You've Got Something With Me

Sequel to "You've Got a Friend in Me"

Story Title: You've Got Something With Me

Story Summary: It seems they got more than a friend out of each other. What they got exactly, and whatever that entails is the question. All they know is that they most definitely have something. Camteen.


Author's Starting Notes: Surprised to see me? Honestly, I'm surprised myself. It's been a while since I've been on . I stopped working on this a little while after I finished the first one. I wrote these first two pieces and just didn't write more. I figured that was a little unfair. I'm not necessarily saying that this next installment will be what you guys hoped for, but I am saying that I'm not giving up on this, not yet at least.

The sequel begins three weeks after the last one ended. Step into the shoes of Allison Cameron for a day. The hiccups were treated, but that treatment only brought on new problems. Problems that she cannot so easily identify and label. Well, not at the beginning of the chapter at least. Read and review.

Time Stamp: Posted July 21st, 2009


I: Signs

Signs are everywhere. Signs control life pretty much. They tell you where to use the restroom, who is who, even the very day you were born has a sign. People have them too. But, not as obviously as you would like. If only Remy Hadley had come with a sign attached to her. Maybe one that read: 'Careful: Addiction is Highly Plausible', or a 'Stay The Hell Away'; something that could have warned you about this behavior that set in. Actually, now that you think about it, she did have a sign once upon a time. It had only read two digits, but shouldn't the blazing 1-3 have given you a clue as to how much bad news getting to know this doctor would be? And, now, it's not even that you know her too well. It's quite the opposite. You don't know her. You never see her. She's avoiding you, for Pete's sake. All because of that stupid slip-up, that stupid moment where your brain shut off and you caved in to the most idiotic, whimsical cure you have ever heard.

"I know a way to get rid of hiccups," you had whispered.

"Right, you have mad hiccup-killing powers," she returned sarcastically.

"Wanna see?" you had asked.

"Go ahead, I doubt it'll work anyway," she replied.

You stepped forward then, and threw all your inhibitions to hell. You did something you hadn't even considered yourself capable of doing. You kissed her. And, after that, what did she say?

"My hiccups are definitely gone."

What was that to say about your kissing abilities? They left people without any air in the lungs (even the lodged kind)? Or were they so frightening that it scared the hiccups out of her? Either way, you didn't stay around long enough to figure it out. Nor did she try to find you to let you know.

Now, you stand in the middle of the doctor's lounge the evil scene took place in, alone, and uncertain. Uncertain of pretty much everything. The thought of labeling everything around you is so very tempting that you want to go raid the nurse's station for some labels and tag everything and everyone. You'll tag House "ass", Cuddy "mommy", Foreman "ass-lite", and Chase--Chase!

Oh, God!

Chase. Robert Chase. Your boyfriend Robert Chase. It has been about three weeks since last you two had a decent conversation. That is most definitely not good, under any circumstances.

You whip out your phone, dialing his number in. It rings a few times before it goes to voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached Dr. Robert Chase. Feel free to leave a message with your name and number after the beep. And, uh, if this is Al, do you think you can call me back? I've been calling for quite some time now. Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just, talk to me," comes the Australian's voice. You can physically feel the guilt pulling the phone closer to your ear.

"Chase- Rob - it's me, Alison. I'm sorry I've been out of touch lately. My mind has been… occupied. Look, you didn't do anything, and I'm so sorry you felt like it was your fault," you apologize profusely, "I'm feeling much better now. How about dinner, tonight? There's this great cafe that just opened on Main Street. I'll make us a reservation."

You nod to yourself, proud of your plan. It will be the perfect distraction. A night of food, fun, and conversation with Chase is exactly what you need to snap you out of this Hadley-induced slump. You can spend an entire three to four hours without thoughts of her invading your mind. It will be heaven.

"See you then, Rob," you conclude, flipping your phone shut. You look at the time and figure you can make the reservation for your usual time. Eight-thirty was always your time for earlier date nights in your relationship. It should do fine now. You stow your phone again and rush out to get ready.

You suppose signs are even more helpful at restaurants. Especially restaurants that have signs that say things like 'stood-up', 'long-term', and 'blind-date' on tables. After a good twenty minutes of sitting at your table for two, your waiter returns with your drink of choice and the first sign of the bunch. He places it on the table and gives you a sad smile. You cannot bring yourself to return it.

"I was not stood up," you inform him.

"Correct," affirms a voice from behind you. You turn quickly, seeing Remy of all people standing behind your table.

"Huh?" is your unintelligent reply.

"Chase called up to the diagnostics department to say he wouldn't be able to make it," she continues. You still don't really get it.

"Why'd he call there?" you wonder.

"He figured you'd be up there. Kutner was the one who got the call. He didn't remember it until after we did another round of stupid tests, though, so, sorry you had to sit here like the dumped and ditched," she apologizes.

"It's okay. I suppose I should have just scheduled talking instead of dinner. Chase is better at making time for that," you mention. She gives an absent sort of nod. You take this time to study her. It has been a while since you've seen her up close. Always in motion, and avoiding you, makes it nearly impossible to get a glimpse of her for real these days.

She looks the same, you note. No big changes, and, for that, you smile. You didn't miss anything during the last three weeks.

Her throat clears awkwardly, and you are brought back to the café. You cleanse yours as well, after you notice how awkward it must be for her to be stared at by both you and the waiter.

"Would you like to sit down?" you inquire, motioning towards Chase's chair.

She shakes her head.

"No, I'm actually just passing through to relay the message. I've got reservations of my own," she shares. You can't say you're surprised.

When Eric Foreman rounds the corner and plants a soft kiss on her lips, though, you decide you are able to admit it now.

"You guys are really, I mean you didn't--"

Rumor had it that they had broken up. Everyone knew about it. Yet, it doesn't seem to be true.

"Foreman," Remy warns softly.

"What?" he responds, "It's just Cameron. You'll keep it a secret, right?"

As both pairs of eyes land on you, you find yourself nodding for the umpteenth time today. It shouldn't be too hard to keep it a secret. To share something, you'd have to actually admit it exists. This you definitely do not want to admit.

"Sure," you croak. Foreman seems pleased, but Remy does not. She seems almost awkward. She has never been awkward around you before.

"Well, uh, we should probably get going," Remy announces.

"Right, right, of course you do," you comment.

"Hope you still have a good night," Remy says.

"I'm sure it's important if Chase canceled for it," Foreman adds.

Your mind isn't really there, but you agree with him anyway.

"I suppose it was. Have a good night you two," you dismiss.

Foreman smiles at you, wrapping his arm around Remy's waist and leading her from the table. Your eyes follow them through the building.

You are only brought back by the clink of the sign being changed to a setting you didn't think even existed: 'mistress abandoned'. You need just one more glance at it to stand up and leave the café.

Once outside, you notice that Remy and Foreman are still close. The two are at her car, engaged at the lips. You silently wonder how many awkward trials in doctors' lounges it took to get there.

A sigh leaves your lips. You turn away, towards your car.

She does have a sign, you admit to yourself. It is right there, bright and shining, on the blue-jean jacket that you can see swishing away into the car now. It's a sign you'd be more familiar with as a maid than a doctor, but after working with House, you at least should have noticed it sooner. How hard can it be for a medical doctor to read three, very simple words:

"Do Not Disturb."


Honestly, review. I need a little reassurance here. Tell me what you think.

Oh, and check out the new awards, the Fanfic Jungle Awards. They've got House M.D, Bones, and Wicked - all of which I do not own. People are trying to win TIGERs (Terrific Insight Grabbing Each Role). Oh, and the website is www .fanficjungle .webs. com (without the spaces obviously).

To next chapter- 7+


© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.