Hey Guys! Sorry for the late update, but my computer finally lost the fight with a virus and I lost EVERYTHING . . . ON that note I must ask . . . Does anyone want this fic to go a certain way? Does anyone want a particular pairing? A particular situation? No pairing at all? At this point, almost all possibilities can become finality so don't be afraid to speak up!

Warning: I'm trying out a new format which switches the P.O.V. constantly. It's a little confusing at first, but after a while it gets much better. Keep in mind, this format will be used in the next chapter, but to a much lesser scale.

Disclaimer: No, no, I don't own House, but I do hear he's up for sale on eBay . . .

Allison Cameron had always been a rock. Not in the literal since, of course, but she'd always been a pillar of support, forever acting as everyone's favorite moral compass. When people were afraid, they came to her. When people were confused, they came to her. Why? She was considered an expert on emotions and was consistently teased about being the only doctor in Plainsboro who could fill in for Oprah.

Not that she couldn't, of course, but it still stung. Why did being a good person seem to get her such criticism? Why did caring about her fellow human beings automatically brand her as the hospitals unofficial councilor? Allison wasn't sure, but she'd always accepted the duty without complaint. She'd always liked helping people.

Sadly, while she was a good doctor and a great person, Cameron was also human. That meant she needed her rest, her relaxation, and at the very least 2 square meals a day. Currently, the young doctor was getting none of these things.

She was busy, something she'd expected, but never really comprehended. She'd expected to be tired, but she'd never expected to be straight-up exhausted. She'd expected to occasionally miss a few meals, but she'd never before thought of a candy bar as a godsend. She'd expected the stress, but she'd never expected the constant muscle tension and migraines. Most unexpected, however, were the phone calls.

Allison was a caring individual. She connected with her patients on a level unknown to most other doctors. She gained their trust without trying and their friendship with a smile. This camaraderie now also seemed to be her undoing. If a patient was upset, she offered them a hug. If a patient was confused, she offered them her perspective. Doing these things had never bothered her as it was in her nature to be compassionate, but now, everything was different.

You see, Dr. Allison Cameron had made the mistake of giving a few of her patients her home phone number. At the time, it'd seemed like such a good idea. If they'd relapsed, or felt any discomfort, they could speak directly to her and she could diagnose them over the phone. It had seemed like such a good idea, but it wasn't, because Dr. Allison Cameron had forgotten the golden rule: everybody lies.

Lisa Cuddy barely restrained a sigh of contentment as she snuggled into her comfy couch and dove into her latest romance novel. She was currently enjoying the beginnings of her annual vacation (which consisted of four sick days). She enjoyed this time to herself because while being the first woman to become a dean of medicine sounded glorious, truthfully, it was just tiring. This was due largely in part to Gregory House, a man who constantly defied her authority and challenged her mind. He was . . . infuriating . . . but he was also interesting . . . a paradox really.

This time, Cuddy did sigh. Here she was on her long awaited vacation and she was thinking about House. Even when he wasn't there he managed to torture her. Damn him. In defiance she lifted her chin and picked up her book, determined to drive herself to the fantasy world in which only Jaq and his latest conquest resided, but . . . she couldn't.

Yes, the brunette sighed, she wanted to, but she couldn't. House was still on her mind; she could practically hear him whining about the stupidity of romance novels and those who read them. Worse yet, she couldn't even hit this incorporeal House. Cuddy sighed again, her lips pursing in aggravation.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before a woman answered:

"Hello . . . "

Wilson jumped on this chance "Blythe, listen, its Greg . . ."

"You have reached Blythe and John House, we're not here right now, so please leave your name and number and we'll get back to you as soon as we can . . . "

Wilson stood still for a moment, stunned into silence by the recorded voice. He couldn't very well leave a message about something this serious. He slammed the phone down and his fist soon after connected with the tile wall in a show of frustration.

He was tired and jittery and he felt horrible. How could he be there when House died? How could House of all people die?! There was no Wilson without House, just like there was no Watson without Sherlock. That's how people identified him . . . and that's how he identified himself: House's one and only friend.

Cameron was a kind person and that compassion often clouded her judgment, but under no circumstances was she an idiot. She'd told her patients not to call her personal line unless it was the upmost of emergencies. They'd all agreed, swearing up and down that come hell or high water they wouldn't call her unless it was urgent. She should've known; everybody lies.

A few weeks later she'd gotten her first call. Naturally, she'd been a tad panicky because it was supposed to be an emergency. It wasn't. Several more calls and several more false alarms later, she'd been more than a little annoyed to pick up the phone and find a perfectly healthy pregnant woman on the line. A pregnant woman who wanted Cameron to be there for the birth.

Her sensitive nature kept her from outright refusing the woman, but she did try every excuse in the book. The heavily pregnant Marie Thomas was insistent, however, because, after all: "This baby wouldn't have made it this far without you."

Cameron was flattered, really she was, but with her hectic schedule she didn't know if she could be there for something like this. Still, she eventually agreed, exchanging her pager number for Marie's due date. This eventually led to being woken up in the middle of the night by that very piece of machinery.

Now she was at Plainsboro, depriving herself of the sleep she richly deserved to see a woman she barely knew give birth. All because she cared. She took a sip of her lukewarm coffee, cursing all hospital food. House was right: caring sucked.

Lisa Cuddy was not insane. In fact, she'd never had the slightest problem with her mental health. Sure, she was stressed, but she had good reason to be. Sure, she was prone to bits of sadness, but that was because she was disappointed in the outcome of certain events. There had always been a logical reason behind every psychological episode she'd ever had . . . until now.

She could hear House in her head, as if he was right there in the room. (He wasn't. She'd checked.) She'd tried every method she knew to tune him out, but just like with the real House, nothing worked. She'd even tried to reason with the voice in her mind—out loud. Needless to say, it didn't work.

It was bad enough that House constantly badgered her at work, but she should be allowed to leave him there and relax at home. No . . . no . . . that wasn't right. House had always bothered her at home too. He'd left her lewd voice mails and she was pretty sure he'd egged her house once.

House always annoyed her. He held nothing sacred! She clearly remembered him calling her on every single holiday for the past five years with some old Chinese idioms . . . In fact, she remembered him calling her during Hanukah to ask if she missed Christmas! He was especially persistent on her annual holiday the only time she ever- . . .

Cuddy froze there. House had always been especially annoying during her 'vacation'. He called all the time, scaring her with sound effects and horror movie impersonations. He had always been such a jackass. She'd even changed her number . . . four times . . . and still . . . House really didn't have much to do. She'd almost feel sorry for him . . . if she didn't know him . . .

It seemed odd, that he'd forgo this long standing tradition . . . Why hadn't he called? Maybe he had something else to do? . . . Nah . . . It was House, after all . . . In any case, this explained the odd House-voice living in her head . . . her brain must be compensating for the lack of stress. Figures . . . Even when House wasn't there he was still tormenting her.