CHAPTER 5

As House walked away from the table and out of the cafeteria, he felt for a fleeting second as though something was very, very wrong. Turning around, he looked back to see Foreman standing to leave, giving Cameron a small wave; nothing amiss there. House waited, watching Foreman go out of the cafeteria through another door. Staring at Cameron, alone at the table, he tried to get his weary mind around what had disturbed him so much. Cameron was still sitting there, unenthusiastically nibbling at the browning slices of an apple, looking quite as normal as she ever did. Then he noticed. She was wearing the crimson blouse, with her black skirt and pumps. Her lab coat had been hung neatly on the back of her chair, making the blouse all too noticeable to House. He thought for a moment that someone, him, needed to go back and tell her to change. His previous night's walk came back to him all to quickly, the trees and the changing fall leaves, his thoughts of Cameron's red blouse and dying Eddie.

Shaking his head, he turned to leave. He hadn't thought about last night all day, and there was no reason that he should start now. But his memory blasted into action, recalling every detail of the evening, bringing the sick feeling back into his stomach when he had considered the notion of suicide. I do NOT want to die he silently screamed at his brain. Shut up and stop thinking crazy thoughts. Go back to your office and forget about it. House seemed to walk quicker, as if he could possibly outrun and escape from his own mind. The elevator ride was too long, and again, the upbeat music mocked him as it had the day before. Nervous and badly in need of sleep, his mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next at light speed as he tried to concentrate on anything other than himself.

Finally, feeling as though he had just run a marathon, House made it to his office. He pushed open the doors with unnecessary force, and stood for a moment in the middle of the room. The desk was covered with books, books that he had pulled off their shelves that morning in a wild search for the answers he was telling himself he needed so badly. The long table in the annex was also overflowing with materials, and at the moment, House couldn't help but think to himself that it represented his own racing mind, too many things to hold onto and keep up with. Standing completely still, he breathed in deeply, willing his momentary feeling of panic and self-repulsion to go away. He made his way shakily to his desk and sat down. Pushing papers this way and that, he found his vicodin and gratefully swallowed a pill more out of habit than for the purpose of relieving his pain, feeling the vital need to be doing something familiar. He sat back and waited. For what, he wasn't sure.

You're in denial, you jerk. House rolled his eyes, growing more fed up by the minute by his own conscience.

"And you're an asshole." he said aloud. For a few moments more, he simply sat there, breathing in and out and trying not to think about or feel anything. But it was impossible for House not to feel anything right now. There was an unmistakable anger building inside of him, and after musing over it for a moment, he realized that it was because of Cameron.

She had worn the crimson blouse, the same one House had thought of the first time he had seen the trees. Before he had gone to the park and allowed himself to feel sorry for himself. He had been reminded of her when he had been secure about his happiness and not felt the need for anything more than he already had. The second time he saw the trees, he had already exposed himself to the fact that he just might not be happy with the way his life was turning out. Twisting himself around in the chair, he looked out the window at the parking lot and the massive oaks that lay beyond. At that moment, he would have given anything to look at them and not be reminded of Eddie. He was mad, House realized, because he no longer had the ability to think of Cameron, or anything really, and feel normal.

House rubbed at his burning eyes, returning the chair to its regular position facing the desk. He was confused at his own emotions, growing dizzy with all of his own twisted explanations of them. Cameron. Red blouse. Trees. Park. Eddie. It didn't make any sense to him. And he was too tired to think anymore about it. He pulled the bottom desk drawer open to reveal his stash of Jack Daniels and an assortment of glasses. Choosing one, he poured himself a much needed drink and downed it. He was in the process of pouring the next one when he looked down at something on his desk which hadn't been there earlier. A manila file folder, the contents of which House already knew. Quickly drinking that shot, he grabbed the folder and pulled out the papers within. He didn't bother to read all of the preliminary proceedings, but turned right to the last past. Wildly, House scanned it until he came to what he was looking for, a single line at the bottom of the page. It was not what he had wanted to hear.

CAUSE OF DEATH: UNDETERMINED

House stared at it for a full minute. How could that be? They had done the full workup that he had requested on the body, and still the cause of Eddie's death remained unknown. Wilson had told him to wait on the report, and here it was, refusing to yield any of the answers that House needed so desperately to know. Unexpectedly and furiously, House jumped to his feet and hurled the file with all of his strength across the room. It slammed clumsily with all the grace of a drunk pigeon into the blinds, causing them to clatter and bend the wrong way and go into a state of general disarray. It hadn't made him feel any better, so he poured himself another shot and sat bitterly staring at the autopsy report where it lay on the floor. He decided then that it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair for Eddie, who had been a junkie but relatively nice. It wasn't fair to Cameron, Chase and Foreman, who had all worked so hard to save him. And it wasn't fair to House, who had searched so arduously for answers. A full twenty four hours later, and no one knew what had killed one of the simplest, happiest men on the planet.

On his fourth drink, House mused to himself about the irony that might be found in all of this. If he, a miserable, bitter old cripple died, the cause would probably be obvious. That's just how the world worked. God made all things worthwhile. No one would ever want to spend time finding out why the miserable guy was dead, so God would make it obvious so that no one would have to do work that they didn't want to. But everyone would have to work a little harder for the nice guy, because he was really worth the effort, and they all wanted to know. If this was the case, House thought, the alcohol slowly wasting his mind, then Eddie must have been the nicest guy ever.

And you didn't even like him. What does that say about you?

By now, House knew that this stubborn and annoying little voice in his head only voiced his own worst opinions and fears. But he was just as stubborn as it was, and he could ignore it forever if he had to. Not particularly liking Eddie didn't mean anything. House didn't particularly like anyone. He filled his glass again, the level in the bottle significantly less than it had been ten minutes ago. He downed the shot and decided to put the whiskey away. It was time for him to rest now. It had been far too long since he had closed his eyes and slept, and he was beginning to accept the fact that the cause of Eddie's death might never be known, and he didn't intend to look for it anymore.

"I'm gonna advocate for the mean guys from now on…" he mumbled, his voice slurred with drunkenness and sleepiness. "Yup, when us mean guys die, I'll look out for us. I'm done with the nice guys…"

C''mon, you know you "mean guys" aren't going to need anyone. It'll be obvious, especially in your case; suicide is, after all, easy to diagnose…

House sat bolt upright in his seat. "I am happy!" He yelled. "No one here is offing themselves anytime soon!" He waited for it to argue with him, but he seemed to have gotten his point across to it, and his mind was filled once more with silence. House was content with his life. The bottom line was that he wanted to live and that was that.

What are you talking about?

This time he stood up, frightened and furious at the same time. He knew it was only in his head, but he was completely stumped as to why he should be so conflicted over this. He-

"I said, what are you talking about?" Cameron came through the conference room door, looking strangely at House. He hadn't even heard her enter the other room, and immediately, he wondered how much she had heard. When he didn't answer, but only stared dumbly at her, that familiar concerned look came over her face.

"House, are you okay?" She took as step towards him and considered reaching out to put a hand on his arm, but thought better of it.

Suddenly, he switched back into House mode, scowling and nodding, yes he was okay. He leaned towards her, giving her a stern expression. "The last time we were in here and you asked me that, didn't it go rather badly?"

Cameron looked down, and he was surprised to see that she looked guilty. "About that." She looked back up at him and met his eyes. "I'm sorry if something that I said upset you. I didn't think you would react like that. Obviously, Eddie's death had a greater meaning to you than I thought. I'm sorry." She said the words with a sincerity that she had never before directed at House, and it made him uncomfortable. He didn't give any indication that he had accepted, but merely chose to ignore her apology all together. Instead, he looked at the coffee cup that she held lightly in her delicate hands. Taking it from her, he ignored her sudden look of confusion and sniffed at it. It was cold, brought back from the cafeteria. House took a gulp and pulled a face.

"Yuck. Cold." And with that remark, he did the one thing that he truly wanted to do. He flung the remainder of the coffee at Cameron, soaking her blouse with the cold, dark liquid.

Needless to say, the look on Cameron's face was somewhere between horrified and furious. She looked down, shocked, then recovered enough to yell, "What in the hell is your problem?"

House grinned and shrugged apologetically. "Oops." He didn't see the hand pull back and slap him full in the face, and to tell the truth, drunk as he was, he didn't really even feel it, or at least not until later.

"You bastard." Her voice was low and menacing, but House could only shake off the slap and shrug nonchalantly again. "What can I say? I hate that blouse."

Cameron looked incredulous, then leaned forward to sniff at something she had thought she smelled upon entering the room. "You're drunk." she stated disgustedly.

House smiled, picking up his cane and walking out of the room. "The blouse is ugly. Go change." He left her standing there, fuming and angry, yet now tremendously more concerned about House than she had been before.

TBC.

Well kids, thanks for reading. And as usual, my sincere thanks to everyone who has so graciously taken the time to comment on previous chapters. You mean the world to me.

The general consensus seems to be that hr. 76 will be 11am on Thursday. I suppose I should have done the math before I wrote the review, but that would have just been too proactive on my part. So I'll try to get another chapter done soon; I know the last 2 have been short, so I'll try to put a little more time into the next one. Thanks.

-A.D.