Chapter Title: Of Mixed Metaphors

Rating : Teen (PG-13)

Summary: He's stalled for as long as he can, now she's leaving. He'll wonder, as she walks away, is this their end. Or maybe, just maybe, is it their future. Future Fic. H/C

For all House knows, their story will end with a diabetic-inducing, Disney movie, happy ending. They'd ride off into the sunset, live in a castle with a white picket fence, and have two point five kids. She'd probably even talk him into a yappy puppy.

Although, with his luck, he'll probably get Sondheim instead of Disney and Cameron would get stepped on in the second act.

He had been acting more and more like a petulant three year old who just got his favorite toy taken away. For the life of him, Wilson could not figure out why.

The whole hospital was on alert. Nurses fled at the mere sight of him. Cuddy hadn't gone to bother him about clinic hours. It seemed even the patients knew enough to stay away.

Usually the hospital's gossip mill would be running overtime. But after checking the nurses stations twice, all he found out from Brenda was that Chase had been caught making out with another doctor in the janitor's closet.

He would have asked Cameron. She always seemed to know what was going on with him these days, except she had been looking a little off lately. The last thing she needed was for him to come bug her with House problems. He probably just broke his gameboy, or something.

Cameron's two weeks notice was sitting on his desk. It was a sharp reminder that her fellowship was quickly approaching its end. His mood had steadily decreased since she left it on his desk four days ago.

She was leaving Princeton, leaving him.

He tried to tell himself that he was only upset about her departure because it meant interviewing for replacements. He doubted he'd be able to pass the task off to Wilson again.

But late at night, with only Vicodin and scotch to keep him company, he could admit it. He didn't want her to go.

Cameron spent all of her free moments staring at his closed door. They hadn't said a word since she'd gave him her two weeks notice.

Not that she particularly wanted to leave. She liked the puzzle of her job in Diagnostics. Going back to run of the mill cases was not something she was especially looking forward to.

But as long as she was still here, she could still hope.

She wondered how much House would tease her about being an idealist if he found out she had yet to accept any of the multiple job offers. No, she was foolishly holding on to her hope.

After all, stranger things have happened.

There were millions of things House wanted to know. What was really in Area 51? Did we really land on the moon? Would Cuddy spontaneously explode if he voluntary went down to do extra clinic hours.

But more importantly he wanted to know about her. How would she look tangled in his sheets? Would the world end if he kissed her? Would she even care?

He knew he had to stay away. He would destroy her; break her into pieces. And once he had her, he wouldn't be able to let her go.

Yet, the more he told himself that he couldn't have her, the more he wanted her.

"You're leaving him." He never thought the day would come. She had stuck by his side in worse situations.

Now she was leaving when they might have gotten somewhere. He wasn't about to tell house he had caught the easy comradely that had developed between them lately, she had become a sounding board for some of his best routines.


After Stacey, they had seemed to formed a sort of twisted friendship. The "sort of" meaning that both of them would deny it if you ever asked. Wilson knew this from experience.

"He didn't ask me to stay."

There's a pounding at her door at two in the morning. Loud and wooden. Knocks like that haunt her dreams.

She patters to the door to find him leaning lazily against the frame.

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," she's too tired to deal with his crap now. He just stares down at her, trying to find the courage to speak.

"Mini-golf. You know what that is right," with a clearing, he says finally.

"Are you drunk?"

"You know, that game where you try to hit the funny colored ball threw the windmill. Don't worry, it's easy. Even cripples can do it"

"Is that a yes. It's too early for me to decipher your twisted code."

"I'll pick you up at seven." he starts walk away only to hear her call back at him.

"Like a date?" she calls after him.

"Exactly," he picks up the pace. Now he really has to leave.

A/N: So let me know what you think.