Chapter 7: In Which Wilson Interferes
It was 8:00 pm, and once again he was late for dinner. Wilson sighed as he walked through the front doors of the hospital, straightening his tie and shifting his briefcase from one hand to another. Home sweet home indeed, he thought to himself wryly, as he simultaneously imagined a million places he'd rather be.
From outside the hospital he could see that some of the office lights were still on. He hadn't seen House since their awkward lunch together earlier that day, and Wilson wondered idly if he was still in the hospital. He paused. Briefly weighing his sense of duty to House versus his sense of duty towards Julie, he turned around and reentered the hospital, temporarily confusing the janitor to whom he had bid good night not two minutes ago. He pressed the elevator button and waited impatiently.
Wilson stepped off the elevator a few minutes later to see a virtually deserted floor. Drinking in the silence that surrounded him, he reached the conclusion that his friend had most likely gone home. Walking up to House's office door, he observed that no music was audible, the lights were off, and there was scant activity in the area. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard the familiar rattle of a pill bottle emanate from somewhere within the darkness. Shaking his head, Wilson pushed the door open and entered, flicking on the lights and ignoring the groan that came from behind the desk.
"I know you're in here, House," said Wilson, placing his briefcase on floor by the door. He approached the desk warily, secretly dreading a repeat of last night's events.
House's head materialized from behind his hiding place. Rolling his eyes and sighing, he stood with visible effort and slowly dusted himself off. As Wilson watched, he yawned and stretched calmly as if it was perfectly reasonable for him be lying on his office floor in the middle of the evening. "Tired out from a hard day at work," he explained, rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching for his cane with the other.
Wilson looked around the room. "I don't see any files."
House scrunched up his face in thought. "I memorized them," he countered.
Wilson nodded, skepticism evident on his face. "Right." He walked to the nearest chair and sank into it with a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He carefully scrutinized House's appearance, looking for evidence of alcohol and relieved to find none. "So," he asked conversationally. "How WAS your day at work?"
House's eyes narrowed briefly. Then, sitting down at his desk, he leaned back lazily and responded, "Hard."
"Got to do better than that, House," replied Wilson patiently.
"Such wordplay implies an ulterior motive." He eyed wilson suspiciously. "You're not going to confess your undying love for me, are you? Because I'm not into that kind of thing."
Wilson laughed. "Ew. I could do better."
House's expression darkened, and Wilson immediately regretted his words. "Been talking to Cameron?" he asked caustically.
"I was just joking," came Wilson's cautious answer.
House tilted his chair back to stare at his ceiling. "I know," he said as he absent-mindedly twirled his cane between his fingers.
"Did you talk to her?"
House shook his head, his gaze fixed on an indeterminate spot above him. Wilson waited a few minutes for a verbal response and was worried when he received none. "No smart-ass comment?" he said lightly. "I'm disappointed."
The sound of wood striking the glass table top resonated through the room, causing Wilson to jump. "I'm...tired," said House finally, after an awkward pause. He left his cane on the table, brought both hands behind his head and put his feet up, deliberately avoiding eye contact.
Wilson stood up and walked to the conference room doorway as House watched him out of the corner of his eye. Wilson gestured towards Cameron's desk. "Does it bother you, to sit this close to her but have a wall in between you two?"
House grimaced. "Is this some sort of lame metaphor?"
"You're the only lame one here," retorted Wilson.
"Nice," responded House appreciatively.
Wilson decided to push his luck. Returning to his seat and crossing his arms, he said, "Look, I know the answer already, but..."
"Then why are you asking?" House interrupted.
"...do you like her?" finished Wilson without any hesitation.
House sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "Does it matter?"
"Stop dodging the question," said Wilson, pointing an accusing finger at his scowling friend. Unwilling to let the issue go, he got up and began pacing the room.
"Quit it," said House finally, taking the stuffed tennis ball from his desk and throwing it at Wilson's head. "It's annoying."
Wilson dodged the projectile easily and turned to face him. "Answer the question, and I'll stop."
Housetilted his head to one side. "I'd rather answer my own question." He got up from his desk and walked over to Wilson. "The answer is no, in fact, it doesn't matter. She's got her rebound boy, I've got this..." He gestured towards his office with his cane and continued with a patently fake smile, "...and all is right with the world."
"So you do like her," concluded Wilson.
House grunted. "You're not allowed to answer your own questions. Only I'm allowed to do that." He walked towards the door and looked curiously into the silent hallway.
Wilson picked the tennis ball up from the floor and offered it to House, who accepted it with a nod. "Ball's in your court," said Wilson cryptically.
House gave a short laugh. "That's the best you could come up with?" He leaned towards Wilson, putting his weight on his cane. "Why are you trying to make me suffer?" he asked in an exaggeratedly plaintive tone.
Wilson threw his arms up in an impatient gesture. "I'm trying to STOP your suffering, you moron."
"Tried, and failed." House put one hand on the door and turned around to look at Wilson. "So why are you still here?" he asked inquisitively.
"You think holding the door open is going to make me leave?" asked Wilson in an incredulous tone.
House shook his head. "No, I need to go to the washroom. I quite literally want to know why you're still here." He quirked an eyebrow. "Why aren't you at home? Julie cooking tonight?"
Wilson crossed his arms. "Oh, no. We are not doing this. We are not making this about me."
House smirked. "Either Julie's cooking, or you've got a hot date."
Wilson paused. Then, to House's surprise, he responded by smiling smugly and saying, "Actually, there is a girl I'm going to see." Calmly, he walked to the door, grabbed his briefcase and stood expectantly in front of House.
Intrigued, House moved aside to let him pass and called after Wilson as he left, "Who?"
Wilson waved goodbye without turning around.
House stood at his office door for a moment, contemplating the last part of their conversation before shrugging, reentering his office and sitting down heavily in the nearest seat. He reached up and switched the light off with his cane, closing his eyes. He was off the hook for now, but it wouldn't last.
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"You should probably stop."
Chase looked up through glazed eyes. "Stop what," he said, attempting to brush his hair out of eyes and missing. Cameron looked on in a mixture of concern and dismay.
"Chase, please."
Their after-work hangout was deserted save for a few regulars, all of whom were too drunk to focus on their conversations. Chase wasn't quite at that stage, but he was working on it.
"You know," he said, pointing in Cameron's general direction as he finished his drink, "It was technically your idea to come here."
She gave him a look. "Yeah, to talk," she said. "Not to get drunk. I can't talk to you if you're drunk."
"Maybe I don't want to talk," muttered Chase vehemently.
Cameron sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry. I really am. I..."
Chased cut her off with an abrupt gesture. "Foreman's an idiot. Talking isn't going to get us anywhere. We're just going to walk out of here, drunk and more upset than when we started." He paused. "Well, I'll be drunk and upset. You'll just be upset."
"We'll see," muttered Cameron as she signaled to a nearby waiter.
They sat in silence. The waiter came by and took Cameron's order. More silence. Cameron stared at her hands.
"Just tell me..." began Chase.
Cameron looked up. "Yes?"
"You never liked me." A statement, not a question.
Her heart went out to him, but she couldn't lie. "Of course I liked you," she said carefully.
Chase nodded. "But not like I liked you."
She shook her head, unable to say the words. His eyes met hers. "Never?" he asked gently.
She shook her head again, and again he nodded.
"Then why?"
Cameron moved her gaze to the table top, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles on her napkin. "I thought...maybe..."
Chase leaned back in his seat and said hotly, "I'd be a convenient rebound?"
She looked up, shocked by his sudden anger. Chase gestured a little too enthusiastically and knocked his glass onto the floor, where it shattered loudly. No one seemed to notice except the lone waiter, who set Cameron's drink on the table, rolled his eyes and headed for the supplies cabinet. "I mean," Chase continued, his voice laced with sarcasm, "I admit I'm flattered. I'm accessible, easy to manipulate, and apparently you don't give a damn about how I feel, so why not?"
"It's not like that," responded Cameron, her voice shaky. She took a steadying breath before continuing. "I honestly didn't mean for it to get to this point." At this, Chase snorted and moved to get up from the table, but Cameron wasn't about to let it end that way. She grabbed his arm to prevent him from standing and looked him in the eye. "You've been a great friend to me, Chase. You've been there when I needed you, and I'll always be grateful for that. This friendship between us, I thought maybe it could grow into something more. That I could care about you the same way..."
She trailed off, but the look in her eyes was lost on Chase. "The same way I care about you?" he hedged, watching Cameron's reaction closely. He sighed and closed his eyes. "No, of course not. The same way you care for House." The hurt in his voice was painfully apparent, and he reopened his eyes to see his pain mirrored in hers.
He sank back into his seat and took her hand in his. She was too surprised to react. "Look," he said, trying to ignore the lump in his throat, "You can't make yourself love someone. And you can't make someone love you." He coughed, and Cameron's other hand fidgeted with her napkin. Chase sighed. "You know how I feel about you, you know how I feel about the House issue. And even if I'm angry, I know I can't blame you for either of those things."
A tear rolled down Cameron's cheek, forcing Chase to look away. "It's alright," he said, forcing a smile onto his face. "We're good as friends, right?"
She nodded, and whispered, "Yes."
There they sat, hand in hand, silent and looking away from each other.
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Unlocking the door and walking through it with a sigh, Cameron surveyed her empty apartment, threw her coat and bag onto the couch and walked into the kitchen. The microwave told her that it was 9:00 pm. She opened the fridge and closed it again when she found that nothing appealed to her appetite. Grabbing a box of cereal off of her counter, she walked back into the living room and settled down on the couch with the closest book she could find. She tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on the pages in front of her, but found herself instead rehashing the events of the past few days. She threw the book onto the coffee table in frustration, and hugged the box of cereal closer to her as she ate out of it.
The ringing of her doorbell interrupted her thoughts. She rose to answer the door, half-heartedly running a hand through her hair. She wondered who could possibly be coming to see her at 9:00 pm on a weeknight, and concluded that Foreman was the most likely candidate. A quick glance through the peephole revealed an awkward looking Wilson, shifting uncomfortably in place and fidgeting with his tie. Hiding her surprise, she paused for a minute to collect her thoughts before opening the door to welcome him.
He smiled when he saw her. "Dr. Cameron. Is this a bad time?"
She shook her head and returned the smile. "Not at all. Please come in." She stood back to let him into her apartment, then closed the door behind him. She turned to see him quietly appraising her living room.
"Nice place," he said.
"Thanks," she responded. They stood there for a moment, Wilson uncertain as to how to proceed, Cameron wondering why he was there. Finally, she gestured towards one of the couches and said politely, "Won't you please have a seat?"
He accepted gratefully, situating himself in the spot previously occupied by Cameron and covertly examining her almost immaculate living quarters. She opted for the other couch, moving her things to one side for make room for herself. She looked at him expectantly.
"Uh," he began. She raised an eyebrow. He sighed, and decided to throw caution to the wind. "I'm here to say what House can't."
Surprised by his forthrightness, Cameron waited in silence, her heart pounding in her ears.
Wilson sighed. "House..." He hesitated slightly before finishing in a single breath, "He likes you." He paused again. "A lot."
She stared at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief in her eyes. "How do you..." she began.
"He's been torn up ever since the banquet," he responded, knowing her question before the words even left her mouth.
Nothing could have prepared him for the effect his words had on Cameron. She recoiled as if physically struck, a mixture of emotions crossing her face in a span of a few seconds. She opened her mouth to speak, only to find that no words came out. She took a deep breath to settle the uneasy feeling in her stomach.
Wilson watched her reaction with some concern. "Dr. Cameron. Are you alright?"
She nodded, finding her voice. "I'm sorry. You caught me off guard." She looked at him, clearly confused. "Did he send you?"
He shook his head, and she wasn't sure whether to be glad or devastated. "He would kill me if he knew I was here. Doing this."
Lowering her eyes to the floor, Cameron asked in a small voice, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'm worried about him," responded Wilson.
She smiled slightly. "I know. But that's not what I meant." She looked him directly in the eye, the intensity within them taking him by surprise. He could now understand why House always seemed shaken after a serious conversation with this woman. "I want to know why YOU'RE telling me this."
"Ah," he answered slowly. "Because he's too much of a moron to say it himself."
Cameron found herself wanting to accept his reasoning at face value, but her principles wouldn't allow it. "Or, he doesn't like me enough to say it himself," she said, deliberately keeping her voice cool. "That leaves us exactly where we were before."
Wilson leaned forward slightly, his tone imploring. "You have to understand where he's coming from."
She sighed, and after a moment's pause she answered softly, "I know. Stacy broke his heart. And it breaks again everytime he sees her."
Wilson looked at her carefully. Cameron obviously empathized House's pain. Suddenly the pity he felt for his friend was extended towards the fragile looking young doctor in front of him. Her next words confirmed his thoughts.
"I do understand," she said, in a tone that bespoke exactly that. She turned her face away from him.
Wilson nodded, grasping her point. He still had one question that needed to be answered. "Dr. Cameron," he said hesitantly. "Are you...and Dr. Chase..."
She shot him a look. He shut his mouth.
"What exactly is it that you want me to do?" she asked quietly.
Wilson froze. "I...don't know," he said reluctantly. "I guess I just wanted to see..." He trailed off, and an uncomfortable silence settled between them. He cleared his throat.
Leaning forward to cradle her head in her hands, Cameron finished for him, "You came here to find out whether I'm over House."
"Pretty much," Wilson admitted.
"And?" she prodded.
"You're not," he answered without hesitation, wondering why she was suddenly the one asking the questions.
"You're right." She sighed and tucked a loose hair behind her ear. "But I wish I was."
Wilson nodded silently.
Cameron crossed her arms. "Did you find the answer you expected?"
He nodded again. "Pretty much."
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The next morning saw Foreman walk into the conference room with his defenses up. He had worked out several scenarios prior to his arrival at work and mapped out several contingency plans. But not one of those scenarios began with Chase shoving a box of donuts into his face.
"Peace offering," Chase stated matter-of-factly, persistently poking Foreman in the shoulder with the box. Foreman took it from him. Chase smiled, which did nothing to relieve his confusion.
After the initial shock wore off, Foreman managed a feeble smile. "Thanks," he said slowly. He set the box down on the table, and was about to make coffee when Cameron strode into the room with a thermos and three recently washed coffee mugs.
"I made coffee at home," she said in a happy voice that Foreman found most disconcerting.
He stared at her suspiciously. "Good morning," he said. "What's going on here?"
Chase and Cameron shrugged at the same time. "We talked," offered Chase helpfully.
"Things'll be fine," said Cameron in agreement.
Foreman looked from one to the other, eyes narrowed and arms folded over his chest. "Uh huh," he said. He noted that they stood next to each other awkwardly, Chase's hands held stiffly at his side, Cameron's hands balled into fists. He sighed and shrugged, forcing a bright smile onto his face. "Okay," he said in what he hoped was a convincing tone.
House walked in shortly afterwards to see Chase, Cameron and Foreman smiling at each other in silence. He paused at the doorway, a curious expression on his face. "Okay," he said, unconsciously echoing Foreman's earlier words. His eyebrows raised in an expression of amusement, he grabbed a donut from the box and walked to the white board. "This is weird."
At this, the three moved to take their usual seats. Chase accidentally brushed against Cameron as he sat down, murmuring an apology. Cameron turned a bright shade of red and muttered something incoherent in acknowledgement. Foreman heaved a long suffering sigh. House looked on, his face expressionless.
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It was early afternoon when House finally got a chance to speak to Cameron alone. She was standing in front of her desk with her back to the door, sorting a stack of what looked like surgeon's reports. She looked up he entered the room, but did not verbally acknowledge his presence.
"So...what happened between you and Chase?" he said by way of a conversation starter.
Cameron stayed silent, leaning down to scribble something onto a piece of paper.
House moved closer to her. "He's young, rich, got a medical degree, infatuated with you. Don't tell me he wasn't good enough for you either?"
"Shut up," she answered, anger thinly veiled in her tone.
He was struck by the intensity of her response. He had expected defensiveness, perhaps even shame - but anger was not one of the emotions that he had antipcated. His mind was too preoccupied with decoding her behavior to stop him from making a dangerous situation even worse.
"Where did it go wrong?" he asked, his tone speaking of nothing but a morbid curiousity. "It was like a fairy tale in the making." He leaned forward, cocking his head to one side. "Once upon a time, there was an intensivist with great hair and an immunologist with a great..."
She cut him off. "What do you want, House?"
He shrugged. "Cuddy's looking for me, I need a place to hide."
"Your office is a terrible hiding place," she responded. Her thoughts went back to her conversation with Wilson, and she couldn't help but wonder if what the oncologist said was true. She certainly couldn't detect any sort of feeling underneath House's usual bitter sarcasm.
House took the few steps needed to close the distance between them and looked over her shoulder, deliberately trying to insinuate himself into her personal space. He briefly wondered about his own motives, and decided that he mostly wanted to see her reaction. He didn't bother asking why.
She didn't give him the satisfaction of looking uncomfortable. Rather, she looked up to meet his eyes with hers, his self-imposed proximity to her now turned against him. Their eyes locked, and House suddenly found himself in a state of panic. He gulped and looked away first. She returned her gaze to her work as he took an involuntary step backwards.
"Well," he said in an attempt to ignore the tension in the room, "We don't have to talk about that."
"Is there something else we should be talking about?" she inquired innocently.
He glanced at her, surprised. She for her part betrayed nothing in her expression. He frowned. "No." He walked to his office door.
The sound of her laughter caught him offguard. "That doesn't surprise me," she answered, pointing a pen in his direction. "You'll never change. I told Wilson as much."
He stopped, and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter. Since we don't have anything to talk about..." Cameron stacked the papers neatly into a pile on her desk and gathered them into her arms. She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Dr. House." She turned to leave.
House's voice came from behind her, accusatory and cold. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it. Leaving."
She turned around to face him. "Don't get your hopes up," she said. "I'm past the point where I try to make things easier for you." She exited the room as House stood motionless, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach as he watched her walk away.
"It wouldn't be easier," he said to an empty room.
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