State of play

A.N. Sorry for the delay. It's the end of the academic year and things are pretty fraught. On the bright side, at least the sun's out.


Once again House awoke. Once again Cameron was sitting in the chair by the bed, examining a magazine or some such. "I'm starting to think you're a stalker", he grunted.

"What was your first clue?". Cameron didn't even glance up.

"Make sure you do stretches. Too much time in a chair and you-".

"-uhuh, yep, I am a doctor, y'know", she interrupted drily, finally meeting his gaze.

"Then why is it that you have no patients? I thought Porter ran a tight ship in the ER, yet it seems all you do is sit here".

"I took a bit of vacation time".

"To watch a guy sleep? Truly, your life is rock and roll".

"Tell me about it", she beamed back at him, loving his sarcasm. "Word is Rolling Stone are sending an investigative team to interview me for their cover story".

"Are you reading Rolling Stone now?", he asked hopefully.

"Almost. International Journal of Immunology".

"You're a loser".

"Takes one to know one. Foreman and Chase were in here earlier, by the way. They both send their love. And Hadley also dropped by".

"Hadley?".

"Your new hire? Smokin' hot babe?".

House scratched his stubble and reached slowly for the water at the bedside. Cameron made to get it for him but he waved her down, instantly regretting it, for his ribs still screamed in agony. "Ah, yes. Thirteen", he grimaced, hiding the pain from Cameron. "Did she have clothes on?".

"Uhuh". Cameron went back to the journal and turned the page. Barely a wink.

"Pity".

"I think she may be a lesbian".

"Wouldn't surprise me. Frankly, I'm surprised more women aren't lesbians. Men are gross. And pigs".

"Right on, brother. Up with the matriarchy". At last the immunologist set down the International Journal of Immunology and offered her full focus. Instead of watching him torturously replaced the water cup, she wordlessly took it from him and replaced it, having taken a sip herself. The man sank back into the bed sheets, tired already. "You OK?".

"I think it's time we discussed the state of play", said House after a few moments' pause.

"And that's a sports metaphor for…?".

"The situation. With my…health. And some other stuff".

Cameron nodded tightly and rested her reading material on the floor out of the way. "OK. Where'd you like to start?".

"With my injuries. Everything else can be dealt with after. So, why don't I begin with what I think is wrong and we go from there?".

For the next twenty minutes they talked. Cameron had already received a fair impression of House's condition in the days after the accident. Wildermuth, to his credit, had kept them all updated. House had been rushed into the OR Friday night with severe injuries. The surgery, though successful, had been necessarily invasive and comprehensive, to the extent that only House's steady diet of morphine allowed him to sleep. They had considered his history with painkillers, but no other option lay open. As he spoke, House's tone was low, detached, like he were trying to maintain a professional distance. But such a thing was really impossible: he was the patient. Once again, for the second time in a year, he stewed in a Princeton Plainsboro hospital bed.

"So my leg…was impaled?".

"It wasn't a complete puncture", she murmured. "No one's quite sure how the bus split apart so…dramatically on impact. There's talk of a fleet recall. Can you feel it?".

"A little. But it's, ah, pretty painf-", he winced, attempting a simple movement.

"-don't move".

"Too late".

"Smart ass. You don't remember anything?".

"Bits and pieces. I remember a bang. A lot of noise. I remember a woman helping me. Then nothing".

Cameron reached out to cover his hand, trying hard not to cry but failing spectacularly. The enormity of his injuries was beginning to hit home, but she couldn't tell if his stoicism was for her benefit or not. "I'm sorry this has happened to you, Greg. I'm sorry for everything".

He looked oddly at her. "None of this is your fault. I told Wilson the same thing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Actually, that segues nicely to my next point-".

"-no, you can't get a segue when you're discharged", laughed Cameron thickly, wiping a hand across her eyes.

House's eyes lit up. "Do they still make them?".

"Dunno, actually", she admitted, suppressing a grin. She had suddenly thought of their go-karting date and his almost childlike joy at being behind the wheel. Even in the depths of a hospital, wrapped in bandages, he thought about wheels.

"Anyway, that's not what I was gonna say, believe it or not. What I was gonna say…was that I'm really sorry for what I said before".

"No worries", she smiled at him reassuringly, "I just chalked them up as morphine-induced mutterings".

"Huh?". Now House was confused, but he tried to remain on track: "no, I was-, was referring to what I said in the office a while ago. About you, y'know, just being a pretty girl".

"Oh. Forget about that. Water under the bridge. I overreacted, anyway". Cameron waved a hand in the air.

"No, you didn't overreact. I was in the wrong. But even worse than that, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. I hope you'll forgive me".

"Stop being a freak; you know it weirds me out when you apologise. There's nothing to forgive".

"Just forgive me".

"There's no need, though".

"Do it anyway".

"Ugh, fine. House, I forgive you".

He sighed almost contentedly. "So, we're good?".

"Well, we were never bad, but yeah, we're good", she grinned. "Water?".

"Mmm".

Cameron gently held the cup to his lips while he took a sip. Instead of sitting back down she leant over him, rearranging his cushions.

Following this he closed his eyes momentarily. Even as simple a movement as moving his mouth caused pain. But it was more important to get these things off his chest. "I hope you realise", he continued, "that you meant-, mean, more to me than that".

Such a frank admission from him might well have seemed odd or out of character to someone like Foreman or Chase, who perhaps didn't care to know about his nuances. But Cameron had always accepted and loved that House was different in so many ways to normal people. These differences could often be measured through simple, commonplace metrics: his rudeness, his unnerving intelligence, his fantastically large ego. And yet, beneath all that, she also knew that he harboured a personal code which rested on a peculiarly idiosyncratic notion of justice, of right and wrong. She still remembered going to his apartment the night of Vogler's blackmailed speech:

"You asked me why I like you. You're abrasive and rude; I figured everything you do, you do it to help people. But I was wrong. You do it because it's right".

House, now, believed himself in the wrong. He just didn't realise that, as of Friday evening, when she had begged a God she didn't believe in to safeguard his life, she couldn't care less about what had happened in the past. The only thing that mattered was the future. His future.

"House, this isn't necessary. You don't owe me any explanations. I'm just happy being here with you".

"It is necessary. And I'm just getting started".

"No, you're not", she intervened sternly. "You're taking a nap before your parents arrive. Doctor's orders. We have all the time in the world to talk but, right now, you need rest".

"I feel fine", he lied, quelling a grimace and trying to hide it with a smile.

"You don't look fine. Your face is grey".

"I don't see what my age has to do with-".

"-grey with pain, genius".

"What I have to say is more important".

"No. Your health takes precedence. This is not a debate, House. You are sleeping and that's the end of it". Cameron's tone was hard and if he had the strength to turn his head to the side he would have been able to see her glare.

Resistance is futile.

"Fine", grumped House softly, already feeling his eyelids droop, "but this is not over, CB".

"Is that B as in 'blonde' or B as in 'bitch'?", she wondered aloud.

The answer never came.

Confident that he was asleep, Cameron leant over and brushed her lips to his forehead before once again settling back into the bedside chair.


Cuddy and Cameron were in the cafeteria to give House and his parents some privacy. They had arrived earlier that afternoon in a state of panic. Even John House had looked worried, asking after events, interrogating Cuddy and Wilson. He was a hard man, that much was obvious. But he loved his son.

"Did you get a chance to speak to Mom and Dad?", Cuddy asked, sipping a coffee.

"No. Figured it wasn't my place to get involved. Besides, I've already met them". At Cuddy's inquiring glance, she added: "last year, remember?".

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that". Cuddy and Cameron had been forced to get creative in uniting House with his parents—he'd spent a long time avoiding them for a reason neither really understood. The Dean observed her companion surreptitiously. There were bags under her eyes and her face seemed pinched. Nevertheless, she detected no depressive air, nor layers of sadness. In fact, leaving aside the obvious exhaustion and despair at House's state, Cameron paradoxically appeared a great deal happier than she had been for a while. "Can I run something by you? I still need Wilson's opinion but House asked me something…".

"Sure".

"…about being discharged".

"What? He's still recovering".

"House's view, and Wildermuth sees its merit, is that it's time to start thinking about the situation long term".

"Meaning?", asked Cameron, peeling a banana. It surprised her that House would already be thinking in these terms. But then, she supposed, he was nothing if not pragmatic.

"Meaning that he can't stay in that hospital bed forever. His procedure and post-op have gone about as well as could be expected".

"Though we still don't know the full extent of the damage", she pointed out, waving the banana like a baton.

"And we won't for quite some time. He's clearly in a great deal of pain but there's a school of thought that suggests he should recuperate at home. You know as well as I do how grim these rooms are, waking up every day in the same position".

"Mmm, yeah. He's getting a bit restless, I know that much. We've exhausted Prescription Passion".

"And I caught him fiddling with his morphine levels yesterday".

"Well, that's understandable-", began the immunologist, already on the defensive, remembering his ashen face from earlier.

"-he was decreasing it".

"Must be a mistake. He's hurting badly".

"And yet the morphine was lowered. I'm sure of it".

"What do you think that signifies?", wondered Cameron.

"I don't know. But if we consider the possibility that House has decided to leave off the drugs, then maybe we also have to consider the possibility that he deserves a chance to be at home. I'm not convinced there's any medical reason to keep him penned up in there for too much longer".

Cameron took a few thoughtful chews and then shook her head. "He needs to be on more painkillers, though".

"It's seemingly not what he wants". Cuddy laced her hands on the table.

"Why on earth would he willingly want to be in pain?".

"I think we both know why". House's history with medication was long and messy. It made sense that he wanted to avoid treading that path again. Cameron knew this deep down, but she hated him hurting, and told Cuddy so. "Yes", the other agreed. "But it's not our choice. What is our choice are the arrangements put in place for his transition back home. He needs a live-in nurse, at least initially".

"Yeah, right", said Cameron with a little smile. "Good luck with that".

"Well, quite. I've already put out some feelers, but so far no luck. Turns out House is, er, a little notorious amongst the rotation".

"Could just go external. Maybe Townsend can source someone".

At mention of that name Cuddy smacked a palm against her forehead. "Dammit. With all that's been going on I completely forgot to inform the Townsends, our lords and masters, of the accident".

"Surely they already know? It's been all over the news".

"They're in London; back next week".

Cameron shrugged and sipped her coffee. It did not really concern her.

"I'm gonna keep looking for someone. In the meantime, if you can think of any nursing candidates, for the love of God, let me know".


"Mom, honestly, you don't need to fuss". Whenever he spoke to his mother, House felt like he was back at home again, on any number of military bases around the world.

Blythe House, who had been hovering over her son while attentively adjusting pillows and sheets, tutted her tongue against her teeth. "I'm nearly done".

"People have been coming in to do all this…".

"Mmm, so I hear. One person more frequently than others". She glanced surreptitiously at her husband who sat in the nearby chair.

"What's that mean?".

"The young woman doctor we saw last time we were in town…she's been around a lot". Blythe finished her ministrations and stood to the side, a hand on her hip.

"I've been, uh, giving work to my team while I've been in here. She's my go-between".

"Honestly, Greg, do you expect us to believe that?", grunted John. "Anyway, as long as you're happy, we're happy. Even if she's probably a bit too youn-".

"-we're not together", House spoke through gritted teeth.

The elder Houses looked at each other. "Well, that's a shame", chimed in Mom. "I've been saying for a decade—a decade—that you need a good woman in your life".

"We're not talking about this". House rarely spoke to his parents even at the best of times, so this sudden intrusion into his personal life was both unwelcome and uncomfortable. For the last forty minutes he had dealt with their inquiries into his health, the state of his injuries, the circumstances of the accident. They loved him, and he did them, but it was time for the seniors to go.

"Have they given you an idea of prognosis and rehabilitation?", asked John.

"Some idea, yeah. But it's still pretty early. Anyway, you've probably got to head back to the hotel". This was uttered more in hope than expectation.

A knock on the door, through which Cameron poked her head. "Hi, sorry to bother you, but Dr. Cuddy is ready for that in-depth rundown, if you…?".

"Yes", announced Dad, springing to his feet.

"Please, come in, dear", smiled Blythe. "Allison, yes? We remember you from last year".

"That's right", nodded Cameron, walking in and shaking hands with both.

"I bet you're here to inform Greg of your current case?". John glanced at House, his tone mischievous.

"Oh, no. I'm in the ER these days", she replied warmly. "I, uh, fancied a change".

"Interesting!".

House cringed in the bed but remained silent. For an old-school marine pilot, his father could be as sneaky as anyone. Given that he had just informed them that Cameron was still on his team, the one explanation for her presence had just been blown out of the water. He would need to teach Cameron how not to be a gullible moron.

"Well, I guess we'd best head over to Dr. Cuddy's office", finished Dad, catching his wife's eye and gesturing to the door.

"Uhuh. We'll drop back in later, OK, Greg?", smiled Blythe. Then she spoke to Cameron: "make sure you look after him, darling!".

"Of course, always", she nodded instantly, before realising how it sounded and attempting a clarification: "I mean, uh, I'll be with the other doctors attending to your son's care. Y'know, it's part of my remit, being in the ER-".

House cringed again.

"-sure it is. We believe you!". With that, House's parents left the room.

A few moments passed in silence.

"D'you think they actually believed me?", Cameron asked House hopefully, looking out of the window at their retreating backs.

"Of course not", he snorted. "You are the most 'open book' person I've ever met and, true to form, my parents took all of three seconds to figure you out. They think we're doing the dirty. Or that you're in love with me".

"Well", she finished, sitting in the chair and sipping from the water glass, "only one of those statements is true".

A smile tugged at House's lips.

Cameron didn't notice, though, and continued speaking as she replaced the glass: "Cuddy mentioned you reducing your painkillers".

"I'm not being a slave to drugs".

"I understand that, House, but managing the pain is a critical component of your care".

"Undoubtedly", he muttered, "and I'll still be taking them, just at a reduced level".

"Still, I don't agree-".

"-we need to talk. I have things I'd like to say and you're to stay quiet while I say them".

Cameron looked dubiously at him. "Are you attempting to change the subject?".

"Yes and no. Help me sit up". With her help, House propped pillows against the headboard and sank into them gratefully. After a fortifying drink of water, he met her beautiful green eyes. "Lock the door. I don't want to be disturbed".