A/N:Thanks to those who reviewed. I should mention that this story takes place after the second episode of season 3. I was going to have it be after the season premiere, but I liked the second episode so much, especially with the actions of both House and Cameron, that I moved it. Not that it matters much, it just gives everyone a better idea of when this is in relation to the show. Also I'm not quite sure I got House right in this chapter. So please if you feel he's off a bit, tell me. Also anyone who would like to, I feel the need to have a beta for House fanfiction, probably because House is a rather hard character and series to work with I want to get it right, or as close to as possible. So if anyone's interested, contact me, please. That said, remember, reviews not only make me smile, they also get new chapters typed faster.

Because I forgot to say before, I don't own West Wing. It makes me sad to admit it, but I don't.

Chapter 2

Leaning heavily on his cane House stood just inside the doorway to his office. Or at least he thought it was his office, after all it wasn't him sleeping in his chair. Moving as silently as he could over to his desk, he noticed the perfectly stacked and sorted mail, the cup of now cold coffee, and finally he turned his gaze to the reason for those items to even be on his desk. Sitting in his chair, facing the window, he wondered for a moment how she could sleep with the glare from the sun hitting all the annoying white that they had used for the outside walls, was Allison Cameron. He was torn between letting her sleep, in the short time he'd been back he'd noticed the dark circles under her eyes that even expert makeup was now failing to hide, and how each day those dark circles seemed to grow; but he also wanted to push something off the desk, probably his oft-consulted medical encyclopedia, and wake her up, it was his desk, his chair, only one person was allowed to sleep there. Him, or as the nurses had been calling him for a short time, the artist formerly known as gimpy. He was still thinking of a way to get back at them for that, he mocked, no one mocked him, it upset the balance of the universe, and if that happened, then well, Chase's aliens might come and abduct them or something.

Still, she looked more peaceful when she was sleep, and was quieter too. Like this she wasn't worrying about his leg, or trying to heal the sick and cure the wounded, although he had to admit, her insane desire to help their ever so annoying patients did come in handy, especially because it forced him to think a little bit harder, it pushed him just that extra bit to find the solution. Even when he'd been with Stacy he'd never felt like he had to prove anything to her, at least until the end when he had done everything to prove to her that they could work, that he just needed time to get over everything that had happened, God was it really almost 7 years ago now? She'd still left, and now he was trying to prove himself again. This time to Cameron, it hadn't worked then so he didn't even know why he was doing it again. Hell, he hadn't even realized that he was doing it until recently. Although, he'd started to realize it when she'd left him…no when she quit, when that had happened it had been harder to figure out why that little "I'm a woman now" kid swimmer chick, was sick. He had a feeling that if Cameron had been there it wouldn't have taken as long to diagnose the kid.

After he'd realized that she'd slept with Chase, while high no less, he'd worked even harder to prove himself. Though he'd had to disguise it by being extra nasty to her, and by having to ignore and mock the fact that she could have gotten injected with HIV. The only good thin was that he'd allowed himself to treat Chase like the piece of scum he was. After Dr. Chase Sr had died, he'd wanted to go a little easy on him, after all, the fact that Chase didn't know was because of him….sort of. But still, even he didn't cross some lines. Not many, but some.

"No….no…please….don't hurt…." Cameron's soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

No what? He wondered. Was she traumatized as a kid? Had her sick and dying husband traumatized her? He noticed that she was clutching at her chest, just below where the top of the dress she had worn to the poker-charity event had been. She seemed to be trying to rub something away. Concentrating he tried to remember everything he could about her medical file. He'd been concentrating on the one mystery then, whether or not she'd ever been pregnant or lost a child, and hadn't paid much attention to anything else. Cursing himself, he tried to visualize the file in front of him, like he did when he played his piano or when he was attempting to figure out what was wrong with a patient.

For the life of him though, he couldn't visualize the file, he knew he'd read something, or rather skimmed over it, but he couldn't remember what.

"No…no…." Cameron was breathing faster now, and House noticed the beads of sweat break out on her forehead. Automatically he pressed two fingers against her jugular, and before he was cognitively aware of it, he'd taken her pulse and was grabbing the prescription pad out of the bottom of the drawer it lived in and was scrawling out a prescription for a medicine he knew would decrease her heart rate. Just as he finished signing it, he jolted back to the real world. The one where Cameron was sleeping in his chair in his office and was having a nightmare, nothing more, nothing that required medication. Angry at himself for his reaction, and also angry that his leg had chosen that moment to send a spike of shooting pain up his leg, he grabbed the orange bottle of pills off the desk. Just as he was about to toss two into his mouth, he noticed it. They were different. Looking at the bottle, staring at the annoyingly small script on the side, he read the name. And it wasn't his. These weren't his pills, they were Cameron's, and they were a typical heart medication, one usually prescribed after heart surgery, especially if the patient's life involved massive amounts of stress.

Wincing as his leg reminded him of his own pain, he returned the pills to Cameron's bottle and closed it. Then he fished out his own little orange bottle of joy and dry swallowed two Vicodin. Placing her pills back on his desk, he turned and began limping into the conference room. Somehow, right now, he couldn't shove a thick book onto the floor and wake her up. He didn't quite know why he didn't feel like being an ass at that moment, but he knew that if he asked Wilson then the next Dear Abby of doctors would surely tell him. But he didn't want to tell Wilson, Cameron obviously didn't want people knowing that she had a heart condition and somehow he was unwilling to violate her privacy more than he had already. At least for now…he wanted to know the reason behind it….and he always got what he wanted….eventually.

"NO!" He turned, startled, and glad for the extra balance his cane gave him as Cameron shot straight up, eyes wide, panting so heavily that he was sure she was about to hyperventilate. Moving quickly over to her, he turned the chair so that it faced the desk and he used to heavy desk to lean against as he attempted to calm her.

"Your all right…Nothing can happen here. Your in the hospital," even as he said the words he wondered at his reasons. After all he was HOUSE, he didn't take care of people, that what he had Cameron for, and Wilson to an extent. But he shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind as he concentrated on her face. And on her wide hazel eyes that brimmed with pain, terror, and tears.

"I…I…was….at the event…..Uncle Toby…..Uncle Charlie…..the men……the singing was so loud….I…I…" Cameron's words were jumbled, and it was obvious to House that although she knew what she was talking about, he had no clue. Belatedly he realized that he probably should have done some checking into her background when he hired her. But in her interview she'd been everything he was looking for. Not just lobby art either, she was smart, and in a quiet gentle way, she'd stood up to him. Something about her manner said that she was used to being around people with strong personalities and she wouldn't let herself be drowned out or ignored.

Her body visibly relaxed then, and her eyes now didn't just stare into his, not seeing him at all, now she was aware of her actual surroundings and saw him. "House! What are you doing here this early?"

"It's 10:30ish. Why shouldn't I be here, theoretically I actually work here. Although I've found its much more fun to sleep on the job, apparently your joining my petition to Cuddy to reinstitute mandatory naptime? Of course napping alone is a choice, not a requirement in my petition."

"What? 10:30? But….I got here…."

"Kids today, always losing track of time. Stop staying up all night crying over not having saved the world yet and you won't have this problem anymore." He started to move away from her slowly. He figured she hadn't realized their close physical proximity in her initial confusion, but that she was sure to soon. He was throwing up every emotional barrier he'd ever developed as he pulled away, he didn't need to know what was wrong with her. He didn't need to know what her nightmare was about, or why she'd gotten to the office even earlier than normal, judging by how cold the coffee in the mug was. And he really didn't need to know why she was taking heart medication. He didn't need to know and more he didn't care. He kept saying that to himself as he moved away from her.

"Where are the other two?" she asked, having managed to pull herself together or at least managing to stop talking out loud to herself.

"Doing my clinic hours, what else do they do when we don't have a patient. Of course, you should be down there too. Go, fulfill my weekly quota. I command thee."

Glaring at him, Cameron moved to the door, quietly pocketing her bottle of pills, while mentally calculating the odds that he hadn't seen them and hadn't seen what they were for.

"On second thought, redo the coffee. Your batch was cold so Chase made an attempt at it. I'm pretty sure he didn't break the machine, but he did manage to make pure sludge."

Sighing, Cameron changed her route from heading to the hallway door to heading to the connecting door to the conference room. She knew she should have followed her mother's advice and never made or brought anyone coffee, ever. To bad both Chase and Foreman were incapable of making even a passable cup of coffee, her severe caffeine addiction required at least decent coffee. Besides, she couldn't imagine House making coffee, it was just too….domestic a task for her to imagine him doing it. He was just too…the task didn't fit him.

Just as she was about to slip through to the other room, he suddenly called out as he slipped into his chair, "Oh and Cameron? Your prescription's low, might want to think about getting it refilled."