Friends
The three doctors were dispersed around House's living room munching pizza and making a serious dent in his alcohol supply. All three were on beer, though House himself was strongly considering a switch to whiskey; he'd picked up a bottle of Dalwhinnie recently and was working his way through it, though he was loath to share it with his companions whom, he was sure, wouldn't know a Dalwhinnie from a Dalmatian. Still, the sight of his two best friends chatting and laughing together caused a surge of satisfaction, and he decided to be generous. House drained his beer and made his way over to the drinks cabinet. "Whiskey?", he asked the others.
Cuddy shook her head. "I haven't drunk that stuff since college".
House recoiled. "First of all, it's not stuff, OK, it's Winter's Gold Highland single malt scotch whiskey, crafted at the highest distillery in Scotland. Second of all, you would not have been drinking this in college but rather some local pig swill. Third of all, you say that you aren't at college anymore, yet you still dress like a sophomore". He paused, then winked: "I love it".
She only smiled sweetly before heading off to the bathroom.
"Sure". Wilson didn't particularly like the drink, but he suspected that House was preparing himself for the next stage of the evening, and he wanted to show solidarity.
The conversation so far had remained relaxed and trivial. Cuddy had explained how she had dazzled the Board with her presentation regarding the new procedures introduced after the shooting, while Wilson had given a blow-by-blow account of how he had approached nurse Eriksson and then, over the course of several weeks, nearly succeeded in asking her out despite stiff opposition from doctors in other departments. But it was Cuddy's inquiry as to why House had not also attempted to make a move that caused his ambling over to the drinks cabinet. She of course knew about House's hallucination, but she wasn't aware of the depth of feeling; hadn't seen the emotional conflict play out on his face almost daily.
House returned with the drinks, handing one to Wilson before settling into his armchair. Cuddy sat back down, too. Like Wilson, she had sensed that their host was about to speak, so they waited patiently, completely used to the man's considered way of talking.
"As you both know now", House flashed Wilson a sharp glance: he still hadn't quite forgiven him for revealing the hallucination to Cuddy, "I've been struggling with thoughts about Cameron. Since I've come back to work, I've essentially been doing two jobs. The first has been saving lives like only I can. You're welcome, by the way". House looked at Cuddy, who doffed an imaginary cap in thanks but remained silent. "The second has been a bit more personal in nature. I've been conducting surveillance operations on Cameron to find out what she's actually like, and whether I like what she's like".
"Y'know, a normal person would just ask the individual straight, maybe share a conversation over coffee or something", said Cuddy.
"Huh, Cameron said the exact same thing. You women really are so obvious. No wonder guys are turning gay", replied House.
"So, Cameron found about your surveillance, did she?".
"Yep. Turns out she's much more alert than I suspected". House paused, before adding: "smarter, too".
"Why'd you say that?". Wilson this time.
"She, er…she posed me a riddle. I need to come to two realisations, she said. 'The first concerns what you think you know about me; the second concerns what you think I know about you'". House sank back into his chair, eyes on the ceiling as he recalled it.
"A riddle, no kidding. If I recall, you did the exact same thing when you confessed to me the hallucination last month".
"I know. Weird, right?".
"Not really, actually", returned Wilson.
The others looked at him in surprise as he leant back into the sofa, cradling his drink and thinking how best to explain what was, at most, simply a feeling. Since Wilson had been informed of his friend's hallucination, he had revisited the history of House and Cameron, and his own interactions with her. Over the course of the last month, Wilson had come to believe that she was actually more alike House than previously thought. One area of similarity, he was convinced of this, was that she possessed an almost Housian ability to read people. "Well, she thinks like you, House", Wilson finished.
"What do you mean?", asked Cuddy.
"It's hard to explain exactly".
"Well, marshal the powers of your intellect and give it a go, because I am incredibly sceptical", said House, folding his arms.
"Fine, but shut your trap while I bounce ideas off my colleague here", retorted the other, motioning towards the woman sitting beside him.
"Ah! You're going to do a differential diagnosis. This should be completely hilarious. Go on. Dazzle me, children".
Wilson looked at Cuddy, with whom he was sharing the sofa. "I think we'd both agree that House is a very clever man".
"'Very clever'? I'd have to lose a whole hemisphere of my brain to be just 'very clever'", snorted the man himself.
Wilson rounded on his friend. "If you don't button it, I'm going to ensure that every single reuben sandwich I buy you from now on is infused with essence of pickle. In addition, I will replace every single drop of your prized scotch whiskey with Jack Daniels".
"You wouldn't dare", whispered House uncertainly.
"Try me". Wilson set his jaw and stared at the other, who finally caved, holding up his hands in surrender. "Good. Now, as I was saying, House is pretty intelligent".
Cuddy, who had watched the brief exchange with amusement, nodded her assent. "Yes, I suppose I can agree with that assessment".
"What makes House intelligent? For me, it's how he combines a mastery of completely orthodox knowledge with a strain of the unorthodox. Let me give you a recent example. Your patient, Richard, the paralysed man in a wheelchair. All he needed in the end was a cortisol injection—very simple and completely orthodox medicine. And yet, only House would think to administer cortisol in this situation, when we all thought it was brain cancer. What we have here is our friend's genius insight", Wilson could see House gagging out of the corner of his eye, "combining with conventionality to arrive at a unique cure".
"OK, I'm following you so far", said Cuddy. "And", she continued, thinking back to the time when House had turned up at her house in the small hours sopping wet, "we can add to your picture the fact that House only had his eureka moment whilst standing in a fountain in the middle of the night. We know that he often gets his breakthroughs when doing something completely mundane like talking to you or watching TV—so this would be his streak of unorthodoxy exerting itself at opportune times".
"Wow, she just called you mundane…". House stopped when he saw Wilson's death glare.
Cuddy ignored the trash talk. "But I still don't follow how this relates to Cameron".
"Well, it's quite simple. Of his three fellows, Cameron is by far the most methodical, the most thorough, the most conventional. Cameron spots the little things far more than Chase and Foreman. In short, she has House's eye, but without the genius; she has great command of the conventional, just like sport over there, but none of the special quality".
Cuddy thought it over. "I don't know enough about her work". She looked over at their host. "Is what Wilson saying true?".
House rolled his eyes but nevertheless nodded in the affirmative. The others didn't know it, but he had observed similarly himself.
"OK, so what you're saying is that Cameron is basically House-lite?". The tone implied she was yet to be convinced.
Wilson held up his hand. "No, we don't have enough information to reach that conclusion. All we can say at the moment is that there is a degree of similarity in how they practise medicine. Let's move on. Cameron's riddle implies that House needs to assess what he thinks he knows about Cameron. Well?", said Wilson, looking over at the other, "what do you think of her?".
House had been listening to the conversation with increasing interest and, to be sure, a degree of unease. Wilson's insights had so far hit a little too close to home. He had half a mind to close up shop and eject the others from his apartment. But he didn't do this. Instead, and to his own surprise, he accepted his fate. He knew his friends were trying to help him think things through. It would be disingenuous to back out now.
And she would call you afraid. Maybe you are.
"I suppose I see Cameron as excessively kind and fuzzy. I suppose I see her as a fragile girl rather than a woman. I guess my biggest worry is that I would break her beyond repair".
Cuddy this time. "I can't speak for how Cameron is with patients, but I do know that she is much stronger than you think". She finished her beer and placed the empty bottle on the table. "A pretty good indication is simply that she seems to like you".
House hadn't revealed to them the conversation he'd had with Cameron, only the riddle she'd posed, so it was interesting that Cuddy had perceived the immunologist's feelings for him. "What do you mean by that?", he asked.
"You attract strong women, House. First there was me, in college; now one of only three female Deans in America. Then there was Stacy: high-powered lawyer, and strong enough to assume responsibility for your leg surgery. Now there's Cameron. Do you know how hard it is for attractive young female doctors to be taken seriously enough to reach the pinnacle of their profession?".
House thought back. He had a fair idea because he had said as much to Cameron early in her fellowship. She had come to him questioning his reasons for hiring her:
"You were a very good applicant. But not the best".
"I worked very hard to get where I am".
"But you didn't have to. People choose the paths that gain them the greatest rewards with the least amount of effort. That's a law of nature. You defied it. That's why I hired you. You could've married rich or become a model. You could've just shown up and people would've given you stuff. Lots of stuff. But you didn't. You worked your stunning little ass off. And here we are".
At the time, House had drawn from this the conclusion that she was damaged. She was damaged. But perhaps he should have acknowledged the possibility that, in order for her even to get to his door, she also had to be strong. Determined. An intriguing thought, but not enough. More evidence was needed. "So she worked hard to get where she is. Big deal". House was intentionally flippant.
"Hmm", mused Wilson. "Now that you mention strength, Cuddy, she has changed a great deal since she's been under your tutelage, House. Remember that epidemic at the hospital that affected the new-borns? When Cameron was afraid simply to tell the truth to the parents of a baby that was likely to die? And yet now she willingly stands up for what she thinks is right—she refused to work with you on that reluctant patient. What was his name?".
"Dr. Ezra Powell", House grunted.
"Right. But then she, er", Wilson glanced at Cuddy who, taking the hint, placed her hands over her ears and started humming, "took a skin sample from him without consent to facilitate treatment".
"She did more than that. Helped him commit suicide". After a moment's pause, he added: "I'd have done the same".
Wilson flinched at this but nevertheless continued his point. "And she was trusted enough by Foreman to be his medical proxy when he nearly died earlier this year. If I recall, she decided to go ahead with his treatment over your objections, and she turned out to be correct. I think we have enough evidence to say that Cameron is strong. She may even be the strongest member of your team".
Once again, House reflected on his friend's words. There was another ingredient to add to the pot, but only he knew this—Cameron knowingly married a man dying of cancer; she fell in love with a damaged person knowing that she would have to live with the pain of his loss for the rest of her life. This was strength: willing to stare death in the face and continue living despite leaving a part of yourself behind.
And now she wants me. The king of damaged people.
"But she's too kind; too innocent", he objected.
"Oh, stop it", snapped Cuddy, who had removed her hands from her ears. "Is she any kinder than Chase or Foreman? Is she any kinder than Wilson? You're using the fact that she's a woman as a pretext. If a woman is kind, men regard her as a soft touch; if she is forceful and determined, they call her shrill; if she shows emotion, they call her fragile. Cameron is a normal human being. The sooner you realise that the better off you'll be".
House was taken aback by Cuddy's outburst, but Wilson could see that he was digesting her words. This was why he'd invited her: she offered a fresh perspective. No matter how disparaging House could be towards his boss, she was one of the few people who could get through to him.
The room was silent for a time, each lost to their own thoughts. House took a sip of whiskey. There was another aspect to his and Cameron's relationship which he hadn't thought about before now, and it was the simple fact that they seemed to reveal secrets to the other. To his knowledge, he was the only one who knew about the fact that she had married a dying man; she confessed this to him alone.
For his part, she was the only one to know (bar Wilson, of course) his troubled relationship with his father. Was this collegiality in personal pain merely a coincidence? Cameron opened up only rarely; Chase's thwarted ambitions testified to this. Indeed, House's own investigations had revealed that Cameron didn't speak to many people at all. She often ate alone and with a book. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she was as comfortable in her own company as he was in his.
Like him, she seemed to cultivate distance. There was Dr. Sebastian Charles, the self-proclaimed TB guru. He had wanted more from her, even asked her to come to Africa with him. Yet she had refused. House had asked why.
"He practically lives in Africa. There's no future".
"Or there's too much of a future. You were attracted to him because he was dying for a cause. Now he's not dying."
"Riiight. It's that simple. I put a label on him and go from there".
"Everyone does it. We are who people think we are".
Maybe Cameron's sarcastic reply was warranted after all. House had labelled Cameron as fragile, timid, as too much of a risk. But his friends seemed to think otherwise, and everything he had learnt so far suggested that he had been looking at the surface rather than at the person beneath. Cameron wasn't fragile, and she wasn't afraid. She appeared kind and caring, and she was; but it was the face she presented to the world, and it hid a more nuanced reality. And it was the prospect of uncovering the reality that caused his pulse to quicken. Cameron is interesting.
Wilson and Cuddy were both looking at him. "How's it going over there?", one of them asked.
House looked up as if he hadn't heard them. "I think…", he stopped, as if in disbelief. "…I think I've misread Cameron. I mean, there are still things to ponder, but she just might be a puzzle worth unravelling".
"Maybe you're right".
"Of course I'm right. I've just admitted that I may have had Cameron wrong. I can't be wrong about being wrong". House replied.
"How'd you figure that?", asked Cuddy.
"Because that would mean I would have been wrong twice in one day. And that's impossible".
"So, what are you going to do?", she asked.
House looked over and winked, before taking up the TV remote. "I'm going to watch an episode of General Hospital. Good chat, pals. You can go now".
Cuddy and Wilson stopped by the taxi stand and prepared to say their farewells. "What do you think?", she asked.
Wilson glanced back in the direction of House's apartment. "I think this could go very well very quickly, or very badly very quickly. Either way, it's going to happen fast, because when House decides he wants something...", he trailed off.
The other nodded in agreement. "There's something there, though, and it deserves a chance to develop, whatever it is".
"And if it comes crashing down? What if we're wrong to push this?", Wilson mused.
"We aren't pushing anything. We are simply helping House explain his feelings. It's up to them now. All we can do is be there if House needs us".
"And Cameron?".
Cuddy replied at once. "Cameron can look after herself".
"Hmm, I hope you're right. You want this one?", asked Wilson, motioning towards the vacant cab.
"You go ahead. I'm gonna walk to my mom's. It's not far and she's been bugging me to visit more often. I'm sure she'll appreciate a midnight meeting from her slightly tipsy not-quite-favourite daughter".
Wilson inclined his head and closed the car door, leaving Cuddy standing on the sidewalk. "I hope I'm right, too", she whispered, before gathering her coat more tightly around her and setting off into the late summer's night.
