DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything.
Knock, knock, knock.
'House, do you need a ride?'
'What?' the grumpy diagnostician huffed while wiping the sleep from his eyes.
'Do you need a ride?' Wilson asked again, dragging out the phrase as if he were talking to a child.
'I have a bike, you know. I can even ride it and everything. I don't need a ride, and don't wake me up for non-emergency stuff. I thought that was an established rule of our friendship,' House growled, trying to bring himself out of his slumber.
'Fine. See you tomorrow, House,' Wilson remarked, then turned to leave.
House, now fully awake, glanced at the clock on his computer; the only source of light in his office.
'What is Wilson still doing here?' he mused. 'Probably avoiding soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Wilson#4'
He was gathering his backpack when a rather large stack of envelopes crashed off his desk onto the floor, spilling themselves randomly in all directions.
'Shit,' he grumbled. 'I should definitely go see Cameron and give her hell about not coming to work. That is, if she is even awake still.' He grabbed the stack of papers off the floor and carried them to Cameron's room.
The hospital corridors were only dimly lit by lights from patient's rooms and the emergency lights. Cameron was in the next wing over. House limped down the hallway and made a turn toward the Lucas wing. Here, all the lights were off in every rooms, except for one; Room 212.
She looked pale, and cold. 'At least the tubes were gone. She looks more human now. I can recognise her as Allison Cameron, the immunologist,' House thought to himself as he peered into the room through the large glass window. Still, as he looked at her weak form laying on the hospital bed, limply holding the latest New England Journal of Medicine, he died inside. As much as he would deny it, he liked her, more than as a doctor and more than a simple physical attraction. She was smart, she was attractive, and she could put up with all of his...Houseness. She had even learned to respond to some of his glib remarks. That was something he loved about her. I should have known something was wrong. I should have seen she was not happy, that she was hurting. If I had just given a damn about her, I could have stopped this. She just barely stayed alive.
'Is she going to make it?' a man named Brian had asked.
'Well, the three stab wounds to her abdomen pierced her stomach, liver, left lung, and the gall bladder. We were able to repair the stomach, lung, stop the bleeding in the liver, but she needed a cholecystectomy,' a Dr. Chase replied.
'I'm sorry, what is that? A chole--'
'She needed her gall bladder removed. And, the leg wound--'
'Oh.' Brian interjected, cutting Chase off, 'But, doctor, you really didn't answer my question. Will she be okay?'
'She should. If you don't mind my asking, how exactly did this happen?' Dr. Chase asked, clearly suspicious of this man.
'Robber,' Brian lied. He fidgeted a bit; something Chase noticed and stored in his memory.
A sudden beeping from Cameron's machines sent Dr. Chase flying in the room. Brian remained outside.
'Her lung has collapsed!' Chase yelled as he stabbed the tube into her chest and sucked the air out. 'She is stabilizing, but she may need another surgery. She is not out of the woods yet.'
Chase exited the room to find Brian and tell him the news, only to run into a large man in a police uniform.
'Can I help you,' Chase asked, somewhat startled.
'I am Officer Hobbs from Princeton PD. I need to see Mr. Brian Hayes and ask him a few questions about the incident with Dr. Cameron. Can you tell me where to find him?' the large man replied, the deepness in his gruff voice enough to intimidate any man.
'I'm sorry. He was just here a moment ago.' Chase looked back into Cameron's room, seeing her lying there, frail and pale, hooked up to dozens of beeping machines.
'You really need to get out of here, you know.' House said, startling her. 'My mail is piled up all over my desk and Cuddy has been bugging me for dictations. She wants me to do my job, and that's your job. You need to get back to your job,' he pointed out while throwing the stack of mail to the floor to emphasise his point.
'Here's a novel idea! Ever thought of actually sorting the mail yourself? Or, better yet, doing the one dictation a week that is required of you?' Cameron retorted having composed herself after his startling entrance.
'Well, you're certainly pleasant when you're not on morphine. Jeez!' he snarked. 'And actually, I have thought of doing it, but decided it was better suited for you. You are good at it.'
'Last time I checked, it doesn't take mad skills to sort a pile of mail.'
'Yes it does, mommy,' House mock-whined.
'Anyway, what are you still doing here? It's late, and you don't even have a case.'
'Forget Hershey Park; this is the sweetest place on Earth! Why in the world would I ever want to leave?' House replied with ample sarcasm. Cameron simply rolled her eyes.
'So, you came all the way here to bitch at me for the mail on your desk. Was there something else you wanted to say? Good night, maybe. Hope you get well soon?' she retorted.
House thought for a second. No, that was not the only thing he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her how badly he felt for her, how much he hated the ass who did this to her, and he wanted to warn her about the long, torturous journey that lay ahead of her. Instead, he said what said what typical Greg House would say. 'Nope, I just thought you might want to know that you need to get your malingering butt back to work, or else I might accidentally sign my self up to speak somewhere,' he gasped, feigning terror, 'Your mad skills are needed.'
'I'll keep that in mind.' Cameron rolled her eyes.
Beginning to feel tired again, House turned to leave.
'What?' he asked wheeling around the best he could.
'Give me the letters.'
House bent down to pick them up. He carried them over to her hospital bed and dropped them in her hands.
'When you get those done, there are about six more piles still cramping up my office space, so don't think this is all the work you will be doing.'
Before she could roll her eyes, glare at him, or do anything else with her eyes, House limp-sprinted out of the room, smirking. 'If I had known that was going to be that easy, I would have brought more.'
Cameron stared at the stack of envelopes in her hand, but decided to leave them alone for the time being. She placed them on the bedside table and groped around for the remote control. After flipping through channels for what seemed like an eternity, she resolved that there was absolutely nothing good on TV. Too bad, because she couldn't sleep despite her fatigue.
This whole mess is all House's fault. If he had just tried to consider me as more than a employee, I wouldn't have needed to make myself forget him. If I hadn't needed to forget him, I wouldn't have begun dating Brian. If I hadn't begun dating Brian, I would not be here right now.
However, try as she may to blame this on House, and give a reason for what had happened, all she could think was: My leg hurts.
A/N: Please let me know if it is worth it to continue. Please R&R and make my day brighter!!