So, hi.

I've recently fallen back in with fanfiction. I found the app, looked back at some old favourites, re-read some for the first time in ten years, and found myself thinking about House and Cameron.

There are a lot of what ifs about those two. Two of the big ones, for me, are the moment when the gunman walked into the conference room and House said "the skinny brunette", and Cameron's HIV status post-Hunting. This story is about the latter.

It's been a long-ass time since I sat down and watched the series. I'm working from scenes and memories. I need to go back and re-watch it all. So if I get something wrong, something in the wrong order, get a minor character's name wrong or something - I'm sorry. If I catch it, I'll go back and fix it. But I couldn't keep myself from writing. Plot-wise, we'll see how things go. But I will tell you, because I jumped ahead, that there's some nsfw stuff later on.

Back in the day we used to call 'em lemons. Ah, memories.

The test had come back positive.

Cameron twisted her hands in her lap. It had always been a possibility. She had thought about it, about how her life would change, about how she would feel. Assume it's positive. Then if it is you won't fall apart. Then if it isn't, it will be a relief.

That's what she'd told herself. It was still a blow, straight to the solar plexus. She took a deep breath.

House was staring at her from across his desk, face unreadable, his eyes too, too blue.

"I'm sorry, Cameron," he said, voice thick. "You can take a few days - "

She shook her head rapidly. "No."

He pushed. "You should take some time off. Go..." he waved his hand above his head, "...swim with dolphins, or something."

The way he said it sparked something in her and a laugh bubbled up from her throat. Swim with dolphins! It was halfway between one of those spiritual super-cures and a gift from the Make-a-Wish foundation.

"Swim with dolphins?" she giggled, her fingers raised to her mouth.

House scowled. "I don't know. Climb Mt Everest, whatever it is people do when they need some time."

"Last time I got high and called Chase." She was still giddy and hadn't meant to say that. It was funny, though, and she laughed again.

House wouldn't meet her eyes. He sneered something cruel about Chase that she didn't really hear; the laughter had caught in her throat and she was busy trying to gulp it down before it turned into a sob.

HIV. And she was a doctor.

She could still do her job, for the most part. If it was a surgeon, things would be different; anything invasive was off the table. It would change how the team worked. It would change how others thought of her. And who wanted to be treated by an HIV positive doctor?

At least the telling her employer part was taken care of. She never thought she'd be glad for House's tendency to pry. How would that conversation even have gone? She couldn't imagine coming in here, the letter in her hands, to tell House the test was positive. Couldn't imagine how he'd react. No... it was better this way. It would have been weird if he hadn't pried.

He was toying with a pen, tapping it against his desk, watching it as if it was fascinating. "If you don't want to take any time off, that's fine," he said, in his softest voice, the one that sounded like smoke in night air. "You'll need to talk with Dr Henly, get your treatment plan sorted out, and Cuddy..." He trailed off, and gripped the pen in his fist. His knuckles were white.

Cameron looked away, and swallowed. He should be teasing her about Chase. Then she could be angry at him. She could be angry and wouldn't have to think about how her life had changed. Or maybe she'd laugh again, and tease him and make some arch comment about calling him next time... in some other world where she was braver.

"HIV isn't a death sentence," House was saying. "Not any more."

She looked back at him, her brows pulling together. "I know that, House. I'm a doctor."

He nodded, and still wouldn't look at her. She quashed the instinct to reach out and comfort him, hated herself a little for it. She should be looking out for herself. He was looking away as if he'd forgotten she was here, lost himself in his thoughts.

That's enough, she thought, and stood up with a tight smile.

"Thank you, House. I'm still annoyed that you opened my mail, but..." she took a breath, "it was a lot easier than doing it alone."

He met her eyes then, as if she'd shocked him into it, and her smile twitched and she turned to go. She had reached the door when she heard him clear his throat.

"Do you -" He stopped.

She paused in the doorway, hand on the knob. He was twirling his cane in one hand with a pensive expression. She could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"If you'd rather not be alone," he said, "you can come hang out at my place." He met her eyes then, face closed off and unreadable. "I don't have any meth, but I have some great scotch. We can watch monster trucks."

Cameron let the door swing shut. It was a tempting offer. Part of her burned to see the inside of House's home. And monster trucks - they'd had so much fun together, on their non-date. It was one of her memories of him she cherished, something she called to mind whenever he was particularly vicious. It reminded her that he could be warm and friendly, that he could laugh. That he could smile at her.

He was looking at her with questioning eyes.

Did she want company tonight? Or was this the sort of thing that demanded solitude? She felt as if this was something she was meant to process... No, fuck that. Fuck that. She was scared and she was sick, goddamn sick of crying herself to sleep. God, how many nights had she spent worrying about this fucking test? And House was trying to be a friend. He was reaching out.

"I hope you don't expect to score," she joked, and relaxed as he broke into a grin.