A nice long chapter with a lot of stuff in it! Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, and also to those who aren't reviewing but are simply reading and enjoying... I know that sometimes it can be a pain to think of stuff to say in a review! Criticism and corrections are most welcome, as well as notes about whether or not you think things are in-character and realistic. Thanks again!

Chapter 3

"Differential diagnosis, people!"

It was Monday morning and a new patient had shown up like a kitten abandoned on the doorstep. In this case, the "kitten" in question was a twenty-two year old man with tremors, decreased vision, vomiting, and headache.

Chase let out bored sounding sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Sounds like a hang-over to me."

House glared at him, his expression one of exasperation. "Yeah, I'm sure Cuddy's so desperate to put us to work that she's sending us frat boys." He turned from Chase to the others. "Next!"

"Decreased vision and tremors indicate something neurological," Foreman said, always glad when something fell under his area of expertise.

"Or it could be some sort of poisoning," Cameron suggested. "Do we know where he's been? What he's eaten?"

"What about a viral infection? Bacterial meningitis?" Chase attempted to redeem himself.

"Ah, looks like you didn't pull that diploma out of a box of cracker jacks after all," House said with an exaggerated grin. "You can talk to Senor Upchuck and see where he's been and what he's done lately. Foreman and Cameron, go schedule him for an MRI. Check for tumors, aneurysm, evidence of stroke, the usual suspects. I'll be in my office downloading the latest Jack Johnson album onto my iPod."

That said, he gave a cheeky wink to the all and limped out of the conference room, shutting his office door firmly as he passed through.

"Well, good to know he'll be spending the time productively," Chase said without any real animosity. He pushed back his chair and headed out of the room as well. "I'll see you two down at the MRI."

Foreman grabbed another cup of coffee while Cameron gathered up the patient's file, and the two of them walked towards the elevator and the imaging department. He glanced over at her as they stood waiting in front of the sliding steel doors. His gaze was appraising, as he judged whether or not to speak.

"You're in a better mood today," he said as the elevator arrived and they stepped inside. "Good weekend?" The last remark was slightly teasing.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Yes. Very relaxing," she replied, not giving him any more to work with.

"Good, so that means you won't be turning psycho on us again this week?"

"I wasn't that bad," she insisted, surprised that she was able to laugh about it. She was always so concerned about how everyone else at the hospital saw her, so intent on being taken seriously.

"Nah, you weren't that bad," Foreman agreed. "But it's still nice to see you smile. I thought I was gonna have to give House a talking to."

She laughed again. "He would have nailed you in the shin with his cane if you'd tried," she told him. "And anyway, you know my mood didn't have anything to do with him."

"So it is your surgery that had you all wound up." He verified what he'd already guessed.

"What can I say… I hate hospitals," she said with a shrug.

"Yeah, well you've got a good reason," he said, as the elevator settled and the doors opened.

"Still shouldn't have let it affect my performance here."

"I wouldn't say it was your performance it affected… just your attitude," he said with a jokingly smug smile.

"Glad you were so amused." She went along with the teasing because she knew it was his way of playing brother.

He chuckled lightly. "Last week I was a little scared of you. This week I'm just glad you're back to your old self."

"Me too," she said, falling into step with him as they neared the MRI rooms.

The weekend of relaxation had allowed her to push her fears to the back of her mind, but she could admit to herself that they weren't entirely gone. She just intended to do a better job of hiding them this time.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully as the diagnostics team ruled out a stroke and attempted to see what sort of toxin their patient might have eaten or otherwise been exposed to. When Chase suggested lead, it was at first scoffed at by Foreman, but then House latched onto the idea and ordered more blood work.

That call by Chase proved to be correct and House actually offered a grudging and half-insulting congratulations.

Chelation therapy was started and they could only wait to see if the man would suffer permanent brain damage. He'd slipped into a coma and his family kept vigil through the night. By morning he'd regained consciousness and they were able to run a few simple tests that afternoon which seemed to indicate that he would make a full recovery, although it would be weeks before he was able to leave the hospital.

That relatively happy ending should have put Cameron into an even better mood, but she was embarrassed to admit that she had hoped that it would take longer to diagnose him. It would have kept her mind busy until her surgery. Instead, she shocked Chase by offering to do his clinic hours, and kept herself floating between the clinic and Immunology. House didn't even bother asking her to join him for lunch.

She kept up a good show of being her usual helpful and caring self, but House noticed how much quieter she became, and Foreman was careful not to mention her upcoming surgery when their paths crossed. House was unusually mum about the subject as well. If she had been anyone else, he would have been prodding her about it to get a reaction and force her to face up to her fears.

By Wednesday afternoon, he had decided to stop holding back.

She was in the clinic when he found her filling out a chart at the nurses' station. He limped up behind her with the sound of his cane giving him away.

"You'd better run. Cuddy's been looking for you."

"And I've been looking for you," House said, leaning against the counter and stealing her pen.

"Hey!"

"You were supposed to check in upstairs fifteen minutes ago."

She had been ready to slap him in the chest with the chart, but instead her mouth formed a thin line across her face and her arm dropped to her side.

"It isn't five o'clock yet," she said, knowing that her argument was weak.

"Right, and you were supposed to check in at four-thirty. Plastics called the department looking for you."

"You could always tell them you couldn't find me," she tried joking but it was only half-hearted.

"Get upstairs, Cameron," House said firmly, grabbing the chart from under her hand. "You finished all my charting. You organized the office. You filed everything that wasn't nailed down. You're scheduled for a five a.m. surgery and you need to check in. Now go get your bag and get your pretty little ass to the fifth floor."

Cameron didn't say anything and House lightly touched her arm with the chart, making her meet his eyes. "You said you were ready for this," he said gruffly.

"I know. I am," she told him. She forced her voice into a lightness she didn't quite feel, although House's strong presence before her was helping. "You could come tuck me in before you leave."

He raised one eyebrow. "Well, I've never actually had sex in the hospital before. Could be fun."

Cameron's laugh was a little bit nervous but at least it was there, and she turned from him and started towards the elevators. She knew that House had only been kidding about the sex, but maybe she'd at least get a kiss before he headed home. She knew she wouldn't get much sleep alone in a sterile hospital room, but it would be nice to have the memory of his kiss to keep her company in the dark.

He had known that his townhouse would feel cold without Cameron in it lounging on the sofa, helping in the kitchen, or pestering him to shut off the light and sleep. They weren't living together after all, and he'd spent most of the previous week without her in his bed, so he was quite familiar with being there alone. Knowing all that didn't change the way his breath caught in his chest when he opened his door and was greeted only by the echoing sound of it striking the rubber-tipped doorstop. He often arrived home before her, but for some reason the place never seemed that cold when he knew she was only half an hour behind him.

Limping over to the piano, he poured himself a full glass of scotch, not even bothering with the ice. She might have given him that tiny frown of hers if she'd been there, but she wasn't, and he wanted to at least blur the image of her in her hospital room. He knew he wouldn't be able to completely purge it from his mind.

The paleness of her skin against the paleness of the stiff hospital sheets had been unexpected, along with the instant flood of memories which had accosted him when he'd seen her looking smaller than she should in a bed that was only half the size of his. Her eyes had been wide and grateful, but she'd made a joke at his expense, knowing that anything else would make him uncomfortable.

Naturally, he hadn't been able to let her get away with that, and he'd thumped over to her bedside with caustic remarks tripping off his tongue about how she really needed to get a tan and put on a few pounds and quit hogging all the attention. When she'd grabbed his hand, his first urge should have been to pull away, but instead he'd found himself holding on so tightly that she made a little sound of protest and teased him about not knowing his own strength. He'd only loosened his grip enough to allow circulation back to her fingertips.

Her dinner had been brought in a few minutes later, at precisely five-thirty, and he'd snagged her pudding and scarfed it down in four bites before she could make more than a feeble protest. She'd only picked at the rest of the food, mashed potatoes that weren't as good as her own, and something pretending to be chicken marsala. He had grown fidgety as she'd eaten and had finally stood up and paced around, checking the chart that hung on the bed before grabbing the remote control and flipping through all of the channels twice. She'd stopped him when he was part-way through a third round. Her quiet voice telling him that he should go home and relax had the irritating effect of making him feel like crap. Apparently his bedside manner still left a lot to be desired.

He'd assured her that she would be fine, and she had told him that she knew that, and that she'd see him when it was all over. She'd made another joke about knowing he wouldn't be up in time to see her go into surgery, and he'd quickly replied that the surgery would have to be a hell of a lot more serious to get him out of bed before eight. Her laugh hadn't been genuine, but at least she'd smiled. A quick kiss was all he'd allowed, just a brush of lips and a soft touch against her cheek. He'd left the room without saying anything else.

The scotch in his glass seemed to have the power to mesmerize, and he stared into it as he sunk down onto the piano bench. He started playing Chopin's Nocturne Op9, No2 without even realizing it.

The sun wasn't yet over the horizon, but fluorescent light made Cameron's room as bright as day, and her eyes were bright and alert. She'd been awake since before five, and she tried keeping up a steady flow of chatter with the nurses to keep herself calm. She'd already changed out of her comfortable pajamas and into a thin hospital gown, and the anesthesiologist, Dr. Eganhoff, was there now. He told her that they were almost ready for her, and prepared to start her on lactated Ringer's solution before her move to the OR. Normally, introductions would have been required, but she'd worked with him before. She asked him how his new baby was doing.

Everyone was moving in a rhythmic, easy-going manner, as they went through the pre-op procedures the same way they did every day. Cameron wished that she was as relaxed as they were. She drew ina breath and looked away, out of habit, when the needle for the IV was inserted. When the door opened she looked over in that direction, expecting to see another nurse or an orderly.

"You're looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning."

"Wilson? What are you doing here?" she asked, happy to see a more familiar face.

"I've got a surgery at seven, so I figured I'd stop by and see how you're doing," he replied, leaving out the part about House calling him at midnight and demanding that he check on her in the morning. "Lovely new jewelry you've got there," he joked, indicating the numerous hospital bands around her right wrist.

"Yeah. They go with everything." She felt herself becoming slightly more relaxed.

The door opened again, and this time it was an orderly, ready to wheel her down to the operating room. Wilson stepped aside, and Dr. Eganhoff gave Cameron's knee a little pat.

"Ready, Allison?"

She nodded and replied in the affirmative before turning back to Wilson and saying, "I know he sent you. Tell him thanks, okay?"

An expression of admiration settled on his face as he considered that Cameron was more than smart enough to see through House's feigned disinterest.

"Yeah, I'll tell him," he said. "I'll see you this afternoon."

He watched while the nurse and orderly transferred Cameron to the gurney and wheeled her out of the room. Once they were gone, he took out his pager and typed a quick message, sending it on to House. He knew the other man would already be awake and probably pacing his apartment, waiting for the right time to put in an appearance.

Cameron kept up a stream of light conversation and counted the lights on the short trip from her room to the fifth floor operating room. Two sets of swinging doors and they were inside, the dim illumination designed to put patients at ease.

"Dr. Paulson is just scrubbing in now," Dr. Eganhoff told her as they helped her from the gurney to the operating table. "I'm going to give you the fentanyl now, and once you're out, we'll get you intubated and ready to go."

"Ready when you are," Cameron replied, lying back on the cold, hard surface and trying to remember that it would be over in a few hours.

The nurse, Linda, draped a heated blanket over her just as she started to tremble from the cold, and moved to her right as Dr. Eganhoff first placed an oxygen mask over Cameron's mouth and nose, and then injected the strong sedative.

"Just relax, Dr. Cameron," she said, "We'll take good care of you."

The dizziness was first to strike, and Cameron's eyes struggled to focus on Linda's face, but found it impossible. Next was the weakness in her limbs, and the suddenly desperate need to move. She felt claustrophobic and trapped within her own body and the hot plastic smell of the mask. Her eyes were darting around, and she felt Linda's hand on her arm.

"You're fine," she said, "you're just fine."

But Cameron didn't feel fine. She felt panicked, and at the same time foolish for being so scared, and she wanted House there holding her hand, but her mind was getting muddled and she couldn't quite understand why he would want to be, and with one more deep breath things cleared for an instant and she remembered that he loved her, and her eyes fell closed as the drug took over.

Cuddy couldn't argue with success, but if given the choice she would have preferred to find a more repeatable method of getting House in the clinic than putting Dr. Cameron through surgery. He'd seen twenty patients in five hours and the head nurse had even reported that he was being somewhat personable, or at least not provoking any of the patients into threatening lawsuits.

She checked her watch while reaching for another ream of paperwork needing her signature. Damn. She was late for a meeting. This was what happened when she couldn't keep a secretary.She smoothed back her hair with one hand and stood up, straightening her suit and preparing herself for a long and boring few hours of financial talk.

As she left her office, she swung by the clinic admittance desk and checked the schedule. House was still on duty. She was definitely going to have to send Cameron an extra-large floral arrangement. She wondered, high heels clicking along polished linoleum, if House knew just how very predictable he was in his efforts to be unpredictable.

The elevator doors opened, and she smiled at Wilson, who was buttoning up his lab coat and rubbing hands made dry by too much anti-bacterial soap.

"How'd your surgery go?"

"Fine," he answered. "Great, actually." He didn't bother with specifics, knowing that she didn't have the ability to keep track of every patient in the hospital. It was enough work just managing the problem cases… most of which ended up being House's.

"And Cameron's?" she asked, knowing that he had to be coming to the clinic to give House an update.

He stepped out of the elevator and held the door while she got on. "They're just finishing up now. She'll be in recovery in a few minutes."

"Well, I guess that ends his record-long stint in the clinic," she replied with a smirk. "It was nice while it lasted." She paused for a second and her mouth widened into a conspiratorial grin. "I don't suppose you'd consider waiting a half an hour to tell him? I've gotten almost six straight hours out of him."

"It's House," Wilson replied. "I value my scrotum, thanks."

Cuddy gave an look of disappointment mixed with disgust and Wilson laughed and let the doors close, then turned and headed off to find the doctor of the hour.

Normally, House would have been easy to track down; simply follow the sound of yelling patients and crying nurses The clinic was oddly silent, however, and Wilson had to stop and ask Teri, the head nurse, what exam room House was currently in. He only had to wait outside exam room two for a minute until the door opened and a woman walked out carrying a prescription and a little bag of medication samples. Wilson's eyes widened. House never gave out the free stuff. He generally considered drug reps to be the minions of the devil.

Swinging into the room just seconds after the woman left, Wilson stared at his friend.

"Was that a freebie bag I saw in her hand?"

"She's got migraines. We had meds," House said, scribbling something unreadable on the chart in his hand. "Problem?"

"No," Wilson replied, shaking his head incredulously, "just that the bowels of hell must have frozen over during lunch."

House rolled his eyes dramatically. "Okay, look. I don't like giving out free pills because it gives the free pill people an edge. Well, I had all different brands this time, and I gave all of them to her and told her to try 'em all. Equal opportunity is what it's all about. That's what Foreman would say."

Wilson chuckled and crossed his arms as he watched House finish whatever notes he was making and close the folder. He wisely kept his mouth shut about the fact that House was making notes at all.

"Anyway, she's poor and didn't have insurance."

"Aww, so I was right. Cameron is rubbing off on you."

He didn't know that House had been chastising himself for that very fact just two days earlier. If he had, then House's force-ten glare would have been even less of a surprise.

"Giving her free pills means the drug companies lose out. Sometimes even I have to do something nice to do something mean," House replied, snideness firmly in place. He limped towards Wilson and poked him with his cane. "But speaking of little miss nice…" His tone was still strident but the look in his eyes gave him away.

"They're taking her to recovery right now," Wilson told him. "She should be back in her room within the hour."

House quickly pushed past him and Wilson jogged to keep up, catching the chart House tossed towards the nurses' station and handing it over to Teri. A look passed between them, and Teri went to sign House out on the clinic timecard.

"House. House! Wait up," Wilson called out. "They're not going to let you in there." The look House shot in his direction made him hold up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, maybe they'll let you in if you look at them like that. Sheesh. I'm the good guy, remember?"

Wilson boarded the elevator with House and pushed the button for the fifth floor. He took in House's tapping cane and darting eyes and smiled to himself.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not polite to stare at cripples?" House snapped.

Without saying anything, Wilson switched his gaze to the glowing numbers above the door. He knew he was missing out on a prime teasing opportunity, but he was a good enough friend to not take advantage of it. When the elevator arrived on the Cameron's floor, he stayed where he was, leaning against the stainless steel handrail.

"What, you're not coming?" House asked when he stepped out and realized that Wilson wasn't following him.

Wilson shook his head. "I think you've got it covered, and I've got a patient," he said, and the look of gratitude from House was not lost on him.

House didn't need an audience to his shows of humanity.

The hallway was relatively empty, considering that it was the middle of the day, and that actually made House uneasy. For once, he wanted to see some people so that he could glare at them and make it clear that nothing affected him. No, he wasn't there because he cared. He was just there because he happened to be passing by. Affection had nothing to do with it. Certainly he hadn't been worried about anything.

Down the hall, around the corner, past a nurses' station and straight into the recovery room. House didn't break stride, even when a nurse finally tried to question him as he speed-limped past her desk. The recovery room held three beds, separated by curtains and staffed by at least two nurses any time there was a patient in residence. They checked their patients' vitals every five minutes as they recovered from anesthesia and gradually became aware of their surroundings. At the moment only two of the beds were occupied, and one of the nurses was passing from one curtain area to the other when she saw House walk in.

"Hey, you can't just walk in here," she said, keeping her voice low, but loud enough to be heard clearly over the oxygen machines and monitors.

"Sure I can. I've got a free pass. Just ask Dr. Cuddy," House quipped.

"Look, I know who you are, Dr. House, but friends and relatives are not allowed in here, and neither of these people is your patient." The nurse in charge was a middle-aged woman who had been around even longer than House, and although she knew his reputation, she was one of the few who wasn't scared by it.

"Look, I'm here and I'm not leaving. Go call security if you want me out," House demanded, tired of playing games.

He pushed past her and looked in at the first bed. Male. Asian. Not Cameron. When he brushed aside the next curtain he saw the woman he'd been looking for. She was lying very still except for the continuous involuntary trembling which gripped her body despite the warming blankets covering her. House moved quickly to the heart monitor and checked the read out. Normal. The oxygen levels were also normal, and he glanced at her chart and saw that the last check of her vitals had shown them within the standard acceptable ranges.

"She's too damn cold!" he shouted, not caring if he disturbed the nearly senseless man five feet away. "Bring another blanket. What was her temp when they brought her in here?"

The second nurse on duty appeared in the break in the curtains. She was slightly more intimidated by the Dr. House she'd only heard rumors about.

"Well?" he demanded. "What was it? Why'd they extubate if she's still this cold?"

"It was 96.5 when she got here. That's high enough to manage without a vent," she told him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," House griped. "Fine. Just get another damn blanket in here."

She hurried off, and House stepped closer to Cameron's bed. He hadn't thought that he would need to touch her. It was more his style to just check the medical aspects, bark some orders and leave. When he saw that his left hand was drifting towards her face, he didn't stop it.

Her skin was cold, and the oxygen mask covered the lower part of her face so he could only stroke a bare inch of skin along her cheekbone. An IV was delivering fluids along with painkillers and a mix of drugs that were busy counteracting the anesthesia. House watched as her eyelids began to flutter. She was coming around.

Behind closed eyes, Cameron could just make out patches of light, but her ears caught more: the sounds of voices and the insistent droning of hospital equipment. She wanted to open her eyes and see where she was, but her senses were coming back piece-meal and even her eyelids wouldn't obey her. Now she felt something against her cheek, and she became more aware of her body, and then of the pain that encompassed her chest.

Her muscles were coming back under her control, and she jerked her arm and let out a sound of dismay at the pull she felt in the crook of her elbow. She was hurt. Something had happened. She was cold. She kept hearing that voice near her ear and she felt her body trembling harder, the pain in her chest becoming more acute as she rose through the fog that clouded her mind.

With more effort than she thought possible, she wrenched her eyes open, and saw stark white light and blue curtains and then House's face floating above her. Her chest hurt, and she couldn't remember why that would be. The surgery. Right. Or had that even happened? Her mind was whirling and her brow furrowed in concentration. She and House. They were together. Or was that a dream? She'd been shot. That was it. Was this her first time in the hospital? Or the second? Why wasn't House saying anything now? She needed to know what was going on and she couldn't remember and she couldn't focus, and House was just staring down at her, and she could feel tears forming over her eyes, and her throat growing tight.

The scratch of whiskers against her face felt so familiar. The smell of his cologne and the feel of his hot breath in her ear settled her pounding heart. Her eyes were squeezed shut again, but she heard him talking to her.

"You're all right, Cameron. Easy. Relax. You're almost awake." There was a moment of silence save for the machines, before more words rumbled free from his chest. "I love you."

She breathed deeper, the oxygenated air sweet in her mouth, and heard a shout of, "Where's that damn blanket?" before a warm weight settled over her legs. The shaking was beginning to subside and she opened her eyes as everything clicked back into place in her mind.

"Love you, too," she murmured from behind the plastic mask, watching House's serious expression turn into a half-crooked smile. It vanished quickly, but she'd seen it, and his hand on her forearm didn't move even when a nurse came in to check on her.