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Chapter 10

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Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center was hosting a conference on multidisciplinary research, which would include seven sections of interest, lectures for doctors, researchers and students. The guests were expected to arrive on Sunday, have their workshops on Monday and Tuesday and leave Wednesday morning. Such were the facts. But the reality cast more shades of gray on a simple black-and-white print-out program of the conference.

Cameron had seen a guest list, even had helped to work it out, asking to invite several doctors who had recently published the articles she found promising for the work of her group on the pathogenesis of Inflammatory Bowel Disease.She knew it would be very interesting for her guys to listen to them.

True, she had seen the list, and the name 'Dr. Gregory House' on it; he was even scheduled to give a lecture. But for all she knew, House was unlikely to grace them with his presence. To be on the safe side, Cameron decided to tentatively bring up the conference during one of her phone conversations with Wilson. Luckily, the opportunity presented itself when Wilson called to update her on how their little plot of messing with House was working out.

The plot was fairly simple and harmless, it didn't even start as a prank in the first place, but House with his desire to know everything about everyone, especially his best friend, had unwittingly turned it into one. After the wedding where Cameron had met Wilson, they kept in touch, and one day she had sent him a tie as a present for his birthday.

Her father had once told her that he could change up to three ties during a day if he had to attend different hearings: "You see, kid, doctors change latex gloves, lawyers change ties." According to her dad it had something to do with the composition of the jury for each and every case. Though she didn't pry into the rationale behind this statement, from time to time she liked presenting her dad new "lucky ties", granted, he already had plenty of them. Anyway, such a gift had seemed appropriate for Wilson.

The only problem was that the ever inquisitive House had immediately registered a new tie in his friend's wardrobe. According to House, the fact that the tie didn't seem hideous enough to keep up with Wilson's standards could mean only one thing – someone, most likely a would-be Mrs. Wilson the Fourth, had given it to him as a present. Needless to say, House's curiosity sparked immediately. A simpler explanation about a female friend didn't fit into House's picture. Cameron sometimes wondered when House would understand that the Occam's razor principle worked for people as well as medicine. It didn't help the matter that James had kept mum, while wearing new ties sent by her every week or two with no apparent reason other than to taunt House. It had been four months and the joke still didn't get old. Cameron couldn't help smiling when James related to her how House was trying to break into his credit card records trying to find something suspicious there.

Seeing how during this talk Wilson didn't mention House whining about being forced to attend any conference whatsoever, she decided that he would skip it, as always. The news was comforting, her routine of occasional phone conversations with House was easy, she didn't know what could happen, should she meet him in person.

Nevertheless, she checked the guest list on Friday only to find out House hadn't confirmed his participation. What a relief it was. She had just reached a fragile balance of her life and didn't want him to carelessly shatter it, or she didn't want herself to let him do it.

Still, Cameron had prepared her Plan B: she had made sure to have more than enough appointments to keep her busy while her fellows would attend lectures, had promised to help on a case in the Transplant Immunology department and intended to polish her new article. Everything to be as far as possible from the halls where work-shops were scheduled to take place.

But the very first hours of Monday proved the eternal wisdom about the best laid schemes often going astray. Instead of working as usual, Cameron had to sort out a mess in her group. She had suspected that something was wrong, but had gotten the proof only on Sunday: unexpected visits to security rooms can do wonders.

The ER had been different: although she used to coordinate other people's work, doctors there were largely independent. But now, heading her own group, which dealt with patient cases as well as theoretical research, she knew that it was she who bore ultimate responsibility for every case and every mistake, no matter who had committed it.

The day didn't start as planned and Cameron had a sickening feeling that it could get worse. Her accidentally torn lab-coat proved it.

Dr. Johnson cornered her on the second floor where she went to get a new lab-coat. They stopped in a hall, several feet away from doctors' rest room so as to have a little privacy. Holding the new coat still draped over her arm, Cameron abruptly looked around - it seemed to her that she had just heard a familiar voice cursing "the damn door". She must be imagining things.

"I've heard you've fired Rogers." Dr. Johnson pulled her out of her thoughts. It had barely been an hour since she did it: the grapevine in Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center could easily compete with the one at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"Is there any problem?" Out of habit, Cameron reached to cross her arms over her chest, but the coat draped over one arm didn't let her resort to this eternal protective gesture. "I had to, since he…"

"I already know what the reason was." Dr. Johnson didn't let her finish. "As the Dean I support your choice."

"Thank you."

"But as a friend I have to say it. You're checking every move of your group."

"I wouldn't have time for that, and it's not that I want to…"

The latter was not entirely a lie. She barely had any free time, throwing herself into work, which had become even more demanding since she had been promoted. Cameron did like her group, they were intelligent, creative, nice – once she would have rushed to call them friends. Yet, a nagging fear that one day someone would intentionally or not make a fatal mistake, forced her to check and recheck their actions from time to time. She tried to be as discreet as possible while doing it, unwilling to make her fellows think that she doubted their abilities. After all, it was about her own baggage rather than them.

"Allison?" Dr. Johnson's voice brought her back to reality; it certainly was not one of her best days. Cameron struggled to prevent her thoughts from running in a vicious circle: 'House, Princeton, Chase'. But for some reason today the task seemed almost impossible.

"Well, Rogers did mix up the tests; he knew it and said nothing. Three months of our work are wasted because of it." She tried to sound calm and composed to hide her sudden anxiety. Cameron wondered whether the Dean would think that she simply tried to reassert her power by firing one of her fellows. She didn't, not by a long shot.

"You made the right choice." Dr. Johnson said, as if sensing her doubts. "But tell me, was there any logical reason to believe that the results were mixed up? What made you rerun them and check video-tapes, no less?"

Seemed like her impromptu visit to the security room on Sunday hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I don't…" Her voice faltered for a moment, as she recalled Chase and the tests during Dibala's case. "Whatever my reason was… I was right."

Cameron didn't like the line she had just delivered to the Dean, for the logic behind it sounded achingly familiar. The vicious circle, indeed: she hadn't even noticed how House appeared in her thoughts one again. Though her underlying motive was to save a patient's life, while House would certainly enjoy a cat-and-mouse and catching-a-cheater part.

"Don't become paranoid, Allison." That was one of the changes that had gradually happened over the last year. She was on the first name basis with Dr. Johnson now, though Cameron knew that the Dean used her given name only in private, when he was going into a father figure mode. Her boss continued: "The guys haven't felt anything so far, but one day they will. They love working with you, but second-guessing them too much can…"

"I rely on them, but I'd rather check their actions than lose a patient."

"It's personal, isn't it?"

Cameron tried to control her face and, mastering the most polite and professional tone, answered:

"I promise, from now on, they will feel trusted. Is that all?"

"Very lawyerly of you. That's all."

Cameron nodded and started walking away.

**

Three hours later Cameron opened the door of her office only to find House, of all people, sitting in her chair, legs propped up her desk.

"I must be hallucinating." Cameron wasn't even sure that she said it aloud, until she heard her own voice as if from a distance.

For a brief moment memories, both good and bad, came flooding back to her, sending a tiny shiver down her spine. It was almost overwhelming; she wondered whether House would feel the same, if he was given a Vicodin right now. Facing an addiction after a long withdrawal could be overpowering, that she knew.

Locking her eyes with his, she realized that House looked almost the same, save for his hair that was longer since the last time she had seen him and the lines on his forehead that were a bit more prominent now.

"Hello to you, too." He sounded nonchalant, as if it was his office, as if she had not been away for more than two years, as if he expected her to update him on their latest patient and bring him a cup of coffee. House leaned back in her chair and continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "You did this for three years, I'm evening the score."

"I don't remember putting my legs on your desk." Cameron took a couple of steps toward him.

"Now that would've been fun."

"Will you get up?"

House waved his cane.

"Cripple here."

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest.

"Still clenching, I see." Nevertheless, he stood up and started limping to a visitor's chair, invading her personal space in the process. She had to throw back her head to hold his intense gaze, she had almost forgotten how much taller he was. Cameron had also almost forgotten the feeling: looking in his eyes that could see right through her. Trying to remain composed, she asked:

"How did you…"

"Since I haven't developed dyslexia yet, finding a door with 'Allison Cameron, M.D.' on it wasn't that difficult."

"You should be at the conference."

"I have more interesting things to do at the moment." House put both his hands on the handle of his cane.

"So, what's happened to the Cameron who…"

He sank into the visitor's chair as Cameron finally sat in her own. Meanwhile, he went on, trying to imitate her irritated voice from years ago. "Could actually trust another human being and wasn't an angry misanthropic son of a bitch? Okay, let's scratch the son part."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, I found a rest room on the second floor," Allison already knew where he was leading. Of all the places in the hospital, he had to be there. "Quite comfortable, you guys have got a great TV, by the way. The doors are crappy, though, open up every five minutes. But every time you get up to close it, you look around the hall, and guess whom I saw and heard… "

House had been here for barely five minutes and already was meddling with other people's business. Mindful that deflecting tended to fuel his interest even more, Cameron decided to give him something while sticking to short answers.

"There was a problem, we solved it. That's all."

Apparently, it wasn't enough to satisfy his curiosity:

"So which tapes did you check? Tell me there was something inappropriate."

"We have cameras in the labs; I saw my fellow making a mistake and then covering it up."

"And what happened with trusting people?"

"Someone taught me a lesson not to err on the side of trust."

"Finally!" He said with exaggerated relief in his voice.

"I'm not happy about it, you know."

"Are you ever?"

Cameron wondered how he could switch from mocking to serious things in no time. She wasn't prepared for this question, not after barely two minutes into their conversation. But there was no point in lying, so she answered:

"Almost was."

She needed to change the topic before House would start trying to put the pieces of his puzzle back together. Luckily, now she also knew where to push.

"What have you done this time? Did you have a fight with Cuddy?"

"Testing the waters? You'll need more to put moves on me." House wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm not, but you did something, as always."

"How do you know?"

"For starters, you hate conferences, unless there is an ulterior motive. Last time I remember you had some issues with Wilson and Cuddy. But now you're here, alone, without a babysitter."

"Decided to share my wisdom."

"Oh, please…"

"Oh, right - you know me better than anyone else. Don't flatter yourself, Cameron."

"I don't know the person you've become, maybe don't want to." A half-lie, a half-truth, difficult to say which one when she wasn't even sure herself. But Cameron hoped he would take a hint and leave her alone. Talking on the phone with him was easy, almost comforting, because she knew she could end it at any minute, could play make-believe, pretending that House hadn't changed that much or pretending that she didn't care any longer. Facing him was different - it would be dangerously easy to fall back into her old routine: the right and wrong; ethical dilemmas and the sanctity of human life; her fear for him; hidden meanings of his words that she might look for.

"Afraid to shatter another self-delusion?" House sarcastically asked while scrutinizing her like a specimen.

"Afraid to shatter what's left. The good memories, there are a few, but they're there."

"You're still pathetic…"

"When Stacey came back..." House narrowed his eyes and tightened his hold on the handle of his cane, his body language screaming "don't go there". Obviously, he had not expected her to lead their conversation there, but it was her only chance to force him to leave, and Cameron was willing to use it. Maybe time had taught her how to protect herself, after all.

She half-expected, hoped even that House would stride away from her office right now, because, pathetic as she was, Cameron still didn't want to continue the sentence and hurt him. Yet, House kept sitting in the chair. Apparently, he wanted to see how good she could be, treading into his territory. She had to finish what she had started:

"That's exactly what you did, maybe still do. You choose something from the past: not bad, still uncomplicated… And nurture it. Otherwise things turn too ugly." Cameron felt that she wouldn't be able to do it any longer, she hadn't become that good at hurting people. And… she was no longer sure whom she was referring to: him, her, or them both. It had to stop. "So let's call it quits, please. It was nice to meet you." Cameron rose, intending to walk him to the door, but House was still sitting in the chair.

"I have a doc to brainwash me, you know."

A moment later he pulled out his wallet, took a bill from it and extended it to her. Meeting her puzzled gaze, he shrugged:

"I'm kinda used to hour-long sessions of psychological crap, so keep going. Or…" He smirked. "I could add a hundred or two and you can play a nasty nurse."

"House, what do you need?" Cameron tiredly leaned back in her chair again, realizing that he had no intention of leaving.

"A hideaway." House smirked again, putting the money back into his wallet. "How's the MS guy?"

Cameron felt that he was looking for sore spots, trying to gauge a reaction and to have a revenge of sorts for her mention of Stacey.

"It was ADEM, House. MRI showed improvements, oligoclonal bands resolved."

"Don't get your hopes up: a third of all ADEM patients develop MS."

"You always have to do it to me, right?"

To crush hopes, to make her face the ugly truth, to tear away all self-delusions. Only this time he didn't need to – she knew the chances and future prospects too well. As a doctor, she realized that her dad could still get into this one-third category. But as a daughter, she hoped for the remaining 70%, and would hope until life would prove otherwise.

"I'm being rational." House looked at her, trying to read her expression. "And you'll break the pen." He pointed at the pen she was gripping so tight that the knuckles of her hands went white. She hadn't even noticed it. Before she could say something, House went on.

"You look older." There was no mockery, just a simple observation like at the differential, albeit his gaze was a little too intense.

"Such a gentlemen you are." She tried to smile, but felt that the gesture was rather nervous.

"I think it's the hair. This bun, or knot, or whatever you women call it."

House was right - she rarely wore her hair loose these days. It reminded her so much of the naïve girl she used to be.

"I wore it like this in Princeton."

"Nope." He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, tilting his face a bit closer to her. The desk still separated them, but Cameron felt as if it was non-existent now. House confidently said: "This one is deliberate, an 'I'm a professional, so get-off' kind." He smirked. "From a hooker to a teacher, but you went wrong here, guys have special fantasies, you know…" House wiggled his eyebrows.

"House, I've got work to do." She did, even had a pile of files on the desk and a fully filled list of appointments in her day-planner to prove it. Judging by the slight disorder in her papers, he had been snooping and was perfectly aware of the fact.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"What exactly?"

"Stuffed the day like you're the only doctor on the Earth."

"Then you know that I have to leave in," Cameron looked at her watch. "Five minutes."

She expected him to ignore her comment and stay, but House simply nodded and rose from the chair. She couldn't say whether a sudden feeling that hit her was one of relief or slight disappointment. That was un-House-like, maybe he had changed, at least a little bit. Started respecting the wishes of others…

"You owe me drinks." He said as he reached the door. So much for respecting her wishes.

"How come?"

"What, hospitality isn't a good enough reason? Or my charming self?"

"Sorry, but no."

"I helped you with the ADEM diagnosis."

"I already knew it."

"And still called, interrupting my beauty sleep, by the way."

Cameron sighed in defeat, realizing that she was about to make a huge mistake. She might as well get something out of it:

"On one condition, though."

"Wanna work for me again? I've kinda got a Full House, but if you and Thirteen start being an item, then…."

"You still have to give a lecture. Can you mention the Addison's case we had, the non-paralyzed patient?" Cameron wondered whether he would get the reference.

Their first case after he had come back to work after the shooting. The days he had been walking without the cane and even running thanks to Ketamin. The case that almost made him lose faith in his abilities, when Cuddy and Wilson had lied to him, but this part he would never find out. She was just glad one of them had revealed the truth, eventually.

"Why that one?" Although the expression of his face was unreadable, his voice sounded hoarse, that's how she knew that House understood all too well what case she was talking about.

"I need my fellows to learn a thing or two about impossible cases."

"And that would be?" House seemed to regain his usual sarcastic self. "Never giving up while caring about damaged ones? Is it a Mother Theresa prep school or something?"

"If you must know, that would be taking nothing at face value."

Cameron knew for sure that her team was still mulling over Rogers' actions and her decision to fire him. That's why she asked them to attend lectures and workshops in the first place. They wouldn't have been able to concentrate on patients or research today. She could at least distract them with an interesting case.

House cringed, but said:

"I might share my wisdom."

"I'm working till eight thirty today. There is a place across the street, Danny's, meet me there."

As House dramatically banged the door behind him, Cameron closed her eyes, heaving a sigh: the best laid schemes certainly went astray.

**

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