Attila the Hun
A.N. My family and friends know I write this story, and when my mum asked after it, I told her that House and Cameron were broken up and feeling pretty bad about it. Her response: "Make House happy and with a tribe of kids. No time for angst then"!
House was dozing in front of the television when a knock at his front door jolted him awake. Although he briefly toyed with the idea of ignoring it, the thought that it might be Cameron shimmered through his mind. There was no evidence at all for this theory (she hadn't been here in over a month), but it arose regardless—a little tinge of excitement to brighten up a drab evening. When he put his eye to the peephole, though, a sigh followed. Wilson. Cuddy had forced them to patch up their differences, but things had been, and were still, strained.
"House", he called, "I know you're there. I can hear your ego flexing".
"I've got company!".
"Yeah. Me".
"I, uh, don't have pants on!".
"Horrifying. Now open up".
"Ugh, fine". House swung open the door and the other ambled in, balancing pizza boxes and beer. "Oh, right…it's Wednesday".
"I figured we'd restart our tradition". Wilson cleared a space on the coffee table to set down the pizza, cracked open a beer, and offered the bottle to House, who looked at it pointedly. "You giving up the booze, or…?".
"No Mathilde tonight? Surprised you guys aren't married yet the length of time you spend there".
The oncologist ignored this comment and threw back the lid of the first box. "Have some. Not a vegetable in sight".
House scowled but did finally sink into the sofa and start munching on a huge slice. "If you think bribing me with food is gonna make things magically better…".
"I know it won't", he admitted. "But I still wanna be your friend".
"Friends don't betray each other".
"I'm sorry for everything that's happened. I was just trying to keep things contained. Obviously, in hindsight I should have come to you with my concerns straightaway. But…I was just trying to do right by you".
House stopped chewing, thinking over this last phrase: he had used it himself of Cameron recently. Had he not also kept things from her with the justification that it was a case of protecting someone he cared about? The conversation with her father may not have been the proximate cause of their split, but it had certainly added to the pot. And she never knew. "So you accept you messed up?", he asked.
"I accept I should've handled it differently, handled it better. And I really am sorry it didn't work out with Cameron".
House grimaced but at length extended a pizza slice to his friend. "Sit down then, you meddling bastard".
"That's Doctor meddling bastard", replied Wilson, acknowledging the peace offering and dropping into the creaking leather of the couch.
"Y'know", announced the nephrologist through a mouthful, "one of these days I'm gonna sabotage your relationship with Mathilde as a way of getting even".
"Yeah?".
"Yeah".
"That's not very nice".
"If I can't be with the woman I love then neither can you".
"I'm not convinced that's how it works. Anyway, I don't love Mathilde".
House had been busy shovelling slices from the second box onto his plate and slathering them in garlic mayonnaise, but he looked up in surprise. "Since when?".
"It's still early days. We've only been going out a couple of months. The last thing I need is to rush headlong into another relationship, think it's picture perfect, and before I know it I'm married again".
"And divorced again", added House.
The pair lapsed into silence, eating and drinking. Wilson took the opportunity to glance around the place which, even at the best of times, harboured clutter. Last year, after the implosion of his most recent marriage, Wilson had spent a few nights on this very couch, and during that stay he had enlisted a cleaner to help with the additional housework. This apartment had seen better days: there were empty tumblers and glasses, a few dirty plates, even an ashtray in which a couple of cigars nestled.
"Don't", murmured House.
"I didn't say anything".
"No, but I could hear you caring. It's bohemian squalor. All the chicks dig it".
"Have you had many chicks round?", he asked conversationally.
"Other than your mom? No".
Wilson briefly wondered whether this denial covered hookers, but the thought created a glimmer of guilt. It wasn't his business. "I hear Cameron got her article accepted at AJM. Kinda great".
"That happened a few weeks back".
"Maybe it's escaped your notice, but we haven't really hung out at all recently".
House grunted, but didn't say anything for a moment, rotating the beer bottle in his hands. When he did speak, his voice was subdued. "Chase made a move on her yesterday".
"He confessed his feelings straight out?". Wilson could recall Chase coming to see him one Friday evening last year, asking whether House and Cameron were together. The inquiry, which he immediately revealed to House, had initiated a crisis of confidence for his friend, who had ridden off into the sunset for a couple of days.
"Not in so many words. Left a, a sort of love letter". The words were strangely wistful, and Wilson couldn't discern why.
"Cameron shot him down, I assume?".
"Dunno. Not seen much of the minions today. Anyway, why do you say that? He's a handsome dude. No reason for her to reject him". The nephrologist, for a reason he didn't really understand, left out how Cameron tossed the note into the trash.
"Attraction isn't just physical. You of all people should appreciate that".
House munched through a hunk of garlic bread. "You saying I'm ugly?".
"I'm saying some women—and I would put Cameron, and Stacy, actually, in this category—value intellect over looks".
"Chase is smart; probably the most naturally gifted of the three". Cameron herself had observed this in her faux 'progress reports'. Again, he kept this to himself.
"Well, sure, but there's smart and there's smart. You belong in the latter group".
"Here we go", snorted the other, "first attempt was to sugar me up with pizza. Now it's through compliments. You ought'a know by now that it's a hopeless strategy".
Wilson could only smile. "I speak the truth only. How are you going to deal with Chase?".
"By doing nothing. I've screwed Cameron over enough…got no right to stick my oar in now. If they end up together, they end up together".
"That's…depressing". Wilson had just thought about when Chase came to his office. The memory emerged again, this time focusing on the depth of feeling the intensivist admitted he held for his colleague. Still, both of them in a relationship just felt weird.
"Yeah, well, life isn't all strawberries and cream. I'm in this situation because of myself, and the sooner Cameron gets back on track with someone who values her, the better for everyone".
"It almost sounds like you want them to get together".
"What I want…is for her to be happy", he sighed, ruffling his hair in a manner which, in any other person, would seem affected. But the oncologist knew his friend to be involved in a deeply private reflection and kept quiet. "In any case", continued House eventually, setting his plate on the coffee table and reaching for the remote, "that's enough personal crap. Let's watch a film. Any preference?".
"Nope. Go ahead. Did I mention that Wendy called last week? I got the apartment".
House glanced across. "Which one was Wendy again?".
"The realtor? Thought we were a gay couple?".
"Hmm…".
"Big tits?".
"Ohh, yes. Did you tap that or nah?".
"Negative. Mathilde would not have approved".
"She's got you well trained, hey?".
"In fairness, cheating is a universal no-no".
"Not to the mafia. Every 'made man' has a comare".
"Speaking of, what did you end up doing with the sports car? The red one gifted by the Arnello brothers?". Last year, House's team had treated a mafioso who had collapsed the night before he was due to enter witness protection. After a lengthy diagnostic process, Chase being punched in the face, and Vogler forcing House into a white doctor's coat for completely stupid reasons, House had cured the guy and received a 1965 Corvette from the grateful family. And who said crime didn't pay?
"Bombed around town in it for a few weeks, but then the engine busted and forking out thousands of bucks for a service didn't really appeal. So I sold it off and invested the proceeds to grow my diverse personnel and chemical research portfolio".
"Hookers and Vicodin?", asked Wilson, not even bothering to look away from his pizza.
"What, right now? I mean, if you really want-".
"-yes, no, very good", interrupted the oncologist shortly. "TV, then?".
"Good shout", nodded House, flicking to his Apple subscription. The pair of friends settled down for a viewing session, as they had done countless times before.
Just as House and Wilson were getting into The Sopranos, Cameron was curled up on her sofa reading a book. Having finished the previous one on the first Christian Roman emperor Constantine the Great, she had progressed to another which covered Attila the Hun. What had begun as a mild interest stimulated by House's Egyptian story last year had now become something of a preoccupation. As she had long since observed, this particular hobby required complete attention and thus kept her mind busy.
Cameron took a sip of hot chocolate and was about to start the next chapter when her phone vibrated on the coffee table. With a little flash of adrenaline, she imagined it to be House:
We've made a mistake. I want to get back together.
I miss you.
Are you OK?
Instead of that familiar name, however, Chase's appeared, and she sighed. It had been a struggle today to avoid being alone with her colleague whom, she sensed, was looking for clues. Though she had considered confronting him about the note, in the end it seemed better to try and ignore it. This wasn't a long-term solution to the problem, but she just didn't fancy dealing with the potential drama.
Hey, sorry to bother you at home, but you did an internship at the Mayo, right?, it read.
After briefly considering whether to ignore this and keep reading, Cameron told herself to stop being grumpy. Yeah, she replied. Nothing wrong with one-word answers, though.
Have you seen the latest issue of American Medic?
The immunologist rolled her eyes, already annoyed at these questions. Nope.
The next message was a link captioned 'shit's going down' and she opened it with only mild interest. Apparently, some senior members of staff were facing claims of sexual harassment and they had been put on gardening leave until the completion of an investigation. Not great, obviously, but also not clear why this needed bringing up after hours. Instead of replying she read the article and got back to her book.
But barely had the page been turned and the phone buzzed again. Did you know these guys?
No. Look, no offence, but I'm kinda busy…
Ah, sorry. I'll leave you be.
Cameron sighed again. He didn't mean any harm. No, don't worry. Thanks for letting me know about Mayo stuff. I haven't thought about it for a while.
Well, looks like they're acting quickly at least.
Yes, thankfully.
I think it's really bad the shit you guys have to put up with. Just sayin'.
Presumably 'you guys' referred to all women. Yep. Not ideal. Anyway, I'm gonna go for a run.
OK, have fun, see you tomorrow :)
With that, the immunologist threw her phone on the sofa and tried to resume reading. Chase had never texted her out of hours before. Hopefully this exchange wasn't a harbinger of things to come. Maybe she should follow House's example and keep her phone use to a minimum. Dammit. Here we go again. Stop thinking about him.
A fresh page beckoned. Attila the Hun. The Scourge of God. Interesting. Think about that instead.
House was similar to Attila the Hun in many respects: widely despised, distrusted, a man who upset the status quo. Except he was also funny, endearingly mischievous and, to her, loveable.
On the spur of the moment, Cameron picked up her phone again and swiped through to her photos. Sorry, Attila. Before long she landed on her favourite: the snap of them smiling together in the Chinese restaurant in London. This man may be a Hun to everyone else, but not to her.
And yet, such musings were not helpful. Their time had passed.
For a minute or two, she toyed with deleting this picture, consigning it to mere human memory. But it was too hard. So instead she did the next best thing, went to her landing screen, and reset the background from that to an image of her niece and nephew.
Step one complete.
A long time ago, while preparing to go to House in his office following their conflict resolution in the lab, Cameron had thought through possible scenarios. One of these covered rejection:
I love diagnostics, but I want that man in my future more. If he rejects me, at least the article will help with career progression…
The article, which back then was still in gestation, now stood to be published in a quality journal. Leaving the hospital at this stage felt impossibly difficult, but she could still explore her options. In any case, it was time to take a leaf out of Attila's book. It was time to take back control.
Cameron logged into the staff portal and, before her nerve could fail, began to compose an email to Cuddy.
Subject: Transfer request.
