Paradise lost
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, and a Hell of Heaven.
John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667)
A.N. Sorry for the delay: this chapter took a while to write. I haven't spent this long on one since the smut entries.
Cameron's changing thought process in this chapter I modelled on S2E1 where House takes her through the five stages of dying (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance). John Henry Giles' speech to House in S1E9 in which he discussed the 'lonely genius' shtick was also an inspiration. Finally, House's suggestion that he move his practice online was taken from S5E10 when Kutner sets up an online consultation under House's name as a money-making venture.
Cameron heard the key in the lock and immediately got to her feet. She had turned the television on for no other reason than it provided background noise to soften the feelings of extreme anxiety churning in her stomach. Unanswered WhatsApp messages and hunger did not help either.
House stepped through the door. If he was surprised to see her standing there, he didn't show it. "Hey".
"Hi". She started to go over to him, but hesitated, uncertain of his state of mind. He looked terrible: not physically, of course. But his eyes were haunted and his face seemed pinched, as if he had bitten into a piece of sour candy and was regretting its taste.
"Sorry about the quick exit. I had to do something". House slung his jacket over the sofa arm and sank into the leather. Cameron hovered nearby and it was not until he held out a hand that she took the space next to him. They sat in silence until he noticed the TV for the first time. "What're you watching?".
"Nothing. Just some David Attenborough thing on BBC America". She switched it off.
More silence.
"Can I have a hug?", he asked eventually. The innocence of this request shook her to the core. It was the voice of a lost boy, plaintive and afraid, not that of America's most brilliant and single-minded doctor.
For once, the immunologist didn't even think to correct his grammar. Instead she shuffled over and enveloped him in her arms, feeling his face bury characteristically in her hair. Both of his hands clasped her back and she pulled him in tight, whispering softly: "whatever it is, Greg, I'll protect you, I'll protect you".
"But can you protect me from myself?", he wondered quietly.
"Of course. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a PhD in House studies".
This comment caused a little chuckle and he pulled back to flick her nose with his thumb. "You're a real loser".
"Thanks, you too".
"I need a drink". He was about to get up, but she placed a hand on his knee.
"I'll do it". Cameron prepared a couple of scotches at the drinks cabinet and returned to the couch, handing one over. The woman took a sip, feeling the familiar burn, and remained quiet, sensing that he was about to talk.
"I went to see Wilson", he muttered.
"I know. Your email was open…saw it by accident". She spoke with some apprehension, since House liked his privacy and might react poorly if he thought she had been snooping. She had been snooping, but not intentionally.
House merely nodded. It didn't matter now. "So you know that he stole my patient because I prescribed her relaxants when she actually had early-onset heart disease".
"What I don't get is why he didn't just tell you. All this cloak and dagger isn't healthy". As Cameron had informed Foreman recently, she much preferred the straightforward approach. It was an approach she herself had used on House before they got together: once in the lab, asking him why he was interested in her interest; once more in Café Spoleto, during their extorted 'date'. In neither case was the desired result achieved, and she had since become used to this indirectness where House was concerned. It was no surprise that Wilson, too, behaved this way.
"He thought he was protecting me", sighed House.
"From what?".
"From my mistakes".
"What? One misdiagnosis in clinic doesn't mean-".
"-it's not just one mistake, Cameron. It's…it's…". House trailed off and looked to the floor.
The woman reached across and placed both her hands over his. "Whatever it is, we can get through it together".
He looked into her eyes so full of hope and love. "I've fucked up. And you're a reason why".
House went through the conversation he had shared with Wilson, leaving nothing out. Cameron listened silently with a growing sense of unease. If the oncologist was correct, it would mean that things were serious. None of it was sanctionable by Cuddy or the higher-ups but there would almost certainly need to be some sort of review. Mistakes were unavoidable and there were processes in place to deal with them. The real issue was the implication for House's practice and, consequently, their relationship.
Cameron shook her head. "Are we even certain that Wilson is right? Like, all four of us have been working on these cases together and there's been nothing that's stuck out as obviously wrong".
"At first I thought the same thing, but now I'm not so sure".
"We'd have noticed", she stated firmly.
"Are you sure about that? A lot of the evidence Wilson's…gathered", the word sat uncomfortably as House thought back on his friend's modus operandi, "date from earlier this year, when I was, ah, preoccupied". All the days and nights he had spent thinking about Cameron, attempting to figure out his feelings, whether he actually had feelings, flitted before his eyes. Thinking back, he knew this period of emotional diagnostics had certainly impacted his work. The question to be answered was whether the impact was quite as serious as Wilson alleged.
"Even if you were preoccupied, we weren't. Wilson may have found some irregularities, sure, but…", she waved a hand in the air, "…but it probably just took us a while to get back into the swing of things after the shooting".
"This isn't a simple case of acclimatisation. This is about a period of sustained deterioration in the quality of care that we provide. This is about real mistakes that have had real impacts", replied the diagnostician, feeling a wave of tiredness and anger build.
"We're a team, Greg. Nobody's perfect".
House looked down. He had heard that phrase a lot lately. It covered failings, excused everything. Mistakes are part of the job. Nobody's perfect.
"Whatever problems Wilson has found, their impacts have been managed adequately. No one's actually died". As soon as the words left her mouth she knew she had misspoken.
True enough, he looked up and his eyes flashed with anger. "It's not a question of managing the fucking consequences, Cameron, Jesus. It's a question of not having any consequences to manage in the first place".
"You're right, sorry", she replied softly.
"And, for the record, somebody has died. The goddam marine". House brought both hands to his face. "Thallium", he whispered, seemingly to himself. "And we don't even know if it was an accidental or deliberate poisoning. There could be someone out there killing off old guys from the army. Wilson mentioned that several others died at a similar time".
"Probably a coincidence", murmured the immunologist, though remembering with a tremor of apprehension that thallium had been banned several decades ago due to its toxicity to humans. "Weren't they from different states?".
"The point is we don't know. Because I was too busy with you. God…".
The way he spoke these words, the way they seemed to drip with disgust, made Cameron chillingly afraid. "But nothing interfered with the case", she remonstrated.
House shook his head. "You always interfere with the case because you're always in my head. I've told you so several times".
Cameron didn't know what to say to this because it was true. It was one of the first things they had discussed as a couple. Silence descended in the room as a motorbike hurtled along the street below, its engine noise reverberating off the walls. This caused her to think back to earlier in the year, when House had believed that she would leave him for Chase. Back then he had ridden off into the sunset for a couple of days to clear his head. Tonight, though, he had come straight back from Wilson's. How to judge this reality? Was it good that he wished to share the burden? Or did it mean that the situation truly was desperate? As ever, such theorising did nothing for her heart rate.
The nephrologist, meanwhile, seemed wrapped up in his own world. Frantically he was attempting to piece together everything Wilson had said. Cases months in the past shimmered before his mind's eye as he subconsciously counted up possible successes and failures. Only one person had died, but that wasn't really the point. From a professional perspective, inaccuracy needed stamping out. But even leaving that aside, he could brook no situation in which his diagnostic ability and academic intellect was compromised. Medicine was his life.
"Are you OK?", asked Cameron eventually. There was no reply so she tried again. "House?".
He looked up, his watery eyes reminding her of those she had seen in the ER. They belonged in the faces of alcoholics and drug addicts, harbouring little but lost hope and vacancy. "No. No, I don't think I am".
This response caused her own eyes to moisten and she stroked his cheek. "Oh, House…I'm so sorry this has happened, I'm so sorry".
He gave her a weird look but nevertheless nuzzled her hand. "This is not your fault, Cameron".
"I've distracted you".
"Well, sure, but I'm the one whose work has been impacted. I'm the one who's struggling here". House attempted a smile but it came out as a grimace.
"Let me help you. What can I do?", she asked as calmly as possible, reaching over to cover his clasped hands with her spare one. "Do you want takeout? I could pick something up and bring it back".
"Fine", he murmured, the temporary lightness gone.
"What d'you fancy?". Cameron got up and went for her coat.
"Whatever. Don't mind".
"OK, be right back".
House didn't reply as the door closed.
The pair shared a largely silent dinner. Usually such silences were comfortable, like those which existed between old friends or, indeed, husband and wife. Cameron often found herself enjoying these periods with House where nothing needed to be said. The hospital was so frenetic, and simple peace and quiet needed treasuring. But, right now, none of the usual pleasure arose. Instead, the silence loomed with things left unspoken. Only after House had finished his Moo Shu pork did he set down the chopsticks and regard his companion. "As I see it, we can either accept Wilson's findings or reject them".
Cameron, who had been sipping from her drink, set it down on the table. "Do you think they're accurate?".
"Most likely, yes. He's a decent doctor, and we already know that I've lost focus in the past, with Stacy…and now with you".
The immunologist sighed. It hurt to think about Stacy not only because she still succumbed to bouts of jealousy, but also because she knew what had happened in the end. The woman had been willing to finally leave her husband, but rather than accept this with open arms House instead pushed her away. She subsequently left Princeton never to be seen again.
"What do you think?", prompted House.
"I suppose it's possible, but I just don't see how, if these errors happened, no one saw them".
"Wilson suspects that they just slipped under the radar. It's been pretty full-on and we've each had distractions".
"I've not. I've got everything nicely divided up, life-wise. I don't think my work has suffered".
"Well, I think about you constantly-".
"-as I do you".
"So, don't you think it's possible that somewhere along the line shit's got confused, or attention's wandered? Because, honestly, I think it has for me".
"Then we need to do something about it", said Cameron forcefully.
House met her eyes. "I agree".
She saw something in them. "No, no, no. You cannot be doing what you're thinking of doing. Absolutely not".
"What am I thinking of doing?".
"Breaking up with me".
The man exhaled. Sometimes it felt like Cameron possessed an inside track to his brain. He had said nothing explicit but still she knew his thought process. "Look", he began, "at the end of the day, we are both rational people-".
"-nu-uh, don't start with that logical bullshit, OK. I know you're hurting, but I'm really not in the mood", she interrupted.
"I'm just saying that-".
"-I said no. It's not happening". Cameron folded her arms.
Suddenly House snapped. "Well, what's your fucking solution then? Jesus Christ, Allison, I'm on the edge here. Medicine is what I do. It's my life. These mistakes…it's never happened before, not to this extent. Something has to change or more people will die!". He went over to stand by the window.
"I know, I know". The blonde could feel tears building but she forced them down. House was right on both counts. Medicine was his identity, and if he was distracted, people would die. Had she herself not thought that, if it came to it, she would sooner end things than take away his meaning? "What if I left diagnostics and went to the ER or something. Would that help?", she asked.
House shook his head. "I told you after bowling that I wouldn't be comfortable you jeopardising your career for this relationship". The conversation with Paul Cameron flashed through his mind. Maybe Dad was right after all. Maybe it was safer, for both of them now, to be apart.
"But I don't care about any of that".
"You might not now, but when you're ol-", he stopped himself.
"When I'm older? Is that what you were going to say? You're bringing up the fucking age gap now? When are you going to realise that I make my own decisions, House? I want to be with you, but it sounds like you don't want to be with me".
The nephrologist stormed back over to the couch. "Of course I want to be with you! I'm just trying to, to…think of a solution before my brain explodes".
"Fine, but if you ever mention age to me again, I'm breaking your arm; don't care how conflicted you are".
"OK, you win". He tried a goofy smile.
Cameron recognised the olive branch and returned it, but quickly sank back into despondency. "No one's winning, House".
"You can say that again". The question to be answered was whether this problem could be managed: maybe institute rules like no kissing at work or something. But such a step didn't really solve the fundamental issue that this relationship remained a distraction. Irrespective of their physical closeness during the workday, Cameron would still occupy his brain. "Maybe I just take a sabbatical or something", he murmured. "Move my practice online for a bit, y'know? 'Dr. Gregory House's Second Opinion Clinic with medical advice direct from Gregory House'".
"Would you be happy doing that?".
House shrugged. "Dunno".
"Probably not, though", Cameron sighed. "You belong in the hospital".
"Mmm".
The evening stretched on, periods of silence and reflection punctuated by subdued conversation. Both of them studiously avoided broaching the topic that lingered in the background. There remained one solution that would almost definitely work. But neither showed any willingness to bring it up again.
For Cameron, the prospect of a breakup filled her with existential dread. Having waited so long for a relationship with House, to consider ending what they had made her deeply depressed. But she also knew him like the back of her hand, and she had known what she was getting herself into. More than this, she also appreciated how unlikely a happy ending would be. Every now and then, in little moments, a daydream would enter her brain of a future in which they dated, moved in together, married, had kids. It was a perfectly normal dream. But because it was normal it was far-fetched, and just a touch selfish, expecting House to conform to a template so mundane.
Cameron didn't want him to change but, really, by pursuing this relationship, she already had changed him. Most of these changes were fairly minor. But this one involved his practice of medicine, the thing that made House 'House'.
Most people were able to balance their personal and professional lives; most were able to compartmentalise to some degree so that things didn't start spilling over into other areas. But House was not 'other people'. Cameron supposed it was a marker of his uniqueness. They had treated another similarly talented individual in John Henry Giles a couple of years back and he, like House, seemed weirdly single-minded. There had been no girlfriend or wife at his bedside, no family. Perhaps it was the price these people paid for their gift.
And who was she to get in the way of that? It would have been the height of selfishness, to know the damage their relationship was causing and still do nothing. Cameron had told House that she would protect him, and that was what she would do.
House had returned to sit on the sofa, sipping his whisky forlornly, torture and indecision etched in the lines of his face.
"I think…I think we should break up", she whispered.
"What?".
"I said that we should consider breaking up, if that's what it takes to, to…restore you back to normal". Even saying these words made her feel sick to the stomach.
"What about us?".
"I'd…I'd sacrifice us for you. I'd sacrifice my happiness for you".
The nephrologist looked at the floor. "This is fucked up. If I was…normal…we wouldn't be in this situation".
"If you were normal I wouldn't love you".
House groaned and jammed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, as if that act could erase the past few hours and return him to a state of blissful happiness. Already his fertile mind was beginning to think of counter-arguments: a few mistakes here and there were not catastrophic, were they? Only Wilson knew the extent of it, and he would keep quiet if asked, as long as no one died. Perhaps he could demand his fellows doublecheck every suggestion he made, to ensure quality and rationality? This final thought caused the events of his hallucination to surge into his brain.
A memory of a cursed time long gone but never forgotten.
Back then, he had urged Cameron, Foreman and Chase to question each deduction, so sure was he that things were not as they appeared. But immediately he knew that here, in the real world of flesh, blood and bone, that course of action would not work. Long-term, it wasn't a solution, and he simply could not live with such a situation: second guessing himself, having his hand held by his own staff? No.
He had been with Stacy for five years and there hadn't been an issue. But they also hadn't worked together. And when she had got a job as legal counsel for the hospital, things quickly deteriorated. Events now resembled those back then, except many times more powerful. He needed to think it through.
Why was Cameron special? A question.
Cameron was special. A statement.
Medicine defined his life. A statement.
This is too hard. Back to square one.
Think again. Balance the equation. Do what you do.
"House…House, hey. Look at me".
He glanced up. Cameron was kneeling in front of him and had taken his hands in hers. Once again the hallucination burst into being, except this time they were both outside his hospital room, back when she barred his way, back when their hands were locked to the drip stand. Back when they were both figments of imagination. This cannot be happening again. "Cameron…", he muttered.
"Oh, House…". The familiar blue eyes were glassy, the skin around them red raw from the pressure exerted by his own hands. This sight broke her heart but strengthened her resolve.
"I, I can't do it. I need…time to, to fix, to find, myself again".
"Then time is what you'll have", she said, willing strength on herself.
"Things are too…spread out, right now. Medicine is my life".
"I know it is, my love, I know it is", she murmured, caressing his cheek.
"You wouldn't hate me, if we-, if I…? You wouldn't leave the hospital?". His voice was pleading.
"No on both counts, buster".
"I'm sorry I've disappointed you. I'm sorry I'm not normal". House's head slumped again.
But Cameron tilted his chin up again. "I'm not sorry. Not at all. These six months have been a paradise, and I'll always be grateful that you let me love you".
"I'm sorry…".
"Don't be. I knew as soon as you came in tonight. This is the right thing to do".
"I don't know how long-, I mean, I don't want you to wait for me. Just in case I, I'm…yeah…".
"Don't worry about that. It'll sort itself out somehow". The eyes of both shone, before the woman tilted her forehead to his. "I want you to look after yourself while I'm gone", she whispered, her voice finally breaking. "Understand?".
House nodded, before asking: "are you going to be-".
"-yes". No. "I'll be OK. I'm stronger than I look".
The nephrologist noticed his hand shaking and ran it through his already ruffled hair. "Thank you", he said instead. "For everything".
"Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. Goodbye, House".
After brushing her lips lightly to his stubbled cheek, Cameron quietly retrieved her jacket and left the apartment in a daze. Only upon reaching the sanctuary of her car did she finally relinquish control and allow the tears, which had been threatening for the last hour, to stream freely down her face.
House and Cameron would see each other at work, but it wouldn't be the same.
Confessions is now entering a new phase. I have a few things I'd like to explore in this portion, and it'll continue for as long as I can bear it and as long as it serves its purpose. I love seeing House and Cameron together and happy, but we've had 250k words of happiness, and it'll be interesting to try something different. There's likely to be a bit of angst, so if you don't fancy that, you can absolutely check out/unfollow this story for now and pop back in later (spoiler alert!) for the inevitable reuniting. I know exactly how it's going to happen, and you probably do, too, given how clichéd this story is. See you (or not, if you're checking out) in the next chapter.
