A/N: Okay, so I know I haven't updated Can't Have it All in a really long time and there are reasons for that. The first is that my muse is fickle for that story, and I need a second before I can write a really good next chapter. The second is that I feel like my understanding of Cameron is… fleeting. I want to be able to write her really solidly, like I feel I can with Thirteen. So, this fic will be third person narrative focusing largely on Cameron's experience of the situation and attempting to stay really true to her character. Which means… she's not going to be all childlike sunshine and puppies and this ride is not going to be smooth for the two of them. If you're feeling like she (or Thirteen for that matter) is OOC, I would appreciate feedback. I hope you enjoy!
"Cameron." Chase sighed, raising a hand to snap in front of the blonde's face. "Allison. Allison." He repeated, a little louder and with annoyance edging his voice.
Cameron jumped, turning to take in the source of the voice and smiling weakly at her boyfriend when she recognized him.
"Robert. You scared me." She leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips.
"Yeah, well, I didn't start with the snapping, but you were too busy staring at House's new plaything to pay me any attention." As annoyed as he sounded, a smirk rested gently on his lips, and he leaned backwards against the nurse's station next to Cameron.
"What? I wasn't staring at her." Cameron mumbled, looking back down at the paperwork she'd only gotten through about half of before noticing the mysterious doctor's presence across the room.
"Oh, come on. You're not exactly sly about it. Why do you hate her so much anyway?"
"I don't hate her." Allison signed the bottom of the discharge paperwork and snapped the file shut, handing it off to a nurse. "What makes you think I hate her?"
"Because you were practically shooting ice beams out of your eyes at her." He scoffed at her denial, but still placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She let a sigh escape her lips. "Okay, I don't like her. It's not a big deal. People don't like other people all the time."
Chase chuckled. "You've barely said two words to the woman, how do you know you don't like her? I think she's nice, surprisingly enough."
"You have every right to like her, even to hang out with her if you want. I just don't want to." Chase cocked an eyebrow at Allison, a half-smirk gracing his soft features. "She just irks me okay?" She finally gave into Robert's silent pressuring. "She's selfish and self-involved. She comes to work hung over and expects us all to feel bad and fall all over her because she's dying." She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced back up at Thirteen's form, still chatting with a patient across the room. "We all go through hard things, it's not a license to be an ass."
"House is way more of an ass than she is and you were in love with him." Chase quipped, shoving his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.
"She is nothing like House." Cameron scoffed, rolling her eyes. She was starting to get really tired of this conversation.
"You're right. Chronic leg pain gives you way more right to be a drug addict and an ass than Huntington's."
"House is a genius. She's…" She motioned at Thirteen, still not taking her eyes off her. "Careless. Spoiled. Everyone hands her everything. Even House." She grabbed the file the nurse had replaced the last one with and flipped it open.
"So, you're jealous because House is nicer to her than he was to you?"
Cameron turned to Chase with fire flashing in her eyes. "This has nothing to do with House." She tucked the file under her arm, readying to head to exam room 3. "Stop twisting my words."
Cameron didn't usually run in the evenings. Runs were usually reserved for mornings before work or afternoons on lazy weekends. But today was different. Today she needed to clear her head. That's what running had always done for her, it was an escape better than anything else she'd ever tried: she wasn't much of an artist, drugs had bad decisions and nasty hangovers, and throwing herself into work meant someone would realize how much overtime she'd put in and send her home or worse-make her take a vacation.
No, this is what she needed. The burning in her muscles faded eventually, the groaning dropping away to a raw numbness she craved in situations just like this. It wasn't punishment-not exactly. It was her constant striving for perfection. She wanted the perfect house, the perfect husband, the perfect job, the perfect body—had since she was fourteen, when… She shook her head and turned the speed up on her treadmill with a few swipes of her finger, the familiar burn returning to her calves. She wasn't going to think about that. She couldn't think about that. This was her escape from that reality, her lifeline to forget the day her world had begun to change. It had started innocently enough, she remembered, whispers in her bedroom, her brother playing nervously with the peeling paint on the wall. And then he'd said it. It wasn't like she'd minded much, but her parents. It didn't matter much what she thought.
She slammed her hand down on the stop button, slowing with the treadmill and leaning her head down between her knees so she could catch her breath. Her conversation about Thirteen echoed through her head. She had legitimate reasons for not liking Thirteen. She was a womanizer, an addict, a manipulator. She was without scruples, and she did what she wanted without giving a shit who she hurt. She dropped people once they weren't useful to her anymore. And she's beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. So she got away with it. It wasn't fair. She grabbed the towel off the couch and rubbed it on her shoulders, wiping away the salty perspiration that had built up on her skin. Her phone vibrated, and she frowned at the name that flashed on the screen.
"Allison Cameron." She rolled her eyes at the information from the voice on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I can come by for a consult."
And just like that, she was back at the hospital. She hadn't had time to shower, but she'd thrown on some black pants and a short-sleeved button-up with a tight vest over it—a vast improvement over yoga pants and a tank top. Not that House would have minded. She pushed through the glass door and stood over the table, crossing her arms and jutting her hip out to the right.
"You called me for a consult?"
"No." House growled back. "Foreman called you to come in here, look at the patient file and tell me it's lupus in a ridiculous attempt to prove me wrong."
While he was talking, she'd picked up the file, leafing through the paperwork. "It is classic lupus. Right down to the butterfly rash." She muttered, still searching the paperwork for any more signs.
"Lupus is a catch-all diagnosis. It's lazy. It's what doctors diagnose people when they're not sure what exactly is wrong with their immune system." House shot back, knocking the file out of her hands with his cane.
She let out a sigh. "Autoimmune diseases are complicated, House. You know that. There aren't really conclusive tests for-"
"Blah blah blah. I knew I replaced you with Thirteen for a reason."
"You didn't replace me by choice, I quit." She squatted down to pick up the papers, which luckily had been clipped into the folder.
"Close enough. She's prettier than you, anyway." He jerked his head up to look at her expectantly.
"Oh, thank you." She replied dryly, eyes not lifting from her copy of the file in front of her. "Now that I have your approval, I can finally have meaning in my life."
Cameron felt her lips wrap into a smile, but quickly bit it back. "So, can I go since you've thoroughly rejected my medical opinion or would you like to insult me some more?"
"You're sweaty." He ignored her, propping his feet up on the table and cocking his head sideways at her.
"Yeah, I went for a run after work and when Foreman called me in, I made the mistake of thinking I was actually needed." She replied, suddenly self-conscious standing in front of the room of doctors.
"Don't worry, it's hot. Right, Thirteen?" Once again he glanced at her expectantly; though this time she raised her head to sweep her eyes over Cameron's small frame.
Allison looked away, focusing her attention to her breathing to be sure it was steady and nobody would notice the sudden flush of color into her skin.
"There's a room full of men here that could tell you Dr. Cameron's attractive. Why are you singling me out?" Thirteen let her hand fall onto the table with a soft smack.
"Because it would only be hot if you made out with her." He responded, turning his attention back to the rest of the team. "Go get an LP."
"What, you think it's neurological?" Foreman asked, holding up a hand to Taub, who had begun to gather his things.
"I think it could me meningoencephalitis."
"Except he has none of the symptoms of meningoencephalitis and all of the symptoms of lupus." Thirteen butted in, re-reading the file as if there were some major component she'd missed.
"Who's the boss here?" House asked, looking around the room at all of the eyes focused on him. "I think it's me. Do what I say." Foreman and Taub stood, readying to head to the patient's room. "Actually," House interrupted, "I think it would be more fun for our resident immunologist to get a lesson in lupus. Thirteen, help her. Taub and Foreman, go home. It's the fourth night of Channukah, after all. Couldn't make you two work on such an important occasion." And with that, he stood and walked into his office.