AN: As always, thanks to my beta, ataraves. She's worth more than her weight in gold.

For Better, For Worse

Ray asked all about Don's mother when he dropped off Greg. Amazingly, Cameron held herself together and thanked the HIPAA gods she had a legal reason to avoid discussing the details of a patient's diagnosis and treatment. Ray had learned many years ago not to ask medical details when he had an idea of who the patient might be.

She simply told Ray "I figured it out and Don's mother is starting treatment. The outlook's good. Don drove me back to Chicago Friday and headed back home after we ate." That part was mostly true and therefore an easy story to tell.

If Ray didn't buy her story, he didn't give any indication, so she changed the subject to their son. "So, you still have Greg for Christmas, in exchange for me having him the full week for New Years?" She asks, confirming the request he'd made of her.

"Yeah," Ray answered as he passed off Greg to her. "Thanks again for working that out for me. I just wanted to have him for the first Christmas at the new house. You still planning on spending some time with your folks?"

She nodded as she kissed the smiling boy, who now clung to her happily. "Yeah. Three days. Then Greg and I are going to enjoy a little stay-cation and play with the toys Santa brings him at Mommy's place. Right, little man?"

Greg nodded an enthusiastic 'yes' and they bid Ray goodbye. Maybe today she'd put up her tree, she thought happily as she carried her son up to her apartment.

As the day passed, Cameron tried in vain to keep her mind from dwelling on the week she'd spent with House. It was an impossible task. Maybe it was her paranoia setting in, but every time she looked at little Greg playing happily with the various ornaments she'd unboxed and scattered on the couch, her mind would begin to question if this would be her last Christmas with the boy. Well, technically she didn't even have this Christmas with him. His father's offer of a full week with him in exchange for the two-day holiday had been far too appealing. Although, she suspected with his new house and his new woman, her days with Greg may well be numbered.

There was a part of her that still believed the man she once thought well enough of to marry would not fully take a son from his mother. Two years ago she never would have believed she would be relegated to one day a week with him either. House's offer to run away with him caused a smile to tug at her lips. She imagined Greg in his arms, calling him Dad. Each time she did, she'd quickly curse herself for being weak minded.

She made it through the day and did her best to hide her sadness from her son. Luckily for her, he was enthralled with decorating the tree and gave thought to little else. He asked her to say prayers with him and, for once, she stood up for her beliefs and told him "Mommy doesn't pray to Jesus like Daddy. One day, when you're a little older we can talk about why."

This was not a logic a 3-year-old understands. He launched into a million and one whys and she wished she'd pretended and gotten on with her night like she normally did. She'd probably have hell to pay with Ray over it. 'But fuck him anyway,' she thought as she climbed into her cold bed alone for the first time in a week.

Alone and free of any distraction, her mind began to wander back to dangerously happy territory. She imagined herself laughing with House over silly things, like they'd done at the farmhouse, loving the side of him he'd finally shared with her. She imagined them working together again. Imagined fighting with him over some diagnosis and afterward making up while making out. She imagined him with Greg again and wondered if he really did want to settle down with her and raise her son as theirs, and perhaps make Greg a little brother or sister.

Imagining House with a kid, especially his own kid, was something that amused her greatly. She often thought that he, as with all things, would either be great with kids or a complete failure. House didn't do in-between. Truth is, she still had no clue which side he may fall on.

The way he acted as her boss had always made her believe he never wanted to deal with children. She assumed that his behavioral demons were to blame with that as much as his fear of letting people get too close to him. He always assumed he was doomed to fail at any sort of meaningful relationship, so much so that he'd sabotage the vast majority before they had the chance to become anything.

She thought about Cuddy. This made her angry. Angry at herself for being judgmental. Honestly, House drove a car into Cuddy's house with Cuddy, her guests, and Rachel inside. Fuck his logical mind knowing they'd cleared the room. He couldn't guarantee that Rachel wasn't there or that someone might not have walked right back into the room just as his car came plowing through the wall.

He was a nut job.

She got mad at House for not being able to man-up and simply hold Cuddy's hand sooner and sans drugs. She got mad at Cuddy for not being able to see how terrified House was of losing the things he took the effort to love. Of course, he would look for strength in the form of Vicodin.

She could have been, actually was, at one point, happy for them. At the time she'd first found out about their relationship, things were great for her as well. She was starting to date again, her job was going well, she felt like she was finally past all the shit. She hoped House was too.

Happiness, for both of them, seemed always to be rather short-lived.

He was likely over the ocean, but she missed him, so she rolled over and pulled the burner phone from her night table drawer. - I miss you already. Hope you're safe. - She thought about adding an "I love you" too, but it was hard enough without that.

An answer came quickly, surprising her. - Hey didn't think I'd hear from you so soon

Smiling she typed back, - I thought you'd be over the ocean

The phone buzzed quickly again. - Na, flight's tomorrow. I'm in NYC for the night.

The phone vibrated with a call as soon as she read the last text and she answered happily. "Hey"

"Hey," his voice answered back softly. Cameron found his phone voice to be incredibly sexy. In fact, if she was honest with herself, his voice might have been the first thing that she fell for when he'd called her to come in for her interview.

"I missed you this morning," she told him. Relaxing into the pillows stacked against the head of her bed.

"I thought it'd be easier," he replied sadly.

"I know. It was." A brief silence followed as neither was sure what to say. She decided to keep it simple and talked about her day. "Greg and I put up the tree today. He was pretty excited about hanging ornaments."

"His mother's son. You always did enjoy decking the office. I really thought you'd at least hang mistletoe once. To lure your boss in for a kiss."

"Yeah, well, at the time I was also trying to avoid getting stuck under it with Chase or Foreman, or Wilson for that matter."

"I'd've paid good money to see you and Cuddy under some." It bothered her that he was so nonchalant, having now been intimate with both of them, but he was House. This was him being normal. So she let it roll off and instead of getting upset, took it a step further.

"Of course you would have. But don't leave out Thirteen."

"Now you're talking. She could school you both in her mysterious sapphic ways."

"She was rather hot," Cameron teased.

"Are you trying to give me a boner?"

"It's one of my favorite things."

"So, the kid's with you tonight?"

"Yeah, he's here. He asked if you were going to have breakfast with him again. I told him you had gone back home. I think he was a little disappointed." She told him truthfully. Little Greg had taken to Don. His mother's son in more ways than his love of Christmas, she supposed.

"Kids dig me," House bragged.

Cameron laughed, "No accounting for taste."

He huffed, in a teasing manner. Then the line went quiet again for a moment. Finally, House spoke. "I have a really early flight. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Okay. I guess I'll let you go then." The disappointment was evident in her tone.

His voice became soft again. "Bye, Allison."

"Goodbye, Don." She answered just before the line went dead.

The next two weeks were a quick descent back into depression. She'd curbed her drinking with House to a reasonable amount without even thinking about it, but once she was completely alone again, her old friend Merlot began to call to her and she was more than happy to spend time with him at the bottom of the bottle.

House hadn't called her, hadn't texted. Of course, she'd also not called or texted him. It made it too hard. She wondered if his phone was even good outside the U.S. Not that she could call that an excuse. He'd skyped her before, so even if the phone wasn't international, either of them could find a way. But talking complicated the whole mess.

She threw herself into a particularly grueling case. At least that kept her mind from dwelling on the lack of sex, if not the lack of House. Of course, any case of any difficulty was a reason to think of him. She slept in her office, exhausted. Her dreams betrayed her. He was there and tore down her every theory as he tore off every shred of her clothing and took her hard over the conference room table. She woke up wet and wanting.

So much for her mind steering clear of sexual thoughts.

In her desk drawer, she found her vodka stash, took a big swig and looked up to find she was caught by Henderson. "You're tired, Dr. Cameron. Maybe the best thing for the case is for you to go home and get a good night's sleep."

He was gentle with her, but she knew he wasn't going to be put off. "I'd agree if I thought I'd sleep at home." She took another drink with little care of what he thought about it. If he was going to keep her from work, she might as well continue getting drunk.

"Why do you do this to yourself? You're at the prime of your career with this crazy cool job most doctors can only dream of. You're fucking smart and hot, most of the guys here would give their left nut to sleep with you, not to mention the looks you get from the lesbians. I don't get it. So your ex-husband's a dick? Most of them are, from what I've heard. I know the kid thing is tough, but you still get to see him every week. He's healthy and happy and if you'd wanted to be a stay at home mommy you could have been."

She nodded her head in defiant-agreement. "Yeah. I'm just plain broken. Good luck figuring out the puzzle, kid. House tried to for years and never could crack it. Pretty girls like me should have it all and shouldn't want the hard things from life. Not when we can lie on our backs and get anything we please with our pretty little girl bits."

He gave her a sad look. "You really need to put the bottle down, Dr. Cameron."

"Yeah, but I doubt that will happen tonight." She answered back and took another swig.

"Let me call you a cab home."He offered, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his white doctor's coat.

She smirked with a grunt-laugh. "What? You're not on the list of men who what to take me home and sleep with me?" Cameron wasn't sure where the hell that came from, but tonight she might consider breaking her own rule just because she wanted more reasons to crawl in a hole.

He met her eyes seriously and with a pitty she hated. "Yeah, but I'd prefer you sober and I'd prefer to not just be a stand-in for a dead guy. Either of them."

"You've been talking to Chase." Cameron eyed him shrewdly.

"We hit it off at the conference. Besides, I've never wanted people to think I'm getting ahead in my career by fucking the boss lady." He winked, trying to defuse the seriousness of the situation.

"Well, you're that much smarter than I was at your age." She starts to take another drink, but he reaches across the desk and takes the small bottle from her hand. She lets him.

"You act like you're twenty years older than me rather than seven."

"Because it feels like twenty most days." She leaned back in her chair and closes her eyes, wishing she could find contentment in what she had.

"I'm gonna call you that cab, Dr. Cameron. Go home. Get some sleep. It doesn't have to be like this. You can have work and a life. You just had a shit example from your mentor and now you don't know any other way." She wishes it were that simple.

"Alright, Obi-wan. Call the cab. If for no other reason than I can't deal with so much optimism tonight. See if you can't put your charms to better use and find the reason our patient is dying."

Once home she went straight for the burner phone. Picking it up, she headed back to her kitchen to pour a drink, typing as she walked. - I'm turning into you when you're not around

Placing the phone on the counter, she opened a cabinet and grabbed a wine glass. As she sat the glass down, the phone buzz against the counter.

That would explain the copious amount of masturbation

She let out a 'Ha!' and grabbed a dark bottle. She didn't bother reading what kind of wine it was. She didn't care. Placing it by the phone, she paused her drink preparation long enough to type a short message back.

Ass

Hey, don't shoot the messenger - came his quick reply.

She opened her utensil drawer and pulled out the corkscrew and set to work. After opening the bottle and pouring a glass, she took a very large gulp, then picked the phone up once more.

I used to be a happy and optimistic person

She grabbed the bottle, glass, and phone and migrated to the living room. As she sat, tucking her legs under her body, the phone vibrated.

You used to be under the delusion you could fix everything that isn't perfect, life's finally taught you better

She felt the weight of his words and drained the glass, filling it again and taking another smaller drink before replying.

My life is spiraling out of my control
and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it

His answer came quickly:
There are two ways you deal with things, remember?
One you can control
Leave

There he was again, suggesting she leave. She let the conversation hang there. Her mind, addled with alcohol and thoughts she shouldn't entertain.

Leaving.

But not leaving like she's done before, with some tie left to her old life. Leaving for good. Breaking all ties. No hint to anyone. Just disappear from the face of their universe and never look back. In so many ways her new life couldn't be worse than the current one.

How long could she be happy with him?

They were both a ten out of ten on the scale of fucked up. Thing is, he seemed different now. As if Wilson's death may have been the catalyst he needed to finally get himself right. But she also knew something was missing from his universe or he would have never tried to find her. He had a void he needed to be filled. As much as he pushed people away, he was terrified of being alone.

He was also sick of being hurt. They had that common too.

There was no fixing him. There was no fixing her. But maybe they could find some comfort in being broken together.

Or, a couple of years from now, one of them goes off the deep end, leaving her stuck with no one.

Well…

She could have one someone if she took Greg.

Now she was making a scenario in which she could never return. If she disappeared alone, there were no legal ramifications that she couldn't sort out with some effort, but if she stole away her son, that would be kidnapping and would result in prison time if she got caught. After which she'd likely never repair the rift and he'd be gone from her forever and hate her forever, too.

If she got caught… But if she didn't get caught… If it didn't blow up… What then?

Her drunken mind drifted back to the last time she'd had this sort of dilemma.

Before she'd left PPTH, Chase, and House behind, she'd had a dream. She'd never been one for superstition or who believed in acts of the divine, but she did believe the mind of an individual found seemingly supernatural ways to frame decisions and justify actions. We learn in our dreams. Sort out various bits of experience and information into compartments which we access later. Under certain circumstances, dreams can become visions. Still no sign of the divine, but simply one's own mind needing to sort out the input from the waking hours.

In House's visions, he saw people. Dead or alive. The various compartments of his own mind and personality used those people to thrust upon him many life-changing journeys. Cameron's dream was much the same.

It happened on a night Chase had been absent from their bed. She was rather sure she was losing him. In fact, she was beginning to see she never had him in the first place. Or rather, perhaps it was more accurate to say he had never had her. Working with House again was having its toll on her. His games — she knew he was baiting them all. She knew he stood by and did nothing when Chase murdered a patient.

In and of itself, she'd be somewhat shocked about Dibala. Chase was a good man. At first, she wanted to, hell came close to, doing the deed herself. What stopped her was Chase's voice in her head. He'd been shocked at her suggestion of it. She'd lost herself in a way she hadn't since she'd been on House's team before. Chase had grounded her; reminded her of herself. Then he'd turned around and murdered the man himself.

In the dream, she sat alone at her old desk and Tritter was trying to convince her to rat on House. "You used to be someone, who did the right thing. House has changed you. D'you think it's all been for the better?"

The next day, she put the dream off as a sign of stress. But as the days wore on Chase became more and more distant. More and more she questioned her own moral fortitude and that of the people around her. Was this the person she wanted to be? Was this the life she wanted for her newly forming family? No. She needed to start fresh.

After everything, Chase wanted to stay. She'd told him she couldn't. In the end, it was Chase who chose House over her. The irony would never be lost on any of them. She attempted to change her own mind for the sake of her marriage.

That night she dreamt it again, only this time she was standing over Chase as he falsified the records that lead to the mistreatment and death of Dabala. Tritter stood behind her and whispered the same words in her ear "You used to be someone, who did the right thing. House has changed you. D'you think it's all been for the better?"

'Tritter was a douchebag of a person, but that didn't mean he couldn't be right,' she'd thought when she woke up in a cold sweat. By the end of the work day, she'd made up her mind. She told Chase, then she told House. She'd hoped, on some level, House would have said something for a change. Taken her hand, for a change.

He didn't.

Somehow that justified it all. Looking back now, she'd give anything to tell her vision of Tritter to "Suck it."

What the hell had doing the right thing ever gotten her? Hell, how does one even define the 'right thing?' She sure as hell didn't know. She'd once thought that House did everything in his fucked up way because at the end of the day it was the right thing. Maybe he did. But again, who's defining 'right'?

What was right for her?

She didn't know. But this life sure as hell wasn't it.