Sebastian

There was a knock on Cuddy's office door Friday morning and she called 'enter' without looking away from the report she was compiling for the Board meeting that afternoon. Things were looking up: the financials had bounced back nicely since Townsend's intervention, so too patient numbers. Given House's latest malaise, she had taken on the duty of managing his mailbox, ensuring that all emails were forwarded automatically via the system to her account. This did of course mean that she got triple the volume of stuff to sift through every morning, but it couldn't be helped.

Oscar Townsend poked his head through the door. "Hey, have you got a minute?".

"Sure", she smiled, gesturing to the empty seat across from her desk. "If this is about the meeting later…?".

"Oh, no, I'm sure that'll take care of itself". Oscar settled into the chair and met her smile with his own.

"Then what's up?".

"I just wondered if you'd be willing to fill me in on the preparations for Sebastian Charles' TB conference. I'm basically just asking if everything's in hand and if you needed any extra support from my end. We really are grateful that you've offered to host, and I'm very aware that…that you might feel we've foisted it on you out of the blue".

"Of course not", she replied. "I mean, he's doing great work, and it'll all rub off on PPTH, won't it?".

"Naturally. So what's the latest?".

Cuddy minimised her windows and gave him her full focus. "We're looking at a date around Easter time. I know it's not ideal, but we figure trying to carry it off post-holiday will cause more problems than it would solve".

"Hmm", mused Townsend. "Sounds good in theory, but that would put it at under a month away. Enough time to get the word out?".

"Ordinarily I'd share your concern, but Charles is convinced, and I have to say with good reason, that contributions will flood in. From what he's been saying, it could well just be a case of 'build it and they'll come'".

Townsend exhaled through his nose. "Don't tell me you're beginning to believe his hype, too?".

"He's a great doctor", she shrugged, "with connections all over the globe. Maybe you've helped him there".

Oscar held his hands up and smiled self-deprecatingly. "I'm just the money. Speaking of great doctors, Fiona tells me that Gregory House is going through a rough patch at the moment. His caseload has dropped off a cliff".

"I wouldn't worry. I'm sure he'll be back on the horse soon", she answered a touch defensively. Like Wilson, Cuddy had detected, without knowing the full explanation, their friend's deterioration. While the oncologist took the personal approach (they held their obligatory movie night on Wednesday and Wilson had mentioned floating the idea of karaoke this evening), she kept the business side of things ticking over. Her commandeering the departmental email account was one aspect of this, but she had also diverted prospective cases to other departments in an effort to shield her star diagnostician.

"Oh, you misunderstand. I just wanted you to know that my door is always open in that regard, and if he needs time, or if you need extra funding to plug the gap, then it's certainly something we can talk about".

"That's incredibly generous. It's only been a fortnight, though".

"I understand", he nodded slightly. "But do your other doctors have two-week drop-offs?".

"No", she admitted. "But House is a special case".

"Agree with you there. So, returning to the subject of the conference…".


Cameron did not have a shift today so she was at home working on the preliminary research stages for a new paper. Her thoughts, however, kept straying.

It annoyed her to admit that she was in a bit of a bind. And it was a problem entirely of her own devising, which annoyed her even more. Shortly after leaving House's office in a fury two weeks ago, she had texted Sebastian Charles and they had met for coffee. There was nothing wrong with coffee; indeed, she was a big fan of caffeinated beverages on the whole. She was also a fan, on the whole, of Charles himself. What she was not (yet?) a fan of was being his girlfriend. And, unfortunately, that put her in a bind because he had invited her to dinner tonight.

The day she had stormed out on House she had wanted to get back at him, so Charles seemed like the most obvious candidate in this respect. But since then she had taken some time to digest things. House had claimed that he had not meant those words, that she was merely a pretty girl, and she believed him. They had been together for too long, done too much, for that to be the case. Thinking back, it was mainly just her shock at the cold, flippant manner with which he had spoken. Then again, he had just seen her with Charles, so there was some mitigation. She might still be mad, actually very mad, but it was House. The guy could be rude.

That left the Sebastian Charles conundrum. Theoretically, dinner was fine; but she had no intention of going back to his hotel room afterwards. The simple fact was, having been with House, she didn't want to be with anyone else. There were a number of reasons for this—some purely physical, others not. The same reflection had arisen when House had suggested she move on with Chase following their breakup. Other guys were boring. What this recognition meant for her dating life moving forward, she had absolutely no idea. But that was a problem for future Cameron to solve.

She went into the bedroom to strip the sheets. Pre-ER this had been a weekend job, but the reality of constant shift work necessitated a degree of flexibility. As she did so, her mind slipped automatically back to the morning when House had turned up unannounced while she was mid-chores and cooked her Sunday gravy on a Saturday. They had spent many weekends together during their time, and that stuck out as a favourite: delicious home-cooked food, House's company, and the delightful domestication of it all.

She needed to be strong, though. House had fired shots and they had hit their mark. There simply must be repercussions.


At the end of the day, House was waiting for the elevator and thinking of heading onwards to the pool for a session of night swimming. Since the ketamine treatment, he had maintained a consistent exercise regimen (bar the last fortnight, when he had been too down to do anything whatsoever) and his body, which used to ache, felt strong. Even his flexibility, which age would ordinarily have impacted, seemed better than he could remember from his younger days. If he were so inclined, he could probably find a girlfriend without much difficulty. If.

The elevator doors opened and Sebastian Charles stood there. "Dr. House! How's it going?".

"Fine", he scowled, walking in. To his consternation, Charles remained put. "You not getting out?".

"I'm heading to the lobby".

House shrugged and pressed the button. If this guy attempted to make conversation he would scoop out his own eyeballs with a rusty spoon.

"So, how's Diagnostics?", he asked cheerily.

"D'you have a rusty spoon?".

"Um, no".

"Pity".

"By the way, I never did offer my appreciation for catching the tumour last year. You were right—I was too blinkered about TB. Thanks to you, I'm alive to learn the lesson".

"Yeah, well".

"Are you gonna come to my conference next month? Dr. Cuddy has kindly offered PPTH as a host institution".

"Can't; pap smear", House replied shortly. This is the slowest elevator in the world.

"Fair enough", smiled Charles as the ding sounded and both walked out. "Got anything planned for the weekend?".

House said nothing, instead striding to the sign-out sheet. This man's obnoxiously good mood acted as a repellent.

"I'm off out myself tonight", offered Charles, who infuriatingly had tailed him to the desk, where he handed back his visitor pass and continued talking: "yeah, I'm meeting up with Alli-".

"-bye, then", interrupted the other, heading rapidly for the exit and reaching for his phone at the same time, dialling Wilson.

He picked up on the third ring. "Sup?".

"Where are you now?". House had made it outside and veered to the left and a nearby wooden bench, the bitter March wind scything across his skin, his breath misting the air.

"About to head down. Why?".

"I need a drink". Swimming could wait.

"Actually, there's a new karaoke bar opened around the corner from my place. Was meaning to ask if you wanted to give it a look?".

"Err, we'll discuss venue. I'm out by the entrance", he replied as he sank into the bench, eyes tracking those coming and going, but not really registering faces.

"It's warmer inside, surely. Just need to finish an email".

"No worries, I can wait". With that, House rang off and put the phone back into his pocket, but not before turning up his coat collar against the chill. Normally he didn't mind New Jersey weather, but it was approaching spring and still it felt absolutely freezing. On a whim, he took out his phone again and swiped to the notes app, making a reminder to search for holiday destinations. The Caribbean sounded good. Maybe a couple of weeks off would fit the bill; get away from that gormless idiot Sebastian Charles. Man, what a 'Grade A' douchebag.

But, yes, a holiday. Recharge the batteries.

Wilson found him like this seven minutes later. "No kidding, you really were sitting outside".

"Let's go, then", he grunted.

"Where?".

"How about we just see where the night takes us?".

"Fair enough. You OK?".

"First ground rule: no asking if I'm OK. Capische?".

"Noted. My car or yours?".

"You're not coming on my bike, so it'll have to be yours. I'll drop it off at your place and we'll walk from there".

Wilson nodded, and the two friends headed out into the gloom, leaving the bustle of PPTH behind.