Images from the night before were playing on a loop in Cameron's head as she walked into the ER at seven in the morning. A smile played on her face, a glaring contradiction to the frown between her eyebrows, but the situation was complicated.
She kissed House.
She kissed House.
She kissed House.
She kissed House.
Cameron stopped near the nurse's station, and shook herself. She didn't succeed, of course, and went right back to thinking. As she contemplated, analyzed and deduced, she reached the locker room on autopilot.
She picked out a pair of scrubs, and changed into them in preparation for her unusually late shift; she usually came in at six… not that she was complaining, but she could have come in early anyway— it's not like she slept much.
As she sutured, as she shocked, as she wrote and signed and barked orders, she still couldn't help but smile. Guilty as it made her feel, how many times had she pictured them kiss? After that fateful first time, after she told herself it was for his own good, after she almost threw herself into the bottomless pit that was Greg House, she had wondered, time and time again, how it would feel like to kiss him again.
It was good.
No it wasn't, the voice in her head quipped. It was glorious.
A smile broke out on her face and reached her faraway eyes as the clock struck ten. She told a nurse she was taking a break, and mindlessly walked to the elevators for no reason and got off at the first stop.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was walking toward House's office. Her mind was still focusing on his eyes as he told her that he didn't want to hurt her… she stopped as soon as the glass domain came into view, and spun on her heel to turn around, just in time to see Sairah chuckling at her from down the hallway.
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Sairah continued laughing, delight suddenly replacing her exhaustion.
"Do I want to know?" she asked, walking to Allison.
Allison rolled her eyes at her. Consult temporarily forgotten, Sairah shook her head.
"Lunch?" she inquired.
"Noonish," Allison replied, not breaking her stride. The two women smiled at one another and continued to walk their separate ways; Sairah to said glass domain, and Allison back toward the elevators.
The team was deep into their differential as Sairah waited outside the door, waiting for permission. Greg was alerted to her presence when Remy looked outside to find her still smiling, and smiled back. He waved her in impatiently.
"Manners are not allowed in here," he told her, before limping back to the white board.
"You know what they say," she started, smiling at Foreman and swiping the red mug from the corner of the table. "You can take the girl out of England…"
She took a swig and made a face. Oh well, she thought, it was bitter and disgusting, but it was still coffee.
Taub rolled his eyes at the scene and began briefing her in a bored voice. As soon as she heard the word "infant", she immediately put a hand up to stop the discussion.
"When was he admitted?" she asked, referring to the two-month-old baby.
"Came into the ER at six-oh-five this morning, Peterson admitted him into the NICU at seven." Foreman replied.
"Then I'll probably see him in afternoon rounds. I'll need to see him and examine him myself before I can offer any real consultation," she began, but was silenced by Greg reaching over to reclaim his mug. She made a face and continued.
"I'll be there in a bit." She looked at Greg for a split second. At Taub's irritated sigh, she added, "Ninety minutes at the most, Dr. Taub. I have to pay Neurology a visit, and discharge a patient. I promise."
"Yeah, yeah, go check him out. I'll still be here," he told her, and Sairah didn't miss the elevation of Taub's eyebrows as Greg made his way into his office.
She followed him into his office, shutting the door with her back.
"Felicitaciones," she offered, smirking wildly. Greg's eyebrows flew into his hairline as he hooked his cane on the desk and sat down.
"I don't know for what, but gracias," he said.
"Nonsense. The sooner you admit to my omniscience, the better off you are," she replied, voice as dry as the desert. She walked toward his desk, face softening as she thought of Allison. She was the first friend she made in the hospital, and it always amazed her how well they got on. She smiled, thinking of the smile around her friend's lips, and the faraway expression in her eyes. This was the closest she had seen Allison get to something resembling happiness, and she, in turn, was happy for her.
"It sounds unbelievable, but Allison is my first actual female friend. We get on like a house on fire, and her happiness means quite a bit to me," she started, leaning against the desk to face him. "So, whatever you did, high five," she said, extending her palm with a smile.
He slapped palms with her with a roll of his eyes.
"Still don't know what you're talking about," he told her, twinkling eyes betraying his words. Smiling, she got up and squeezed his shoulder.
"Whatever you say, PG."
She walked out of his office, smiling at Remy as she strode past the conference room, and at Foreman's eye roll, she wiggled her fingers at him in mocking goodbye.
The spring in her step and the general good cheer that emanated from her was more or less intact through the consult on a heavily pregnant woman with an aneurysm, the visit with Guadalupe and her children, and the official discharge of little Raquel. It promptly faded, however, as she approached her newest patient's crib.
His mother was leaning over it, stroking his head, body held at an awkward angle as she struggled to reach him without ripping her stitches. As she got closer, she was beginning to wish that she had let Taub finish briefing her.
The white bandages stood out in harsh contrast with the blue sheets on his crib, and when she approached the woman, she noticed just how much of the tiny body was covered in gauze.
"Mrs. Kostas," Sairah called out softly. The woman in question raised her head and a wave of nausea flooded Sairah's gut as she struggled to stand her ground. She took the chart from the edge and started studying it.
"You must be my Chris' new doctor," she said, crooning to the baby asleep in the white crib. "The black man told me another woman would be visiting," she whispered, as she shuffled back to the rocking chair at the foot of the bed. "You look Greek, pedi mou. Are you?"
"No," Sairah whispered, before shaking herself. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Kostas?"
"Please, child," the woman rasped, "call me Dimitra, and I'm fine. It's only been a month…" her voice faded. "I'm sorry, I'm much more charming when I'm not recovering from delivery, and my baby's not recovering from first degree burns." she finished, wan smile shifting her features.
Sairah's tightly sealed lips stretched in reply as she sucked in a fortifying breath.
"Mrs. … er, Dimitra, why don't you go to your room to get some sleep while I examine Chris," she started, before the woman's shrill voice cut her off.
"No! I'm not leaving my child alone!"
"Okay," Sairah spoke softly in an effort to soothe without moving forward. "Okay, you don't have to go anywhere. But you're going to rip your stitches in that position; at least let one of the nurses get you a cot."
The sheer amount of effort it took Sairah to convince the woman to let her examine the baby left Sairah breathless. She asked Dimitra question upon question about little Chris' condition and as she worked, sweat beaded around her unusually pale forehead.
She asked her about the fire; how the nursery and the guest room caught on fire, did she have an electrician coming to investigate the short circuit, has somebody from Plastics been by. She kept the woman talking as she unwrapped and re-wrapped the bandages. He had just stopped crying, one of the nurses informed her.
Sairah ran one gloved finger along the miniscule stretch of arm that wasn't covered and spoke softly over the sniveling, the abnormal thickness of her voice the only thing that betrayed her emotions.
"I know, love. I know it hurts."
Cold, slimy, nausea was still twisting in the pit of her stomach when she finished, told Dimitra she would be back, and all but flew out.
000
She was barely two feet out of the NICU when she collided with somebody in light green scrubs. Strong, warm hands encircled her shoulders and guided her to the nearest bench and gently pushed to sit her down.
"Are you okay?" the voice floated around her, and she shook her head.
"I need…" she started, gasping for breath, and before she could help herself, she mumbled an apology and ran for the bathroom two doors down.
It didn't require any effort at all. She stumbled into a stall, and with a heave, emptied her breakfast out into the toilet. Relief suffused her veins as the throbbing in her stomach lessened, and, she put out her hands and staggered to a sink. She washed her hands, rinsed her mouth out, and splashed some water on her face before going back outside. As soon as she saw him, she knew, it was him who had sat her down. A grimace that had started out as a smile graced her features as flattened her back against the wall and dropped her face in her hands.
"Are you okay?" he asked again.
"Fine," she replied, the response automatic. His eyes narrowed.
"No, you're not."
"It's fine. I'm fine." Her tone turned pleading.
"Sairah."
"I'm fine," she repeated, and this time, her tone had a sharp edge to it.
"I've had enough of those to recognize that for what it was," he started, and Sairah's eyes widened.
"Rob, please…really, I'm fine. Bad eggs this morning, that's all."
"There's no judgment here," he said, voice turning soft. She sagged against the wall, just in time for him to dart from his perch to the other side of the hallway...just in time to catch her.
"This never happened," she whispered hoarsely. "You weren't here." Chase's eyes softened in understanding, and he was suddenly struck by an overwhelming urge to gather her up in his arms and hold her till she was better. Blinking, he released her, and squeezed her shoulder.
"Of course."
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It was twelve fifteen before Allison finally gave up waiting and paged her lunch date, and when Sairah texted her with an apology and a request to get her lunch and come to her office, she just shrugged at the phone, and walked down the line, picking up a pannini for Sai as an afterthought.
It was when she saw Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and House walking from the opposite side of the floor that she began to think that something was wrong.
House was saying something to his team, and when he turned around, his eyes clashed with Cameron's, and he stopped walking for a second before starting up again. Cameron smiled.
"So that's why she was late," she said, advancing towards the door. "You guys done with her so the poor girl can eat in peace?"
"She was supposed to come back after examining the patient," Foreman told her. Allison shook her head.
"So? Something must have come up. Somebody must have gone into labor."
"She would have paged," Thirteen added.
House looked at the ceiling, as if toplead for strength, and sighed.
"Maybe we should stop loitering outside her office and go in and find out," he snapped, although it was clear to Cameron that it wasn't directed at her.
They pushed their way in, and House uncharacteristically stood back to let everyone pass.
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She was on the phone, facing away from them.
And by the set of her shoulders, the hand on her forehead, and her oddly thick voice, House knew that something was wrong.
"Thank you," she told whoever she was talking to, and hung up. She whirled around when Taub cleared his throat pointedly from his left.
He almost involuntarily took a step forward at the sight of her. Her hair was slightly disheveled, he suspected, by her hand running through it; she was pale, her sleeves stained with sweat, and slightly green, but completely composed.
He winced, and turned around to the team.
"Go eat," he commanded, and rolled his eyes with relief when they understood that command to be code for get out, and started filing out of the room.
"Wait," Sairah said, and his fellows stopped and turned. "She needs a psych consult. Mrs. Kostas, the mother, needs a psych consult."
His eyes widened, and he turned around to catch Foreman's eyebrows rise. He inclined his head, which prompted an eye-roll.
Something possessed him to say yes.
"Good," she announced, turning towards the phone and picking it up. "Mrs. Clarke? Yes, they're on their way. Tell Dr. Milton I owe her one." She looked directly at Foreman. "Cate will be ready for you in ten minutes."
House didn't even take time to contemplate the return of the psychiatrist; he just went to her loveseat and made himself comfortable, gesturing at Cameron to take the bigger sofa. The team stood around awkwardly, just in front of the door.
"What do you think?" he asked her.
"Forget what I think, what I don't understand is why you have this case."
Taub answered. "That's what I said. This case needs you and someone from Plastics, but the mother wanted us to check the kid over."
House didn't think it was possible, but she got paler as the blood drained from her face. She took a deep breath. "There's an 80% chance that Chris will survive the burns, and so far, so good."
She finally made eye contact with him, and she broke it to look at her desk for a second. She raised her head and met his eyes.
"I know it sounds mental," she started. "But she really needs a psych consult. Because I don't think it's just a new mother with discomfort and a newborn caught in a fire." She braced her hands on the desk and leaned forward, directing her words at him.
"She needs to be monitored at all times, there needs to be a person there all the time. Granted, I've no experience with this, but I can smell abuse from a mile away, Greg. Cate will only back me up on this, and…" Foreman cut her off.
"You think she has Munchhausen's? By proxy? No way," he declared flatly. House watched, slack-jawed, as she straightened to her full height and her voice dipped dangerously.
"That's not what I said. I said she needs a psych consult. And when you go see Dr. Milton in a few minutes, she'll see her and give you her opinion. As far as the child is concerned, the treatment he's on is fine, but he needs continuous monitoring, and someone from Plastics." She looked at Foreman. "That's my professional opinion."
House smirked, turning to Foreman. "You heard her. Get the psych consult, and get someone to monitor the sprog."
As they shuffled out, he turned back to face his goddaughter.
"You okay, kid?" She came around and sat in the armchair across from his, accepting the sandwich Cameron passed her with a wan smile.
"I'm fine." He didn't buy it one bit, but he thought it wise not to raise any objections. Instead he changed topics.
"Didn't know Milton was back," he said, studiously ignoring Cameron's raised eyebrows.
"She is," Sairah replied, toying with her pannini.
Something occurred to him.
"You said you could smell it from a mile away," he started, looking in his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin, just barely missing her startled expression. "What the hell do you know about abuse?" he asked, tone light. He looked up to see something flicker in her eyes before she attempted to smile at him.
"No." Her voice sounded dull, and carried an eerie, hollow quality to it. "No. No, you're right, I don't."
He just got the feeling he just said something very wrong, and then—
The phone rang, effectively distracting House from his thought process. Sairah went to her desk, and when she hit a button, her secretary's voice echoed in the office.
"Dear, reception says someone is here to see you," she said, and Sairah's head dropped into her hand.
"Who, Pat?"
"I couldn't hear Brenda properly, dear, I'm sorry. Ross something. Or it might have been something Ross."
"Thank you, Pat," she began, and stopped, as if she had just registered the woman's words. She jumped at the sound of House's harsh exhalation and turned towards him.
"You two need to leave."
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