Chapter 2

Allison Cameron's eyes were shut tight against the afternoon sun, but that didn't keep it from flashing bright orange and red color spots on the insides of her eyelids. She thought about ringing for the nurse and asking her to close the blinds but she knew how hard the nurses worked and felt guilty asking them to play maid and butler as well. She also wasn't sure that she really wanted to go back to sleep.

After the initial recovery from surgery they'd kept her heavily sedated in the I.C.U. for over twelve hours even though everything appeared to be going well. They'd finally brought her to a regular room just about an hour ago. They'd started decreasing the sedation just before that, and she felt the need to try and regain some control and stay lucid for as long as possible.

Dr. Cuddy had been with her during the move from I.C.U. to the fourth floor room in the cardiology wing. It was a private room, and Cameron had thanked her for that, but Cuddy had brushed it off. Cameron still couldn't quite get a handle on that woman.

The room was nice enough, with a view out over the city. There was a small round table in the corner, flanked by two upholstered chairs, and a chest of drawers was opposite the bed. Cable tv, room service, private bath. It could have been a non-descript hotel room if not for the other pieces of "furniture". They consisted of a large cart housing a constantly beeping heart monitor, an IV stand that never had fewer than three bags hanging and an oxygen tank that sent a thin stream of air into her nostrils. It was supposed to cut down on her need to take deep breaths, but she just found it annoying. No, teal upholstery and flowered drapes couldn't quite offset the pain. Maybe it was about time to call the nurse and drift back to sleep after all. He wasn't going to come back.

There was a short, hard rap against the heavy wooden door, and Cameron looked up sharply as the door eased open, then relaxed against her pillows when she saw who it was. Foreman carried a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a magazine in the other.

"Hey there," he greeted her amiably. "You look like crap."

She rolled her eyes but smirked at him. "Thanks a lot… just what a girl loves to hear."

"I hear Chase beat me here, but I bet he didn't come bearing flowers," he continued his bantering tone as he stepped closer to the bed.

Cameron looked pointedly towards the corner and Foreman turned to see a vase with at least two dozen pink roses balanced on the windowsill. He turned back to her and shrugged.

"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Thinking back to how Chase had been acting for the past few weeks, Cameron was forced to agree. "Definitely. I think there's still some water in the pitcher." She nodded towards the bedside table.

Foreman managed to arrange the flowers and then sat down in the chair next to the bed. He had been sorely tempted to pick up her chart and start reading, but nixed that idea. He couldn't help himself from reaching out and glancing over the paper readout from the heart machine that was keeping time beside him.

"I make a great show-and-tell exhibit now," she said dryly.

Foreman quickly dropped the readout and looked at her somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Yeah, and not just for you," she muttered.

He decided to ignore that random statement and instead handed over the magazine that had been rolled up in his fist. "Hey, I brought you some reading material."

She glanced at the cover. "Ooh… New England Journal of Medicine. Be still my beating heart." Almost immediately she realized the irony of her words and fell silent.

Foreman picked up on it as well but wasn't sure how to respond. His bedside manner was great when it came to strangers but he was discovering that when it was someone he knew it was a lot harder to maintain that air of caring professionalism.

"How're you feeling? Honestly."

Her eyes narrowed. "Writing a paper on patient rehab?" she asked.

"No, I'm trying to be sympathetic."

The sincerity of his words was easy to hear and she let out a sigh, wincing at the pain it caused. "Not that great, honestly," she replied.

"You want me to tell the nurse to up your meds?"

She shook her head. "I've been in a daze for long enough. Anyway, Dr. House had them set up this self-medicating drip. If it gets too bad I can just about knock myself out," she said, trying to make light of it.

"Don't be afraid to use it," Foreman advised.

Silence fell as Cameron tried to weigh her options. House hadn't been back since she'd basically thrown him out. At least if he'd come back it had been while she'd been passed out on morphine. Part of her was still saying 'fuck him', but the larger part was saying the same thing with a much different meaning.

She riffled the pages of the magazine and didn't look up as she asked, "So, have you seen Dr. House today?"

Foreman's expression became more animated, like a kid with a story to tell. "He's been in a review board meeting most of the afternoon. He saves your life and he's the one in trouble. Even Cuddy couldn't keep the board from calling the meeting." He stopped when he saw the look of confusion on Cameron's face.

"He's the one who saved me?"

"Oh shit." Foreman rolled his eyes. It was too damn late to backpedal now. "I figured Cuddy or Wilson would have spilled the beans."

"Cuddy was only here for a minute, and I haven't seen Dr. Wilson," Cameron explained. "Now what's going on with the review board?" She was in pain and could feel her strength waning. She didn't have time to pester the information out of him.

For a second it looked like Foreman was going to clam up and tell her to ask someone else, and he was, but one look in her eyes made him change his mind.

"You coded about five minutes after they brought you in from the ambulance," he stated without preamble, ignoring the new expression those words brought to her face. "House had insisted on going in with you and when the ER doc started calling time of death I guess he freaked out or something. He pushed the attending out of the way and took over, ordering some intern around like a drill sergeant." Foreman shook his head thinking about the balls it took to act like that. "He was right though. He massaged your heart by hand and then ordered the intern to do it while he did a patch job. But that's not the best part. The best part is that the ER doc was Nihquist." Cameron knew the man by reputation. He was supposed to be almost as hard-assed as House but slightly easier to control. "You can bet he wasn't happy when House swooped in and saved you after not touching a patient for almost ten years."

By the time Foreman finished his narrative his eyes were almost glowing. Then he seemed to remember that the patient in question was sitting right in front of him struggling to take slow, even breaths. He shook his head again and set his expression back to one of professional courtesy.

"He didn't tell me any of that," Cameron murmured.

"Yeah, well you were probably pretty out of it when he saw you. He was probably waiting for you to be a little more with it so you'd be suitably awed." The sarcasm in his voice was light but unmistakable.

Pumped full of medication, hooked up to machines, barely controlling her pain, and still she felt forced into the defensive position. "He's really not like that," she said, daring Foreman to contradict an almost-dying woman.

He did the right thing and backed down. "Yeah, well, whatever. He saved your life. I know that much."


It was busy on the fourth floor and Wilson had to maneuver around a flower cart, four nurses and a huddled group of people waiting outside one patient's door before he could get to Cameron's room. A nurse had sent him an urgent page telling him to meet her there. He wasn't exactly sure why. Cardiology wasn't his specialty and he hadn't been consulted on her case although he'd checked on her progress a few times… mainly to report it to House. Four-twelve. That was her room, and he gave a peremptory knock before opening the door and walking in. Cameron was propped up and looking at him expectantly. Confusion played across his features and he looked around for the nurse who had paged him.

Then his confusion cleared and he shook his head. "So now you have the nurses wrapped around your little finger too?" he said with a slight chuckle.

"I needed to talk to you," she replied, blue eyes silently asking him to hear her out.

For not the first time, Dr. James Wilson regretted both his current married status and the fact that the woman in front of him was currently in a one-way relationship with his best friend.

"I'm guessing this doesn't have anything to do with how you're feeling."

She shook her head. "I need you to talk to him for me."

A single bark of laughter was his response before pulling himself together and meeting her serious gaze. "Sorry. I had a sudden flashback to high school."

Cameron sighed, and her face was an open book of emotions. "I know. I'm sorry to drag you into it."

"So tell me, Dr. Cameron, why do you need me to talk to Greg? I admit I haven't seen him for more than five minutes at a stretch since you were brought in, but I did ask if he'd seen you after surgery, and he said yes."

Her frown deepened. "Yes, he saw me, but I said some things I shouldn't have… it seems to be a regular thing for me… and now I just…" she sighed again, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I want to fix things. That's all. And thank him."

Wilson stepped closer to the bed and crossed his arms. "This will be the second favor I've done for you," he said, with a grin and she knew he was referring to the non-date and not stepping forward to talk to those parents when she'd frozen.

"I know, and I appreciate it."

"I've had moments of regretting that first favor," he continued as the grin disappeared. "House isn't like other men. You have to know that."

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I know that."

"I'll talk to him."


The nurse on duty had told him that she'd fallen asleep and he was grateful. He could slip in, check her chart, and slip back out without her ever seeing him. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the brushed metal handle.

"You going in or are you just going to hover in the hall all night?"

It was Wilson, and House glared at him for a beat before relaxing his expression to something closer to what he was actually feeling. "Undecided, actually. Both options have some benefits. Go in and see a girl half dead in a hospital bed… always good for some laughs… or pace out here and imagine said girl, half dead in a hospital bed."

Wilson gave him his customary sympathetic look. "Sounds like an easy choice to me. Hell, you won't even have to think of any witty repartee while you visit."

House's mouth twisted into a sardonic version of a frown. "I think she's had more than she wants of that."

Cameron was right. He was planning on staying away. Wilson hid his surprise behind a sympathetic expression. It had been a long time since he'd seen Greg care enough to stifle his need to be right.

"I think you'd be surprised," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. "She's tougher than she looks. Even tough enough to handle you."

"You seem to forget that she quit to get away from me."

"We both know that need had nothing to do with desire in that scenario," Wilson countered.

"Outcome was the same. And just for the record, apparently seeing a woman naked with her chest cut open changes how they feel about you."

An indulgent smile crossed Wilson's face. "So now you're basing your actions on what a woman tells you when she's heavily sedated and barely conscious? Somehow that feels like a step backward, even for you."

House glared at him again and looked like he was going to turn and walk away.

"Just go in. She's asleep. She'll never know what a softy you're becoming."

House opened his mouth to make a snide comment, but Wilson had already turned his back. He shook his head in irritation instead and popped two vicodin into his mouth. Then he grabbed the door handle and finally opened the door.

He supposed that he should have been surprised and horrified to see her lying helpless in the bed, attached to multiple IVs, a heart monitor and oxygen tank, but he was just too jaded to be shocked. He knew the damage her body had taken. Hell, he had inflicted some of it. He would have been more surprised to see any of those machines absent.

He limped over to the side of the bed and used his cane to hook the leg of a nearby chair and drag across the floor. He eased himself down into it and then glanced at the foot of her bed. Her chart was hanging there. That was supposedly what he'd come in to look at. Oh hell, he was only kidding himself. He inched the chair closer and stared up at her face, watching her breathe. It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Her hand was slightly closed but he eased his fingers into her grasp to rest against her warm palm and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, tracing the blue vein, starkly visible through her almost translucent skin. He paused to rub gently over a darkening bruise; the entry point from an IV line during surgery. Slowly he let his head droop forward into his other hand. He had stood with his hands in her chest, wrapped around her very heart, but this was the first time he had ever touched her skin. Well, unless you counted the times he had allowed their fingers to brush for a millisecond of time as she handed him his coffee. Somehow it wasn't the same.

The heart monitor beeped in a slow, regular rhythm, but he couldn't decide if the sound was comforting or ominous. Its very presence was a testament to the fact that Cameron's surgeon was worried that there could still be bleeding and her heart could stop again. House shook his head. He didn't want to think about that and went back to tracing the blue vein and contemplating how soft her skin was. It was softer than he'd imagined.

Her hand tightened and he looked up to see her flinching in her sleep as she took a breath. A quick glance at the morphine drip and he saw that she hadn't yet reached the self-dosing limit. He reached across her body to get the control and clicked it twice, sending a stronger dose of painkiller into her system and hoping that she would sleep through the night. When he leaned back and looked up into her face he was startled to see her caring eyes staring back at him.

"Trying to get me addicted to pain meds?" she asked, with some effort.

"You… I…" he was stammering. He never stammered. He paused for only a moment and his mask slid back in place. "Why yes. You know how misery loves company and all that."

He waited for some sort of comeback, or the slightly girlish smile she sometimes tossed his way after a sarcastic remark. It was a smile that told him she could tell he didn't really mean what he was saying. Sometimes she was right, and sometimes she was wrong, but he was always a little worried when she didn't throw that smile. She wasn't smiling now. In fact her expression grew very serious but House kept up the eye contact. Finally he was the one to break the silence.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I'm not sorry about going in with you, but I probably shouldn't have told you about it the way I did. It was highly insensitive… and you know what a sensitive guy I am." He turned and studied the pattern on her blanket rather than look into her face.

Cameron could now count on one finger the number of times House had apologized to her, and this was one time when he hadn't needed to.

"You saved my life."

He looked up at her and blinked dumbly for a moment. That was twice in one day she'd struck him speechless. "So, someone's been telling tales out of school. Let me guess… was it Cuddy? No… Wilson. He's always been a sentimental fool."

The corner of her mouth curled up slightly. "Actually it was Foreman."

"Ah, yes. Of course. He would be the one to relay a medical procedure as if it was a winning play in the Superbowl."

"So I'm the one who should apologize. I sounded like an ungrateful brat. I want to apologize for something else too… for what I asked you… the way I've acted…" she didn't need to specify. They both knew what she meant. "I was acting like a pesky ninth grader."

"Not pesky… earnest," he corrected almost gently, "and I'd say closer to tenth."

Her wistful smile made him look away.

"Anyway, I haven't liked anyone in almost ten years. You know that. With the possible exception of Wilson, and that's only because he was grand-fathered in. I've known him for twenty." He gave a quick, half-grin as if trying to ease the sting of words spoken weeks ago.

"You don't have to explain. It was a stupid, unprofessional question."

Diminishing her own feelings with her words caused an ache deep in her chest, and it wasn't related to her injuries. What she felt wasn't just some schoolgirl crush. She hadn't quit a job she loved because of a temporary hormonal boost. But it was obvious that he couldn't handle that, and right now it was more important to her to let him be comfortable and at her side than uncomfortable and gone.

"Well I've been a professional for a lot longer than you and I wouldn't call myself a role-model." Another joke, meant to deflect her current line of conversation.

"I just wanted to clear the air. That's all."

"Fine. Consider it cleared."

Her eyes were starting to get the glazed over look indicative of the morphine taking hold. She blinked a few times as if to clear her vision.

"You should sleep."

"You shouldn't have upped the morphine," she murmured.

"You're right. You were only cut open from stem to sternum and spread open like a butterflied steak. Wouldn't want to take the edge off any pain that might have caused," he shot back.

Her expression changed from one of drugged weariness to one of horror. House mentally slapped himself.

"Sorry. I can't be Mr. Sensitive all the time." When she didn't reply he went on. "You really should sleep."

He was right of course. She appeared to be thinking hard and she was. Should she sound like an earnest ninth… no, tenth… grader again and pathetically ask him to sit with her for a while? Damn it, the drugs were making it even harder to decide. Pathetic or lonely? Which was worse? Hell, he probably wouldn't stay anyway.

"I said you should sleep," House repeated again. "That usually involves closing your eyes. Maybe I should stick around and make sure you know how to do that."

She didn't smile at him, but the look she gave him made him glad that he'd spoken.

"If you don't mind," she replied. "Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course. I'm not going to be some voyeur watching your every breath," he lied.

She nodded her head as her eyes drifted closed. "'Course not. Not your style."

House moved his chair an inch closer. He was relatively sure that he could tell the moment she fell asleep. He picked up her hand again in the moment following. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His leg wasn't going to be speaking to him in the morning but at the moment he didn't give a damn.