I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance
it'd race right through me
I'm much better off the way things are
much much better if, better by far, by far


Cameron was always a smart cookie; one of those students who gave their teacher's shiny red apples. The fact was that she was finally able to let him go and it wasn't vicious or used as an attack. Completely passive, just like Cameron's personality; unless you got her riled up, then things got interesting. Even as the color's of the world bled together and melted off the walls like acid rain, the memories brought a delusional smile to his lips.

Since day one, when she was sitting there sorting his mail just because there was nothing else to do, he hated it. The whole thing sickened him. Ms. Allison Cameron was a shinning textbook example of a doctor, if Barbie decided to ever come up with an immunologist doll, he would be sure to send in a picture of Cameron as a model; a breathing proto-type.

Came to say

Goodbye Love

How fucking cliché. Everything about her was a cliché, but on the opposite end of the spectrum, she was also an enigma of the highest level. Everything she did went against everything he was convinced she would do, when he knew that she zig, she defined logic and instead zagged. She distorted his whole view on life. Everyone lies, that was the only thing that had gotten him through life; holding steadfast to that mantra. There wasn't anymore shock when people let down, went back on their word and left him in the dark. Stacy being one of those few, promising to stay by his side yet jumping ship at the first sign of rough waters.

Though he would never tell her, Cameron had seen him at his worst; even at times when Wilson had ducked for cover and she'd merely batted her eye-lashes. And after all this time he had taken for granted that she wasn't going to leave him, when she told him that she hated him, they both knew that it was a joke even if she tried to convince herself otherwise.

But now she had done the one thing he had been expecting, pulling the rug out from under him. Just when he had stopped trying to push her away she goes and has to make things easy for him.

Reaching up, the message had long since faded back into the glass panel leaving him standing there like fool staring into an empty room. But she was there, sitting in his chair, sorting his mail and fiddling with his music; as clear as the glass before him he could see her. Standing up, the outfits and hairstyles altered, shifting in a colored blur, but the look on her face; the one of complete calm etched across the plans of her face.

Blinking rapidly, the edges of her form smeared like wet paint and melted into the background, a ghost of the past when, he finally realized that the roughened tips of fingers had been dragged across the top of the message effectively distorting it.

to

Love

To Love; what a concept to the lone doctor, but he knew what love was. Dr. Gregory House loved; he loved his piano, his vicodin, and the thrill of his profession. Irritating Cuddy and mocking Foreman and Chase ranked close up on the list, even in his own fucked up way he loved Wilson in a completely master/slave platonic relationship-type way though he would sooner double his clinic hours and swear off painkillers for Lent then tell him or anyone. Each one held a certain amount of pleasure for him, but watching Cameron was his guilty pleasure. Whether it was watching her working and interacting with a patient or admiring her cute round ass in those sectary light colored pin skirts she wore on occasion.

The expressions that would play over her face gave him the same thrill as when he succeed in solving a case and discovered the correct diagnosis. The flashes of light that captured the flecks of different colors that darted over the iris of her eyes.

Closing his eyes, he reached for the handle of the door and with a quick jerky movement yanked the door open, flinching when a rush of cold air blew past him, a sure sign that Cameron hadn't entered the room. Subconsciously, she seemed to know that the cold affected the muscles in his leg, and always turned the temperature of the room up a few degrees so that is was warmer then the rest of the building when he finally arrived.

Limping over to his chair, he hooked the handle of his cane over the edge of his desk and plopped down, not even glancing out the glass panels to observe the patrons and employees of the hospital dash about. Tuesdays always seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye. His next movement was to reach over to press on the power to his radio, the rhythm of a local alternative rock station floated through the air. Grimacing, he was about to change the channel when the lyrics caught his attention.

Your brain is faulty wiring

The reasons are tiring

Keep treating the curse imagine the worst

Systematic; sympathetic quite pathetic

Apologetic; Paramedic

Your heart is prosthetic

Give me recipe for happy with the chemicals gone

Drinking' freedom from a bottle to the tune of belong.

It seems that Cameron had left the radio on her favorite station, though how she could actually listen to this crap was beyond him; maybe it was one of those 80's things that he missed. Couldn't remember much of the 80's now that he thought of it. Unwittingly, he found himself unable to change the channel, his hand hovering in mid-air over the dial while the lyrics took on physical form and attack, taking the offensive. Sharp as knifes yet small as needles, they pierced his skin and drew blood. And so he sat there, immobile; seemingly innocent as the pool of blood pooled around him seeping into the carpet.

Eyes burning as the reality finally set in; he was truly alone; lost in his own mind. After dozen years of being called brilliant, intelligent and a genius, House realized how truly naive and stupid he was. Too busy stereotyping and assuming; left too much out the box that he didn't bother to look at and explore.

I'm sick of shaking never waking from the hell I achieve

I never knew you till you left me with the crying disease

Another curing reassuring way to buckle the knees

So mistreated I repeated never blessing your sneeze

Now deleted and defeated I will stand on my own

Yea your memory that punches me has broken the bone

Give me recipes for sorry I'm admitting I'm wrong

But your memory that punches me still has broken the bone

What a blatantly erratic song, yet it described him. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on the wooden desk top and interlaced his fingers, while keeping his pointer fingers pressed together, forming a triangle. He rested his chin on the support proved by his thumbs balanced on either sides of his jawbone. Ice blue eyes slipped shut as the final chorus of the song faded, just before two familiar voices started to echo down the surprisingly vacant hallway. Cracking open one eye, he reached over to flick off the power switch to the stereo and instead focus his attention toward the conversation that was occurring. Rising from his position, he forfeited the use of his cane in exchange for silence as hobbled to the glass door and poked his head through the open space to see Cuddy and Cameron conversing. Cuddy has a serious look on her face while Cameron's was thoughtful and completive as she gazed down at the folder that was offered to her. Gnawing on his lower lip, he held his breath in hopes of catching the tail end of the conversation.

"This would be an excellent opportunity for you to advance in your field Dr. Cameron." Oh, Cuddy was pulling out the big guns for this one; must be a serious issue. If possible he was even more interested in figuring out what was going on.

"I will have to think about it, but I do promise to give it a considerable amount of thought."

"I understand, this is a big step but with your record, as well as your past credits, this is the next logical step upward. You weren't planning on staying an intern here under House when the immunology department would be eager to have you were you?"

"I will read over this paper work and get back to you." The rest of the conversation was white noise, an annoying and irritating buzzing as his mind blanked; this was it. Signed and sealed was the end of their relationship, cap the pen and seal the envelope. At least with her in the diagnosis's department he had a chance to continue to converse with her, a reason to hold a conversation, make eye contact and walk down the hallway side by side.

"Very good, I'm sure that House will be sorry to lose such a promising intern."

"Only when the last of the coffee has run out," Down, down and further still; six feet and dropping as the nail was hammered in the coffin and pressure started to build. Placing his hand on the handle this time from the inside as he watched with a detached fascination as his trembling hand shook the whole door as he fought to slide it closed.

I won't always love what I'll never have

I won't always live in my regret…

Kill me, hit me and knock me out

And just let me go back to sleep…

Limping slowly back over to his desk, nearly throwing his head back so that the exposed nape of his neck rested against the back of his chair while reaching out with one hand to fumble around the drawers of his desk to look of the spare bottle of painkillers to fight off the growing pain.

Tomorrow he would congratulate her, throw in a few witty and sarcastic remarks, and pretend that the whole world hasn't just lost its color. When he would set foot hobbling through the hospital tomorrow he would pretend that everything was okay.

But right now, he wasn't even going to try…