Disclaimer: I don't own House. I secretly own Dr. Chase, though... Just kidding. But that would make my life more exciting...

A/N: This pointless story is the result of my Memorial Day five-hour House marathon. It's my first Housefic, so any out-of-character-ness and/or inaccuracies are my own fault, and hopefully by the time I finish my next marathon I'll have a better grasp on the details. It was fun, though, and that's all that counts.

At five-thirty in the morning, the halls of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital were lit only by the backup generators. In the dim light, the only living occupants that could be seen (aside from the patients, who by and large still slept), were artistically scattered janitors, mopping the sterile linoleum floor with all the enthusiasm minimum wage could muster. Amidst this shadowy yet familiar landscape, Dr. Allison Cameron navigated her way around such an underpaid obstruction as she walked with a moderate amount of purpose toward the chemical testings lab. The janitor, an unattractive man with a walrus mustache and a comparable body structure, made absolutely no effort to hide the scan he gave her body, up and down and then resting somewhere inbetween her navel and her shoulders, beneath the white lab coat. She rolled her eyes elaborately but decided it was too early to launch a feminist crusade, and certainly not solo. Honestly, just because she was born with breasts, you'd think the entire hospital staff thought she was an endangered species in a zoo…

The slightly incongruous showtunes that had been drifting from Perverted Janitor's badly tuned radio had faded into the background as soon as Cameron turned the corner. Nonetheless, she paused for a moment, looking with narrowed eyes down the hall with her head cocked to one side as if listening. She could've sworn she'd heard music coming from somewhere. Unless she was going crazy, which after all this time working for House wasn't quite as unlikely as it sounded, that is.

"I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord…"

No, she hadn't been imagining things. There it was again. She'd come in early with the intent of running a few more chemical tests on their most recent patient's urine sample without the somewhat distracting presence of her misanthropic boss looming over her shoulder pelting her with one-liners, but it was no good now; her curiosity was spiked. She instantly altered her course, turning down one hallway and then another, following the sound. That voice, disturbingly and hauntingly beautiful, grew clearer with every step.

"But you don't really care for music, do you…"

The sound of running water joined the voice now, and with a small disturbed shock Cameron found herself standing in front of the employees' locker room. She raised one eyebrow skeptically. She hadn't had any of the doctors pegged as either the type to come in early or sing in the shower, despite all of the current evidence to the contrary. Rather than dissuading her, this totally ridiculous setting only made Cameron more determined to figure out what was going on. Eyeing the somewhat restrictive sign above the door that read simply "Men", she shrugged and pushed the door open anyway. She wasn't going to say anything or see anyone, she reasoned, and she'd leave before anyone noticed she was there.

"Well it goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift, the baffled king composing hallelujah."

The locker room air was heavy with steam rising from the shower on the far left of the row. It fogged the mirrors and the tiny paneled window in the opposite corner, installed for fire safety reasons more than to let in any natural light. Certainly this person did not appreciate the perks of an early-morning cold shower. Cameron sat down on one of the benches across from the shower stalls, trying hard not to imagine what disgusting male locker room antics had taken place on said bench and contemplating a shower of her own after she left. Better safe than sorry. It didn't take much effort on her part not to think about this, though. It didn't even feel like stalking per se, following this unidentified voice that was now singing the second verse, it was just one of the most natural things she could do. Cameron was tired, she was stressed, and she'd spent eighteen of the last twenty-four hours at Princeton Plainsboro. Listening to the voice, in which she now thought she could almost hear the faintest traces of an accent, was the auditory version of a back massage on a beach somewhere in Fiji, if that didn't sound too ridiculous to make any sense. It felt good. Did she always have to question everything that felt good? And why was everything that felt good always, without fail, wrong?

"She tied you to her kitchen chair, she broke your pride and she cut your hair, and-"

The sudden silence caused Cameron to instinctively tense. The water shut off suspiciously two seconds later, if such an action can be done with suspicion. The shower curtain edged backwards inch by inch, just far enough for its occupant to poke his head around apprehensively, nothing more. She first saw the damp, unruly blonde hair, her gaze moved down a few inches to sky-blue eyes… She froze.

"Oh, shit…" she whispered.

"Cameron?" Dr. Chase yelled in horror. "What the hell are you doing here?" Yes- that had definitely been the accent. Shit.

"Um, uh, I was, um," she stammered, then changed tactics on the spot. What would House do, she reminded herself dryly. The answer was simple: sarcasm. As much as possible and as quickly as she could think of some. "I was hoping to catch you wandering around naked, Chase, because secretly I'm going commando under this lab coat," she deadpanned.

Chase rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Hand me a towel," he said shortly. Cameron grabbed the nearest one and put it in the Aussie's extended hand, then retreated to her bench, deliberately facing the opposite way.

"You can leave at any time, you know," Chase's voice said pointedly from behind her.

Cameron laughed. "And risk getting felt up by the rapist janitors? I'll take my chances here, thanks."

"Flattering," Chase commented airily. "But really, Cameron, I'm not wearing pants. Wait for me outside if you feel you have to."

"I didn't know Australians were so modest," she sighed, but she stood up and left to the area of the locker room where the lockers were actually located. She didn't know why exactly, but she decided to wait for Chase after all. Maybe it was the alternative of wandering the halls with the creeper janitors, maybe it was because she was a born procrastinator and messing with other people's urine didn't merit the top of her to-do list. Maybe. Or maybe she just wanted to see Chase for a few more minutes. Did she have to try and explain that? If pressed, she'd much rather not, honestly.

The main benefit of being a man, as far as Cameron could tell, was that it took a grand total of five minutes for them to get dressed. Chase wandered out in half of his typical work uniform: severely broken-in khaki pants, black shoes, and a soft white tee-shirt that Cameron would have said highlighted the subtly defined muscles of his chest and arms if she'd been one to notice such things about him. Which, of course, she wasn't. Of course not. Naturally.

Chase quickly busied himself in his locker, searching for a clean work shirt. It quickly became obvious that he wasn't going to say anything, so if she wanted this interview with an Aussie to continue, she was going to have to start making conversation. Cameron cleared her throat awkwardly.

"So what are you doing here at five-thirty in the morning?" she asked.

"They shut off the electricity at my apartment," Chase said curtly. "I didn't feel like taking a shower in the dark. Besides, I never went home last night anyway," he added, doing up the buttons on his white shirt.

Cameron looked at him askance. "You never went home? At all? What've you been doing all this time?"

"I finished the chemical testing on our new patient," he shrugged. "Came up with a short list of diagnoses for House when he comes in. Filed some things. I read Wilson's e-mails."

She laughed out loud. "You did not."

He grinned. "I did. His password's 'password', it's like he was begging me to do it. Apparently he's going with his wife to see A Chorus Line at the theatre on Thursday. Think we should show up?"

She grimaced. "If you want me to shoot myself in the face, okay, sure."

The silence hung there for maybe another minute while Chase searched his locker for a tie not wrinkled beyond repair. Cameron peered over his shoulder; there must've been easily four days' worth of clean clothes stashed in there, not counting the entire contents of most people's bathroom counters (deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, contact lens solution and case, hairbrush, the works), two pairs of shoes, and an electric razor, plus the charger. Catching her looking, Chase quickly yanked out a blue-and-grey tie and slammed the door with a quick flick of his wrist. Maybe it was just the effects of the warm shower, but she thought she saw the color rising in his face. Maybe this wasn't the first time he'd passed the night at the hospital…

"Why did they shut off your power?" Cameron asked hesitantly as Chase tied his tie with the expert precision of someone who spent way too much time at work. "We have the same paycheck, don't we, and I've never had a problem with paying…"

"Apparently I'm not exactly the best at managing money, Cameron," Chase snapped, cutting her off. His blue eyes took in her "well, then, sorry I asked" expression, and he sighed and gave in without being pushed further. "I'm still paying someone to get my visa straightened around, because I guess there's been a few problems with the paperwork," he explained more gently. "And then I'm sending quite a bit back to Melbourne to pay for my dad's hospital bills. Things get out of hand when I don't stay on top of it."

"I'm so sorry," Cameron said honestly. "What's the matter with him?"

Chase paused a moment while he finished his tie, then answered in a slightly strained, forcedly calm voice, not looking directly at her. "He was in a car accident with a semi a month ago. It was on the highway and the truck was going ninety miles an hour. The car was totaled, and my dad's in a medically induced coma while they try and fix his internal injuries."

"Oh my God," Cameron whispered. "Is he going to be… will he be all right?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know that, Cameron?" Chase demanded, spreading his arms wide. "I have no idea what's going on because hardly anyone at the hospital will talk to me. I just send money and hope he doesn't end up like my mum, all right? She died of cancer because we couldn't afford to pay for rent, food, and chemotherapy." He took three or four agitated steps away from Cameron, slamming his hands on one of the lockers with aggravation at his helplessness that he couldn't get out any other way. He stood there for several seconds, Cameron standing quietly a few steps away. She wondered what she could say, but in light of the situation she wasn't sure what good words would do, exactly.

After a pregnant pause, Chase straightened and combed back his damp hair subconsciously, then looked at Cameron with tormented eyes and shrugged. "Sorry," he said with a wry smile. "I'm a little bit stressed these days."

"You should get out of here once in a while," she told him seriously. "No, really. House isn't the best person to spend a lot of time with when things are crazy."

"You're telling me," Chase said with a pointed eyebrow raise, both of them plainly remembering House's formidable right hook through Chase's firsthand experience.

"You could…" she began hesitantly, then finished in a rush, like she was embarrassed at how much she absolutely didn't mind suggesting it. "You could stay at my place if you wanted to. Just until your next check comes through, you know," she added hurriedly.

Chase smiled warmly at her, and Cameron felt a bizarre sensation somewhere in her stomach at the sight of it. "I'd really like that, actually," he said. "I mean, only if it's not weird for you, and only for a few days, I promise."

"Great," Cameron said, and she meant it. "That'd be great."

"Awesome," Chase agreed, nodding.

"All right, then."

"…Okay…"

"Yeah. Cool."

Chase grinned. "I'm, uh, gonna go get a cup of coffee from downstairs," he said pointedly, starting to walk to the door. Cameron bit her tongue with a vengeance and groaned silently. Why could she never stop the awkward rambling part of her brain? This went beyond a lack of a filter. What she should have said was: nothing. What she did say was: everything that popped into her head. Maybe someone could diagnose that…

"Chase?" she called after him, on another irrational impulse.

The Australian paused and turned around, standing in the open doorway of the locker room. "Yes?" he asked bemusedly, though the accent made it seem like he always knew exactly what was going on for some reason.

"…You have a beautiful singing voice," Cameron admitted. The announcement was followed by a blush of epic proportions from both doctors.

"Er… thank you," he said awkwardly, then quickly ducked into the hallway, his face still burning.

"What, the wombat can sing?"

Chase jumped about four feet in the air. It was amazing, really, that he didn't have a heart attack on the spot. Not eighteen inches away from the locker room was Dr. House himself, complete with cane and sarcastic look, one-liner at the ready like a World War II submarine lurking and waiting to fire a torpedo.

"Maybe someday we'll have a hospital performance of West Side Story, Vegemite, and we'll put you in as Maria," House deadpanned, never one to disappoint.

Finally, though, Vegemite had something to say back to this. "Make sure you ask Wilson," Chase retorted with a broad smile. "I hear he knows all the words to A Chorus Line."

House froze to the spot, eyes wide. "You're joking."

"I'm serious," Chase said, biting back a laugh.

"Wallaby, I owe you one," House said, the devious mind working completely transparently behind his eyes. He smacked Chase on the back and limped off at a breakneck pace down the hallway, presumably in search of Wilson. Material like this didn't come along every day, after all. When it did, you had to capitalize on the opportunity.

Chase grinned. Between Cameron and House, he could think of worse places to spend twenty-six hours… One more than the other, of course, and it was becoming more and more clear just how much that person was reciprocating the feelings. Maybe. Best not to overanalyze things until there was some kind of proof behind them. Chase turned the corner and headed down the stairs to the first floor.

Now, about that coffee…

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