CHAPTER 31: BOUNDARIES
Thursday afternoon. The break room smells like burnt coffee and antiseptic, the particular perfume of a hospital that's seen too many all-nighters. Cameron is at the counter, pouring from a pot that's been sitting on the warmer since morning.
She grimaces at the first sip but drinks it anyway.
"That bad?" I lean against the doorframe.
"Worse. But I stopped caring about coffee quality somewhere around my third year of residency." She turns to face me, and something in her expression is different today. Open. Expectant.
I've thought about this moment since House's confrontation—the risk of pursuing something personal when my secrets could detonate at any moment. But watching Cameron now, in the harsh fluorescent light with her terrible coffee and her genuine smile, I make a decision.
"Coffee's been great," I say. "Would you like dinner? Actual dinner, somewhere nice, not pretending it's professional."
Her smile falters. Not disappearing—recalibrating.
"I don't usually date coworkers."
"Neither do I." I step into the room, letting the door swing shut behind me. "Making an exception for someone worth it."
She sets down her mug. I can see her processing—the hospital policy that discourages inter-fellow relationships, the gossip that would follow if anyone found out, the professional respect we've built that could be damaged if this goes wrong.
"Chase..." She pauses, gathering words. "My last relationship ended badly. Not badly like 'he cheated' badly. Badly like 'I married a dying man because I thought love could save him, and spent my twenties watching him fade.'" She looks at her hands. "I'm not sure I'm good at this."
"You're good at many things. Not being sure about this doesn't disqualify you from trying."
A small laugh escapes her. "That's either very supportive or very manipulative."
"It's genuine." I step back slightly, giving her space. "If the answer is no, it's no. We go back to being colleagues who have coffee sometimes. No pressure, no weirdness, no lingering resentment."
"And if the answer is maybe?"
"Then maybe is maybe, and we figure it out together."
She's quiet for a long moment. The coffee maker gurgles. Someone walks past the break room, glances in, keeps moving.
"I need to think about it," she says finally.
"Take all the time you need."
I leave before the moment gets awkward. Sometimes the best move is the retreat.
The next day, my phone buzzes during a quiet moment between cases.
Friday works. But I have conditions.
I type back: I'm listening.
We keep it private from the team. If it doesn't work, we stay professional. No expectations, no pressure.
Agreed. Restaurant preference?
Somewhere neither of us will run into colleagues. Trenton, maybe. Or further.
I know a place. Italian, quiet, good wine list.
I don't usually drink on first dates.
Then we'll skip the wine and order dessert instead.
A pause. Then: :)
The emoticon feels significant. Cameron doesn't do casual communication—everything she says carries weight. A smiley face means something.
The week passes in fragments. A clinic patient who claims his erectile dysfunction was caused by his wife's cooking. A possible lupus case that turns out to be a reaction to herbal supplements. House watching me with that calculating stare whenever he thinks I'm not looking.
Cameron and I exchange glances across the differential table. Nothing obvious—just the awareness of shared knowledge, of something between us that hasn't been named yet. Foreman notices something's different but doesn't comment. Wilson catches me smiling at my phone and raises an eyebrow I pretend not to see.
Friday arrives like a held breath finally released.
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