"The problem with you, House, is that you live like every day is just one of an infinite number! You live like you'll be her for two hundred more years! Well guess what?" Cameron's eyes were red, nearing puffy, and her long coat hit her legs as she paced in House's office. "You won't!" Her slender form was moving faster, her sweater wrinkled. "That's the difference between you and I. I am nice, caring, everything you're not, because I live like I could die tomorrow. And I could. I don't want to, but I could! Did you want your infarction? Did you?" Her arms were held stiffly at her side and her eyes were staring toward House's uncaring face.
House did not reply.
"Well, I want to go with dignity! I want to be respectable when I die! Not feared!" She was surging with pain, anger.
"You can't die with dignity!" House stood from his chair, grabbing his cane. "You just can't!"
Cameron was struck with unexpected sobs.
House cocked his head and stared at her. "Oh come on. Don't cry, I don't want tears in my office. They get things wet, then I have to dry-" He was cut off.
"Just stop! I can't take it anymore!" she screamed. "You went a little too far this time, House. My husband is a nice man-he was. He was caring! More than you could ever dream of being. He was the best thing that ever happened to this world! Not you! I don't give a damn if he didn't save lives, or if he died young. He was...perfect. You can't make fun of him! He was better than you, whatever you think. He just was." With her little outburst she ran from the hospital into the darkness, running to him. Running to the grave of her dead husband.
Left standing in the office alone, rage settled, House spoke to himself. "Huh, I guess she is human."
And indeed she was.