Let's talk (2)

"House!", Cameron called out. But he was already gone, and she strode to the door.

"Forget it. There's no point trying to talk to him when he's angry", said Chase.

"I don't care", she snapped, leaving without a backward glance. "House!". This didn't even slow him down, and he disappeared around the corner. Passing doctors shared glances as she jogged to catch up, but when she too rounded the corner there was no sign of him.

The immunologist suspected that he had taken refuge in Wilson's office, which lay up ahead on the right. A knock on the door.

When it opened Wilson looked at her with interest. "Hey, what's up?".

"I know House is in there, OK, I just want to talk".

"Huh? Not seen House since lunch".

"I get that you're friends", she sighed, "but I'm not leaving 'til you let me in".

Instead of replying, the oncologist stepped back and opened the door wide, allowing Cameron to observe the scene. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. "What's going on?", he asked.

"I thought…I mean, you didn't hear me call from outside?".

"Had my pods in. Been catching up on paperwork. What's the matter?".

"Trying to find House. I don't understand. There's nowhere else…". Cameron looked again, but he certainly wasn't within his friend's office.

"You guys working on a case?". Wilson was completely bemused.

"Huh? No, no…I, er…". Now she stepped back out to the corridor. Thanks to maintenance on the far door, it was a dead end. House had disappeared into thin air. "I'm confused".

"That makes two of us".

"There are guys working on that door", she pointed, "so I don't understand where he went".

"Fire escape over there, maybe? But why would House head out…?". Wilson trailed off and they both looked at each other. "What the hell's going on, Allison?".

"He overheard me telling the others that I'm leaving Diagnostics". Cameron began walking off down the corridor.

"Wait!", called Wilson.

"I'm going up there to talk to him and I need to do it alone".

The oncologist ducked back into his office and jogged over holding his thick coat. "You'll need this. It's pretty chilly".


"Did you have any idea about this?", Chase asked of Foreman in the office, running a hand through his hair.

"Nope. But you know what Cameron's like: tends to keep her counsel about most things". The neurologist leant against the windowsill and observed as his colleague began a slow circuit of the room.

"It's the wrong decision, though. What's she gonna find in the ER? Car crashes, gunshot wounds, alcoholics".

"Maybe she'll find peace".

"Peace", he scoffed. "Easiest way to find peace is to move on with someone else".

"Not everyone is like you, man".

"Fuck's that supposed to mean?".

"Sex ain't always the answer is all I'm saying".

"Leave it out, mate". Chase was angry: angry that Cameron had not responded to his note on Tuesday; angry that she had rushed after House as soon as the man had walked through the door; angry that she was leaving Diagnostics; angry that he still liked her in spite of all that. Perhaps it's just not meant to be.

Instead of initiating another back and forth, Foreman went to sit down at the computer. Various papers through which Cameron had been sorting still lay strewn on the desk. Out of respect for her privacy, he gathered them up for placement in the appropriate tray. The top sheet had a coffee stain down one side and various markings in the margins—House's tell-tale scrawl crossing out words and asking for further clarification. This man was an absolute nightmare most of the time. But not with her.

And now she was going away.


Cameron took the steps up two at a time, Wilson's long brown trench coat reaching almost to the floor. Upon pushing open the door to the roof, she was struck by a blast of frigid air, and had to take a second to regather herself.

House was standing in the same spot as when they had both drunk whiskey and looked out on the world; the night Cameron had come to his office expressing jealousy and anger at Fiona's flirtation; the night he had confessed his love for her. A few months ago that felt like a lifetime. He turned slightly, though still in profile: "whose coat is that?".

"Wilson's. I thought you were hiding in his office". She moved closer but kept a respectful distance.

"Hiding", he murmured. "I'm not hiding. I'm…processing".

Cameron nodded.

"You can approach. I won't bite".

"Here", she removed the coat and held it out.

"I'm fine", he answered, eyeing her thin blouse. Black. A sad colour. "You keep it".

"As you constantly remind me, I'm a girl of the Windy City. It's not even cold".

House tilted his head, took the coat, and began rifling through its pockets. Before long, he produced a wallet. "I'll keep the cash, you keep the coat. It's a fair deal".

"Fine". Cameron duly put it back on. A few moments passed in silence before she began: "House-".

"-you don't need to explain yourself. You have all the right in the world on your side".

"I don't care about right. If the world was right, we'd still be together".

"Mmm. Can't blame the world for that…good old Gregory's fault". Bitter words.

"No one's to blame. It was just one of those things".

"It's not your job to be on my side, Cameron. Not anymore". He kept facing stubbornly forwards, jacket blowing in the wind.

"I'll always be on your side, House", she replied, regarding his face keenly.

"And yet you're leaving".

"To protect myself". This response instantly reminded Cameron of that which she had offered the night of her departure following Vogler. House had asked whether she was safeguarding Foreman by leaving, but (as was often the case back then), her boss had misread things: the reason for her resignation had in fact been boringly simple.

"But I…I don't want you to go. I want you to stay here, with me-, I mean, not with me, but…". House half-turned towards the other, and even though the light was beginning to fail, Cameron imagined she could detect the torture in his eyes.

"That's it, isn't it?", she smiled sadly. "I want to stay here, too. But I do want to be with you. I understand why that can't happen, and it's why I need to move on. It's a self-preservation issue".

"Fuck, fuck". House buried his head in his hands.

The immunologist touched his arm. "It's OK, House. Really".

"It's not OK. I'm not OK".

"Neither am I", she admitted. "But I'd like you to let me leave".

"What, you think I'd force you to remain in post?".

"The thought had crossed my mind. You're a stubborn mule, remember?".

House smiled at this observation before shivering suddenly. The January air in New Jersey took no prisoners.

"You're cold", Cameron continued, "let's go back down".

"You can if you want. I'd prefer to stay up here".

"Then we stay".

The view from the roof really was impressive, in spite of the bitter temperature. The snow had kept away for the past week, so the contours of the hospital complex were still well defined. House liked to come here to reflect. The first couple of times had concerned Stacy; the last two Cameron. There was something weirdly peaceful about this spot, how it was possible simply to observe from afar the world below.

"Right", he said, clearing his throat, but tracing the progress of an outgoing ambulance with his eyes, "I know the ER will provide an opportunity to revise core skills, but you need to make sure that you don't get bogged down in the basics".

Despite her sombre mood, Cameron smiled. "OK".

"You'll be the best one down there, so absolutely you should look to help out where you can. If nothing else, it'll help alleviate your unfortunate desire to do good".

"True", she nodded. "It's a major character flaw".

"I don't know what that idiot Porter has in mind, but maybe try and take on a mentoring role for a junior staffer. This kind of experience will be invaluable for when you head your own department".

"Got it". The immunologist could feel her heart melting at House's consideration. Just a year ago she had thought it an impossible scenario that he would care. But now, even though they were no longer together, he remained incredibly supportive.

"I've heard from Wilson that things are disgustingly rigid in the ER, so you might have to get creative".

"How does Wilson know?".

"Dunno. Mathilde, I guess. Anyway, it bears thinking about. Don't let yourself get side-tracked by needy colleagues; they're dead weight. Ultimately, you have to take care of your own thing."

"I will".

"And I know you've got your article coming out but, if you can, try and work on another one". House waved a hand in the air. "Think about all the ways you can build your profile. I mean, who knows, maybe there'll be decent research fodder down there".

"I'll…I'll try".

"The most important thing is that you stay sharp. Obviously maintain the holy triage", his voice carried an undercurrent of disdain, "but for God's sake don't let it dictate your day. Build in variety, even if you have to delegate, even if you have to ignore that retard Porter. Understand?". Throughout this conversation House had stayed facing forwards, but at her continued silence he glanced across. "Cameron?".

"I'm fine, I, I'm…". To her own mortification, the tears started to flow and she tried to rub them away with her sleeve.

"Hey, what's wrong?", he asked, slightly confused. "I'm sorry I said 'retard'. I know it's not politically-".

"-you think I'm crying because of that?", she laughed thickly. "You really are an idiot moron, Greg".

"I don't get why you're-? Anyway, my point is that I want you to derive some benefit from this phase of your practice. It doesn't have to be a complete waste of time".

This reference to her career brought back, first, how much of a momentous change was this transfer; and second, the fact that, again, House had her in mind. More tears for one, more confusion for other.

"What am I saying? I don't understand".

Cameron, meanwhile, blew roughly into a tissue, destroying it instantly. "Don't worry…", she croaked, "…it's fine, it's good".

"It's obviously not good". House didn't deal very well with displays of emotion and he tugged his ear awkwardly.

"I'll be fine in a sec…".

"I mean, shall I…? Would it be appropriate if I hugged you, maybe?".

"Yes", she coughed, "that would be acceptable".

"Are you sure? I don't want to cross any boundar-".

"-just fucking hug me, you complete imbecile".

House at once turned to the side and enveloped the other in his arms. Cameron responded immediately, sinking into the embrace and burying her face in his shoulder. The wind picked up but neither noticed. Only after forty seconds of silence did House murmur into her hair: "sorry. I think I might be on the spectrum or something".

"I hope so", she sniffed into his shirt, "because for an apparent genius that was pretty hard work".

House laughed out loud, but just as he was thinking of pulling, reluctantly, away, Cameron held tight. "I do want you to progress down there, girl", he said softly, breathing in her familiarly subtle pineapple aroma.

"I know".

"The ER is beneath your skills, but that doesn't mean you can't thrive".

"Yes".

"I'll miss you", he whispered.

"Not as much as I will you".

Delicately, House kissed the parting in her hair; then, he rubbed away with his thumb the dampness on her cheeks. Only when the woman gave a lopsided smile did he speak again: "let's move. I'm fucking freezing".


I hope you guys don't think I'm being mean with this extended angst period but, after a month and a half of unfailingly terrible cricket, England just got crushed in the Ashes. I'm using House and Cameron to channel my negative emotions! Maybe I'll destroy Chase in a few chapters' time as retribution. No offence, Australians.