Thinking of you

A.N. Happy Friday! Unfortunately, there's not much happiness for Hameron at the moment.


Cameron and Cuddy arrived back at work later that evening to a hospital transformed. The whole lobby was festooned with tinsel and in each corner large Christmas trees stood, hanging heavy with decoration. A temporary bar had been set up at the nurses' station and jolly Christmas classics emitted from the public address system.

Even Cuddy was impressed at the scene. "I had no idea Orchevsky and Fowler had gone to such lengths. Good, huh?".

"It is very pretty", admitted Cameron. Feeling absolutely no desire to dress up, she had gone for a skirt, tights, and blouse, though her hair remained loose.

"Listen, I just need to check on the night shift. Would you grab me a drink? Whatever you're having's fine".

"OK, see you in a bit", smiled Cameron weakly.

"I'll be right back".

"No worries". Cameron made her way to the bar. As she waited in the queue, her eyes ran over the whiskey bottles in their neat little racks and her mind drifted inevitably to House. Most likely he would not be here. She knew that he and Wilson were barely speaking, and even at the best of times he made a point of ignoring these gatherings, open bar or no.

"Hi there", smiled the server, an attractive young man with wavy brown hair and a tattoo of a dragon on his right forearm. "What can I get you?".

Usually she'd go for a whiskey, but the thought made her sad. "Just a couple of white wines, please, whatever there is. For my friend", she added, at his glance.

"Coming right up. I guess you're a doctor here?".

"Mmm".

"It's quite a nice place".

"It serves its purpose", she replied in as non-committal a tone as possible.

"Normally they send us to fancy business get-ups. Quite nice to have a genuine place which helps people for a change, y'know?".

Cameron disliked the successive use of 'quite nice' and made no reply, instead shrugging and scanning the room. This guy was probably just being polite, but she didn't want to run the risk of getting too friendly with strangers.

Having received her drinks, she gave a quick 'thanks' and moved off to find somewhere inconspicuous to linger while awaiting Cuddy's return. As she made her way through the crowd a few familiar faces presented themselves, but she avoided eye contact until she reached the relative sanctuary of a corner Christmas tree. Finally she took a sip of her drink—not great, not terrible.

This would be a long night.


House had managed to leave the office just as preparations for the transformation of the ground floor of the hospital were picking up pace. As was now routine, he had spent some time after the fellows' departure reading through the cases of the past week. Satisfied that things had gone according to plan, he had toyed with writing their annual evaluations. Ordinarily he avoided such paperwork like the plague, but times had changed: he simply could not afford to rest on his laurels. There was too much at stake.

Unfortunately, however, the plan to work had hit a wall. Upon locating the relevant folder on the hospital server, he saw at once the evaluations from previous years, all of which, as she had confessed recently, written by Cameron. Curiosity got the better of him, and he clicked through several at random:

On the whole, Dr. Foreman performed well this quarter, meeting most of his agreed-upon goals. We had decided that they would focus more on teamwork and facilitating the ideas of others, rather than personal attainment which, as ever, was high…

House smiled despite himself. All of it was fiction—he had never held a goal-setting meeting in his life. He clicked on another:

Dr. Chase has rebounded well from the trouble surrounding EV (House assumed this to be a reference to Vogler). It is my belief that Dr. Chase remains the most gifted of my staff, although at times he is too willing to concur with my opinions. His goal for this quarter was simple: be your own man...

The language was far too constructive to be his, and surely Cuddy must be aware of it. Still, he clicked on another:

Cameron's overly caring persona is something that needs considerable adjustment if she wishes to reach her potential. I have tried drilling into her the importance of a thick skin and a harder outlook, but still she insists on her childish 'caring til your eyes pop out' stance. At least she has a great ass...

House grinned. That was more like it. Scrolling down, he noticed that Cameron had even written one for himself. Feeling an inexplicable twinge of nervousness, he clicked on it. Unlike all the other 'reports', this one contained just a few lines:

House has been perfect this quarter, as he is every quarter, even every year. His insights have been predictably brilliant, and at times his staff eye him with wonder. There is nothing at all he needs to change. Without House, this department is nothing.

It was such a little thing, but Cameron's writing made House feel both touched and sad. Rather than getting on with his own entries, he sat there completely still. After a few moments he glanced automatically through the glass into the joint office, observing the white lab coat she draped habitually over her chair at the end of each day.

House has been perfect this quarter.

There is nothing at all he needs to change.

Without House, this department is nothing.

These thoughts rolling about in his head, he switched off the computer, gathered up his bike things, turned off the light, and left.


"It was a case of trying to prove that I was a doctor. But I didn't have my ID, so in the end I just left them to it. What can you do?". Wildermuth had approached Cameron and Cuddy and regaled them with a story, the point of which neither could figure out.

"Yeah, it's a tricky one, Larry, no denying that", smiled Cuddy.

"What about you, Dr. Cameron?", he asked.

"'What about me' what?". The immunologist had tuned out and was surprised to be addressed.

"Have you had any unfortunate doctoring moments out and about?".

"Oh. Not really, to be honest. I guess I've been pretty lucky in that sense".

"Well, there's still time, eh? Can I get you ladies another drink?".

"No thanks, Larry. I think we'd best do some mingling". Cuddy took Cameron's arm, and they both moved off with another smile at Wildermuth, who looked slightly annoyed. "Sorry about that", she muttered. "He tends to go on a bit when alcohol's involved".

"I've had worse conversations".

"Yeah?".

"Well, none come to mind…".

"Hah". Cuddy looked through the crowd and saw Oscar Townsend chatting to Foreman. "What do you think of him?", she asked, nodding in their direction.

"Townsend or Foreman?".

"Either".

"I think Foreman's a good practitioner. He's selfish, even cold, but I guess that's what you need. We're a team, but at the end of the day doctors must take responsibility for their own work, y'know?". Cameron took a sip of wine, aware that she was parroting a version of the man's own argument from earlier. "Still", she continued, "that's not to say that I necessarily approve of his methods. He's in medicine for himself".

"As House is", added Cuddy.

"True. But House at least has the skill to justify his selfishness. I don't think Foreman's as good as he thinks he is".

"Mmm. I guess you already know Foreman's angling for a promotion?".

"Not in so many words", admitted Cameron. "But he's hinted pretty strongly that he's not happy with the status quo".

"You guys are due for contract reviews in a couple of months. I'll deal with it then".

At that comment, Cameron felt a lurch in her stomach. It had taken all of her strength just to get through these last few days such that she had given absolutely no thought to the future. A conversation shared with Wilson in his apartment a while back flitted through her mind. He had asked after her intentions, in particular what she might do if House moved away or ended their relationship. At the time, Cameron had confessed herself unsure whether she could go back to being just his fellow. And now that scenario was a reality. What on earth am I going to do?

"Allison? You OK? Your eyes went all glazed there". Cuddy looked concerned.

"I'm fine: thinking about your Foreman point. You want another drink?".

"I'll go. You went last time. Same again?".

Cameron nodded, watching her companion head off to the bar. But the same thought bounced around her head: contrary to what she had told House the night of their split, the future wouldn't take care of itself. At some point, she would need to make a decision and walk her own path. At some point, to preserve her sanity, she may need to leave.


House opened the door to his apartment and threw his keys into the little bowl kept for the purpose. But rather than walk in, he lingered on the threshold, observing the scene: dark and quiet, exactly as it had been left early this morning. Shadows from passing cars loomed against the walls, casting strange shapes. Unlike many homes in New Jersey this time of year, there were no Christmas decorations, not even a small artificial tree. There had never been anyone to decorate for and, thanks to him, there still wasn't.

With a deep sigh, he finally ambled in, slinging his backpack on the couch and heading straight to the drinks cabinet. These last few days had been hard work, but now it was the weekend and Cameron-centred thoughts, hitherto pushed to the back of his mind, made themselves heard. A while ago he had thought her damaged and straightforward; but she had forced him to reconsider hasty judgements. Today, though, she was damaged. And he had caused it.

House poured himself a generous measure of whiskey and downed it in one. The familiar burn felt reassuring, if inadequate. Grabbing the bottle, he sank into the sofa, the leather creaking. Street sounds accompanied his second glass of scotch. Outside he could even hear a group of carol singers. This caused his mind to turn to the revellers who, right now, had taken over the ground floor of the hospital. He and Wilson might even have gone together were things not so icy between them. Maybe Cameron was there, too, with Foreman and Chase. Not a pleasant thought. At some point the department's resident Australian, all floppy hair, chiselled jaw, and annoying accent, would make his move. Nothing could be done about it. Life goes on.

Time for another drink.


Cameron spent some time chatting to her fellow diagnosticians. Like Cuddy, they had sensed her sombre mood and evidently had taken it upon themselves to try and lighten it. She acknowledged their efforts with as much grace as she could muster, but after the fifth or sixth sympathetic noise, the urge to be alone was overwhelming. She made an apology and started to move off.

"You OK?", asked Chase.

Why did people insist on asking such a question? "I'm just heading to the bathroom. Back in a few".

"You want another drink for your return?".

"Nah. I'll grab one later". Without waiting for a further response, she meandered through the crowd, no particular destination in mind. The whole area was completely full, and as she approached the stairwell the jolly Christmas music resounded off the walls. The earlier feeling of disengagement suddenly gave way to one of intense claustrophobia, and she took the steps upwards two at a time, trying to get as much distance as possible between herself and the party-goers.

Cameron needed to be somewhere familiar, and her feet duly took her there. Before long she was at House's office, but the door was locked and she didn't have a key. Instead, she used the one she did have to open up Diagnostics, whose adjoining door remained open. Everything was still as she entered House's inner sanctum from the conference room. The party was three floors below, and only the faintest strain of music penetrated the silence. Here, finally, she took a deep breath and relaxed a little, padding over to sit in the computer chair.

House's space was fairly tidy. The evidence from both Wilson and Cuddy's offices suggested that department heads juggled a lot of paperwork which inevitably spilled over their desks. But this head didn't do paperwork, and that which existed lived next door in a communal filing cabinet organised by Cameron. Instead, House had balls: an oversized red tennis ball, a red cricket ball, and a scuffed baseball, more beige now than white. She took up the nearest one and tossed it from hand to hand in the gloom.

She had long accepted that this office gave her a sense of comfort, and even though she and its owner were no longer together, it seemed that the feeling had not dissipated. After all, the break-up had been no one's fault, and she certainly bore him no ill-will. In fact, as she had told Cuddy earlier today, quite the opposite held true.

Despite the wave of depression which had settled over Cameron in general, here she felt a small measure of peace. Nobody knew her whereabouts, and although it was probably not good from a 'moving on' perspective, it reassured her to be close to House's things. During the day, of course, it had become necessary to try and maintain a buffer: it did neither of them any good to be close. But House was most likely at home.

Cameron closed her eyes and let herself drift off in these familiar surroundings.