Title: And Unto Him She Shall Return (11/?)
 Characters: Cameron/House
 Spoilers: None
 Summary: She would always return.
 a/n: I cannot believe how sweet you all are being with the comments!!!
Seriously - each and every one of them brighten up my day. (There's an
additional comment which follows the story.) 
 

 

  Truth begins in lies.
  

 She was going to kill him; that much was clear after the fourth snappish
voicemail Wilson listened to while navigating the halls of the hospital.
Cuddy. Lisa. He smiled a little, despite himself and the evening. Echoes
of music buzzing through the hallways provided a disarming backdrop to an
eerie sense of stillness and inactivity. 

 He rounded a corner, heading finally toward the party, when he saw her.
Petite beneath the large ceilings and next to the weighty medical
equipment, she was commanding nonetheless. The determined click of her
heels punctuated her purposeful stride. She looked like she was on her way
to kill someone. It kind of turned him on. 

 With a smirk, he called her name. When she turned, his smirk became a
smile; because under her ire and frustration, he also saw worry. Worry for
him. A worry that he - unlike House - could appreciate. 

 "Where the hell have you been?" She nearly jabbed him in the chest with
her pointed finger. "I've left you a dozen messages, I called House - and
that hasn't gotten me anywhere in years. Were you not aware of what was
going on tonight? When I said, `Meet me at seven,' were you mentally
incapacitated in some way when you said yes?" She took in his slightly
disheveled appearance. "Are you okay?" He loved the way she casually
tossed it atop her diatribe. 

 "I'm sorry - look - I'll tell you in a moment. But we need to find
Cameron." 

 "Oh I'm glad you brought that up. You leave for two minutes and he acts
like...like him, and she's in an exam room with a bottle of wine and the
lights off. She even thinks you flew in a helicopter." The last she said
in a disturbing impression of what he assumed was a tipsy Cameron. 

 "What the hell did he do?" 

 "It's not what he does - it's who he is," she shot back as they began to
walk down the hall together. "Where were you?" He shook his head a little,
silently willing her to be patient, as he pushed open the door to exam
room three. 

 Cameron was indeed sitting in the dark. An unopened bottle of wine stood
lonely on the counter across from her slouched frame perching heavily on
the exam table. She looked up in surprise as he entered, and he
immediately sensed her relief at seeing him. 

 "Okay, I'm glad you're alone," he said, awkwardly closing the door and
turning on the lights. Cameron winced at the shock of their brightness.
"About six months before you came back," he nodded at Cameron, "House went
on a little trip. A vacation." 

 "House went on a vacation?" Cameron drolled skeptically. 

 "Las Vegas," Cuddy supplied, rolling her eyes. "Wilson, what does this
have to do with-" 

 He held up a hand, cutting her off. "I thought it was weird too, but I
shrugged it off. Figured at least it would get him out of here for a
while. But then my credit card bill came." Cuddy sighed and began pacing
the room, her heels clicking softly under Wilson's monologue. "No charges.
No plane ticket, no hotel room -" 

 "You're not Perry Mason!" Cuddy nearly whined. 

 "Wait, House has your credit card number?" Cameron eyes widened even as
her forehead crinkled in mystification. 

 "See? She thinks it's strange too," Cuddy zinged in a familiarly smug
tone that elicited a questioning look from Cameron. Hoping to turn her off
the scent, and eager to continue on, Wilson held up his other hand in one
of his grand gestures of pause, eyeing the two women anxiously. "House-"
Grand pause. Deep breath. "-can walk." 

 They looked at him with similar expressions of weak tolerance. "Wilson,"
Cuddy sigh, dipping her forehead into her hand, "Of course he can walk." 

 "No, no. No. No, he can walk without the cane. As in, no more pain." This
caught their attention. Cameron pushed herself off of the examination
table, taking a step closer to Wilson. He explained that he had flown to
Maryland, but not for a patient. He'd met personally with a doctor from
Holland who was in town for a conference. The doctor worked at the
hospital that had treated House during his "vacation" six months before,
and, for a little "compensation," was willing to share illegal copies of
confidential files. 

 "Please tell me you do not have illegal copies of confidential files,"
Cuddy said, wincing. Wilson looked at her sideways. 

 "I don't," he shrugged and she sighed in relief. "But if I did," he
continued, "They would detail House's experimental treatment which was a
success which means the bastard has been able to walk for how long now?!" 

 "But I don't understand," Cameron chimed in, "Why wouldn't he say
something to you? Why is he still using his cane?" He and Cuddy turned
toward her, similar rueful expressions on their faces. 

 "I'm going to kill him," Wilson said, full of the nervous energy he
sometimes confused with true rage. "I can do that now, you know, since
he's not -" Wilson waggled his head forward a bit, gesturing wildly in the
air with his hands. 

 "I have to go," Cameron said abruptly, heading for the door. Wilson's jaw
dropped open. 

 "But, don't you want to be there for...what do you mean you have to go?"
She shook her head in response and turned toward him for a brief second
when she reached the door. As he sought out her eyes, he saw something
that made him fear for her, something he recalled seeing once in the eyes
of another woman who's life was about to be enveloped by that of House. 

 "I'm sorry," she mouthed, shrugging slowly. And then she was gone. 

 "She's been acting weird all evening," Cuddy observed with a shake of her
head. "Maybe tonight isn't the best time to talk to him about this. Maybe
you're right - we should wait for Cameron to be there. Or we could wait
and see if he tells us on his own. Maybe he's just waiting." 

 "Waiting?!" Wilson exclaimed incredulously, "What the hell could he
possibly be waiting for?" 

 "You don't think," she lowered her voice, glancing involuntarily around
the empty room, "he knows, do you?" 

 "I don't know," Wilson sighed, running a hand through his hair. He
shrugged. "Possibly? Yesterday I would have said no, but..." 

 "Hey," she said softly, running her hands gently down his arms until they
joined his own. "We'll figure it out. And...come up with a plan to tell
him. He's going to have to know eventually. Especially when he sees us
each walking around with a baby. The same baby. He's clever like that."
Wilson smiled a little, snaking his arms around her back and pulling her
closer. 

 "Or we could just get two," Wilson said, only half kidding. She looked up
at him with a bemused look of tolerance. "I can still pretend I'm going to
kill him though, right?" he muttered into her hair. 

 "Oh, sure you can," she smiled. 

 * * * 

 "Cameron. C-A-M-E-R-O-N." She made sure the sweetness was in her face.
Made sure it was in her voice. After all, she still had her manners. Yes,
she might be stupid and repetitive in her mistakes, but damn it all if she
didn't make them with a smile on her face. 

 She focused on the swirling dark green marble of the hotel front desk.
She knew he had lied to her - of course he had. He was always lying about
something. Usually she pretended not to care. Occasionally she didn't. But
for him to offer her a possibility without showing her what it really was
- she sucked in a deep breath to combat the rising rage. Focus on the
marble. Cold. Hard. 

 "I'm sorry ma'am, could it possibly be under a different name?" She
snapped back to attention. 

 "No." 

 "Are you sure your reservation is for tonight then? We have a rather
large conference in town and-" 

 "Look at me." The final snap. "Look at what I'm wearing! Where do you
think I'm coming from?" A long uncomfortable pause followed her outburst. 

 "Well Dr. Cameron, we are solidly booked for the night and I-" 

 "Look again." Her tone was commanding, insistent. As he fretfully
continued to type away - were there panic buttons in these places? - she
wondered if she was acting like he would act. Would he have barked out an
order? Bent people to his will? Or would he have subtly manipulated them?
Did it depend on the person? How, she tried to recall, had he done it to
her? 

 "Ah," the receptionist breathed in relief, "Here's something. It's...you
had a reservation. But...but check in time was 6 pm." 

 "I called," Cameron insisted. 

 "I'm sorry, there's no record of that. Dr. Cameron, your room has been
given away. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it really is best to
check in yourself before the-" 

 "No," Cameron said in an eerily calm voice. "No. You see, I need a room.
I need four walls. With me inside them. Just me. And a bathtub. Do you
understand?" 

 "But ma'am, there are no rooms." 

 "I. Am not. A ma'am." Cameron said slowly, deliberately - desperately.
Pulling her pocketbook off the counter, she trudged toward the exit in
defeat. She hated disorder, hated chaos. Hated the way it made her feel.
She could deal with him. In proper doses. On her terms. At fucking
measured intervals. 

 He had lied to her about the only thing she'd ever known for certain
about him, the only thing she'd ever been completely sure of. Back in her
car, she slipped the key in the ignition without turning it. He'd made her
fall in love with him again, only "he" no longer existed. She gently
rested her aching forehead on the wheel in front of her. 

 This, she thought, was too high a price. 

 * * * 

 He almost didn't believe it was her. He'd heard that she had come back -
didn't quite believe it. He'd even heard that she was making life hell for
House - and that he really didn't believe. But when he saw her, dress a
little rumpled, wool coat hanging open and delicate on her lean frame, she
looked more like a ghost of the past than a present reality. 

 She looked pale and anxious, as though she was in the middle of a tense
case and on hyper-alert. But Foreman hadn't heard of any cases they were
working on. He put aside his musings when she caught his eye and instead
arched an eyebrow, offering her a warm smile. 

 "Hey," she said as they embraced, sounding genuinely glad to see him. "I
can't believe you're here." 

 "No," he said slowly, "I can't believe you're here. You do realize the
definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over-" 

 "-and expecting different results. Yeah." Her smile seemed a little
ironic and he noticed her struggling to brighten her face. "Have you seen
Wilson?" 

 "No. He's probably at House's game." 

 "House's game?" 

 "Yeah, you didn't hear? Cuddy banned him from the party unless he turned
in his deck of cards. So he raided the bar and created his own poker party
upstairs in the office. Took quite a few of the heavy donors with him
too." Foreman was enjoying his brief return into the bizarre world of
Princeton-Plainsboro. For one night - and from the outside - the place
seemed almost entertaining. 

 "Aww, the gang's all back together again!" They turned to find House with
an uncomfortable looking Wilson at his side. "Well, almost the whole gang.
We can hire a look-alike to fill the wombat's shoes - a good Brit."
Foreman observed Cameron narrowing her eyes at the pair, then swore that
he saw Wilson give her a curt shake of the head. He kind of missed being
on the inside. 

 "Wilson, I need a place to stay tonight," Cameron said. 

 "He can't. He has to drive me home," House replied. 

 "What does that have to do with me staying at his apartment?" Before
their sparring could continue, Wilson broke in. 

 "I can't," he said to Cameron. Then, looking at House, he continued, "And
no, I'm not." 

 "Not what?" House narrowed his eyes. 

 "Not driving you home," Wilson sighed. 

 "Why can't I stay at your place?" Cameron asked. 

 "Yeah," House chimed in, "Why can't she stay at your place?" 

 "I...," Wilson shifted his eyes around the small circle, "I'm having my
house fumigated." Foreman glanced at Wilson, wondering when the man had
gotten so crazy, but did not fail to notice the dawning look of triumph on
House's face. His mouth hung open a little in awe, the ends curled into a
rare cheshire grin. He mouthed "fumigation" to himself once more. 

 "Why didn't you get a hotel room?" House was now calm in a way that made
Foreman want to shout out a general "clear the decks!" to the room. 

 "Well, it's all booked. Because of the conference," Wilson's phrases were
disjointed - quick and sparse. Foreman had no idea what was going on, but
even he could feel the tenuous thread by which the poor doctor hung. 

 "But you knew about this ahead of time. Why didn't you make a
reservation?" 

 "I...did," Wilson said. They all leaned in a bit, waiting for more, but
Wilson seemed satisfied in his answer. What the hell, Foreman wondered,
was he thinking? 

 "Then why aren't you-" 

 "I canceled the reservation when I knew I would have to spend the night
here, with a patient." Wilson's face was looking a little pale, Foreman
noticed. He also caught a look of quiet and deep realization on Cameron's
guarded features. It really did suck to not be on the inside. 

 Just then, Cuddy entered the group, smiling at Foreman and snarking at
House. House's eyes remained trained determinedly on Wilson, as though he
were looking for a hairline fracture on an x-ray. When Cuddy asked Wilson
to go meet some donors with her, Foreman saw Cameron's gaze shift
surreptitiously to House's face, a line of worry creasing her forehead. 

 The trio watched the couple make their way over to a well-dressed elderly
set of guests as though they expected something profound or explosive to
happen. Finally, Foreman muttered, "Somebody want to tell me what the
hell's going on?" House gave him a withering look. 

 "Foreman, do you think I could...," Cameron's plea for help tugged at him
a little. But she had an office with a couch, he told himself, and if she
could chose to reenter the insanity of this place, then she could deal
with the consequences. 

 "Cameron, you know I would, but the kids are at home with a sitter and
Laney and I were kinda looking forward to-" 

 "It's okay," she said nodding sweetly, "I understand. How are the kids?" 

 "They're great," Foreman grinned, "How's Richard? I heard he's still up
in Boston?" A slight shadow crossed Cameron's face, arousing Foreman's
curiosity. House chose then to turn to Cameron abruptly. 

 "Why didn't you ask Cuddy if you could stay at her place?" 

 "I did," she said, taken aback. 

 "And she said you couldn't." 

 "Yes," came Cameron's reluctant, stilted reply. 

 "And what was her excuse?" A beat after his question, Cameron's face
slackened, causing House to follow her gaze. Wilson and Cuddy were still
with the donors, however his hand was now comfortably on the small of her
back. 

 "Fifty bucks-" 

 "House," Cameron's sharp warning surprised Foreman as he finally began to
grasp the magnitude of what was going on. 

 "Fifty bucks says that they," House paused, dropping a thick veil over
everything internal that caused his gaze to become icy, "are having sex."
Foreman could sense Cameron's distress, even if she had gotten a little
too good at hiding things from the surface. Though he still felt a little
behind, he decided that he'd help her in any way he could. 

 "Cuddy and Wilson?!" he said in the most skeptical tone he could muster.
"Please! House, are you off your meds?" 

 "You in or are you out?" House glanced down at the still form of Cameron
next to him. "How about you?" he mocked. Yet his eyes seemed to pry
through her exterior for something he was certain was beneath. 

 "I'll take you home," she said softly, and Foreman realized it was a
plea. House finally completely broke his attention away from Cuddy and
Wilson, gazing down at Cameron, intrigued. He glanced back at Wilson once
more as if weighing something in his mind. Then, with a slow nod to
Cameron and an abrupt nod in Foreman's direction, he headed for the exit. 

 "It was good seeing you Foreman," Cameron smiled wearily, granting him a
quick embrace. 

 "Hey," Foreman said, wanting to slow down the situation - which, it
seemed, he only half understood after all. "You want me to come with?" 

 "Foreman," she chuckled and it relieved him a little. "I can drive House
home myself." 

 "Yeah, I know you can. I'm just saying. If you need - if you - aww,
nevermind. You're right. Good seeing you Cameron." She retreated a few
steps, then, as though reluctantly giving in to some impulse, spun around.


 "Foreman, do you ever - I mean, this place. Do you ever want to-" 

 He stepped closer to her, squeezing her arm supportively. "Cameron -
you're a friend. But this," he glanced around the fancily decorated room,
seeing the ordinary lobby of Princeton-Plainsboro underneath, "This was
just a job." He shrugged. 

 "Yeah," she forced a small smile on her face. "Yeah." Then, spinning back
on her heel, she headed toward the exit signs and a waiting House. 

 

 *** Comment 2: Yes, I know. And the thing is, I'm totally in the "wtf do
you mean he walks now?" camp when it comes to S3. And yet. The show used
it, so...sue them first. ***