Get ready people, here starteth the countdown to the END of Saints&Saviors! Only two more chapters which I have outlined on my computer. (PHEW! And a huge sigh of relief is heard throughout the House community!)

Chapter 28

A relationship roadmap has never been successfully created, probably because each one is so different from the next. When friends become lovers, the awkward 'getting to know you' stage is eliminated, but is replaced by an uncomfortable 'I didn't know that about you' stage. With two strangers, sometimes things click immediately, like two puzzle pieces pushed into place by a pink-haired eighty-year old in a Florida retirement community. Other times it takes weeks before two disparate lives can mesh together into a comfortable alliance. Even when one of those loose scenarios is followed, the small differences between couples makes creating a standard timeline impossible.

House and Cameron hadn't been friends, but they hadn't been strangers either. Their relationship didn't follow any of the standard guidelines. They slept in the same bed before their first date, and pushed each other away before they were even together. It was safe to say that the first month was somewhat rocky. However, after that first month, and the trip to Atlantic City, things smoothed out in a way that usually only happened with long-time lovers.

Part of that was due to the fact that they were both 'Type A' personalities when it came to routine and a need for it. House hated surprises in his personal life, and Cameron needed consistency to feel comfortable. With both of those needs working in tandem, it didn't take long for their relationship to become a pleasant routine.

By mutual agreement, Cameron started spending most of her nights at House's place. He would cook, or she would pick up take-out and they'd eat and work and watch tv and neck and have sex and sleep. A small collection of Cameron's clothing began accumulating at the far end of House's closet.

Wilson came over occasionally, and sometimes Cameron would be there, but she often made an excuse for needing to be at her own apartment. She didn't want House to think she was trying to smother him, and honestly, she did need some time on her own. An old acquaintance from med school had heard about the attack through a less-than-reputable newspaper which had released her name. The two of them had struck up a friendship and Cameron felt slightly less of a social pariah with a non-work related friend to hang out with.

House remained moody and distant at times, and Cameron sometimes let her emotions get the better of her, but neither really tried to change those things. It was far easier to accept them. Cameron had only gotten really angry once, when House had run roughshod over her at work and then continued to be bitterly sarcastic at home before planting a kiss on her that clearly demanded more. Up until that kiss, Cameron had been willing to let him have his mood, but the idea that he expected her to turn around and give him sex too was one that infuriated her. She had left and spent the evening out with Kelly before returning to her apartment and the blinking red light on her answering machine. House's moods hadn't disappeared after that, but he had learned not to take them out on her, at least outside the hospital walls.

Only one thing outside the hospital consistently brought them trouble, and that was phone calls from the district attorney, informing Cameron about the status of the case against her attacker. Each call was invariably followed by a sleepless night for the couple, as Cameron's nightmares kicked in full-force, and House did what he could to alleviate them. Sometimes she would curl up on the sofa while he played the piano, and other times - the bad times - he would pop an extra vicodin and just hold on as she thrashed in her sleep and woke herself up screaming. During those nights House never had anything but comforting words to say, learned from he knew not where; but in the morning he would storm into Wilson's office shouting and banging the bookcases with his cane. Wilson knew to just let him rage, and then buy him a big breakfast down in the cafeteria.

Inside the hospital, House and Cameron retained a strictly professional relationship, aside from the once-in-a-blue-moon kiss in the parking lot or sultry look across the briefing room when no one else was looking. Cuddy was happy because House seemed a fraction less ornery most days, and had also completely stopped his remarks about her breasts, blouses and their one-night stand. Wilson was hard-pressed to keep a smug smile off his face when he caught House's gaze lingering over Cameron, but he wisely kept his smart remarks to himself, just as he remained completely agreeable during House's cane-banging routines. Foreman, after his initial skepticism, had decided to completely ignore the entire situation, since that seemed to be what House and Cameron preferred. Only Chase persisted in making lewd remarks under his breath, but even those had petered out once he saw that they weren't having the desired effect.

So there it stood. One month after Atlantic City, and the dysfunctional little group at PPTH had adjusted to the new change in the status quo. No one even thought, except in passing, how quickly things could change.


Monday mornings meant the arrival of the mail that had accumulated since Friday afternoon. It was usually a sizable stack that took Cameron anywhere from a half-hour to forty-five minutes to sort through, jotting recommendations on sticky-notes and updating the computer with information at the same time. Her minor melt-down over her perceived status, and House's reaction to it, had done a lot for her self-esteem, and she was back to enjoying her role as chief confidant of the Diagnostic Medicine department. The ridiculously goofy, and somewhat indecent card that House had slipped into the pile the next morning hadn't hurt either.

At the moment, House was down at the clinic, reluctantly putting in his hours after telling Cameron to page him the moment someone was referred with so much as a suspicious sniffle. Cameron had promised to do so, but had crossed her fingers behind her back at the same time. House's required clinic time didn't disappear just because he had a patient, and she was tired of the fact that the end of the month was his designated 'cranky time' thanks to the backlog of hours he was required to complete.

A familiar form passed by the glass walls, and she looked up, giving Foreman a little wave as he passed. It looked like he'd had a pretty good weekend judging by the exhausted look on his face. She grinned and imagined him heading straight for the coffee maker. Finishing with the mail, she piled the interesting referrals into House's in-box and kicked the half-full trashcan back under his desk. Then, with her coffee in one hand, and a few pieces of mail in the other, she headed out of the office and into the briefing room.

She hadn't seen Chase enter, but he was seated at the table doing the crossword puzzle. Foreman was gone already and she guessed he had gone down to the lab to double check on some results they were waiting for. A patient in the cardiac unit was exhibiting some strange symptoms, but not strange enough to be transferred to their care. They were running some tests to try and decide whether or not they needed to take over his case.

Chase glanced up at her and gave her a blank smile before turning back to his puzzle. Things had gone from strained, to tolerable between them, but she still longed the early days of camaraderie between them. She knew, better than most, how pointless it was to wish for the past, but that didn't stop her from missing it.

"You got a card," Cameron said as she handed it to him. "Is your birthday coming up? I thought it wasn't until January."

"It's a sympathy card," Chase said flatly as he took the large, stiff envelope from her. "For my father."

"Your father?" Cameron's brow crinkled and she tried to read Chase's currently expressionless face.

"He died almost two months ago."

Cameron barely knew the man, but that didn't stop her from feeling affected by such abrupt news of his death. A tingling wave washed over her body, and she looked at Chase with new eyes. Was that why he had been even less like himself? Two months would have been just before her return to the hospital.

"Rob… I'm so sorry," she said, hating her useless words, knowing how hollow they sounded. But what else was she supposed to say? What did people say when they learned someone's father had died? There were only just so many combinations of words, and they all sounded equally canned. No one had ever known what to say to her either. "Was there an accident?" she asked, unable to just leave it with three pointless words of sympathy.

He shook his head. "No. Cancer."

"Cancer," she repeated the word, hating even the sound of it. "How long had you known?"

His face screwed up into an expression close to disgust, and he let out a snort of derision. "I hadn't. I don't think many people had." He paused and raised his eyes from the return address to Cameron's eyes. "Except for House of course. He knew everything, as usual. I guess he didn't think it was important enough to tell me." His hard eyes seemed to burn through hers. "You might want to keep that in mind."

"House knew? How?"

"I guess the old man told him when he was here last year. Or maybe House figured it out for himself and asked him. All I know is my uncle told me he knew."

"I'm sure there--"

"Was a good reason?" Chase cut her off. "Yeah, you've always been good at finding those for him."

"Rob--"

"Hey, you know what? Let's not talk about this any more. You already know I hated my father…"

"I never…"

"…so his death really shouldn't be that big a deal. Right?" He continued talking.

"Did you go back for the funeral?" she asked quietly, choosing to ignore his venom-laced words.

He had been avoiding her gaze, but he finally looked at her face and she watched as some of the attitude leached out of his body.

"No. I went for the memorial mass. It was two weeks ago."

Cameron remembered now. Chase had taken a long weekend, and House hadn't batted an eye about it. Obviously he had known what it was for.

"I really am sorry," she tried those words again, and this time the emotions behind them felt more natural, more real. "I know--"

"What it's like to lose a father you'd barely spoken to in ten years?"

"No. But I know what it feels like to lose someone you love."

Chase wanted to throw some snide remark back at her, but the look on her face, and his own tired mind wouldn't let him. "Well… thanks for the sympathy," he muttered. "I'm going up to check on our patient-to-be."

The fluorescent lights and morning sun sent long shadows swinging across the floor as Chase stood up. Cameron wanted to say something else helpful or sensitive, but she knew they'd only be words. She was sleeping with the man he now blamed for keeping his father's illness from him, and nothing she said was going to change that.

For almost fifteen minutes Cameron sat in the conference room trying to decide whether or not she should go track down House and make him explain himself. Stupid really, and self-centered. It had nothing to do with her. It was between Rob and House and the recently deceased Dr. Chase. Still, she found herself really wanting to know the truth. If House had known about Dr. Chase, why hadn't he told Rob? She didn't really think that doctor-patient confidentiality would have held him back, and she didn't even know if Dr. Chase had come to him in a professional capacity. He had to have known that Rob would be upset… hell, he had to know that was at least part of the reason for the veil of animosity that separated Rob from all of them. Had he at least tried to talk to him after the fact? Had he explained himself? Knowing House, she had a pretty good guess that he hadn't. Ignoring problems was more his style, just like he had ignored her attraction to him.

Her pager went off and it was House, telling her to get up to the patient's room and tell him about his upcoming change in venue. They were going to be taking him down to their department and prepping him for exploratory surgery. She slid the pager back into the pocket of her labcoat and headed for the elevator. Time to work. Pondering the dysfunctional state of the diagnostics department could wait and in the end she was glad she hadn't confronted him. She got a call from the DA that afternoon and she could only deal with one emotional scene at a time.

The call came to her cell phone at exactly four p.m. Clearly she had been a notation in someone's dayplanner. 'Call victim, re: testimony' was how she imagined it looked. She was in the middle of inserting an IV at the time, and ignored the hard vibration against her hip. She didn't get around to checking it until almost four-thirty and when she recognized the number, she considered ignoring it until morning. It had been a long day already and she really wasn't in the mood. Her better nature got the best of her and she slipped away to her little office area to call him back.

"Mr. Atherton? This is Allison Cameron. I just got your message." She sat down as she started to speak, and fiddled with the pens on her desk.

"Dr. Cameron, thank you for calling so quickly."

"Has something happened? When you called me last week, you said everything was going well." Miranda rights and technicalities and insufficient evidence rattled around in her head.

"It is. It is. That's why I'm calling. A court date has opened up and we're going to be able to push the trial up to next week."

"Next week?" She hoped her voice didn't sound as breathless to him as it did to her. "I thought it was going to be a few more months."

"Started out that way, but occasionally the wheels of justice actually do turn swiftly. Usually people have one of two preconceptions about trials. Either their over in a day like some episode of 'Law and Order' or they drag on for years like the OJ trial. The truth is, this is pretty standard."

"So now…" she let the words hang. She already knew what was expected of her now.

"So now I'll need you to come in sometime tomorrow to go over your testimony. We've got a mound of evidence but victim testimony is always invaluable."

Cameron looked up and saw House walking through the door into his own office. He moved towards his desk and out of her line of sight, but she kept staring at the place where he had been. She fought the desire to get up and go to him. Every time mention of her attack came up, she sought him out like a touchstone. It had all happened to her, but in a strange way it had happened to them both, and his quiet support over his simmering anger helped her stay focused.

She tightened her grip on the phone and turned to look out the window. "I should be able to get away for a little while tomorrow. What time did you want me?"

"I'm in court in the morning, but I free up at one. Will that work for you?"

The trees outside were being buffeted by a strong wind. A cold front was moving in. Cameron watched as a few pale green leaves tore free and spiraled to the ground.

"One. That should be fine," she replied, trying to remember if she had clinic duty then. She'd have to swap with Eric if she did.

"All right then. I'll see you at one. It shouldn't take long. We'll meet at my office. You know where the courthouse is?"

A stupid question, but one he had to ask. Of course she knew where the courthouse was. She was an educated doctor, not some unsophisticated kid. Not some woman from a bad part of the city who probably walked down the street expecting to be attacked. The last of the leaves hit the ground and skimmed along the grass.

"I know where it is. Is your name listed in the lobby?"

"Yes, but just ask the guard at the front of the building and he'll direct you up."

"Thanks. I'll see you then," and she was pleased that her voice had regained some strength and didn't have that thin, airy quality she despised.

He said his polite goodbyes and Cameron hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, nestled between a prescription pad and a bottle of painkillers that she carried just in case. She stayed in her chair, watching the trees and the clouds until the muffled sound of House opening the connecting door made her swivel around.

Her face still held that faraway look, and House's expression changed as a result, going from vaguely bored to questioning. But he didn't ask any questions.

"Looks like our friend Mr. Sinclair is responding to treatment. We should be able to blow this popcorn stand early as long as Cuddy isn't prowling the halls. You wanna grab something to eat? I think my kitchen needs restocking."

The casual invitation was so natural, but so far from what she had imagined a year ago or even two months ago. It was a welcome piece of stability and she tucked it away for safekeeping.

"Sounds good," she answered, gathering her pocketbook from beneath her desk and shrugging out of her lab coat as she rose.

House made a show of playing 'secret agent' as they walked towards the elevator, leading Cameron to crack a grin which he was relieved to see. He didn't like it when she got too thoughtful, and she had definitely looked thoughtful when he'd found her in her office.

"Atherton called me," she said as they walked through the garage, shoes and cane echoing in the cavernous space, and almost drowning out her voice.

Damn. Well, that explained it.

"What'd he have to say? They skipping the trial and going right to the execution." Every time the subject was broached he slipped in his not very subtle revenge fantasies.

"He needs me to go to his office tomorrow afternoon. To go over testimony."

They reached his car and he unlocked her door but then stood there, waiting for her to finish.

"Trial starts next week," she said, looking up at him before looking back at the door handle and her thin fingers gripping it.

His warm hand covered her ice-cold fingers and she looked back up at him.

"You wanna just go back to my place and scrounge for food?"

"Nope," she answered after a moment of thought. "I want to go get stuffed full of Mexican food and margaritas and then screw like rabbits until we both pass out."

The slightest twitch of House's jaw was the only indication that her proposal was anything but what he expected. He pressed down on her hand for a beat and then scuffed around to his side of the car.

"Sounds like a plan."

He was wondering if she was planning on getting drunk enough that she wouldn't dream. That was certainly one way of dealing. He was ready for either eventuality, and it no longer shocked him that he wasn't plotting a speedy escape.