Square one

When House came through to the living room Thursday, he found Cameron wiping the surfaces and clearing away her laptop along with other assorted items that had accumulated throughout the week. "What're you doing?", he asked without preamble.

"Morning", she smiled. "How's the pain?".

For the last few days since the removal of his leg cast, she had made a habit of checking in like this, even more frequently than previously. House figured her questioning to be an implicit recognition that things were progressing: phase one, the initial managing of acute pain post-crash and close-quarters care provision, had ended. Phase two, whatever it might contain particularly, would undoubtedly lead to greater independence. And certain other things that neither felt comfortable enough to verbalise at this stage.

"Can't complain. Are you…cleaning?".

"Just tidying before Carter gets here".

"Uhuh". Having lived with Cameron for two and a half months, House knew enough to know that she valued tidiness. Interestingly, they had not butted heads at all in this respect. Either he was becoming more flexible, or she was. In any case, he enjoyed having her around; appreciated the little clues of her protracted presence, like the faint scent of her perfume, or the sight of her shoes by the door, even if she tried to minimise her impact on his home.

"What?". Cameron had sensed him looking at her moving around the room and now stood up straight.

"Just checking out your ass", he admitted.

She rolled her eyes, but upon resuming cleaning, ensured an extended stretch or two. "I'm assuming you don't want breakfast until after rehab, right?".

"What?". House's attention was on something else entirely. He had always been a butt guy.

"Breakfast?".

"Oh. Nah, I'll have it later. I don't wanna be sick in front of Carter".

"Mmm. You mean like you were after our run last year?". As part of a bet, they had raced from the hospital to her apartment one evening. Cameron had won, though she had been surprised at his stamina. House trailed through a few seconds behind and promptly threw up into a bush outside.

"Exactly. Still amazed you put out after that, mouthwash or no mouthwash".

"For you, I'll always put out", she grinned.

"Good to know". House tilted his head and leant against the doorframe. He casually noted that she had used the future tense.

"I thought you already did". Cameron had returned to her efforts, which now entailed slotting strewn books back onto the shelves, but she still had time to meet his eye again.

House shrugged. "Doesn't hurt to get some positive reinforcement every now and then, does it?".

"Hmm". She sounded thoughtful, but their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Ah, shucks. Would you-?".

"-what? Did you just say 'shucks'?".

"So? House, she's at the door. One moment!", Cameron called out.

"I've literally never heard you say 'shucks' before". House's eyes were alight with mischief.

"Well, now you have. Open the door".

The nephrologist duly ambled over and did as instructed.

"Hi, guys", said Carter, nodding at both occupants before gesturing over her shoulder. "Dr. Cameron, would you mind giving me a hand hauling the stuff from my car?".

"Sure thing. Greg can go get changed in the meantime".


Although Carter had declared the apartment not fit for purpose in the long-term, she had still decided that her trip to Baker Street would not be in vain. So, for the next couple of hours, House and she went through some gentle exercises designed to strengthen muscles that had not seen much use over the last little while. Cameron, too, had joined in over his own protestations:

"This is not really meant for you".

"It's barely even exercise; no point you doing this".

"I don't get why you're doing this, CB…".

Et cetera.

But, as he had discovered, she could be obstinate, and met his challenges with an apparently oblivious smile, or some other excuse:

"You're taking up the space anyway, so it's not like I can work".

"I'm just stretching. It's a free country".

"Sorry, what?".

And this was all in one afternoon.

Carter, for her part, remained studiously quiet as the two engaged in their back and forth, getting things ready for each different exercise. Their dynamic was unlike anything she had witnessed, and though she had spotted Cameron around the hospital, and had certainly heard of House by reputation, it was surprising to observe both of them together, for it would not have been a particularly natural match, at least at first glance. But her opinion was swiftly changing. For one thing, House clearly possessed a desire to see the rehab through, and if she were a betting woman, she would have put this down to Cameron's support. Throughout the exercises, Carter caught him glancing at the other. It was quite sweet, really. And completely at odds with everything she had heard through the grapevine about PPTH's grumpy diagnostician.

"For this next one, I want you to walk using these railings as a support". Carter gestured to a pair of parallel bars which she had lugged in from her car. "The aim here is to correct your posture, which has become slouched in the wheelchair and through cane usage. It'll feel a bit different".

House suppressed an eyeroll but followed the instructions. He recognised immediately that the higher centre of gravity caused by the bars made it more difficult than anticipated.

"Try not to grip so hard. You want to distribute the weight as evenly as possible".

"Ugh".

"How're you finding it?", asked Cameron, who had placed herself to the side, watching his progress intently.

"Actually, kinda hard".

This was nothing like walking on the treadmill with his cane. As he placed one foot gingerly in front of the other, he suddenly felt a wave of anguish and despondency wash over him. For a good part of his adult life, he had been forced to hobble around, in constant pain, downing Vicodin more or less habitually. But that had changed, and for a few blissful months he had enjoyed complete liberation, both physically and in his personal life.

And now? Sweat pricking his face while struggling to walk in a straight line.

Back to square one, Greg.

It didn't feel fair.

"One step at a time", said Carter. "Easy does it".

House sighed. During this period post-crash, he had rarely stopped to languish in self-pity. Each day had been a challenge, sure, but for some reason the black dog on his shoulder had stayed away. And yet he could feel it now, lurking over him, sniffing for weakness as he made his journey of recovery. If there were to be light at the end of the tunnel, he would need to capture this creature, as Heracles had Cerberus.

"Hey". Cameron placed both her hands over his clasping the railing, forcing him to meet her eyes. "You're doing so well".

He managed a wonky smile, and the fog temporarily lifted. "You're not bad for a nurse. Very cheerleader-y".

"Thanks. Maybe I'll pack in immunology and switch careers".

"Were you a cheerleader, by the way?". He completed a few more steps as she held his hand.

"Nah. This may come as a surprise, OK, but I was actually a real nerd in school and college. Those library books didn't read themselves".

House shook his head and threw a wink to Carter. "She's a reader. Ask me, one book should be enough for everyone. The Good Book. Know what I mean?".

The physiotherapist cleared her throat. "I think it's best if we focus on your movements here".

"Ugh". Now his gaze flicked back to Cameron. "She's a True Believer. Does she believe in it all, or just the Christian bits?".

"I never said I was a Christian", replied Carter, a little self-consciously.

"I agree with Carter", intervened Cameron. "Give this your full focus".

"I thought the point of rehab was to rebuild muscles, no?".

"What're you getting at, House?".

"You know as well as I that sarcasm is a muscle. And that needs some flexing, too".

"Thing is, though, I'm not actually sure that we would call sarcasm a muscle. Now, finish your steps".

"Typical", muttered House morosely, nevertheless reaching the end of the bars. "I'm trapped between two beautiful women but they're both fully clothed and completely earnest. Why hast thou forsaken me, Lord? No offence", he added to Carter, who remained impassive. "You got a good poker face".

"Well done, Dr. House", she said instead. "How're you feeling?".

"I'll tell you if you tell me".

"Tell you what?". Carter gestured to the sofa and he sank into it, glugging from a water bottle offered by Cameron.

"If you're Christian".

Carter sighed. Her preferred method was to avoid personal conversations with her patients, but this man wasn't a normal patient. "I'm Italian. So, make of that what you will".

"Catholic, then. I'm very sorry for your loss".

Not entirely sure to what he was referring, the therapist smiled at he and Cameron. "I think we've covered pretty much everything I wanted to, if you guys are happy to call it there?".

Cameron glanced at House, who inclined his head. "I feel OK, in answer to your question".

"Great", continued Carter. "Starting next week, you'll be coming into the hospital. I really do think it's the best environment for recovery".

"Fine", he shrugged. "I'll just lie back and take it, shall I?".

"I really do have high hopes for your recovery-".

"-Pink Floyd reference?".

"Excuse me?".

Cameron came to the rescue. "'High Hopes'. It's, it's a song-, nevermind". A shared interest in Pink Floyd had been established when House had cooked dinner on their third date. A truly happy memory.

"Ah. Not heard it. I'm more a Taylor Swift fan". Carter was bustling around the living room packing up her equipment and she couldn't have seen Cameron's beaming smile.

"Taylor Swift, hey?", she mused. "See, I'd probably say she's a modern pop phenomenon?".

"Oh, for sure", nodded Carter. "My younger sister got me into her. I think it's great for girls to have such an empowering role model, y'know?".

"I know, yeah. What about you, House? Do you know?".

House didn't like ceding the initiative in his own home, so instead he said the first thing that came to his mind: "what's the Italian for 'threesome'?".