Pumpkins
A.N. There's been a spate of activity on this story recently, so thanks a lot. It really does make me warm inside, even if we're driving through a pretty grim patch for Hameron at the moment.
Over the next several weeks Diagnostics experienced a caseload it hadn't seen since just after House's return following the shooting. The man himself set a ferocious pace, accepting treatment requests with barely a second glance at the particulars. Usually, Cuddy and Wilson took it upon themselves to direct work to their friend, but so far this year they had simply left him to get on with it. Both believed House's relentless schedule a process of self-flagellation—punishment for his mistakes, yes, but also punishment for destroying his relationship and damaging Cameron.
The fellows reacted in their own way. Chase disliked the extra work but took every opportunity to do it in proximity to his female colleague. If pressed he would of course admit to an ulterior motive, but the Australian was a good man at heart, and he hated seeing her in turmoil. Foreman, meanwhile, who had decided against taking the job with Marty Hamilton in California, carried out his duties with a grim professionalism born of a desire to prove himself an equal to House.
As for Cameron, she functioned. Like her boss, she also buried herself in work. But where House could at least derive a form of satisfaction from seeing it as a redemptive process, as a balancing of the medical ledger, Cameron had no such luxury. As she had confided to him a while ago, their relationship fitted into a neat part of a life she kept rigidly compartmentalised. Consequently, their love had never affected her aptitude in the hospital. And yet, precisely because their relationship occupied its own area, now that it was over, she felt like a part of her was missing.
Cameron was reading through a clinic file one Tuesday when she realised how she felt. It belonged to a Mr. Plimpkin, whose name reminded her, naturally, of 'pumpkin', and those they used to prepare as children every Halloween. When she was still little, she could distinctly remember questioning her father about the practice of gouging out the flesh and carving weird faces. It had always seemed faintly cruel—to give something a human-like expression but scrape out its innards. To a very young Cameron, brought up with a pair of brothers prone to gross-outs, it resembled a zombie eating the brains of its victim.
But now, as an adult standing in the hospital clinic, the pumpkins came to mind.
I feel hollowed out.
The immunologist sighed but looked to the nurse: "is Plimpkin still in exam room three?".
"Yes", she replied, "is that not what you wanted?". Evidently the woman had taken Cameron's sigh as one of annoyance at a perceived mistake on her part.
Ordinarily, Cameron would have gone out of her way to assure the other, but today she wasn't in the mood. "I see he's missed a couple of questions on the admission form".
"Oh. Shall I-?".
"-no, don't worry about it. I'll head over there and take down the answers myself".
"OK. I've got a couple more patients that need clearing afterwards, if you have time? We were expecting another doctor to pop down fifteen minutes ago, but so far nothing".
Cameron leapt at the chance to avoid going back to the office. "No problem. When you say 'a couple', you mean…?".
The nurse gave an apologetic smile. "Eight or so? But generally people don't like it when I'm up front with the caseload; most like to keep their clinic duty short and sweet, y'know?".
"Understandable. Anyway, I'll head back here when I'm done with this one". Cameron waved the file and went to find her patient, pleased at the prospect of a full afternoon.
A little earlier, Chase and Foreman were eating lunch together in the cafeteria. Over the last period they had relied on snatched mouthfuls between some treatment or other, so breathless had been their routine. But now they had no case, and a chance to sit down and eat in relative peace.
The Australian took a bite of his tuna and sweetcorn sandwich. "So you really declined the position in California?".
"Yeah. It was funny. I sorta came to the realisation during Christmas that for all I dislike how House has handled this situation with the mistakes, he really is a better doctor than Hamilton". Foreman put down his Coke and laced his fingers on the table.
"Even though you gave him both barrels about how he'd lost his touch?".
"Well, he had. You agree with me there…", Chase inclined his head as Foreman continued: "…but it seems like he's getting back to basics".
"Mmm", nodded the other. "I'm still surprised he didn't reprimand you. Regardless, we've definitely done some pretty cool medicine recently. I don't think I've ever seen the bossman so driven".
"Probably a reaction to the split with Cameron", mused Foreman, spearing some pasta and munching thoughtfully.
Chase nodded. "She seems really down about it, huh?".
"I think she was in love".
"Naaah, no way. They were just going out. It's always bumming when a relationship ends, though".
Foreman's fork froze mid-air. "You're kidding, right?".
"Huh? No. It's House. Like, the guy's a great doctor, but I bet he's pretty hard to love. Stacy left for a reason. Besides, how old is he? Forty, fifty?".
"Somewhere in between, I guess", shrugged the neurologist.
"Exactly", exclaimed Chase, raising his cup. "And Cameron is, what, late twenties, thirty max?".
"Really? Damn, am I the oldest? No way. I'm older than you, right?", frowned Foreman.
"Yeah. Anyway, my point is that someone who looks like Cameron does not love someone who looks like House. Sorry. That's just an evolutionary fact".
"So who would she love, then? Someone like you?".
"You said it, not me".
"Your theory relies solely on physical attributes. Evolution also makes us seek out desirable traits: intellect, similarity in emotions and outlook…".
"Cameron is nothing like House, man".
"I'm not getting into this again, OK?", sighed Foreman. "If you wanna ask her out, fine. I think it's too soon, but it's your call".
"I'm not gonna ask her out. Not yet, anyway".
"But you're obviously planning something…?".
Chase's eyes, which had been lost in thought, refocused. "I'm not planning anything. But I am gonna start dropping hints that, y'know, there are other options out there".
"Bad idea. I don't think she likes you in that way".
"Yeah, well, we'll have to see what happens, huh?".
Cameron made it back to the office towards evening. Nobody else was in the conference room, and she could see House scribbling away at his desk with earphones in. After pouring herself a glass of water she wandered over to check email, both departmental and personal, before clocking off. Since AJM had accepted her article, she had got into the habit of making this the last act of the day, just in case any more updates on the publication schedule came through. July was fine, of course, but it gave her a little thrill to imagine it being pushed forwards.
When she got to the computer, though, there was a piece of paper resting on the keyboard:
Happy Tuesday Cameron. I like you x
The immunologist stared at it blankly for a few seconds, then turned it over, then read it again. This was it, and there was no clue hinting at an author. House lingered in the next room, but surely he wouldn't leave this…
In a rush of anger, Cameron set down her water glass and strode into his office without knocking. "This", she brandished the note, "is really fucking low of you. I thought we agreed to keep things professional. But if this is just to toy with me in one of your stupid games…!".
House glanced up, blinking a little as he removed his earphones. "Huh?".
"Don't 'huh' me! It doesn't take fucking Sherlock Holmes to figure out who's behind this. It's even written in your pen. You just want to hurt me, is that it?".
"Cameron, sorry, but I've got no idea what you're talking about".
"This!", she shoved it in front of his face.
"…wasn't written by me", he finished, tracing the words.
"It's in your pen".
"But not my handwriting. All these years and I thought you'd know that by now". House's mouth almost flickered into a smile, but he quickly composed his features. In a weird way, as told to her a while back, he had always loved it when Cameron became emotional—the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened. It made her even more beautiful than usual.
Cameron stopped and, reluctantly, read the note again. She had stormed over in such a pitch of anger that the person on hand happened to be the most obvious culprit. Upon closer inspection, she could accept that House had a point. But she wasn't going to say that out loud. "Well…well…!", she spluttered, "…maybe you wrote it slowly or something, to make it seem like it wasn't your writing. There's no one else here!".
House tilted his head. "Fine, but I'd never leave a kiss like this. And do you really think I'd miss out a comma? See?", he pointed at the paper, "before your name there should be a comma. Whoever wrote this is pretty crap at prose composition".
This comment caused Cameron's mind to cast back to just after London when she had made a similar observation as to why responsibility for manning the departmental email account rested with her—both Foreman and Chase were not great writers, and neither was she, really, but it made sense from a professional point of view to take the lead for official communications.
"D'you want more evidence I didn't write this?".
"No", she sighed. "I know it wasn't you. Sorry for the accusation. It just took me off-guard, and you were right there".
"I'll always be right here, Cameron". The statement slipped out suddenly and he berated himself for not thinking: "ah, sorry, sorry. Fuck".
The immunologist smiled sadly at his awkwardness, which melted her heart even at the best of times. It always drove home how special House was, how alien relationships were to him, and how lucky she had been to share in one. "I don't think we're very good at being apart".
"Mmm", he grunted, ruffling his hair with one hand.
Silence fell in the room.
"Well", said Cameron eventually, trying to get back to safe ground, "we've done some good work these last few weeks, at least".
House nodded, but his next question had nothing to do with work: "who did leave that note, d'you think?".
"Is that any of your business?", she teased, referring back to a similar question she had posed to him while walking through the clinic after their treatment of Sebastian Charles last year.
"No", he admitted with a half-smile, fully aware that this allusion meant he would only need to wait a few seconds for an answer.
True enough, Cameron continued: "I mean, I could give an educated guess".
"Chase", they both said at once.
The nephrologist sighed. "Look, the day you came back from Christmas break, you were honest with me about how you felt. So I'll be honest with you: I'm not ready to think about a relationship yet. My work is getting back to where it should be and I can't jeopardise that. But, if you want, you should hear him out".
"House…".
"I'm serious, Cameron. He's a nice guy, good looking, great hair. He'll treat you as you deserve. You shouldn't keep your life on hold for me; you should let him cheer you up".
Cameron nodded and folded her arms. "Interesting points. You've obviously considered this issue at some length".
"I have. So, you'll, er, give him a shot?", he asked with trepidation, keeping his eyes fixed on the desk.
"Nah".
"Allison", he began slowly, getting up to pace around. "I'm just trying to do right by you, OK?".
"You think busting out the first name is actually gonna work? I invented that tactic".
"This is not a tactic!", he snapped, slamming his palm on the whiteboard. "This is…about you being happy with someone".
"Hmm, well, when you put it like that…", she muttered thoughtfully, completely used to his bursts of aggression, "…being happy would be quite nice…".
"Right, good". House cleared his throat and picked up the board marker which had spun to the floor. "So you'll think about Chase?".
"Nah".
"But-!".
"-anyway", she remarked, pretending not to notice House's teeth grating, "I'm off home. Good chat, pumpkin; always a pleasure".
Cameron walked to the dividing door, though soon turned around. With deliberate slowness, she scrunched up the note, which had been in her hand the whole time, took careful aim, and tossed it into House's waste paper basket. Then she left without a backward glance.
"That exit wouldn't have been half as impressive if you'd missed the shot!", he shouted through the glass divide.
Cameron didn't respond, keeping a little smile to herself.
