Blast from the past
A.N. Sorry for the lateness. If you've forgotten the story I don't blame you. Basically, House and Cameron are broken up and not happy about it. That summarises the last bunch of chapters so well that you don't even need to read them again!
It took until the middle of February for House to accept that the hiring of at least one additional staff member would probably fit the bill. To be sure, since Cameron's departure the three of them had just about managed to handle things. Chase stewed quietly but was too timid to down tools; Foreman, no doubt because he wished for a raise, completed treatment with scarcely a grumble. Several times House had considered puncturing this dream. Far more interesting, though, to let a faint hope remain.
The only problem with securing a new employee, besides the fact that House disliked people on principle, was that it would mean implicitly acknowledging that Cameron really had left Diagnostics. Up to now, he could (almost) convince himself that she was simply seconded to another department, or even on sabbatical. Every now and then he delayed the differential on the off chance that she would walk through the door, put on the white lab coat draped over its chair, and apologise for her lateness. But then he would realise there was no lab coat. There was only a boring Foreman, a gawping Chase, and, usually, a whiteboard missing the input of a certain immunologist.
A pretty normal Tuesday found House at his desk watching Prescription Passion; one of those filler episodes where very little seemed to be happening. Something else he had noticed—TV appealed less these days; an unsettling observation, since it was one of the true constants in his life besides medicine. Ending it with Cameron was meant to restore focus, get things back on track. And, in the narrow sense, mission accomplished. However, he had not counted on the emotional impact. That is, he had not counted on the emotional impact lasting this long. Three months, nearly.
Things were grey. Sure, patients came in and cures went out. But…things were grey. The office needed a female touch.
So that meant hiring a new member. Or forcing Chase to dress in a skirt.
Ugh.
House picked up his trusty cricket ball and tossed it from hand to hand. But this provided no clarity, so he moved to the window, hoping that a familiar view would provoke a response, light a spark. Resting his forehead against the glass, he closed his eyes. A new hire brought many challenges with them, but if nothing else they would help freshen up the department. Without Cameron softening their machismo, Foreman and Chase were becoming annoying. And their coffee sucked.
If she were here, Cameron would tell him what to do. Since they had been apart he had taken to reflecting on little aspects of her behaviour that he had missed the first time around, or to which he hadn't devoted much conscious thought. For instance, she had never once struck him as bossy or overbearing, and yet, looking back on their dynamic, there were times when she had informed him in no uncertain terms what she thought.
Like the head to head in this very office…
At some point, House, we will walk the path together. It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be pretty. But it will be us.
Or the time when she had met his disappearance from the hospital with frosty anger…
If you ever make me that worried again, I'll have your motorbike melted down for scrap.
And when he had caused her pain after his chat with her father…
Well, I guess I deserve it for being in love with a complete freak.
The nephrologist wouldn't admit this to anyone, but the truth was, for all that he loved retaining control, he loved it just as much when the women in his life stood toe to toe, unflinching, unapologetic. Cameron had never shirked this hidden responsibility and he found it incredibly attractive.
Returning to the problem at hand, she would probably tell him to stop being a coward and to bring someone in.
"But if I do that", he murmured aloud, "you won't come back at all".
The problem: he wanted Cameron in Diagnostics, close by, so he could float in her orbit and continue to torture himself with the thought of what might have been. And yet, he also needed to think about this department, which was understaffed. Not so much in terms of workload (after all, three doctors could treat one or two patients a week fairly easily), but in terms of brainpower. He needed another perspective, because at the moment one nephrologist, one neurologist, and one intensivist were not cutting the mustard.
Still, if he hired someone, it would signal a moving-on from him and Cameron, the happiest phase of his life. And it might also be construed as something of a slap in the face for the woman herself.
House's forehead remained resting against the window as he attempted to weigh up possible options, the cricket ball gently rotating in his fingers.
A consultation might be required.
Cameron had settled nicely into ER life. As per House's prediction, the job was indeed beneath her skills, and in terms of pure medicine she rarely found herself struggling. But it offered a different challenge to Diagnostics all the same, not least because much of her day involved managing the crucial golden hour where rapid action greatly increased the chance of survival. During her first stint she had reflected on the impact of her efforts, how they genuinely made a difference. That hadn't changed this time around.
Having just started in the ER, she was bound by certain probationary limits, but hard work brought with it a degree of recognition, at least informally: even slightly more senior doctors asked for an opinion, tying into specialist knowledge she had accumulated under the Diagnostics umbrella. On that topic, Foreman and Chase still popped up occasionally, whether for lunch or during a case. House remained scarce. Every now and then, she would see him crossing the lobby, or grabbing a coffee, or chatting to Wilson near the clinic, but they hadn't shared a conversation for some time. Still, though he might be (largely) out of sight, he was not out of mind. An unsurprising reflection, for Cameron had known immediately that the aftershock of this breakup would linger for a long time. And so it was proving.
In any case, given recent accomplishments, she felt justified in taking her lunch (a reuben sandwich, for a change) to the cafeteria today to eat while reading a book. A page turn accompanied the next bite.
"'Justinian, the last Roman emperor'", the voice intoned slowly over her shoulder. "Looks…a bit dry".
Cameron glanced up and grinned. "Nah, history's cool".
Sebastian Charles spread his arms wide and met her smile. "Speaking of history, how's about a hug for an old acquaintance?".
The immunologist dropped her sandwich to the plate, noted her place, and embraced the other deeply. "What the hell are you doing here, Seb? I thought you were in the depths of Africa".
"I still am, sort of. Just back in New Jersey to meet the bigwigs and get the word out. Can I join you?".
"Please", she gestured to the empty seat opposite. "Have you eaten? Feel free to appropriate my reuben".
"Thanks, but I hate reubens; too rich".
"I guess the diet in…wherever you are these days…is somewhat plainer".
"Something like that", he smiled. "Man, it's good to see you, Allison".
"Ditto. So, what brings you here?".
"You, obviously!".
"Ha ha", she snorted, sipping her orange juice.
Charles leant back and placed both hands on the table. "Like I say, in town for a sit-down with the backers, and I thought I'd pop across to see if you were still around".
"Well, here I am".
"Mmm. So, how're things in Diagnostics? You still slaving away with House?".
"No". Even though it had been a fair time, she still felt a twinge at his name.
"Really?". He tilted his head a little. "I imagined you'd stay there forever".
"Fancied a change". The line slid off her tongue so easily these days that she could imagine actually believing it.
"At whose instigation, yours or House's?".
Cameron shrugged, unwilling to be drawn on a matter that did not need re-examining. Only after a few moments of quiet did she speak again. "Who're your backers, then?".
Charles accepted the change in subject and smiled. "Actually, I think you may know one of them…".
"Yeah?".
"Oscar Townsend. Sponsors this hospital, I believe".
The orange juice from which she had been sipping froze in mid-air. "Townsend? Really? From prior conversations I thought his focus was on America".
Now it was the other's turn to shrug. "He himself centres on the States. But his company is pretty international. Regardless, he's been helping me out; there're plans for a new clinic on the Nigerian coast. More the merrier as far as I'm concerned".
"Mmm. Well, he seems like he cares. Much more than Vogler, the last guy we had. Before your treatment here", she added at his questioning glance.
"Ahh, I didn't know Vogler was linked with PPTH. Crossed paths a couple of times. Spent ages on the pitch and I knew straightaway…in one ear and out the other. That man only gives a shit about the bottom line, y'know?".
"Pretty much", she replied, munching slowly on her reuben.
"The whole system's screwed up. As long as the drug companies control supply, and as long as they have highly paid lobbyists in Washington, nothing's gonna change. Meanwhile those in dire need, both here and elsewhere, go without".
"Townsend's is a big drug company. You seem happy taking his money".
"Well, sure. That's the system we have. Anyway, he's far more generous than most others. I ain't looking a gift horse in the mouth". At her smile he asked: "that's funny?".
"Nah, I just…I can see why Townsend likes you". The conversation she had shared with him at Cuddy's house before Christmas shimmered through her mind. In any case, between House and Sebastian Charles, it appeared Oscar was nurturing a stable of medical talent.
"Dunno about that. S'pose both of us are using each other, in a way; doubt 'like' comes into it".
"Maybe". The immunologist finished her sandwich, brushed the crumbs from her fingers, and knitted her hands together on the table.
"And what about you?".
"What about me what?".
Charles' eyes flashed and he reached over to cover her hand with his own. "Do you like me?".
House left the elevator and strode across the lobby to the ER, mentally preparing his speech. "It's not a speech", he murmured softly to himself. "It's…a conversation. Yeah…a conversation: 'so, listen, it's been a while and I was just wondering-, musing, really, if you fancied at all coming back to Diagnostics. No worries if not, but was sorta thinking that otherwise I'd have to hire someone'. Easy. Nice and casual, Greg". For some inexplicable reason, butterflies turned in his stomach. He'd not felt this nervous since their first date.
Walking through the wide double doors into the ER, he was met by a wall of noise and a scene of sickening movement: people bustled here and there, harried doctors looked for their next patients, and nurses strove to keep up with barked orders. Finding Cameron in this melee would be hard.
Trying desperately to avoid contact with the unwashed masses, House tracked down a nurse he vaguely recognised who was scribbling rapidly on a file. "Nurse Winfield".
"Winston", she replied shortly.
"Exactly. I'm looking for Dr. Cameron. Seen her?".
"Nope. Now, if you don't mind-".
"-you're busy, yes. But so am I. Where is she?".
"Dr. House, the ER is a big place. I do not keep tabs on the people working here".
"You're looking for Allison?". The new voice caused him to turn around.
"That's right". House was fairly sure he'd seen this person before. Not particularly attractive, she nevertheless had an angular face, which made her eyes seem inquisitive.
"Beverley Pritchard". She held out a hand.
The nephrologist left it hanging. "I'm contagious", he explained. "So…Cameron?".
"I saw her heading to the cafeteria for lunch. She's not on duty until later".
House nodded, almost smiling. How like her to come in earlier, perhaps to keep on top of the paperwork. This was something else he missed: her meticulous thoughtfulness, though again he would never admit it aloud. "OK. Much obliged. See, Winston? How hard was that?".
Without waiting for a response, he left the ER's fraught atmosphere and trooped towards the cafeteria, his stomach rumbling. Maybe he should grab something himself, while he was here. House entered the area and stood by the salad bar, eyeing the greenery suspiciously before sweeping his gaze over the occupants.
Before long, he found her, familiar golden hair catching even the artificial lights from the ceiling high above. But she wasn't alone, and the words he had been preparing turned to dust. Sebastian Charles, that self-righteous, stuck-up martyr, sat across from Cameron, holding her hand and smiling.
Face like thunder, House turned on his heel and marched out without a backward glance.
