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 by A.J. Raffles  

 It's back again.

Everyone always says lightning never strikes twice, but here I am.

In ten seconds I would have been considered staring. I had to say
something.

"Do you really think we'll find this mystery virus by running a thousand
gels?" I turned to look at Foreman, hard as it was for me at that moment.
It didn't last for long before my eyes drifted back to where they were
aimed before.

Cam has a weird expression when she's working. Particularly now. Serious,
focused, but sometimes she almost seemed melancholy. Maybe that was just
me. Or maybe it was only now she seemed sad to me.

Maybe I shouldn't have made that comment earlier. It was only a joke. I
make the most inappropriate jokes, at all the accordingly inappropriate
times.

"No, I think we're going to find it standing around watching other people
work."

I jumped. I couldn't help it. I felt somehow like I'd been caught doing
something I shouldn't have been doing. Was I? 

Of course not. You're not doing anything at all. 

I think that's what Foreman meant.

"I'm waiting for the Epstein-Barr virus," I countered weakly. I don't know
why I sounded so defensive and unsure when I said it. I was waiting for
the Epstein-Barr virus. I had been. 

I just... wasn't at the moment. In the silence that followed I became
engrossed in the latest distraction once again. 

Sometimes when you're thinking something, you find it so interesting that
you just can't control wanting to voice it out loud to other people, to
get their opinion, to involve them. Even if you know they won't care and
will look at you weird. Or worse, even when you really shouldn't voice it
out loud, for their sake sometimes, but more importantly for your own
sake. 

"She's weird, isn't she?" I hate myself. I'm an idiot.

"Bad idea." Goddamnit, despite the incredibly skewed way I inadvertently
introduced the topic, he knew exactly what the hell I meant. 

"What?" I pretended I had no idea what he was talking about. I tried to
pretend that I, myself, had no idea what I was thinking about, but I
failed miserably in both attempts.

"Bad idea; you work with her." He has no idea what he's talking about.
He's only been here what, a few weeks, a month? I've worked with Cameron
for half a year, and he's implying I don't know how to handle myself in a
work environment. I feel a part me of foolishly wanting to employ then
I've-known-her-longer-than-you-therefore-I-win argument. 

I can't. I never can. I can't talk about my problems directly, and I can't
get into an argument, so I'm going to say something really stupid that
won't convince anyone that I don't have this ridiculous, childish,
helpless crush on Cameron.

Again.

"What did I say? Is 'weird' some new ghetto euphemism for sexy, like 'bad'
is good and 'phat' is good? Then..." what the hell am I talking about,
"what the hell does 'good' mean?" Nothing. I'm rambling. I never fail to
disappoint.

 "'Ghetto Euphemism?'" Foreman gave me the official "You're pathetic"
face; the one with the eyebrow raised up into Heaven. I laughed it off to
appear somewhat normal. He wasn't finished. "You don't think she's hot?"

Is this a rhetorical question? No wait... it's a loaded question. Two
answers instead of zero. Only one of them is really right. The other is
just protocol.

"No." Yes.

Foreman clearly doesn't believe me. He doesn't get it. He's not supposed
to. 

"Then you're brilliant. And I am using brilliant as a euphemism." He
wouldn't quit. I had to make some sort of compromise.

"Obviously, the girl is hot." Obviously. "You're not talking about her
aesthetics, you're talking about whether or not I want to jump her." Was
he? "I don't" Wrong.

Foreman gave me a look. I hate people who give looks all the time.

"Brilliant."

I made a face as if I were still in grade school, and turned back to Cam
in the next room. 

She was preoccupied. She was miffed. I should never have said what I did.
It was nothing, and she got carried away with it, but I never should have
said it anyways. I should apologize. I should take it back. We usually got
along so well. Why did times like these ever happen? I hate these times.
Especially in my current condition.

Sometimes I wonder if it's the same crush that keeps dying and coming back
to life or if its separate, little crushes that don't really mean anything
and are only a product of stress during rough times. Or maybe this crush
has never left; maybe I just don't notice it until times like these. 

Forget what people say about lightning striking twice. It happens all the
time. More than twice for me.

Although I suppose it really doesn't matter. Lightning hurts like hell no
matter how many times it's struck. 

  
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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 Fox Television, 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.