Chapter 35

Friday morning dawned cool and crisp. Cameron climbed from her bed eager to start the day. Today would be her last day in this apartment. Moving men were coming tomorrow morning for her boxes and her treadmill. The rest of her furniture was going to charity; there simply wasn't room for it at House's place. Cameron opened her bedroom window and allowed the gentle spring breeze to freshen the room. She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of early spring flowers. It smelled like …. a fresh start, promise, hope. It smelled like the future.

Cameron smirked wryly as she realized how incredibly corny that was. If House could hear her inner thoughts, and she wasn't entirely convinced he couldn't, he would have mocked her mercilessly for thinking something so … so … so Cameron. She'd changed quite a bit over the last few years working at PPTH, but her insistence in believing in the good of any situation came from a deep wellspring of hope that was as much a part of her as her liver or spleen. She couldn't be without it.

Across town, House wrinkled his forehead in a half-sleep. The bedroom had been stuffy last night and he'd cracked open a window before going to bed. He should have realized that meant he'd be bombarded with the sounds and scents of spring far too early in the damn morning. A bird was chirping; it sounded to House as though it were actually sitting on the window sill. A thick and cloying floral scent pervaded the room, so sweet it made House want to gag. He hated the smell of flowers; it always reminded him of a funeral parlor.

House dragged himself out of bed and slammed his window shut, but the damage had been done. The room still stunk of spring, and that bird must have had lungs like Aretha Franklin because House could still hear the annoying chirping. He gave up on going back to sleep and limped dejectedly into the bathroom to shower and get dressed for work. At least Cameron would be there this weekend. House frowned; she probably loved the spring and slept with the window open every night.

In the clinic once again, House was disturbed by how quickly the new exam rooms were coming together. Cameron hadn't even unpacked the boxes in her new office yet, but Exam Rooms 5 and 6 were almost ready for patients. House shuddered at the thought. He turned back to the nurse's station to be met by Nurse Katie's ever cheerful face. She handed him a patient file and pointed him toward Exam Room 3.

"Melanie Sho…" House read as the entered the room. "No. Are you kidding me?" He looked up and found the young co-ed sitting on the exam table. Another young girl stood on her left and an older woman on her right. "You're like the clinic patient who wouldn't die."

"Excuse me?" the older woman said. Her mother, House guessed, from the irritated way she spoke. "My daughter is sick and you think a joke about her dying is appropriate?"

"No, I think it's incredibly inappropriate. That's why I said it. It's kind of my thing," House said, as if that should have been clear. "You're the mother I take it?"

"Yes, I'm Katherine Shore."

"Fabulous. And you're …" House gestured to the other girl and then changed his mind. "Never mind, I don't really care."

"This is Jackie Trainer, Melanie's roommate," Mrs. Shore said.

"Somehow I knew you'd tell me anyway," House mumbled. "Let me guess," he said to Melanie, "Your throat hurts?"

"She didn't wake up this morning for her early class," Jackie answered. "I came back from jogging and she was in bed, she sounded like she could barely breathe, she was gasping. I took her temperature and it was 104," now she looked sheepishly at Mrs. Shore, "so I called her mom."

"Are you a doctor?" House asked Mrs. Shore.

"No."

"Good thinking," House said to Jackie. "Next time, call 911." He dropped the file on the counter and put on a pair of gloves. He placed a thermometer under Melanie's tongue and grabbed a stethoscope to listen to her chest. "Still no coughing?" Melanie shook her head. The thermometer beeped and House removed it. "103.4. Okay Melanie, what other symptoms have you not been telling me about?"

"I'm just more tired," Melanie said.

"She couldn't get out of bed by herself," Mrs. Shore supplied. "We had to practically carry her in here."

"Looks like the third time's a charm," House said pleasantly. "I'm going to admit you for some tests. One of my lackeys will be down to collect you and your bodily fluids."

House left the trio of ladies in the exam room and limped out to see Nurse Katie. She had a little crush on him and it was never easier for House to duck out of the clinic than when Katie was at the desk.

"Got a case," he announced. "Foreman will be down to admit her in a few minutes. Dr. House signing out at 1pm."

"Dr. House, it's only 12 o'clock," Nurse Katie protested, although not too vehemently.

"Yes, but the log book doesn't know that," House said. "Come on, you can wait until 1pm and then log me out, can't you?" He actually batted his eyelashes at her. It was a low trick, especially given she knew he wasn't available, but if it got him out of clinic early ….

"Fine," Nurse Katie agreed. House limped away, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Having Cuddy's office away from the clinic was the only good thing about this whole business.

House entered the conference room and tossed the file on the table, startling two of the three seated there. He grabbed a marker and began writing symptoms on the whiteboard. When he had finished, he turned back and waited until they'd all finished reviewing the file.

"Differential diagnosis, people," House said. "Why does this girl keep coming back to the clinic? It's sure not my sparkling bedside manner."

"No cough?" Price asked. House shook his head no. "Well, that rules out bronchitis, pneumonia, mono."

"Yeah, how about suggesting something it IS instead of telling me what it's not?" House snarked.

"Wegener's?" Price offered a little timidly.

"Foreman," House shouted as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "tell Dr. Price why Wegener's is a bad diagnosis."

"She doesn't have any nasal, skin or eye symptoms," Foreman answered.

"How about chicken pox?" Jasper suggested.

"Foreman," House shouted again, still staring at the ceiling, "care to shoot this theory down?"

"She doesn't have a rash anywhere and her fever is too high," Foreman replied, now using a bored tone of voice to let House know he didn't think this was funny.

"Actually," Jasper retorted a little snidely, "there's no such thing as a fever that's too high. Her own body temperature could be normally higher than 98.6, making a fever of 103 less severe. And it is possible to get chicken pox internally."

"Yes," House agreed. "And if she had blisters in her mouth or throat that would be an excellent diagnosis. But she doesn't. Nice try. Next?"

"Lymphocytic Choriomeningitis," Foreman suggested. House swung his eyes down from the ceiling to meet Foreman's, a pleased look on his face.

"There's no nausea or vomiting," House said.

"There's no neck pain yet either, but it could still be in the initial stages," Foreman said.

"Okay then, Foreman, check her blood count and liver enzymes. And get an LP," House said. He waited until Foreman left the room before turning to the other two. "Once he's done with that, I want a CAT scan of her neck."

Price and Jasper exchanged confused glances as House limped into his office. What was he looking for?

Chapter 46

"Why do you suppose he waited until Foreman was gone to ask for the CAT scan?" Price asked Jasper as they walked down the hall toward Melanie's room.

"He thinks Foreman is wrong," Jasper replied.

"Obviously, but why not say that? He certainly enjoyed telling us we were stupid," Price wondered. The pair reached Melanie's room, but Foreman was still inside finishing the LP.

"No, he didn't," Jasper said slowly. "He had Foreman tell us we're stupid."

"And then waited until Foreman was gone to prove … what?" Price asked.

"He's just as stupid as we are?" Jasper suggested.

Price and Jasper retreated a bit as Foreman exited Melanie's room. Whatever House was trying to prove, they had no desire to mess with it.

Cameron took a deep breath to steady her frazzled nerves. She hadn't been in her new office a week. There were still boxes everywhere, along with mountains of files and charts. For someone who thrived on organization and order, this was trying enough. Couple that with the disarray at her apartment which was a now a clutter of boxes, bags and packing crates and her incessant worrying about House's upcoming surgery and Cameron was a powder keg waiting to be set off.

Cameron had come into work that morning hoping to counter some of the chaos. Instead, chaos had planted himself on her couch and made himself comfy.

House had propped his cane on the arm of the sofa and stretched his arms across its back. He'd stretched his long legs out before him and crossed them at the ankles. Everything about his posture suggested he intended to be there for a while.

At first, Cameron had been able to ignore his presence and work. But as time wore on his unwavering stare became uncomfortable. Cameron glanced at him occasionally and was met each time with a placid countenance. Eventually unnerving became annoying. How long could he just sit there and stare at her?

She glanced one more time in his direction and was met with a pair of unblinking blue eyes. She closed her own oceanic orbs and counted to ten. She reminded herself that he too was worried about the surgery, he too was in an upheaval with having her move and he was without his best friend of the last ten years. The guy needed a break.

"What time is your last appointment with Quig?" Cameron asked conversationally.

"Three," House answered.

Cameron looked at the clock; it was 1:30. "We've got an hour and a half to kill. So what do we do?"

"Excuse me?" House asked.

"I'm not ranking nurses on their hotness and I'm not gossiping about anything the weird night janitor told you," Cameron warned. "What else you got?"

"Want to thumb wrestle?" House smirked at her.

"So today's the last day you get to see my gorgeous mug," Quig said as House entered his office for their last appointment. There was just under two weeks left of House's probationary period. Since he was going to be out for the surgery, this was the end of his mandatory therapy.

"I've got a secret shrine set up in the closet," House joked. "It's not the same as the real thing, but it will have to do."

"When's the surgery?" Quig asked.

"Tuesday," House answered, now tapping his cane on the floor between his feet. Quig nodded. "That's it? No more prodding and poking into the deep recessed of my mind?"

"Something in particular you want to talk about?" Quig asked. House indicated no, but it was pretty clear to Quig that he lied. "Everything okay with you and Dr. Cameron? How are your confessions going?"

"Fine, they're fine," House said. "She's moving in this weekend."

"Excellent," Quig said. "Dr. Price is recovering from his influenza without complication?" Quig asked knowingly.

House rolled his eyes. "Price is fine."

Quig eyed House carefully and ran over everything he knew about the man. Whatever it was clearly bothered House a great deal or he'd never have brought it up. There were only two possibilities left.

"How's Dr. Cuddy feeling after her time off?" Quig asked.

"Fantastic. She's expanding the clinic and lording the extra patients over my head like …"

"A medieval lord?" Quig suggested lamely. House rolled his eyes again. Quig nodded. That only left one; that one was a biggie.

"So it's Dr. Wilson then," Quig said. "What happened?"

House made a face and looked guiltily away. "I happened."

"Spell it out for me," Quig prompted.

"He says he's done with me," House said. He tried to make sound like he didn't care, although he wasn't sure why. Quig already knew he did.

"You know how I love to diagnose people I've never met." Quig began and House smirked; they'd had this conversation before. "But if I were to venture a guess, I'd say that perhaps Dr. Wilson is realizing that his priorities have changed. He's about to become a father. He no longer has the ability to pour all of his being into his friendship with you."

"I never asked him to do that," House said defensively.

"And you never asked Dr. Cameron to love you like no other," Quig said. "It's how they operate. It's who they are. I don't think Dr. Cameron could love you any way other than to love you as if you were the only man she'd ever known. And neither could Dr. Wilson be your friend without feeling you're the only friend he's ever had."

"Yeah," House said morosely.

"If I'm right, and really, when aren't I, Dr. Wilson just needs a little time to adjust to his main focus being on Dr. Cuddy and the baby. Given some time, he'll be able to be your friend again. It might not be quite the same as it was before. But neither are you," Quig said.

"I haven't changed anything about how I treat Wilson," House said tiredly.

"No, but wouldn't your relationship with Dr. Cameron have changed your friendship with Dr. Wilson anyway? You're moving in together, getting married. A change was bound to happen. It will work itself out. Two people who care as much about each other will work it out," Quig reassured him. He looked at his watch and smiled. "Our time is up."

"Cliché-speaker," House shot.

"Pain in the ass," Quig retorted.

"Mouth-breather."

"Gimp."

"Nice," House said and offered Quig his hand. They shook and parted ways.