Disclaimer: Don't own House.

A/N: Patience, young grasshoppers. House and Cameron will get together, but who said it'll be easy? I am also not a doctor, but enjoy figuring out this medical stuff more than a liberal arts major probably should, even if it's not 100 accurate…

To the surprise of no one involved, despite his initial approval it took House all of forty seconds to become annoyed with Cameron. Sure, Chase as number two on the team made perfect sense—Hell, in some ways House missed having Chase on his team—but when he saw her third (and final) member of the team, he nearly blew a gasket.

"I fired him!" House yelled, safely ensconced in Cuddy's office with a bored looking Cameron and a completely uninterested Cuddy. "I fired him, therefore he is not allowed to be a member of my department." He emphasized the "my" by looking at Cameron, who still appeared unruffled by his outburst.

"Dr. House," she began, "Dr. Cole will only work for you nominally. In actuality, he'll be working for me and your paths should cross rarely, if ever. And if I recall correctly, you fired him because you didn't approve of his conspiring with Dr. Cuddy. I, on the other hand, have no problem with his actions given the rather outrageous circumstances." To House's eternal frustration, while giving her little—likely prepared—speech, she inspected the cleanliness of her fingernails and flicked a piece of lint off of her pristine lab coat.

"Plus I rehired him," Cuddy interjected with a sickly sweet smile. "So, case closed. You may outrank Dr. Cameron, but I outrank you. Besides, I like Cole." She slammed a file down on her desk with a decisive thunk. "Dr. Cameron, I'd like you to stop by at the end of the day to just give me a report on how your first day went." House stood to the side, watching the only two women in his life ignore him completely. It frustrated him to no end.

"I'd be glad to, Dr. Cuddy," Cameron replied, smiling.

"If House gives you any trouble today…"

"Don't hesitate to give trouble back?" The two women shared a knowing smile, rolling their eyes simultaneously.

"Exactly. Let's just be thankful he'll have to get off his lazy ass and walk to the other side of his floor in order to bother you face-to-face. Sorry, by the way, that we don't have anything bigger for you guys. At the moment, anyway. Bring in some money, and we'll make sure to make you guys a bit more comfortable."

"Um, I'm still here, you know," House interrupted, waving his hands. "And I'm still not going to let Cole be a member of my department."

"Oh, it's no problem, Dr. Cuddy. I'm thankful for the opportunity regardless of where we work. And, just in case you didn't already know, our first patient is due here in half an hour, so I better get going."

"Absolutely. I look forward to hearing from you later, Cameron."

"Later, then, Dr. Cuddy." House watched, astonished, as Cameron and Cuddy exchanged warm grins. When the door to Cuddy's office closed, she sat down and began working on her computer. House was dumbstruck.

"House, are you really still here? I thought you left a while ago. Aren't you due in the clinic?" Cuddy didn't even look at him. It was a conspiracy, he decided, a mass conspiracy on the part of Cuddy, Cameron, and very likely Wilson, to bother him as much as possible.

"Cole can't be part of my department."

"That's nice, House."

"Wait, what? I'm serious!"

"Uh huh. Yeah. Okay. Well, it was nice chatting to you, I'll talk to you later." For the first time in a long time, House wasn't going to get his way with Cuddy. Grumbling, House threw open the door to her office and stalked out. He missed Cuddy's triumphant grin as the door slammed.

House's frustration only escalated over the next few weeks. Not only had Cameron, Chase, and Cole diagnosed three—three!—patients in one week, but they also were already disgustingly chummy. House spotted them in the cafeteria together almost every day, he spotted Cole carrying three coffees from Starbucks in the morning, and he'd noticed Cameron carrying bagels when they were called in on Saturday. Though more than a few bets had been placed on when Chase and Cameron would finally lose it with each other, the two exes were disgustingly…okay with each other. Sure, they weren't exactly warm and fuzzy—or doing it in the janitor's closet, for that matter—but their personalities balanced each other. Cole fit right in, an easy mix of the two older doctors. House's own team had noticed his increased grumbling, and it didn't take much for the group to point to Team Cameron's immediate success as the likely cause.

"You know, we could probably take on more patients," Taub suggested one morning, as House told his disappointed team that there were no new patients today. "Not every case needs to be something nearly impossible to diagnose. Sure, it's more fun, but sitting around all day isn't exactly making the best use of our time."

"Yeah, I mean, you wouldn't even need to run things—Foreman could do it," Kutner added. Foreman raised his eyebrows in surprise, simultaneously realizing the same thing that House did.

"Have you guys been having secret meetings without me? I believe this is what they call mutiny, gentlemen, and you know what the punishment for mutiny is." They both rolled their eyes. "Yeah, that's right. Clinic hours. Go do mine." He shot a quick glance at Thirteen to gauge her reaction, but she was annoyingly blank, as usual.

"We're just saying…" Taub spread his hands wide.

"If you want to solve boring, easy cases go see Dr. Cameron and her team of fluffy bunnies."

"Or maybe she'll come to us," Taub countered, nodding towards the glass walls. Cameron gave the group an annoyingly cheerful smile, and opened the door. House kept his back toward her, staring at the empty white board.

"Good morning, everyone. Listen, Foreman, I need a consult. Do you have some time?" Foreman resisted the urge to snort, and looked around the room at the crowd of people with absolutely nothing to do.

"I think I can spare a minute or two," he said, his sarcasm not lost on House.

"Do you need a hand, Dr. Cameron?" Taub asked, sneaking a glance at his boss. House's new team, though still new, was confused by House's silence in the presence of his former employee.

"Uh, I'll let you know, Dr. Taub. Foreman?" As Foreman stood up and walked to the door, Cameron watched House's back. She couldn't pretend to be an expert on reading House's back, but the way his shoulders seemed firmly planted up by his ears was a good indication that he was in a lot of pain or that he was extraordinarily annoyed.

When the glass door shut, Cameron turned to Foreman, who raised an eyebrow in question.

"Cuddy just handed me the file of a donor's father—sixty seven, Alzheimer's. I wanted a neurological consult, you know, to cross check symptoms of Alzheimer's with whatever else this guy has." Foreman took the file from Cameron's hands, his stance letting her know that he was somewhat skeptical.

"You know, Cameron, I really don't need your help getting work around here."

"No, I'm sure, Foreman." She paused. "I'm sure sitting around the conference room all day is really tough on you. Late nights scouring over textbooks…"

"All right, all right, I get it," Foreman interrupted. "I'm all yours." Cameron smiled in triumph, and led him to the patient's room. They stood outside for a moment, joined quickly by Chase and Cole. "Does your room suck that much that you do differentials in the hallway?"

"Actually, yeah," Chase replied, shrugging. "It works, though I kind of miss the whiteboard." A beat. "Don't tell House I said that."

"Your secret's safe with me," Foreman said, condescendingly patting Chase's back. Chase shot him a dirty look, and the two men smiled at each other. Cameron rolled her eyes as Cole furrowed his brow, desperately trying to understand the interchange.

"All right, so our patient today is Richard Stevens, a sixty-seven-year-old man diagnosed with Alzheimer's. He is currently living in an assisted-living facility, and, since he is a VIP, was brought straight to us once he started to exhibit the following symptoms: weight loss, hypertension, depression, and back pain." Cameron passed around the file, staring at the patient through the glass. He looked sad, she decided. He didn't look confused, which is what she might have expected for someone with Alzheimer's as advanced as his. Mr. Stevens' son told her that his father was still capable of many things, but that it wasn't likely he'd ever remember having met her.

"Well, everything except hypertension could be attributed directly to Alzheimer's—he could forget to eat, for instance, and we all know that depression is pretty common. The back pain could just be from an injury he's forgotten—maybe he continually strains it by trying to pick something up, or by playing golf, or anything. If he's hypertensive, let's get him on some meds, keep him overnight and get him out of here." Foreman snapped the file shut and handed it to Cameron.

"Yeah, I think you're wrong," Cameron countered, smiling. "Let's go talk to the patient." She pushed open the door to the room, and smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Stevens, I'm Dr. Cameron, and this is Dr. Chase, Dr. Cole, and Dr. Foreman." As she started to speak to the patient, Foreman had the chance to hang back a bit and watch Cameron in action. He was surprised by how self-possessed she seemed; how she appeared much stronger than he'd ever seen her before. What had happened? Even Chase didn't seem to mind that meek, caring Cameron was now his alpha female boss.

"Mr. Stevens, can you tell us where your back pain is located?" Cole asked, stepping towards the patient. The man nodded and pointed to his side.

"Right here," he announced, waving his hand over the affected area. Cameron's eyes narrowed and she moved forward to examine him. As she did, however, Mr. Steven's demeanor changed. "Who are you people? Why am I here?" he screamed, squirming in Cameron's grasp. Immediately, the three other doctors moved forward to help her hold him down, but they moved a split second too late. The confused Mr. Stevens lashed out with a closed fist, and punched Cameron in the face. Foreman could only watch as Cameron flew backwards, clutching her face. The momentum was such that she could not keep her balance. As Chase called out for a sedative—which Cole quickly grabbed—Foreman tried to call Cameron's name. She'd hit her head—hard—against the wall with a sickening crack.

"Cameron! Cameron!" The moment Foreman knew that Chase and Cole had the patient under control, he rushed to her side. "Cameron, are you okay?" He breathed a sigh of relief when she groaned, and reached for the back of her head. A strangled noise escaped from her throat, however, when she noticed the blood on her fingertips.

"That was dumb, wasn't it?" she whispered. "I mean, I should have expected that. I probably should have made him wear restraints, though no one told me that he's been violent." As she spoke, Foreman examined the back of her head, trying not to worry about her words slurring together. She'd hit her head against something—Foreman wasn't sure what—that had punctured her skin, but she wouldn't necessarily need stitches. Head wounds bled a lot, right?

"It's okay Cameron. You did nothing wrong; it was totally unexpected." Though she didn't seem to be panicking, Foreman thought it best to speak soothingly, and to tell her that she'd done nothing wrong. "You'll probably have a nice shiner, though."

"Foreman? Look at that," she said, pointing. Foreman quickly looked over his shoulder, and did a violent double take.

"Shit. His kidneys." Foreman was staring at the urine bag, which was filled not with healthy, yellow urine, but rather with gloomy, brown urine. "Guys!" he called out. Cole and Chase rushed over, at first worried about Cameron, but when they saw what was drawing the attention of Cameron and Foreman they frowned.

"Flank pain," Cole announced. "To be precise, it's not back pain, it's flank pain." At this, all four doctors hung their head for a moment, their minds jumping to the same conclusion—it was easy enough.

"Someone should probably call Wilson. Or, maybe we should get a CT scan first. Right, a CT scan to confirm. Someone should do that," Chase whispered, his color a little off as he returned his attention to Cameron. Cole nodded, and left the room. "He was probably going to the bathroom on his own, right? No one would have noticed the urine? That doesn't seem possible. Maybe we caught it just in time."

"Well, we'll see," Foreman replied noncommittally, keeping his focus on Cameron. When he spoke next, he spoke to her. "Right now I need you to tell me how you feel. You were out for a few seconds. Dizziness? Headache?"

"How about you let me stand up first?" she grumbled. That turned out not to be the best option, because Cameron threw up as soon as she was on her feet, and she once she was finished with that, her legs gave out on her.

"Okay, yeah, I'd say you definitely have a concussion," Foreman mumbled as he caught the falling Cameron. She blinked furiously.

"What? Foreman? What are you doing here?" Foreman sighed and called for a gurney.

"Wow, what a morning," Wilson said, throwing open the door to House's office. House ignored him as played his PSP. "So, today Cameron's team sent me a case—a donor's father with renal cell carcinoma. We'll have to see if we caught it in time, though it's not looking good. Chase is going to perform an exploratory surgery and see if he can remove all the cancer surgically. But you know what's fascinating about this? Cameron apparently caught the brown urine, thereby alterting us to kidney problems, seconds before she… I don't know. Lost it? That's not quite the right word for it…"

"What, did she finally bring in the sawed-off shotgun and take out half of the clinic?"

"Wait, did I forget to mention the severe concussion she'd just received?" Wilson was awarded with the sounds of House's video game alter ego—whoever it was—dying unexpectedly. "Her patient has Alzheimer's, and apparently became violent when he didn't recognize her or his surroundings. Oh, yeah, and not only did she bash her head against the wall, but she also got a nasty black eye. Foreman's going to keep her overnight at least so he can monitor her concussion. Apparently he's worried, because she lost consciousness for a few seconds…" Wilson hid a grin as House rushed past him and out of his office.

"How long was she out?" House barked, noticing Chase, Cole, and Foreman standing outside of a hospital room. One look at the concern etched on their faces let him know that it was her room, so he didn't bother to spare her glance. When no immediate answer was forthcoming, House repeated his question, punctuating each word with a violent stab of his cane.

"A matter of seconds," Foreman replied, uncharacteristically nonplussed. "She's having trouble remembering what led up to her concussion; and she's dizzy, nauseous, and has a nasty headache. I'll keep her overnight, but I'm sure she'll be fine."

"No, you don't know that she'll be fine," House spat. "You don't know that she won't have any permanent brain damage, which, technically, is possible if she lost consciousness. You just know that it's not likely." He ignored the confused looks from the other men, and finally peeked into Cameron's room. She was staring out the window, frowning.

"Are you going to go in there?" Chase asked.

"No, why would I do something like that?" House snapped. "It's not my fault she was stupid enough to let some old guy take a swing at her." And with that, he stormed off.

"Was that House caring about her?" Cole questioned.

"I think so," Foreman replied, watching House yell at an unsuspecting nurse.

"That guy has some serious issues," Chase grumbled, hating himself for worrying about whether or not Cameron would be depressed by House's apparent—and superficial—lack of interest.

Cameron slept away most of the day, though she was woken a number of times by Foreman. The last time he woke her, he told her that he'd be back in the morning—she'd assumed that it was late at that point, so she was confused to wake up once more and find House sitting by her bedside, his feet propped up on her bed as he watched TV. When she groaned, he sat straight up and started asking her questions.

"How's your head? Are you dizzy? Do you remember what happened?"

"House? What are you doing here? I thought… Foreman said he was going home."

"Cameron, answer the damn questions."

"My head is pounding, I don't feel too dizzy, and I'm honestly a little fuzzy on the details." She couldn't help but smile as she watched House go into full-on doctor mode as he asked more questions. Satisfied for the moment, he leaned back in his chair and returned his attention to the television. "House, you never answered my question: what are you doing here?"

"My cable's out." The slight hesitation before he answered let her know he was lying.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire."

"At least I'm not an idiot, unlike a certain blonde immunologist I know. What the Hell were you thinking?" House never looked at her, which unnerved Cameron somewhat.

"House, my head really hurts. Can you please save the lecture for later and get me something to take for the pain?" She tried to locate a nurse, but a quick look at the clock told her that it was three in the morning—there weren't many nurses around.

"No, no pain meds for you. You get to sit here and think about what you did."

"That's hardly fair," she moaned, turning onto her side, and clutching the rails of her hospital bed. House didn't answer, but once he heard her breathing become more labored, he turned to look at her. Her skin was drained of all its color, and her hair was plastered to the back of her neck. "House, please," she whispered as she fiercely shut her eyes. Carefully, House helped her to sit up, ignoring the slight thrill that shot through him as he lightly touched her side. She gratefully took the offered pills from him, though she was in too much pain to realize that he held the cup of water to her lips as she drank. "Thank you," she said, her face still contorted in pain. A few moments later, she felt a cool, wet cloth against her neck. Cameron opened her eyes.

House steadily avoided her gaze as he wiped her face and neck. He worked methodically but tenderly, and Cameron enjoyed the look of intense concentration on his face. From his look, one might conclude that he was restoring a great work of art. Perhaps, in a deluded way, that's exactly what he was doing, though Cameron didn't like to think like that.

"If you feel the need to puke, do it anywhere but on me, got that?" House's voice was gruff, but it also miraculously contained some of the tenderness that he'd expressed with his touch. "Now go back to sleep." Before he managed to turn away, Cameron grabbed his hand. Though his hand remained limp in her grasp, she squeezed it affectionately. House sighed, clearly frustrated, but he grudgingly squeezed back. "Sleep," he ordered. Cameron slept, though she knew that House wouldn't be there when she woke up.