Remy Hadley sat alone in the cafeteria. The plate in front of her was almost empty, with the exception of the tomatoes from her salad; she'd never liked tomatoes.
She leaned back in her chair, one trouser-clad leg crossed over the other. Today, the cafeteria was positively bustling, and with no new patient case, and House likely off tormenting Wilson, Remy Hadley was people-watching.
One of life's simple pleasures; she enjoyed nothing more than watching everybody go about their lives, who they talked to, who they avoided. She loved trying to guess what secrets they were hiding, how many thoughts within these four brick walls would forever go unspoken. She had always assumed this came from her own affinity for secrets. So much mystery, so little time. Perhaps if she'd invested herself into mind-reading instead of a medical career… oh, but the ethics of privacy.
Her gaze dragged across the room, past the tessellating tables shrouded in lab coats, past the steamed-up metal counter with the bitchy waitress, to fall on someone she recognized instantly. The blonde, dressed in light purple scrubs, black sleeves protruding beneath, stethoscope still hanging around her neck. Dr Cameron. Even from a distance, she looked tired. No, tired was an understatement. Remy guessed that was a common look for the head of the emergency room, it must take its toll. She smirked to herself as she watched Cameron shovel no more than a few handfuls of chips onto a plate, before paying (and smiling as she told a straight-faced waitress to keep the change, the ever-generous soul) and turning towards the scattering of tables before her. Remy couldn't stop herself from wondering what secrets she was keeping.
In the nearly-two years that Remy had worked for House, she was yet to actually hold a one-on-one conversation with Cameron. Of course, there had been snippets of conversations here and there, the odd hospital charity event, her occasional consultations on differentials. She'd never been curious about the older blonde, not until now, anyway.
"Dr. Cameron," Remy tilted her head up, trying to catch her eye. Over the low rumble of noise, Cameron had heard her name and turned to face the source, she took this as a chance to beckon her over. "Have a seat."
As she approached with her tray, evidently grateful for a friendly face in the crowd of busy doctors, Remy found herself uncharacteristically nervous for a split second.
"Dr. Hadley, right?" Cameron's smile was sweet, and seemingly innocent. Remy cursed internally for noticing.
"Yeah, Remy," she said, meeting kind blue eyes, "but everyone calls me Thirteen." She watched Cameron hesitated to sit and offered her a warming smile, "Honestly, sit down."
"Thank you. Allison," she sat, placed her tray down, and offered her hand. Remy laughed as she shook it, unsure how she felt beneath her gentle touch. From what little she knew of the other doctor, she observed the hesitance as typical behaviour. House had openly informed her that, whilst Cameron was good at her job, she was bad at 'sticking to her guns' as he had so delicately put it.
Unsure which direction to take this conversation, she opted for, "You look exhausted." Okay, she was confident and relatively self-assured, but she wasn't the best at small talk.
"Why thank you," her tone laced with sarcasm, laughing softly as the blush grew across the brunette's cheeks.
"I didn't mean… you look gorgeous, it's just clear you work hard at what you do."
It was Cameron's turn to blush, causing Remy to register what she'd said.
"Oh god," she buried her face in her hands, "I am digging myself a hole." Still hidden behind her hands, she wondered if Cameron had heard the rumours, or rather, the truth about her sexuality.
"Well, thank you, it's nice to actually hear a compliment rather than the constant stream of insults that come from the mouths of everyone here."
Remy paused, unsure whether or not that included one of her fellow doctors, the two had been loved up since she'd arrived on the scene, "What about Chase?"
Cameron shook her head and pushed her empty plate away, "I ended it a while ago."
"I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't be," the corners of her mouth turned upwards, her eyes twinkling, "I realised he's not my type."
"So, what is your type?" she jumped in, curiosity getting the best of her.
"If you want the answer to that question, I'm going to need some alcohol."
"Are you suggesting I need to get you drunk, Dr Cameron?" she licked her bottom lip and raised an eyebrow subconsciously, watching Cameron's changing expression intently.
"I would never suggest such a thing," she teased, a little slip of pink tongue poking through her lips. She reached over and delicately popped one of Remy's tomatoes into her mouth. Cameron stood, picking her tray up and using her foot to push in her chair, "See you around, Remy."
Remy leaned back, running her fingers through brunette strands. Flustered, she sighed, more curious about the blonde doctor than she was 20 minutes prior.
⸞
Sunglasses nestled in her hair, a worn satchel over her shoulder, Remy set foot into the hospital, leaving the summer sun behind and being refreshed by the air conditioning. A new day, perhaps even a new patient case, something that will distract her from the restless night she'd had, thinking about Cameron. It was rare for her to fixate on someone like this and she didn't know how she felt about it. Of course, she thought she was pretty, she had done since the first time she'd seen her, she simply was an attractive woman. But she couldn't ignore the tinge of jealousy that had shot through her when Chase had wrapped his arm around her waist and dropped a kiss on her cheek. She'd dismissed it, her emotions had been haywire from confirming her Huntington's diagnosis, crossed with the drugs and alcohol she'd been using to self-medicate, and the meaningless one-night stands every week as a distraction.
As of recent, she'd grown tired of the risk taking, she hated riding out the lows, although they often followed the most tremendous highs: the nights spent alone bent over the sink, dark circles encompassing her bloodshot eyes, stomach burning, unable to stop her whole body from shaking, whilst an incredible distraction from the looming inevitability of her neurological breakdown and eventual death, were not how she wanted to spend the years that she was still in control of her body. She had instead opted for more natural highs, after all, that's why she became a doctor, to help people, and she knew there was no better high than saving a life.
The metal doors of the lift cranked open and she stepped inside, unexpecting of the tap that was about to land on her shoulder. Remy span around, faced with Cameron, who leaned past her and lit up the button for House's floor. She looked far too happy for this time in the morning.
"Got a case," Cameron enthused, moving to Remy's side before passing her the folder that she held, "31-year-old female, presenting with muscle weakness, a tingling sensation, shortness of breath and fatigue."
"It's the flu." Remy handed the file straight back. She wasn't intending to be so blunt but, after the night she'd had, being alone with Cameron was making her feel every emotion under the sun.
"It's not the flu," Cameron smirked, "No fever."
"A cold, then."
"It's not a cold," Cameron met Remy's eyes, and smiled slightly.
"It's pointless asking House, he'll say the exact same thing."
As the doors opened to the fourth floor, Cameron sauntered out in front of her teasingly, "Oh, but I'm going to ask him so nicely."
Remy couldn't help but roll her eyes and smile as the happy-go-lucky blonde approached the diagnostics room. She followed her inside, listening as Cameron reeled off the speech she'd heard in the elevator.
"It's the flu," Chase stated, causing Remy to smirk as she took a seat.
"We'll take it," House said, placing his mug down on the desk in the corner of the room, watching Remy eye up Cameron.
"What, why? It's an obvious case." Chase was obviously angered by his ex-girlfriend's (fiancée's? Remy wondered if they'd got that far) ability to turn up in the diagnostic department and entice House into taking an easy case.
"Means we can head off early, besides," House's eyes flicked between Chase and Remy, two very different expressions aimed at Cameron, "anything to poke fun at not just one, but two of you guys." Quick glances were exchanged between the six others in the room, trying to work out what House had meant. "Cameron, you stay," he instructed as he turned to list the symptoms on his whiteboard.
"I have a job here you know, one that isn't just 'cater to House's whims'."
"This is likely auto-immune. You're an immunologist."
Cameron faced House and crossed her arms, sighing as though she'd given in.
"Okay, so, what fits with muscle weakness, tingling, shortness of breath and fatigue."
Chase rolled his eyes, aiming to emphasise his earlier point, "It's the flu."
"No fever," Cameron bit back.
"Chronic fatigue syndrome?" suggested Taub.
Foreman leafed through the pages entailing the patient history, "No pain, no insomnia, no headaches. Peripheral neuropathy?"
Chase huffed, Remy assumed this was him deciding to not participate in the diagnosis.
"No, doesn't fit with the fatigue or shortness of breath," Remy pointed out.
"Peripheral neuropathy, he doesn't get enough sleep and he has a cold," House leered.
"It's not peripheral neuropathy. Hypothyroidism? Muscle weakness, fatigue, tingling…" Remy proposed. House gave a curt nod and wrote it up on the board, "What else?"
"Botulism?" Kutner spoke up.
"No nausea or diarrhoea," Cameron replied.
"That we know of," House added botulism to the board.
The blonde sighed and looked at House, "Early onset MS." He nodded.
"Foreman, go and check his vision and reflexes, then do a lumbar puncture, Taub and Kutner, check his home, Thirteen and Chase, do the blood tests, we're looking for raised TSH levels or the bacteria behind the botulism."
"Wait," Foreman stopped him, "If you think it's botulism, we need to administer the antitoxin straight away."
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Fine. Give her the antitoxin, when she doesn't get better, do the blood tests."
Remy rose from her seat, lagging slightly behind the others. Taking a deep breath, she swept by Cameron, stopping to place her hands carefully on her waist, and lean to whisper in her ear, "See you at lunch." She smirked to herself as she caught up to Chase.
⸞
At the same time as yesterday, at the same table, Remy Hadley sat with a jacket potato and a textbook on auto-immune diseases. She was flicking through in an attempt to distract herself from wondering whether or not Cameron would turn up. Reading at least doubled as preparing herself for this case. She was lost in a page about Myasthenia Gravis when the chair opposite her was pulled out, her eyes flicked upwards. Cameron's sun-lightened hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, the v neck of her purple scrubs hanging low, the sharp edges of her collarbones just visible. Cameron could've cut her open and performed cardiac surgery right there, because she had taken Remy's heart. She swallowed harshly, trying to lubricate her now bone-dry throat. "Hey," she beamed, closing her book.
Cameron took her seat, plate loaded with food today, "Hey, how's that case coming along?"
"She didn't get better with the antitoxin, her muscle weakness got worse, she can barely hold her own head up. Hypothyroidism was ruled out too, normal TSH and T4 counts. Her reflexes are decreased, and Foreman noticed ptosis in both eyelids, so MS is the most likely candidate. The lumbar puncture results aren't back yet," Remy exhaled dramatically, "Busy morning?"
"Not too bad, a considerable amount of people who don't know how to use sun cream," she rolled her eyes before catching the brunette's gaze. They stared at each other, smiling for a few seconds, temptation burning for Remy to just reach out for Cameron's hand.
"So, I was thinking—"
Remy was cut off by the sharp intermittent beeping of both her and Cameron's pagers, "She's gone into respiratory arrest."
The two doctors jumped to their feet and made a beeline for the third floor. Together, they sprinted up the stairs, headed for the patient's room, Remy taking the lead. As they reached the door to the room, Chase, accompanied by two nurses, was already intubating. House stood in the corner, eyes narrowed, face dark.
House's three remaining protégés appeared just behind Cameron and Remy.
"What happened?" asked Remy, concern in her eyes. House opened his mouth to make a facetious comment but was interrupted by Chase, "I came back to talk to her about the results of her blood test, she told me that she'd been struggling to eat, I laughed and told her that's understandable, it's hospital food—"
"Okay, okay, less anecdotes, more medical facts," House pestered.
"—she told me her throat was dry, so I poured her some water, she couldn't swallow it. She tried to talk, but all of her muscles seemed to relax at the same time, that was when she went into respiratory arrest."
"All of her muscles?"
"Gee House, I don't know, I was focusing on making sure our patient could breathe again."
House stretched his cane out and lifted the blanket covering the patient's lower half, revealing a widespread damp patch pooling out from beneath her.
"It's MS," Cameron sighed.
"The lumbar puncture results show a slightly elevated white count, but no antibodies in the CSF," Foreman intervened.
"Wait, I was just reading about myasthenia gravis, it fits the symptoms. Muscle weakness, the dysphagia, ptosis, speech problems, shortness of breath."
"Thirteen, redo the blood tests. Cameron, start her on IVIG," and with that House left the room.
"I don't work for you," Cameron reminded him as he limped away.
Foreman shrugged in her direction and left the room, the other three doctors in tow, leaving Cameron and Remy alone with a semi-conscious patient.
They made quick work of the task at hand. Remy tied the tourniquet around the patient's upper arm and swabbed the skin above a particularly visible vein with disinfectant. She expertly moved her hands and placed the needle swiftly and directly into the vein, unaware of Cameron watching her gentle movements. At her other arm, Cameron administered the IVIG quickly like she had done a thousand times before and will do a thousand times again.
"Come with me to the lab?"
"Good job the ER is fully staffed," she teased, nudging Remy lightly.
⸞
Remy prepared her sample of blood, delicately micro pipetting a minuscule amount into a microcentrifuge tube. Cameron watched her carefully, leaning her elbow on the workbench and resting her chin in her palm.
She moved to the centrifuge and placed her sample in, opposite an empty tube to balance it out, she'd learnt that the hard way.
Cameron's voice broke the silence, making Remy jump slightly, she tried to hide it but Cameron's laugh informed her that she'd noticed.
"What were you saying earlier, when we were in the cafeteria?"
Remy shook her head dismissively and turned around to face her, the low rumble of the centrifuge filling the room, "It was stupid, it doesn't matter."
"Nothing you say could be stupid."
She laughed softly, turning back to the centrifuge which had stopped making noise. The sample had separated into its components, deep red blood cells and pale yellow plasma.
"Come on Remy, what is it?"
It would be foolish to suggest that, even though they'd only been properly speaking for a couple of days, they didn't get on. In fact, both women were surprised at how easy it was for them to maintain conversation, or not, their silences were comfortable. Remy was more surprised at how quickly she found herself falling for the older doctor, beating herself up internally for doing so. Despite this, she was startled when Cameron used her name, in part because no one referred to her as anything but Thirteen, but mostly because of how easily comforted she felt with her name rolling off Cameron's tongue. She noticed her hand shaking slightly, did Cameron really make her that nervous? She shook it off.
Without taking her eyes off of the sample, she spoke hesitantly, "I… I wondered if you wanted to go out for dinner?"
Cameron's smile widened, pale pink adorning her cheekbones, "How about tonight?"
Remy finished separating out the serum, she sidestepped to her left, placing the small tube into the blood analyser.
"Tonight?"
"Only if you pick me up." Cameron's laugh was a melody all of its own, Remy silently wished she could capture the sound and save it to memory forever.
Suddenly regaining her confidence, "6:30?" she grinned.
"Perfect," her smile lit up her face, "I better get back to the ER before all hell breaks loose," she touched Remy's arm as she made her way to the door, "See you tonight."
Remy leaned back against the bench and exhaled, she was already in too deep.
⸞
She paced in front of her wardrobe for what seemed like hours, wearing down the already thread-bare carpet.
What could she wear that seemed casual yet formal, like she'd made an effort but not a weird amount of effort for two friends? Were they even friends, or just colleagues? She was overthinking this. Eventually she caved and pulled on a skin-tight pair of trousers and a satin halter neck and stared at herself in the mirror. Definitely overthinking this.
As the brush doused in gold glitter swept across her eyelid, she thought to herself, 'Might as well'.
6 o'clock came around quickly, the leather of her car seat stuck to her skin. Remy paused for a few seconds, wondering if this was a good idea, then turned the key in the ignition and set off towards Cameron's apartment. Her mind was a hectic whirlwind, she thought she was done with picking girls up for a night. This isn't that, she tried to convince herself. Cameron is different. For starters, Cameron is straight, and Remy is clean. It's just a meal between friends— colleagues. She's simply hoping to sate her people-watching curiosity and seek out Cameron's secrets, right? She couldn't even believe her own thoughts.
She pulled up outside 5 minutes early. Remy has never been a quitter, and it is that knowledge alone that moves her out of the comfort of her car and towards the wall of buttons. She buzzed and was let in immediately. She climbed the stairs, taking her time along the way, not wanting to seem too eager.
Before she could even knock, Cameron opened the door.
This girl never failed to disappoint. Sandy blonde hair fell in waves, her bright blue eyes reminded her of the ocean, she was the sea and Remy had waded out too far.
She's wearing a dress that sits just below her shoulders and covers her modestly, it trails off just above her knees. Periwinkle blue against smooth, porcelain skin. She swears she's in a dream. She's feeling everything and nothing all at once, starstruck at the beauty before her, how had she spent so long away from her and how was she ever going to keep her distance again?
"Ready?" Cameron asked hesitantly, Remy had obviously been staring longer than she thought, frozen to the spot.
"You look… good," she exhaled and smiled.
Cameron blushed, this girl and her rosy cheeks were going to be the death of Remy. She watched as blue eyes traced up and down her body. The feeling of Cameron's eyes on her made her want to say fuck it and just kiss her. But she's straight.
"Nothing in comparison to you," teased Cameron, she linked her arm through Remy's, "where are we heading?"
"I know this cute little diner that serves the best wine."
⸞
Cameron, two glasses of wine down and laughing at her impression of House, made Remy glad she'd not backed out of asking Cameron to dinner. Remy had only had a small glass, after all she was driving, and she didn't want to fall back into old habits.
They were sat in a classic American diner-style booth, red leather seats and a chequered floor. The large window offered them a clear view of the sun setting over rows of detached houses. It was quiet, except for the low blare of 60s RnB.
She hadn't intended such a romantic setting, but she knew she'd be attracted to Cameron wherever they were. Watching Cameron delicately suck up spaghetti was a cuter image than she'd ever imagined.
Remy hadn't really thought through her own sex appeal when she'd ordered a stacked hamburger. Cameron snorted softly as Remy took a bite, leaving a slither of lettuce hanging from her mouth.
"How do you still look pretty?" Cameron mused aloud. She took a sip from her third glass of red wine.
"I'm not," she laughed, licking barbeque sauce from her lips.
"You are, look at you,"
She dismissed Cameron's comments as polite, friendly compliments and shook her head. "Anyway, now that we've got some alcohol in you," Remy teased, leaning closer to Cameron, "what is your type?"
Cameron sighed, her face dropped, she fiddled with the rings that adorned her fingers.
Remy moved backwards, worried she'd ruined the night, "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, you don't have to answer."
"I like girls," she said suddenly, not looking up. She took a deep breath and continued, "Not exclusively, I like guys too. But, I'm bisexual."
Before she even knew what she was doing, the brunette reached out for Cameron's hand, she stroked her fingers with her thumb, concerned that she was going to cry, she was never any good in time of high emotion.
"You are no less of a person because of your sexuality, and anyone that treats you otherwise is not worth your time." Something Remy wished she'd been told throughout her own coming out.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to tell someone," she looked up to meet Remy's eyes.
"Trust me, I do," a soft smile grew on her face.
"What do you mean?"
"You don't know?" She could've sworn House had spread her sexuality hospital-wide.
Cameron shook her head slowly.
"I'm House's prized bisexual," she rolled her eyes, chuckling softly, "What a field trip he had finding that one out."
"I thought that was just a rumour, House's sexual fantasies to come across Cuddy with another woman between her legs."
Remy laughed, reaching out her other hand to hold both of Cameron's, "It's the truth. Do you want to hear another secret?" Cameron nodded and Remy's voice turned to a whisper, "I like you."
Instant regret coursed through her veins as Cameron retracted backwards, taking her hands back as her own. She was just about to apologise when Cameron's meek voice reached her ears again, "But I'm damaged."
"We're all a little damaged," Remy spoke tenderly, eyes focused on Cameron as if she was trying to unlock her soul. If this girl was damaged, well then, what did that make her?
"I am, in every sense of the word. You don't want someone like me holding you back."
"Who says you would hold me back?"
"Just trust me."
"I want to get to know you, Allison," she reached out for her hands again, relief and a hint of gratitude falling on her when Cameron took her hand, "We can go from there. Let's see where this takes us, if you want to?"
"Of course, I do, I'd be a fool to turn down the prettiest girl I have ever seen."
"That's the alcohol talking," Remy smirked, "Dessert?"
⸞
That night, Remy left her in her apartment with a tight hug, a small kiss on the cheek and a silent promise of bigger things to come.
She saw her the next morning, already sat at the table in the diagnostics room when she entered the room, detailed sheets of paper in front of her.
"Blood test results?" Remy asked, already knowing the answer. House followed in behind her, alongside Foreman.
"Yeah," Cameron replied, turning the pages so Remy could read them, "No AChR antibodies, no anti-MuSK antibodies."
House paused and moved to stare at the two women, he lifted his cane and pointed between them, "Did you two spend the night together?"
"No," said Cameron incredulously.
"Yes," replied Remy, barely stopping before continuing, "Some sufferers of myasthenia gravis don't have either antibody, it's still possible that's our diagnosis. Plus, with the IVIG, she's been doing better"
House was still looking between the two, dumbfounded.
"The tensilon test will give a definitive answer, if it's MG, when injected with edrophonium chloride, the muscle weakness will be temporarily relieved," she turned back to House for his opinion on the matter, but he was still stood, jaw dropped, "I'm going to go do the test."
⸞
She sighed as she slouched into a seat, "It's not myasthenia gravis. No response to the edrophonium."
"I still think it's early onset MS," Cameron offered.
House tapped at his board impatiently, "Come on people, we need something else to work with."
"Wait, what about LEMS?" Remy leaned forward.
"Lambert-Eaton?" Foreman paused, "It fits the symptoms, explains the white count."
"Often gets mistaken as myasthenia gravis."
"Foreman, Thirteen, do a CT scan," instructed House, "Where there's Lambert-Eaton, there's small cell lung cancer and where there's lung cancer, there's smoking. Whilst you're at it, get her confess to her dirty habits."
Foreman and Remy headed down to the basement, Remy briefing the patient on the conclusion they'd drawn, what they were doing next and the consequences if they find cancer. Naturally, the patient insisted she'd never touched a cigarette.
The two doctors watched as the computer processed the whirring of the CT scanner.
"What's this about you and Cameron?"
Remy was surprised he hadn't mentioned it earlier. "We just went out for drinks, as friends."
"Since when were you and Cameron friends?"
"Are you suggesting I'm incapable of making friends with other women?"
"What, no?! I'm simply surprised that Cameron wants to talk to her replacement."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"She used to be in love with House, now you're getting all the attention."
"That's bullshit, besides, used to," she froze, looking at the large grey mass that had appeared on the right lung's image, "Shit, you're right."
A voice from behind alluded them to House standing, watching over their shoulders, "Do a biopsy to confirm, MRI the rest of her body."
⸞
The biopsy revealed that the patient had stage 1 small cell lung cancer in her right lung, this had lead to the body beginning to attack itself, resulting in Lambert-Eaton.
"Your chances of survival are the best they could be, the 5-year survival rate is 31%, since we detected it early, we can attempt surgery to remove the mass before it spreads. We would be doing a lobectomy which offers you the best chances of remission, followed by chemotherapy. This is a dangerous surgery, there are risks. Your other options are chemotherapy, radiotherapy, or a combination of the two. We will also be putting you on amifampridine and pyridostigmine for the Lambert-Eaton." Remy listened closely as Wilson explained everything in depth, she had really been wrong when she'd assumed the flu.
At the end of the day, she met Cameron outside the clinic. She'd caught her by surprise. Before Cameron had even passed the door frame, Remy had tucked an unruly blonde strand behind her ear and leaned down, "Come home with me," she murmured in her ear.
Staring down at her shoes, she confessed, "I'm worried about what people will say."
"You're a badass doctor, you run the ER, Cuddy trusts you with this hospital, you know how to put House in his place, and you're the most thoughtful, caring person here. People should be afraid of not having your approval," Remy held out her hand, "You don't have to join me, but I'd love to spend time with you."
Cameron took a deep breath, before stretching out her own hand and intertwining her fingers with Remy's, "What are we doing?"
"Movies and a candle-lit dinner cooked by me."
"Sounds perfect."