Something was distracting Cameron.

At first, House thought Cameron was playing possum—pretending to look at something interesting to make him look. If that had been the case, the woman was putting on quite a convincing act: her round eyes widened the same time her jaw went slack.

Curious, House turned and started to move around his desk. The movement snapped Cameron from her momentary state of catatonia and jumped up from the chair.

"No!"

Things were heating up in Dr. Wilson's office.

As Cuddy's tongue played hide-and-seek in his mouth, somewhere in his head, the lone voice of reason was clamoring for his attention as it was overwhelmed by his baser instincts. How did she get you into this position, you patsy?!

He wasn't sure right now. When soft, delicate hands started snaking up his chest, he couldn't recall what he was trying to remember. When those hands went to explore his back and headed down south, he wondered why Cuddy went to his office in the first place…

"No?" House asked as Cameron blocked his path towards the glass door to the balcony.

"No," Cameron echoed. She placed a hand on the top of the desk and a hand on a shelf opposite it, effectively anchoring herself and blocking House's progress to the door.

"Why not?" House asked, leaning on his cane and staring straight into her eyes. Her face was calm, but the slight tension along her jaw said something else.

"Because—I remembered something," Cameron said, feeling incredibly lame for a heartbeat or two until something inspired her. "I need a second opinion about Christopher!" That ought to work, Allison!

He stiffened. Cameron saw something in his eyes that made her stop breathing for a while. Then she recalled her conversations with Cartwright and Chase, and she pushed some more buttons.

It's not about saving face for Wilson anymore.

"Cartwright thinks Chris might need distraction osteogenesis to lengthen his leg…" she began.

For the first time since Cameron came back to Princeton-Plainsboro, they were talking about their son. The old rapport between them—of department head and department fellow—returned effortlessly. The only difference is their involvement with the patient.

This time, House wasn't going to take radical chances with his son.

Somebody was looking inside House's office from a safe distance.

Foreman had returned to the hospital after realizing that he left an important package in the conference room. He felt sheepish—after weeks of careful planning, his date didn't end quite as expected when he patted his blazer and pants for the long, slim box and remembered that he didn't fetch it from the desk drawer in the conference room.

He was glad his footsteps didn't make too much noise along the hallway.

Foreman had no idea how long House and Cameron were in the office, but he was sure that they were talking about Christopher. Cameron clapped her hands to her mouth six times already and House looked like someone sneaked some pickles into his Reuben.

Damn, Foreman thought, rubbing his forehead in vexation. He was torn in two with conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he felt that it was about time House concerned himself with his son. Chase—that ever-reliable tattletale—had told him about Christopher's prognosis and Cameron's worry. Perhaps now that Cameron dropped this on his plate, House's daredevil tactics with patient care would be curbed.

Foreman's other worry was for Cameron. Despite his momentary lapse of sensitivity during the medical article debacle, he did care.

After watching the office for several more minutes, Foreman turned around. He'll get Wendy's necklace from the desk in the morning.

He stopped walking after the fifth step, hearing someone open a door. The door closed, and footsteps resounded sharply across the linoleum. Whoever it was must be walking across the other side.

Foreman raised an eyebrow as he saw a flustered Dr. Cuddy reach the elevators.

Whose office did she leave? he wondered as Cuddy adjusted her rumpled purple blouse and ran a hand through her messy, curly hair.

Thoughts?