Chapter Text
"Where did you go to school?" Cameron asks.
It's Chase's turn to consolidate all their notes and paperwork into a functional chart and he's taken up half the conference table to do it, pen waggling between his teeth. "St. Vincent's Private school for boys," he says, and then: "Doctor Foreman's time notations are shit." Foreman's just left to do the last of his HR paperwork, can't even have left the floor yet. "Your MRI log says 10:35. Mine's 10:34. His is 10:30."
"Don't be anal," Cameron scolds, amused. Chase shrugs, smirks a little. "And I didn't mean elementary school."
"High school," Chase corrects. He removes his pen from his cheek, scribbles something on the clean copy. "Med school I was at the University of Melbourne. Sydney for specialty training."
"Are they any good?" Cameron asks, feeling a pang that she doesn't know, doesn't know all that much about her colleague's country of origin. It makes her feel ignorant; rude.
Chase shrugs. "They're alright. Why?" he adds, shrewdly.
"Foreman went to Hopkins." Chase doesn't really react, so she clarifies: "That's maybe the top school in the country—"
"I know," Chase interrupts, amused.
"House went to Hopkins," Cameron adds, embarrassed. She isn't making her point clearly, she realizes: every since House told her, yesterday, why she'd been hired, she's been seething, humiliated: dwelling. A decorative plant, he'd said, and then, you're damaged. Like she was either eye candy or a pity-project, like one was any better than the other. "House said he hired me because I'm pretty," she says, checking to make sure House isn't in his office, listening in through the glass.
Chase looks up at that. "He came on to you?" he asks, frowning slightly, more curious than alarmed.
"Not exactly," she says, unwilling to recount the rest of the conversation. "And he said he only hired you as a favor to your dad," Cameron adds, wanting Chase to join her hurt, her offense. He doesn't deny it, just spins his pen idly in his fingers as he listens to her. "But he hired Foreman because he went to this great school, had a 4.0—"
"I'm sure Foreman has something wrong with him," Chase interrupts dismissively.
"This doesn't bother you?" Cameron demands: she'd been hoping for sympathy. Commiseration. Six months and it's just been her and Chase, and they're not friends exactly but she'd figured they were allies, something more than just coworkers.
"A job's a job," says Chase.
She doesn't want to tell him what else House said. The way he'd tried to guess at her history, the idea that it was blatant; obvious. But at the same time, part of her does want to ask Chase: does he know it too? Is it? Painted on her like a sign? Sure, she's still grieving, but damaged? Is that better or worse than pretty?
"Do you think Dr. Foreman will stick around?" she asks finally, after a few minutes of Chase scribbling numbers and shuffling papers.
"Probably. House likes him," Chase says. It's true, but that doesn't help at all.