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Things Unseen
by Mer
Sometimes Allison Cameron thought that the most important thing she learned at medical school was how to function on only a few hours of sleep. Working for Gregory House meant long days that stretched into longer nights, as House kept them running tests and treatments for every possible condition his fertile mind could conjure up. Fortunately, House usually had to be cajoled, tricked or blackmailed into taking a case, and even Foreman had learned to give them time to catch up on their sleep before he started pressing House to treat a patient.
But with House on medical leave, recovering from his gunshot wounds and the experimental ketamine treatment, they had been working in more measured bursts. Foreman had been running the department cautiously in House's absence, sharing the responsibilities and workload with Chase and Cameron, and making sure no one was working ridiculous hours.
Long days and late nights were unavoidable, however, when they had a patient in critical condition only just beginning to respond to treatment. After nearly twenty hours at the hospital, Cameron was more than ready to go home and crawl into bed.
She was just about to grab her coat and make her escape when she registered movement on the balcony outside the Diagnostics offices. Startled, Cameron moved closer to the window and peered out. She could just make out the shadow of a figure leaning against the outer brick wall, but when the figure straightened and rubbed the back of his neck, she knew who it was.
They had barely seen James Wilson since House had been on medical leave. He still dropped by now and then to make sure they were managing all right, but he didn't sit in on differentials and he sent one of his own fellows for any initial consults. Cameron realised she missed him almost as much as she missed House. She slipped through House's office and onto the balcony.
Wilson turned his head at the sound, and it was dark, but not so dark that she couldn't see his expression turn to disappointment and then rearrange into a pleasant, polite mask. "Cameron," he said, the name both a welcome and a question. "What are you doing here so late?"
She couldn't blame him for hoping to see someone else. She felt the same way every time she walked into Diagnostics. "Monitoring our patient. Chase just took over, so I was about to head home for a few hours of sleep." Her eyes adjusted to the dim light spilling out from Wilson's office and she thought he looked drained, physically and emotionally. "You look like you could use some rest yourself."
He shrugged. "I've got an early meeting tomorrow. Today. I'll grab a nap in the on-call room afterwards."
He was holding a glass of wine, his fingers clenched around the stem. "Long night?" she asked sympathetically.
Wilson looked away. "Most of them are."
She didn't need to ask. Long nights very rarely meant good news, especially for an oncologist. "Have you seen House lately?" she asked, trying to change the subject. House was the one subject they always had in common.
It was the wrong choice this time. Wilson's shoulders stiffened and he shook his head. "He's pretty busy with rehab and things. I've called, but he hasn't had much time to talk."
Which was code for House not returning his calls. "He must be doing well then," she said, trying to cheer him up. "If things were going badly, you know he'd be making sure you shared every moment of his pain."
He turned to smile at her, the shy, sweet smile he never let House see. "That is true." He looked at her appraisingly, a gentler, but no less thorough version of House's incisive glare. "Are you all right to drive home?"
It was a question she could just as easily have asked him. "I'm fine. And you should go home too. I'm sure you can postpone your meeting." She hated the thought of him trying to sleep on his couch or on the on-call bed.
He shook his head. "No can do, I'm afraid. But I don't mind. It's a good excuse to watch the sunrise." He lifted his left wrist and peered at his watch. "Not long now."
The sky was a deep blue and Cameron realised it was later - or earlier - than she'd thought. Suddenly sleep didn't seem such a priority. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked diffidently. It had been years since she'd taken the time to actually watch a sunrise. Too often it had just been part of the scenery when she was rushing to or from the hospital. She sat down on the low wall between their balconies and swung her legs over to his side.
"Have a seat," he said, pulling two deck chairs together. He disappeared into his office and re-emerged with a decanter and wineglass. He poured her a generous measure and set the decanter on the ground. "L'chaim," he said, lifting his own glass.
Cameron sipped delicately and then took a longer, more appreciative drink. "What is this? It's wonderful."
"1994 Quinta do Noval Nacional. 100 points from Wine Spectator." He grinned self-deprecatingly. "I looked it up. It's good now. It will be spectacular in another ten years."
"Then why are you drinking it now?"
He swirled the port in his glass and sniffed deeply. "The father of one of my patients gave it to me. She was born in '94 and he wanted to have a bottle to celebrate all the big milestones." He stared blindly out into the night. "There won't be any," he said softly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
The corner of his mouth twitched, as he acknowledged her condolences. "They say this is a wine that should be saved for one of life's special occasions," he said. "You told me that when a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. I thought I should acknowledge that impact."
She remembered what he'd told her about not getting involved. At the time she'd thought he was callous, that he didn't understand, but now she realised he'd been speaking from experience. "I don't know how you do it," she admitted. "How you can watch children die."
He didn't even pause to think and she wondered how often he was asked the question. "Because I have the privilege of watching them live." He turned to face her, his expression serious. "Death is part of being a doctor, Allison. If you can't handle it, you should consider research or teaching. Even House can't save everyone."
"But he saves enough that there's always hope." She took another sip of the port and felt the liquid warmth seep through her body. Still, she shivered, though not for cold. She could sense Wilson watching her and kept her eyes averted, afraid to witness his pity, or worse, his contempt.
He got up silently and returned to his office and Cameron wondered if she'd said something wrong. But before she could stand up to follow and apologize, Wilson returned, carrying the throw from his couch. He draped it over her shoulders, and then briefly rested a hand on the top of her head before sitting down again.
Cameron knew his reputation. She knew that he had been married three times and had cheated on at least one of his wives. But there was nothing sexual about the touch. It was a benediction, and it warmed her more than the port.
She noticed he was holding something in his hand and leaned close to see what it was.
He smiled and held the object out to her. "She gave this to me a few weeks ago, before she was hospitalized for the last time. She said she'd seen it in the window of her favourite toy store and thought it would be perfect for me." He smiled wistfully. "I told her it was the best present I'd ever gotten and she just giggled away. 'It's a piece of junk,' she told me. 'But it makes me laugh.' And that made me laugh, so she was right. It was perfect for me."
Cameron took the toy from his hand. It was a plastic mouse-like figurine dressed like a doctor. She smiled. "You were right, too. I can't imagine getting a better present." She gave it back to him, watched as he placed it protectively on his lap. There was something painfully endearing about a grown man cherishing a tacky toy.
"There's value in everything. When I look at this, I remember a little girl's laughter," Wilson said, looking down.
She touched his arm to show that she understood. "That's a good thing to remember."
When he looked up, she thought she saw tears glistening in his eyes, but a second glance convinced her that it was just a trick of the reflected light. He wasn't the type to cry in front of someone else, not even for a lost child.
He took a deep drink of the port, as if to compose himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady, even amused. "I remember reading an article about wine rating. The author said there should be two measurements. Fifty points for the quality of the wine and 50 points to describe the drinking experience. So the '45 Mouton Rothschild gets 50 points off the bat and 10 points because you're tasting it at a boring seminar with a bunch pretentious assholes. While the $10 bottle of bubbly gets 25 points for being drinkable and 50 points because you just hit a hole in one to win the club championship."
She laughed. "I like that system. It explains why I've liked so many terrible wines." She nodded at the port. "How's that holding up?"
Wilson pretended to ponder deeply, tapping his chin with his index finger. "Well, the first 50's a given. Who am I to disagree with Wine Spectator?" He gave her a self-deprecating grin, but his dark eyes were serious. "An hour ago I wouldn't have given much for the second 50. But now I have the memory of a little girl's laughter and the companionship of a beautiful woman. I'd say it's still 100."
Cameron opened her mouth to agree, but was ambushed by a yawn.
Wilson chuckled. "If House were here he'd be revising his over-inflated impression of my winning ways with women."
There was sadness beneath the laughter, though, and Cameron realised that it was House who normally sat on the balcony with Wilson when one of them lost a patient. "If House were here, he'd tell us to stop wanking over wine and get some sleep before our brains melted altogether."
Wilson pulled out his cell phone. "And he'd be right. I'm calling you a cab. You shouldn't drive home."
She let him. She wasn't drunk, but the wine had still gone to her head, leaving her relaxed and drowsy. And she had to admit; it was nice to be looked after. She wondered who looked after Wilson. "You should go home, too," she said when he closed the phone. "You're exhausted."
"I'm fine," he replied. "I'm used to exhausted. It's a default state with me." He punctuated the words with a jaw-creaking yawn of his own. "I'll take tomorrow off and catch up. Perks of being a department head."
"I'm calling your assistant to make sure you do that," she warned. The sky had grown noticeably lighter as they talked and Cameron peered at the horizon. "Wait a second," she said. "We're facing west. We can't see the sunrise."
Wilson shrugged. "Just because you can't see something, doesn't mean it's not there."
"That sounds like something House would say," Cameron teased, but Wilson didn't smile.
"I'll take that as a compliment." He turned the tacky figurine around in his hands. "Just because you don't think there's hope, doesn't mean it's not there."
Cameron let the words seep into her. She had learned a lot during her fellowship with House. Perhaps she could learn something from Wilson as well. "I take it back. That definitely isn't something House would say."
He acknowledged the parry with a tip of his head. "That doesn't mean it's not true." Wilson leaned over the balcony wall and looked down towards the hospital entrance. "Your chariot has arrived," he announced formally. He helped her up and then hovered protectively while she slid over the dividing wall.
"Thank you for the drink," she said, with equal formality. "That was the best sunrise I've ever not seen." On impulse, she stuck out her hand and when Wilson took it, she leaned forward and gave him a quick hug. "I'm sorry about your patient," she whispered.
He held onto her hand, even after she stepped back. "Cameron...." His eyes darted away and he let go, rubbing his hand nervously on his leg. "Thank you for the company." His cell phone rang, and he answered it, telling the cab driver his passenger would be right down. "I'll see you later."
"Day after tomorrow," she replied, narrowing her eyes to show that she was serious about calling his assistant. She didn't actually think he would take a day off to sleep, but he might visit House. She thought he needed that even more than he needed rest.
"Day after tomorrow," Wilson promised. He jammed his hands in his pockets, curving his shoulders slightly against the cold. For an instant he looked almost fragile, but before she could change her mind about leaving, he straightened up and gave her his cockiest grin. "I'll tell Cuddy it's your fault I'm playing hooky."
She smirked back at him. "And I'll tell her you tried to get me drunk on your balcony." She left before he could respond, though unlike House, she thought Wilson might let her have the last word.
It was nearly light when she walked outside the hospital towards the cab. When she looked up at the balcony, Wilson was leaning over the edge, watching her. He raised his glass when she waved and saluted her. She thought he called something out, but she was too far away to make out the words. Cameron climbed into the back of the cab, glanced once more up at the balcony, and directed the driver to head east, into the sunrise.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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