Drenched

by imsanehonest

House enjoys the company of a patient, obviously signaling the apocalypse, Wilson is getting a divorce, Chase is falling head over heels, Foreman's thinking of leaving the team and Cameron's sister has cancer. At least it's not raining. Yet.

10. Endless Days

Drenched

Summary: House enjoys the company of a patient- obviously signaling the apocalypse, Wilson is getting a divorce, Chase is falling head over heels, Foreman's thinking of leaving the team and Cameron's sister has cancer. At least it's not raining. Yet.

Disclaimer: I ran into David Shore on the street one day. I tried to do something intimidating (I think I ended up hopping around him in a circle while chanting madly) to make him give me House, but he just laughed at me. (Was especially put-out seeing as how my ceremonial hopping/chanting garb wasn't fully appreciated.) House isn't mine. It belongs to David Shore and Fox. Lucky bastards. "It Doesn't Get Much Better Than This" is Nicole Burdette's.

Author's Note: Real life continues to get in the way of the important things in life! Like fic-ing!

-shakes fist at real life-

This chapter is rather large, but, really, it took such a long time because I couldn't find the time to write! -more fist-shaking- However, life and I have had a nice discussion, and I think that in a week we've agreed that I'll be able to devote more time to "Drenched." I hope. -crosses fingers-

Once again, I bow before the oh-so-lovely LastScorpion who has sacrificed herself once more so the rest of us can suffer less through this tale of mine. My eternal thanks goes to her! Now, I must find new and enticing ways to bribe her into continuing to look over these chapters… -ponders-

Oh, I feel the need to clarify briefly… The past nine chapters would be part one of two. I'm long winded, but only to a point! -grin-

Again, I know nothing about medicine and if anyone has any advice or corrections to offer involving the claims I make in this fic, please feel free to contact me. Your input is most welcome, especially in this and coming sections.

This story is canon-compatible up to "Skin Deep."

One hundred reviews! -does jig- Granted, some of these aren't actually reviews… But I'll ignore that and continue to dance happily. -dances- Thank you reviewers. You guys really do make my day and without your encouragement I might have given up on this beast far earlier.

So, to sum up: Reviews/Reviewers are still loved. -hugs reviewers-

Thank you and enjoy!

---

Chapter Seven: Endless Days

I want you to be distant
And for me to feel you close.
I want endless days when it's day
And the nighttime never to end when it's night.
I want all the seasons in one day.
I want the sun to set before us
And come up in front of us.
-Nicole Burdette

---

"Be uneasy no more, devoted soldiers. We have another battle ahead of us." House tossed a file onto the glass table before walking up to the whiteboard and uncapping a marker.

Foreman reached for it, staring at the file while Cameron went around the table to glance over his shoulder.

House frowned, stopping in the middle of writing and turning back to his team. He made a show of counting heads. "Is Chase having a polo party when he should be at work again?"

Before either employee could answer, the man in question entered the office, shrugging off his bag without comment.

Foreman blinked at him. "You're not wearing fifteen colors."

Chase glanced up, confounded. "What?"

Cameron tilted her head, "And the colors you do have on actually match one another."

Chase looked down at his blue, gray and white outfit.

"And your tie doesn't look like it's the tail of some small creature." House remarked from his end of the room. "All very fascinating." He turned away from the Aussie and stared at his entire team. "I know Chase's wardrobe generally takes precedence over dying girls, but let's look at little Hannah anyway."

"Hailey," Foreman muttered.

"Whatever."

House turned back to the whiteboard, making sure no one could see his smirk as Chase self-consciously made his way to the coffee, pointedly not looking at Cameron as he did it.

---

Chase was walking down the hall towards the elevator when he was tackled, pushed and otherwise manhandled into a dark room.

"Should I start screaming rape?"

Sammy laughed, turning on an overhead light and illuminating the closet. "Do you think I'm going to take advantage of you?"

"With your stealth-attack what else can I be led to believe?" He grinned at her, bringing a hand to his chest. "You just scared away half of my life, by the way. I hope you're happy."

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a baby. You know that was exciting."

"And painful." Chase rubbed at his shoulder. "Is it your mission to injure me every time we meet?" He gave her an appraising look. "And why did you shove me in here anyway?"

"Well now that you actually have clothes that don't seem as if they've been picked out by a blind person," she eyed his dark green, mahogany and tan ensemble, "I realize that you're quite a dish."

Chase smirked and flipped his hair. "So you did pull me into a closet to have your way with me?"

Sammy snickered briefly. "Is that what you'd like for me to do?" She took a purposeful step forward, forcing Chase to lean against a cabinet or be run into.

He gulped. "Very possibly." He gave a small shake of his head and let out a sigh, gently grabbing her by her arms and pushing her away. "But we shouldn't. I can't; I'm working. And you shouldn't while you're visiting Clara."

"I'm not visiting Clara."

Chase looked up at her sharply. "You aren't?"

"No." She smiled at his surprised expression. "She's at home today."

He frowned. "Then why are you here?"

"Two reasons." She held up two fingers. "One, to remind you that we have a dinner and a bet to settle in a week." She lowered one finger. "And two, because I just finished another book and I wanted to corner you in a closet to celebrate. If you were willing, that is." She smiled as she lowered her other digit, tucking some hair behind her ear and shifting her feet.

Chase frowned at her. "You came all this way just to talk to me?"

"Well, I was hoping we could do a little more than talk…" She grinned coyly at him.

Chase looked down at his watch and then quickly glanced up. "You know, it's my break."

Sammy beamed and raised an eyebrow. "Is it?" She took a step forward, invading his personal space once more and all but pushing him against the cabinet.

Chase nodded vigorously. "And I have a tendency to do very stupid things when cornered."

She smirked. "Excellent."

---

"House, go to the clinic."

"Show's on. Go for me."

"I have been for the past hour. Cuddy found me, snarled, and told me to get you or she would do something unspeakable to your cane."

House's eyebrows rose. "That could quite easily be construed as sexual harassment. She should be careful; I could sue."

"You say it like you believe that your multitude of comments about her breasts wouldn't come into play."

"Peh, details." He swiveled in his chair and tried to look around Cameron so he could see the television. "You know she's making you do her dirty work, right? Making you force me down there when you could be doing something far more productive with your time." He frowned and looked up to his underling, sending her an enraged stare. "The nerve. I think you should rebel, just to teach her a lesson. Go on. Do something wild. Go out for coffee and leave me alone. That'll show her."

"House."

He sighed dramatically. "I'm watching General Hospital. The clinic will survive on its own for the next twenty-nine minutes."

"But some of the patients might not."

He snorted. "Unlikely. You know as well as I do that a five year-old could diagnose and treat most of what we see in that clinic." He glanced around her again. "Commercial's over. Fun time's through. Leave."

She crossed her arms, stood her ground and scowled at him.

"You have a responsibility to treat those people. It's a part of your job. You can't simply dismiss them because you don't find them worthy of your time."

"I'm pretty sure I can."

"That doesn't mean you should."

"But what I should do hasn't exactly stopped me from doing what I wanted to do in the past, has it?"

"House, your job is to treat the sick. They're sick, you should treat them. Just because they don't have some obscure disease does not mean that they don't need your help."

Another sigh. "Is Clara in?"

Cameron's brow furrowed and she looked at him uneasily. "Yes."

House stood up, turned off the television as he passed it and limped out of his office.

Cameron followed, trailing him with a hopeful look. "Are you going to the clinic?"

"Nope."

"House! Cuddy isn't doing this just to irritate you, you know. The board is aware of how you've been slacking off and they do have the ability to fire you. Nothing will stop them from doing so unless you start taking your responsibilities seriously."

House said nothing as he pressed a button on the elevator and entered as the doors slid open. Cameron joined him in the compartment, still speaking.

"That, at the very least, should call to your selfish tendencies and make you consider pulling yourself away from a silly TV show to help others."

He brought a hand to his forehead and rubbed, glaring at the woman still jabbering at him.

"This is real life and real people need you to treat them. Not all of them are here simply to annoy you. Some, go figure, actually need a doctor and thought that they would come to a hospital."

House glanced at her. "If you weren't being so irritating I would almost be proud of your developing sarcasm."

She remained unaffected by the compliment. "You can tape General Hospital and check in on Alexi any time; some of these people can't wait."

House glared at his employee and muttered, "Alexis," before exiting the elevator, refusing to look behind him as Cameron continued to follow.

He increased his pace, Cameron frowning as she did the same, "Are you trying to out-run me?"

"Now that would just be silly. I'm a cripple. I can't outrun you. I can, however, attempt exhaust you to the point where you'll stop talking."

She scowled as House slowed, flinging open the door to room 213 and stepping in determinedly.

Wilson was standing in front of the bed, hand to his neck and staring helplessly at the woman whose eyes were locked on the screen above his head. "Clara, we really have to go now."

"Come on, Jim. You know that big machine gives me the creeps." She looked up at the two doctors who had just entered the room, a smile of relief flooding her features. "Greg."

House quickly made his way to the chair to the left of the bed, Clara giving him a small wave as he jerked his thumb behind him in Cameron's direction, obviously irritated. "Clinic."

She gestured towards Wilson, equally frustrated. "Radiation."

Cameron and Wilson exchanged empathetic glances from the foot of the bed.

House turned to his friend. "Jimmy, tumors don't grow within twenty-five minutes. The disease ridden cells can wait."

"Yes," the oncologist gave an exaggerated nod, "but other patients who need to use the machine can't, House."

"Again, a twenty-five minute delay isn't going to mean life or death for these people. Besides, how many patients do you actually have who are receiving radiation today? One other? Let them go first." House nodded towards Cameron, "Sissy here can take Clara home a few hours later than expected."

"Come on Al." Clara looked up earnestly at her sister. "He'll go down eventually, you know he will. He just wants to avoid it as long as humanly possible. Give the man one last half-an-hour of freedom before you send him to his doom, would you?"

Cameron stared at the older woman intently. "He's been avoiding these obligations since the day he started working here, Clara. There's no way for me to know if he'll go down eventually save for escorting him myself. Besides, Cuddy wants him down there now and I'm sure with good reason."

"Lisa is a woman who is smart enough not to expect Greg for at least another hour. And you should know me well enough to be aware of the fact that I'll force him down there shortly in any case." The woman reached to her bed-side table and opened the drawer, pulling out a bag of Skittles and offering them to House. He took them without comment, engrossed by the television.

Cameron looked helplessly at Wilson while he gave his neck another painful rub.

"Really you two. You should just learn to listen to us and give in to our demands." Clara smirked as she let her gaze briefly go back to the television. "It would save everyone a lot of needless suffering."

Cameron let out a loud sigh, hands on her hips while Wilson crossed his arms across his chest, shaking his head slightly at the two seated in front of him.

Clara grinned. "Aw, look, Greg. Aren't they cute?"

"Adorable," House commented without looking away from the television. "Go on, kids," House said, dismissing them with a flick of his wrist. "Let Mommy and Daddy have their alone time. We'll play with you in a bit. Why don't you two go make mud pies while we're busy?"

Wilson turned to Cameron, frustration plainly written over every feature. "They're impossible." He shot the two trouble-makers an annoyed stare before turning back to the immunologist.

Cameron sighed. "I give up. Cuddy can retrieve him herself."

"I suppose Ms. Roberts can use the machine a bit earlier today." He turned his attention fully to Cameron, gesturing towards Clara. "You can take her home?"

She nodded, sending her sister a glare. "Even if she hasn't earned it."

Clara waved a hand at her, eyes still locked to the screen. "Love you too."

Her glare intensified.

Wilson sent the younger woman a sympathy-loaded glance. "I'll go tell my patient, but then," he shook his head at the entranced pair, "I need coffee. Desperately. Care to join?"

Cameron nodded quickly, making her way to the door and replying with a sarcastic, "Got anything to spike it with?"

Wilson snorted, noting that she only appeared to be half-joking, and nodded towards House. "How do you think I've put up with him for so long?"

They left the room and House gave a smug smile as he sorted through the candies, looking for pink ones.

Clara grinned. "I always knew I'd be the one to drive her to drink."

House handed back the Skittles. "Yeah, yeah. You should be very proud. What did I miss? Did Jax break up with Emily yet?"

---

"I wanted to thank you."

House looked up from his Gameboy. "For my various sexual favors?" He shrugged as Cuddy walked further into his office. "Well, if you weren't so desperate I wouldn't have considered them, but when a woman like you is reduced to begging, even my heartstrings get plucked."

The Dean rolled her eyes. "For getting Pratt out of here." She paused. "And for convincing him to talk to the press."

He frowned. "That was almost a month ago."

"Better late than never."

House shrugged again, focusing his attention once more on the console. "No problem. It was fun to see him stutter in front of all of the cameras."

She sat down in the chair in front of his desk and looked down at her shoes. "It saved my job."

He looked up.

"The hospital... It would have been fine." She sighed and gave a rueful smile. "I know that, have always known that. A lack of investors wouldn't have been enough to close down one of the few teaching hospitals left in the area." She shook her head slightly. "I, however, would have been fired." She brought her gaze to his. "You were there. You heard the things he said. Singing my praises and yours, donating another five hundred thousand dollars to the hospital." She stared at him pointedly. "You knew he would, too. He's too nice not to, felt too guilty for having caused the reactions himself. There was more behind your decision than the simple joy of watching him squirm."

House sighed. "Yes, well. When your money bags have been filled you tend to be more accommodating to us little folk."

She grinned. "I have never been, nor will I ever be, more accommodating to you. If I did, you would take advantage of it quite readily and likely cause far more damage than you already do. You know that too House." She sent him a penetrating look. "Why did you help me?"

He stared at her levelly. "I didn't help you," he said bluntly. "I helped myself."

Cuddy blinked.

"You put up with me. Any other Dean wouldn't bother." He went back to his game. "As charming as I am, they don't seem to appreciate me." House pouted a bit, stopping abruptly to stare at his boss. "But you do. Why is that, Cuddy?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "You just helped the hospital get one and a half million dollars."

"But I lost nearly seventy times as much two years ago."

She scowled. "It's not always about you." She shot him an annoyed glance. "By blaming you I was able to make you take the Pratt case. That's the only reason I've been harping on your part of the whole mess for well over a year." She smirked. "Despite your many flaws, you seem to have a twisted sense of obligation and a serious dislike for being in another's debt."

"Then why did you lose that one hundred million dollars?"

"I didn't lose it, House. I let it go." She sighed in exasperation "You think I liked Vogler? Think that your job was the only factor that convinced me he needed to leave?" She grinned. "You're good at what you do House, don't get me wrong." Cuddy paused and inclined her head slightly. "At least, you are when you're not insulting patients or breaking the law in one way or another. But you, alone, are not worth one hundred million dollars. Wilson wasn't worth one hundred million dollars. I'm not worth one hundred million dollars. Something greater was at stake than checking accounts and your job." She paused and locked gazes with him. "The integrity of this institution. And that was why I let the money go, not because of you."

House rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. Because we're all about integrity here. Or maybe it was because you're a control freak and went into a hissy fit when you realized exactly how much of that control Vogler had taken from you."

Cuddy made a defeated gesture. "If that's what you want to believe, have at it." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into her chair. "As for now, I keep you here, as I've stated in the past, because your reputation is still worth something to this hospital. Over a million dollars, in fact."

House set down his game. "If you got rid of me and my department, along with all of the costs of lawsuits, you could save well over half as much cash annually." He spun a little in his chair, being sure to keep his eyes on hers as he rotated. "I bring in a miniscule cash-flow to the hospital and an air of prestige, which, while admittedly impressive, isn't a logical reason for you to keep me here." He leaned forward and smirked at her. "I'm a liability. I know it; you must know it. But you keep me employed anyway, when any other boss would send me out on my ass. Why?"

Cuddy grinned, raising an eyebrow at him. "Should you really be questioning why I keep you employed? Might get me to start wondering about it as well, and that seems a little counter-productive." House shrugged and she continued. "In any case, I just wanted to thank you for doing something I, naively, thought wasn't solely for your own benefit. My apologies. I forgot how you don't believe in actions that aren't inherently selfish."

He ignored her and continued down his original train of thought. "I'm right. There is a reason, a real reason." He eyed her suspiciously. "And if it was professional you would have told me rather than concocting pathetic lies to hide the truth. That means it's personal." He leaned back once more. "You don't keep me here because you think you should. You're not dumb enough to fool yourself that way. You keep me here because you want me here."

Cuddy snorted. "At long last, my plot is uncovered."

"What is it Cuddy? Do I make you swoon?"

"Yes House." She gave an exaggerated nod. "That is why I keep you here. Just to stare. Gives me a rush. And your hobble is far more appealing than any swagger I've ever laid my eyes upon." She shook her head and grinned as she stood up from the chair, pushing it under his desk.

"No, it's not that. If it was I would distract you, and you're too anal about your job to permit yourself any of those." He tilted his head and studied her briefly. "Are you worried about me?"

She smirked and began to slowly back her way towards the door. "I don't know about you personally, as you've proven time and time again to be nothing if not self-serving. But the overpowering stench of arrogance that seems to radiate from you is getting rather bothersome, I must admit."

House waved a hand, ignoring her comments. "No. Haven't been self-destructive enough in the past months and I've stopped popping Vicodin like candy." Another look at the woman rapidly retreated towards the door. "You're not enough of a martyr to simply be keeping me here for the benefit of society. Not stupid enough either."

She smirked. "You are the expert at the back-handed compliment."

"It might be guilt, for the infarction, but that would be more obvious in our everyday interactions." He grinned and adopted a longing expression. "Wouldn't that be lucky? Then I could exploit you far more easily than I do now."

"Oh, yes." Cuddy shook her head slightly. "A true shame, that." She turned her back to him and reached for the door handle.

House shrugged, looking up at her from his seat disbelievingly. "The only explanation left is that you like me, sans sex-appeal."

Cuddy tensed, hand on the knob.

House's eyes widened dramatically. "You actually like me?"

Cuddy turned and scoffed at him, a panicked look quickly masked. "Your own mother, if she wasn't such a dear, would have trouble withstanding your company much less enjoying it, House."

His eyes didn't leave hers. "You didn't answer the question."

Cuddy broke the stare quickly, rolling her eyes and opening the door. "Go to the clinic. Maybe dealing with the moronic masses will give you something more productive to do rather than attempting to unravel the irrational reasons for your continued employment."

She left the room and House grabbed his cane, twirling it between his fingers, Gameboy forgotten.

---

"Generally, your mother's tumor would've been too large for a lumpectomy by two and a half centimeters."

"Is that small of a difference really important?"

"To the surgeon doing the procedure, yes."

"Why?"

"Because the larger the tumor is, the less likely it'll be that the surgeon will be able to get out all of it without removing the breast entirely."

"Will they get in trouble if they don't get all of it?"

"Not exactly. They'll just look bad."

"Because they messed up?"

"No," Foreman grinned. "Because their surgical statistics will be altered, show lower success percentages."

"So they don't really care about what happens to their patient? Just what their statistics will look like?" Matt frowned. "Is that the way all medicine works? You'll help people, but only if it's easy enough so no one will make any mistakes?"

Foreman nodded. "Unfortunately, most of it. It's all about who looks the best."

"And statistics determine that?"

"Sort of. The statistics show how well the doctor's patients do after they leave their care. The better the statistics, the more patients they've had get better after leaving the hospital." He shurgged. "Good statistics are the most direct way medical personel can gain prestige in the medical community." He paused and then inclined his head. "And it helps the doctors make more money."

"But just because someone looks the best doesn't mean that they are the best."

He gave Matt an appraising look. "You're a smart kid, you know that, right?"

The boy shrugged. "So do you work like that?"

"No." Foreman smiled humorlessly. "My boss wouldn't enjoy it much."

"The one you don't like?"

"Yeah. The one I don't like." He paused for a beat before shaking himself slightly, returning to the original topic. "Since your mother's cancer was too big, Doctor Wilson gave her radiation therapy in order to shrink the tumor before the procedure. Had she been tired lately once she got home?"

"Yes."

"That's why. Her body had been devoting so much energy to the healing process that there was very little left to do her day-to-day activities."

"Will the tiredness stop now that the lumpectomy's been done?"

"Not yet. For the past four weeks she's been having more radiation treatment, which she'll keep having for two more weeks, so that if there are any remains of the tumor we can catch them before they start to grow." He looked intently at Matt. "In a week she'll start chemo."

---

"Do you like me?"

Clara blinked and looked up from the hand that was currently sporting a intravenous catheter as House shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well if I didn't I would have kicked you out a long time ago. Two months ago, in fact. Chemo isn't exactly something you share with a person you hate."

She stared at him, almost squinting.

House glared. "Why are you giving me that look?"

She quickly looked up at the television. "I'm not giving you any look."

"Yes you are. It's like the stare that overeager kid in science class gives the poor unfortunate frog that was sacrificed so he could poke around its insides."

Clara looked innocently around the room.

"You want to dissect me, don't you?"

She sighed. "Maybe a little."

House groaned.

Obviously taking the sound for acceptance, Clara sat up on the bed. "Why do you care?

"I don't care."

"Then why did you ask?"

House sighed. "Because I had a brief flash of idiocy and thought that you would answer the question and then let the subject pass." He glared at her. "The fact that you're a busy-body somehow slipped my mind. I'll be certain not to make the mistake again."

She ignored him. "You don't care about anyone's opinion unless it can reaffirm your own."

House scowled. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Violating me."

Clara rolled her eyes. "You wouldn't have asked in the first place unless you wanted me to do some prodding."

House sent her a look that clearly stated, without words, that she was an utter moron.

She fingered her blanket. "On an unconscious level."

"Is that what you say when you take advantage of other men?"

"Just you Greg, just you." She gave him a fond smile. "So, as I was saying…"

House gave another groan as he realized that she had every intention of continuing.

"You want me to reassure you about something... Help you prove to yourself that you're right, that your assessments are accurate."

She stared at him with interest while he rolled his eyes and pulled open the drawer to the bedside table, finding the Skittles just where he knew they would be.

"You asked me if I liked you. Judging by your tendency to go out of your way to have an aversion to everyone you come in contact with, I can only assume that this policy applies to yourself as well."

"You sound like Wilson. You two should get together some time. Psychobabble at one another until your heads implode."

"He's probably right," she remarked. "Jim's a perceptive guy, and he's known you a long time."

"Yeah." House scowled. "Convenient that he happens to agree with you. But I'm sure that has nothing to do with how perceptive you perceive him to be."

Clara sent him an annoyed glance.

House smirked. "Witty, eh?"

"What else does he say?"

House poured out some Skittles. "That I create my own personal puddle of misery and bathe in it regularly."

She stared blankly at him.

He stared back. "You know. Because I like to build my character through suffering."

She looked at him intently. "Was he right?"

He returned her gaze. "No one likes being miserable." He downed the handful of Skittles.

"No. But it's safer than being happy." Another appraising glance. "Jim seems to know you very well."

"Almost as well as you, apparently. You two should go off and write a self-help book."

Clara glowered in his direction.

"No, really, right now. Run off. You're annoying me. Take the poison drip with you and leave the candy." He made a shooing gesture with his hand.

"This is my room, thank you. You've got two legs, even if one's a bit wobbly. You want peace you can get up and leave." She crossed her arms. "And none of that; you brought this up."

"Under the foolish impression that I wouldn't be facing the Spanish Inquisition." House shrugged. "My bad. I often get my fifteenth and twenty-first centuries mixed up."

She continued to gaze at him silently, causing House to squirm under her steady stare. "I think that Jim's right, Greg. You're afraid of being happy."

He gasped. "Could that be the explanation for my irrational fear of Barney?" He looked up at her hopefully. "You're onto something, doc."

"But the fact that you are afraid of being content isn't the real issue here." She didn't miss a beat, pointedly ignoring the doctor's comments. "It's why you're afraid that interests me."

House sighed. "Note to self: Check for studies that indicate that chemo corresponds with increased tendencies of intentional thickness. Examples include refusing to drop conversations in which one party has no interest."

"Is this your subtle way of telling me to stop pestering you?"

"It is a very strong possibility."

"Unfortunate that I'm going to completely ignore it then."

House sighed and got more Skittles.

"Greg, I think I need to explain something to you." She sat up straight in the bed. "I'm sure Jim has tried to, God knows how many times, but you were probably too stubborn to listen." She paused dramatically. "But, since I'm currently being poisoned, I can only hope that my dire situation will cause you to listen to me, as I'm wasting precious minutes of my life to speak with you."

House shook his head. "Would you stop working the guilt angle? It's entirely ineffective on me."

Clara grinned. "You can be happy, Greg. Being miserable doesn't make you more deserving, doesn't protect you from disappointment or getting hurt. You've done nothing to lose the right to be content." She watched his reactions carefully. "You are a good person."

House's head jerked up and he frowned at her.

Clara quickly clarified. "Not a nice person, not a kind person. But a good one. Just because others can't always understand your ethical code doesn't mean it's not there, or that it's not a noble one, in its own way. People may not like you, you may not even like yourself, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't appreciate life every now and then. It's a right you've obviously been denying yourself for some time, and I can only guess at why."

House shifted in his chair, popping another Skittle.

"You can't live life without any vulnerabilities; preventing yourself from enjoying existence won't change that. Isolating people won't change that." She smirked. "You know, allowing yourself to be content might actually make things better rather than make them worse." She shrugged. "Just a thought though."

House sat up in his chair and set down the Skittles. "Well that's it. I'm getting a hooker. You've inspired me."

Clara let out a sad sigh. "Of course you are. You know, happiness doesn't always come in the form of a twenty year old girl with big boobs."

"But it certainly should."

"You're aware that its men like you that make women believe that all males are pigs, right? You're doing a great discredit to your sex."

"Fascinating." House reached for the bag of candies, General Hospital having just returned from a commercial break. "Now shut up."

Clara scowled and snatched the bag away before he could grab it. "And for that testy comment you have just lost Skittle privileges."

House promptly began to sulk.

---

"Great food." Sammy said as she took another small bite of cheesecake, finally pushing away the plate. "I hate to stop, but if I take another bite I don't know if I'll make it back out to the car."

Chase grinned. "We don't want that. But nor do I think that we should leave this lovely cake unfinished."

Sammy smiled. "What a horrible predicament I've landed myself in."

"Horrible indeed." Chase sighed. "If only there was someone hungry nearby…" He looked down to his own empty plate and picked up a crumb, putting it into his mouth while combing his plate for other remainders of his dessert.

"Shame that there isn't."

Chase looked up at her, adopting a hurt expression.

Sammy turned her attention to what was left of her cake, picking up her fork once more. "You can carry me to the car, right?"

Chase scowled.

Sammy giggled and put her fork down. "I just love the faces you make."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Does this mean that you've decided to take pity on me?"

She sighed. "What happened to chivalry?" She passed her plate over the table to Chase, grinning.

He eagerly took it and snatched his own fork, taking a bite of the pastry. "Died with the middle ages and the invention of internet dating."

She laughed.

A waiter appeared from some smoky corner of the room, placing their check on the table before promptly vanishing.

Chase finished the last bit of cheese cake and let out a huff of air, grabbing the bill and pulling out his wallet.

Sammy picked up her half-full wine glass and gently shook its contents. "Umm… Smells delicious." She took a small sniff at the wine before sipping the liquid delicately. "Why, I think it tastes like…" She frowned before taking another small sip. "Why yes, I do believe it's victory."

She grinned.

Chase smirked, handing the check to their waiter as he enjoyed watching her smile.

---

"I'm sorry I'm late."

Wilson shook a dismissive hand at the immunologist, attacking his pasta once more with his fork. "No worries."

Cameron sighed, sitting down in her seat with a sigh as she placed her tray on the table, fishing for her own fork. "I don't think that House believes I need to eat. Perhaps he's testing the assumption that I function better when he annoys me more." She took a bite of salad.

"Well that's certainly his attitude towards me. He takes it as a little challenge, even. Tries to beat his personal bests."

Cameron grinned. "Which are?"

Wilson looked up at the ceiling. "I think he once kept me from eating for three days."

She blinked, a shocked look on her face. "How?"

He gave a rueful smile. "Kept giving me false pages and stealing my food while I was out."

Cameron shook her head. "I can't believe you let him get away with that."

"Says the woman who let him keep her away from lunch for," he looked at his watch. "An hour." He gave her a teasing smile. "Good thing I was late or you might've been stuck here alone."

She blushed. "That's different."

Wilson nodded. "Oh, of course it is. You won't continue to let him get away with working you too hard, I'm sure." He took another bite of pasta while smirking at her. "Besides, don't worry yourself. He hasn't tried to starve me in at least year."

She adopted a serious expression, suppressing a smirk. "Did you finally give him a stern talking to?"

Wilson gave a pinched smile. "No." He paused, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. "He just saw me when I had gone a long while without food. Guess it was less fun after that."

Cameron looked down at her plate. "Oh." She took a bite of salad, the conversation suddenly awkward.

Wilson gave one last rub at his neck before bring his hand down. "So what did he have you slaving away at?"

She groaned. "Gels. Hours and hours of gels."

"Couldn't he get a lab-tech to do those?"

She sighed. "He doesn't trust the lab-techs."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Of course he doesn't. If he didn't look them over before they were hired, they are obviously morons." He shook his head slightly before glancing at Cameron. "Don't let him do that to you. You need your breaks in order to keep your sanity while working with him. Besides," he looked up at her. "I don't like eating lunch alone." He flashed her a smile.

"Me either."

They stared at one another briefly before they simultaneously went back to her food.

Cameron munched on her salad. "So you don't mind that I've taken to eating with you lately? I keep meaning to eat with Clara, but she's always with House watching that stupid," she punctuated with a vicious stab at her salad, "soap."

Wilson leaned away from the table slightly, a frightened expression on his face. "I sense a deep seated bitterness involving this show."

Cameron laughed. "I'm sorry. But just think of all the time they've wasted, collectively, on that thing?"

He nodded in sympathy. "One would hope they would be willing to do more productive things with their time."

She sighed. "But again, you don't mind my company?"

Wilson shook his head. "I thoroughly enjoy your company. You're not the only one who's been tossed aside in favor of day-time TV."

Cameron grinned. "We make a sad pair, don't we?"

"No," Wilson said quickly, throwing out a dismissive arm and smiling. "Just because you've been abandoned by your older sister and I by my best friend in favor of poorly acted, poorly written television…" He tilted his head. "Okay, so maybe we are a little pathetic."

She chuckled.

"But you know what?" He smiled and picked up his soda. "It's okay. We've got each other to cling to through this horrible desertion."

Cameron snickered, picking up her own soda. "That we do."

"To us? Those intelligent enough to dismiss that General Hospital foolishness for what it is?"

She nodded firmly, clanking her can against his. "To us!"

They chuckled lightly and went back to their respective meals, Cameron poking at her salad briefly before looking up again.

"I actually watched it once."

Wilson smiled guiltily. "Yeah, me too."

They locked gazes and laughed.

---

"I thought I should say thank you."

House grabbed his yoyo and blinked. "Not again. I hate reruns."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What are you thankful for?" House asked, leaning forward in his desk. "My various sexual favors?"

Wilson shook his head repeatedly and held out his hands in a 'stop' motion. "What?" It was unnaturally high-pitched question.

House sighed in relief. "Oh, good. New episode."

Wilson sent him looks that clearly showed the oncologist was questioning House's sanity.

"Why are you singing my praises, Spandex Boy?" House asked, flicking out his yoyo again. "What selfless deed did I perform this time?"

Wilson gave another small headshake and stepped into the room, sitting down in the chair across from House. "I'm going to ignore your comment about sexual favors, that all right with you?"

House sighed sadly. "If you insist, Jimmy. But remember; just because you refuse to remember that night doesn't mean that I can." He sniffed dramatically. "It was just too important for me to forget so easily."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "As long as it remains special in your heart, House, that's all that matters."

House nodded and gave another sniff. "It does."

"Fabulous." Wilson shifted in his seat and then abruptly got to the point. "Thanks for making me talk to Sara."

House frowned. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

Wilson shrugged. "Better late than never."

The diagnostician leaned over his desk and tried to get the advantage of height over Wilson.

Wilson tried to hide his amusement. "And what are you doing?"

"Looking for cleavage."

Wilson shook his head sadly. "I really should have had you sent up to the psych ward long before you reached this point."

House flopped back in his chair. "You don't appear to be Cuddy in disguise, but this might just be another crafty trick to try and get me to the clinic."

"House, go to the clinic."

"No."

Wilson shrugged. "Thwarted once more."

House smirked and gave his yoyo another flick.

"House?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

There was a silence as House caught the yoyo once more, bringing the device to his chin as he frowned in thought. "Do you know when the next Truck Rally is?"

Wilson grinned and shook his head slightly, responding, "Next month, I think."

---

The team had just begun the differential for a new patient when Sammy hesitantly knocked on the glass door.

House turned from the whiteboard and gave the woman a long appreciative glance. "Please someone say it's my birthday and that she's my present."

Cameron glared at her boss as her sister-in-law entered the room. "Hey guys," Sammy said as she flashed a smile to the whole room, her friendly gaze lingering on Chase for a moment. She nodded to House. "Obnoxious twerp."

House gave an enthusiastic wave.

Sammy smirked before she turned to Cameron. "Clara and I need to steal Al for a moment to help Wilson with a family history before Clara starts a new form of chemo." At Cameron's raised brow Sammy quickly clarified, "She can't remember the condition your Dad had."

"Temporomandibular joint disorder."

Sammy blinked. "Al, you know I can't say that without biting my tounge repeatedly. Just come with me for ten minutes."

Cameron sighed, gesturing towards the rest of the room. "Sammy, I can't. I'm in the middle of work-"

"Go."

She stared at her boss in shock. "What?"

"Go. We'll start the differential without you." House turned back to the whiteboard, writing another symptom.

Cameron blinked.

House sighed, turned away from the board once more and gave her a look of mock concern. "Do I need to repeat myself, again?"

"That's it? You're just letting me go?" She eyed him suspiciously. "No making fun of the fact she has cancer? No tormenting me for being concerned?"

"Not this time." House's expression remained bland as he stared at her. "Be sure to hurry when scampering back, though. If we're left alone for too long we'll just start running around in circles, lost without your insight."

She stood up wearily, walking towards her sister-in-law and sending House one last, confounded, glance. "Come on," she muttered to the other woman, walking out of the room.

Sammy looked from the departing Cameron to House, finally bringing her eyes to Chase.

The Aussie shrugged.

She returned the gesture, sending him a wink before leaving the office.

House whistled and craned his neck to catch the sight of the two walking down the hall. He then sent Chase an accusing look. "I can't believe you could be hitting that."

Foreman's head jerked up, eyebrows raised disbelievingly. "Her?"

When the intensivist didn't respond, Foreman sat up in his chair. "Chase, Sammy is Cameron's-"

House interrupted, grinning broadly. "And now you know why he almost pees himself when Cameron's around."

Chase glared at his boss. "House." His tone was unnaturally serious.

The diagnostician turned to Foreman. "You see that?" House rotated stare back to the blond. "He's glaring at me." He took in Chase's stern appearance and shuddered. "Almost scary."

Foreman shook his head at Chase "You haven't told her?"

Their boss spoke up. "Well, he didn't tell me or you. He's certainly not going to tell Miss Fuzzy that he's involved with her sister-in-law. Might cause some tension with the whole meth-induced one-night stand and all."

Chase ignored them both and looked down at the file, absently biting on a pen. "The patient presents with kidney failure and hyperparathyroidism. Not to mention sensorineural deafness. I'm thinking Barakat's syndrome."

Foreman shot the younger man an annoyed look. "He's sixty-five years old, meaning that the deafness probably isn't a symptom." He snorted. "Kidney stones would make just as much sense."

"Brilliant." Chase sent his colleague a pointed stare. "Except that he doesn't have kidney stones."

"Now, now." House waved his cane between the two men. "Slow down you two rockets you. It's tea-time and we're missing a member of the musketeers. Let's take a break and talk some more about Chase's mad affair, shall we?"

Chase scowled. "We have a patient. Let's talk about him instead."

House shook his head. "Not until my curiosity has been satisfied."

Foreman raised an eyebrow from his end of the table, staring at Chase just as intently as House was.

The intensivist looked at the two men and sighed. "Look, it's just for fun, for both of us." His jaw clenched around the pen and the plastic produced an ominous 'crack'. "I don't want Cameron to take it the wrong way and start berating me for destroying Sammy's virtue." He looked intently at the two in front of him. "That's all." He turned his attention back to the file. "Now get out of my personal life."

House rolled his eyes, capping his marker and focusing on his employee. "If it's 'just for fun' then why haven't you jumped in the sack with her yet?"

Foreman glared. "House, the patient."

His boss glowered. "Oh stop trying to protect him. You're just as curious as I am. At least I have the decency to be honest about it."

"Honest? By manipulating the information out of him?" Foreman snorted. "Yes. That's honest."

House shrugged. "So I have no morals. I know this removes me from that pedestal you placed me on Eric, but try to move past the pain." He looked away before he could see Foreman's nostrils flare and turned to Chase. "Well, Blondie?"

The intensivist seemed amused, pen out of his mouth and leaning against his chair. "What makes you think I haven't slept with her?"

House gestured to Chase's clothes. "You haven't started wearing your technicolor dream coat again, which means you're still trying to impress her."

The man smirked. "Did you ever consider that I could just like matching for a change?"

"No."

Chase blinked at the bluntness, while Foreman eyed his boss with interest.

House grinned. "You're pretty, Miss Chase, and you know it."

The man frowned. "Thank you?"

House ignored him. "Most people need clothes to keep up appearances of beauty and professionalism. You don't care about the latter because you don't want to advance your career." He huffed. "Keeping it, certainly, but you don't need to impress anyone to do that. Just not screw up quiet so often." House eyed the man, feigning compassion. "Might want to work on that bit."

Chase glared.

"On the other hand," House continued, taking no note of his employee's scowl, "your pretty factor matters because it makes your life easier. As a rule, beauty can get you more, faster, in this world than brains, and that's a fact that you've repeatedly exploited, I'm sure."

The Aussie shurgged.

"But, unlike some other unfortunates," he sent a significant glance to Foreman, "you don't need over-priced clothes to look like you've descended from the heavens."

Foreman rolled his eyes.

The diagnostician gave a dignified cough. "When we take this information into account, we find that there's no reason why you would continue purposely picking out what to wear when you don't want to get promoted and you don't need to look prettier. Especially when you've gone the past thirty-two years without. That leaves only one explanation." House walked up next to Chase, sitting in the chair to his side. "You're not doing it for yourself; you're doing it for her."

Chase remained silent.

"Well, more specifically, so that she'll have sex with you," House amended quickly. He sent Chase a sympathetic glance. "Not as efficient as drugs, but I suppose it'll have to do." He patted the man on the shoulder. "Keep it up. I'm sure it's getting you big points."

Neither of his employees said anything, Foreman observing Chase with interest while Chase did the same to the glass table.

"Although, that being said," House commented, interrupting the quiet, "this isn't just for fun."

Chase's head shot up.

"She's been around for over two months. If you were simply looking for a good time it would have been your typical 'wham bam thank you ma'am' and she would be long gone. But she's still here, and that's why you're so petrified of Cameron." House smirked. "You don't think that Cameron will believe that you're using Sammy for your sexual endeavors. You're afraid that Miss Fuzzy will think that you love her."

The man stared at his superior.

"Don't worry," House reassured his underling as he stood up from his chair, hobbling back to the board. "I'm enjoying your suffering far too much to tell her about the 'fun' you're having. Just be sure to keep the show entertaining and you have nothing to worry about from me." House hung his cane on the board and clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "So. The patient?"

Chase stared at his boss briefly before looking down at the file. "Barakat's syndrome explains all symptoms."

And Foreman did his best not to study Chase as he responded, "The deafness isn't necessarily a symptom of anything other than old-age."

---

"I think I like," Clara eyed the selection critically, "this one."

Sammy raised an eyebrow at it. "It has… Monkeys on it."

Cameron ducked in from the side of the two taller women and nodded. "The monkeys are a bit much, I must admit."

Clara sighed and put the scarf back on the rack, scowling at her companions. "No fun, either of you."

"You're mad now, but you'll be grateful later," Sammy remarked as she made her way to the other end of the store, looking through wigs.

"How about a green wig? Can I get one of those?"

Cameron grinned. "I don't know how well your patients, all of whom are mentally dependant on your sanity, would take that, Clara."

The older woman made a dismissive gesture. "They'd cope."

Cameron sent her a disapproving look.

Clara sighed. "Fine fine fine. Look," she grabbed a blue scarf, "this looks innocent enough. You both approve?"

Sammy glanced over from around a mirror. "Too dull."

Clara threw the scarf up into the air and sat down in a couch, making a point not to show that it was because she didn't feel as if she could stand much longer. "I give up. You two get to pick out my new headwear for me."

Cameron grinned and began looking through the scraps of fabric herself while Sammy walked out from behind the mirror, empty handed. "Why are we here anyway, Clara? Your hair's not falling out."

"It's like magic, Sammy dear." Clara smirked. "Just because you don't see it," the woman grinned and pulled gently on her dark locks, taking a small clump of hair with her, "doesn't mean it's not there."

Sammy paled slightly, eyes locked onto Clara's hand. "Oh."

Cameron saw the frightened glance and pulled Sammy over to the scarves. "Sammy, you know I'm hopeless with accessories. Riffle through these, would you?"

She nodded. "Right." She took a deep breath. "That I can do." She focused all of her attention on the contents of the rack.

Cameron made her way to her sister, sitting next to her on the couch, but saying nothing.

Clara sighed. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," Cameron said, "You can't be all right all of the time."

Clara snorted, putting her head in her hands and leaning her elbows on her thighs. "It's not just this, Al. It's with Mark and Matt that I really fall apart." She shook her head. "It's not fair to them, it's not fair to Sammy…"

"Clara." Cameron leaned forward, concerned, stroking her sister's back soothingly. "It's all right. They know, they understand. This disease isn't fair to anyone, not them and especially not you." She smiled as the older woman looked up. "Stop being so hard on yourself."

Clara grinned. "Stop doing my job and I'll consider it." She sat up and shook herself. "Now to change the subject to cheerier and far more interesting matters," she increased the volume of her voice, "Sammy! I know it was a while ago, but how did the date with Rob go? In all of the excitement of chem-," she paused. "Well, in all of the excitement I forgot to ask."

Sammy turned around, a huge smile on her face, apparently missing the small halt in Clara's question. "Very well, if I do say so myself."

Cameron blinked. "Date? With Chase?"

Her sisters stared at her. "Yes?" Sammy looked at her suspiciously. "He hasn't told you?"

Cameron shook her head. "I had no idea."

Clara smiled sadly. "I'm not terribly surprised. He's an extremely private person."

Sammy let out an exasperated sigh. "No kidding. I just saw his apartment last night." She rolled her eyes. "Didn't go inside of it, mind you. He just pointed it out when he was dropping me off last night."

Clara reached up and patted Sammy on the arm. "I'm afraid you have an uphill struggle ahead of you, dear." She then looked to her right and stared intently at a stack of wigs.

Cameron stared at the woman intently and then raised an eyebrow. "What do you know?"

Clara turned and stared at her younger sibling innocently. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Spill, Clara," Sammy said, crossing her arms. "Al's right. You sound far too smug to be ignorant."

Clara glared up at the woman. "I like you better when you're sucking up to me."

Sammy smiled. "I'm a lot nicer when I'm not trying to get information on the man I have every intention of snagging."

Cameron smirked. "Snagging?" She eyed her sister-in-law. "You really like him?"

She nodded, grinning mischievously. "So far, from what I know of him." She glanced back to Clara. "Although that decision's still pending." She turned back to the older woman. "What is it Clara?"

Clara sighed and twiddled her fingers. "He had a rough past, is all."

Cameron glared. "This isn't a patient of yours, Clara."

Clara looked up at the two eager young women, turning her attention fully to Sammy. "I'm telling you this so that you know what you're getting into, Sammy. You better be certain about whether or not you want him." She turned to Cameron. "And I'm telling you this because I very much doubt that you'll leave if I ask you to."

Cameron grinned.

"His mother was an alcoholic. He had to take care of her for several years before she drank herself to death."

Sammy and Cameron exchanged a glance.

"How did you figure this out, Clara?" Cameron asked.

"House told me." She rolled her eyes. "He's such a gossip."

"I can't believe I didn't know..." Cameron looked up to her sister, gaping. "I've worked with him for nearly three years."

Clara smiled slightly. "It's not your fault," she snorted. "House wouldn't know about it if he wasn't as nosy as he is."

Sammy frowned. "Should I be concerned?"

Clara shook her head. "No more than you were before. I'm sure you've already discovered his reluctance to be involved in a relationship?"

Sammy gave an exaggerated nod.

"Then the only thing I recommend is that you decide exactly what you want." She stared at her sister-in-law intently. "If all of this is just for a good time, then great. It makes it simple for both of you. But if you expect more from him, be ready to fight for it."

The youngest woman present shifted her feet. "What do you think I should do?"

Clara glared. "None of that now. I'm not here to think or feel for you. This your decision, not mine." She sighed, looking up at the artist. "But I do know that you would be good for him." She smiled. "If you could convince him not to run for the hills as soon as you suggest a real 'I love you' relationship, which will be damn hard, just so you know." Clara began to stand.

"Wait wait wait." Sammy frowned more deeply, gently pushing Clara back to the sofa and raising a brow. "Bolt? And how hard is 'damn hard'?"

Clara sighed and gazed at Sammy. "If he does start to care for you and he, somehow, admits it to himself, he'll try to run." She frowned. "At least, I think he will." She looked up at the confused expressions of the two women in front of her and began to explain. "Children of alcoholics have a tendency to be wary of forming attachments with people. Since their parent, generally a figure that a child trusts without question and loves deeply, was so unstable and apt at unconsciously hurting them, they become extremely disinclined to care for others. To protect themselves, they reject the emotion before they can give the other person the power to harm them."

Clara sighed, grinning up at Sammy. "More likely than not he'll try to rationalize it, make it seem as if it's better for both of you if he leaves." Her expression became serious. "But if you let him go, he won't come back."

"So that things won't get complicated."

Clara and Sammy each frowned, turning back to Cameron, who was staring at her shoes.

"What was that, Al?" Clara asked.

Cameron shook herself. "Nothing." She stood up, grabbed a scarf with clouds in the shape of various famous buildings and held it up. "I like this one, personally."

Sammy smiled, walking over and taking it. "I like it too."

Clara sighed, standing up and snatching the fabric from them, heading for the register. "Attempt to give advice and they go back to shopping…"

Sammy turned to Cameron. "Tormenting her is way too much fun."

Cameron nodded, smiling, her thoughts far away.

---

"She's losing her hair now."

Foreman nodded at the boy. "That's because of the chemotherapy."

"And she's more tired than before, she gets sick a lot, throwing up…"

"The chemotherapy."

Matt sighed, pacing in front of the neurologist. "What else can it cause?"

Foreman eyed him wearily, but upon seeing his serious expression quickly began to explain. "Well, there's neutropenia, which is when the white blood cells that fight off infection are reduced."

"Is that bad?"

"If she gets sick, yes. Another problem is anemia. Basically, the amount of blood in her body is reduced. This can cause fatigue, dizziness, headaches, irritability, and an increase in heart rate or breathing. She could also start tasting things differently, have kidney or bladder infection, get mouth sores, have a decreased appetite, bruise more easily…"

Matt sat down next to the neurologist, staring blankly ahead of him. "And this is the best way to get her better?"

"Yes." Foreman turned to him, considering the boy seriously. "I know that the effects of the treatment are going to be hard to cope with, for both you and for your mother, but Wilson wouldn't administer chemo unless there wasn't any other choice."

"Is he well-known in the medical community?"

Foreman frowned. "Doctor Wilson?"

Matt nodded.

"Not especially. Why?"

"Then Mom should have a different doctor." He pushed himself off of his chair and began to stride out of the lab.

"Wait, Matt." Foreman got off of his own chair and grabbed onto one of the boy's arms, turning him around so Foreman could see Matt's overly bright eyes. "Doctor Wilson is one of the best doctors in this hospital. Your mother couldn't be in better hands."

Matt shook his head. "If he's not known in the medical community it means he has bad statistics. If he has bad statistics that means his patients die!" He looked up at the neurologist helplessly, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye which he quickly wiped away, the boy taking a deep breath. "I don't want her to die."

"Matt," Foreman sighed, rubbing his forehead. "No one wants your mother to die. And statistics, they aren't everything. The only reason Wilson's not better known in the community is because he's so young."

"He's older than you."

Foreman snorted. "Do you think if I held any sway in the medical world that I would be staying with a boss that I hate?"

Matt grinned and gave a short, snotty, laugh. "Guess not."

The doctor guided the boy back to his chair. "Listen, prestige doesn't make the doctor any better, you said it yourself." He stared intently at Matt. "Wilson is extremely good at what he does. So much so that he's not afraid to take risks." Foreman sat down himself. "That's why he took your mother on to begin with. She has an advanced form of cancer that most oncologists wouldn't be willing to tackle."

"But you said that doctors only care about statistics?"

"Most doctors do," Foreman admitted. "But recognition doesn't make them good."

Matt looked up at him expectantly and Foreman shook his head, grinning bitterly and rubbing his head. "It makes them common." He sighed. "The best doctors don't care about numbers, don't care about gaining praise. They care about getting their patients healthy." He frowned.

"And Wilson does that?"

"Yes, Wilson does that."

"Do most doctors?"

Foreman shook his head. "I only know one other."

He said nothing for several moments, staring at something far away, before turning back to Matt.

The boy still looked apprehensive.

"Look, Matt." Foreman shifted so he could look at the boy more easily. "I give my word that Wilson will do everything possible to help your mother and that he is the absolute best physician that this coast has to offer her. You couldn't ask for a better doctor, statistics or no."

"You swear?"

Foreman held out his hand. "I swear."

Matt took it in his own, shaking it.

Foreman grinned briefly, patting Matt on the back. "All right, now you better get back to your family. Can you find the room?"

Matt frowned. "People keep telling me that I'm smart, but no one thinks I can find the same room my mother's been in for nearly three months."

Foreman laughed. "Sorry."

Matt shrugged. "I'm a kid. It happens." He made his way to the door, stopping before he left. "Why do you want me to leave?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I never said that."

"I know. But you're trying to get rid of me. Why?"

Foreman sighed. "I have a decision to make."

"A tough one?"

The neurologist nodded.

Matt smiled. "You'll make the right choice." He turned to the door and gave a small, "Goodbye, Eric."

Foreman grinned. "Bye, Matt."

The boy walked out of the room, and the doctor was left with his thoughts.

---

"I feel like a thirteen year old."

"Oh, come on, Wilson."

He glared at her from over his sandwich. "And I get to ask you a question after?"

Cameron nodded as she took another spoonful a soup. "Promise."

He sighed.

"So let's have it! Secret talent."

Another sigh. "I play the guitar."

She grinned. "Well?"

He adopted an offended expression. "As if I could play any other way?"

She smiled. "Forgive me for questioning your ability."

He gave a satisfied nod. "Forgiven." A small frown. "As long as you don't tell House, that is."

"He doesn't know?"

Wilson shook his head vehemently. "No. I'm sure if he did I would be forced to join a band or some such thing so he could better display his skills on the piano."

Cameron laughed.

"I'm serious! He found out that Cuddy had, once, in her youth, played the harmonica and wouldn't stop harassing her for five months."

She sighed sadly. "Poor Cuddy."

"What was worse when he found out that Karl from Bookkeeping plays the kazoo."

She snorted into her soup.

"My turn now?"

She nodded while groping for a napkin.

Wilson offered her his own, which she took gratefully as he tilted his head.

"What is your middle name?"

Cameron smiled smugly. "Burroughs."

Wilson scowled. "That, Doctor Cameron, is a cop-out and you know it."

"It's my middle name!"

"It's your maiden name." He grinned. "Now fess up. House snickered for an hour straight after looking over your file when he hired you, and since he never actually reads those, I can only assume that it was your name that got him to giggle like a school-girl."

She let out a heavy sigh. "Agatha."

Wilson blinked. "Agatha?"

"Yes." She took a swing of her soda. "Agatha."

"Allison Agatha Burroughs." He tilted his head. "Did your parents dislike you?"

"Hey, at least my parents didn't curse me with the initials 'J.E.W.'" She gave his hand a sympathy pat. "Really, Wilson. Didn't they know how difficult they were making your childhood?"

"'Edward' was far better than the alternative."

Cameron smiled. "And what was that?"

"Robert."

A frown. "How is that bad?"

He blinked pointedly at her. "My name was almost Jim-Bob Willy."

She snorted again.

Wilson smirked as he handed her another napkin. "Would you like a bib?"

"Thank you, but no, Doctor Wilson." She snatched the napkin from him, suppressing a grin. "Next question."

"This continues?"

Cameron nodded enthusiastically. "You didn't think I'd content myself with one bothersome question, did you?"

"I suppose it was foolish of me…"

"Very." She eyed him intently, her gaze trailing to his chest. She looked up suddenly. "Why the pocket-protector?"

"Besides the fact that it makes me look dashingly handsome?"

She inclined her head. "Of course."

He took a bite of sandwich and swallowed quickly. "My first month working in oncology, I was assigned to the case of a little girl called Martha. She had leukemia." He frowned slightly before shaking himself. "She was six," he gave her a pointed stare, "very cute," Cameron grinned, "and had the whole department completely wrapped around her finger."

Another quick bite. "I walk into her room one day to get her for her next radiation session, knowing full-well that she's absolutely petrified of the machine and ready to soothe her into coming with me. But, when I step in, her eyes are wide and she's staring at me like I just ate her puppy." He sighed. "Pen exploded in my pocket, ink covered my lab-coat and shirt." He shook his head slightly. "I had to call in a nurse to bring her to radiation and she hid under the covers every time I came into her room after that."

"And you didn't want to let it happen again." She tilted her head, studying him. "It really bothered you that she was frightened of you." A statement, not a question.

"She was a six year old with cancer. I was her doctor and was supposed to help her, not scare her more than she already was. If wearing this," he flicked his protector, "is all that it takes to make it easier for one of my patients, then there's no reason why I shouldn't do it."

Cameron smiled at him, her eyes locking with his for a brief moment before he broke the stare, grabbing his soda.

"Plus, it makes me look dignified." He sipped at his soda loftily.

"Without a doubt." Cameron smirked. "You know where I could get one for myself?"

"Have a particular style of protector in mind? There really are a multitude of options available to you."

---

"… Allison comes home, distraught that these boys won't let her play with them because she's a girl."

"I can understand that."

House snickered, sitting in his typical chair to the right of Clara's bed. "You a member of a kiddie Kickball League, Chase? You got upset because they wouldn't let you play because you're a girl? Or just because you play like one?"

"No, on all counts," The intensivist replied, glaring at his boss from his position by the exit of the room. "But kickball is damn fun."

Sammy nodded from her seat next to him. "It's true. I remember I once-"

"Excuse me?" Clara coughed pointedly, adjusting the scarf on her head. "I'm telling a story here."

Sammy sighed. "Yes, Clara, please forgive us. Feel free to carry on."

"Sorry," Chase added sheepishly.

House looked at the two and then glanced back at Clara. "I'm not sorry."

The older woman rolled her eyes and continued with her story. "So Allison tells Joan, her mother, what happened. Now, Joan was the kindest woman I have ever known-"

"That must be where Cameron gets that annoying kindness from," Wilson said from the chair positioned next to House, smiling at the diagnostician.

"It would make sense." House nodded at his friend. "Mother's fluffy center is a genetic thing, transferring over to the next generation."

Wilson smirked, shaking his head.

House turned to Clara. "We must know," he stared at her intently, "was Cameron's mother a stuffed-animal?"

Clara ignored him, turning to the rest of her audience. "Joan, as I was saying, decided that the only way to teach these boys a lesson was to prove them wrong." She laughed. "Poor Joan. Her plan was to put her daughter's hair under a cap before she went back to the diamond, but Allison wouldn't have it."

Foreman let out a small chuckle from where he was standing by the window. "She wanted to cut it?" At Clara's confused nod Foreman asked again. "Cameron wanted to cut her hair?"

At another nod Foreman laughed into his hand.

Matt looked up at the neurologist from his mother's bed, which he was sitting on. "What is it?"

Foreman shook his head. "I've tried to convince her to cut it for months now, just because it's so long that it can get in the way during procedures."

Mark laughed from the corner of the room, the only space large enough to fit him in the crammed room. "I take it that she's refused?"

Foreman nodded while House did the same, the older doctor grumbling, "I even offered her substantial monetary bribes. No dice."

Mark grinned. "She's stubborn."

House groaned. "Yeah."

"Anyway," Clara shot a glare around the room, encouraging silence. "Al pestered Joan until she agreed to it."

House shuddered and let out a small, pained, moan.

Everyone in the room gave him a collective stare.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Just got an image of Cameron gone butch in my head." Another shudder. "Not a pleasant picture."

Clara took no notice of him. "Joan found me and together we began the, very long, process of cutting all of my younger sister's hair."

"Jimmy." House leaned towards the oncologist. "Is she ignoring me?"

Wilson smirked. "I think she is." He gave a small thumbs up to Clara. "She's a very smart woman, after all."

House pouted. "You're a horrible best bud."

The oncologist shrugged. "I'll try to move on past the pain."

Clara gave another cough. "In a few hours Allison was out of the house with a bowl cut, demanding that everyone call her 'Al'."

"And thus, the name was born," House said, yawning. "Great story. Perfect way to waste away precious minutes of my life."

"You didn't have to stay," Sammy pointed out.

Foreman smirked, arms crossed over chest. "Probably would have been better if you didn't."

Matt smiled at House and shrugged. "I thought you were funny."

House nodded at the boy. "You're a smart kid."

"That's what they keep saying," Matt said as he looked towards the door, his face breaking out into a huge smile. "Aunt Al!"

Everyone turned to the door to see Cameron staring in, a mildly confused look passing across her features. "Hi, Matt." She glanced around the room, eyebrow raised. "Hi everyone." She sighed helplessly. "Why are you all here?

Wilson grinned from his seat. "Clara promised me the first day she came in that she would tell me how you got your nick-name."

Cameron sighed. "Of course she did." She sent her sister a glare and then turned it to everyone else. "And the rest of you?"

Mark held out his arms in the classic 'I mean no harm' gesture. "I'm just visiting my wife during my lunch break."

Matt grinned. "It's Saturday and I have no school. Sammy took me here to talk to Mom."

Sammy nodded and then pointed to Chase, who had a 'deer caught in the headlights' look about him. "I made him come."

Cameron grinned and then stared pointedly at her other coworker.

Foreman smiled from across the room. "I was dropping off Matt from the lab."

There was a silence in which everyone turned to House.

He looked up at everyone and shrugged. "I was bored."

Clara beckoned her sister in with a small gesture. "Come on, I'm at the best part."

"You mean the part where I kick those boys' butts?"

"That's the one."

Cameron smiled and stepped into the room, walking past the mass of people and stopping at Wilson's chair, sitting on the arm of it and smiling down at him. "Can't miss that."

Wilson shook his head solemnly. "Most definitely not."

---

"So you're a shrink."

"Yep."

House tilted his head at the woman on the bed. "For how long?"

Clara absently scratched at the skin around her intravenous catheter. "About thirteen years."

"Doesn't seem like a long time."

"It's not."

"And yet you still get far too much money for prying into the personal affairs of others."

"That I do. Like I said, I'm good." She shot him a quick glare before looking again at the show currently being played. "Now quiet. Haven't seen this episode, unlike some people. Too busy having cancer to catch it every afternoon."

House grumbled and turned back to the television.

A minute later and he glanced at the woman again. "Have you ever helped Cameron?"

Clara blinked. "Never. When she was learning how to walk I just laughed when she fell. Much more amusing than aiding her in standing back up."

"You gave her those books on soft-positional bargaining two years ago, didn't you?"

"Yep." She gave him her full attention and smirked. "Cause problems for you boys?"

He sent her a betrayed look. "Why would you do that to us?"

The grin widened. "Well if you wouldn't have discredited her opinions at every turn she wouldn't have mentioned it to me. Then you never would have been tortured." She smiled sweetly. "Your fault, not mine."

"What about Freud?"

Another blink. "What about him? Besides being a revolutionary in modern psychology, of course."

"You fed Cameron theories from him."

"And then she fed them to you?" He glared and she simply continued to smile. "Not surprised. What did she say?"

"Nothing important, or valid."

"Sure she didn't." Clara looked down at her blanket and picked at the hem. "I bet that she used some quote or another to prove that you like her."

"You two are like teenage girls during prom season, aren't you?" Clara raised a brow. "Does she tell you all of the juicy details of her life?"

"What?" She looked mildly insulted. "Didn't think I've deduced it just from my observations of you for the past month?"

House gave her a bland stare. "You're a shrink. That does not give you the ability to read minds or sense the occurrences of the past. She told you."

Clara scowled. "She doesn't tell me everything." A slight pause as she picked at the blanket again. "She does tell me most of it, though."

He smiled smugly. "Ha."

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, it's my job. I'm the comforting older sister; I'm supposed to listen, be sympathetic and offer advice." She blinked at him pointedly. "And since you seem to be the source of the most grief in Al's life, I hear about you often."

"I'm almost proud of that."

Clara glared again.

"So does that mean that you're the one who convinced her that I like her?" House sent her a weary look. "Because if so, I think we need to have a chat."

"I didn't tell her that you like her. I told her to leave you alone."

House smirked. "She obviously ignored you." He paused briefly and looked up at the screen, not turning to her as he gave a short, "I'm surprised."

"Why?" Clara gave him a baffled stare. "Al does have a mind of her own, a fact that she reminds me of repeatedly."

He snorted. "It would be more than a little difficult to be caught off guard by that piece of information. Cameron, sadly, doesn't come with a mute button. She makes all of her opinions known. Vocally and often."

She smiled fondly. "That's my girl." A frown. "Then why are you so shocked?"

"Because you didn't do something foolishly sentimental and tell her to," he gazed earnestly in her direction, "follow her heart."

Her eyes rolled once more. "Yes, well. I do have her well-being in mind."

"Think I'll hurt her again? Get out the whips and chains and do something too kinky for her to handle?"

"No." She gave him a long appraising look, reluctant to speak. "I just don't think you'll let yourself love her."

"Are you kidding? Didn't you know about my mushy center? I may seem harsh, cold and utterly uninterested in her, but that's all a front." He nodded energetically. "She has to dig to find the love that I've suppressed."

"I would tell her as much, but I don't think anything can penetrate that sarcasm." Clara was doing her best to hold in a grin. "The shovel would break."

House shrugged. "Her loss. I'm quite a man. The limp and cane just add to the sexy."

"So you think it's the fact that you're the epitome of male perfection is what made her like you?"

"No. Although that would at least make sense. I mean, I am a dish."

"Well obviously." She smirked. "So then why is she interested in you?"

"She's not interested in me," House answered quickly, turning back to the television. "It's an infatuation, a crush. She sees suffering," he gestured to his leg as he reached for a Skittles bag on the bedside table, "and flocks to it faster than Wilson to his cancer kids when they start sobbing."

She stared at him with interest. "So you think she has this crush on you because of your physical suffering?"

House held up a finger. "Let's not forget my emotional torment. She feeds off that too." He pulled out a colored bit and started munching while he spoke. "She thinks she can fix me, make it better, make it so it hurts less." He searched for another candy in the bag. "And it's not just me. Can't forget cancer-hubby." He rolled his eyes at Clara and downed several more pieces. "She wants to believe she can remedy that which can't be cured. Sick, screwed up and dying people help her maintain the illusion."

Clara leaned back in her bed and considered him. "What do you know about Brian?"

House looked up with a confounded expression on his face. "Who?"

"Guess my question's answered." She grinned. "Her husband."

"He was sick. She knew, she married him and he died." He threw another handful of sweets into his mouth. "All very sad and all very stupid."

Clara glared. "Did you know about his sisters?"

"Well if I didn't know his name I'm pretty sure that I didn't pick up on the details involving his family."

She ignored his sarcasm and continued. "They were adopted from China by his parents when he was a teenager. You know how it is over there for little girls, don't you? Most families want boys, and they're only allowed one child each. Too many girl children are killed or abandoned so their parents can try again, for males."

House yawned.

"Brian learned Chinese, went to China the summer before he met Al to help smuggle some of the kids out, constantly doted on his sisters-"

"Yes yes," House interrupted. "He would have made a lovely father. Sadly, it's a bit hard to rock the kids to sleep when you're a corpse. Cameron probably should have considered that when marrying him."

Clara sighed. "You're missing the point here." She sent him an intense stare. "This kid had plans. He had a future, a purpose. He was a good person, wanted to help people, and would have had he been given the chance. But he wasn't. It was all cut short, every piece of it, because of this disease." A pause. "When Al met him he had just been diagnosed. Do you think that cancer changed who he was? That this illness was what convinced Al to like him?" She inclined her head. "Granted, she might not have married him if he wasn't sick. She does have a habit of clinging to the helpless, attempting to save them in any way she can," her gaze returned to his, forcing his eyes to lock with hers, "but those weren't the reasons why she was interested in him to begin with." Clara sighed and grinned. "And your limp, cane and oh so soft and mushy center weren't why she was interested in you."

House brought a finger to his chin. "Hmm... Haven't been rescuing any Asians lately. Did save a rat though. For some reason I don't think Steve has quite the same effect as simpering Chinese babies."

Clara shrugged. "I think rats can be cute."

"Steve thanks you."

She smiled. "You save people too, Greg. You do good things, or at least what you think is right, even if no one else agrees with you. She can appreciate that." She frowned. "Even if you are a general ass while you go about doing it."

There was silence as they both turned back to the television.

Then House spoke suddenly. "You said that she was interested in me?" He gestured to himself. "Think she's finally realized that she won't be gettin' none of this jelly?"

Clara sent him a mildly petrified look. "If that means 'has she gotten over me,' I really couldn't say. Although it doesn't seem as if she's been idealizing you quite as much as she used to." She stared at him intently, keeping her tone light. "Good thing for both of you, as you weren't the least bit interested in reciprocating her feelings."

"Right." House looked down at the Skittles he had poured out into his hand, staring at them for several quiet moments before tossing them into his mouth.

Clara observed it all with interest.

"So." House stared at her eagerly. "Why would someone voluntarily go to China?"

She sighed. "Did you miss the whole 'saving innocent children' part of that story?"

"I might have purposely overlooked it, yes."

---

Foreman stared at the computer, waiting for test results. "Do you want to get some drinks tonight?"

Chase raised an eyebrow from across the lab.

"I know, I don't usually drink-"

"You never drink, Foreman. Except on weekends when you don't have a conference to go to. It's a Thursday."

The other doctor shrugged. "I've got a lot on my mind." Foreman focused on something far away and then shook himself, turning back to his colleague. "Anyway, do you want to join?"

"Sorry, but I can't." He looked back down to his crossword and chewed on his pen.

"Oh well." Foreman stretched in his seat and let out a yawn. "Stuck drinking alone after another overly long week, then." He frowned at Chase. "Why can't you make it?"

"Already have plans."

He sent the younger man a puzzled glance. "That are more important than drinking away a week filled with House's torment?"

Chase glanced up, saw Foreman's determined expression and sighed, taking the pen out of his mouth. "Clara's starting a new form of chemo today and I'm going to hang around with Sammy until she's done with the treatment."

Foreman leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and giving Chase an intrigued look.

Chase blinked. "What?"

The older doctor let out a small laugh. "House was right. You really do care about her." He smiled. "Clara too."

Chase snorted and turned back to the crossword. "No."

Foreman smirked. "Yes. I heard about the bet. You paid for the dinner. Even you know you like her family, at the very least."

"I paid for dinner," Chase said slowly, "because I knew that it would make her happy. Generally, happy people are easier to get into bed than angry ones."

The neurologist narrowed his eyes. "I'm not buying it."

Chase sighed.

"If it's true, then why aren't you going to go out and have some drinks with me tonight? Why stick around and watch a woman get chemo?"

"Look," Chase took the pen out of his mouth and glared, leaning forward in his seat to properly scowl at Foreman. "I'm just making sure that Sammy doesn't become an emotional train-wreck on me. If and when she does, I want to know so I can bail." He picked his pen back up. "That's it."

Foreman smirked. "Normally you wouldn't even be waiting." He gave his friend an appraising glance. "This is too risky, has too much potential to turn sour." He grinned. "You care about her. You just don't want to admit it."

The neurologist shook his head, chuckling lightly as he picked up the newly printed lab results, slapping Chase on the back on his way out. "Good luck. You'll need it."

Foreman left the room and Chase stared down at his crossword for some time, finally throwing the pen onto the table and leaning back in his chair, bring his hands to his face and letting out a long sigh.

---

There was a knock on Wilson's door and he muttered a distracted, "Come in."

"Wilson?"

The oncologist looked up from the files strewn about his desk to see Cameron hesitantly stepping in from the hallway, a look of surprise passing over his features. "Cameron." He furrowed his brow. "Why are you here?"

Cameron held up her hands, showing two plastic cartons. "You missed lunch, so I thought I might bring the food to you."

"I did?" Wilson looked down at his watch and his eyes widened. "I did. By several hours."

Cameron smirked. "Six, to be exact."

Wilson looked up and grinned. "I hope you didn't wait during all of them?"

She smiled. "I like you, but not that much."

"Note to self; work on the charm factor."

Cameron laughed and handed him one of the cartons, which he took gratefully as she sat in the chair across his desk.

"Thank you." He sighed and stared at the immunologist. "I'm sorry, Cameron. I had no idea where the day went…"

Wilson put the carton down on his desk and rubbed one hand across his face, the other going to the back of his neck.

Cameron frowned. "What happened?"

Wilson sighed, removing the hand from his face but increasing the pressure on his neck. "Nothing, it's not important."

"Wilson."

He glanced up at her to see her staring at him like that again. Giving him that look that made him unable to deny her anything.

"I had to tell two of my patients that they were going to die today."

There was a small silence during which Cameron stared at her feet and Wilson stared at the box with his food in it, neither moving or speaking.

"I'm sorry."

Wilson shook his head. "Please, don't be. It's not your fault."

Cameron stared at him. "It's not yours either."

He smiled bitterly. "Easy to say, harder to believe." He sighed, looking back up at her. "They both thanked me." He laughed cynically, scratching at his neck more viciously. "I tell two hardworking people that they're going to die in less than three months, and they thank me for bearing the bad tidings." He shook his head, staring briefly at the files before him.

He let out another sigh, brining his gaze to Cameron. "I'm sorry." He kneaded the skin on his neck fiercely, determined to get rid of the persistent kink. "I'm not going to make for good company tonight, through no fault of your own." He rubbed harder still. "Thank you for your concern, and for the food and I'll be certain to be more entertaining tomorrow, but now-"

"Wilson."

His head jerked up. "Yes?"

Cameron eyed him with concern and stood up from her chair, walking around from the desk.

Wilson watched her in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I," she said as she walked behind his chair, "am preventing you from rubbing off your own skin."

"What does that mea-"

He jumped when she put her hands on his neck and did the rubbing for him.

"Calm down," she said with a grin. "I'm not going to hurt you, Boy Wonder."

Wilson felt the knot he had been trying to loosen for the past decade unravel under her fingers. He restrained himself from moaning in relief. "I would be mad at you for using that horrid nick-name, but you're currently making it increasingly difficult for me to form sentences."

"And my true motive is discovered."

Wilson let out a half chuckle, half satisfied 'hm,' as she found another knot.

Five minutes later she finished with his massage and promptly returned to her seat, opening her carton of food and munching contently on its contents.

Wilson pulled his head up from the back of the chair and gaped at her. "You have healing hands."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "Good thing too. Otherwise the whole 'doctor' thing might actually be difficult."

Wilson laughed and picked up his own container of food, considering the immunologist in front of him. "Thank you."

She looked up from her meal and smiled. "You're welcome."

There was a small silence as they located the plastic forks and situated themselves.

After he had found his fork Wilson muttered, "Just don't think this will allow me to forgive you for the 'Boy Wonder' comment."

Cameron grinned and took a bite of her own food. "Wilson?"

"Yes?"

"It's not your fault."

He sighed and took another bite of his belated lunch. "I know."

---

Sammy and Chase entered the apartment laughing, Sammy flipping on a light as they staggered in.

"I can't believe you actually said that." His chuckles died down a bit and Sammy held out a hand, Chase obediently shrugging off his jacket and handing it to her.

"I assure you, I did," she said as she made her way to the closet, hanging his coat and throwing her own in on the floor.

"If I said that, I would have been beaten to a bloody pulp."

"Displaying yet another aspect of the inferiority of the Y chromosome."

"Really, calling the bouncer's mother a hippopotamus? Sure he wouldn't let us in, but he could have hurt us, you know."

"Well it was true!" Sammy smirked as she made her way back to him, navigating around piles of art magazines, silverware and various articles of clothing. "If someone is going to hit on me while I'm out with my friend and still not let us into a club, then I have the right to insult them. Besides, if his mother wasn't a hippopotamus then his father certainly was. There's no other way a human could develop so much blubber."

Chase laughed again. "Point made."

She smiled at him. "Come over here." She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him through the room, leading him to another, smaller, area. "Be careful," she said, pointing to a bucket of paint on the floor." This is my livelihood in here, so no messing around."

Chase grinned. "Yes ma'am."

She dragged him to the corner of the room where a large desk was set up, art supplies, completed pieces and notes carefully arranged in an order that was noticeably absent from the rest of the building.

She beamed proudly. "My desk."

Chase looked from her to the heavy oak of the furniture, noting the many paint stains on the fine wood, amused. "Hello, Desk."

Sammy cocked her head and nodded, smiling fondly at her workspace. "He says, 'hi'."

Chase chuckled and looked around the room. "So this is where all the magic happens?"

She nodded enthusiastically, carefully going through some of the canvases that were leaning against the writing table. "This," she pulled out one of the paintings and set it on the wood, turning on an overhead lamp, "is what I've been working on for the past three weeks."

Chase stared at the colors, the textures and forms of the six frames in front of him, awed. "Sammy, it's-"

"Not much, I know. And it's not really art, since it's just for a children's book but..."

He smiled. "It's wonderful."

She let out a breath of air and Chase smirked. "Let me finish next time before you start defending yourself, all right?"

She grinned sheepishly. "Right." She looked at the piece and then back up at him. "You really like it?"

"Yeah," he said, tilting his head at an odd angle, still staring at the canvas. "Although, I'm not sure my opinion really counts for much when we consider the fact that I have problems drawing stick-figures. You might actually want to discredit my praise."

She smacked him lightly. "Thanks a lot for your encouragement. Really." She glared at him. "I'm overflowing with confidence now."

"Sure thing." He sent her an obnoxious smirk before glancing at the work once more. "Really Sammy, these are great." He leaned in closer to the works, taking note of the small details. "I had no idea you could actually paint."

She adopted an annoyed expression. "You sound awfully surprised about that."

Chase straightened and threw up his hands with a sigh. "I can't win."

Sammy smiled as she moved closer to him. "Nope. And if you could I would take it as a grand personal failure." She wrapped her arms comfortably around his waist, gently pulling him towards her.

Chase grinned as he was tugged into an almost-hug. "Couldn't have that."

Sammy shook her head and did her best to look stern. "No we couldn't." She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his before slowly pulling away. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Chase produced a satisfied, "Hm?"

"I didn't invite you up just to look at my artwork."

Chase's eyes widened and Sammy smiled, kissing him more firmly this time, Chase returning her attentions with equal enthusiasm.

Minutes later they paused for air and Chase brought his nose to her hair, breathing in deeply before he closed his eyes in content, leaning his forehead against hers.

Due to the proximity, Sammy didn't see the look of panic on his face as he suddenly snapped his eyes open.

"I can't do this," Chase said without warning, backing away from her. "I'm sorry." He began to turn towards the door. "I can't."

Sammy grabbed his wrist, keeping him from fleeing, looking at him earnestly. "You can."

He shook his head, almost frantically, before taking a breath. "I shouldn't." He tugged his wrist free and brought his hand to her cheek, just brushing her skin with his fingertips. "I like you too much." He smiled sadly and began to retreat once more.

She grasped his hand before he could pull away. "That doesn't have to stop you."

Chase looked at her, staring at her eyes, her hair, her swollen lips. Every perfect aspect of her coming to him in full detail. He thought of the endless days it had taken him to appreciate them all, what they had done and said, all the beauties of her expressed to him in subtle ways that he had purposefully missed.

Because she was one of the things that was far too perfect to be real.

He sighed.

"Dammit."

Sammy frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but by then Chase had erased the distance between them and was kissing her.

---

Wilson entered room 213 with a look of dread on his face.

"This is the best part, right here." Matt was sitting in front of the television, eagerly pointing to the screen as a man jumped onto a train, dodging bullets all the while.

Chase shrugged on his left, also staring. "It's all right. Not nearly as good as when they have the shoot-out though."

Matt shook his head. "That's all done by computers though. These stunts were done by actual people."

"Personally," Sammy remarked from Clara's bedside, "I don't see what's so great about these movies. They're more flare than anything else."

Mark held up a finger from Clara's right. "Aha, but its exciting flare!"

Clara rolled her eyes. "I'm with you, Sammy. No purpose but to make men pine for guns." She glanced up to see Wilson in the doorway. "Jim." She smiled and gestured towards the TV. "What do you think? Absolute brilliance or complete crap?"

"Clara, we need to talk."

She waved a hand at him. "Of course, but answer me first. What do you think?"

"You know you love them," Chase said from his chair, staring at the older doctor hopefully. "You don't want to like them, but deep down, you can't help yourself."

Matt nodded enthusiastically from his side.

Sammy groaned, standing up from her chair and walking over to Chase. "Come on, Jim. Be the exception. Prove to me that men do have decent taste." She kissed the top of Chase's head as she said it, taking away the sting.

Clara smirked. "So, Jim? Will you restore Sammy's faith in your sex?"

"Later, Clara. We need to discuss something first."

She sighed. "Yes, yes, but first-"

"Doctor Samson, I need to speak with you now, please."

The room was reduced to silence.

"Everyone out, please." Clara said, staring at Wilson, fingers clenching to her blankets.

Mark looked quickly from Wilson's steely gaze to his wife, the large man seeming to deflate. He kissed Clara quickly on the cheek before rapidly exiting the room, striding with purpose out of the confines.

Sammy took Matt by the hand and left as well, looking at her feet as she dragged the boy out of the room, Matt glancing behind him at his mother as he was pulled.

Chase was the last to leave, standing still a long time in the center of the room, saying nothing. At last he moved, not looking at Clara but giving Wilson a small squeeze on the shoulder before he left.

The sliding door closed, the blinds were drawn.

"Yes, Doctor Wilson?"

Wilson took a deep breath.