The ringing was back.

Cameron was struggling to ignore it, struggling to tear her thoughts from its dream-like haze and focus on reality, but her mind was already long gone. The weight above her shifted with annoyance, and she felt a small relief when it pulled away. Maybe it could hear the ringing, too.

She watched the shadow as it pulled itself from the bed, trudging through the dark room to the wardrobe that seemed to be the source of the insistent ringing. Cameron wondered briefly how he had managed to get there so quickly, how he had made it without limping at all. The ringing cut off suddenly.

Somewhere in the distance, hundreds of miles away, she can faintly hear him snap,

"Hello? What?" Oh. The ringing was a phone.

"Now? Are you kidding me? House, we just—" his attempts to negotiate were cut off by the dial tone as his employer hung up on him. He sighed, turning back to Cameron.

She finally got a good look at him now, his face seemed almost distorted in the dancing shadows as the moonlight filtered in through his apartment's small, dust-coated window. Even in the darkness she could see the lighter tint of his long, now furiously tussled hair.

She could see the clear look of agitation on his face, and she took in his current state of undress. Somewhere along the way, apparently, he had lost his shirt. His jeans hung loosely around his waist with the button undone, the zipper still up. It would be safe to assume that she had done that, though she couldn't seem to recall when that had happened.

Cameron allowed her eyes to scan the unfamiliar room for the first time. It was moderately sized with sparse, impersonal decorations. It felt surreal, almost, being in this room. She was overcome with this feeling of suspension, as though she weren't lying in this bed at all, but floating above it, watching two strangers in a foreign place. How had she managed to get here? Her eyes traveled over herself, surprised to see that her shirt had been pushed up a ways and her jeans had been unbuttoned, as well. When had that occurred?

She watched from her ascended state as the man smiled weakly before mumbling,

"House says we have a new case."

And this simple statement tore her from her dream-floating and yanked her back into reality.

It wasn't some stranger in a room.

This was Chase.
It was Chase that she'd gone home with, Chase she'd just been with on the bed.

Not House.

Somehow, at some point during this whole excursion, her mind had convinced her that it was House above her, that the strange man standing by the bed was him.

A cold wave hit her then, as she remembered that no, it wasn't House.

It would probably never be House again.

"Okay," was all she could manage as she pulled herself up and headed out the door.

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The car ride was excruciatingly silent.

She could feel Chase's eyes drift over to her face every few moments, only to jerk back quickly to the road. He could sense it.

She was more sober minded now, now that they were out of the surreal apartment and speeding down the interstate. Her mind had cleared itself from her emotional miasma, and her actions from the night had left her feeling cold.

He could sense the wall she'd put between them. He wasn't sure what he'd done to create this emotional standoffishness, but he could tell just by looking at her that she was closing him out.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly and what was, in reality, a fifteen minute car trip felt like hours. It was almost a relief to see the bright lights of the hospital, and they remained silent as they parked and made their way into the building.

They were hit with a blast of warm air as they wandered into the ER entrance, their silence soon engulfed by the loud clamor and buzz of the hectic waiting room. Even at midnight this place was alive and hopping.

When they arrived, they found that Foreman was already there in the conference room with a cup of coffee in hand, fully dressed in scrubs. He was on call tonight, but House had demanded he come up here for the case. He was incredibly unhappy, mainly because House refused to tell him what the case was about or why it was necessary to start right now. And, worst of all, the old jerk wasn't even in the conference room when Foreman arrived. It was down right infuriating, working with this man.

Foreman, whose mind was completely clouded by his own unhappiness, hardly even noticed as his two coworkers walked in briskly, taking their respective seats at the table without a word.

If he was aware of the fact that they'd arrived together, he never let on. The two sat down without sparing a glance at the other. Chase's eyes were on anything but her, while Cameron's seemed to have a distant, thoughtful look as she gazed at the wall.

Once the shuffling of seats died down the room was once more buried in a heavy silence as the fellows waited for their missing boss.

---------------------------------------------

He'd watched them enter from a hallway window. It was a strategic location, this particular window, as its angle and height allowed it an almost full view of the parking lot. He had used this window before to spy on others, on Cuddy and Wilson. It was the best place to watch.

It hadn't been difficult to guess where the wombat would park. The boy was a stickler to habit. He always wore a tie; he always ate at the same Chinese place every Saturday night. He always donated a small portion of his salary to a local charity at the end of the month.
Always.

He was dependent on repetition, his shaky upbringing made him desperate for a sense of steadiness and order. He dreamed of a stable home, of a white picket fence and a two story house. He could just see it now: kids playing in the yard, a dog at the foot of the bed. A dinner in the oven every night.

All he wanted was a sense of normalcy and he had worked very hard to achieve it.

In other words, he was boring.

What could she possibly see in him?

House watched them as they stepped out of his car, watched as they trudged awkwardly towards the back entrance. He noted the gap between them, practically three feet of empty space. It wasn't difficult to see how they put in extra effort not to touch.

Touch.

House's blood was suddenly boiling.

Had that little twerp touched her?

The thought infuriated and sickened him and he had to physically shake the thoughts away.

He needed to go to the conference room eventually, after all.
If he didn't calm down soon he might be forced to kill someone, and he already had a certain British national in mind…

---------------------------------------------

Two minutes later House arrived, breezing past the three without so much as a glance.

He tossed the folder on the table before taking a seat at a stool a few feet from the table, turning to watch the three carefully.

Cameron refused to meet his eyes, but the men simply took the file and began reading the symptoms aloud. They gave him a skeptical look as they continued to read, the case being fairly basic, but House demanded they explore every possible diagnosis.

House watched them carefully, his death-grip on his cane turning his knuckles white. He watched how they interacted, how they would react to the other's suggestion.

They were clearly uncomfortable, that much was obvious. Even Foreman could sense the discomfort between the two.

"Oh crap," Foreman mumbled as his eyes danced between the two of them. "You two aren't sleeping together again, are you?" His voice was agitated, exhausted. He was not going to put up with that revolting, cutesy little routine they had developed back when they were together.

Chase opened his mouth, but Cameron cut him off with a strong,

"Let's focus on the case, ok?" Her tone surprised them, and herself, and they hesitantly restarted their differential. She could feel House and Chase watching her, but she refused to acknowledge either of their stares as she pushed on.

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The case was pathetically easy to diagnose. House knew it would be, of course. He had stolen the folder from some yuppie in the clinic and he hadn't even finished reading the second symptom on the list before figuring out what was wrong. The case wasn't supposed to be a challenge. It was supposed to be a distraction.

It had all started earlier that night, about twenty minutes after they left together.

He'd been pacing his office, thinking about them.

He could see it in his mind: them at some idiotically basic coffee shop, making idiotically basic small talk. He could just see Chase, trying to comfort her without really knowing what was wrong. House severely doubted she would tell him about the affair.

He could see them walking to his car, Chase kissing her, it going too far. He could see them driving back to an apartment—

And that's when he decided he needed to get them a case.

Later on, when he would look back on this day, he would wonder how he had managed to time it so well. How he had known the perfect moment to dial, to interrupt them before...

"Hello? What?"

The agitation, the breathlessness. There was no doubt that he'd stopped something, no doubt that his fears were true. House had frozen for a split second, shocked and disgusted that she was with him. He recovered quickly, though, and did what came naturally to him: he lied. He told Chase they had a case and that it was vital they get here immediately. He hung up before he could argue. He had sat there, contemplating what he'd done and what they were doing, before making his way to the clinic to snatch a case.

And now they were here, the case closed after five minutes, getting ready to leave. Everyone was frustrated with him, angry at being dragged out for such a basic diagnosis. Cameron was suspicious, he could tell. She knew the reason for the late night diagnosis.

The air was thick with an underlying tension, and he studied them carefully and deliberately, watching their interactions.

He studied her, mostly.

Her hazy eyes, her exhausted frown.
Her hair in a messy bun and it was easy to see that it had been mussed up recently. There was a thin line of smeared mascara beneath her left eye and her lips seemed slightly swollen. Chase was watching her, too, and he tried to catch her eye many times, flashing a smile when he finally did. Slowly, hesitantly, she returned it.

House felt another flash of heated anger.

He really wanted to kill him.

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He was back at that window again.

They were below in the parking lot, that three foot gap gone as they walked practically shoulder to shoulder. He watched as they reached the midway point between their two cars, watched as they both stopped instinctively.

Chase turned to Cameron and House could just imagine what he was saying:
So, want to go back to my place?

His stomach twisted and turned, his head ached. The very thought of her in his bed was enough to make him puke.

The worst part of it all was that he knew she'd say yes
Of course she'd say yes.

It was almost depressing, really, how obvious her choice would be. People are such fickle creatures, so easily swayed. Thinking back on their interactions from earlier that night (had it really only been today? It felt like months, years, even, since that had occurred) he had no doubt that she would gladly return to Chase's bed.

He would hold her like House never would. He would tell her kind words that House would never say. He would tell her he loved her. And she would soak it all up; revel in it, because that is what he assumed any other woman would do in this situation. He had always been able to read people, always been able to guess what they would do. He knew that she would say yes, he could just tell.

She would be just like everybody else.

She would no longer be that strangely attractive girl who kept him on his toes.

She would become a cliché.
And, more importantly, she wouldn't interest him any longer.

And as he watched the two talk below, he almost felt a pang of loss at the thought. Still, he would move on. He is Greg House, after all.

He refocused on the two below, a sigh escaping as he watched Cameron. It was disappointing, though. He'd always thought she was a little more interesting than this.

He wanted to turn away, but his stubborn nature refused him the luxury. He needed to see this. He needed to know that it was over.

And then he saw it: the shake of the head. The look of disappointment. The slow, steady pace as they both walked off, headed towards separate cars.

She said no.

He couldn't help the puzzled, confused look that graced his face.

She'd said no.

He watched her as she pulled out of her spot, heading out onto the main road. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what he'd seen. She had just defied his predictions, done something he would have sworn she wouldn't.

For the first time in his life, House was pleased to be wrong.

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Authors Note:

Alright guys, let's chat.
I get that you are fairly upset with the decisions I made for the last that some of you didn't like that, but I'm not changing it. I know where I'm taking this story, I have three possible arcs planned out (the first starting with the last chapter), and this was necessary for where I wanted this story to go.

And in the big "Cameron would never" debate, I'm going with she might on the simple basis that she's human, and humanity by definition is destined to make mistakes. Everyone let's their guard down, everyone gets swept up in the moment.
Sometimes it's small, sometimes it's massive.

At this point in the story, Cameron is incredibly emotionally unbalanced. Her affair with House has ended (yes, ended. Like, two chapters ago.), she is confused and fairly disoriented by his sudden power play, and she is more or less mentally not there. She is presented with an opportunity that, in her distorted sense of logic, seems like a way to regain control.

In that moment of weakness, she ironically loses all control and is put in a very compromising situation.
Regrettable, but possible.

It may not be what you want, but it was a necessary stepping stone for the plans that I've laid ahead. I need you to trust me to take it down the path that I have planned. Who knows? It might be worth it. It might not, of course, but you won't know unless you stick around.

And one last thing for the record: at this point in the story, the affair has ended. That means that any activity outside of the two of them is not cheating. If anything, it's a rebound. You can't possibly tell me you've never heard of a girl sleeping with an ex after breaking up with someone else? Come on now. Plus, they never actually had sex in the last chapter. House's call interrupted before anything happened.

Besides, let's be honest about House. He's an arrogant ass. He thinks he can have whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He thinks he can have all the fun affair bits with Cameron without actually making any of the commitments, and he thinks he can completely string her along without giving any of himself. And that's just not going to cut it. How do you think he's going to react when he realizes that—wait, Cameron isn't going to just sit around at home crying and waiting for him to call her at three am for a booty call? When he sees that she has other options out there besides him, how will he react? How will he be when another man is creeping into his territory?

I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

Besides, a good story should induce the whole spectrum of emotions: happiness, sadness, excitement, fear…. An extreme hatred of the author to an almost homicidal level… and, well, seeing as I clearly achieved that last one with chapter nine, I'm thinking I just need to hit on all the other ones. Once I do that I'll have finally accomplished my goal with this story.

I just hope you'll stick with me to the end (:

And ha I love the fact that my author note is practically as long as this chapter and probably better written. Not my strongest chapter, but eh.

We all knew this would be a filler one, anyway.