"Dr. Cameron."

Cameron snapped to attention. "What? I'm sorry. I was..." She rubbed at her eyes. Her gaze was blurred, but she quickly realized that she was sitting with Dr. Richards. Shaking off her confusion, she settled and pocketed her pager.

"Sometimes," Dr. Richards assured her, "Suggestive states can be disorienting." He slid a slim folder across the table. "Congratulations," he offered. "You offered a perfect diagnosis."

Looking suspiciously at Dr. Richards, she took the chart and glanced at the patient's name -- Trevor Gray -- and then at the name of the person who had brought him in. "Eric Foreman?" she asked, confused.

"Dr. House approved the release of these files."

"That case...that was Foreman's friend? Foreman was..." she trailed off, trying to absorb all the implications.

"So," Dr. Richards seemed far more interested in continuing his own poking and prodding. "Given your excellent handling of this hypothetical, would you say that you trust your colleagues? Maybe more pertinent. Do you think they trust you?"

"Cameron's husband?" Chase reacted in disbelief. He stared at the folder of facts, almost in denial. "He was dying the whole marriage and she never left him," he realized. All that sympathy and grief. How had Cameron not closed herself off forever?

"Well, Robert?"

"Yeah," Chase admitted. "Yeah, I'd trust them with my life." Because if House had approved all their files to be shared, then...

"Dr. Foreman, we may discuss that case now," Dr. Richards spoke loudly, managing to get Foreman out of his reverie. He shifted in his chair, folding his palms in his lap. "So, what did you think?"

"I thought," Foreman said slowly, "That we were going to talk about my colleagues." Dr. Richards was still feverishly writing down notes.

"We have been," he assured, showing Foreman a folder. "The case you so expertly solved was that of your colleague, Robert Chase." Foreman reached forward, taking the file into his hand. "Cleared by Dr. House to use. Excellent diagnosis, really. A few hours quicker than the actual doctor on the case."

Foreman leaned back, looking slightly off-kilter. "That whole thing. That was Chase."

"I'm afraid so," Dr. Richards said with an enigmatic smile. "Next session, we can speak to the ramifications of trust in colleagues, hm?" Foreman opened his mouth to protest that 'next session' bit, but Dr. Richards was already penciling it in. "Thank you for your time," he said, checking his watch. "Not a minute past a full hour. Send Dr. Chase in, please, and for the sake of the experiment, please don't say anything."

Foreman nodded, still a little dazed. "Uh...thanks," he offered awkwardly, leaving the room and nodding to Chase across the waiting area. "Your turn," he said, evenly.

"How was it?"

Foreman just shrugged, not sure why he was keeping Chase in the dark. "It was...you know, a psych."

They shared a nod of understanding and Foreman kept walking before Chase could ask anything else.

Late in the night, near to the witching hour, the hospital was as quiet as coffins -- the patients asleep, the night staff seemingly mute. Even House was quiet, his iPod on low volume as he lurked through the halls, his player firmly ensconced in his palm as he slowly picked the lock on Dr. Richards' door, all the while, he listened to the shallow strains of a new song.

The folders were sitting atop the desk in plain view, in order of their appointments: Foreman, Chase, Cameron. Each was replete with notes from their sessions and just sitting there, like candy in the hands of a baby. Locking the door behind him, House picked up the first, kicking his feet up on the desk and settling in for a good read.

Bestsellers had nothing on this.

Don't tell me you're afraid of the past
It's only the future that didn't last.

THE END

Notes: The lyrics are from Idlewild and the title is drawn from Epidemics and not the actual Hippocratic Oath. Tons of thanks to Starr, because without her, I would have boring cases.