Disclaimer: You guys know the drill. Don't own 'em. Wish I did. O how life hath smited me.
A/N: I apologize in advance for the skipping around time-wise. I hate having trite "flashbacks" in my stories, so bear with me. A line across means another time change has happened. And I'll tell you in advance, this entire chapter takes place before 1 and 2.
"You know what's worse than telling someone they have AIDS?" Cameron groused as she stormed into the office. Foreman and Chase looked up from their card game. "Telling someone with anger issues that they have AIDS. He threw his water on me. And then he threw the cup."
Indeed, her face and hair were soaking wet, droplets of water snaking their way down the front of her lab coat and dripping off the end of her nose. She huffed angrily and stalked to the sink to grab some paper towels. Chase snorted and looked back at his hand; Foreman just shook his head.
"Gee, thanks for the sympathy guys. I appreciate it."
"The guy has already thrown three temper-tantrums, Cameron. A less…sympathetic doctor would have stayed by the door. Or at least out of range of his throwing arm," said Foreman.
"So, what?" she asked. "You guys think I'm too nice?"
"Yes," they replied simultaneously. Cameron sighed and continued cleaning her water-smudged glasses.
"I fold," Chase declared, throwing his cards to the table. Foreman grinned gleefully and pulled in the pot of quarters. "I hate this game. Why do we have to play poker, huh?"
"Because you suck at it and I always win."
Chase blinked. "Oh. Well. That makes sense."
"It also begs the question: why do you play it anyway?" House muttered. Walking to the coffee pot, the doctor poured himself a cup and eyed Chase over the rim of the mug. "I'll tell you why. Because you Brits are such pushovers when it comes to us manly Americans." He took a sip, dutifully ignoring the annoyed snorts from both Chase and Cameron.
"I suppose I could remind you yet again that I'm Australian, but that wouldn't do anything, would it?
"Nope." With that, House hobbled back into his office and stuck his headphones in his ears.
"I need a towel," Cameron said finally.
"I need a change machine," Foreman replied.
Chase lifted his head from the table and looked at the other two ducklings.
"I need a drink."
"Five, four, three, two, one. Ladies and gentlemen, it is officially Saturday and yet another House-free weekend," Foreman declared before gulping down the rest of his beer. "We should celebrate with more Heineken."
Cameron rolled her eyes but accepted the new bottle Foreman passed her. "He's not that bad, you guys."
"Right, and Hitler was just misunderstood."
"I can't believe you just compared House to a racist war-monger."
"Face it, Cameron," Chase said. "You're too in love with the man to see any of his faults."
"I am so not in love with him!" she exclaimed. Both men just stared at her, one eyebrow firmly raised. She let out a long sigh. "I'm not, okay. Leave it alone."
The doctors sat in silence for a minute or so, sipping their drinks and thinking.
"Doesn't it bug you, though?" Chase asked quietly. Cameron looked at him.
"Doesn't what bug me?"
"I mean, doesn't House bug you?" He paused thoughtfully. A crash and a drunken giggle from a corner booth momentarily broke his concentration but he turned back and finished the last of his margarita. "Have you ever noticed that he doesn't ask Foreman or me to restock the animal crackers or make sure there's coffee in the pot? And don't even say it's because we can't make coffee; frankly, neither can you." Foreman snorted, but kept his mouth shut. "Not to mention the fact that he makes you do all his paperwork and check his mail and shit. Foreman is just as OCD about that as you are, but if he went anywhere near House's desk, House would stab him with a toothpick. Doesn't that bother you? It's like he doesn't even treat you as a doctor; you're just his hired lackey."
Cameron's frown grew deeper and she glared at the Australian. "If my coordination wasn't severely impaired by this alcohol, I'd slap you. As it is, I'll have to deal with a scary growl."
Foreman let out a bark of laughter and finally entered the conversation. "You couldn't scare a kitten."
Her eyes slid to the darker man. "Stereotypes aren't nice, Eric."
"It's not a stereotype, Allison. It's a stone-cold fact. You are naturally a nice person, even to Hitler."
"House," she corrected.
"To-may-to, to-mah-o."
"Guys," Cameron grumbled. "Maybe I'm too nice. Is that a bad thing? No, it's not. So bite me."
"Oh, I think we hit a nerve, Robert," Foreman smirked.
"As for House," she interjected. "Has it ever occurred to you that he makes me do all those things because I'm nice? You two are such assholes to him; maybe he doesn't want you guys reading his mail or making his coffee or picking up his dry-cleaning. Or maybe he likes me and…okay, why are you grinning at me?"
Chase was biting his lip to hold in a chuckle. "You…you picked up his dry-cleaning?"
Cameron's cheeks burned. "Once. When he was sick! He asked me to!" Chase and Foreman collapsed into laughter, arms clutching ribs and tears running down faces. "Oh shut up. It's not that funny."
When their guffaws settled down far enough to allow the conversation to continue, Chase signaled for another drink and look pointedly at his friend.
"Cameron, he makes you run his errands because he knows that you will, no questions asked. Not because Foreman and I are abrasive, and certainly not because he has some hidden feelings for you. I'd bet you a billion dollars."
Dr. Allison Cameron surveyed the bar from her stool, taking in the other patrons, the gaudy decorations, the red-nosed bartender. She smiled lightly before turning back to her coworkers.
"I'll take that bet."
"Oh right, sure. Can you break a billion dollar bill?" Chase scoffed.
"Sorry, I left my purse at home. Would you settle for five hundred?"
"I am so in," Foreman said, rubbing his hands. "Chase?"
"Alright, Cameron. It's a bet."
"Fasten your seatbelts, boys," she replied, hopping off her stool and throwing a twenty on the counter. "We're in for a wild ride."
