Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing or putting the story on their alerts. It's comforting to know that the work I've put into it isn't vanishing down the ether.

Sorry again about the format of the quotes. Any ideas, anyone?

And thanks again to my formidable beta Brighid45. May your muses get into line and get their job done!

Act 2, Scene 2

Puck: Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe.
[A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 2 Scene 2]

9 p.m.

If House lost his whole team, there was no knowing what he'd do. No team meant unsolved cases, unsolved cases meant frustration, frustration meant pain, and pain meant vicodin. If A implies B and B implies C, then A implies C. Simple logic, but House was refusing to see it. Wilson sighed, drew his fingers through his hair and stumped through the snow to his car. On the way he saw another familiar vehicle – Foreman's. Hadn't House said that Foreman had left? There was a bar close by frequented by PPTH staff. Perhaps Foreman and Thirteen were there. Wilson changed tack, making down the road towards the bar.

A warm glow fell through the window onto the snow, the door opened and a couple came outside, arms around each other's waists, laughing inordinately, while a babble of voices from inside merged with the clinking of glasses against each other. Wilson peered in through the window at the corner favoured by House's team, tensed muscles relaxing when his eyes found what they were looking for.

He entered the bar, looking around casually as though he was just a bored, lonely doctor in search of company and a drink before heading home to an empty apartment. Waiting until he'd caught Thirteen's eye, he raised a hand in casual greeting and then sauntered over to the barman, taking his time as he placed his order, chatting the while and pretending to check out a lone female customer at the other end of the bar. He doubted that anyone as savvy as Foreman would buy his act, but there was no harm in trying. When he got his drink, he moved over to the nook in which Foreman and Thirteen were sitting. Foreman's face was deadpan as usual, but Thirteen's mirrored her suspicion clearly.

No one's fooled here, hence Plan B, Wilson thought, opening with, "What's Cameron doing here?" There, let them chew on that bone long enough for him to sneak his steak past them.

"Trying to talk Chase out of a divorce," Foreman answered.

"Interesting," Wilson said making a show of deliberating on this information. "I'd have thought it would be the other way around. Chase always struck me as a hopeless romantic."

"Are you asking out of curiosity or did House send you?" Thirteen asked outright.

"Personal curiosity," Wilson averred, "motivated by living with House, thus having to deal with the inevitable fall-out that upheavals in his team cause. He reacts ... sensitively to change, you know."

Foreman leaned his head back, shaking it slightly in disbelief. "Man, are you trying to guilt us into something?"

Wilson was spared the necessity of answering that one by Foreman and Thirteen's pagers going off simultaneously.

"It's House," Thirteen, who had got hers out first, said. "A patient, he says." She looked at Wilson suspiciously. "Do you know anything about a patient?"

"He, ah, saw something in ER just now. It looked like concussion, but if he's paging you, there must be more to it," Wilson floundered. House, a disgruntled team, a patient who was taboo, Cuddy in major stress – it had all the makings of a giant fiasco. Couldn't House act like an adult, just for once?

"More likely he finally read his emails and figured he'll have eight hours of clinic duty tomorrow unless he finds himself a patient," Foreman surmised. This was so close to the truth that Wilson squirmed uncomfortably. If Foreman could read House in absentis like a book there was little chance of Wilson fooling him about anything. He'd have to go for the open, honest approach.

Foreman turned to Thirteen. "Why don't you go ahead while I settle the tab?"

Thirteen nodded and rose, shrugging herself into her coat. "Don't take too long, or I just might go for someone's throat."

As soon as Thirteen was out of earshot, Foreman leaned back, mustering Wilson.

"Have you come to tell us that House is a sensitive soul who expresses his affection by kicking our asses? It's not going to work."

That was a pretty accurate summary of what Wilson had intended to say, minus the bitter sarcasm with which Foreman laced his words. But there were advantages to being friends with House. For one, you learned to respond quickly to a change in circumstances, adjusting your strategy to the feints and diversions staged by your opponent.

"No," lied Wilson without a blush. "You have a professional relationship with House. He'd be the first to tell you that you shouldn't base your decisions on a misplaced sense of obligation towards him. I simply wanted to point out that your actions have consequences for Remy. You have a quarrel with House, I admit, but she doesn't. Quite the opposite, in fact, since Chase's role in the neurology course is smaller than yours would have been, hence she benefits from the swap. If you drag her into this, she loses her job here, her friends, her family, her whole supportive network - and for what? The best she can hope for, given the state of her health, are short-term contracts, probably not even a fellowship. Leave if you want to, but don't play on Remy's sense of loyalty to you just to put House's nose out of joint! House will shrug it off quickly enough, but Remy will have to live with the consequences."

Foreman nodded slowly, pondering Wilson's words. Like House, he wasn't one to court advice, but he wasn't immune to the dictates of logic. Watching him, Wilson felt reasonably certain that Thirteen's position on the team was secure, although Foreman himself wasn't appeased enough to stay. Hopefully he'd postpone his resignation until Wilson managed to knock some sense into House's head.

"Cameron mentioned that there's an opening in diagnostics at St. Luke's. You might want to check that out," Wilson suggested.

Foreman wouldn't hand in his resignation without a viable alternative lined up, so diverting him from the teaching post would buy a few days' time. Foreman nodded again.

"Tell Remy that you don't want to drop diagnostics. St. Luke's is fairly close, so you can keep an eye on her. She'll do the Johns Hopkins assignment, a last major success before ..." Wilson trailed off, letting the image sink in: Thirteen holding a course at the renowned Johns Hopkins Medical School, reaping praise and respect before kow-towing to the disease whose ravages were becoming increasingly obvious.

"Okay," Foreman said surprisingly. Wilson congratulated himself internally. That had been easier than he'd anticipated.

Foreman rose; Wilson remained seated. He needed to report back to House and stop him from making the kind of comment that would get Foreman's hackles up all over again, but if he moved now, Foreman would know that he was heading back to House. He'd give Foreman a head start and try to head House off before he clashed with his team.

Foreman crossed the parking lot in big strides, hurrying to catch up with Thirteen. He didn't want her wondering what he'd discussed with Wilson nor did he want her to confront House with her intentions before he had a chance to talk her out of resigning from her job. His instincts, honed to sharpness by years of self-preservation on the streets, alerted him to another presence in the seemingly deserted parking lot – a vague outline in one of the parked cars. He continued at the same unabated pace as though he had noticed nothing, while he scanned the offending car out of the corner of his eye. Long, blonde hair – a woman. She was resting her head on the steering wheel. Who in their right mind would sit in their car in this weather?

Foreman hesitated, his instincts on dark deserted parking lots battling with his medical work ethics; finally he turned towards the car. As he approached the driver's door he recognized the person in the car. Relief tinged with worry welled up in him. Frowning, he tapped against the window. He didn't want to get pulled into the muddy mire Cameron and Chase were wallowing in, but leaving his former colleague and almost-friend in a car on a hell-is-freezing-over night was not in the books. Cameron's head jerked up, her eyes alarmed. When she recognized Foreman she relaxed visibly. After a moment of hesitation she climbed out of the car.

"This isn't the best place to mourn your marriage," Foreman remarked.

"I'm n-not m-m-mourning my m-marriage," Cameron muttered through blue-tinged lips.

Foreman placed a hand under her elbow and tugged her towards the hospital. Once inside, he steered her towards the doctors' lounge, pushing her onto the couch before he headed towards the coffee machine. He returned with two mugs, hoping that his memory didn't deceive him in suggesting she had a preference for black strong coffee. She clasped both hands around her mug for warmth, staring into the murky depths as though reading something in the swirls and eddies. Foreman seated himself in an armchair at an angle to the couch.

"He's not the man I married," she said after a long silence.

"He never was the man you married," Foreman stated cryptically.

Cameron glanced up, annoyed, the corners of her mouth turned down slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Cameron, he grew up without a father, taking care of an alcoholic mother. He nearly became a priest. You saw in him an innocent carefree boy. That's what he'd like to be, but it isn't him. He's a driven man. Men don't contemplate eschewing sex for the rest of their lives unless there's a powerful force driving them."

"So I fell in love with a lie?"

Foreman sighed. Trust Cameron to put the blame on someone else, not on her own skewered perception. "You fell in love with what you wanted to see. Don't blame him."

"So what do I do?"

"Talk to him. But don't believe you can save him. He doesn't need to be saved." He shifted in his seat to indicate that the topic was closed as far as he was concerned. "Wilson says St. Luke's Hospital in New York has an opening in diagnostics?"

"How does Wilson know?"

Foreman shrugged; he thought Wilson had said he'd got it from Cameron, but honestly, he didn't care.

"And why are you interested?" Cameron continued. "Weren't you going to teach at UW Medicine?"

"Change of plans. I'm not sure I want to teach."

"It's only a fellowship, and not a very well paid one at that. You're deputy head over here: you'd damage your career if you went for anything less than that." Cameron was puzzled – and suspicious of his motives, he could see.

"I can work my way up – I'm good, I have experience, I can lead a team."

Cameron's features set as she examined him. "You didn't bring me here to discuss my marriage or to comfort me. You were out to get information on the vacancy. If you apply for it Robert doesn't stand a chance!"

Foreman tilted his head in assent.

"You don't care. It doesn't bother you that your taking the post would keep Robert and me apart!"

Foreman snorted in disbelief. "Cameron, if that's all it takes to keep you and Chase apart, then maybe you aren't meant to be together. Look, there aren't that many diagnostic departments in existence in this country. I can't be choosy."

Cameron rose from the couch, her eyes flashing. "You know, Foreman, you're as big a jerk as House! But regardless of whatever you may believe, you don't have his leadership qualities. You haven't got what it takes!" She stormed out, righteous indignation emanating from her like an aura.

Foreman grimaced as he emptied his mug. Cameron had been the easiest task on his to-do list, yet he'd botched that one up royally. He still had to ditch Thirteen and deal with tonight's differential without going for House's throat.

Helena: Wherefore was I to this keen mockery born?
When at your hands did I deserve this scorn?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man,
That I did never, no nor never can,
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye,
But you must flout my insufficiency?
[A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 2 Scene 2]