Back to basics
For the next few days House made a habit of getting in early, long before the fellows. The morning quiet, pitch black outside and freezing cold, helped him relax, and also offered a window in which he could devote himself to whatever needed doing without interruption. Today it was a read-through of their latest cases. Everything had gone to plan, and the most recent patient was due for discharge today, but he was taking no chances.
Wandering through to the larger office, he put coffee on to brew. He wouldn't admit as much to his staff, but the revelations of the last week or so had severely shaken his confidence. Looking back, the time with Cameron had been a dream of the best kind: each day had brought with it some fresh happiness. And yet, just like any dream, a rude awakening had inevitably followed. How could it have reached the point where his brain had missed mistakes? House didn't know.
What he did know was that happiness itself sat uncomfortably with him. It made him feel warm inside, and, from experience, whenever this happened, problems tended to arise. Stacy existed as proof and now so too did Cameron. He brought his drink back to the office where he sank into the chair and took a sip. In any case, the time of happiness was over. Going into the new year he would need to be ruthless, relying on no one but himself. Even Wilson was persona non grata at the moment. Right he may have been about the whole thing, it didn't mean that House accepted his friend's involvement.
Alone in the office House worked. Behind him, if he cared to look out of the window, the morning brightened, revealing leaden clouds and steady snowfall. It was the week of Christmas, a completely arbitrary and unfailingly annoying period of the year. With any luck, he could cocoon himself away from everyone and get back to focusing on the important things: saving lives.
Finishing one treatment report, he reached into his drawer for another, but his hand alighted on a small box instead. For a split second he wondered what it could be, before sighing loudly. Carefully he took it out and placed it on the desk. He knew what this was because he had bought it himself in London. Cracking open the lid, he gazed down at the piece of jewellery, which caught even the subdued light from his desk lamp. Before their go-karting date he had jokingly hidden a chocolate brownie in a similar box. But this was the real thing. Intended as a Christmas present for Cameron, it now served only to remind him of a lost love.
Fuck it.
House spent a minute or two in indecision. There was no way he could return it because the shop lay on the other side of the Atlantic. But he couldn't give it to her either. That would just be weird, and the two had tried to keep their interactions to a minimum and strictly professional.
"What's that, then?". Cuddy had entered and was now looking at the box on the desk, which House had failed to hide quickly enough.
"You don't knock anymore?", he asked heatedly.
"Sorry, didn't expect you to be in so early. Just wanted to drop another case off. A referral from May in Vascular". Cuddy waved the file.
"Fine, give".
Cuddy handed it over and stayed quiet as House browsed. They hadn't spoken since she had learned of the breakup.
"This looks interesting", he said eventually. "I'll take it".
"Good. Hey, Hou-?".
"-Cameron and I broke up".
"So I heard. D'you want to talk about it?". She sat down in the chair opposite.
"No". House still had not figured out how to tell Cuddy of the mistakes in Diagnostics, or even that he wanted to tell her. The whole problem needed more thought.
"OK", she nodded, content to let the issue rest. Now was not the right time to probe. "What's that?", she asked again, gesturing to the box.
"Your Christmas present. Here". He pushed it across.
"Oh?". An eyebrow raise.
"Yeah, well, it's just a silly thing. For being understanding after the shooting and, y'know, fixing my leg and stuff".
"You didn't need to do that. Shall I, er, open it now?".
"Absolutely not. The risk of you hugging me in response is too great".
"Fair enough", she nodded. "Thanks".
"Yep. Anyway, I have stuff to do, so…", he muttered, making to turn back to the computer.
"I'll leave you to it, then". Cuddy got to her feet and moved to the door before calling back: "House, whatever's happened, with both Cameron and Wilson, you know I'll always be there for you, right?".
House glanced over, and for a second the familiar sardonic smile emerged. "Is that your butt or boobs talking?".
"Actually, it's my mouth".
"Ah, my mistake". The sense of deflation settled around him once again and he spoke shortly: "you can close the door on your way out".
Cuddy made a sympathetic noise and duly left, walking along the corridor. Riding the elevator back down, she removed the box from her pocket and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful silver necklace, each link in the chain delicately fluted. She stared at it for a good few seconds, trying to decide what the gift meant. Usual presents from House (if he bothered at all) were a fraction of the price: last year it had been the Dummy's Guide to Sex, which rocked in at a solid eight dollars and fifty cents.
Cuddy exited and crossed the lobby. Something was definitely up. Perhaps House intended to slither out of clinic duty after all and the necklace fulfilled the purpose of a bribe. But such a thing was not his style, and given the trauma incurred by the breakup, she would have granted him an exemption anyway. It was only as she sat in her chair and tabbed to her diary that realisation struck: the necklace had been meant for Cameron. Presumably bought long in advance, it would have been a surprise. Though not prone to grand gestures, House's romanticism existed nevertheless, and a beautiful present like this would have made Cameron's heart soar. This recognition made her sad, and she was still thinking about it as her email pinged and forced her to return to work-related matters.
The three fellows were talking together that morning waiting for their boss, who was still ensconced in his office, to make his way through and assign them another case. This had become a regular occurrence over the last week or so, and Foreman and Chase sought an explanation for House's sudden withdrawal. Cameron already knew, of course, but she had no desire to share the depressing twin revelation of his mistakes and their split. Besides, it was House's business now.
"Maybe he's planning something", mused Chase.
"Planning to give us more work more likely. It's Christmas in a few days. Kinda hoping we'll get a day off". Foreman leafed through a journal half-heartedly.
"Just take leave if you're that fussed. I never bothered with family that much", he replied.
"Easy for you to say: they're all in Australia. My mom's getting worse".
"Alzheimer's, wasn't it?".
"Yeah. Pretty fast moving, too".
"Sorry to hear that, mate".
Foreman accepted the condolences with a tilt of the head before turning his attention to Cameron. "What about you?".
She had only been half listening and she looked up, quickly rubbing an eye. "Huh? Sorry, was caught up in my own world".
"What're your plans for Christmas?", he asked, pretending not to have noticed her distractedness. Although fairly sure that something seismic had occurred behind the scenes, experience taught that Cameron hated inquiries about her personal life, and Foreman respected her right to privacy.
"Oh, I'm flying to Chicago Christmas Eve. Already booked the time off". In actual fact, the flight had only been secured last night. Terrified by the prospect of spending the festive period alone, she quickly checked last-minute trips and was relieved to find a spare seat, admittedly at an eye-wateringly high price. A month or so ago, it had crossed her mind to invite House to Chicago as a sort of formal introduction. But she had never got around to raising the topic and now it was too late.
Both men glanced at each other, aware that she seemingly hadn't included House in these plans—there had been no 'we'. Chase coughed discreetly. "That'll be nice to get back home".
"Yeah, I guess", murmured the other.
"Cameron, what's going-?".
But before Chase could finish the question, the adjoining door opened and House entered clutching tell-tale blue files.
"So we do have another case", sighed Foreman.
"I know. It's almost like illnesses don't care if it's Christmas". House handed them out and sat at the head of the table, studiously avoiding looking at his ex-girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. What a shitty thought. "Come on", he said brusquely. "What causes pathological hiccups and inability to balance?".
"We need to read it first".
"Get a move on, for God's sake".
"Brain could connect the two", mused Chase.
"It could…except that May has already done a CT: her head's empty". Cameron scanned the readouts quickly. If things between them were to be bearable, she would need to try and focus on the medicine, as House was.
House smiled. As ever, Cameron was attentive to the small details.
She almost returned it, but caught herself just in time. "What about MS? It wouldn't show up on the scans and those of Scandinavian heritage are more prone to it".
"That'll be a good starting point. Go and do a lumbar puncture to confirm".
"How're we meant to do an LP on a guy with constant hiccups?", asked Foreman incredulously.
"Be creative. You'll find a way". House watched his staff leave the room. Cameron looked just as he felt: pale, tired, and sad. But at least her contributions to differentials remained incisive. At some point he would need to inform Foreman and Chase about the change between himself and their female colleague. That was a conversation to which he was not looking forward. And they also had to sort out Secret Santa.
Christmas sucked.
The diagnosticians were once more in the office later that evening. Their patient had deteriorated under a blizzard of new symptoms. "I just don't get what causes sudden lesions and a broken femur. The girl just turned over in the bed and it snapped in two". Chase shook his head.
"It has to be some sort of cancer", suggested Cameron.
"That wasn't picked up by the biopsy? Impossible". Foreman this time.
"It's not impossible. Biopsies aren't infallible. No tests are".
"Sure, but by that reasoning it should be osteomyelitis—the only thing that can break the hardest bone in the body. But the X-ray revealed nothing".
"I agree with Cameron", said Chase. "The symptoms point to cancer even if we can't see it-".
Foreman scoffed. "-oh, great. Of course you would agree with her".
"What the hell's that meant to mean?", she asked heatedly.
"You've been in a shitty mood all week, and now Chase is trying to get into your good books".
"My mood has nothing to do with my work". Her tone was hard.
"And I'm not trying to get into her good books". Chase turned to House. "We should blast her with full body radiation before she becomes too weak for further treatment".
"How're you planning to get consent?", queried Foreman. "Gonna ask the husband? 'Hi, we've detected no cancer in your wife's body, but would you please sign off on us pumping her full of poison, thanks'".
"Look, I never said it would be rosy, but it's better than not doing anything at all-", began Chase, rolling up his sleeves.
"-what did you just say?". House, who had been quiet so far, thinking through his subordinates' points, suddenly looked up.
"I said chemo would be better than nothing".
"Before that". He waved his hand in the air.
"He said it wouldn't be rosy", interjected Cameron, who could see House was on the verge of an epiphany, his eyes lost in that trademark thousand-yard stare. "What're you thinking?".
"That you're all completely wrong. Let's go".
"Where are we going?", they asked in unison.
"To tell the patient the good news, obviously". With that, he strode to the door and left without another word.
The foursome were walking back to the office after yet another success. This one had been all House, the diagnosis truly a piece of exceptional and intuitive thinking. "Sporotrichosis", wondered Foreman. "That's rare as hell. How did you know about the roses? There was nothing in the history to suggest a close contact with them".
"A wizard never reveals his magic tricks, not even to a fellow home-dog".
"Come on, how are we going to learn if you keep everything to yourself?".
"If you think I care about how much you learn in this job, then might I suggest you've got some bigger problems?", retorted House as they reached their destination. "Speaking of jobs, we've got some departmental business to take care of. But it'll keep 'til tomorrow".
"Probably just Secret Santa", offered Chase once House had retreated to his office.
Cameron swallowed a sigh and draped her white coat carefully over the chair.
"Do you know what he's referring to?", asked Foreman.
He's referring to mistakes in Diagnostics needing fixing. He's referring to the disintegration of the only relationship I care about. "It's…it's not my place to say", she tried, but managing only to draw attention to her frailty and the shakiness of her voice.
Foreman hung his head as he realised, finally, what had happened. In the event, his earlier inkling that the dynamic in the department was about to change was not far off-target: except that it already had changed. "Cameron", he murmured. "We're here for you, no matter how it pans out".
She pursed her lips but inclined her head, acknowledging the gesture.
"What the hell's going on?". Chase was completely mystified.
"House and I…are no longer together. And the reason why is something I imagine he's going to tell you tomorrow".
"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Allis-".
"-it's OK. I'll be OK", she replied with more conviction than she felt.
"Let us at least buy you a drink". Foreman patted her arm.
"I was just gonna head home, to be honest".
"One drink. Between friends, hey?".
Cameron sighed, glancing automatically at House through the glass. Already he was leafing through another file, or else dutifully recording the full diagnostic process of the just-completed case so that he could check every step for accuracy. This was exactly what he needed to rediscover his mojo: full, uninterrupted focus on the job at hand. Getting back to basics.
But what she needed was a distraction. Maybe a drink with the guys could offer that. "Fine", she relented. "One drink. Then I'm off to bed".
