A/N: Short fic on Cameron and House. Read and Review!


Falling

Every time she sees him, her heart lurches (and she hates it when it does that) and she gasps quietly (traitor) and she watches.

Oh, yes—she watches him all the time (and she wishes she didn't) and she lies to her boyfriend (what would he think if he knew?) It's her secret obession, watching him (and ogling him, and basically stalking her old boss) but she can't shake it. She can't help the way her heart flutters when he looks at her (and how her stomach clenches, and how she feels like he can see right through everything) and she just wants it to stop.

And she also wants to kiss him (and so much more than that) but she's not strong enough. (She wants to be.)

God, she hates herself. She's disgusted by the way she responds to her boyfriend (exactly like any red-blooded woman would) and how she closes her eyes (and pretends it's Greg on top of her.) She hates the way Chase kisses her (tenderly, like he really does love her) and wishes it was different. (Harsh. Rough. The graze of stubble along a cheekbone.) She wonders what his kisses would be like (does he taste like Vicodin?) and then dimisses the thought (but not without some reluctance.)

In the middle of the night, in the dark and the shadows and the blackness, she pretends that the form that lays beside her is him. Her eyes follow the curve of her boyfriend's body and she notes the mistakes (too much muscle, and the skin is too tight, too young.) She avoids his face and hair—the differences are too stark, too clear. She can't forget that blond wavy hair is where dark scruff should be. She can't avoid the green in Chase's eyes, when all she really wants is light blue staring back at her.

She's deathly afraid she will scream his name (and she wonders what would happen if she did.) The threat looms constantly—she sees him (even when Chase murmurs sweet nothings in her ears) and she doesn't want what Chase would give her (a white picket fence in front of an all-American house, and two-point-five kids.) She wants something more (she wants what he wants) something different (a small apartment near the hosiptal, with a piano and a cabinet full of meds.) She doesn't want to be trapped (into that God-awful image of who she should be.) She prays to be free (and she doesn't even believe in God.)

She doesn't want Chase to get hurt (but that's impossible now.) She's dragged everyone down this spiral of her need and desire and forbidden pleasures she's never had (she didn't mean to, she really didn't!)

But mostly, all she wants is him (in her mind, in her heart.)

It's the little things that get her (those winks, that cheeky grin) and she stops and looks. She can just picture her face (open, vulnerable) and she knows he can see right through her eyes (and maybe even into her soul.)

When he looks at her like that, she thinks he may see the desire that lurks just beneath the surface (and the lust and the love, interwined so much she really can't tell the difference anymore.) She thinks that if he asked her, she would give up the world for him (and maybe the moon and stars as well.) She knows that she would follow if he beckoned with his hand, and she forces down the impulse to kiss him right there in the hospital (she wishes she didn't have to.)

She goes to great lengths to avoid him (and sometimes walks in a roundabout way just to pass by his office.) She plays his games (but only ever indirectly) and she teases his new fellows (do they report back to him?) and she talks to Wilson (not out of any friendship with the man—he's just the closest she can get to Greg without talking to him himself.)

She doesn't talk to Cuddy (she's not jealous, she tells herself; it's not jealousy.)

She hates that Foreman has found someone (though she hates to begrudge him happiness.) She hates that she misses her days as a duckling (and she hates that she isn't one anymore.)

But mostly, she hates the feelings of regret she always seems to carry.

And she wants to hate him, and what he's done to her, but she can't find it in her to hate him. (She knows she should.)

She doesn't love him either, of course.

Really, she doesn't.

She's telling the truth, you know.