Compromise candidate
A.N. I forgot to add that Cameron's apparent rejection of House in the previous chapter is based on a reworking of her rejection of him in S3E1 'Meaning'. On first viewing that episode, I felt that it was preparing the groundwork for a Hameron renaissance in the show. Obviously things didn't pan out that way. This story, on the other hand, is only ever going in one direction.
A couple of weeks later (but a week longer than he thought strictly necessary) and House was ready to be discharged back home. His injuries, though still serious, were stable enough to allow movement. News of his impending transfer was celebrated amongst the nursing rotation, who had borne the brunt of his ire. Cameron had tried her best to keep his brain stimulated in the periods between sleeping and eating, but such was his restlessness that even these manufactured problems, both medical and sporting, never served for very long. Foreman, Chase, and Thirteen had consulted him occasionally, conveniently ignoring Cuddy's strict orders that he was not to be working. Cameron, too, turned a blind eye. As she had observed more than a few times, he reminded her of a big cat. And for this last little while he had been caged.
Though they still saw each other daily, both had refrained from bringing up the romantic situation. Cameron had made it clear that she was not willing to jeopardise his recovery and he, for his part, respected her reasoning even if he did not agree with it. Just like he did not agree with being dressed by two male nurses. Thanks to the leg cast, his jeans were out of action, but Wilson had dropped by earlier with some looser fitting tracksuit bottoms.
"What's that for?", he asked accusingly from the edge of the bed. Since he couldn't bend, one of the nurses was tying his shoelaces.
"It's for you", explained Cameron, hands on the push bar.
"You expect me to wheel around like some sort of slobbering moron? Wheelchairs are for old men and decrepits".
"Is that a word? Decrepits?".
"I'm not getting in that thing; cramps my style. It doesn't even have a decent paintjob".
"Well, we can change that in due course. But I'm afraid this is the only option for the time being. Come on, buster. The nurses have other patients to see".
"What's with all this bossing around? You're not in charge".
"True. You're more than welcome to stay here…". She left it hanging, tapping a finger against her chin.
House scowled but eventually allowed the nurses to assist him in moving from bed to chair. "Have I made fun of you guys for being dudes yet or not?", he winced through gritted teeth.
"Since your accident? No", one of them replied shortly.
"D'you mind if we count this conversation?".
"Knock yourself out, Dr. House".
Cameron waited patiently and with just a little apprehension as they completed the job. "You OK?", she asked as soon as he was settled.
Before he could reply, however, Foreman poked his head through the door. "Hey, got a sec?".
"Just do the MRI with contrast, what's the problem?", sighed House, annoyed at the throbbing in his body. The cumbersome leg cast didn't help, either.
"It's clean; no tumour". Foreman nodded at Cameron, who smiled then got straight back to collecting up the last remnants of House's stuff into a backpack. Things had developed rapidly for him to be leaving so soon after admission. Certainly, they'd all been surprised and relieved at progress since the crash. The man seemingly boasted fantastic genetics, his skin and bones knitting together with remarkably little fuss.
"Huh". House's eyes glazed as he thought. "Test his home. And send Thirteen to ask after the drugs".
"What drugs?". Foreman glanced through the sheaf of papers in his hand, worried that he had missed something in the routine toxicology screens.
"You said he was at college. If that guy isn't on drugs then my name is Mother Teresa. Thirteen's a babe; he'll open up to her for bragging rights".
"Right". The other turned to go.
"Wait".
Foreman remained standing inside the threshold as House gazed intently at him. The two male nurses sighed loudly, fed up at the delay.
"Thirteen. You like her".
At that, everyone in the room stopped to look at Foreman, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. "Yeah, right, sure. If that's all, I'ma head back…".
"You and Chase scrapping it out for her affection while I'm off-piste?".
"No, that would be unprofessional".
"Pity", mused House. "'cos I heard that she's taken a shine to you. We'll call you 'Fourteen'".
He snorted, refusing to be baited in front of an audience. "Good luck with the move. I'll let you know".
"Right on, Iceman".
With a final nod in Cameron's direction, the neurologist departed.
"I told you that I think Hadley's a lesbian", she sighed, wheeling him towards the door.
"Yeah, but Eric doesn't know that. I'm gonna be out of action for a while and I need those guys to be working rather than ogling each other".
"Then why'd you say that she liked him?".
"Because he'll overplay his hand sooner rather than later, she'll shoot him down, and things can get back to medicine. Let's go", he grunted. "I've had enough of this cellblock, warden".
"What're your thoughts on the patient?", she asked casually as they journeyed down the corridor, the nurses having been left behind tidying up the vacated room.
"Must be drugs". Despite the pain radiating familiarly through his body, House smiled a little to himself at Cameron's interest. Given what she had told him earlier regarding her lack of inspiration in the ER, it was hardly surprising that she might wish to get stuck into diagnostic work, even if only indirectly. Though a shame that they could not (yet?) be together, he of course wanted her back working in the department because she was a great doctor. Not that he would get into the habit of telling her that.
"Or the brain. Visual agnosia like that is-".
"-who mentioned anything about agnosia?". He looked back at her over his shoulder.
"I, uh, glanced through the file Chase brought across yesterday. You were asleep". Cameron could feel her cheeks flush with unexpected embarrassment as she pressed the button for the elevator. Such a reaction wasn't justified, but still she couldn't shake the impression of cloak and dagger. After all, it had been her decision to leave. And Hadley, her replacement, seemed to be settling in nicely.
House, though, pretended not to notice. "The brain is a possibility", he admitted, facing forwards again. "But I'd prefer to check a few things off the list first".
"Sure, I mean, if the enhanced tox screen comes back then it's all irrelevant. But, y'know, maybe a cranial MRA would give us an idea moving forwards".
The elevator dinged and they entered it, Cameron wheeling the chair so that it faced towards the door.
"'Us'?". House shot her a sly wink.
Cameron cleared her throat, feeling as ever like she was engaged in, and losing, a minor battle of wits. Were it against anyone else this fact would annoy her. In the event, though, she felt a thrill of pleasure that House seemed well enough to share in verbal jousting. "The team, obviously. Your team".
"Hmm, well, I'll consider it. But if the tox screen does end up pinging, you're going to look pretty stupid".
"Reckon I'm willing to take that risk".
"Stupid", he repeated. "Your own fault for going blonde".
"Yeah, yeah. As I've said many times, I haven't gone blonde. This is my natural colour".
The pair reached the lobby and Cameron pushed him out. Cuddy and Wilson were already waiting, talking by the sign-in sheet. At his approach they both smiled. "How's it going?", asked the former.
"Could be better, could be worse", replied House.
"The pain?".
"Painful? But manageable".
"And the leg?".
"Ditto. You guys here to see me off? My cold heart is truly touched".
"Yes. But we need to have a conversation about your situation first. Let's head to my office. Wildermuth, as your case lead, is already there. Can you guys", she glanced to Cameron and Wilson, "give us some time?".
House and Cuddy disappeared through the outer doors of her office as oncologist and immunologist stood side-by-side. "Have you eaten?", he asked her.
"Nah".
"Let's grab something at the cafeteria. They'll be a while".
Something in his tone made Cameron look askance. "Oh?".
"Let's just say that I got a sneak preview of the arrangements for his care".
"Is he gonna like them?".
"Unlikely", admitted Wilson in a low voice. "But it's the only way he'll be getting out of here. Come", he jerked his head in the direction of food, "I'll fill you in".
Later that afternoon, Wilson and Cameron rejoined the others in Cuddy's office. As expected, House's mood had worsened. Wildermuth and the Dean were not budging, though. He would need a couple of people attending to him: a live-in nurse to assist with everyday activity and a physical therapist to oversee his rehabilitation. This last individual was not needed yet, however, since it was too soon after the accident and his body required more time to heal. But the nurse was non-negotiable. Hence the nephrologist's anger and his current attempts at bargaining.
"Come on, I'll be fine. I'm a medical genius, remember".
"House, you can't even walk unaided. How do you expect managing to, y'know, keep yourself alive?". Cuddy folded her arms.
"Peanut butter and salami, same as always".
"Uhuh, and what about washing, bathing, going to the bathroom?".
"Get myself a nice little grab rail and then it's just a case of transferring my butt from one seat to another".
"No, I'm sorry, Dr. House", interjected Wildermuth, the head of surgery, "but this is the only way I'm signing off on your discharge. Even if, and it's a big if, you were able to manage, your injuries still need close attention". The man's pager beeped and he left with a brief apology.
"Not to mention the pain management schedule you'll be on", added Wilson after a few seconds.
"So you're all in on this?", House asked bitterly. "My place isn't even big enough for a second person living there long-term".
"It'll be a squeeze", admitted Cuddy. "But those are the conditions. If you don't like it-".
"-I don't like it".
"-then you'll need to stay at PPTH for a little while longer so that we can keep an eye on your progress and make sure you're started on rehab", she finished.
"I'll be doing the rehab", he grunted softly.
Cameron, who was standing to the side of the room and had stayed studiously quiet during the discussion, recognised this allusion to the promise he had offered her recently regarding devoting himself to his recovery. She gave a little smile.
"Fine, good", said Cuddy, surprised at the apparent receptiveness, "but that's the best we can do at this stage. So, what's it going to be? Hospital or home?".
House shook his head firmly and let out a huge sigh. These conditions were unnecessarily intrusive but he acknowledged that they came from a good place. And, if he were being honest, he would struggle by himself. His whole body hurt, and his leg was an unknown variable—it still radiated pain. Which, actually, might well be better than a complete lack of sensation.
On the bright side, Greg, maybe you'll get a hot nurse to look at every day.
"Is the nurse hot, at least?". These words emerged sullenly as House accepted his fate.
"Um, sure. Lester?", she called to the door.
"Lester? What kind of name…?", he wondered aloud. But comprehension dawned. "Oh, God, no".
The door opened and one of the male nurses from earlier today wandered in and stood there smiling tightly. "Dr. House".
"This is Lester". Cuddy gestured redundantly to the newcomer. "He, er-".
"-drew the short straw", finished Wilson with a little more amusement than House could bear.
"Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face", snapped the nephrologist.
"Oh, what, come on. It's pretty funny".
"I want a woman with funbags, hair, and a uniform". This was directed at Cuddy. "An actual nurse, basically. He is not a nurse".
"I'll just ignore the casual sexism, shall I? Unfortunately, you scared off all the female nurses".
"Besides, you need a man to help winch your butt from the bath", offered Wilson. Now that his friend was safely out of danger, he felt it time to get things back to normal. And that entailed busting balls.
"Enough", intervened Cuddy firmly. "Gender doesn't matter".
"The social justice warriors have really got you, haven't they?", snarked House.
Cuddy ignored this. "The fact is-".
"-I accept that I need someone living in, but it's not going to be a man. End of story".
"House, you're in no position to be making demands".
"Fuck that. It's my body and my home. That fat bozo ain't gonna be sleeping on my couch".
Lester had endured the name-calling with fairly good grace, but this latest volley caused him to bristle. "It's not my idea of fun either, you grumpy bastard".
"I'm grumpy because I'm in pain, you dumb fuc-", returned House, his eyes alight with anger.
"-enough!". Cuddy's voice pierced the commotion and a fraught silence settled over the office.
"Why don't I do it?", shrugged Cameron eventually.
"Do what?", asked House, glancing in her direction but still managing to scowl at everyone else.
"Be your live-in nurse. I mean, it's mainly just helping you around the apartment, isn't it? I'd obviously be well qualified to deal with any medical emergencies and I wouldn't destroy your couch. And I am a woman". Ever since Cuddy had revealed her difficulty in securing a nurse two weeks ago, Cameron had been quietly considering this as a possibility. The night of the accident, in the hospital chapel, she had sworn that she would give anything to see House alive and healthy. In this situation, if she could offer her time, then that was what she would do. And the possibility of seeing him every day, too, caused a tremor of excitement.
House shot her a weird look. "I don't think that's viable".
"Why not?".
"Well, for one thing, you are not a nurse".
"So? You've spent most of the last three years complaining how it isn't even a real profession. No offence", she added to Lester, who shrugged. Cameron's suggestion got him off the hook.
"Yeah, but things are complicated. It's not, it's not viable", he repeated.
"I think it is". Cuddy this time.
"What?".
"I think it's a decent suggestion. A compromise candidate. Allison knows everything to do with your injuries, your situation, your pain plan. And she's pretty much the only person in this state who stands a chance of surviving under your roof".
"She has work. You have work", he remonstrated, head flicking between each woman.
"We'll figure that out". Cameron waved her hand dismissively. "I can just take a sabbatical or something".
"Or work from home. House's home", added Wilson thoughtfully.
"Work from home? There is no working from home in this business. In any business". The nephrologist, whose hands now tapped restlessly against the wheels of his chair, felt decidedly outnumbered.
"Actually", said Cuddy, "there's all sorts of software out there these days. We've been looking into having an online component to Sebastian Charles' TB conference next month".
"Cameron, look, I'm flattered but I thought we…", House's eyes darted to the others but he gave a mental shrug, "…decided to keep things platonic. Living in each other's pockets? Well…".
The woman put her hands on her hips. "We'll manage. I think I'll be able not to jump your bones".
"It's not just that. Can you guys give us a sec?".
Wilson and Cuddy nodded. Lester the nurse, meanwhile, thought this conversation somewhat above his paygrade. The trio trooped out as the door clicked shut behind them.
"Listen", began House, looking up squarely into Cameron's face. "I said I wouldn't lie to you. So here it is: even if we can somehow manage the situation such that we're still, er, friends at the end of all this, I don't want you to be my nurse".
"But I'm happy to do it!", she announced in a slightly louder voice than intended.
"OK, but I don't want you to".
"Why? Because of Sebastian Charles? I saw your face darken at his name just then".
"What?". This response completely unhorsed him. "No, of course not".
"Are you punishing me for not agreeing to restart things between us?".
"No…no…". House was struggling to express himself properly. The combination of tiredness, pain, and constant talking had taken it out of him. He just wanted his bed.
"Then why won't you let me help you?", she demanded, glaring down at him.
Suddenly his temper flared and all the little annoyances and realities of the past couple of hours, not to mention the past fortnight, burst their bounds. "Because I don't want you seeing me like this, Allison!", he snapped. "I'm a fucking cripple now! Christ, I can't shower, can't even shit by myself. Everything has gone to hell. I'll deal with it eventually. But I don't want you cleaning up the mess, helping me just to walk, to wheel, around my own goddam apartment, to go to the fucking bathroom. It's not your job and I don't want you seeing me like that". When he finished speaking House's head dipped downwards.
Now Cameron understood. She knelt in front of his wheelchair and placed both hands on his knees. "House. House, look at me".
"No". He remained looking stubbornly at the floor. "You can go".
"I'm not leaving. Look at me".
"I'd rather not", he muttered, acutely embarrassed.
"Fine. I'll just speak. The night of your crash I was working in the ER. Cuddy came to get me, told me you were under the knife. I threw up in her washroom".
"Bad clams?". House's joke, uttered in the direction of the carpet, failed to divert her.
"Nope. I thought I'd lose you, realised that you were struggling. Anyway, I couldn't do nothing, so I went to the chapel and prayed. For you".
This did cause House to glance up sharply. "I thought you didn't believe in God".
"I don't", she smiled, her eyes moist, hands still resting lightly in his lap. "But there ain't no atheists in the trenches".
Aware that a woman crying always made him fold like a cheap suit, his gaze remained fixed on an indistinguishable point over her left shoulder. "I wouldn't want you putting your career, your life, on hold for me. This is not a short-term assignment".
"Yeah, no, I really don't care about any of that. I've got credit in the bank with Porter if that's what you're concerned-".
"-I'm concerned about everything! You can't…you can't sleep on my couch for several weeks. It's not right. Or feasible".
"I'll just get a pull-out bed or something. There's plenty of room. I'm small".
House tried a different tack. "Look, I thought we agreed to not be together…for me to focus on recovery".
"We did, and we won't be together. I think morale is important, though, and surely it would help for you to see a friendly face every day. But…", she sighed, "…if you truly, honestly, think I'd be more a hindrance than a help, I'll step aside".
House pursed his lips and his gaze finally slid to hers. Maybe, just maybe, it could work. For some reason this woman seemed to care deeply for him, even now, after everything that had happened. The clock ticked on the wall, and outside noise filtered through from the lobby. At length, the man reached across and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, speaking in a low voice: "I think you're a moron".
"I am completely fine with that. So…?".
"This is a bad idea".
"We all disagree. So…?".
A deep sigh, but his resistance collapsed as he studied her tearful eyes. "We'll need to decide on some boundaries".
"Noted", she sniffed loudly, but still managing a lopsided smile. It seemed she had done a lot of crying recently.
"I wasn't joking before about shitting and showering".
"Well, y'know, most people do it". Another smile, this time wide.
Once more House sighed, but, before he could lose his nerve, took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "You win. Let's tell the others".
"Great. Thank you".
The immunologist got to her feet and was on the point of moving to the door when he spoke again, trying hard to keep the curiosity out of his tone: "did you really pray?".
Here we go. "I did".
"You're so pathetic".
"And a moron again?".
House's eyes narrowed but he nodded slowly. "A gullible moron. I mean, I expected more from you. Bit disappointed, honestly".
"You know what, Greg?", laughed Cameron, "I am completely fine with that, too".
