“Why do you have a camera?” Cameron asks, eyebrow lifted.

House doesn’t answer with words. He just zooms in dramatically on Chase’s confused face, then spins the handheld camcorder to Foreman, deadpan: “Day 87. The subjects remain unaware of the futility of their existence.”

Cameron groans. Foreman flips him off. Chase tries to fix his hair.

You’re leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching all of it with a barely-contained smirk. You’ve been on his team long enough to recognize the signs: He’s restless. Bored. Probably on his third coffee and one Vicodin in. And clearly, looking for a distraction.

Then the camera swivels toward you.

You squint into the lens, lips twitching. “Don’t you have better things to do than document our suffering?”

House doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he lowers the camera just a little—but keeps it trained on you.

“Can’t help it,” he says, tone shifting. “Lighting’s good, subject’s better.”

You blink. Laugh, startled—and real. It bursts out of you before you can stop it. Loud, honest. Bright.

He catches it. And for a split second, he actually smiles. Not a smirk. Not a leer. A rare, full look of satisfaction.

“There it is,” he murmurs into the mic, barely audible. “That’s the one I’ll replay when the hospital finally fires me.”

You roll your eyes, still grinning. But behind the camera, his eyes are soft.

Proud.