Title: Succumb (6?)
Author: Teenwitch
Summary: We have to succumb to the feelings we can never face.

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

House had one reluctant foot in the clinic when the familiar brisk clip of a certain hospital administrator's expensive Prada heels sounded behind him.

He contemplated shutting the door in her face with a sort of evil glee for far too long, and finally heaved a dramatic sigh, turning to lean casually against the clinic desk as she neared him. "Dr. House checks in, 1:15pm."

"House."

He lifted his head, pretending to have just seen her. "Oh, Dr. Cuddy!" he greeted with feigned pleasure. "You know, following me around this much could be construed as sexual harassment. Maybe I should consult my employee handbook. Wouldn't want to give the nurses the wrong idea."

"You don't have an employee handbook," Cuddy retorted swiftly, coming to a halt beside him. Clad in one of her typical blue powersuits, she rose just above his shoulder— but no one could argue that Lisa Cuddy was anything but an intimidating force to be reckoned with.

She also happened to be someone he enjoyed goading immensely. She tended to be one of the limited few who could meet his barbs with equal fervour, and he enjoyed exercising his extensive array of comebacks. "I'm insulted that you think I'm not interested in the affairs of this hospital."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at his elusive response. "Please. You're late for clinic duty."

"Come to bust my chops, have you? Fifteen minutes hardly warrants a visit from the big boss, does it?"

She folded her arms, tilting her head in that 'I have something serious to discuss with you' way she had. Which was most of the time. "Actually, I wanted to see if Dr. Cameron was settling in all right. I assume you've seen her?"

House stared down at her calmly. Oh, she was tricky. He shrugged indifferently, unconsciously popping a Vicodin in his mouth; his one obvious tell. "We've exchanged words. Shouldn't you be asking the Immunology Head this question?"

Cuddy merely smiled at him; that serene, knowing smile that got under his skin. "I had a feeling you might know better."

The lengths she went to intervene in his personal life were sometimes vaguely disturbing. He knew she felt like he was her responsibility, and she felt guilty for the role she had played in his infarction, but sometimes she took it a little far.

He pursed his lips. "Funny. You didn't mention rehiring her. A head's up wouldn't have sucked. I might have wanted to remember my camera or something."

Cuddy looked sincerely apologetic. "I'm sorry. I had a feeling I knew what your reaction would be."

He avoided her eyes, seeking out something over her shoulder. Where was Wilson when he needed him? "Right. Well, I have patients waiting. You know the drill. All play and no work makes House bully the schoolyard kids even more."

She held out a hand to stop him. "Just wait. You've kept them waiting just fine until now. I wanted to be the one to tell you that Immunology have decided to refer one of their patients to your department."

House's expression remained stoic. Referrals rarely interested him. They were usually something far too simple that other doctors just failed to pick up on. "Really? I don't remember agreeing to the case."

"It's Cameron's patient."

He blinked at her stubbornly. "This is going to persuade me, how?"

Cuddy shrugged idly. "A prior diagnostic employee can't work out what's wrong with her. What do you think?"

He was quiet, and she took this as a sign of encouragement.

"Dr. Kendall also requested that Cameron be allowed to continue working with your team. I thought it was fair, considering the patient was the reason she was brought in to consult in the first place."

House clenched his jaw. "I already have a full staff."

"Something I don't go a day without hearing a complaint about." She patted him on the chest, looking annoyingly satisfied. "You wanted Cameron back, you've got her. And let me offer you a friendly piece of advice— don't screw it up."

She turned to leave, tailed dress skirt flurrying around her knees with her brisk movement. She headed to her office, and House was half tempted to follow her. But Cuddy could be surprisingly firm on certain decisions, and he had a feeling this was going to be one of them. And he certainly wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of knowing the situation bothered him.

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

House wiped the whiteboard clean, strangely caught up in the symbolism of the gesture. Another patient cured, another life saved. He felt no satisfaction in that regard. The patients had no personal meaning to him; they represented a puzzle, a mystery to unravel. Once that was solved their recovery was of no importance to him. Wilson was the people doctor. He was the investigator.

He was keenly aware of someone's approach behind him, and despite the fact that she had no place there, he knew exactly who it was even before she spoke.

"Can we talk?"

He barely reacted to her presence, feeling a brief spark of irritation at her smooth, hesitant voice. Wilson thought motherhood had purged her idealism. He knew better. She would always see the good in others. She would always see the good in him. Her goodness was intoxicating, and he hated it with a fierce, unrelenting passion.

"Depends. Because if you're pleading off this case, I'd rather not hear about it."

She furrowed her brow, eyeing him uncertainly as he finally turned. "Why would I do that?"

He stared at her, failing to acknowledge her question, waiting for her to speak. She sighed. "I wanted to let you know… that this wasn't my decision. It wasn't my intention to force us to work together again."

House lifted an eyebrow, unhooking his cane from the top of the whiteboard. He strode over to the corner, pouring himself some coffee. He didn't ask her to fix the hastily brewed sludge this time. The bitterness scoured his throat and he revelled in the taste.

"Uh huh. So what was your intention? Work up to it slowly?"

He heard her make a humourless, frustrated noise and she strode up behind him. It was funny, how distinctly she moved. After all this time, he still recognised her edgy walk. Yet her feet barely touched the ground, as if she were even offering that her courtesy. If that wasn't symbolism, well… "It was Cuddy's decision, not mine. If we're going to work together, I don't need you to resent me for it."

"Because it bothers me for some reason?" he asked sarcastically, turning to regard her and leaning against the counter.

She closed her eyes. He allowed himself a brief, surreptitious appraisal of her face, tilted defiantly towards his. Yesterday at lunch, she had temporarily let her guard down around him, and she was undeniably attractive when she was happy. But she was utterly beautiful when she was angry. Maybe it was why he had always enjoyed provoking her so.

"Obviously that was my mistake," she said quietly.

He held her gaze, unflinching in the face of her anger. "What do you want, Cameron?" he asked indifferently. His cruel streak was abundant around her. She was always such an easy target. "Do you want me to cry? To tell you I missed you while you were gone?"

She stared at him stoically, unmoving when anyone with an inch of self-preservation would have turned on him in disgust. She always weathered his cruelty. He wondered why. "No."

"No?" he repeated. "Why are you here then?"

"I don't need you to tell me, House," she said flatly. "I'm not stupid."

He eyed her quietly, wondering what she meant by that statement. "Is that it?"

She shook her head, looking away. "You haven't changed. I was only trying to spare your feelings. Next time I won't even bother."

"Good to know," he murmured darkly, straightening from his perch in an effort to dismiss her. It seemed he was self-sabotaging his prior efforts yet again. "See you at work."

She gave him a lengthy, cold glare, and he was slightly impressed by its severity. Perhaps her hatred of him had finally grown some veracity.

She strode from the room, barely offering him a backwards glance. He turned back to the sink, dumping the contents of his mug as soon as she was gone. He had conveniently forgotten that one of the many reasons he had missed her was right in front of his face.

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