Returning to her desk, she pulls a small mirror from the top drawer, and glances at her reflection. She fingers a bruise at the corner of her left eye, and returns to the drawer, breathing calmly. She pulls out a bottle of cover-up, and starts dabbing it onto her face, erasing all indication of the morning's events. She then straightens her clothes, and heads for House's office, ready to play doctor.
As she walks the corridor she can feel every person present staring at her, watching her, reading her thoughts. She can feel their eyes, hear their whispered comments, smell their disgust with her. She pulls her arms close to her chest, and walks with her head lowered. She doesn't need this. She doesn't want them to hate her. She is a good person. She saves lives. Her eyes stay glued to the ground all the way to the elevator, where she looks around her to find that none of them have even noticed her.
She walks into House's office, and takes a seat at the table, ignoring his look of suspicion and snide remark on her tardiness. He starts the differential diagnosis session by describing the symptoms of a disease newly discovered to only define itself in the final stages of decay. Cameron half-listens, her attention caught by the notion that the disease was not identifiable. She considers the general symptoms against how she has been feeling for the past few days. She wonders about her rough cough, and how with all her hacking, nothing has come up yet. She thinks of her migraine headaches, and how they seemed to appear from nowhere, emanating from her left hemisphere. When she thinks of her cold, clammy hands, she stops, and lifts them to her face, looking at her palms as if they were alien. She turns them, glancing at the backs of her hands, and then turns them again, to stare at her palms. One of her fingers twitches.
"Isn't that right, Dr. Cameron?" She hears. She blinks her thoughts away, and looks up at House, who is looming over her.
"I'm sorry, what?" She asks, realizing that he has been talking at her for some time now. He looks at the boys, and her gaze follows. Foreman is frowning, and shaking his head at her, but Chase, albeit disappointed, seems more concerned. She looks back at House, whose expression hasn't changed: he still expects her to answer the question. She hesitates for a moment, then responds, "Uhm, yeah, I guess so."
He raises his eyebrows at her, and limps over to the whiteboard. "Really?" he asks, "Tryptophan is an intravenous drug? I always thought you could only catch it from your thanksgiving dinner." She looks away, embarrassed. He continues, writing "Insomnia" on the whiteboard under "Possible Causes." He then writes, "inject tryptophan" under "Possible Treatments," and turns to look at her, entertained.
"Foreman, get him in the MRI, and Chase, find me something chocolate while Dr. Cameron here tries to find injectable tryptophan. We're gonna find out what makes him tick." Foreman gets up and starts to gather his notes, and Chase gives House a confused look.
"Chocolate?" He asks, clearly lost. "How will that help us get him to sleep?" House rolls his eyes.
"It's not for him, it's for me. I'm going to go offer it to Cuddy, and laugh as she eats it, just to freak her out." Chase sighs, and leaves Cameron and House in his office. House sits on the corner of his desk, and starts playing with his giant tennis ball, tossing it up with his cane, flipping the cane, and catching it again. Cameron sits at his table, and watches him for a minute, then lets her head fall, cradling it in her crossed arms on the table.
Chase returns, and hands a bar of chocolate to House, who tells him to go assist Foreman. As soon as Chase is gone, House puts the ball down, and walks over to stand next to Cameron. He opens the confection, sets it on the table next to her head, and seats himself at the table around the corner from her. She looks up at him, and then replaces her head. He stares at her, trying to find what afflicts her in that matrix mind of his, and asks, "What, you don't like chocolate?"
She reaches out a hand without lifting her head, and grabs the bar, pulling it across the table. She lifts her head, and takes a bite, giving an "I don't want to be here" look to the opposite wall. He continues to stare at her, watching in a seemingly contented way. Finally, after two more bites, she has to look at him, and when she does it threatens to bring tears to her eyes. She fights the urge, looking away.
He doesn't say anything, simply watches her. She can only wonder what he must be thinking. He must be thinking of how irresponsible she is, answering without knowing the question. Yeah, that sounds like him. He's probably thinking about how he doesn't want someone that isn't going to care enough about the patient to pay attention in differential sessions working with him, and he should just fire her now. That would be better for everybody. That's probably what he has in mind anyway. He's probably waiting for just the right moment to say-
"Are you okay?" He interrupts her thought. She looks back at him, amazed that he's noticed, and surprised at his compassion. She nods her head silently, wondering what his tactic is. Why would he ask her this just before he fires her?
"I'm fine," she half whispers, not even believing herself. The lie threatens to betray her, making her nervous. She lifts the candy bar, and watches her hand start to shake uncontrollably. She quickly drops the chocolate, and stashes her hands in her lap to make them stop shaking. This new development worries House, who watches this, frowning.
"Cameron." He says, commanding her attention. "Give me your hand." He holds a hand out for her to take. Instead, she stands.
"I'm fine." She responds, more forcefully. She walks to the front of his office, and looks out the glass that separates the hall from the office. She crosses her arms to stop them from shaking, but it doesn't work.
House stands, and walks to his desk. He picks up the phone, and dials, watching Cameron the whole time.
"I need a favor from you." He says into the receiver. "I need you to-" Cameron's ears start to ring, and she lifts her hands to stop them. Her head reels, and her shaking hands only make her dizzy. She puts out a hand to steady herself on the table, but her arm doesn't respond, and she misses completely. Shrouded in vertigo, her knees give out, and she goes down. Her head ricochets off the table, knocking her out.