There was only so much anyone could be expected to take, James decided as he listened to one of Julie's friends telling a long and not-very-coherent anecdote about a camping trip. It wasn't that he didn't like Julie's friends--though even in his head that sounded a little defensive--it was just that they had a slightly different idea of what was really interesting than some of James's did. OK, if he was going to be honest with himself, it was that he knew very well House would have found them completely boring.

But at least James, unlike House, wasn't going to announce that fact to their faces.

Instead he excused himself to the bathroom and set the alarm on his phone while he was in there. He had to endure another six minutes of the camping trip story when he got back, but then the phone went off.

James let an irritated expression cross his face as he dug the phone out of his pocket. Unlike House, Julie wouldn't see through that expression and wouldn't notice that she couldn't hear whoever was supposed to be on the other end.

"Dr. Wilson," he said, getting out of his chair again so as not to disturb the camping anecdote. He didn't want to hear it, but that didn't make it polite to interrupt more than he had to. James paused, pretending to listen, then said, "Can't you--look, Jules and I have guests." He paused again and let some worry mix with the irritation. "I see. No, it's fine. I'll be right there." He snapped the phone shut and turned to his wife, across the living room, who looked a little irritated herself.

"Hospital?" she mouthed. James nodded. She looked less irritated, which meant she was glad it hadn't been House.

"I'm sorry," he said, and spent an extra few seconds to make his way around the room to her side. He bent and kissed her. "I might be late," he said softly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Patient's meds are out of whack, he's having some strange reactions," James said. "The on call tonight's a little green and he's not handling it well." This was even half-true--Fry was a new addition to the department--but James made a mental note to compensate the man for the small slander.

Julie smiled at him, her upset melting into sympathy. "Well, don't stay too long. You've got presents to open in the morning," she murmured, with an undertone that made it perfectly clear what she meant, and James gave her a sincere smile. She was so sweet, and very sexy; it was just that her friends bored him cold. So he'd get out, and she'd have fun with her friends, and everyone would be happy.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised, and kissed her again.

On the way to House's place he stopped to pick up Chinese food.

Lisa got to the room just in time to catch him coming out of it. She made no effort to walk quietly, but he didn't seem to notice her.

"Wilson," she said, not particularly loud, and he jumped as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and whirled.

"Cuddy--Lisa--" he stammered, as if she didn't know exactly who was on the other side of that door; as if he hadn't told her what he planned to do and she hadn't approved it.

"How is he?" she asked, jerking her chin at the room to make her meaning plain. Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck the way he did when he was tired.

"Asleep, for now. We'll see how long it lasts. I put an IV in him, it'll keep him from getting dehydrated at least." He sighed again. "He's waiting for Foreman and Chase to get back with the kid's cat."

Lisa blinked at him--this was a piece of news House, naturally, hadn't bothered to share with her. "He can't bring a cat into the hospital," she said, trying to be calm.

"The cat's dead," Wilson expanded. "Foreman and Chase get to dig it up, then he's going to do a necropsy."

"And he thinks the dead cat's relevant somehow?"

"Yeah," Wilson said. Lisa paused and sucked air through her teeth before she asked her next question.

"He broke his own hand, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Wilson said again. "Pain gating. I don't know what he used, but the fractures weren't complex." Lisa looked him over carefully and half a rueful smile quirked her lips; he looked just as uneasy and guilty as she felt.

"I'm not even going to ask whether you think this whole thing was a bad idea," she said.

"My bad idea," Wilson said, a grim tone edging his voice.

"Yeah, well, I'm the one letting him work," she said.

Wilson winced and said, "He's not doing a bad job of it, all things considered."

Lisa gave him an incredulous look. "Yeah, he's only almost killed the kid, trashed his liver, and nearly lost him the sight in one eye." She paused, and Wilson hiked one eyebrow at her. "Which is par for the course on one of his cases," she conceded after a moment. She rubbed her forehead and said softly, "He came into my office to yell at me this afternoon." Wilson just looked the question at her--she was getting way too good at reading his facial expressions, his and House's both--and she pulled the little bottle out of her lab coat pocket, handing it over. Wilson read the label and his eyebrows rose, threatening to merge with his hairline.

"I wouldn't have thought Foreman had it in him," he said.

"House thought I put him up to it," she said.

"Did you?" Wilson asked. She narrowed her eyes at him and he shrugged. "I didn't think so, but... They're...?"

"All there," she confirmed. "I counted twice. One...I think he took one and then made himself bring it back up. But it didn't dissolve, didn't get into his system, if so. It was just a little blurry at the edges."

Wilson leaned against the glass wall, blowing out his cheeks. "Oh boy."

"What now?" Lisa asked. Not that she intended to let Wilson make all the plans for the next little while, but she needed to hear what he had in mind before she decided if anything needed to be changed.

"Now, I let him sleep until the cat shows up," Wilson said. "I'll take him down to the morgue and let him do his necropsy. If I can get him back to sleep after, I will, but I doubt it--at least, if he finds anything, and we better hope he does. Because if not, all we'll have done is buy the kid a few more days till this liver goes too." This sounded as sensible as anything, so Lisa just nodded.

"I'll check and make sure he's still asleep," Wilson said after a moment, and Lisa smiled gratefully at him. She wanted to look in on House, but it wouldn't do to let him know she knew what Wilson was up to. "Don't tell him I was here," she said, and Wilson nodded, pushed himself off the wall, and turned back to slide the door open a few inches.

The trip home was long and not particularly relaxing; House had to ask Cameron to drive because his leg wasn't up to managing the pedals. The rally, though vastly entertaining, had involved a whole lot of walking and standing, and though House was in a good mood and didn't really care that he hurt, he still didn't want to run off the road or into a tree if the leg decided to spasm. So he leaned his seat back, plugged in his iPod, and let Cameron drive.

The car was really too dark to get in any quality staring (the whole thing about being like a nice piece of art hadn't been a complete smokescreen), but House gave it the old college try. Cameron didn't seem to mind; in fact she startled him considerably by singing along with some of his music. Not anything truly obscure, but still--who'd have thought that Allison Cameron, Princess of the Pretty People, would be familiar with King Crimson? And it was the greatest hits collection (if Crimson could be said to have any "hits"), which meant she knew more than one of their albums.

When the intro to the song started playing, House didn't need a lot of light to see her shoulders tense. He frowned, then registered that it was the pulse-and-synthesizer of "Heartbeat", which made a whole lot of sense. He hit the Next button on the iPod without looking.

"Thanks," Cameron said, sounding a little strangled. "I didn't know the track order for this album."

House fiddled with his gadget for a second, debating, but the need to know was just too strong. "Lemme guess. That was your song." He realized with some surprise that the question didn't sound particularly sardonic.

There was a pause long enough that he was pretty sure that, A, he was right and B, she wasn't going to answer. But then she said, "Yeah. He was a big fan. The last...right before he got too sick to go out anymore, we went to one of their concerts."

"It's a good song," House said. Which sounded entirely too sincere, so he added, "If you like sappy."

"Yeah," Cameron said, her face calm as a statue's. "Can you back up?"

He narrowed his eyes at her profile. After a second she said, "I'm not going to cry, if that's what you're worried about." House shrugged and did as she asked, since he actually did like the song (not that he ever would have admitted it out loud). Adrian Belew's voice filled the car, I need to feel your heartbeat so close it feels like mine, and House watched Cameron's face as the lights from oncoming traffic slipped over it like water over marble.

When the waiter came Allison ordered ravioli--something fatty and filling so she'd have an excuse to skip dessert. This had suddenly turned into a meal she didn't really want to extend with coffee and sweets.

She managed to hold out until their salads arrived before the silence got to be too much for her. "So," she said, aware that her tone was a little bit brittle, "what wines do you like?" She speared a tomato slice with unnecessary force and took her time about bringing it to her mouth, but when she finally looked up House was still staring at her.

"I'm not really a wine kinda guy," he said at last. "But I really hated the second Charlie's Angels movie."

"Me too," she said.

"You actually watched it?" House asked and he was doing that thing--that thing that said he was revising his opinion of her, which was bad, because it was one of the things he did that fascinated her. So she deflected it.

"My little brother made me watch them both," Allison said, rolling her eyes to show her opinion of brothers and their tastes in movies.

"Oh."

They got through the rest of the meal on stilted film criticism (Allison went out of her way to praise When Harry Met Sally..., just to watch House's wince) and a quick side trip into favorite music (She almost forgot herself and smiled when he mentioned "Title of the Song" in dismissing her presumed teenage musical tastes, but quashed it in time). House waved aside her offer to leave the tip and helped her into her coat, and opened the car door for her. They drove back to her apartment in silence, which Allison managed to resist breaking, and he walked her to the base of her building's stairs. She was pretty sure he'd have forced himself up to the front door as well, but she turned and smiled brightly before he could start up.

"Well, thank you for a lovely evening," she said.

There was a long pause, and then House said, "This is why I say everybody lies. That wasn't a lovely evening." He was tapping his cane on the pavement, which meant he was either puzzled or uncomfortable; Allison hoped desperately (if a little guiltily) for uncomfortable, because if he was puzzled she'd never get rid of him.

She took a deep breath and said, "No, it wasn't. But that's what you say when you're dropped off after a date." She shrugged. "Unlike some, I have manners."

House moved in a half-step closer and looked almost down his nose at her. "Do those manners include a goodnight kiss for the man who bought you dinner?" he asked, with a half-hearted leer.

"Yes," Allison said, and felt a bit of satisfaction when his eyes widened slightly. "But you wouldn't want to encourage me, would you, House?" She held his gaze until he looked away. "Goodnight, House," she said, and turned to start up the steps. She was putting her key in the lock when she heard him say, "Goodnight, Cameron." Allison didn't pause and didn't look back, but when she got to her apartment she couldn't resist looking out the window. His car was gone.

Allison went into the bathroom to wash her makeup off and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were a little red.