When in Rome
"So, in summary, things are looking pretty good for the foreseeable future. Patient numbers are up, deaths are down, and staff satisfaction is getting back to normal after the shooting. Obviously, this time of year tends to be busy as people mingle more than usual but we're well placed to deal with it, thanks in no small part to the investment from your company". Cuddy was holding a meeting with Fiona Townsend. Though initially intended as nothing more than a catch-up, the latter had shown a keen interest in the workings of the hospital, and the former had been only too happy to oblige.
"Great. This looks great". Fiona was leafing through the several pages of notes Cuddy had prepared on short notice. "These armed guards…".
"Yes. We conducted a snap survey soon after…it happened, and the general response was that they provided reassurance. We've gradually phased them out, though. I didn't think it a good look to have them as a permanent presence".
Townsend nodded. "Agreed. Hospitals are places of healing, after all, not military bases".
Cuddy stifled a smile at that rather innocent assessment. Places of healing, yes. But also places of work, and of literal life and death. "Quite. Plus, the circumstances which led to the shooting were, I think, a one-off. It won't happen again".
"No one ever thinks shootings will happen but they do all the same".
"True". Perhaps her initial impression of naivety had been a false one.
"Well", said Fiona, flashing a smile and packing away her pen and notepad, "this all seems to be in order. I'll be sure to report back to my father the good work you're doing".
"Speaking of, are you both still on for the informal gathering at my place Friday? I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago".
"Yep, sounds like a good way to kick things off. Who's likely to be there?". Fiona sat back into the easy chair and folded her long legs.
"A few of the department heads: Roberts from paediatrics, Wildermuth from surgery, Wilson from oncology, et cetera".
"Any diagnosticians likely?".
"House should be there, yes. If he knows what's good for him".
"He's a funny man, isn't he?".
Cuddy tilted her head. "Funny, infuriating, brilliant. You name it, he's probably ticked the box".
"Mmm. Intelligent, no?". Townsend had laced her hands in her lap and was jiggling the fingers rapidly.
"He's the smartest and most difficult man I've ever met". Cuddy was enough of a realist to accept that House's relative unemployability meant that she could afford to pay him somewhat less than he was worth. Even then, he commanded a full departmental lead salary despite the fact that his remit was narrow and his caseload negligible.
"I'd like to talk to him more. As a professional, of course. My father and I have a soft spot for…difficult people".
"That can be arranged. But as you probably guessed from your initial tour, he's not much of a conversationalist". Cuddy decided not to mention that House and Cameron were an item. First, she couldn't decide if Townsend's curiosity was anything more than a professional admiration, and even a subtle warning of his relationship status may cause awkwardness or misunderstanding; and second, she was unsure if the pair had even gone public beyond a small circle of confidantes. It wasn't her job to play gatekeeper, in any case. They could look after themselves.
"No problem. Anyway", Fiona leapt up and checked her phone, "I'll be off now. A day of meetings awaits, hallelujah. Until Friday!".
"OK, thanks, Fiona. See you then". Cuddy opened the door and watched her troop away, phone already jammed to an ear. The woman was hard to place. Townsend had introduced her as his secretary, but it was already clear that she occupied a more senior position than that. Not quite a deputy, perhaps, but certainly some sort of fixer used to winning arguments. Interesting times awaited. Her reverie was disturbed by a ping in her email inbox. With a small sigh, she returned to her desk and prepared for the next task.
Later that afternoon Cameron was working alone at the computer terminal catching up with various departmental business. As expected, their conference appearances had spawned an almighty avalanche of correspondence. In an ideal world, there would be a secretary to deal with all this. But Diagnostics was small, so Cuddy quite reasonably had decided not to bother appointing one. In any case, she didn't mind devoting a bit of extra time each day or so to this unofficially assigned duty. For one thing, it gave her slightly more of a say in whom they treated, since she could arrange a consultation on House's behalf; for another, she had seen Foreman's and Chase's efforts at prose composition. The next Norman Mailer they were not.
Right on cue, Foreman walked in and up to the coffee pot. "Hey. What're you doing?".
Cameron glanced up over the rim of her glasses. "Answering emails. You?".
"Grabbing a drink in the ten minutes I have before clinic. Want one?", he asked, hovering over a second cup.
"Nah. I guess you'll see Chase down there, then. And myself soon". Having replied to one message (declining a conference request from Wisconsin), she tabbed to the next.
"It definitely looked pretty busy on my way up here. Where's House?".
"No idea. Why?".
"Been offered the chance to help run a drug trial with a guy at Holy Cross. Met him at the conference. But it would mean working on secondment one day a week".
"Good luck with that. House is pretty territorial". Cameron sat back and ran a hand through her hair.
"Yeah", he replied, sipping thoughtfully. "You could ask him on my behalf?".
"Hah. I have no influence over him where that kind of stuff is concerned. You scared of the bossman?".
"Of course not. Anyway…", he gulped down his coffee, "…I should probably be off".
At that, House walked into the conference room and went over to the pot, pouring himself a cup and stirring in sugar. "Shouldn't you be in the clinic, Formster?".
"Yes, I'm going. But before I do, I was hoping I could talk to you about an opportunity that has arisen for me".
"Humour transplant finally been invented? For the love of God, do it, no matter how much it costs". House went over to lean against the windowsill.
"Funny. No, I was hoping you'd authorise my co-running a drug trial with a colleague at Holy Cross-".
"-no".
"It'd only be one day a week".
"Oh, really?", asked the other, his tone lighter.
"Yeah. So can I do it?".
"Still no. Young people…so full of hope and gullibility". House yawned dramatically and took a sip of coffee.
But Foreman was not backing down. "It's just one day a week, House. I'd still be taking a full part in all our cases".
Cameron put her earphones in, turned the music up, and pretended to be engrossed in a particularly fascinating email.
"Your job is here, not at Holy Cross". House's voice had become hard and the earlier levity had drained away.
"This is a real opportunity for me-".
"-I don't give a flying fuck if it's a good opportunity. I need you fully focused on this opportunity".
"You can't just forbid-".
House slapped the windowsill and suddenly the pent-up disgruntlement and tension caused by his conversation with Cameron senior yesterday burst its bounds. "-I can, and I am. You're staying here, where you're paid to work. You don't like it, you can fuck off back to Brooklyn or whatever the hell kinda shithole you call home. That's the end of it".
Foreman shook his head, recognising a lost cause when he saw one. But before he left the office he stood in the doorway and glanced back. "I have other offers. If you're gonna be a jerk about this, then I'll think about my position here very carefully".
"You seem to be labouring under the illusion that you are irreplaceable. Allow me to assure you that you are not. Now get lost to the clinic before I fire you myself".
Foreman left the room with another shake of the head.
Cameron, who had still overheard much of the conversation, removed an earbud. "That was brutal".
"Yeah, well, life can be brutal. Not my problem Foreman hasn't figured out the fucking pecking order in this place". House began to prowl the room like a panther. "These people…", he muttered under his breath, "…these requests". Life was simpler when he only had to care about himself. So much simpler. How can you balance all these ties of affection? An impossible task.
"House…". Cameron got up from her chair and intercepted his patrol. Straightaway she knew that Foreman was a symptom not the cause of her partner's ire.
"Don't tell me to calm down. And don't try and pick me apart. I'm not in the mood".
"OK, I won't. But just know: if you want to talk…if there's something bothering you…you can tell me. Maybe I can help".
House shook his head. Yeah, so, your dad, the man who loves you more than anything on this planet, wants me to break up with you. And what's more, his reasons are exactly the same as my own fears. "This is my issue. I'll be fine in a day or two. Stress".
Cameron nodded. Though she had never known House to get stressed at anything, the simple fact that he would try and explain it away as that brought home the reality: no amount of poking would get it out of him. This realisation caused her stomach to churn treacherously. "Fair enough. Hey?".
"What?", he sighed, looking out of the window.
"I love you".
He turned back, her vulnerability touching his heart. "I love you, too".
But is that enough?
"I'm due in the clinic soon myself". She disliked leaving him while he was so clearly conflicted, but her sense of duty was powerful.
Instead of replying directly, House spoke again: "I read recently that in ancient Roman law, the tie between a father and his children overrode even that between spouses. So if a daughter married, she would legally still be under her father's power and part of his family, even after she'd set up a home with her new husband".
"That's…interesting", came the confused reply.
"It's an interesting way of doing things", he nodded. "It's called patria potestas, or 'fatherly power'".
"Could you break free?".
"Emancipation was possible, and sometimes parents could legally 'release' their children. But generally you had to wait 'til he died. Life expectancy obviously wasn't as high as today, and regular wars thinned out the crowd".
"Well, let's be thankful that system is dead".
"Mmm". House laced his hands but remained standing.
"I need to go…are you going to be OK?". Cameron hovered before him, noting how his eyes swam with perplexity. Whatever was happening at present, House looked to be decidedly uncomfortable.
"I told you, I'm fine", he murmured. "Go. It would look pretty bad if you were late for clinic right after I chewed Foreman out for not taking the job seriously".
"About that-".
"-no. I'm not ready for you to second-guess how I deal with the others", he interrupted in a low tone.
"Actually, I agree with you. Foreman was taking liberties angling to work elsewhere. Accountants can't just ask their boss if they could place at another firm one day a week".
House's mouth flickered, almost forming into that familiarly sardonic smile. "Know a lot of accountants, do you?".
"Chicago is crawling with them, no word of a lie. Also…", she reached up and delicately traced a nail down his cheek, leaving a little white line in her wake, "…it makes me kinda hot seeing you go super saiyan on Foreman's ass".
"Was that…was that a Dragonball Z reference?", he growled.
"Maybe".
House tilted her chin upwards and regarded her keenly. "Are you into cartoons?".
"My brothers…", she waved a hand vaguely, though refused to break eye contact.
"Interesting". As usual, still more of Cameron remained to be discovered.
"More interesting than ancient Roman marriage law?", she smirked.
"You wanna come over tonight? Netflix and chill?".
"Knowing you, that's meant to be taken literally".
"Of course. How about it?".
"I wish I could but I…have a prior engagement I can't move".
"Ah. No worries. I guess I'm due some Wilson time anyway", he replied, trying to keep the deflation out of his voice. An evening with Cameron, where he could convince himself anew of the rightness of their situation, might have gone some way towards restoring his confidence.
She noticed the disappointment. "House, you know if it were up to me we'd spend every single night together. But I really do have something I need to do. If I don't see you here before last orders tonight, I will first thing tomorrow".
"It's fine—like I said, no need to worry about me. I'll just watch Netflix and chill with Wilson instead". He drained his mug and went to rinse it in the sink.
"Is that meant to be taken literally?", she wondered.
House snorted but still remained turned away.
"Hey", she went over and placed a hand on the small of his back. "Whatever's up, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to. But if it involves me…just know that I think you're brilliant, and that being with you makes my life brighter".
"Where do you get these lines, honestly…".
"I don't care if you think it's cheesy; it's the truth. If it's something I've done, just say-".
"-it's not anything you've done. Please, just drop it. I'll be fine after a good night's sleep".
Cameron nodded and stretched up to kiss his cheek gently. "We'll be OK, House". With that, she left the room, unable to shake the thought that whenever House said he was fine, as he had done several times now, things were generally not fine.
Now alone, the man himself sighed deeply and turned his head to look out of the window. December was here, and the evenings were drawing in. Though the sky was darkening rapidly, all he could see was his own reflection in the glass: stubbled, grey, hunched, possessed of a mind as fraught and damaged as the body that carried it. There was nothing pretty about him. Cameron would find out sooner or later, and when she did the cosy little castle they had constructed would come tumbling down, as if built on pillars of sand. Her own father had perceived as much after just one night's observation.
Normally, authority figures were safely rejected out of hand. The problem was that Paul Cameron's intervention could be respected as an approach by one man to another. Whether he knew it or not, Paul had tapped into an aspect of House's psychology that even now, after all these years, gave him pause. John House had been impossible to please, full of qualities that made for a crappy father: no warmth and even less understanding. House had long been convinced that he bore no biological relation to his namesake.
So when Cameron's father had approached displaying attributes and concerns that he himself had rarely experienced, it hit home: this was how a family should be. Caring and unconditional. House was not Cameron's family but he still wanted the best for her. At some point they would have to confront the reality that this relationship contained a fundamental weakness or three. For starters: age, outlook, prospects. The question was whether to delay the inevitable or to bite the bullet and get it done.
And after that?
House didn't know, except that happiness was as transitory as an end was inevitable.
Maybe let her be with someone who has similar interests and a similar outlook; someone who isn't so…grey.
Paul's words were not especially revelatory, since he knew himself, had in fact always known, how things would end. But they carried an impossible weight all the same. In Rome, fathers knew best. Their word, without exaggeration or metaphor, was law.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do.
House sighed and considered the view once again. Here he stood for some time, observing as the sun set on the horizon, tracking as the red and orange streaks faded, minute by minute, until only a still gloom remained.
