Cameron tentatively approached House's bedside.
He opened one eye and stared – perhaps glared – at her.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, imagining he was hurt because she hadn't come to see him in the eight days since his seizure.
"A few words at a time," he answered.
"What's the prognosis?"
"Full recovery." Then, after a long pause, "Not fair."
Cameron moved in closer, so that her face hovered over his. She wanted to tell him but knew that there was no way she could, mostly because he was going to recover. He'd turn back into the same man, the same House, because as he himself had taught her, people don't change.
"What?" she asked when she saw a suspicious look on his face.
"Spearmint." He was referring to her breath. "Like … spearmint leaf wrapped around vomit?"
Analogical thinking. He really was going to make a full recovery.
Earlier that day, full-on morning sickness had hit Cameron for the first time. She'd been sick to her stomach for a few days because of hormones and nerves (if "nerves" could be considered a valid medical condition), but that morning, three days before Wilson was scheduled to return to work, Cameron had found herself throwing up in the fourth-floor women's restroom.
"House, I … hello, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy, House's only regular visitor, stood in the doorway behind them.
"I'm on my way out," Cameron said.
"No," House said forcefully.
"I have clinic duty in fifteen minutes."
"Liar."
Cuddy stepped inside and stood next to Cameron. "She does, House."
"What caused." He cleared his throat. "What causes. Thirty-year-old doctor. Vomiting and halitosis."
Cuddy looked at Cameron, startled, perhaps wondering why House would be so concerned about Cameron's nausea.
"Bulimia," Cuddy suggested, obviously not believing her own differential for a second.
"Wrong personality disorder." He articulated each word carefully.
"It'll be okay," Cameron told House, hoping that was all he needed.
He looked up at Cameron with worried eyes. House's eyes always betrayed so much more than he ever wanted to reveal.
Ten minutes later, Cuddy caught up with Cameron downstairs in the clinic. "I don't mean to pry, Dr. Cameron," she said, "but House wouldn't care less if you were bulimic."
"Dr. Cuddy, I have to ask you to please respect personal boundaries," Cameron said emotionlessly.
"I'm worried he'll swallow a whole bottle of Vicodin once he's had the chance to really think about what happened with Wilson."
House was undeservedly lucky, Cameron thought, to have a friend like Lisa Cuddy. She remained protective of him even after he destroyed the man he had considered his closest friend.
But, Cameron had realized – at least a year earlier – that defending and protecting House wasn't worth the trouble. even if he was, as few others understood, a fiercely ethical doctor and somehow, a man who meant well.
Admittedly (once), she loved him. She loved him but knew he was too much of a selfish ass to ever endeavor to love her back.