WELL, it's been quite a while since my last post here, and for that I apologize. Things have been hectic around here, and my mind has not been in the right place for writing. Which is not to say that good things haven't been happening for me... I'm now engaged to a wonderful man! Of course all of this has very little to do with the fic! It's another in the Rat!Fic series that started with The Sitter, and it takes place post-finale. Hopefully everyone will enjoy the return of Steve McQueen.

Yankee Doodle Rodent

Chapter 1

It was too quiet in the diagnostics department, and it had been too quiet for almost three weeks. Those were the weeks since House had been shot, discharged and confined to bed-rest at his townhouse. Cameron made the coffee by rote, and was sitting at her desk giving polite declines to people who had emailed, requesting the services of Dr. Gregory House. Chase was sitting at the conference room table with his feet propped up on another chair, and the end of his pen clamped between his teeth. Apparently the New York Times' crossword was particularly difficult. Foreman had been in the office briefly, but now he was down at the clinic putting in his hours there. With minor variations in who was working the clinic, every day since House's shooting had played out much the same way.

Cameron flipped open her cell phone. No messages. She knew that he was fine, but a call from him would have been nice. It was strange being in the hospital and not being barraged by his voice echoing through the department.

She missed him.

Most people would have thought that obvious, and would have assumed that she'd have no trouble admitting it, but she'd been attempting to show that his absence didn't affect her. She didn't want what had previously been put down as a school-girlish crush to appear as something more. She wasn't ready for that and neither was House. When it came right down to it, she wasn't sure what she was ready for.

Chase rustled his paper and Cameron glanced over at him as he jerked his head to get a wayward thatch of hair out of his eyes. Their conversations seemed to come easier these days, but there was still that slight strain beneath the surface that would probably never go away.

"Turning away any interesting patients?" he asked, just to make conversation.

"Forty-two year old man with respiratory issues and intermittent cataplexy and a twenty year old woman with a suspicious rash and decreased vision. I sent him to Yule at Jefferson and her to Jennings at New York General."

There was a slight nod of a blond head and then he went back to his crossword. Cameron let out the little breath she always seemed to hold onto when they were talking and turned her attention back to the computer. She was glad he hadn't asked about House. Cuddy and Wilson gave them all updates every day or so, but sometimes she thought that Chase and Foreman looked at her pointedly during those updates. The looks implied that they thought she could have been the one giving the updates.

Her fingers felt heavy and stiff as she typed another email response and then opened up an article she was working on for the New England Journal of Medicine. She was relatively sure that Foreman wouldn't be submitting anything similar. That was one thing that had resolved itself nicely in the past month. They weren't as close as they had been, but things were better between them, and she thought they would eventually regain those last bits of comfortable camaraderie. Chase stood up and announced that he was going down to the clinic, and Cameron nodded and watched him leave. When he was out of sight, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She still had her eyes closed and her hand massaging her forehead when a concerned question was directed at her from the door.

"Headache?"

She opened her eyes and let a weak smile be her greeting to Wilson who was propped casually against the department doorway.

"Because you know, there's probably something in this building that could help with that."

Her smile deepened slightly. "It's not that bad. Just stress."

"And here I'd assume that having House gone would alleviate the stress," Wilson quipped.

A quick smirk followed a raised eyebrow and Wilson let a breath of laughter escape. He was the only one who really knew how far the relationship between Cameron and House had gone, and now that things between them were back to being tense, he was the only one who tried to break the ice about the situation.

That Valentine's day kiss so many months before, had been the start of a series of tentative steps forward. There had been more dinners together, with and without Steve McQueen, more hesitant touches, and more breath-stealing kisses. There had also been giant steps backwards.

House's attitude when Foreman published an article on the same case Cameron had submitted to him months earlier, was the cause of one of those steps. She had distanced herself from everyone as a form of self-preservation. That might have been the end of their twisted little romance if Foreman hadn't gotten sick. The balance of power had shifted during that time, with House actually needing things from Cameron, and Cameron holding her own. She had barely reacted to the fact that she too, might be infected, but for House, it had been a driving force behind his desperate attempt to find the source of the illness. He had never expected to be that afraid of a disease, but seeing Foreman's condition deteriorate and imagining Cameron in his place, had made his gut tighten and his mind race.

Foreman hadn't been the only one to apologize to her after that case.

Things had actually improved a lot in the days and weeks that followed. The final forbidden step into the bedroom was taken, and somewhat awkward jolts and maneuverings had ended in a contentment and satisfaction. Weekends together became routine, even with House's irascible attitude, and comments about them getting too mushy. His words didn't cut the same way anymore. Something about his hand trailing up her naked spine made them more a habit and less an edict.

Then House had been shot.

Cameron had spent two days beside his bed. With strength no one would have imagined, she had held her emotions in check. She never cried. She never whispered sweet things in his ear. She never acted any differently than everyone expected her to act. At least not when anyone else could see. There were a few bursts of tears, while sequestered in the ladies' room in the ICU ward, and there were a few phantom brushes of lips against cheek and forehead and hair, in those deep hours of the night when even the nurses moved slower and saw less.

She had expected his sarcasm upon waking, and his refusal to acknowledge that there was anything between them. They were in the hospital, after all, the one place they had absolutely agreed to keep separate from their relationship. His attitude had actually made her grin. After watching him so still and silent for so long, it was a relief to see him back to his bitingly acidic self. She hadn't expected that attitude to cling to him once he was released. He'd claimed he needed some distance, and that Wilson would make a fine nursemaid. Wilson, who'd known about them since the beginning, had only been able to shrug. He and Cameron had thought it was just a phase House was going through.

That had been two weeks ago, and Cameron hadn't seen him since. She'd tried to call, and House had made Wilson talk to her or hadn't picked up the phone at all. She missed having him in the hospital, but she missed having him outside the hospital even more. Another half-smile tugged up the corner of her mouth as she put on a good face for Wilson.

"You talk to him since this morning?" she asked.

Wilson sighed. He hated seeing how hard she was trying to keep things light and normal. "Yeah, I called at noon. He's fine. You should visit."

She shook her head. "He won't even talk to me on the phone, and you think face to face would be better?"

"Sometimes face to face is the only way. You have to force him into not being an ass."

A small, humorless laugh was her response.

"He thought the ketamine was going to work better," Wilson said, the explanation he'd given half a dozen times before. "He's just having a hard time dealing with the fact that it didn't."

"But it worked some," Cameron argued. "You said he's been taking fewer pills. He should be happy to be suffering less, not holing himself away. He should want me there." It was said in a quietly sad tone of voice, but to her ears it still seemed petulant, and she hated herself for her perceived selfishness.

Wilson walked into the room and sat down on the chair nearest to Cameron's desk. He was staring at her with those caring eyes that had seen countless patients through bad news, radiation, chemotherapy and the end-stages of life. They seemed to burn her now, and she turned away.

"You know House," he said simply. "When he really wants something, that's when he pretends it doesn't matter at all. Because then he can pretend it doesn't bother him when he doesn't get it."

"But he's already got me," she replied, voice flat, eyes tired. "Or at least he used to."

"Yeah, well I guess he's thinking that now he's guaranteed to be a miserable cripple for the rest of his life, it means he should cut his losses early. Faith in other people isn't his strong suit, in case you missed that memo."

"No, I got that. I just thought…"

"That your pure love would make him forget all his past relationship failures and accept that you're not going anywhere?" Wilson completed her thought with a bit more sarcasm than she would have given it.

She looked at him and quirked up one eyebrow. "Something like that, I suppose."

"Go visit him," he repeated his earlier suggestion as he rose from his chair. "You've got tomorrow off, it's the Fourth of July, and I happen to know that Steve McQueen just loves fireworks."

Cameron's smile was sincere this time, as she thought of all the times that rat had been the bridge in the relationship between her and House. The fact that Wilson knew it too, made it even more amusing.

"I think the store on the corner of my street sells sparklers," she said, feeling slightly more optimistic.

"That's a start."