Wonderful tonight (1)
The following evening the three fellows were walking back to Diagnostics. It took virtually the whole day to diagnose Langerhans cell histiocytosis, a disease which overwhelmingly affected the young, not fit and healthy middle-aged men. There had been a great deal of back and forth, but in the end an inspired Chase had landed on the correct answer: a fact of which he was making his colleagues aware. "Come on", he said, "even you guys have to admit that was a House-level deduction right there. I mean, Langerhans in a man!".
"You got lucky", retorted Foreman.
"Is that the bitterness talking?".
The neurologist snorted but made no reply.
"Do you guys ever wonder how it is that we get all the rare stuff? Like, how many hospitals are there in America? Hundreds, probably", Cameron mused.
"And the rest. Population of, what, 330 million? Likely gonna be thousands of hospitals". Chase pressed the button for the elevator and all three walked in as the doors closed.
"Exactly. But it just so happens that PPTH is the magnet for all these weird conditions. Conditions that 99% of doctors would never see in their whole careers".
"Yeah, but you gotta factor in that we treat, what, one patient a week on average? Most of the time we are sat on our butts. But that one patient a week, out of a population of 330 million, pays our wage. It's not that surprising if you think about it", Foreman suggested.
"Plus", added Chase, holding up a finger as they exited at their floor and walked down the corridor, "we are a highly specialised department. 52 patients a year. There are loads more dying in hospitals without ever even hearing of House. Diagnostics is a rare field".
"True. I wonder if it'll ever take off. Y'know, like be as integral to hospitals as, say, oncology or paediatrics". Cameron's interest in this dated to a long time before the conversation she had shared with Cuddy in the bar. Chase was right: diagnostics was rare. During the conference, she had met no other doctors who shared this job title, and when Genevieve Taylor had offered her the post at Sinai it had been on an immunology pathway, not a diagnostic one. The thought occurred that if she ever left PPTH, this job and everything she loved about it would also be left behind.
"And you call me boring. What's with all this theorising?", Foreman grunted as they entered the department.
"Sorry" she grinned. "So much time in close proximity to House is taking its toll".
"I'm amazed you haven't gone mad yet", remarked Chase, trying to keep his tone light. The pair had survived longer than he would have thought possible at the outset. How anyone could survive with a House at home was quite frankly a mystery. The phrase 'grumpy old man' came to mind.
"There's still time for that". Cameron went to pour herself a glass of water at the sink.
"We on for the bar tonight?", asked Chase, folding up the crossword from earlier and sticking it in his pocket.
"Nah, not seen Katie since we got back from London so probably gonna head straight for hers", replied Foreman.
"Cameron?".
"Sorry. I've made plans with House".
"Ugh, fine. TV and beer for me it seems". The Australian moved to the door. "See you Monday", he said, leaving after a quick thumbs up.
Foreman, meanwhile, shrugged into his coat and looked towards the other. "Where you off to with House, then?".
"Some thing at Cuddy's with the Townsends".
"How come we weren't invited?", he asked with a sharp glance, annoyed at missing a chance to network and potentially push for a promotion.
"From what I've gathered it's just the departmental heads. I'm only there as House's date". Cameron caught sight of Foreman's face and wondered aloud only half-jokingly: "I mean, you can go in my place if you fancy? I'll lend you my dress and a wig? People will be none the wiser".
The neurologist swatted a hand her way. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I'm off. Have a nice night".
Cameron watched him go, reflecting on her colleague for a moment or two. Their relationship was hard to quantify. If pushed, she would possibly (probably?) class both Foreman and Chase as her friends, though with certain caveats. Things with the latter were a little weird since he had signalled his interest, but this actually simplified the dynamic: Chase wore his heart on his sleeve and was therefore easy to predict. Foreman, however, was a different matter. No matter how much he tried to appear a changed man, especially after his near-death experience last year, Cameron could not forget how he had attempted to infect her with meningoencephalitis. The man was ambitious, even Machiavellian, and at times she had to remember that within these walls each had their own agenda.
Cameron, whose reflections had taken her to the window, turned around and jumped to see House leaning against the doorjamb examining her keenly. "I didn't hear you come in", she said, recovering quickly.
House smirked. "Well, as you know, I'm an expert at espionage, Camster".
"If by 'expert' you mean 'complete crap' then, yes, I agree", she smiled back.
"You got the file on the patient?".
"Yes". Cameron retrieved the folder from the table and walked up to her boss, handing it over and watching his blue eyes scan the pages rapidly. Where possible, the diagnostician preferred to avoid patients and glance through the raw data instead. The case was over but still his curiosity burned, and she remained quiet as he completed his process.
"You write like a girl", he said finally, seemingly satisfied.
"Thanks, you too".
"Thanks. Wait, no. Scratch that".
Cameron laughed, taking back the file and placing it carefully in the departmental records near the desktop. This done, she returned to stand before him.
"You OK?", he murmured, tilting his head enquiringly at her silence.
"What's your agenda?", she asked suddenly. It had struck her just now that although she might reflect on her dynamic with both Foreman and Chase, and could more or less accurately pin down their motivations, she still struggled with House. When this relationship was in its infancy, she refrained from asking him outright, content simply to theorise in her own head. But now things had developed and she yearned to fill in a few more gaps.
"In what way?".
"Like, what's your ambition?". Straightaway, the noun seemed misplaced. House was the most unambitious man she had ever met. Conventionally speaking, anyway.
"Easy. To see you naked as often as possible".
"That's not a very good ambition", she retorted, folding her arms.
"Why not?".
"Rhetorical?".
"Nope".
"But you can see me naked anytime. It's so…mundane. I was expecting something, I dunno, deeper". Then again, she thought, this was a predictably 'House' response.
House's eyes flashed. Cameron was inviting him to share feelings, something which he preferred to avoid, even months into a relationship. But given the stress his silence over Paul had caused her, he decided to be forthright. "Well, I could say that my ambition is to be the best doctor on the planet; that it is to cure every single disease that sputters and wheezes through my door; or that it is to solve each puzzle I find".
The blonde remained quiet as he continued.
"But it's an impossible goal – too big for any one man. The quest for the perfect puzzle drives me on, but it's a doomed enterprise ultimately beyond my control. So instead I tend to focus on what I can control".
"Which is?".
"Who I see naked, for one. Foreman? No thanks. But you…", House rumbled, running his thumb gently down her nose, "…yes please".
Cameron's eyelashes fluttered at this characteristically Housian gesture of affection. "OK", she croaked, half hoping he would want to see her naked then and there. No one was around. As always, it wasn't just the physical attributes - the height, the eyes, the smell - that made her pulse race, but the intellect behind them.
"Anyway", he announced, snapping her back to reality, "enough deep thoughts. We have somewhere to be tonight, alas".
The immunologist cleared her throat, desire thwarted for now. "You wanna come back to mine then we head to Cuddy's from there?".
"S'pose I ought to change first. I don't think jeans and sneakers would cut it in Cuddy's neighbourhood. Did you know they have community watch patrols over there?".
"No way. What do they watch out for?".
"Non-WASP invaders and meth labs in each other's houses".
Cameron tapped a finger to her chin, as if thinking deeply. "Well, I can't speak for Cuddy, but I only like watching my House. Anyway, since when do you care about what you wear?".
House looked sheepishly to the floor and tugged his ear, a habit with which she was now intimately familiar. "I don't. But, y'know, may as well, right?". The other gave him a weird look, trying to decipher this comment. But before she could ask a follow-up question he had moved on quickly: "I'll nip back to mine, get changed, then head to yours?".
"Fine. I'll drive us; don't fancy wrecking my hair on the back of your bike".
"Gotcha. In a bit".
House knocked on Cameron's door later that evening and she opened it wrapped in a towel. "Hey", she said kissing him automatically. "Sorry, I just need to put some clothes on".
The other thought back to the times he had waited for Stacy to get ready. Never social butterflies, they still liked to go out every now and then, and he invariably ended up wasting a few hours tapping his cane impatiently on the floor. Generally, House was a huge fan of lateness, but absolutely not if there was food and alcohol at stake. And not if he was the one doing the waiting. Now, though, he merely shrugged and strolled through to the living room. "Need a hand?".
"Nah. You can occupy yourself for a few minutes, right?".
"Would that be 'a few minutes' in female time or normal time?", he asked conversationally.
Cameron scoffed and moved away, but not before looking over a bare shoulder. "Bit rich coming from the man who rolls up to work at noon every other day".
"We've been through this: because my brain is so large, like freakishly enormous, I need time to warm it up in the morning".
By now the blonde had moved into her room, and all he could hear was a derisive "uhuh" over the sound of cupboards opening and closing.
Cameron's hairdryer noise served as a progress indicator while House explored. On previous visits he had managed an examination of the bookcases. This time he picked up the remote control and switched on the TV. Though they had also used this to watch Airplane! among other things, there had been no opportunity to browse her online viewing history and favourites. The set itself was smaller than he would have liked, and did not even possess discrete speakers, but at least it was a flatscreen. With practised ease, he navigated to the apps, dismay growing at the sparse pickings. No Amazon Prime, Disney+ or HBO Max. Just Netflix. After a depressed sigh, he loaded it up and swiped to her List: Silver Linings Playbook, A Star is Born, Eat Pray Love. These were the lowlights. House took it upon himself to add in a few classics. And one or two borderline-pornographic horror flicks (for laughs, obviously).
This done, he moved to the table by the window. A number of photographs in neat little frames rested there. House couldn't decide if it was cute or pathetic that she still kept photographs. As his eye ran over the pictures, he thought back to Cameron's claim the night they returned from London that she was, actually, quite old-fashioned in many respects. This living room typified that: an outdated entertainment system and genuine photographs. But the woman herself was very much a product of the twenty-first century: compassionate, tolerant and strong. A strange mix of old and new. House supposed these apparent contradictions made her all the more attractive. After all, at first glance she appeared innocent and naïve; an impression that had quickly needed revision. Even now she remained hard to pin down.
The phone vibrating in his pocket brought him back to the present, and he fished it out. Wilson. Cuddy is asking if you're still coming.
Unfortunately, yeah. Waiting on Cersei Lannister though. The Wall will melt by the time we get there, he typed back.
You just ignoring season 8? Smart. Anyway, I always preferred Missandei of Naath.
That's a fair shout.
Just gonna say that Cuddy is starting to fret. And you know what she's like when that happens.
I'll go and check on progress, but if I don't make it out alive, you're not getting my TV in the will.
With this, the nephrologist ambled down the hallway, passing the print of workmen eating lunch on a skyscraper girder. The door to Cameron's room was ajar and he walked up to it, a complaint on his lips. But the words died in his mouth as he observed a scene which touched his heart. Cameron, who could not see him looking from this angle, was standing before the long mirror appraising her appearance in a dress he hadn't seen before. This one was tastefully cut, ending below the knee, and it was a pleasant forest green colour. But what caused a catch in his throat was the golden hair which fell down her back. With one hand she was brushing it, seemingly absentmindedly; the other busily applied her usual minimalist eyeshadow. All while humming a tune. Multitasker extraordinaire.
For a full minute House watched her, this woodland nymph from a Greek myth, but his vibrating phone broke the spell and Cameron glanced across in surprise. "The second time today I've caught you spying on me, buster", she said lightly.
"We should-", he began, but his voice was unexpectedly thick and he had to throat-clear. "It's late in the evening. We should get going. Cuddy's on the warpath".
"I'm done. Just need to find my phone. It's round here somewhere…", she muttered, moving aside her cosmetics on the dresser. "Ah, it's over there, on the nightstand", she pointed to House's right.
The nephrologist picked it up, glancing by accident at the landing screen. Set as the background theme was the picture they had taken together in the Chinese restaurant last week, cheek to cheek, both smiling widely. For the second time in quick succession, he had to clear his throat, and he passed it over face down so he could feign ignorance. "We set?", he asked gruffly.
"Yep", she replied, apparently oblivious to House's heightened state. "I wasn't sure what to wear. You think I look alright? Not worn this thing in a while".
The genuineness of the question did, finally, cause him to admit defeat. House moved to stand behind the other and looked at her in the mirror. With deliberate care, he ran both his hands up her arms and shoulders. Then, he brushed aside a few loose strands to whisper in her ear: "yes, you look wonderful tonight".
A few seconds passed in silence, and House glanced up to see her expression soften. But then the eyes narrowed. "That's a song title, you sneaky bastard", she announced finally, turning her head to the side and pecking his cheek.
"Damn, I didn't think you'd get that. Such a nerd".
"Well, you never say 'wonderful'. So, yeah, my antennae twitched like crazy. Plus, it's Clapton. Not exactly niche, even for me".
"This is what I get for trying to be sweet", he sighed.
"And for being with someone who knows you like the back of her hand", she added, turning around to face him.
House kissed her nose affectionately. "Lass uns gehen, Fräulein Cameron. Betcha didn't know I'd say that, did you, silly goose".
"Resorting to German, eh? And you call me a nerd…", she grinned back, before they both wandered from the room and prepared to leave for Cuddy's.
A.N. House alludes to Eric Clapton, possibly his favourite guitarist, frequently in the show. I heard the song ages ago and it gave me the idea for this two-parter. But, given the lyrics, some of which I parrot in this entry, I had to wait for Cameron to go blonde for it to work!