TITLE: Objects, subjects – chapter 4 of 4

AUTHOR: KateKane

FANDOM: The X-files, House (crossover)

PAIRING: Dana Scully/Allison Cameron (femslash)

DISCLAIMER: I'm a poor student and neither own Scully nor Cameron, although, by God, I wish I did...

RATING: PG13.

SPOILERS: None. (And for the record, I am pretending the disastrous seasons 6-9 of The X-files and subsequent movies never took place. The same thing goes for the ridiculous romantic storyline revolving around Cameron and what's-his-name British colleague.)

***

Minutes, hours, days, and finally, one day, I have regained enough strength to button my own shirt, get out of my bet at take a bath on my own. The active verbs are once again mine to claim, and I can leave the hospital.

Mulder, who apparently managed to convince the psychiatrists that hunting aliens is completely normal, has come to pick me up, but first I have an errand and I ask him to wait for me in the lobby, while I go back after something I forgot.

Nothing could be further from the truth – on the contrary, of these foggy weeks this is the only thing I remember with clarity. And no inner sceptical monologues can make me ignore that. So I leave Mulder behind and look for Allison.

I don't get far down the corridor, before a middle-aged man practically tackles me with his cane.

"Are you a police officer?" he asks without introducing himself.

"Close – I'm with the FBI," I reply. Apparently shedding the hospital shirt and getting my old clothes back has automatically reinstalled my authority.

"Just as good," he says. "Why don't you arrest Cuddy?"

I don't understand anything. "Cuddy?"

"The hospital administrator, the one with the distracting cleavage, that... never mind, just arrest her!"

The man could be insane, but I actually don't think he is. Rather, he is one of those rare people who care nothing whatsoever about what other people think – there is a stubborn, devil-may-care glimpse in his pale blue eyes that reminds me of Mulder, and it makes me smile. "Why should I arrest her?"

"Why?? Because she's a pain in the ass, that's why." He draws little circles on the floor with the tip of his cane. "Plus I always fantasised about seeing her in hand-cuffed... Hot!"

The outrageous absurdity of the intermezzo almost makes me play along, but I have a more important errand. "I'd love to help, but I am actually looking for Dr. Cameron."

The name seems to take him by surprise. "Cameron?" He sounds astonished. "Which law did she break?? Did she send money to starving kids in Africa and forget to tell the taxman?"

My smile widens. "Actually, I just want to talk to her."

He doesn't seem convinced and looks me up and down sceptically. "Sure, that's what they always say... But you can find her in the clinic, doing my shift. People who can't say no are asking for it!" With that he turns around, and I don't wait around long enough to find out where he is heading (I suspect a room with comatose patients). I am already heading directly for the hospital clinic.

***

She is not facing in my direction, when I close the door behind me, and her opening line sounds rehearsed: "What can I do for you? If I can please have your social security number, then I will download your medical records from the central server."

"If you really think it's necessary, but personally I don't mind skipping formalities..."

Hearing my voice, she instantly drops folder in her hand and spins around. "Oh, it's you! I'm sorry, I thought you were a patient..."

"That's okay – after all I were a patient until very recently, but now I must be something else," I say and hold her gaze with one intended to make all the possible interpretations of my statement crisp clear.

"So you are signed out. That's nice," she says lightly and, if I'm not totally mistaken, a little nervously, cause she averts her eyes. "You also seem to have recovered completely."

I confirm her observation. "I have, and that's why it's about time I correct an imbalance." I step closer. "Not just passive verbs," I add, and of course this makes no sense to her, but that doesn't matter. She looks absolutely adorable with her wrinkled forehead as she is trying to make sense of my private metaphor. I smile from ear to ear, when I reach her and clarify things. "You did something for me, and I always return a favour." I am so uncharacteristically bold it almost shocks me, and I quickly add: "Perhaps I can buy you a dinner, when you get off?"

She looks at me for a while, and I cannot read the expression on her face – melancholy? Doubt? But then her hand reaches for my cheek, and she caresses it gently. Oh, those hands again, the memory of them already makes my body hum, and it is so tempting to let her fingers continue down my neck and further. But I pull myself together, cause this time I will not only be touched, I also want to touch. So I take her hand from my cheek, hold it to my lips and kiss her palm. And a giddy happiness fills me from within, when I notice how Allison's cheeks blush ever so slightly – now I know for certain that our electricity is mutual. This, however, makes her sad expression and the sigh she lets out incomprehensible.

"What's wrong?" I ask and let my fingers slide in between hers, so I can caress the thin, sensitive skin at the root of them.

"I'd really love to, but I have no idea when I get out of here... And now I just scored five hours in the clinic on top of everything else." The frustration is audible in her voice – this is clearly not an excuse, but an actual problem. I remember the stubborn man in the hospital corridor and put two and two together. Then, suddenly, I feel a cocky smile widening on my face.

Fortunately, it rubs off on her. "What is it?"

I step even closer, so close that it would violate all etiquette rules, if I spoke. But this time I don't give a damn. "I was just thinking... Since you've been forced to spend five hours in this uninspiring room, you might as well make the most of it."

She raises one eyebrow – apparently I am not the only one capable of that gesture – and looks at me with blue eyes that seem questioning and knowing at the same time. I enjoy the sight for a second, before delivering the punch-line: "I mean, in this room at least you have your own couch..."