You've Got a Friend in Me

Story Title: You've Got a Friend in Me

Story Summary: "When the road looks rough ahead, and you're miles and miles from your nice, warm bed, you just remember what your old pal said, girl, you've got a friend in me". Possible/Eventual Camteen.

Genre: Friendship/Hurt/Comfort


Chapter Focus: #80 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Better Left Unsaid"

Chapter Rating: T

Word Count: 1980+

POV/Person: Second person. Cameron is "you".

Spoilers: For Season Five


Author's Starting Notes: When I first started working on my themes, all my focus was on Cameron and Thirteen. I'm taking some of those Cameron/Thirteen centric themes and posting them online. This chunk of themes is more making a base, or foundation, for the future. I hope you'll enjoy it. I apologize in advance for the fact that the person and POV will jump around. I made a rule not to change my themes after putting them on the second draft page, and changing the person is way too big of a change to follow that rule.

If you like Thirteen, check out Hadley_fest. Claiming starts the 21st and prompt suggestions end the 12th.

And, check out my other themed work.

Time Stamp: Posted 7th of February 2009


I: You Got... a Scare From Me

Your thoughts spin out of control, like a freight train that has been derailed. You gaze at her fallen form and cannot believe she was stupid enough to fall into this trap. You had sort of expected more. No, you had definitely expected more, but there she was having caved in to the insane demands of working for House.

"Dumb bitch," you mumble. Maybe House should have named her the bitch of the pack instead of Amber. Then again, maybe House should have fired her instead of letting Amber leave. You are sure a hell of a lot of problems could have been prevented if he would have just chosen the blonde girl instead - the events of the last few months for one. But, it is too late to ponder the 'what ifs'. You have got to focus on the dying girl sprawled on the ground from what you are sure is an overdose of some kind of drug.

Uh, this was not what you signed up for. Hell, you did not even sign up voluntarily. Another pool in the hospital was circling due to the third consecutive absence of House's female fellow. Everyone figured she was either truly fired after shooting up during work hours, or out having hot lesbian hate sex, or something along those lines. Your curiosity had simply gotten the most of you and before you knew it, you had Lucas' copy of Thirteen's apartment key and you were on your way to visit a person you were sure had no interest in Chase's latest form of merriment.

You had knocked on the door a good ten times before figuring something was wrong. You inserted the key in the lock and turned it hesitantly. You were not completely sure why you were so cautious with the number of times you had broken into people's places. Then again, all the previous times you could just blame it on House. This one was all you. Still, you pushed open the door and headed through the place, looking around curiously. It really was a cute apartment. You were all ready to give up and turn around when you saw a limp hand by a doorway. You went over to it and felt all the blood drain from your body. Lying on the ground was a passed out brunette that you recognized from a few run-ins with the new team. You had screamed, looked at her, and screamed again; and that's exactly how you got to where you are now - which is not much better.

You have long sense gotten over the fact that she is an idiot for doing drugs alone in her apartment, instead choosing to think about how she seems to be taking a short cut down the road to House-ness. That thought is in no way comforting, but you find that you cannot disregard it. They are both pretty similar, you think. They enjoy their privacy and use sarcasm like air. They pride themselves on one-upping others and grow better through every incident and mistake. They also both seem to have a fondness for IV-drugs.

You turn your attention back to her, and go closer. You place your hands gently underneath her shoulders and hoist her up as much as you can. You then proceed to pull her from the ground to the bed a few feet away. You place her atop the covers and step back. She looks pretty peaceful lying there. But who wouldn't be if they had gone into a deep sleep from some drug or another? You begin to wonder what drugs she was taking and why.

It can't be all House, you think, even House could not do this much damage that quickly. She seemed fine the other day when she passed through the E.R. And, it certainly can't be just dealing with that dying patient she stopped seeing. What was her name again?

You contemplate asking Thirteen when she awakes only to disregard that notion. She probably would not want to talk about the patient, especially if her coming off drugs was anything like the last time you came off a good high.

Or a bad high depending on how you want to look at it.

A small groan tears you away from your thoughts. You look to the side and see that she is now waking up. You sigh, at least she is conscious now.

"W-what?" she whispers blinking slowly.

You grin. She almost looks cute when she does that.

Wait, did I just think she was cute? No, almost cute. No, Chase is cute. Puppies are cute. Thirteen is not cute. Mildly attractive, but never cute.

You shake your head. She is now looking at you blankly, with her eyes glassy in a way that has to be the effect of the drugs and her hair falling over her face.

"Welcome to the land of the living," you greet, turning your attention solely on the patient. Your voice must have shaken something for she now sits up a bit straighter.

"Dr. Cameron?" she asks, you nod.

"In the flesh," you say smiling lightly.

"What's going on? What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Oh, I was just trying to figure out a pool and broke into your apartment to see what was going on. Don't freak out though," says some sarcastic voice in your head. You decide that would not be the best thing to tell her.

"I was sent to figure what was going on with you, and found you passed out on your bedroom floor," you answer. She nods slowly. Her gaze goes to her room. She almost seems to be looking for something to say.

"Um, you probably should go," she says, shakily bringing a hand through her dark, auburn hair. Your stare is brought to her hair, and you feel the sudden urge to dye yours back to its natural color. Brown really did look good on me, you tell yourself.

"Oh, no," you mumble, fumbling to collect your thoughts again, "I can't leave now. The doctor in me requires that I make sure you're perfectly fine before I leave, preferably with you on the way to PPTH,"

She shakes her head quickly, and you see her wince. Fast movements really aren't good when recovering from passing out. You can remember that from your own drug scare.

"I can't go to the hospital. I'm fine anyway. Look at my head, no bumps, no bleeds, and no problems," she insists

"You hit hard wood flooring after taking drugs," you comment

"I was not taking drugs," she snaps

"You weren't? Then what you were doing? Holding your breath until you passed out?"

"No. I was moving around, and I got dizzy," she says. Her tone makes you almost reconsider your theories. She seems to be admitting to something in a defiant sort of way. You can practically hear the 'fine, I'll say it, but I'm not going to like it' in her voice.

"Dizzy? You honestly expect me to believe that the person who's been out stirring the hospital rumor mills with countless tales of nameless one night stands was on the ground because she just 'got dizzy'?" you ask with your hands on your hips. The disbelief coming from your question is just enough to trump your considerations from earlier.

"Yes, I do," she says, "Because from what I hear Alison Cameron is a ridiculously gullible, young doctor who believes anything a pretty face tells her,"

You frown at the jab.

"Wow, and here I was thinking that I was so untrusting that I kept everyone out of my crumbling life," you mutter albeit loud enough for her to hear you.

She chuckles breathily.

"Look, Dr. Cameron, I appreciate you stopping by, but I don't think you playing chaperone is necessary. I'll be back to work in no time, so, you can move on back to the E.R," she says, motioning towards her bedroom door.

"Not my shift,"

"Clinic hours?"

"Already done,"

"Paperwork?"

"Got an assistant,"

"Dirty laundry?" she suggests weakly. You smirk.

"I dry clean now," you tell her. She groans leaning back into her many pillows. She throws her head back, and the sight of her bare neck takes you aback.

Wow, the skin lying there looks almost deli--wait, what are you thinking? You close your eyes as tightly as she does, though for two completely different reasons.

"Look, I fell. Do you freak out every time Kutner or Taub falls? Or is it just for people like me?" she asks irritably. You don't ask what she means by 'people like me'. You know what she means. She means the ones who are most susceptible to breaking after being pushed one too many times, the ones who push people away while craving for someone to be there, the ones currently dying from more than just emotional pain.

You have to say something in response. So, you go for the doctor approach.

"I respond the same way I do whenever I feel medical attention may be necessary," you reply

"Bullshit," she hisses, "The only reason you're acting like this is because of some obsession with making everyone in the world as fricken' perfect as you. We're not all happy little E.R Senior Attendings, okay?"

"Who said I was even a happy E.R Senior Attending?" you ask before you can stop yourself, "I lose more patients in a day then your department probably loses in a month, or three. Nearly everyone who walks through the doors for me is dangling on a thin thread, and I hold the ability to cut the cord. I am so sorry if my caring is unnerving to the mysterious baby duckling,"

She raises an eyebrow at you. You aren't really that surprised. You don't usually speak like that to her - or anyone for that matter. An apology is quick on your tongue until she speaks again.

"Why do you want me to go to the hospital so bad? Got another pool going?" she wonders

"Why do you want to stay away from the hospital so bad? Got another former lover waiting?" you retort. She frowns. You probably shouldn't have said that.

"Funny," she mumbles tightly

"I thought so. Now, are you going to come get checked out - which will take a total of maybe five minutes - or are you going to sit here and sulk?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Her question is rhetorical - as was yours. She scoots from the bed to the ground. It takes her but a moment to announce she's ready to go. A quick tussle of her hair, a smooth slip into her shoes, and a jacket tossed on her arm, and she is at the door waiting for you. She does not ask how you got in in the first place. You almost kind of wish she would. Her not talking is starting to get to you already. You never did work well with awkward pauses. To try and get rid of it, you hastily say the first thing to come to your mind.

"There actually is a pool going around about what's happened to you. Top runners right now are that you slept with House and that you're suffering yourself from some mysterious ailment. Which one should I put my money on?"

It is meant as a joke. However, her response makes you certain she took it the wrong way. You can tell by the stiffness of her shoulders that comes after your question why she was at home for so long, doing Lord knows what with God knows who. You want to comment on it, but figure if she is coming with you there truly is no reason to do so. Besides, some things are better left unsaid. Her disease being one of them.


© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.


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