Disclaimer: Not mine, in any way, shape or form. Just the creativity of already-forged characters.
A/N: This is quite brief, and I'm considering adding to it, but it's unlikely. It is my hypothetical idea of what happens with Stacey makes an appearance.
Spoilers: If you don't know who Stacey is, don't read on.
As they rose to disperse, Cameron hesitated, watching House cautiously. There was something wrong—she could feel it. With his back turned to her, House reviewed the white-board decorated with symptoms.
Tentatively, Cameron extended a hand to gently grace his back but stopped. With down-cast eyes she left the room silently.
House felt her leave, knowing that her fingertips had been mere inches from his body.
Eyes fixed in the lens before her, Cameron blinked her long dark lashes and sighed. Leaning back from the microscope, she removed her wire-rimmed glasses and massaged her aching temples.
Withdrawing the slide she leaned over her chart.
"Nothing" she muttered, making the necessary notation on the page.
Stretching her stiff back she caught a furtive glance through the glass wall of a man standing down the hall—House.
He stood a few feet away, looking intently though the slightly open vertical blinds of the ICU room where their current case lay— a man in his late forties. His ailment still eluded them; all of their tests had proved negative.
Cameron watched House silently. There was something about this one resulting in an anxious distractedness to the usually composed, albeit brash, medicine House practiced.
She didn't know if Chase of Foreman had noticed— they were, admittedly, far less interested in the emotions and inner psyche of Gregory House than, regrettably, she was.
Something wrong...
Unable to helplessly watch him any longer, she stood and exited the lab, letting the glass door close soundlessly behind her.
She approached him slowly, the distant sound of voices and a ringing telephone drifting through the empty corridor.
Cameron stopped, her left arm almost brushing his right. She could feel the heat of his body radiating towards her.
He neither looked at her nor acknowledged her presence.
Together they gazed into the room where the man, Derek, lay motionless. His wife, a handsome brunette in her early forties, held his hand silently, her worrisome eyes fixed on his closed ones.
Eyes fixed forward, at what, or whom, Allison could not tell, House spoke.
"You remember I told you I was in love once?" he questioned blankly.
She felt that deeply, within those words, "once" meant "once it would only ever be". Her heart gave a discouraged squeeze.
Cameron swallowed roughly and looked up into his face. She nodded.
"Yes" she spoke softly.
House lowered his gaze to his right hand which gripped the cane tightly, running his thumb across the smooth handle before once again returning his attention to the still room behind the blinds.
"This" he said quietly, "is her husband".
Cameron's head shot up quickly. Her keen eyes flit from his face, to the room, and back again.
"So..." she began hesitantly, "she is..."
"Stacey." he concluded harshly.
Cameron was unfamiliar with the name but she knew that this "Stacey" and Houses' "mystery woman" were one-in-the-same.
She gazed into the room. "Stacey" wiped a stray tear from her soft cheek.
Cameron's heart flooded with pain— the back of her neck growing increasingly warm.
Her lips softened, "the pain he must be in..." she thought sadly.
Instinctively, Cameron reached a delicate hand up to rest on the back of his right arm and stood in silence.
House could feel the warmth of her touch through his navy sports' coat. He blinked, started, and cast his view down to rest on Cameron's tender face— her eyes fixed straight ahead.
His gaze lingered on her soft eyes a moment before turning his head to once again take in the scene before him. He cleared his throat quietly.
Gently, Cameron smoothed the rough fabric of his sleeve as she turned to leave, releasing his arm as she returned to the lab, not speaking a word.
House turned his neck, mouth pursed into a grim line which softened as he watched her go.
Seated behind his desk, House accessed the voicemail on his speaker phone and replayed the message he had received the day before.
A woman's husky voice permeated the silence:
"Greg" the voice was sultry; nervous but familiar.
"It's Stacey."
There was a pause.
Finally, "It's been a long time and I just..." the voice trailed off.
An audible sigh followed before the words continued.
"Greg? I need your help…"
House pressed a key, deleting the message mid-sentence.