’s crib.
"I win."
Wilson’s pose is familiar, from a deep, distant memory. Cameron frowns until it emerges: third grade, when winning at four-square made you ruler of the whole world.
She's out of their eyesight, but sees both of them perfectly. House's eyes hold confusion; he's got the same memory imprint but hasn't puzzled it out. He seems to know what’s behind the words, though.
"You're happy. Don't try to deny it, because you can't. You're happy, which means I win." Wilson is gloating, grinning.
House's head is down; he can't say a thing. Because Wilson is ruler of the world.
Elizabeth Cameron House makes her intentions known at seven a.m. and presents herself to the world at a very polite eight p.m. Near-fisticuffs with the obstetrician forgotten, House looms over the OB nurses as they check her out, trying to direct the action, until the shortest one shoves him back.
“Go hold your wife’s hand,” she orders, and to Cameron’s great surprise, he does. He tells her how proud he is, and when Elizabeth is brought over, they both reach out. Cameron cuddles her close, and when House says, “I love you,” it doesn’t matter which of them he means.
At six weeks old, Elizabeth's sleeping schedule stabilizes, and Cameron finally feels like she can think again. Enough to get some chores done, at least.
She's thrilled to check the final name off the thank-you note list, until she notices someone's missing. Damn.
"I’m writing baby gift thank-you’s. Why can’t I remember what Wilson gave us?”
House looks up. "It was months ago; I already thanked him."
"But what was it?”
House’s eyes have returned to the journal. “This house. Five percent of it, anyway. I’m not sure whether Allison knows, so don’t mention it.”
Cameron goes back to bed.
“You love Wilson,” Cameron whispers as House slides into bed next to her. He demolishes her defenses with his gaze.
“Yes.”
She ducks her head. “We should get divorced.”
“Why?”
“Because –”
“Do you love your father?”
“Yes.”
“And you love me. My relationships with Wilson and with you are different things. It’s not a zero-sum game.”
“You’d save Wilson first from a burning building.”
“I’d save Elizabeth first. And yet you still want to be married to me.”
“That’s different.”
“Not unless you make it so. I’m with you because you make me happy.”
That it's true is enough.
He hardly ever tells her she’s pretty any more.
He tells her she’s raising a headstrong girl who will never know her place.
He works late – and goes off with Wilson for hours – more than she likes, but he drops everything to stay home with Elizabeth when she’s sick.
He tells her she works too much. He tells her she’s stubborn, and irritating, and mystifying, until the middle of the night, in the middle of their bed, when he can only choke out happy incoherent syllables.
He hardly ever tells her she’s pretty.
She likes it much better this way.
How the story ends so often depends on when the story ends. If you're satisfied with this ending, stop. If not, go see the epilogue.