Ficlet: Grave Digger Never Disappoints
You know me: When an episode is Cameron-light or Cameron-free, I have to write a "missing scene(s)" fic.

Title: Grave Digger Never Disappoints
Author: NiiceLaady
Spoilers: Season 5, Episode 2
Pairing: Wilson/Cameron and House/Cameron, friendship only
Summary: Missing scene from "Not Cancer"
Rating: PG for mild cursing
Disclaimer: This is a labor of love. I make no money from writing about "House" and its characters, which are the property of Fox, NBC/Universal, David Shore et al.



He doesn't invite her in. Instead, he steps out into the hall and closes the door behind him. That's not the only thing that doesn't seem right. He's nervous, agitated.

"Wilson, is something ... "

He touches a finger to his lips and stage-whispers, "Let's go out. Your car."

"I-I took the train," she says apologetically.

"Then let's walk. Come on." He takes Cameron's arm and steers her down the hall.

"Wilson, will you please tell me what's going on?"

"I will," he tells her. "Let's just get out of here, OK?"

They walk around the corner to a little bar called Red's. It's a neighborhood tavern that reeks of old cigarette smoke despite the indoor smoking ban that was passed into law several years ago. Wilson and Cameron appear to be the only nonregulars, and the only people in the place under 60. But the bartender, a portly fellow who Wilson deduces is Red himself from the color of his remaining hair, greets them warmly.

"What'll it be, young man?"

Wilson surveys the beer taps. "Yuengling Black & Tan, please."

"How 'bout you, pretty lady?"

Cameron blushes. "I'll have the same."

Red draws two pints and places them in front of Wilson and Cameron. "It's not often we get people in here on a date," he says.

"We're not ... " Wilson starts to say, and thinks better of it. "I just moved to the neighborhood, and my girl wanted to check out the local watering hole," he says. "Do you have a quiet table where we can talk?"

"Take that booth in the back," Red says. "I'll make sure the boys leave you alone."

Wilson smiles gratefully, pays for their drinks and tells Red to keep the change. The bartender's eyes light up. "You're welcome in here anytime, neighbor. What should I call you?"

"James. This is Allison."

"Nice to meet you both. Enjoy your evening. Just give me a high sign when you need refills, OK?"

--

Wilson relaxes as he settles into the booth and takes a long swig of his beer. "Easy there," Cameron says gently. "We're not driving, but I'd rather not be cleaning up puke later. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

Wilson takes a deep breath. "He ... he was here."

"Who?"

He doesn't answer, but his eyes say, "You have to ask?"

"You mean ... ?"

"House," he says, the tiniest crack in his voice. It's the first time either of them has spoken his name in each other's presence since Wilson left Princeton-Plainsboro.

"How'd he find you? I didn't tell him where you are, I swear."

"I know. He hired a private investigator. I think my place may be bugged."

Cameron's eyes widen in understanding. Wilson is reminded of one of House's epiphanies. "And that's why you didn't want to stay there."

"Bingo. Cameron, there's something I haven't told you. I doubt that he has either."

"He hasn't said anything to me since you left, so no. What is it?"

"I-I didn't leave town because of Amber. I left because of House. I can't be his friend anymore. He was sucking me dry. I was enabling his ... his self-destruction. I couldn't do it anymore.

"Then ... I saw him today. He asked for a consult, threw money at me. He was his usual insulting self ... but he looked so sad, so desperate. He looked like an old dog who just realized his master has taken him in to be put to sleep ... or an old Eskimo who's been left on an ice floe to die.

"He had one friend in the world, and that friend walked out on him. I had to do it, to save my sanity ... but damn, it hurts."

Wilson drops his head into his hands and begins to sob, silently. Cameron leaves her spot on the other side of the booth and slides in beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. Red and his barflies would have a field day with this scene; all she can do is provide some camouflage. She rubs his back and whispers soothing words: I know. It's all right. House will be fine.

He looks up, tear-stained face meeting her sympathetic eyes. "You don't know that."

She smiles wryly. "He's survived, what, three near-death experiences? He survived the infarction. He survived losing Stacy. He survived Foreman and Chase and me leaving. He'll survive this. And so will you.

"He's not your problem anymore, Wilson. You need to take care of yourself. Isn't that what Amber wanted?"

Wilson snorts. "People keep assuming they know what Amber wanted ... people who didn't even like her."

"I liked her."

"Doesn't count. You like everyone."

"You really don't know me very well, do you?" she says. That little smile is back. "I'll admit she got on my nerves, especially when she was trying to use me to get to House. "But she was a good doctor, she cared about her patients, and she was good for you. And ... she saved House's life."

Wilson doesn't have an answer for that. He just stares at his beer before taking another sip.

"You're right," he says at last. "I have to take care of myself. But ... House always insisted that people don't change. Do you believe that?"

"No," she says. "You've changed. I've changed. Even House has changed. Wasn't he different before the infarction? I'm sure he was a sarcastic, difficult pain in the ass before, but the bitterness, the compulsion to avoid pain ... that's all since the leg, wasn't it?"

Wilson nods.

"I know what you're getting at," she says. "You're wondering if House will change to the point that you can be friends again. If I knew the answer to that, I'd quit medicine and start a psychic hotline.

"For now, though, House is House, you are you, and you're doing what you need to do. Want another beer?"

Wilson shakes his head. "Come on," he says. "I'll walk you to the train station."

--

"House!"

He turns around to see a slight figure in pink scrubs working her way toward his place in the cafeteria line. "Hey, no cutsies," he protests.

"Not even if I buy your lunch?" she says.

"In that case, Allison Cameron, come on down!" She grins and places a container of yogurt and a fruit cup onto her tray. "Chick food," he says, sneering.

"Hey, if I'm buying, you don't get to question what I'm eating. And you have to eat with me."

"Eye candy for dessert? That's a nice bonus."

When they're seated, Cameron asks, "So how are you?"

"We saved the patient. Cancer that wasn't cancer. Didn't even need an oncology consult."

"No, just a nurse who wasn't a nurse to manipulate things a bit."

House raises his eyebrows. "How ... ?"

She winks. "Word gets around. It was a sleazy move, but it worked. Oh, I have something for you."

She reaches into the pocket of her scrub pants and pulls out an envelope. She hands it to House, who withdraws the contents and lights up like a little boy when he realizes what he's holding.

"How'd you get these?"

"Ticketmaster. It's not rocket science. So, are you free tomorrow night? Want to go watch Grave Digger kick some ass?"

House flashes back to a few days earlier. Kutner: "He paid for your lunch, liked monster trucks and was your conscience."

If he looks Cameron in the eye, he's going to lose it. Instead, he just keeps staring at the tickets.

"Of course. Grave Digger never disappoints."