Disclaimer: Don't own House. :(

A/N: So, a lot of people did ask for more; therefore I'm going to continue with the angst. I think that what I wrote works well as a one-shot, and those who prefer it that way can pretend the rest of this does not exist. That's definitely okay by me. If you guys haven't heard anything by Gustav Mahler, give it a try sometime. Spoilers for Mirror, Mirror!

"You're a freak." House had meant it, sort of. People didn't just change. Foreman quit because he was afraid of turning into House, but the truth was that being any distance away from House was not going to change Foreman. In the end, Foreman was just going to have to accept that he was House Version 2.0. But, all of a sudden, there was a very clear difference between the two men: Foreman was happy. He'd never be cheerful, but he was happy.

House was lying on the floor of his apartment, too frustrated with himself to even allow the luxury of the couch. No, the pain of the wooden floor was just what he needed. His speakers were blasting the Adagio from Mahler's unfinished Tenth Symphony. Mahler left the symphony unfinished because he died of an infection at age 50. Diagnostically boring, but musically tragic. Mahler had been a staple of House's teenage years—the angst and loud emotions just too perfectly represented House's "inner feelings." It'd been years, though, since House had forced himself to lie on the floor, close his eyes, and just completely let the music take him away.

"House." He'd been too out of it to notice that Wilson had let himself into his apartment. House's eyes shot to the clock, where he noticed that it was eleven thirty. When House raised an eyebrow, Wilson shrugged. "My Spidey sense was tingling." House's expression didn't change. "Okay, I 'ran into' a distraught Cameron about two seconds after I saw her come out of the Mirror patient's room. Then, amazingly, I saw you leave the room about ten seconds later."

"Go away," House grumbled, returning to his position. Unfazed, Wilson sighed and sat down on the floor next to House. When he realized that House really was just going to ignore him, he lay down next to his pained friend, and mirrored his position.

"Mahler?" Wilson asked. It took House every ounce of self-control not to smile. There was a reason why Wilson was his best friend. He nodded, and Wilson seemed satisfied. The two men lay next to each other, both letting their minds wander for a few minutes.

House remembered the pained way that the Mirror patient had said, "I miss you."

I miss you. It was true, as much as House didn't want to admit it. In fact, he would never admit it to anyone else. It was probably just a familiarity thing, he reasoned. I've known Cameron for three years, so of course it'd be a little weird for her to not be there all of a sudden. He remembered the tear that had fallen down her cheek, and how quickly she'd tried to wipe it away. She'd obviously felt so vulnerable in front of him, and he didn't know what to do with that. What was worse was how he'd wanted to kiss that tear, and taste its saltiness; how he wanted to take in Cameron's pain for her, and soothe her. Yeah, that scared the crap out of him. Good thing she worked in the ER nowadays. He had no reason to see her.

Wilson, on House's right, was thinking about the look on Cameron's face when she'd exited the hospital room. He'd rarely seen such naked pain on someone's face, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out what, or rather who, had been responsible for it. Wilson knew without a doubt that Cameron cared for House. What was harder for him to figure out was whether or not House cared for Cameron. That was part of the reason why he was here. Lying on the floor while listening to Mahler was a big check in House behavior under the heading "FUCK!" "FUCK!" was an emergency; "FUCK!" meant that House had either lost a patient—Wilson knew he had not—or it meant that he was dealing with something of an extremely emotional nature.

The music came to its tortured, ambiguous end, and left the two men in a pensive silence. Finally, Wilson turned to look at House.

"What did the patient say?"

"What makes you think he said anything?" Wilson rolled his eyes. "Nothing much, really. He just said that he missed Cameron."

"Which means that you missed Cameron, then," Wilson interpreted.

"Which means that hethought I missed her. Big difference."

"I get it, House. Even though you actually do miss her, you've never said so, so it can't be true." House turned his head to look at Wilson. It took a few moments before Wilson gave in and turned to look at House. "What?"

"This is kind of gay, you know," House said, motioning between the two of them. "But why not go all the way? Wouldn't we be more comfortable in bed?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively, prompting Wilson to snort.

"What, two friends can't lie down next to each other without being gay? You're deflecting, House."

"Well, one of us…"

"House, I don't know where that comment is going, and I don't want to. Face it, you miss Cameron, and you don't know what to do about it. When was the last time you listened to Mahler?" House felt a sudden urge to punch in Wilson's extremely smug face.

"About two years ago…" House mumbled.

"Would that be…hmm…right after Stacy left? Oh, ladies and gentlemen, I think we have it!" There was a slight pause as House tried to come up with an appropriate comeback. When none were forthcoming, Wilson continued. "Listen, House, I'm not telling you you have to do something about it."

"That's new," House grumbled.

"I'm just saying that it's all right to miss her, and admitting that doesn't mean you have to run over to her apartment and declare your true love. Besides, she's already with Chase, so you've completely missed that boat."

"She's not going to end up with Chase! Don't be ridiculous. That's just too…"

"Well, why wouldn't she end up with Chase?" Wilson interrupted. "I mean, he's handsome, smart, funny, and a successful surgeon."

"And a disloyal, two-timing…" House started, mimicking Wilson's bombastic tone.

"Face it, House, when Chase gets over some of his daddy issues and learns to stop trying to please everyone, he's going to be an amazing doctor. So, tell me again why Cameron shouldn't be with him?"

"Because…"Because he's not good enough for her. "Because…"Because she's supposed to be in love with me. "Because their kids would be the most obnoxious spawn ever to slither across the Earth." It sounded lame even to his own ears.

"Are you kidding? Those would be the most attractive kids ever!" Wilson sounded just a bit too enthusiastic. House's eyes narrowed as he took in his friend's studied casualness.

"Wilson, are you trying to make me jealous enough to do something incredibly stupid?"

"Is it working?"

"No." Wilson looked away from House, trying to hide a smile. No immediate sarcastic comment added to his answer meant that House was feeling pensive. Pensive meant he was dealing with emotions. Emotions meant… well, in this case Wilson was sure it meant that he was trying to figure out what to do about his former employee. He also knew that his presence would prompt House to deny as much as possible.

"All right, then. I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow," Wilson said, grunting as he stood up. In response to House's incredulous expression, Wilson smiled. "You would so do my laundry."

"Would not!" House called out, frowning when he heard the door slam. "I need a drink," he mumbled, looking at the coffee table. He'd left his scotch there a while ago, and it looked like all the ice had melted. Frustrated, House sat up and grabbed the glass. He downed the rest of its contents. Without missing a beat, he refilled his glass, and downed that one as well. Then he limped to the stereo and changed the CD.

The last movement of Mahler's Third Symphony was now blasting throughout his apartment. He'd actually gone through the First and Second Symphonies as well, so he wasn't too surprised when he looked at the clock and saw that it was fast approaching two in the morning. Unfortunately, he hadn't stopped drinking, so it seemed like a brilliant idea to call Cameron and tell her that he didn't really miss her.

Nervousness settled in his stomach as the phone started to ring. House leaned back, ignoring the groaning of his couch.

"Hello?" a sleepy voice answered. But it wasn't Cameron. "Hello?" Fuck. Chase. House hung up without saying a word. After a brief second, he then turned on his phone again, listening to the dial tone. He threw the phone on the couch and limped to the bedroom.

Dammit.

"Who was it?" Cameron whispered. She didn't sound sleepy at all, probably because she had yet to sleep. Chase had stumbled in a couple of hours ago, and had gone to bed without saying a single word to Cameron. After a slight hesitation, presumably as he checked the caller ID, Chase spoke.

"I think it was House," he replied, obviously confused. "What the Hell would he want from you at two in the morning?"

"I have no idea," Cameron said, doing her best not to sound like her heart had stopped beating in her chest.

"Weird," Chase mumbled, yawning.

"Yeah," Cameron agreed. She waited for a few minutes before Chase's breathing slowed once more, letting her know he was asleep. Quietly she tiptoed to the kitchen, and picked up the phone. After taking a deep breath, she dialed House's home number. No answer.

Maybe that's for the best. She jumped slightly when her cat rubbed up against her leg. If I wanted nice I'd have bought a dog. Cameron smiled as she remembered the patient's words. Maybe she should have mentioned that she didn't actually buy the cat, but rather adopted it.

"Hi Gretchen. You couldn't sleep either? Oh, poor baby," Cameron cooed while bending down to pet her cat. Gretchen meowed plaintively when Cameron stood up and hung up the phone. "Oh, quit whining. You're spoiled already, and it's only been a week." Gretchen didn't seem to have a good comeback.

Cameron stared down the hallway to her bedroom, hesitating. She didn't particularly want to go back to Chase. Deep down she knew that it wasn't going to work out between them, but she didn't have the guts to break things off. Not yet, anyway, and she hated that about herself.

She was being too nice. As much as it frustrated her, the patient had been right about nearly everything: Cameron didn't have a good idea of who she was; she did want to help people, but she also needed help herself. No, she wasn't happy working in the ER, and, no, she didn't want to be with Chase. All true.

Cameron stormed to the kitchen once more, and threw open the freezer. Lying on its side, tempting her, and promising to let her forget her troubles, was a bottle of vodka. She reached for it, but then violently recoiled and slammed the door shut. No, she was not going there. She was not going to turn into her father; she was better than that. She was stronger.

Sighing deeply, Cameron placed her forehead against the freezer.

"What do I do?" she whispered to herself, her throat tightening as tears filled her eyes. Gretchen rubbed up against her once more, meowing empathetically, or, at least, Cameron imagined so. But she still hurt. Suddenly resolved, Cameron grabbed the phone once more and called House's cell phone.

She had to call three more times before he picked up.

"What?" he growled. "Cameron, it's nearly three o'clock in the fucking morning!" She couldn't help the ingrained reaction when she realized that he was slurring his words and that he was probably very drunk: Cameron was afraid, just like she was a six-year-old child again. But he wasn't her father.

"House, I…"

"If you don't say something in the next five seconds, I'm going to hang up."

"I miss you too."

There was a long pause before he hung up without saying another word. Calmly, Cameron managed to hang up the phone. Then she let the tears fall.