New chapter. Included in this is a conversation between House and Wilson. Once again, I do not own House. This is a product of my imagination.

With the blinds closed and the lights off, House was hiding in his office. One could argue he was ducking out of clinic duty---again. And he would be the first to agree. But nothing was as it appeared. Of course patient care was number one priority at PPTH---no doubt---but, if he had a choice between seeing patients all day, or getting a new high score---well that was pretty easy: games become obsolete after a few years; patients just become more annoying.

House wanted to say he was missing the coughing, whining, and complaining, except he had more important matters to attend to: his Game boy had been neglected for far too long.

Besides, he had to wait for Cameron to come to her senses. He had asked her on Wednesday; it was now Friday. He had given her space, and even went so far as not to approach her while she was on clinic duty. But he was chomping at the bit. He was a man of very little patience, and it was wearing thin.

His stomach growling brought him back to the present. Completing the level just became number one priority.

Well change that to if he had a chance to finish the level. At that moment, Wilson rushed in.

"Does Steve realise he has a rat for an owner?"

House concentrated on his game. "Cameron has the biggest mouth of anyone I know."

"Ha!" Wilson tossed a paper bag on the desk and grabbed a seat.

House glanced out of the corner of his eye. "What is that? A bribe?"

"Lunch."

"Semantics." House saved the game and opened the bag. He sniffed appreciatively. A Reuben. Boy was this his lucky week. Reaching in, he took out the sandwich, unwrapped it, and helped himself to a huge bite.

Wilson leveled his gaze at House. "Call it what you want. What do you call bribing a co-worker to care for your rat?"

Caught in the middle of chewing, House covered his mouth before replying. "Logical. Sensible. This is all for Steve."

"Really. When were you going to tell me that you went out with Cameron?"

House swallowed quickly. "The first time was against my will. I was high on vicodin."

"Then you took her to lunch." It wasn't a question. Wilson meant to catch House off guard.

"She couldn't make it, so I changed it to dinner."

"You gave her a ticket and VIP pass to Grave-Digger."

House took another bite. "They were Steve's. He can't go. Doctor says he shouldn't do anything too strenuous for a couple weeks. That includes driving, running on his wheel..."

"And Monster Trucks," Wilson concluded.

"Exactly. Since I figured you were busy that weekend, I chose someone else."

Silence prevailed for a few moments.

Wilson let out a short laugh and shook his head. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you are doing this. What are your intentions?"

House finished the last bite of his sandwich. "Hmmm, let's see. My intentions had been to... duck clinic duty, bum lunch off of you, and get a new high score on my game." House snapped his fingers. "Wait! I did duck clinic duty, you brought me lunch, and before your rudely interrupted me, I was getting a new high score."

Wilson sighed. "I meant with Cameron."

House stared unblinking into Wilson's eyes. "Nothing is happening. She is treating Steve, and this is payment for her services. It doesn't mean anything."

"This coming from the guy who says that everything has a reason?"

House balled up the garbage and tossed it into the wastebasket. "I shoot. I score. How sweet is that?" He leaned back in his chair. "I thought you wanted me to go out and have fun. I swear your exact words were 'Go out with friends. Get a pizza. Have fun.'"

Wilson jabbed a thumb at his own chest for emphasis. "I meant with me!"

House picked up a pencil and began twirling it. "How was I supposed to know?"

"I also meant for you to take it slow; not change over night and throw judgment out the window."

"Jimmy, I'm a lot of things but I'm not a mind reader."

Wilson leaned forward and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. "I can think of one thing you are right at this moment."

House's eyes narrowed. "Oooo, jealousy." He leaned forward. "Now we're getting somewhere. Did you want to go? Should I ask Cameron for the ticket back?"

"No."

"Then why are you so upset that I am taking her to a monster truck rally?"

"This isn't about monster trucks, House. I thought you didn't like Cameron."

House cocked his head thoughtfully all the while still twirling the pencil. "She's a means to an end. My rat is ill. Cameron is an immunologist who knows rats."

Wilson whistled sharply. "All shapes and sizes."

House set the pencil down and glared at his friend. "I'm hoping that this conversation has a reason because it's not very meaningful."

Wilson stood up. "Meaning is irrelevant. You want the truth, here it is: I want you to be happy House. I-I know deep down inside there is a person begging to be brought out into the world who is dying to smile, and have fun, and live! The same person I knew before the infarction. Hell, someday I hope to see you genuinely smile from pure happiness, but I don't want to see you get hurt. And you will." Wilson spread his arms wide in a helpless gesture. "You're going out with a co-worker who has worshipped the ground you walk on since the day she was hired. You've dismissed her at every turn, now all of a sudden she is good enough to take to a monster truck rally. Yet you still consider her a means to an end. I don't understand."

House examined the intricate handle design of his cane. "There is nothing to understand."

"Do you understand that I care about both of you and I don't want to see either one of you get hurt?"

"Well that won't happen unless she wears that perfume again," House muttered under his breath.

Wilson blinked. "What does perfume have to do with this?"

House stood up and shoved his chair back. "Come on. Let's go."

Caught off guard, Wilson replied carefully, "Where?"

"I'm running down to the canteen. You brought me lunch and a semi-meaningful conversation, but you forgot my drink." House walked past Wilson to the door, his cane made a thump-thump on the carpet. "By the way, you are buying...unless you want to slip me some change."

Wilson sighed in defeat. He knew the conversation was over.

Walking out the door he could only hope that Cuddy didn't find out about House ducking out of clinic duty.

Sometimes luck isn't in the draw, it's in the stars. Cuddy was out of the office trying to solicit donors, so her thoughts centered on money, not House.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, House was out the door and heading toward a weekend of freedom. Well, maybe not freedom since he was going to have to start calling around for a good veterinarian. He had underestimated Cameron. It wasn't the first time he had tried to put faith into someone and have the results crash straight down on his head.

Hopping on the bike, he decided to take the long way home and try to clear his thoughts. By the time he pulled up to the apartment, the only things on his mind was that he had forgotten to pick up dinner and his leg hurt. Unlocking the front door, he threw his back pack on the chair, grabbed the phone and dialed the restaurant from memory.

Nine o'clock found House on the couch nursing a double, listening to music, and wishing he hadn't ordered the Kung Pao Chicken and Spring Rolls.

He quietly watched Steve.

Tapeworms. You could never tell by the little guy as he munched on his trail mix and dug around in the cage. Steve had the boundless energy of ten rats. But House knew better. He had seen kids come into the ER running at full speed, the parents at their wits end trying to calm down the noise, and one minute after entering the exam room, the child collapsed with a 102 fever and a rash. Animals were no different. That was the innocent joy of running on pure adrenaline.

Then it hit him: Could Steve die? What if Steve did die? Did he care? He tried to sort his feelings.

House shook his head clear. Steve was a rat. He couldn't even be considered a real pet. He had been a whim---a means to an end to prove that Stacy was lying. And she had. About everything. Who knew that a small compact bundle of fur, teeth, and potential disease carrier would be a moral compass?

Just like Cameron.

House tried to steer his thoughts away from Cameron, but the memory of her holding Steve and tapping him on the nose flashed through his mind. A strange sensation entered his stomach.

Reaching over to the coffee table, House grabbed his vicodin bottle. Twirling the container around, he debated taking one. Or two. After opening the lid he remembered his vow of mixing drugs and alcohol. Releasing his breath, he started to pop the pills in his mouth just as the phone rang.

Glancing at the caller ID, he hit the call button and remained silent.

A small voice came over the line. "Yes." A short simple answer to a complicated question.

House remained silent.

"I have the medicine, and if it's all right with you, I'll be over at noon to start treating Steve."

"Bring lunch."

The line on the other end went dead. House listened to the dial tone for a couple seconds, then hit the end button. Placing the receiver on the coffee table, he focused his attention on Steve running on the wheel.

Looking down, he noticed he still held the two vicodin pills in his fist. Picking up the bottle, House put the pills back and replaced the lid.

Grabbing his cane, he hauled himself up and went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he emerged and changed into his pajamas.

Lying down between the sheets, with the light off, House stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

On the other side of town, Cameron placed the receiver on the charger and took her wine glass to the kitchen. Rinsing out the glass, she placed it in the drainer and turned off the light.

Heading toward the bedroom, Cameron detoured to quickly brush her teeth. A few minutes later she crawled between the sheets and turned off the reading lamp.

Lying on the bed, Cameron stared at the ceiling until she fell asleep.