Hello everyone – This is my first submission, though I've had this story sitting around on my computer for a while. It's an AU House/Cameron one shot story, so if they aren't your thing, give this one a pass. I've made up some of my own stuff as far as the music history, so don't look for this to be necessarily technically correct. I know it's been a while since the Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers tour, and I have no idea if there would be a concert shirt around – at least one still in halfways decent condition that someone like House would still be wearing – from that tour. But it fit with the storyline, so I decided to go with it If you enjoy it or have constructive criticism to offer (emphasis on constructive), please feel free to comment. Thanks!
I don't own or have any claim on "House, M.D." or any of its characters, and I'm not doing this for profit. I just like to have fun with making up stories about some of my favorite characters from the show. Hope you enjoy!
"My Rolling Stones t-shirt is missing."
Cameron turned her sleep dazed eyes away from her cane wielding visitor to check the wall clock beside the door. Two ten a.m. The drowsy look in her eyes barely muffled the irritation. She'd been camped out at her own apartment for the last few days following a fight at House's apartment. Actually, 'fight' was a rather tame word for what had transpired between the two of them, and in House's estimation, relatively polite terms like 'disagreement' or 'argument' didn't even come close. So, for lack of a more accurate descriptor, 'it' had started with House rubbing furiously at his bad thigh, continued with an exchange of some cold and ugly words in its middle, and ended with Cameron packing a bag and silently storming out the door.
True to form, Cameron had been at work the next morning - not that he'd gone to check, at least at first. He'd sent one of his latest fellows to get a consult from her to confirm she was there before he'd gone to lurk outside the ER and hope she'd notice him and talk through what had transpired between them the night before. She'd noticed him, all right - she'd froze at the moment their eyes met, then gave him an icy look before turning back to her latest patient. Normally he'd horn in and interrupt her with a typically smart ass comment he'd come to pride himself on, but the brief look they'd exchanged had been enough to make him reconsider that move. The dark circles and puffiness under her eyes were enough to tell him she'd cried herself to sleep last night, and the disheveled and still damp topknot she'd wound her dark hair into told him she'd barely managed a shower before coming in for her shift. Normally Cameron had borne his tirades with her trademark calm and understanding, so her reaction to seeing him that morning had, for one of the few times in his life, made him react to a situation with caution. Well, at least caution when it came to interacting with Cameron. Wilson, of course, had been his usual meddling self once he'd seen House's increased wrath on his latest batch of underlings, and had tried unsuccessfully to convince Cameron to come to diagnostics and hash it out. But Cameron had refused to cave, even when Cuddy had pleaded with her in the ER yesterday to talk to House after spending the better part of an hour consoling House's latest female fellow when she'd fled his office in tears. House had spent most of the day hiding out in an empty clinic room, sleeping fitfully on the exam table and trying to mentally plot his next approach with Cameron. Waking up bleary eyed a few hours later with his brain in a momentary fog had made him decide that middle of the night plan of attack would work best. He'd catch her off guard, be sharp and alert when she was half awake - and hopefully less willing to argue with him than usual.
However, looking at the rumpled, sleep hazed Cameron now, he realized that his plan had not been as brilliant as he'd first thought. By the stiffness of her movements and the rumpled throw on the sofa behind her, she'd been trying to sleep on the couch before coming to answer the door. Sleeping on the couch was good. It meant that sleeping in bed without him hadn't been going very well - or, at least, he hoped that's what it meant. However, the annoyance in her heavy lidded green eyes was still evident, and she was sending him the same look she'd sent him that first day in the ER the morning after their fight - a look that made him think she was contemplating showing him a few other practical uses for his cane. Cameron leaned wearily against the doorjamb and adjusted her robe, raising her eyebrows in exasperation. "Seriously? After the last three days, that's your opening line? That you can't find one of your precious concert shirts?"
Despite her response, House continued undeterred, letting his blue eyes bore into her with a stunned, disbelieving look. "Not just any concert shirt, baby. The concert shirt. The peiz de resistance of my collection." He waved a dramatic hand in the air as he spoke to further emphasize his words. "I'm talking about my Rolling Stones concert shirt from their 'Sticky Fingers' tour. It was in the dirty laundry a few days ago, and now I can't find it. You did the laundry last, so you must know where it is."
Cameron rolled her eyes, her voice taking on a frustrated edge. "House, it's late, and we can have this ridiculous discussion tomorrow..."
House inhaled slightly against the invisible barb of that single word. House. Since they'd been on a largely first name basis for the last several months - both inside and outside the bedroom - her resorting back to using his last name was a bad sign. However, House was determined, and pushed past Cameron's verbal jab and stepped closer to her, giving her his best mock wounded look. "I can't leave. Not when I know little 'Sticky' is lost and so far away from home. I have to make sure he's home safe in his drawer first."
Cameron was fully awake now, and fully annoyed. She straightened against the doorframe, her green eyes growing dark. "House, this is stupid. It's two o'clock in the morning, I'm still pissed off at you, and not I'm playing any of your ridiculous head games now. Go home."
House's jaw clenched. Shit.Years of professional and personal experience with Allison Cameron had taught House that she didn't get angry easily. Hell, the woman had put up with his crippled ass day in and day out for the last several years, so obviously her BS meter was set to a higher tolerance level than most people. So, in light of her usually forgiving nature, the fact that she was still giving him the cold shoulder signified just how royally he had screwed the proverbial pooch. She was still angry, and looked fully prepared to slam the door in his face. Not that he could blame her.
The day of their fight, he'd had a particularly bad day pain-wise, and had lashed out at her with more of his charming, biting sarcasm than usual. He'd jabbed verbal daggers at several sensitive issues in Cameron's psyche, impulsively wanting to draw her down with him into a black hole of self-loathing. However, with Cameron being, well, Cameron, she'd easily recognized his motivations, and had offered to help him find a way to ease the pain in his leg. However, her offer of help had left House with a bitter, pity-tinged flavor in his mouth, and had only further spurred him to let the pain to take over his better judgment. He'd launched into a sarcasm laden analysis of her "screwed up" relationship history - he'd even been stupid enough to bring up both Chase and her dead first husband - before telling her that the only way her relationships worked was when the guy was dying or crippled and couldn't escape, or was staying with her just for the sex. One look at the stung, cold look in her eyes told him his words had hit their mark - and had automatically made him wish he could take them back. He'd watched her silently walk down the hall to the bedroom, pack a bag, and walk out the door, slamming it behind her without so much as a glance in his direction. His jaw clenched tight at the memory. Definitely not one of his finer moments. He actually would've been shocked if she hadn'tleft.
House had numbed his self-loathing with a bottle of his favorite scotch that night, mentally picking apart their fight and his motives in provoking it into smaller and smaller pieces the drunker he'd become. Despite the analytical circles he'd made in his mind that night, one thought had stayed constant through his alcohol induced haze. Whatever the root of his original motivation to provoke her had been, he'd obviously succeeded well - and he'd never hated himself worse for it.
He was a flawed and insecure bastard, something Cameron had known long before their personal relationship had begun. Despite this knowledge, she'd never said or done anything to make him feel as if she expected him to be something he wasn't. She'd never pushed her way into his life, and had done nothing to force the progression that their relationship had taken. She was easygoing but strong, vulnerable but self-assured, and House couldn't help but be fascinated by her evolution. The innocent young doctor he'd first hired was still very much a part of her, but the years had stripped away her naiveté to uncover an unabashed confidence and honesty she applied in all areas of her life. House had tried to groom all his team members to live into those qualities as well, but Cameron seemed to have embraced that lesson without losing herself in it. Her delicate frame belied strength of self that most of his other underlings had been unable to maintain under his training. She'd fascinated and perplexed him from the start, but House now understood just how well she also complemented him. Perhaps that was why he'd always valued her presence on his team, and now, in the rest of his life.
Despite this knowledge, House's ever analytical nature had left him in a state of waiting for the other shoe to drop from the first night they'd spent together, and had continued to increase even after the day she'd moved in with him a month later. His past had long ago engrained in him that happiness didn't last, and that it could be yanked away just as quickly as it appeared. That was why he'd convinced her to keep her own apartment, even against Cameron's objections. His abrasive nature had sent many people running from his life before, and a part of him had continued to believe Cameron would be no different. He'd pushed her and their relationship to the brink many times in the months since, but it wasn't until this last time when he'd watched her storm out his door that he'd seen just how much he truly had to lose.
Cameron started to close her door in his face, and House hesitated a moment before putting up his hand to stop it. Cameron surprisingly offered little physical resistance as he pushed the door back open and nudged his way past her into her apartment. "Actually, I was thinking that since I'm here now, we could go through that suitcase that you threw your stuff in a few days ago and see if it got piled in there." His eyes moved from her to glance behind her down the hall at her half open bedroom door. Cameron followed his gaze, allowing House to take advantage of her momentary distraction to sidestep her and start in a quick limp down the hall. "It's probably back in the bedroom, right? Don't worry - I can go look, you wait here. Might also have to raid your lingerie drawer while I'm back there to see what other goodies you've left here..."
Cameron scrambled back in front of him, her robe shifting as pushed a hand against his chest, stopping him mid-step. "Greg, enough already. I don't want to..." She stopped mid-sentence when his resistance against her hand relented. She looked up at his eyes, but found that he wasn't looking at her - or, at least, not at her face. House was staring at her chest. More correctly, he was staring at the thin cotton material that was covering it under her robe. Cameron followed his gaze, recognition dawning with an embarrassed blush as she quickly took a step back from him and clutched her robe collar closed protectively around her neck.
House remained motionless as they stared at each other in silence, and any sarcastic remarks he'd been prepared to throw at her suddenly died on his tongue. She was wearing his shirt. Despite everything House had prepared himself for, he hadn't expected this. She was wearing his shirt, which meant she had either gotten really lax on her laundry…or she had missed him as much as he had missed her.
House paused, taking Cameron in fully for the first time since she'd opened the door. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair tousled, and a fine shimmer of sleep shone in her eyes, making them even more green than usual. House swallowed hard. He knew that shade of green in her eyes very well. His mind slipped back into countless memories they'd created in the dim evening light of his bedroom, his hands roaming her body, waking her from the first vestiges of sleep, the touch of her skin against his vivid and warm. Just looking at her now, he could feel her hands on him, could hear the soft sighing sound she made as their bodies melded together in the dark. The way each feeling and sensation in her body registered in those beautiful eyes hung vividly in his mind, darkening them with desire until her body arched up and tumbled with his over the edge of pleasure, a gentle smile finally ushering her back to earth before she drifted back to sleep in his arms.
House felt an unquestionable ache fist in his gut as he stood staring at this woman who'd so easily slipped her way into his life. This was the Cameron only he got to see; one that no one else at Princeton-Plainsboro knew. She was his Cameron. A small hitch of pride swelled in his chest at the thought. His Cameron. His Cameron that he held in his arms at night and made love to until they'd collapse together in a breathless heap. His Cameron, who padded around his living room in his boxers and t-shirts, seeming to belong in his apartment and in his life like she'd never been anywhere else. He couldn't sleep well without her curled next to him, and he'd grown entirely too accustomed to seeing her across from him over morning coffee and to arguing with her over what movies to rent on Friday nights. No one else knew the Cameron that could play a mean air guitar, beat him at chess, quote her favorite Lord Byron poem in one breath and then and crack god awful, bawdy jokes in the next. He'd missed her, not just her body, not just the sex, but her. He loved and needed her, and wanted her in his life as long she'd stay. That realization alone should have scared out of his mind and sent him limping as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but standing here, staring at her, he'd somehow never felt safer.
He didn't speak or move towards her, but instead reached out to grab one of the tails of the tie of her robe, holding her gaze intently as he gave it a gentle tug. The knot gave way, and her robe slid open to reveal the iconic emblem of his errant shirt. It engulfed Cameron's small torso, the hem grazing her bare legs just above her knees. She was practically drowning in it, but House had never seen anything so sexy in his life. The corners of his mouth twitched as his eyes moved from the shirt and back to hers. "I think you've been busted, sweetheart."
Cameron blushed again in response, but didn't back away. Her lack of resistance emboldened House, and he took a step closer, snagging the shirt hem and twisting it carefully through his fingers, revealing a slim line of creamy skin at her waist line above her black underwear. House's fingers itched to peel his shirt off her and explore every inch of that gorgeous skin, but he instead tugged the shirt's hem again to pull her closer, tipping her chin up with his index finger until her eyes met his. "I must say, you look almost as good as I do in that shirt. Like you should be back stage in the VIP room with Mick's tongue down your throat." House paused at the thought, then raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Though, if that happened, I would have to relieve Mickey-boy of the use of his tongue, which would leave the Stones without a lead singer, so maybe he's better off keeping his distance." The corners of Cameron's mouth twitched in response, and House felt a small flicker of victory come to life in his chest. He let his index finger trail slowly back along the line of her jaw and down her throat. "So, still pissed at me, huh?"
She didn't miss a beat, her eyes still reflecting the wounded vulnerability he'd seen a few nights ago. "Yes."
He let his hand trail down her arm, his expression suddenly serious, his eyes dark. "You're entitled. I was a jerk."
Cameron bit back a smile, trying to keep her face stern. "I hope you're not waiting for me to disagree with you on that."
House smiled in admiration at her quick retort. "Okay, I'll say it again. I'm a jerk. I'll be sure to send my headshot to Webster to put by the definition in their new edition." Cameron rolled her eyes to cover her soft smile, and House fingered the material of the shirt again, a lazy grin turning his lips. "But you are wearing my shirt, so I must not be completely in the dog house anymore. Come to think of it, I should make you apologize for stealing it in the first place."
Cameron shot him an indignant look. "For your information, I didn't steal it. I grabbed a bunch of my stuff out of the laundry basket, and it must've gotten stuck between my pajamas and my jeans. I found it earlier tonight when I was getting ready for bed." She raised her chin defiantly. "It was a coincidence, pure and simple, and you can't prove otherwise."
House grinned. He loved bickering with her, and time and frequent practice had made her adept at comebacks and challenges. However, as much as he enjoyed their banter, he'd learned months ago a more...tactile way to get the upper hand. He gave in to his earlier impulse, letting his fingertips graze over the sliver of bare skin at her waist. Cameron attempted to remain stern, but couldn't contain the soft rush of breath that escaped her at his touch. House's grin widened at her response. "C'mon, admit it. You're a little thief, and you wanted something of mine to take with you. Something you knew I'd notice was gone - and something you could keep especially close to you." He quirked a questioning eyebrow at her. "Missing me a bit, were you?"
"No." She knew her answer didn't sound convincing in the slightest, and didn't even bother to try to contain her answering smile to House's grin.
He flattened his palm against her stomach, then slowly slid his hand around to her back until his arm circled her waist, pulling her body against his. "Liar," he murmured, lowering his head until his lips grazed hers. Her hands automatically moved to brace against his chest, one moving up around his neck as she lifted her face expectantly.
She expected his kiss to be intense and passionate, and was taken aback when he reached his free hand to cradle her face, then kissed her with a tenderness that stole her breath as easily as his most heated kisses had so many times before. He slowly pulled back, and Cameron's eyes remain closed for a moment more, savoring the kiss. When she did open her eyes, her heart tugged in her chest at the genuine remorse shading his eyes. "I am sorry, Alison."
She reached up, tracing his jaw line with her fingers, letting her thumb brushing over his lips. "So am I."
He stared deep into her eyes, his expression unchanged. "You should be. That shirt is a collector's item."
House's grin slowly grew at his answer, and Cameron paused, a surprised fit of giggles escaping her, and she whacked him in the chest and rolled her eyes even as her answering smile grew. "Not about the damned shirt, you idiot." Her laughter dimmed as her expression softened, and she shrugged with a resigned sigh. "Leaving like I did and then hiding out from you the last few days probably wasn't the best way to handle this."
House shook his head. "That may be, but I get why you left." His jaw clenched tight. "I guess I can't stop myself from seeing how far I can push this before it breaks..." he paused, his voice unexpectedly soft, "and you walk out and never come back."
Cameron felt her heart clench in her chest. She knew House well, and knew how difficult that admission was for him. She took his face in her hands and stared up into his eyes. "Is that what you want? For me to walk out and never come back?"
House raised his head, staring into her eyes with an intensity she'd never seen before. Though his voice was strained and quiet, his answer was unmistakable. "No."
Cameron let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and a gentle smile touched her lips. "It's not what I want either." She leaned forward, gently lifting his face when he looked away. "So stop trying so hard to get me to leave." She rose up on her toes and kissed him gently, then rested her forehead against his. House answered her with a single nod, then exhaled deeply, resting his hands at her waist.
House stepped back, and regarded her with an uncertain look. "Ali, you know I'm a bastard. I'm gonna continue to screw this up and hurt you again. What's to stop us from ending up right back here a week from now, a month from now? How do you know that this will work out?"
Instead of the serious response he expected, she gave a resigned shrug. "I can't know that, House, and neither can you or anyone else." She shook her head. "Greg, we're both screwed up. But you know me better than anyone, and I think I can say the same about you. We're both still here, trying to make this work. That's all we can do - we can't stop bad things from happening. All we can do is deal with them together as they happen." House's expression began to soften, and a gentle smile touched her lips as she quirked an eyebrow at him, a playful sparkle coming to her eyes. "Or… we could always go with my other option, which is to slap some sense into you and show you a few other places you can shove your cane."
This time, it was House who was taken by surprise – but not for long. He gave her a sly smile, his chin lifting with a small huff of admiring laughter. "I'll just bet you would, you little vixen."
His answer caught Cameron off guard, drawing a full, gorgeous bout of laughter from her in response. House watched as the laughter lit up her face and eyes. Even with all of the patients he had saved and the medical puzzles he had solved, making her laugh like this gave him a greater sense of accomplishment than he remembered feeling in quite some time. Maybe it was the opportunity to give someone that really mattered to him something truly good and unselfish for once. Maybe it was because of how unbelievably beautiful she was when she laughed. Whatever the reason was, House only knew this - holding her in his arms and laughing with her, feeling more at peace than he had in years - felt damn good, and he was determined to hang onto that feeling for as long as he could.
Cameron leaned her forehead against his chest, their laughter finally dying away, and House stroked a hand over her hair. "So...does this mean you're coming home?"
She raised her head, the exhaustion returning to her features. "Greg, it's two o'clock in the morning. We both have to be at work in a few hours."
House shrugged. "So? We'll hop on my bike and be there in ten minutes tops. We can come back for your stuff tomorrow." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I promise to have you back in bed in a timely fashion."
Cameron smirked as she rose up on her toes. "Or," she responded, kissing him lightly, "we could just go home tomorrow." House watched as she stepped back, giving him a coy and inviting smile as she shrugged out of her robe and tossed it across the back of the couch.
He raised a questioning eyebrow. "Tomorrow?" Instead of responding to his question, Cameron turned on her heel and headed down the hall towards the bedroom. House's eyes drifted down her body appreciatively as she went, his grin growing as she stretched her arms over her head, peeling his shirt from her body. She paused briefly at the half open bedroom door, dropping the shirt onto the doorknob, its emblem echoing the sway of her hips as she disappeared inside the room. House's eyes sparkled wickedly as he followed her path down the hallway. "Well, I do have extra shirt here..."