Chapter Two: The Linear Approximation

There was so much they didn't know. Word hadn't gotten out until that very day that she had broken up with Chase. She had dropped four more pounds in a week, and no one could tell through her scrubs. She was coping in her own perverse way with what was maybe possibly grief over the death of her father, whom she hadn't spoken to in years, and they had no idea. She was coming to work very obviously ill, yet no one barred her from entering. It was all so surreal, made even stranger by her fever and the ineffective flu medication.

House or Chase hadn't been seen in the ER, and there were no more coffee dates or non dates, and she was happy about that. She couldn't process another human relationship at the moment.

After a long night in the ER, Cameron took her usual semi-relaxing shower. Tonight, however, she felt someone's presence in the locker room. Wrapped in her towel, she peered around the rows of metal lockers until she saw him- House. He was leaning against the last row of lockers, his cane pointed towards her, her bra dangling off the edge. As she went to grab it he snatched it back.

"Ah, ah, ah, what's the magic word?" he teased.

"Give it, House, I'm tired and sick, and I want to go home."

"Why would you even come here if you're sick? Oh, wait, you're a masochist, my former masochist in fact, yet something's off, you're on edge."

She hated how he could read into her. He tossed her the bra and hobbled towards her. She inched away. "Cammie doesn't want to spend time with Housey anymore? What is going on? I hear the Wombat is out of the picture, I thought I might have a shot," he said, flashing her a big, fake smile.

"Don't… go there…" she said, the last two words barely audible. He reached out his hands and she backed away, but he was persistent, and showed her she could trust him though his eyes. She walked towards him and he placed his hands on her neck.

"Your lymph nodes are huge. Go get some help. Also, you're losing too much weight; it's not hot as much as freaky now, please stop."

His concern was genuine, and she was touched by it, but she couldn't ease the heavy anxiety that weighed her down everywhere, the boxes in her apartment that she needed to do something with.

"Get dressed and I'll walk you to your car," he said gruffly.

She went behind another set of lockers and finished changing, and walked out with him. She could tell he was really concerned, from the way he grabbed her arm once or twice when he thought she might be swaying. "I'm fine, House, I can make it home. I'll even text you when I get there, Mom," she said with a smirk.

"Right…" he said, deep in thought as he hobbled off towards his bike, which he rode even though it had snowed that day.

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House noticed Cameron was taking her lunches in Wilson's office, a fact that House, of course, thought he might be able to use to his advantage.

"What are they discussing?" he asked Thirteen, who was charting at the nurses station nearby.

"No idea," she said, "Is something wrong?"

"Differential Diagnosis for weight loss, sore throat, swollen lymph nodes, fatigue, and strange behavior?"

"The flu… and… anxiety?"

"But what is she anxious about? She's free from the Wombat, she's head of her department, doing a perfect job running it…" House paused as Wilson's soothing voice could be heard responding to a question Cameron asked.

"Think Cammie has c-c-c-cancer?" he asked, in a mocking voice, yet Thirteen could see worry lines etched on his face.

"She might, I mean, he is an oncologist. But I think she is definitely more damaged than she pretends to be,"

House nodded in agreement and they backed behind a nurse's station as Cameron came out of Wilson's office, and strode down the hall, not paying the slightest attention to them. She was pale and a little green, and she didn't look like she could stay standing much longer.

Thirteen saw her dash into a bathroom, and followed to see if she was alright, and House rounded on Wilson.

Wilson threw his arms up in a defensive position. "I can't say a word! You can't drag it out of me, so don't waste your time! It's between her and me."

"But, but, I'm your favorite!"

"Do you know how you extrapolate data? How the farther and farther you extrapolate from the original data points, the less accurate your estimation will be? Don't assume, House. She'll tell you if she wants to, but don't insult her by trying to find something that fits."

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Later that night, House sat at the glass table in the differential room and stared at the white board. He didn't dare draw her case up there after Wilson's warning, but he wanted to. His fellows sat, waiting for six o'clock when they could leave, entertaining themselves by doing crosswords and research online.

Cuddy came in, wearing her usual low-cut blouse. "I need two people to help in the clinic, and two in the ER." House shot Thirteen a glance and she volunteered them for the ER. Cuddy asked Thirteen to deliver a letter to Cameron, it arrived at the hospital that afternoon.

House walked with Thirteen down to the ER, and begged her to open the envelope, but she held it firmly in her hand. She gave it to Dr. Cameron as soon as she saw her in the ER, which took a little while since it was swarmed this evening. Even House was forced to pick up charts and start dealing with people pretty quickly.

After about twenty minutes, Thirteen needed Cameron's signature on a form and set off in search of her, only to find that she was not down in the ER.

"House, Cameron's gone. She's not down here but her shift's not over."

"Shit. Page Foreman and try the roof," said House, mentally cursing his leg.

"The roof?"

"Just do it!"

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Five minutes later, Thirteen found herself jogging up the last flight of stairs to the roof, Foreman on her heels. She opened the door and was immediately engulfed in falling snow. Cameron was standing on the other side of the roof, holding a letter and a photo in her hand. Thirteen walked closer and she could hear her sobbing. She could also hear that her breathing was severely strained.

"Allison," called Foreman, reaching out and touching her shoulder. She spun away from him, and looked into Thirteen's eyes, her own green eyes both exhausted and manic.

"Thirteen, he's dead. He's dead, he's dead, Thirteen, he died." She looked at them for a moment longer and then collapsed into the snow.