"You think House was acting any different," Foreman asked Chase as the two doctors walked down the Hall towards the O.R. Foreman noticed House's unusual (a term lightly used, in this case) irritability during the differential. House was cranky and for a second Foreman was convinced he might have been worried. House had nothing to be interested in, diagnostically speaking. Emotionally, Foreman doubted whether or not House wanted to solve this case because he saw Cameron as a friend or more than a friend. He remembered when Cameron made him go on a date with her, so it was likely that Cameron still loved House. He had also noticed those glimpses that House had given her, very subtle yet there. A brightness in his eyes sometimes when he would look at Cameron, a microscopic smile that vanished as quickly as it had come.

Chase paused before speaking up, chuckling at first. It wasn't until he looked at Foreman's face and realized he was being serious that he thought it was worth replying to.

"Is...that rhetorical?"

"You didn't notice how irritable he was during the differential?"

"He's House, when is he not irritable?"

"I beginning to think he has a thing for Cameron, and she definitely has one for him."

"Oh, come on, House couldn't be with someone like Cameron, she's too nice. And young. He's probably just irritable because it's one of his colleagues, he was irritable when you were the one dying."

"Have you ever noticed the way he looks at her sometimes? I'm betting that there's a thing between them, some kind of spark."

Chase thought about that, and did seem to remember House's subtle glances. Perhaps Foreman was right, House definitely seemed happier when she was around sometimes. Whether it was because he liked her or she was just a positive person may be a debate, however.

"You can say whatever you want, but I think some of her niceness is rubbing off on House," Foreman joked as they approached the O.R. He and Chases shared a chuckle until they saw Cameron lying on a gurney, unusually pale and hooked up to a dozen machines. It sucked the life right out of both of them. She had scars all over her arms, tiny scars from where pieces of glass from her broken windshield had entered. Through her hospital gown you could see purple bruising from the steering wheel that jammed into her chest at fifty miles per hour, and her forehead still had the large scar on it, and even though it was patched with bandages he could still easily tell it was bleeding because of the red liquid leaking out of it, staining the other side. In simple terms, she looked like hell.

"Oh, god," Chase whispered almost disgusted as he entered. He looked away, tears beginning to form in his eyes. It was like watching a family member sit in a hospital bed unconscious, knowing the likelihood of them dying. It wasn't any easier on Foreman, either, who closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he eyed the floor. He covered his eyes as he walked over to the crash card, reaching inside for broad spectrum antibiotics.

Foreman monitored her vitals as Chase pumped the antibiotics into her IV line. Her heart rate was still high, for now. It was still fluctuating so it would probably be low within the next few hours. Her SATs were hovering at just about ninety, though like the heart rate they would probably also begin to drop soon.

"I hope you're right about House," Foreman started, "because if not, there's a good chance she's going to die."

Chase glanced at him, knowing what he said was true.

"House is..well, he's House, whatever it is he'll figure it out." Chase added, but Foreman still wasn't as convinced.

House sat in his office, throwing his tennis ball against the wall and still thinking about Cameron. It was almost six a.m. now and the early dim rays of sunrise penetrated the windows, casting a deep gold on the floors. House had a half empty vicodin bottle on his desk, and he had taken four in the last hour alone. He was feeling a stronger pain than usual. Worrying about Cameron dying made his leg sore, and even though he knew the pain was psychosomatic, it still didn't stop them from taking those extra couple vicodin. Of course, no one would have expected him not to.

After a few minutes he heard his glass door open, and looked up to see Wilson approaching. House hesitated to speak, figuring Wilson might want to be analytical and question House's feelings, but right now he didn't seem to mind. Perhaps it was time he said something, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" House finally began.

"Cuddy called, she told me about Cameron."

"Okay...so, why are you here?" House added with a hint of sarcasm for flavor.

"I figured you might need a friend," Wilson said, sitting down in one of House's desk chairs. Man, are they uncomfortable.

"What for?"

"House, it's obvious that you and her have some kind of...uh...thing. If Cameron almost dying is causing you any emotional problems, you should relieve it. If you've been thinkin-"

"I'm fine, and the only thing I'm thinking about is the case."

"Oh, come on, House, there is no case, she's got a fever. If this was any regular patient you wouldn't even look at the file, it would be sitting at the bottom of your trash can turning yellow."

"Right, next time one of my colleagues is near death I'll just throw the file away."

"Oh, you know you aren't just taken this because it's a colleague."

"I took Foreman's case when he-"

"Because you were responsible for it! You exposed him to the disease, and you didn't know what the disease was, but it was interesting nonetheless. If he just got a fever after a car accident you would have told him to suck it up, he probably still would have to come to work."

"Right, I forgot about that on the count of her almost dying after the crash. She needs a new heart, Wilson, I'm not gonna let her die. I thought you would understand that, want me to show a little humanity.

"I do. House, I'm not insulting you for caring, it doesn't make you pathetic. It just makes you human. You should be open about it, you should be caring!"

"Oh, what difference does it make?" House asserted as he popped another Vicodin, "no matter how sad I get, you think it's gonna make a difference? You think if the disease sees me shed a tear it's going to go away quicker? Whatever she has will kill her in a matter of hours if I don't figure it out. I'm trying to save a colleague, I'm not in love with her."

"You don't want to care because if you care about things, they matter, and if things matter you have treat them as they matter."

"Is this a therapy session? If it is, we should go to your office, you have the couch."

Wilson scoffed, stood up and headed for House's door. As he got to it, he stopped, and turned around.

"It's okay to feel, House. No matter how much you convince yourself nothing needs to be let out...it does."

As Wilson walked away, House thought about it. Wilson always had a point. House may be smarter and be a better doctor, but Wilson was always better on the emotional, personal stuff that House horribly failed at. He always hated Wilson for that. So many things House could've done and never thought twice about had Wilson not made him realize just how bad it was.

House glanced back over to the board beside him. On it was written "Multi Syst. Failure, needs new heart. Fever. Infection?" He had been staring at it for hours while playing with his tennis ball and downing vicodin. He rubbed his face, sighed and reached again for his vicodin bottle. It wasn't until he grabbed it that he realized just how many he had taken in the last hour alone. He wouldn't be surprised if he was jaundiced by now. It made no difference however because his leg felt like it was stabbing him over and over again with a flaming sword. He unscrewed the cap and popped another Vicodin in his mouth, dry swallowing it like usual.

"What I am is what you need," A familiar voice said. House wasn't sure where it was coming from or who it was, he just heard it. Come to think about it, House didn't know where he was.

He opened his eyes and jumped up upon realizing he was no longer in his office tossing his ball around. He was in a restaurant. Gentle music filled the air, accompanied by soft voices speaking. It was dimly lit, and smelled of candles and gourmet food. He looked around to see unfamiliar faces sitting at round tables, drinking glasses of red wine and enjoying conversation amongst themselves.

It was some romantic diner, not one House would usually be at. So why was he here? He began to look around the room, searching for something, for anything.

"What I am is what you need.," he heard again. He paused for a second. The voice was familiar because it was his voice. He heard it muffle as it said something else but he couldn't make it what. That's when he saw it.

He watched as he and Cameron sat at a table, each holding a menu. House was wearing a suit and tie, looking uncomfortable. Cameron was wearing a dark colored dress with her hair in curls and the flower that House gave her. House chuckled to himself remembering how lame it was, but damn did Cameron look beautiful.

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect. That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer. You don't love, you need. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case. That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age, I'm not great looking, I'm not charming, I'm not even nice. What I am is what you need. I'm damaged." House spoke, watching Cameron become shocked at what she was hearing.

House watched from afar as he heard his younger self say this, and he felt like an idiot even now. Back then, he was sure he was doing the right thing. But now, he was sure that he ruined the best thing that could've ever happened to him. He always had to over analyze everything. It nearly cost him his friendship with Wilson on multiple occasions, and now it caused him to ruin his happiness. He hated himself, and he hated his younger self more. He could have accepted it, he could have tried and made it work. He could have had an actual relationship. This date could have gone differently. That's when House thought. There was no way he was actually in this restaurant watching himself, so he was either dreaming or having a vicodin induced hallucination. Either way, he could make this date go however he wanted it to…

"I have one evening with you, one chance, and I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel about me." Cameron spoke. House looked up from the table, wondering how to respond. He never was good at the emotional stuff.

"The truth is...I don't know. I don't know what to feel or how to interpret what I feel. I base everything I do on logic, on truth. Emotions have to logic or truth to it, there's no rationale to it."

"What do you want, House? Don't you want to be happy?"

"I don't know…"

"Do you want to be in a relationship."

"I don't know...I never thought I'd be here."

"House…"

"I want a relationship, I was always scared of what would happen if I ever got one...The emotional turmoil, I've never been good at handling it." He looked up watching Cameron take this in...he took a deep breath as he met her eyes. "But maybe it's time I try…"