She didn't take the week of course. He had known she wouldn't.
He'd guessed that three days of unscheduled vacation would probably be sufficient to convince her that she had won the battle, and just long enough allow her pre-programmed sense of guilt to prickle, so when he limped into Diagnostics on Thursday morning, House was unsurprised to find Cameron at her usual post; seated dutifully alongside a pile of correspondence.
"There are two here you should probably read."
"Why? Are they funny?"
Her eyes behind her glasses were a cool, cloud grey, "I don't know. Are 'bloody feces and vomit' funny?"
"That depends entirely on their location."
Pouring himself a coffee, House hesitated for a moment before reaching for a second cup. Behind him, Cameron's fingers on the keyboard stilled for an instant before continuing.
"And the ISN conference is in Vegas this year."
"Is it at the Venetian?"
"The Nevada Paris."
"Ah...the Paris," setting the mug down by her elbow, House snapped a sachet of sugar wistfully between his fingertips before tearing it open. "Boy, those nephrology boys really know how to party down."
Her eyes moved briefly from the screen to the mug beside her, before returning, "Is that a no?"
"That..." a small nod, "is a no."
Something about her appearance was subtly different. Letting his eyes rake over her, House took in the standard prim pant-suit, the crisp white shirt, the punishing, but necessarily high, heels. For a beautiful woman, Cameron certainly never dressed to advertise the fact. Her wardrobe was shockingly utilitarian, slim-fitting pants, sweater-vests, the all-too-occasional skirt, but nothing that ever approached provocative, nothing that drew the eye. It was one of the first things he'd noticed about her and it still intrigued him. Now, having met her equally attractive older sister, he couldn't help wonder whether the reason was far more prosaic than he had suspected. Maybe Allison Cameron wasn't considered the real beauty of the family.
"So, is your sister in town on business?"
Her fingers on the keyboard stilled again for an instant. Watching her expression intently, House thought he saw a flicker of annoyance.
"No. She...I guess she just had some free time," she shrugged and continued typing, "I haven't been home in a year. I guess we aren't too good at keeping in touch."
"You're not close?"
More than just a flicker that time. A deep, irritable frown creased her brow and she raised her eyes to his.
"If you're asking how long she's staying, I don't know the answer. She and her husband have been having some problems and she needed some space. I suggested she come here, she had some vacation due, so she flew in. End of story, " raising an eyebrow she fixed him with a cool-eyed stare. "Anything else you need to know? I'm pretty sure that covers it but..."
"She's very pretty."
A deep inward breath. And a hit. A very palpable hit.
"She's also very smart."
"And tall."
"Yes she is."
"Is your mother tall?"
"Five-six. Fifty-eight years old. Blue eyes. Also a brunette. Married to a great guy - who isn't my father - enjoys tennis, racketball and plays a mean hand of poker. Anything else?"
Taking a mouthful of coffee, House swirled the contents around in his mouth thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing it. A pleasant, disingenuous smile.
"Did you do something to your hair? Is it...shorter?"
"No. It isn't." Shuffling the mail into a pile, Cameron pushed out her chair and stood up. Her eyes, when they met his own again, were perilously dark. "Maybe you're thinking of someone else."
As she stalked from the room, a faint cool scent of magnolias trailed in her wake and snapping his fingers, House raised his voice to reach her.
"You're wearing scent!"
But she was already out of earshot.
XX
"So she's a divorcee?"
Wilson's expression was far more interested than it had any right to be and, narrowing his eyes, House regarded his friend steadily across the remains of his lunch. The early afternoon sun wasn't nearly as warm as it had looked from inside his office, but the chill outside was still balmy in comparison to the one that Cameron had been emitting ever since their conversation that morning. Baiting the members of his team was so much less amusing when they refused to reply and, after failing in his attempt to draw Foreman in to break the stalemate, he'd finally given up in disgust and decamped outside for an early lunch, knowing Wilson wouldn't be far behind.
Their table was in clear view of both their offices, yet far enough from the Clinic to avoid ambush by Cuddy and, if it wasn't for the cold and the fact that his friend now seemed overtly fascinated by his description of Cameron's older sister, House thought he might even be having a good day.
"Separated. No ring though...which I guess means something."
Taking a bite of his sandwich, Wilson stared past his shoulder into the middle distance. "I think I wore mine right up until the decree nisi."
"Proving yet again that you're both hopelessly unrealistic and nauseatingly romantic."
"Thanks. So what does that make her? A stone-cold bitch?"
House picked a stray chive from between his front teeth, "It makes her available. Hot and available."
Turning back to stare at him, Wilson's lips parted in disbelief. He laid down his sandwich.
"You're not really serious about this?"
His coffee had gone cold. Taking a mouthful, House considered spitting it back into the cup but thought better of it and swallowed instead. "You're the one who's always telling me I need to get out more. Meet women."
"Yes! Meet women! Not sisters...of women." Frowning, the younger doctor picked up his lunch again, before finally abandoning it with a sigh. He wiped his hands. "Look. I know you don't want to hear this but..."
Taking another large bite and chewing, House eyed him belligerently, "So why make me listen?"
"Cameron still cares about you. Very much. And, despite the fact that you seem to go out of your way to make her miserable...actually no, because of that fact, I know you still feel something for her."
Rolling his eyes, his friend shook his head is disgust, his mouth still half-full of food, "Jesus, you sound just like her. I treat her like crap, ergo I really "heart" her. Have you ever listened to yourself?"
"Have you?" Wilson's expression was still wry, but a little pissed as well, "I've never known you ride anyone like you ride Cameron. You rip into her every chance you get, belittle her, push her around, bully her. You chastise her for her bedside manner, ridicule her sensitivity and kindness, and when she does finally show a little backbone and determination, you slap her down like some disobedient puppy."
"I'm assuming you have a point?"
"She says she likes you, and you tear her to pieces. The idea that someone might actually see through the act, that they might understand you and still want to be with you, terrifies the hell out of you. But then along comes her big sister, and suddenly you're ready to meet women again."
Snorting a laugh, James slapped the crumbs off his lap onto the ground before standing up. The look he fixed him with was every bit as cold as Cameron's.
"Do me a favour will you? Next time you're thinking about asking some woman out on a date, don't tell me about it ok? Just do it.. Because I really can't stand watching you pretend to be a human being any more."
XX
They all worked late that evening. Chase and Foreman running gels, Cameron doing blood-work, him moving restlessly between the two labs and his desk, stopping occasionally to stare at the darkness outside his windows. Rain was lashing down, signalling the official start of winter and for some reason the sight of the bare black-drenched trees made him feel a strange, cold desolation. Not that there had been any truth in Wilson's little rant, but sometimes House had to admit to missing close companionship; someone who both understood and withstood him, and the idea that he might be deliberately sabotaging his own chance at happiness was a pretty sobering one.
Sitting down in his chair, he reached for the tennis ball he kept on his desktop and threw it purposefully at a spot on the wall opposite, catching it again as it rebounded. The soft rhythmic sound, repeated enough times, acted like a wiper on the windshield of his mind and, relaxing into it, he let his brain white-out as he threw, caught, threw. Thinking about nothing. Thinking about Cameron. Thinking about Wilson; 'because I really can't stand watching you pretend to be human being any more'.
"Dr. House?"
A soft voice from the doorway jolted him out of rhythm, and the ball bounced and rolled across the room. Tracking it with one eye, House got to his feet and limped slowly to retrieve it, before acknowledging her. Dressed in a simple but breathtakingly elegant shift-dress, Isabel O'Connell stood awkwardly half in and half out of the room, her coat draped over one arm.
"I'm sorry, I was looking for Ally and someone down at the front desk sent me up here," she smiled uncertainly, poking her head forward to look through into the next room, "Is she...still working. We were supposed to have dinner, but I left my cell at home so I don't know if she tried to call..."
"She's down in the lab. Level 3. She should be done soon." Palming the ball, House let his eyes slide off her and along to the elevator. "One floor down. Two rights. You can't miss it."
"Thanks."
Her hips shifted, as if to move away, but the step never came. Looking at her feet, he saw the toe of the right was turned out slightly whilst the left was still inside the room, still pointing towards him. Moving his eyes back to her face, he saw she was smiling. A moment passed, and she laughed.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be...but why are you still here? Do you have work to do as well?"
"Not exactly."
"So why don't you go home? Don't you have a family?"
The slight raise of the eyebrows implied that she already knew the answer to the question, but he gave it to her anyway. Just to make things easier.
"I'm surprised Cameron didn't tell you."
"She didn't tell me much," a small shrug, "Just that you were her boss. That you had a limp and walked with a cane."
"And the matinee idol looks?"
Her smile widened a little, "Failed to mention them. Although I think she did mention that you were a fairly demanding employer."
"And I'll bet those were her exact words."
Isabel laughed, "No. Actually I think her exact words were 'miserable misanthropic sonofabitch'" she smiled crookedly, "I guessed that meant you must be someone special. She only ever gets mad with the people she cares about."
"She ever get mad at you?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. Lifting her chin a little, Isabel regarded him with a cool, ice-blue stare. When she spoke again, her voice cut through him with a chilling familiarity.
"Ally's my only sister, Dr. House. And no, we aren't as close as we could be, so you'll forgive me if I seem a little curious about who her friends are, or who's important to her now. It hasn't been easy for her since Michael died, and maybe I wasn't around to help with that as much as I could have been, but that doesn't mean I don't worry about her being alone out here or want her to be happy."
It took him a moment to realise that her anger was defensive. The why took a second or two longer. Looking down at his laced fingers, House closed his eyes and wondered silently why it was that fate kept throwing him this particular roadblock. Phrasing the words carefully in his head first, he tapped their rhythm out on the side of his Nikes as he spoke.
"I am not. dating. your. sister."
"Oh." Isabel's expression was embarrassed, guarded, and then finally a little curious. "Were you?"
House sighed, "We went out on one date. Six months ago. It didn't take."
"Why?"
Her combination of curiosity and bluntness were oddly refreshing. And strangely infectious.
"Because," he shrugged, a hollow-eyed smile, "contrary to the popular belief: two broken halves don't always make a whole."
"Uh huh..."
Stepping to one side, Isabel gave him a long appraising look. Her feet, still half in and half out of the room, shifted, her weight moving from one to the other, before she stepped back towards the door. Checking her watch, she glanced down the corridor towards the elevator before slipping on her coat. Watching her, House couldn't help smiling. Her mannerisms were a carbon-copy of Cameron's.
"Come on." she said, and the tone of her voice held all the command than her younger sister's would always lack. "I'm taking you up on that coffee now."