Author's Note: First, to clear this up (from VisualIDentificationZeta's comment); this story is mostly from Thirteen's point of view. So, the descriptions of other characters aren't necessarily my opinions, they're hers. I actually like Cameron now (I do think she was a little psychotic in earlier seasons), but I think Thirteen sees her as a ridiculously girly romantic. Not to say that I haven't read some great Camteen stories, but that's beside the point. And sorry about the traces of Chameron, I tried not to put it too much about them.

Anyway, here's another chapter. Please let me know if you're enjoying it!

Two quick raps on the door, and Remy poked her head in. Seeing he was awake, she asked, "How are you feeling?" He shrugged, and she waited for a snappy remark, but it never came. He simply dropped his gaze again and picked at an invisible thread on his sheet. Moving closer to the bed, she pulled her chair over and sat. "House." He glanced up again, just for a second. "What were you doing up by Boston last night?"

"Looking for you, obviously. Cameron stopped having sex with me so I needed a new young subordinate to screw," he snapped. Not bothering to point out that neither of them worked for him anymore, she waited. "Why does it matter to you anyway?"

"A doctor should know everything about their patient - where they grew up, what car they drive, and whether they're cheating on their spouses or their tax returns. Sound familiar?"

"I'm not married, you idiot." But the comeback was halfhearted. She paused, but he offered no more information.

"Second question," she continued, giving up for now. "What did Dr. Myers tell you about your rehab?"

"Two weeks of in-patient treatment, another two to three months of intensive physical therapy. And I know you knew that, you're just supposed to ask to make me feel informed. I'm a doctor too, you know."

"I wasn't aware you payed much attention to tips like that one meant only to make patients feel good," she commented. "Anyway, we can move you back to Princeton-Plainsboro tonight at 8, or if you'd rather, we could wait till tomorrow at --"

"No." He cut her off.

"All right, I'll put you down for tonight."

"No." She paused, giving him a questioning look. "I don't want to go to Princeton-Plainsboro."

"What? You hate Princeton General..." This went against everything she knew about him.

"I'm not going to that hell-hole either. I'll do my in-patient time here."

"Wh..." She didn't even know what to say.

"PPTH and Faulkner have the same insurance, it will transfer just fine."

"Insurance isn't what I was thinking about! House, won't everyone wonder why you would stay here instead of going back home?" Even as she spoke, she knew it wasn't a good argument. Of course he didn't care what everyone thought.

"I'm not going to tell them. I'll email the Dean of Medicine that I'm taking my vacation time." He immediately realized that he'd said "the Dean of Medicine" instead of "Cuddy" or some derogatory nickname, and Thirteen was bound to ask questions that he didn't want to deal with. She didn't comment, though, so maybe it had slipped by her.

She paused, considering his choice. For House to go back to PPTH injured, needing to be taken care of, without Wilson and Cuddy to hover over him, would be unbearably demeaning. He worked so hard to prove his independence even with the disability that the last thing he'd want to do would be to lie in his own hospital as a patient, unable to shower or use the bathroom himself. He didn't say any of this, but she understood. So she nodded slowly and said, "I'll let the Admin department know." Watching his face closely, she said casually, "Want me to call Wilson or Cuddy and let them know where you are?"

She immediately almost regretted bringing it up. The pain that flashed behind his eyes was so sudden and severe she may as well have kicked him in the leg. "No, it's fine. I'll send an email." The strained tone and lack of snarky remark about staying out of his business betrayed his effort to sound casual.

She held his gaze long enough to let him know she noticed, then gestured around the room. "How do you plan to do that?"

Noting the lack of computer and remembering he couldn't get out of bed to find one, he gritted his teeth and reached for the notepad and pen on his bedstand. Scribbling a short message, he said, "Here, you know how to get on the PPTH email. Send this from my account." She started to take the paper from him, but he held on to it and said, "But Thirteen." She met his gaze. "Cuddy isn't the Dean anymore. I wrote the new Dean's email here."

"Why?" she asked, trying to give off the faintest hint of surprise.

He paused. "A year ago, Rachel had a severe allergy attack while she was with the sitter. Peanuts. They took her to Princeton General by accident, and it was four hours before Cuddy even found out. When she got there, she found out Rachel had gone into cardiac arrest, but they'd brought her back. It scared Cuddy to death." House paused, and seemed lost in thought for a moment. "She requested an exception from the board for the two-week notice policy, and was out for good in three days."

Remy paused, not sure what to say. "I'm sorry," she settled on, and immediately steeled herself, ready for him to bite her head off. He looked taken aback at the sincere statement, but said nothing. Then he abruptly let go of the paper they both still had and sat back against his reclined bed.

"I'll email him, then," she said, but didn't move, wanting to give him a chance to ask her to contact Wilson too.

But he seemed to suddenly realize how vulnerable he sounded, and that several minutes had passed without a characteristic comment. "And if you use my account to exchange steamy messages with Cameron, I'll know," he said, eyebrows raised.

"Goodbye, House." She rolled her eyes and and left.

**********

"I thought I told you not to come back here till noon."

She jumped as Stephen approached the nurse's station behind her. Shrugging, she said, "Couldn't sleep, sorry."

He pretended to glare for a moment, then asked, "How is he?"

"Hang on, let me finish this email." She read over what she'd written, then, satisfied, hit Send.

"Come on, let's walk," he suggested.

They made their way across the bustling ER and through the lobby. As the automatic doors whooshed open, the crisp September air greeted them. They turned north and walked in silence for two blocks. She'd always appreciated that about Stephen; he wasn't afraid of silence and knew when to let it be. Gathering her thoughts and taking a breath, Remy said, "He wants to do his in-patient time here. Two weeks."

"Wow. Any idea why?"

"I called an old acquaintance at Princeton-Plainsboro, someone who used to work with House. For House, actually. I found out...the Dean of Medicine resigned a year ago. It's hard to explain, the love-hate game she and House played, but she had an incredible tolerance for his insanity."

"She?" Stephen asked.

"Lisa Cuddy, youngest female Dean of Medicine at a major private hospital. And House's personal babysitter. She constantly had to stop him from treating patients for things we didn't know if they had, or running insanely dangerous tests without consent. They were always arguing, and he harassed her relentlessly. Comments about her sex life, her clothing, her job...he liked her, but his way of showing it was like a ten year old with a crush. Once during his crazy game to select new fellows - there were about eight of us left in this survivor-like competition - he told us the next challenge was to steal Cuddy's thong."

Stephen just cracked up. "Seriously?"

"I swear," she said, laughing at the memory.

"So did anybody do it?"

"Yeah, this Black Mormon who was a single father with six kids got it! At first House thought he actually had sex with her, then he figured out he'd actually just explained the game to her and asked to borrow her underwear, I guess. He was fired - House said the point of the game was to subvert Cuddy, and if we couldn't get used to that we might as well just leave."

"Ten year old with a crush sounds about right," Stephen laughed.

"They almost got together a few times - there was an office pool betting on how long it would take - but he always did something to screw it up. Anyway, she adopted a baby girl a while ago, before I left. She kept trying to cut back on hours to spend more time with Rachel, even tried to hand her job off to one of House's old fellows, but he always found a way to get her to come back. Apparently a year ago, she decided it was time to quit."

"So House is upset about his new boss?" he asked, not quite understanding. "Or did he get fired?"

"I wouldn't have expected him to last more than six months under a new Dean. Defying authority and rules is a game for him. But Chase - the doctor I called at PPTH - said he's practically compliant now."

Stephen asked hesitantly, "So that's good, then, right? He'll be able to keep his job?"

"House without sarcasm is like macaroni without cheese," she said, teasing Stephen about his culinary preferences. No grown man should eat as much mac-and-cheese and chicken nuggets as he did. "It's his way of communicating, his way of coping. I can't even imagine what he would be like...it's almost sad."

"If he's made it through a year, though, he'll be okay," Stephen tried to assure her. "Taking a small step toward normalcy will be good for him."

She shook her head. "That's not what set him off, though. House only cares about three people - himself, Cuddy, and his best friend Wilson. With Cuddy gone, it was him and Wilson against the world - until they got in some major disagreement a month ago. Chase didn't know what it was about, but he said it was worse than the one two years ago, and that was horrible. Chase thinks House drove off on his bike just to escape - it's what he does when other people would go running or something - and got reckless. But the only way I can see him doing this recovery is with Wilson there every step of the way, nagging House to let him take care of him then getting his head bitten off like usual."

"House seems strong," he commented. "Surely he can pull through this."

"He's not," she almost whispered. "It's just a show. Wilson is one of the few people he trusts enough to allow to help him. Without him, House will dull the pain with more and more drugs...until he takes too much and it's over."

"While he's here, he won't be able to get his hands on much. What's the one thing you always tell patients like him, starting a slow, painful rehab program they think will never work?"

"Take it one day at a time," she said reluctantly.

"That's all you can do right now, Rem. Don't get ahead of yourself."

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