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. ***