See about a girl

A.N. House, Foreman, and Chase go to a karaoke bar in S6E20 'The Choice' because Wilson wants House out of his hair for some alone time with his ex-wife Samantha. As is my wont, I've borrowed the idea and adapted it for this story. I know in general music chapters are hit and miss because it's all a matter of personal taste, but I make no apology because it is in the show (they sing Midnight Train to Georgia). As it happens, Hugh Laurie is a keen singer and has even released jazz albums.

I've had the following bunch of chapters in my mind for a long time (over a year, certainly), and they signal a new phase for Confessions.


Cameron placed her clarinet on its stand and decided that she couldn't put off getting sorted for the dinner date with Sebastian Charles any longer. If even it was a dinner date. He would probably think so. The thought made her feel ill. This whole situation was a bad idea: for one thing, she wasn't ready; for another, no matter how much annoyance she felt towards House, it just didn't sit right to meet with another man. Hopefully Charles would get the picture—he seemed like a decent enough guy.

She padded over to the closet, thumbing hangers quickly, not really bothering to consider options. For all her other dates with House, she had taken meticulous care over clothing. This was usually something she enjoyed doing, especially since, as she had reflected a while ago, the hospital rarely offered the opportunity to dress up. And it had always excited her to track his little reactions to her appearance, the way he tried to act cool and collected. But now she had no interest in enticing anyone. Just get through one night.

A sigh. Maybe she should cancel. Maybe she could claim that the hospital had called her in on short notice, or that the ER was suddenly down a few staff members, or that she was booked in for surgery tomorrow morning. Charles surely wouldn't question that. And even if he did, it really wasn't her problem: she didn't owe him a date. She didn't owe anyone anything. But then again, it was only one dinner, and he was at least pretty good company. Perhaps she could just go, try and have some fun, then come back home before he got any ideas.

Annoyed at her own overthinking, Cameron snatched an outfit at random and went to get ready.


"Well, you weren't kidding. It really is karaoke", sighed House as they navigated their way to the bar. At the microphone a trio of women were preparing to launch into song. It soon became apparent, however, that 'song' was just a little optimistic.

"Yep. What're you having? Coke again?". Wilson fished out his wallet and tried to catch the server's eye.

"Nah, I need something stronger. It's the weekend".

"So, scotch?".

"Or bourbon. Surprise me. I'll grab a table".

House tapped the bar top habitually and went off to find a spare booth. It was Friday and thus busy. Students clustered here, office workers on a night out gathered there. And in the background to it all the infernal warbling of the ladies at the front. He had to squeeze through the crowd, but a benefit of being taller than most others was the clear line of sight. An empty space appeared. Unfortunately, a young couple had the same idea and they each made for it.

On the approach House slumped his shoulders and took on a limp. Finally reaching the table he leant heavily against it, trying to look as pathetic as possible. "Sorry, my leg's been giving me some pain recently".

The guy looked dubious, but his companion spoke up: "come on, Ty, we'll find somewhere else. He needs it more than us".

"Fine", 'Ty' relented, clearly unwilling to appear heartless in front of his girlfriend. "No worries, pal".

"Thanks, have a nice night".

Wilson found him a couple of minutes later and sank into the facing chair. "How'd you get this? Place's packed".

"Pulled the disability card and the suckers fell for it".

"You shouldn't do that", he frowned. "Don't wanna tempt fate".

"There is no fate. Anyway, would you rather be standing?".

"No, but-".

"-exactly". A sip of the drink revealed it to be Jack Daniel's. Not a personal favourite but still manageable.

Wilson shrugged and the two lapsed into silence, listening to the singers onstage: three guys attempting a rock number neither recognised.

"How's Hadley working out?", asked the oncologist eventually.

"Pretty good. She seems capable, and can put up with the pathetic flirting".

"Chase going at it, is he?", he chuckled.

"Actually, Foreman's the main one".

"No kidding. I thought he was already attached".

Now it was House's turn to shrug. "Either way…like a fly to shit. Pretty tragic".

"Someone like her's probably used to dealing with advances. You not thought about throwing your hat into the ring?".

"I have a girlfriend", he replied, causing the other to glance up sharply, which prompted a clarification: "she's just…not my girlfriend". The words emerged softly as he looked to his glass, swilling the contents in a clockwise motion, observing how the light reflected off the amber surface.

"I'm sorry".

"Don't worry about it", he grunted.

"Be right back". With that, Wilson got to his feet and headed off.


When Cameron reached the restaurant Charles was already sat at a table, and he moved to kiss her cheek. For the flash of a second she considered backing away, but in the end decided against it. "Evening", he murmured. "You look great".

"Thanks". In truth, she had settled on the most nondescript, yet suitably smart, outfit in her wardrobe. It scarcely merited commenting upon.

"Can I get you something?", he asked as they both took their places.

"Sure. D'you mind if I stick to non-alcoholic stuff?". The immunologist had decided on a whim not to drink, just in case a lowering of inhibitions caused her to do something she would later regret. The one-night stand with Chase lingered as a case in point.

"Of course. Can I ask why?".

Cameron felt like scowling at this successive use of 'can' but then told herself to stop being pedantic. "I'm just having a bit of a detox", she lied. Lying was a skill she had improved since the split—no one in the ER yet knew the true reason for her transfer.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as a drinker", he joked.

Happy, though admittedly somewhat blurred, memories of when she had got drunk in London and attempted to seduce House shimmered to the forefront of her mind and she smiled. "Oh, you know—when in Rome and all that".

Charles evidently took her smile as directed at him. "Hah! Did you ever finish that book on the Roman guy, by the way? The one I saw you reading in the cafeteria?".

"Yep. Emperor Justinian. Did you know that under his rule was compiled the largest codification of Roman law ever to exist?".

"I didn't. That's…an interesting fact. Since when have you been an historian?".

A waitress came to take their drinks orders. Only when she had moved off did Cameron reply. "I've always been interested in it. But I guess the ancient focus has happened fairly recently". There was no need to mention that her boss had provided the nudge.

"As a doctor, I dunno…would've thought you'd have been more of a scientist".

"History and science aren't mutually exclusive, Sebastian". The comment sounded slightly snarkier than intended but she gave a mental shrug.

"True enough", he mused, scanning the dishes. "Got your eye on anything? Pretty nice to have a few options food-wise. There's only so much rice you can eat before it starts to grate".

"Mmm, I bet".

"Reckon I've got the recipe for Nigerian jollof rice down, though".

"Speaking of, how're things going over there? Thought you said that this would only be a flying visit".

"It was. But Townsend and I figured that a TB conference in the States would have more of an impact. Chances are I'll do that then head back".

"Sounds like a plan".

"…unless something keeps me here", he added cryptically.

Cameron sensed him trying to catch her eye but she pretended to be engrossed in the menu. Charles was fishing and she had no intention of biting. "Shall we order?".


After a couple of drinks, House had fallen back into introspection, even though he still tried to engage with Wilson, who carried on blissfully unaware of the turning of his friend's mind. It helped that loud karaoke was still in full swing, so an earnest nod, or a mouthed 'ahh', at regular intervals made it seem like House was dialled into the conversation.

Instead, he was thinking about Cameron, someone who had been on his mind a lot lately. More than usual, anyway. All these months he'd been strong, maintained distance, avoided venturing down to the ER, resisted the at times overbearing urge to send a late night message. But now she was in his brain as much as ever.

The question was why.

Maybe now that she stood to move on with Sebastian Charles his brain couldn't accept it—a simple case of jealousy? He did feel jealous. But that had never been enough to trigger a response in the past. Besides, even he accepted that she was better off with…well, anyone but himself. It had always been a weird match. House just couldn't understand what to make of his own feelings. After nearly four months, they really ought to have softened by now. They needed switching off.

"…then it's us", finished Wilson.

The nephrologist realised he'd just missed a part of the conversation and gestured to his ear. "What was that?".

"I said that we're up in a sec".

"Up where?".

"Up there". Wilson nodded towards the microphone.

House snorted into his drink. "Good one".

"I'm serious. We're up".

"You're kidding". The ensuing laugh faltered when he noticed how Wilson continued to look at him.

"Nope. I booked us in earlier".

"I'm not singing".

"I'm afraid you are".

"I'm not".

"You are".

"Not".

"Fine. I'll go by myself".

"Then you'll look like a moron".

"No big deal. It's just a bit of fun. And, unlike you, I don't care what people think of me".

"Like I give a crap what people think of me".

"Not gonna argue", replied Wilson, catching the eye of the staff member by the microphone. "That's me, then. In a bit".

House observed as Wilson wended his way through the crowd, which was clapping for those who had just finished a passable rendition of Toto's Africa. Now that he thought about it, most of the songs so far had been eighties' hits. Not as good as the seventies, obviously, but still decent enough. With that, he cast his mind back to the night of Cuddy's party, when, while driving in the car, Cameron had said that she would buy him a modern album for Christmas. House screwed his eyes shut. Stop, stop, stop.

Fortunately, Wilson chose this time to launch into song. It took a few seconds to recognise the tune: Midnight Train to Georgia. He was making a good fist of it as a solo performer, though his voice left a little to be desired. House had been harsh towards his friend: the man had invited him out, kept him company in spite of everything, made space for him in a spare room. And now he was alone on the stage in front of complete strangers.

After a fortifying swallow of Tennessee's finest, House left his seat.


"So, yeah, unfortunately, thanks to the Powers That Be, the disease is still rampant over there". Charles, who had been showing Cameron pictures of the village in which he had been based, put his phone back in his jacket pocket.

Cameron sipped her mocktail. "Sucks. How long have you been linked with Townsend? Are his funds helping?".

"About six months. He's been very accommodating but, obviously, sometimes it feels like an uphill struggle, y'know?".

"Mmm". She cut up a meatball, slathered it in the delicious tomato sauce, and chewed it slowly. This restaurant was great, and she'd be coming here again, most likely by herself.

"Anyway, that's enough about me. How're things in the ER?".

"Fine", she shrugged. "Keeps me busy, managing to make a difference, and at least there's a degree of structure there which I never got with diagnostics".

Charles nodded, sawing indelicately at his chicken breast. "Makes sense…if you were any other doctor".

"What's that mean?".

"Well, are you happy just 'keeping busy'?".

"It is what it is". There was not a chance in hell that she was going to reveal the real reason for her leaving.

"If you get bored, we could always use you…".

"Thanks, but Africa's pretty far off the radar at the moment".

"Understandable; it ain't for everyone. So, what do you do for fun around here? Now that I'm staying for a bit longer, figured I'd take a look at things".

"Umm, well…". Cameron winced internally. Thus far they had managed to avoid personal talk, and her incessant questions about his work had paid dividends. Like House, Charles was happy talking about himself. Unlike with House, she didn't massively care about the answers beyond mild professional interest. With Greg, she had always been motivated by a desire to peek behind the metaphorical curtain. Charles, however, just an ordinary human being, was not quite so stimulating.

"Kinda like the idea of going to the movies. Not seen one for ages. Anything good on?".

"You're asking the wrong person", she smiled thinly. And this was true. She and House had never gone to the pictures together. An oversight.

"Fancy it?", he asked, looking over the rim of his wine glass.

"I'd really need to check my shift schedule".

"Fair enough. Would you excuse me a moment?".

"Sure". Cameron smiled at him as he left the table but sighed softly a moment later.


"Thanks for helping me out there", muttered Wilson, taking a swig of the complimentary beer.

"You didn't really leave me much choice after Midnight Train".

"It wasn't that bad".

"If you say so", smirked House, beginning to move off.

But Wilson held his arm. "Where're you going?".

"Umm, back to our table?".

"We get one more, and I'm sure as hell aiming for my money's worth".

"You didn't pay for this, man".

"OK, fine. But we do get one more. Come on, it'll be fun".

"Fuck's sake", he grumbled, beginning to regret the uncharacteristic impulse of solidarity that had brought him up here in the first place. His face fell even more when the karaoke machine revealed the next song to be REO Speedwagon's Keep On Loving You, a dime-a-dozen power ballad from 1980. This was going to be cringeworthy.

"And now for their final song our pair of crooners are journeying to Illinois. James and-", the MC covered the microphone and asked House: "what's your name, buddy?".

"Wilson", answered House immediately.

"-Wilson!", finished the guy loudly to a crowd that was beginning to lose its enthusiasm. "Yes, James and Wilson have love on their mind and just had to write a song about it. Give it up for these guys!". A smattering of applause rippled through the room.

As the opening bars resonated over the sound system, both men began somewhat haltingly, and House just wanted it over and done with so he could get back to drinking. Public displays were not his cup of tea and nor were saccharine not-quite-rock songs. All he had to do was get through one song, one night. Did that guy say REO Speedwagon were from Illinois? He knew someone from Illinois.

House focused on the words progressing across the screen:

You should have seen by the look in my eyes, baby, there was somethin' missin'.

In truth, he actually enjoyed singing. A nomadic upbringing traversing many foreign countries in the wake of his father's military career necessitated finding creative ways to keep busy. Friends were hard to come by anyway, but especially so for him. Music and languages provided a refuge. Even though this music was being performed under duress, he found himself quietly relishing it.

And I meant every word I said. When I said that I loved you, I meant that I loved you forever.

At that, his mind ran back to the evening with Cameron in the office when she had complained about Fiona Townsend's flirtation. She had been worried about the consequences, worried about whether he might fall for this woman's advances. Little did she know that he had already fallen; just not for Townsend. Stop, stop. Stop thinking about this.

House glanced across at Wilson, whose eyes were alight with enjoyment. An emotion he himself had not experienced for a long time.

Baby, I'm gonna keep on loving you, 'cause it's the only thing I wanna do. I don't want to sleep, I just want to keep on lovin' you.

This whole situation was pathetic. A grown man, with another grown man, singing karaoke to a crowd of strangers. And one of these grown men possessed a mind that would not let him forget a lost love. All he wanted was to see Cameron and explain things, if that were even possible. This last fortnight, while lying in bed, her hurt face lingered at the forefront of his mind, and before sleep would come he completed a ritual of mental self-criticism: you did that to her. It's your fault. Face the music.

I don't want to sleep, I just want to keep on lovin' you.

The song ended and a few people clapped. House and Wilson went to the bar.

"That was fun", said the latter, a film of sweat on his brow.

The former didn't reply, his mind racing as he thought things over.

"Would you get me a drink? I need to wash my face in the bathroom".

"Yeah", muttered House distractedly, "no worries".

This needed to end. He recalled sitting at his dining table shortly after the conflict resolution with Cameron. Back then, he had experienced a similar preoccupation, in that instance, to her beauty. These days her physical attractiveness was merely a single small ingredient in the complicated explanation for why she appealed so strongly. Indeed, she could chop off all her hair and scar her face, and he'd still love her, so little did it now matter.

Back then, he remembered, a house call had cured him of his affliction.

"You OK there, pal?". The bartender looked curious.

"Err, yeah, yeah…umm, a whiskey and a beer", replied House, clearing his throat.

"What kind of whiskey and beer?".

"Whatever's cheapest".

The man nodded and turned away, but House called him back suddenly: "if I were too drunk to drive but wanted to get into town…how would I do that?".

"Ordinarily, I'd suggest an Uber, but the prices are insane peak time Friday evenings and you'd likely have to wait a while".

He shook his head forlornly.

"You might try the city bus. It picks up just down the road and goes pretty much everywhere, more or less. That thing brings me a lot of business, y'know?".


When Wilson got back from the bathroom he was surprised to find their table occupied and House nowhere to be seen. So instead he headed for the bar, thinking that he may have stayed there. But, again, no sign. Scanning the faces of those drinking on the stools revealed nothing either.

"Uhh, hey, are you James Wilson?".

The oncologist turned to appraise the voice, which belonged to the guy behind the bar, and walked over. "That's right".

"Your friend left you this…", he slid a beer across the top, "…and this…", now he handed over a paper napkin.

Wilson inclined his head in thanks, took a sip of the beer, and studied the napkin, which sported a familiar scrawl:

W. Sorry, I had to go see about a girl.

"Son of a bitch stole my line", murmured Wilson automatically, mimicking the film dialogue from Good Will Hunting.

And then he realised what that line actually meant.