"Post Euphoria – A Time to Grow"

a "House, M.D." story by Chicmns

Pairing: Cameron/Foreman

Rating: PG

Author's note: This is a story written on the basis of the season-ending "Euphoria" episodes of "House, M.D.", where as a result of a life-threatening illness, the relationship between Eric Foreman and Alison Cameron changes. I think that those two episodes were some of the best TV I've seen in years, and I was enthralled by what the two actors, Jennifer Morrison and Omar Epps, pulled off through their characters. They both tapped into heretofore unknown depths, and did it in tune with, and playing off of, each other. That show has some of the best acting (and actors) on TV right now, but those two reached new heights at the end of last season. And, if you're not a fan of Foreman/Cameron stories, well--too bad. No, seriously – I've read too much on the Web about how they could never realistically be together for this reason or that. Claptrap! If the writers can try to (in my opinion) jam a late-40-something misanthrope together with a naïve, sensitive woman in her thirties, then ANYTHING'S possible. At least, that's what I hope to show.

That's not the only reason why I'm writing these stories, though – those two episodes showed me the unique possibilities between these two characters, and I want to explore that. After all, isn't that what we all do every day with others?

This story will alternate perspectives between Cameron and Foreman, with Foreman going first. I thought it would be interesting to see the relationship develop from both sides at the same time, even though it makes it somewhat harder for me to write.

So, here goes …

FOREMAN

Eric could still see them, he imagined, even through his closed eyelids. The cracks on the wall facing him in his darkened hospital room at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital where he works and, recently, he'd become a patient himself. He'd tried to focus on those cracks as a way of testing his mind and memory, trying to explore and determine for himself—as any good diagnostician would—how much damage he'd suffered from the brain biopsy he'd been given in an attempt to save his life. The fact that he was the patient didn't (or shouldn't) make a bit of difference—something he'd learned from his "manipulative bastard" of a boss, Dr. Gregory House. And even though he'd known the risks involved in the procedure, he'd decided, not long after watching that poor cop die in front of him, that he'd undergo the biopsy when the time was right.

The only thing he couldn't quite decide at the time was which doctor he'd ask to perform it.

Throughout this whole ordeal, he had always been pretty sure it wouldn't be House – the man had a definite tendency to do things according to his own perceived schedule and needs, and not necessarily the patients'. Eric wanted it done right, and he wanted it done at the right time, by someone with the right reasons for doing it. And, as much as he liked and trusted Chase, Cuddy, and Wilson…that really only left one person.

The one whom he'd turned over his medical proxy to.

And also the one whom he'd screwed out of getting credit on an article they'd jointly worked on.

Alison Cameron.

Eric shook his head in wry amazement as much as he could manage, his head laying on one of the never-soft-enough hospital pillows in his room. He still couldn't quite take in everything that had happened to him over the past week – and Alison had been a big part of it all.

She'd saved his life after first turning him down when he'd asked her to forgive him for the article, telling him in no uncertain terms why she was doing it—because he thought that he was going to die, and she KNEW that he thought that.

And, for her, that wasn't a good enough reason to forgive him. Not, at least in her words, they "got him better", would she even consider it.

Her response, and the emotional power behind it, had shocked him to the core. He'd thought for SURE that she'd forgive him right then and there; but when she'd told him, "No," he just couldn't believe it.

Maybe she had learned too much from House.

Funny thing, though. The more he'd thought about it afterward, the more it made perfect sense from her point of view, and the more he was convinced it was pure Alison. She was a great doctor – and one of the things that made her a great doctor was her unyielding commitment to the truth between a doctor and her patient. That quality drove House up the wall, because that was exactly one of the things he DIDN'T believe in. It was the basis of a lot of arguments between she and House, and surprisingly enough, he gave in to her a lot more than anyone though he would. Most people figured it was because he likes her more than he'd want anyone to know (the hospital's WORST kept secret, by the way!), but Eric was convinced, having watched most of their battles in person, that he gave in to her in part because she constantly reminded him that patients weren't THINGS, or PUZZLES—they were people. And Alison Cameron would never lose sight of that, Eric was sure--as long as she lived.

THAT was why he asked her to be his medical proxy, instead of his father.

The reasons he'd given her at the time were all true. But what he really wanted, what he absolutely needed from her was her passion for the person under her care. His father loved him, and would do anything for him, Eric knew—but that in itself was the reason that made him a poor choice for the proxy. Alison, as his doctor, would find the right amount of distance while still respecting his wishes, he knew. And he was right, even as much as she'd protested her qualifications to him. She'd thought that his father would be the best choice. And, when she heard Eric's reasons for his decision, he saw that she still had doubts. But he also knew that she'd do what she had to do for him – friendship or no.

And afterward, if he made it through the surgery and the slow recovery, maybe then she'd finally forgive him.

As it turned out, though, she'd reversed things on him a little bit. She'd forgiven him, just before he went under the anesthetic prior to the procedure…and THEN proceeded to save his life with House's help.

Typical Cameron, he thought to himself, a small grin working its' way to his face.

He almost chuckled, but he was still slightly groggy and tired from everything his body'd been through the past few days. His father had finally gone home the day before, convinced (mostly by Cameron) that he was recovering well, and would slowly get back to normal with rest. Chase, Wilson, and Cuddy all visited a few times a day, and even House stuck his head in once or twice—usually to ask when he was "gonna get off his African-American butt and start doing some real work again!"

See, that's where the "bastard" part of his boss's new "nickname" comes in.

Cameron saw him several times a day (she was still his proxy and primary-care physician), but he had a feeling she'd have been in to see him just as much if she weren't his doctor.

Oh, she came by to review his charts and check on him as his doctor, but they'd found themselves also having these nice little conversations—as if they were getting to know each other for the first time. It was nice, and also a little weird all at once. He'd found out more about her in the past week than he'd known in all the time they'd worked together. Who knew, for instance, that Alison Cameron was a huge football fan…or that she sewed and knitted garments well enough to be stopped on the street by women asking her where they could buy her clothes (some that she'd made herself), and then be offered MONEY to make blouses, skirts, and other stuff for them! She'd told him these things hesitatingly, as though she'd expected him to laugh at her—but he was truly amazed, and told her so—which earned him one of her blinding smiles and a throaty laugh…like the one she'd given him when he'd finally woken up from the biopsy to find her, House, and his dad leaning over him. He heard House's gruff "up and at 'em", but his gaze had been locked on Alison's face—and her expression told him he'd made it. And then, when House had tested his memory and he'd responded with House's "pet name", she'd laughed that laugh—with big tears, seemingly unnoticed, rolling down her face.

He'd never heard her laugh like that before.

It was a deeper, throatier, full-bodied laugh than she'd ever given before in his presence. It seemed to be overflowing with emotions. And he wanted to hear it, that laugh, again. He suddenly wanted to be the person who could make her laugh like that.

And so he'd asked her, when she told him about her football and sewing joneses, if she'd ever considered combining the two and knitting covers for guys' footballs. She'd laughed, after first swatting his shoulder and letting her hand come to rest on his bare arm, gazing at him with a fond look that made him grin up at her in return. He remembered the rest of that conversation…

"There's just one problem with the football thing," she continued after their chuckles had finally gone away.

"Which is?" he asked.

"Well, as much as I love the sport, I still don't know a lot about the technical parts of it, like specific plays and formations and stuff like that. I always thought my husband would teach me, but he went away so quickly that…" Her face clouded over, and she looked away from him…the grief of losing her husband raw on her face. He could feel the hand still on his arm trembling, and he reached over to cover it with his own.

"Well, when you finally decide to spring me from this place, maybe – if you want to, that is - we can hang out on some Sunday, and watch some college ball. We're still a few months away from the pro season, but I can get you started with the college game if you want. Most of those schools run pro offenses now, anyway…"

She was looking at him so intently that he paused. "What?"

"This isn't some kind of thank-you again for saving your life stuff, is it? Because we're fine, Eric—really." I knew we were; and, anyway, she would have told me if things still weren't right between us.

"Yeah, I know we are, Cameron. And, no, it isn't. I just thought that we could hang out. Who knows—I might even put up with a short discussion of knitting—OWW!" She'd playfully punched him on his shoulder, big grins breaking out on each of their faces. "Hey - doctors AREN'T supposed to beat up their patients—unless you're House!" he told her. "You're not channeling him, are you? Cause, if you are, I don't want you managing my meds anymore!", he told her in a mock-frightened voice…rubbing his shoulder at the same time.

She shook her head, her dark hair falling in parts across her clear, angular face. For some reason, she wore her hair down, instead of her usual bun or some other put-up, convenient arrangement. I had a strange sudden need to brush it away from her eyes--and immediately wondered to myself where THAT thought had come from. She quirked an eyebrow down at me—she was sitting next to me on my bed, instead of in the chair nearby.

"Oh, come on…I didn't hit you that hard. And what a terrible thing to say-me channeling House! That's so rude, Eric!" She still had a grin on her face, chuckling with him. "But once again, I'll forgive you—and accept the offer. Thanks." He nodded.

"So, when can I get out of here?" I asked, hoping that she hadn't noticed anything on my face that would reveal what I'd just been thinking. She watched me, narrowing her eyes for a second, and then continued speaking.

"Well, you have two more neurology visits—" and she stopped, holding up a hand. "Yes, Eric, I realize that you're a neurologist—"

"a brilliant neurologist.…" I murmured, looking up at the ceiling and trying to ignore the balled fist she was slowly and silently threatening me with, as she continued talking as if I hadn't interrupted her, "--and that you don't think they're necessary, but that's protocol—and part of the escape. Okay?" She had me there—in part because I'd helped Cuddy and the board write the damn protocols.

"Okay." I sighed, and her hand tightened for a moment on my arm in sympathy, pausing for a moment. Then, sighing, she continued speaking in a quiet voice.

"Cuddy's also mentioned that she wants to examine you herself before any talk of release gets serious."

"Damn!" I couldn't believe it. Next thing you know, Wilson will want to check for cancer!

"--and then you know House has to sign off on it, too. We still work for him, you know."

I sighed. "Yeah, I know. What does Cuddy want in on the pain for? What did I do to her?"

Cameron gave him another sympathetic smile, and moved her hand from my arm to my shoulder, squeezing it gently with her thin fingers. "Eric, I think she just wants to make sure things are OK during your convalescence, so that when you come back, you're totally healthy and ready to work. She's ultimately responsible for everything we do as doctors, too—it's really just 'CYA'."

I knew that I shouldn't get frustrated about the whole thing—she wasn't telling me anything I didn't know (or couldn't see coming) myself, after all. And it wasn't fair dumping my frustrations on her. I grinned up at her, gently touching her hand that still rested on my shoulder with my cheek for a brief moment, while adding a childlike, plaintive look to my face…in hopes of bumping up the sympathy factor a little bit. That little move always seemed to work on my mom when I was growing up.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Alison. Sorry about dumping on you." She nodded once, and then a gleam appeared in her eye that puzzled me, until she spoke again, still carefully watching my face.

"Don't worry about it, Foreman—" 'Uh oh', I thought. If she's going back to last names, then that means—

"..and don't try that admittedly very cute and flirtatious move with me, mister! It's not gonna work!" Her face was half stern doctor, and half laughing at my suddenly wary, 'caught' look.

Damn. Caught and hoisted by my own petard. What the hell IS a 'petard', anyway?

I held up my hands. "Man, you got me. How did you know--?"

She giggled. "One of your nurses told me about it. Her son has a very similar 'face', as she called it, so she knew exactly what you were trying to pull!" Her face threatened to break in two from the big grin it carried…while mine held a scowl.

"I want her fired, immediately!" I growled in frustration, which got me one of those throaty laughs.

"Sorry, Eric—I think Cuddy gave her a raise for being "observant"!" She was laughing hard by this time, and I couldn't help the grin that made its' way onto my own face. Both of us missed our boss watching us through the glass walls of the room, but the sudden sound of his cane banging on the glass, and the crooked finger he pointed in her direction, wiped all of our glee away in an instant. She turned away, glaring at him for a second, and then looked back at me.

"Well, gotta go. I need to finish clinic duty, and then I'll come back by, OK?" Her hand, which had never left my shoulder, slowly and reluctantly it seemed to me, lifted up and away, accompanied by a sigh. I then noticed some darkness under her eyes, and decided to be gallant for once. We both knew that she'd often been staying after her shift had ended, keeping me company—usually by sitting in a chair next to my bed as I slept. I'd woken a few times during the nights to see her there, a book in her lap as she either read or dozed; depending on the time of night and the kind of day she'd had. I have to admit, I never once asked her to go on home and get some rest—I enjoyed knowing she was close by too much to get her to rest. Well, that had to stop. She obviously wasn't getting enough sleep, and if we were really going to try to be real friends to each other, I had to pull my share.

"Alison," I began, as she started to stand up from sitting next to me in the bed, "Why don't you go on home after shift? You've been spending too many hours here, keeping an eye on me. I'm doing a lot better, and you should sleep in your own bed before you forget how it feels."

More banging from House's cane on the wall came as she began speaking. We both turned as one to glare at him--with no effect. House just pointed at his watch, and then at her, then down—I was in a room two floors above the clinic, so I knew he wanted her down there; no doubt to do his damn hours for him.

She threw another frigid glance his way, held up a finger (a nice one; this was Alison Cameron we're talking about, after all!), and then turned to me as she stood, straightening her hospital coat as she slowly moved away towards the door.

"I'm fine, Eric. I'll head home tonight, OK—but I WILL stop by before I leave to see you. And don't try to talk me out of it, or I'll tack on another day to your sentence!" she mock-threatened, as we both smiled at each other.

"Thanks, Cameron," I told her. Truth was, I hadn't been sleeping well some nights after the surgery, and she'd helped—a lot. If only by just being there, sitting with me. Other times, we'd just talk about anything until I'd finally drift off. They were weaning me off of all of the drugs I'd been on during the infection and surgery, and she didn't want to introduce sleeping aids into my system unless there was no other choice. I appreciated her cautiousness and certainty that I could adjust back to normal on my own without medication. I was still on the occasional pain-killer, but that was it. I wanted to get completely healthy again as quickly as I could, and Alison was with me every step of the way.

"Hey, Eric…" she murmured as she finally reached my door.

"Yeah?" I whispered back to her. Another thing I'd learned about Alison Cameron during this ordeal; she had exceptional hearing.

"Do you think we could just call each other by our first names? I mean, I get a little tired of the just 'Cameron' thing from everyone most of the time, and…I mean, if you're not comfortable with that--"

"Sure—Alison. And for the record, I get tired of it, too. I like it when you use my first name." I gave her a smile as I settled back onto my bed. She returned it with one of her own, and I was once again struck by just how beautiful she really was.

"Thanks, Eric. Later, then?" I nodded, giving her a little wave. "Say hello to the manipulative bastard for me, willya?"

She laughed as she opened the door, while an impatient House glared suspiciously back and forth between them—which caused them both to laugh.

"See ya," I told her as the door swished shut and I watched her walk away, with House seemingly giving her a hard time as he gestured wildly with his cane.

The smile that was on her face when she left my room never once faded as I watched her walk away.