This Has Got To Stop

Cameron scans the file in her hands while he watches. "Wilson says pancreatic cancer."

She doesn't look up. "Wilson always says cancer."

"And you always say autoimmune."

"Not this time. There's nothing in this data that lets us differentiate between cancer and autoimmune pancreatitis. Did you try corticosteroids?"

"I'm talking to you first."

"If you have time, you're better off to do a biopsy and look for the DNA abnormalities."

"I have time."

"You know you have your own immunologist now, you—" she trailes off when his cell phone rings.

He looks at the caller id, and flips the phone open with an apologetic roll of his eyes. His tone is even more brusque than usual. "Hi. I'm in immunology for a consult. Yeah, fine, I can stop on the way home. No I don't need to get a pen. Fine." Cameron watches as he rifles through the items on her desk for a pen and pad. He scribbles as he repeats the shopping list. "Ready. Asparagus. Bread. Fine!" He scratches through "bread" and writes WHOLE GRAIN BREAD in large letters. "It's been sixth months; I know which bread you eat. Toilet paper, milk—you didn't even open the last carton—fine. That's it? Asparagus, bread, milk, toilet paper and I had to get a pen? I'll see you later. Bye." He flips the phone closed hard.

"How's Cuddy?" He gives her a look utterly devoid of amusement. "That bad huh?" He answers with a sarcastic expression. "Okay, well; you better go order that biopsy."

She turns to walk away, but his hand darts out and circles her bicep; slips down her arm until he is pulling her close to him by her wrist. "When."

"Friday."

His grip on her wrist tightens. "Too long."

"You can't tonight; I can't tomorrow. Friday."

House groans in dissatisfaction, then pulls her close aggressively for a long, deep kiss. His hands slide over her back, one cupping her ass, the other tangling in her hair. "Friday then."

o O o O o O o

House lays the purchases in a row on the kitchen counter, so that she'll be able to see at a glance that he completed the task. Fuck you, I got it right. He rests his hand on the toilet paper as he debates leaving it here or putting it away. If he puts it away, she'll nag after whether he's purchased it. If he leaves it here, she will nag that it was not put away. The only way to avoid a confrontation is to stand here touching it; she sees he's arrived with it, and is on his way to put it away.

He hears the clack of her heels and turns, clutching the toilet paper. "I'll just put this away."

"Okay." She glanced over his purchases. "Dinner in ten minutes."

"Great."

He drops off the toilet paper on the way to the living room and immediately turns on the Wii. "Wii would like to play," he informs the menu. He flips on tennis and starts a game. He gets into it, slashing his wii-mote boldly through the air; crushing the opposition.

All too soon she is here to interrupt. "Dinner is ready."

"Can I--just a minute ok?"

"The asparagus will get cold."

The wii-mote keeps moving. "Well I'm not that fond of asparagus anyway." He makes a spectacular backhand save. "Did you see that!" He turns to face her with a huge grin that deflates when it lands on her glower.

"Okay, dinner." He drops the the controller and follows her to the table like a chastized dog.

o O o

He looks down at his plate, and wonders when things got so bad. When had he started submitting, just to avoid confrontation with her, just to avoid her grating voice. The meal is comprised entirely of things he would not only not pick out, but can't stand: salmon in mustard sauce, couscous and asparagus. He finds it hard not to sneer.

He watches her take silent, dainty bites. He estimates that in three bites she will attempt to jumpstart conversation by asking him something; he heads her off at the pass. "How was work?"

She groans. "Well. The company that handles our hazard disposal is raising their rates by precipitously, so I was in meetings all day taking bids. You wouldn't believe..."

She continues as he tunes her out. He watches her face and nods in a practiced mimicry of attention, takes occasional bites of her pathetic excuse for food. Meanwhile, his mind wanders:

Why am I with her? What am I getting out of this--nothing. Why did I even get myself into this? Oh yeah--sex. Well that's not a reason at this point is it! It would be messy; leaving would be too messy. She's my fucking boss. You can't leave your fucking boss. I knew from the fucking start this would end shitty and now it has. If your reason for not leaving her is to avoid a hassle, then you're worse than pathetic. Of course what would Cameron think if you were single? It might scare her off--

"Are you listening?"

This question shakes him from his reverie. His brow furrows. "Yeah, I just didn't understand that last bit."

"You don't understand why I think we should go away for a weekend?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it. "Well, it would be impossible to plan because I never know if we'll have a case."

"That's why I said that we should just plan to spontaneously go the next weekend you're free."

"Oh." He looks at her looking at him; she knows he hasn't been listening; he knows she knows, and she knows he knows she knows. And neither does anything about it. I should not be getting away with this. Why is she even with me?

She sighs and cocks her head to the side. "Are you done eating?"

He notices her empty plate and looks down at his own; it's still half full. "Yes, thank you."

o O o

They don't live together, and they aren't together every night. On nights like these there is a certain pressure to do something together. As usual they end up on the couch, watching television. As usual she holds the remote. He could have it; he could choose whatever program he wanted and get away with it, but he'd have to hear her objection. Early in their relationship he had enjoyed the fact he could get away with anything if he simply paid the price of hearing her nag. Now he'd watch anything if she would just shut up.

She selects a Lifetime movie, and his first thought is LIFETIME MOVIE? But he says nothing. He's just grateful for two hours of anything but himself holding her attention, anything that distracts her. As the dramatic conclusion of the film draws near, she curls against his side with her head on his chest, and he has no choice but to catalog all the differences between her and Cameron. It starts off with the purely physical, like the fact she seems rigid and destructible where Cameron is pliant and permanent. She smells different; whatever she uses in her hair makes it crunchy. More importantly he dwells on the fact he doesn't want her. He doesn't want to talk to her; he doesn't want to touch her, and he certainly doesn't want to fuck her.

The movie ends, and she makes her move. Arm wrapped around his chest, she tips up her chin for him to kiss. He kisses her, but when she moves to deepen it he pulls back. "I'm tired. I think I'm just gonna grab a shower and pass out." He gives her a final, quick kiss. "Good movie."

"Okay."

He ignores the obvious disappointment in her voice, and heads for the bathroom. Under the warm spray he pushes her and you have to leave her from his thoughts. He closes his eyes, and pictures Cameron. Cameron smiling at him over the rim of a martini glass. Cameron tipping her chin down and looking at him skeptically through her eyelashes over a patient's file. Cameron pulling her top over her head as she lowers herself to her knees between his parted thighs.

He stands with one hand on his hard cock, one hand bracing his weight on the wall. Obviously it's non-ideal to have to do this standing in the shower, but it's his only option tonight. He fucks his hand with long, tight strokes; uses his thumb on the head, and thinks of Cameron.

His first thought is of the last time they showered together.

He was running soapy hands over her pale, wet skin, and he started to get hard. Her hand slipped down his chest to grip his hard on. "Again? Already?" He gave an embarrassed nod. "Impressive," she murmured. She increased the pace and strength of her touch, and he groaned and bucked into her hand. "Good?" she asked. His eyes rolled back in his head and he grunted in answer. "Come for me," she said. "I love watching you come."

He adjusts from his standard technique to make it feel more like when Cameron does it. He has to bite his lip to keep silent as he comes. He watches the white fluid swirl and dissipate in the water, and flow down the drain. Cameron wouldn't have let that happen. She had dropped to her knees to catch it in her open mouth.

o O o

When he climbs between the sheets, she says, "That was a long shower." He makes a non-commital grunt and closes his eyes. Until he manages to fall asleep, the thoughts repeat in his head: You have to leave her; you have to leave her; you have to leaver her. This has got to stop.

To be continued.