as_damaged | ☎ voicemail [v 2.0]

[That, in fact, is exactly her first thought on opening the door; it's a mild note of surprise in her expression. Nothing to mention, but not quite what she expected given the spontaneity of the invitation. It's lucky that by habit she's rarely underdressed, or it might be an awkward moment.]

Would you like to come in for a minute? I'm nearly ready.

[As attested to by bare feet and the lack of a jacket on her arm. It feels rude to leave him in the hallway, even if she's out of the habit of having him visit.]

[He nods, moving past her into the apartment with the usual cursory glance around to see what's changed, what might have been accrued. To see her, as much as her taste has always been representative of that.]

Of course, no need to rush. [And then he lets himself look back at her - no lingering glances when she'd opened the door.] You look great already.

[Impractically dressed for the outside world, yes, but great.]

[Her home is the same quiet place it's been for years, neutral colors and understated art on the walls. The same line drawings, the same sofa, still miraculously unshredded by Grey's claws. Another woman might blush at the compliment; Cameron nearly gives him a look of sharp surprise, but manages to keep it to herself. So much for casual; or perhaps not, which is surprising in itself. It's not the kind of thing she expects, but then, she never knows what to expect.]

Thank you,

[she murmurs with a slight smile, though she doesn't return the compliment in kind.] Just a moment... [This calls for fancier shoes, which she steps away to find, casting a quick glance-- appreciative, and a bit curious-- at him as she passes.]

So, where are we headed?

[In all fairness, he'd have given her the compliment for politeness alone if there hadn't been cause to mean it. Although - in all fairness - that would have to be a very bad day on Cameron's part. Another woman might blush. He'd be the surprised one if it was her.]

Le Petit Oiseau? French. [He says as if she won't have seen the place before, a slight, uncharacteristic nervousness giving itself away in his tone. French, expensive, almost certainly requiring a reservation.] I booked it before I remembered that I should have asked what you wanted.

[Not-so-casual it is, then. Perhaps not even so spontaneous. Now, that's a thought that has her wondering if she ought to be worrying, though she has no idea what she might worry about.

She's made the right call on her shoes, at least.]

French is fine.

[Half-hidden by the closet door, Cameron pulls a light jacket on.]

Shall we?

[Spontaneous enough - he'd just been on the phone again minutes after tapping out the last reply to her. The decision to ask, however, may have involved some prior thought. The timing was a situation taken advantage of.]

If you're sure you've got everything? I don't want to be accused of rushing you half way down the street - there's time.

I'm good.

[Looping her handbag around her wrist, keys in hand, she glances back at him.]

Unless you were just hoping for some quality time with the cat.

[He smiles and glances behind her to see Gray sitting expectantly on the couch.]

No, but next time I bring salmon treats with the take-out you'll know who I really came to see. Well, if you're ready-

[He'll be there to hold the door.]

Don't get her hopes up unless you mean it.

[A last glance around the room confirms she hasn't left anything she needs (not that dinner is much of a trip,) and she slips past him through the open door with a slight quirk of her lips.]

If she's seen the weight my cat's put on lately, she'll know I follow through.

[And he closes the door, hesitating for a minute as if he's forgotten something until it clicks that locking it isn't his job.]

Sometimes I wake up, and he's staring at me.

[She doesn't quite notice the pause, distracted by the fact that it is her job. And one she takes quite seriously, given that the City is the City; it at least provides the illusion of safety, of privacy.]

Don't let him bully you into letting him get fat, it's not healthy.

Have there been any recorded incidents of cats eating their owners? I'm getting scared to sleep through breakfast.

[Genuine question. No, okay, but genuine smile as they head for the streets.]

Only posthumously, as far as I know.

[The light tone keeps it, more or less, from being morbid. Not awfully so, at least. The time spent willing herself to relax is starting to bear results, at least-- it helps that human company is much more effective than the cat's-- so her small smile matches.]

You could always lock your door, if you're worried about being the first.

[Gallows humour, a basic requirement of anyone wanting to survive a specialism outside chiropody. And the cat is something they share, in some small way. He's always grateful to see a flash of grey fur when he visits her, and know that tenuous link still exists.]

And wake up some morning cursed and trapped in my own room. Not that that would necessarily be for the worse.

[He glances across at her as they walk.]

Sorry, for offloading the Wilson thing on you. You're better at getting through to him.

That's one way to keep oneself out of trouble.

[Honestly, she's less worried than she would be at home if something were to happen to the oncologist; here, at least, there's the assurance that somewhere he's well. And the City, in some strange way, has always seemed to suit House.]

I just hope better will be enough.

Me, too.

[That's what this evening is in aid of, after all, isn't it? 'Could be better'.]

Wilson's been back before, hasn't he? I wonder why you and House skipped your turn.

I suppose we're just lucky.

[The wry tone covers the fact that she's honestly not sure whether being stuck is luck or a lack thereof; it's certainly not a question she can raise with him.]

Some things do more or less follow a pattern, here, but comings and goings do seem to be random.

What would you pick, if you had the choice?

[He raises the question lightly, as if it's no less casual a conversation than discussing the feeding habits of pet cats.]

Solid run here, or gap years to catch up back home?

Wouldn't that depend on what I was catching up on?

[Her tone is equally, forcibly light, though she's not looking at him when she answers. The pause before she speaks again is too brief to invite an answer. She doesn't need it, not really.]

I'd rather not come back, I think. I want to be done with the City, once the City's done with me.

You wouldn't get to know what you'd go back to. That's part of the point. Presumably it's going to happen eventually.

[He pockets his hands, though it's not as cold as this time of year sometimes gets. Maybe the real bite will kick in come November.]

Solid run, then.

If I had a choice in the matter. [Which, as far as she knows, she doesn't.] Though I doubt one way is actually, objectively better than the other.

Depends how far you subscribe to the theory that ignorance is bliss. Or knowledge is power. Probably a few other cliches.

[No one gets a choice in the matter, but there is one choice he could offer her that only a select few get. Gauging whether it's a good idea or not is a trickier matter - and one for later. He catches her arm, probably unnecessarily, to pull her up outside the restaurant.]

Looks busy. I hope that means its good.

I'd guess the only true one is that the grass is always greener on the other side.

[She's wanted to know and she's wanted to forget, at various points. Going home-- living through it-- would take care of her curiosity, but she's willing to bet she'd regret the loss of whatever naivety is left to her, at least in part. Ignorance isn't bliss, but it isn't hopelessness either.]

Well, there's only one way to find out.

[He holds the door, barely given time to gesture her through ahead of him before being met by an attentive maitre d'. The reservations are for Chase, and their table for two aligns them with a view of the kitchen, but a small degree of privacy from the rest of the dining room, however much that may be down to the careful angling of their seats.

Chase almost looks put out when he's beaten to holding hers out for her.]

[Leave a little for the rest of the world to do, Chase. She's starting to wonder if she's forgotten-- or maybe, never known-- a special occasion.]

Maybe I've been settling for takeout too often.

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