Disclaimer: I don't own House!

A/N: Spoilers for Mirror, Mirror. I was just kind of planning this as a one shot, but if you want more, let me know and I'll certainly think about it. This is me in an angsty mood.

Cameron stood to the side, out of view, watching the crowd of people that had gathered outside the Mirror Syndrome patient's room. Scanning the group, she quickly picked out Foreman and Wilson, both watching the proceedings with affected airs of indifference, but she could see the slight intensity in Foreman's eyes. He had something riding on this. When she heard the cries of fair and foul, she quickly realized that House had won the little bet with Cuddy. It didn't take a genius to tell her that House was the dominant one in that particular relationship; any other hospital administrator would have fired House long ago, or at least put him on some serious probation. Cuddy, though? She'd been letting House walk all over her recently, which disappointed Cameron. It'd been enough that Cameron herself had let House walk all over her at various points.

She snorted aloud, drawing the attention of Thirteen, who'd been standing at the back of the group. After a slight hesitation, Thirteen looked behind her to make sure that the other doctors were too busy cashing in their bets, and then walked over to Cameron.

"Dr. Cameron," she greeted, standing next to her and still watching the ensuing insanity. House was still doing his victory dance, apparently, causing various doctors to cheer or boo. The two women took a moment to simultaneously roll their eyes. "I don't think we've met yet, I'm…"

"The infamous Thirteen," Cameron interrupted, still watching the doctors. "I've heard a bit about you already. I hear you've caught House's attention," she said, finally turning to look at the younger woman. It took a little bit of an effort to keep a slight hint of jealousy from her tone. It wasn't that Cameron was jealous of Thirteen herself, but rather… Mirror Syndrome? That was just too cool. She missed diagnostics more than she'd admit. Thirteen didn't react to her statement. If anything, it seemed to annoy her.

"I've heard that Amber's been making her way down to the Emergency Room to ask for advice," Thirteen threw out, leaning back as the doctors started to flee the scene. Cuddy had just stormed out of the room, and no one wanted to get in her way.

"She has," Cameron replied. "You don't particularly sound as if you care, though," she noted.

"Not particularly," Thirteen agreed. "It's just interesting to me." Cameron's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention back to Thirteen.

"Why?"

"Well, everyone knows Amber wants this job, and that she'll do anything to get it, even manipulate a senior attending in the ER. It just doesn't explain why you're helping her. Or why you're up here right now, doing your best not be seen." Thirteen's voice lowered as Taub and Amber walked by the two of them, their voices raised in argument. Cameron sighed, watching as House, Wilson, and Foreman began to walk down the hallway in the opposite direction. Thirteen had a point, even if Cameron would never admit it. It was ridiculous that she was standing in the shadows, feeling guilty for… Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. House had turned to look behind him, and he'd immediately found Cameron's face. For a split second, their gazes locked, and Cameron felt her heart begin to pound in her chest. Just as quickly as it began, however, it was over. He turned back to make some snarky comment to Wilson.

Cameron opened her mouth and turned to speak to Thirteen. It was with some consternation that she realized that Thirteen was gone. Probably got her answer the moment I acted like a love-sick idiot because House looked in my direction, Cameron thought. Annoyed with herself, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her fingers violently against her forearm. But she still stood there, watching Kutner administer the medication to the patient. She waited patiently until the hallway cleared and Kutner had left.

Then, surreptitiously, Cameron opened the door to the patient's room and walked in. Shutting it quietly behind her, she took a moment to look the patient over. He seemed nice enough.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Allison Cameron, I work in the ER here. I saw you for a brief second when you first came to the hospital. I used to work for Dr. House, the doctor who diagnosed you. It's a stroke of luck that you ended up here, because you're getting the best possible treatments." She paused, waiting for him to say something. "Listen, I just wanted to know if…" The patient let out a big sigh, and Cameron walked closer to the bed, eager for him to speak.

"I don't want to be here," he said. "Maybe I made a mistake." Cameron's brow furrowed. "I'm not happy."

"Are you being me?" Cameron asked, confused. She was perfectly content working in the ER. "I'm fine with my job. I have a great…boyfriend, and I just bought a cat." The patient groaned.

"But I don't love him! Not him, not him. He's never been the one." Cameron rolled her eyes.

"That's not true," she countered. "He's perfectly nice."

"Too nice," the patient scoffed. "If I wanted nice, I'd have bought a dog. No, I hate the word 'nice.' Everyone thinks that I'm nice, but they just don't know." Cameron leaned forward, intrigued. "It's true, you know, I'm not nice."

"You don't sound too convinced," she said, smiling.

"Well, there's a difference between being nice and wanting to help, isn't there? You don't have to be nice to want to help someone out." He was speaking softly, calmly.

"That's true, I suppose," Cameron agreed. "But why help someone if you're not nice?"

"Because I need help." She thought about that for a moment. It described any number of people that she knew: Wilson, House, Cuddy, and, yes, herself. "It hurt too much," he continued, "to stay there. I had to leave."

"Leave where?"

"My old job. I was tired of hurting all the time. Now I try not to hurt, but I'm still not happy." Cameron shook her head while listening to the patient speak. This was all just too unreal for her. She jumped a little when he reached for her hand. "I lied earlier, I'm sorry."

"About what?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"About being nice. I mean, I am nice, but I'm not as nice as everyone thinks I am, you know? No one takes you seriously, though, if they just think you're nice. Oh, God, I hate the word nice. Isn't there another word we can use?"

"I can't think of another one right now, I'm sorry," Cameron replied, chuckling softly.

"Do you think people take me seriously?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want them to, but I don't think they ever will." She thought about that for a long moment, feeling her throat tighten somewhat.

"Maybe they do," she tried. "Maybe they don't, though. Sometimes they all have a funny way of showing it. But you have to try not to care, right?" Desperately she ignored the tears stinging her eyes, but she was all too aware that they were both talking about her.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he replied, sounding defeated. "But I know I'm smart; I know I have skills. Why do I care so much what the others think?" For a brief second, the patient's eyes shot to the glass wall, and he nodded towards the doctors walking around the halls. "It shouldn't matter to me what they all think, and yet it does. Why is that?"

"I don't know," she whispered.

"I'm just too used to not being taken seriously, you know? No one's ever appreciated me for being me." He paused for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I guess it doesn't help that I'm not exactly sure who 'me' is, right?" Cameron couldn't help but smile.

"Are you sure that's true?" she asked.

"Pretty sure," he said, returning her smile. "Are you okay?" He'd finally noticed the tears in her eyes.

"Oh, me? I'm fine." She patted his hand reassuringly.

"Did you know that I'm a really bad liar?" The patient tried to smile, but there was no missing the hint of sadness in his tone.

"I certainly did." Cameron's head whipped around when she heard that voice. It was a voice that still managed to make her knees weak, despite her protestations to the contrary. Standing in the doorway was, of course, House. "I forgot my jacket," he explained, motioning to a chair beside the patient's bed.

"Oh, it's okay," she said, "I was just leaving."

"Like you said, she's a really bad liar." House spoke to the patient, but kept his eyes on Cameron as he limped to the chair. The two stared at each other for a moment as House put his jacket on. They'd almost forgotten that the patient was there, until he spoke once more, very softly.

"I miss you." Two pairs of eyes shot to the patient, only to find him looking at Cameron. House lowered his gaze quickly, obviously trying to find a quick way out of this situation.

"Looks like his meds are working," he offered, though neither he nor Cameron bought it.

"Yeah, probably," she responded, sighing. A wave of sadness washed over her as she realized that only a sick patient could tell her what House really wanted to say. He'd never do it himself.

"I'm sorry," the patient whispered. Cameron made a small noise, and felt a lone tear fall down her cheek. "Come back." Though she could feel House's eyes on her, intent to discern her feelings—or perhaps with a sadistic desire to watch her in pain—Cameron turned to flee the room. Before she left, though, a masochistic urge inside of her forced her to turn back to look at him once more. His features were carefully guarded, but she caught a brief glimpse of pain in his eyes. Not physical pain, but rather something much deeper. But what would it take for him to open up? She didn't know, and right now she wasn't sure she could try.

She left. Again, House thought.

"I'm an idiot," the patient said, groaning and putting both hands over his face.

House reached for his pill bottle. Again.