Birthday girl
A.N. To my knowledge House is the only character whose birthday is both mentioned and revealed, on his admission bracelet in S2E24 'No Reason' (the catalyst episode for this story!). Since House's birthday is Hugh Laurie's, I have made Cameron's that of Jennifer Morrison.
April twelfth was a Wednesday and thus a normal workday. And yet it began, unusually, with the smell of bacon wafting through into the living room. Cameron, who had soon stirred from her sofa bed, reached out groggily for her phone on the coffee table: it was seven: fifteen minutes before her alarm, and nearly two hours before she would normally go in to check on House. Except that House was clearly awake. Assuming that he had simply decided to kill two birds with one stone by making breakfast and exercising his leg, she curled back up and closed her eyes, fully intending to savour her fifteen minutes of pleasant drowsiness before the inevitable rude awakening.
The sound of House shuffling through into the living room, however, roused her a second time. "I thought we agreed that you were going to get your full ten hours of sleep every night for healing purposes", she mumbled half into her pillow, face turned away.
"I don't remember that". She heard a tray land on the coffee table and could feel him sit on the edge of the sofa.
"What about my ten hours, then?", she groaned. "I still have fifteen minutes…".
"In fifteen minutes it'll be cold. Or I'll have eaten it. Probably the latter, to be honest".
Now Cameron rolled over. "Huh?".
House stacked a plate with bacon, eggs, and buttered toast. Then he held it out to her. "Eat".
"What is this?". It took a couple of blinks to register the wispy steam rising from the plate and another blink for her nose to acknowledge the delicious smell. Still, she gazed blearily up at him, faintly suspicious. After all, the last time there had been a cooked breakfast under this roof she had served him with a protein shake instead.
"I made you stuff. But, hey, if you don't want-".
"-I'm awake, I'm awake!", she said hurriedly, sitting up and dispelling the sleep from her eyes.
"Here, let me…". He reached out for one of the pillows and propped it against the armrest. Then he folded the blankets a little more tightly around her bare legs.
Cameron's heart melted a little and she duly took the offering and began tucking in with a magically appeared knife and fork. "What's this for?".
House looked at her like she was a moron. "Knives and forks are used when-".
"-uhuh, yep. You know what I meant—what's the occasion?". A large helping of bacon and egg disappeared into her mouth.
"You don't know?", he asked curiously.
Cameron met his gaze as she chewed and swallowed. "I know. I didn't think you knew".
"You know that I know. My cell passcode".
"Hmm. This is true. I didn't think you'd remember, then".
"Well, sure", he shrugged, waving a hand in the air. "I mean, as you're aware, I've been real busy lately trying to make a dent in my porn library-".
"-and catching up on the General Hospital backlog", she interrupted, brandishing her fork.
"Exactly". A nod. "And, obviously, basking in the afterglow of my TB paper".
"Yeah, that's taken up a lot of time", she agreed. "For good reason, I might add".
"Quite. But, regardless, I cleared space in my hectic diary, set my alarm satanically early, and cooked you breakfast in bed".
"Are we convinced the couch is a proper bed, though?".
"Sometimes you gotta make do with what you have".
The immunologist took another mouthful, chewed it thoughtfully for a few seconds, and wordlessly got to her feet, plate still in hand, collecting the untouched cup of coffee on her way out of the room.
"Err, Cameron?".
There was no reply as she turned off the hallway.
With a sigh born out of mixed confusion and curiosity, House grasped the flame cannon and ambled after her. Before long he reached his bedroom, whose door was wide open.
Cameron was lying in his bed eating her breakfast, though she soon looked up. "You said we should make do with what we have. And we do have a bed".
"Not really what I meant", he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.
"You want some of this? Don't mind sharing". Cameron threw him a mischievous wink, loaded up a forkful, and held it delicately between thumb and forefinger.
"I made that for you". Still he refused to budge from his position by the door.
"Which is why I just said I don't mind sharing, genius. Stop lurking sullenly and join me. It's my birthday".
"It is". Shrugging internally, he made his way over and sat on the edge of the bed, taking the fork that she offered and munching bacon. Life was too short to second-guess this developing situation. "Speaking of, I got you a card and a couple of presents. The card is just in the bedside table there. Was planning on bringing it through to you after breakfast, but now that you're here…".
"House, you didn't need to do this. I wasn't expecting anything from you". But his impatient gesture prompted her to dive into the drawer and retrieve the envelope. On the front, in patented House scrawl:
Chicago Blonde
"Not Bitch, today?", she wondered.
"Nah; it is, apparently, your birthday".
"To be fair, s'only the morning and the day is long: still time for bitch Cameron to make an appearance". She pulled out the card (ludicrously, Ken and Barbie enjoying an open-top joyride) and read the message inside:
Cameron,
Happy birthday.
House
That was it.
"Aww, thanks, House. You really do have a way with words". She stood the card upright by the lamp, ensuring that Ken and Barbie faced her.
"And I really mean them", he added solemnly, hand on heart.
"When did you even get this? I've been at your side most days".
He tapped his nose. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, you'd best finish off your breakfast because your first present begins in an hour or so".
Cameron, who had duly taken her plate up again and resumed eating, raised an eyebrow. "For the last time, I am not watching How Wet Was My Valley with you".
"Surprisingly, your present has nothing to do with vintage porno flicks…yet".
"So…?".
"So, you'll have to wait and see", grinned House, sipping from her coffee cup.
"Fine, but I do have stuff for Porter that needs finishing. I ain't taken a day off for my birthday yet and I'm not starting now".
House stifled a snort. As it happened, Cameron's stated desire for gainful employment on this day of all days fit pretty nicely into his plans.
Later that morning House and Cameron were sitting on the sofa together facing the laptop on the coffee table.
"Well, gee, but isn't this just the best gift ever—my own laptop?! Oh, you shouldn't have, Rhett Butler". Cameron's Scarlett O'Hara impression had not seen use for a long time.
Somewhat to his own mortification, House felt an inevitable twitch down below. He hid it with a sigh. "Patience is a virtue, Chicago".
"Like you know anything about patience", she sniffed. "Or virtue, for that matter".
"Fine by me. Virtue's antiquated. Like your film references".
Before she could think of a retort, they received an incoming video call which House quickly accepted. The familiar sight of the Diagnostics department, complete with a seated Chase and Foreman, filled the screen.
"Where's Thirteen?", asked House immediately.
"Here". Thirteen's voice sounded close, and she appeared from off-camera, presumably having been put in charge of electronics.
"So, how's it going over there?". Chase was at the conference table and he twirled a pencil between his fingers.
"Fine, yeah, thanks-", began Cameron.
"-OK, that's enough small talk", interrupted House. "You're sending through the information?".
"Yes", replied Foreman, who had assumed a position at the head of the conference table and thus was looking straight down the camera. "Check the chat box: his mom added in-person that he'd been experiencing symptoms over the last couple of weeks".
"She seem trustworthy to you?", asked House as he brought up the documentation and maximised it so that it filled the laptop screen. Patient files. He started scanning, but, sensing that Cameron was looking at him rather than the laptop, he glanced across: "well?".
"Sorry, I'll give you space". Though quietly pleased that House was seemingly back at work, Cameron felt a twinge of depressed disappointment for her own situation: though still an immunologist, she was no longer a diagnostician. In fact, her replacement—who by all accounts was an excellent doctor in her own right—sat in her old chair listening attentively to the back and forth.
Cameron got up to leave.
"Where're you going? Feel free to weigh in anytime". House gestured to the screen.
She realised what he was driving at. "I'm on a call with Porter in ten minutes".
"No, you're not. I booked you. Sorted it last week".
"'Book me'", she muttered behind a hand so that the microphone wouldn't pick it up. "You make it sound like I'm a hooker".
"Hookers don't know anything about immunology", announced House loudly, such that Thirteen cleared her throat on the other end of the call.
"Maybe it's escaped your attention, but I don't work for you anymore".
"Who cares? Are you in or not?".
Cameron sighed, but she couldn't deny experiencing a flash of excitement at the prospect of doing diagnostics again. By way of an answer, she tugged the machine closer and read rapidly. "Patient presents with palpable purpura?".
"Mmm. And the ALT and AST are off the charts", said Thirteen.
"In case you've forgotten down in the swamp that is the ER", began House, "ALT stands for Alanine Aminotran-".
"-so, presumably we're not just thinking it's rash and liver damage?", she mused, cutting across her neighbour.
"The liver damage explains the rash and cryoglobulins we found in the kid's blood. But we dunno how to explain the liver damage. Oh, and there are clots showing up".
"Signs of drug or alcohol abuse?". House.
"In a thirteen-year-old boy?". Thirteen did not sound impressed.
Chase this time. "No signs, no. I'm thinking toxic exposure. Tetrachloroethylene, pennyroyal, sassafras oil, et cetera".
"Fine: not a bad idea to get the ball rolling. Go to his place and collect some samples. Reconvene ASAP". Before anything further could be said, House disconnected from the call.
Two fellows in the department looked at each other. The third, Foreman, frowned, before getting to his feet. "It is so decreed. Thirteen and I will head over".
"Righto…boss", grinned Chase.
Some time later Cameron and House were brainstorming ideas while waiting for further information from their colleagues on the ground. The one benefit of being in the apartment was that neither of them needed to do any of the actual legwork, but it did mean that they were at the mercy of others.
Cameron was pacing the living room with restless enthusiasm and anxiety. "I think we should just straight out assume it's not toxins. The only place you're picking up anything of that sort is tropical fish. And the mom has already said they have no pets".
"Something at school, maybe? A class fish or something". House was sitting on the piano stool twiddling his cane. He too had not anticipated the feeling of helpless inertia. After all, these cases were usually pursued in the hospital, so there had always been other things to do while waiting for his fellows to complete their respective tasks.
"Then the other kids would be sick. TTP fits. Y'know", she smirked, "Thrombotic Thrombocytopenic Purp-".
"-I have tasted my own medicine and it is bitter", he grumped. "It's not TTP—platelet count is fine. Although…", the flame cannon stopped its rotation as Cameron halted her patrol questioningly, "…sticking with your purpura theme: what about the Henoch-Schoenlein flavour?".
"But the clots…HSP doesn't cause clotting".
"Not usually", he admitted. "But it can. And the vasculitis would explain the kidney problem".
"He doesn't have a kidney problem", Cameron pointed out.
"Not yet. But it would be the next logical progression".
"I don't know-". But Cameron was interrupted by the laptop's ringing. She jogged over to the coffee table and hit 'accept' just as House hobbled into the adjacent seat.
Chase had video-called them on his phone. "Foreman and Thirteen have drawn blanks and the guy is peeing blood. I don't think it's toxicity".
Both doctors shared a look, but House wasn't convinced. "Are you with him right now?".
Chase glanced to his right, off-screen. "Yeah: just popped out to give you an update".
"Go back in there. And get me a close-up".
"Umm, OK". The feed wobbled as Chase slid open the glass partition and re-entered. The pair could hear disembodied voices as the phone microphone failed to detect most of the conversation. Nothing further happened for thirty seconds.
"What's going on?", demanded House loudly.
Chase reappeared. "Just explaining to mum that I'm not, in fact, broadcasting her child over the internet".
"Tell her you're British. We Americans always trust the British", offered Cameron helpfully.
More voices.
A few more seconds passed.
"Right. Can you see?". The camera panned towards a rather ill-looking boy in the bed, next to which stood a woman, presumably his mother.
"Barely. Closer". House leant forwards, his nose almost pressed to the screen.
"What're we looking for?", asked Cameron quietly. "HSP?".
"I don't know. Anything. Everything".
Both of them studied the screen which Chase had propped up as he ran a check on the equipment. Before long he had re-joined them. "The renal problem…you're thinking purpura?".
"Just shut up for a second and let me think".
A minute passed, though the boy's mother kept directing questions towards both Chase and the phone.
"Have you got the temperature control on or something?", questioned Cameron suddenly, leaning forwards herself.
"No more than usual. Though it has been pretty sunny today", replied a harassed Chase.
"I opened the curtains", added mom in a faintly belligerent tone. "Figured it would do Kip some good".
"Kip", scoffed House under his breath. "What're you thinking?", he asked of Cameron.
"I'm thinking clots, renal failure, and sweating", she gestured towards the screen at the boy's filmy brow, "equals Hep C".
"Hepatitis? In a thirteen-year-old?". Chase.
"What?", interjected the mother, whom House had summarily decided possessed a whiny voice. "Isn't that an STD or somethin-?".
"-wombat, get rid of the mom".
"My child does not have an STD, OK?", she spoke loudly into the phone. "I know him, OK?".
The phone wobbled again as Chase did as asked. They could hear his words off-camera. "Hey, Mrs. Joel, would you mind…?". The rest of the conversation was impossible to make out, but the brains of both House and Cameron were in overdrive.
"If you're right", said House eventually, "he should have physical markers, like-".
"-red palms", they both said at once.
"Chase?", he demanded of the laptop.
Unfortunately, however, Chase was still occupied with the mother and didn't immediately respond.
"For the love of…Chase! CHASE!", House yelled, causing his neighbour to flinch a little, even if that familiar twinge of professional excitement, which she had not felt for a long time, continued to grow.
"What?", replied the Australian indignantly. "This is exactly why I didn't want to do the DDX over speakerphone. Mum is upset…I'm not good at defusing women".
"No one cares. Look at his palms".
"Palmar erythema? That's a stretch". Nevertheless, he did as instructed. His response was immediate: "so, uh, yeah, either this dude has hepatitis or he's got sunburn on his palms. How's a kid picking up Hep C?".
"How do you think?", sighed House. "Start him on interferon. When Foreteen return, head on over to his school, his friends, whoever he's had contact with, and get them tested".
"Will do. I'll let you know how he responds to treatment. And I guess I'd better break it to his mum, too". Chase's tone indicated that he wasn't particularly relishing this final duty.
"Oh, relax. It's all curable". With that, House rang off and turned to Cameron. "Well spotted. Modern video quality is something else, huh?".
"It is", she nodded slowly, hands clasped in her lap. "But I'm with Chase. A thirteen-year-old has no business catching Hepatitis. You don't think…one of the teachers…?".
House stayed quiet for a few moments, contemplating the implications. Hepatitis C was not easily transmissible, though an exchange of bodily fluids, especially blood, would do it. "It's possible. Though it could just as likely be the result of a sports injury. Who knows what kind of scabby degenerates play in Pee Wee soccer these days?".
Cameron, who found it surprisingly cute that House knew anything about kids' soccer games, nodded again. "Hopefully the team get on top of the detective work".
"Speaking of detective work, how was your first Diagnostics case in, what, five months?".
"Has it been that long?". She thought back, closing her eyes. "I really enjoyed it. Thanks for asking me—it was a wonderful gift".
"You figured that out, huh?". Ever since her confession that she found the ER work tedious, House had indeed planned for this case to be one of her presents.
"Porter extract some sort of favour from you for allowing my temporary transfer?".
"Nah. It was a genuine consult. Anyway, are you ready for your second present?".
They still sat next to each other on the couch.
"Um, you actually bought me stuff? I told you I wasn't expecting anything, honestly…".
"Too late. Close your eyes while I retrieve it".
Cameron did so with a laugh, hearing him shuffle off to another area of the apartment. "If you come back with no clothes on, I swear…!", she called out.
There was no response, not even a sarcastic snort, which led her to believe that House was serious. A few moments later she felt a package hit her lap.
"OK, you can open your eyes now". He sank heavily into the sofa. "Go ahead, then".
"Well, sure, if you insist…", she replied, ripping into the wrapping paper and taking out the item inside. It was a picture frame and she flipped it the right way up.
A second or two passed in silence.
Then Cameron burst into tears.
"Shit, come on…", tried House awkwardly, scratching an ear. "You know I'm not good with crying…".
"Then this next little while's going to be hard for you", she sobbed, blowing her nose into a tissue and promptly demolishing it.
In an effort to take his own attention away from her struggles, he began talking rapidly: "well, it's not much, really. I just thought that, you know, we never got around to really doing photographs together. And I know we're not together even now, but I kinda figured that, you know, if we started back up again at some point it might be cool to have, like…a, a base level of, um, picture. Because I know you like photographs everywhere in your…place. And I know this isn't your place, but…I thought that maybe you could stick it up somewhere round here, maybe, or in your own apartment, if you preferred, and, yeah…it's not much…". The words drifted off.
"Are you finished?", asked Cameron thickly, dabbing at her eyes with another tissue. Only House had the ability, for good or ill, to make her cry so regularly.
"That depends", he answered warily. "Are you finished?".
"Probably".
"So…you like it?".
"I love it. Thank you". Carefully, Cameron rubbed away a tear which had fallen onto the protective plastic sheet and propped the frame up on the coffee table. "Where, and when, did you take these pictures?".
"Mostly in London; there were a few press photographers there, too, and being the main draws meant that there were plenty showing us. A couple I got from Tiffany Kim's man. You know, the guy with the Steelers cap from our joint magazine interview?".
"I didn't notice what he was wearing".
"Anyway, we got to talking at the time and I hit him up recently. It took him a while to find one where you were actually smiling".
"I wasn't very happy back then". Not only had Cameron still been hurting from the breakup, but she had been preparing to leave Diagnostics for the ER. That whole period had been a titanic struggle; with her job, with her feelings, and with her hopes for a future that no longer seemed as bright.
"No, well…". House drifted off again, wondering if perhaps he had misspoken in bringing up the past, and her emotional state, so casually.
But rather than lose herself in mawkish introspection, Cameron turned to him and smiled brightly, her eyes shining. "The birthday girl would like a kiss and a hug, please".
House's gaze flickered uncertainly. "Are we sure that's wise? You know: boundaries…and stuff".
"I'd like a kiss and a hug, please", she repeated calmly, sliding over to cover the distance between them.
There was no point refusing. And it was her birthday.
Gently, House dipped down and met her lips with his. For each of them, apart for so long, it was a feeling both strange and familiar. When it ended, and House wrapped his arms around her, Cameron experienced all that for which she might have wished: the smell, the touch, the sense of safety and of belonging.
Resting her chin on his shoulder, she looked once again at her present on the coffee table. It was a collage of photographs fitted together into one canvas: some of them together, some of just her; some posed, some natural.
But in the centre, around which all the others radiated, was the London selfie of House and Cameron, in the Chinese restaurant, grinning like lunatics.
