Sorry it took so long. I was hoping to get more than one review, but thank you for reading anyway. I want to make sure that people are reading, so I'm aiming for 3 reviews-that's not that much. If I don't get 3, I think I'm going to end this full fic and work on one-shots more. Or maybe even my schoolwork. haha, who knows. So, thank you for reading! Enjoy

House...

"Your bitchiness is endearing," you chide, hoping to push a button or two. Or maybe pop one of those buttons on her shirt. You're not really sure. Either way, you stare her down, and jingle your Vicoden bottle like a maraca.

The grasshopper snatches the pebble from her master's hand. Before a word of contradiction erupts from your mouth you hear her.

"I'll see you when I get home."

You watch her leave for her boring job, in the boring ER, in her boring life. Who the hell even gets sick in this quaint little town anyway?

My, my Ms. Cameron... confidence looks nice on you... the thought only passes through your mind briefly. You don't really want it to linger. Once she exits, you realize the options you have to consider.

1. Go to the conference

2. Follow Cameron to work

3. Scope out her pristine little cottage

4. Drink, Sleep, and watch General Hospital.

Obviously the first was out of the question. You'd be letting down Cuddy, Wilson, your fellows, and all future employees to come. The last option seemed redundant, considering that's what your life consisted up at home. This was Indiana, time to spice life up a bit.

Instinctively, you hop over to your temporary night stand and whip out your phone. Your fingers dial a familiar code.

"Shouldn't you be listening to some old, pompous guy talk now?" the warmth of the voice filled the speaker.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping with a nurse?"

"Possibly. What did I do to deserve a phone call from you?"

"Oh, now I'm hurt," you mock, even gesturing a hand to your heart, "I thought you liked me"

"Get on with it, House, I have a consult in 15 minutes." Wilson hums.

"Well, I don't know... It's complicated. Hey, um, I have a question. Have you seen Chase lately?"

"He's in Arizona with Cameron, House. You know that. They've been there for three years."

"Hmm..." you feign thought, hobbling over to the refrigerator. Swinging the door open, you snag the carton of orange juice and commence drinking from the bottle.

"What?"

"Das weuhrd" you sound, letting the juice settle under your tongue, allowing you to speak, you swallow, "Cause I'm at Cameron's house right now.

"No you're not." he grumbles, completely uninterested.

"Um, yes I am. She's at work right now. Seriously, Jimmy, would I lie to you?"

"Yes"

A grumble pours out of your mouth. "Whatever"

"Shut up...you're there? Shut up! What are you doing? Have you slept with her?"

"She's married to an egotistical son of a bitch." you grunt over to her closet.

"You?

"No." You slam a white drawer shut, "I'm misanthropic. He's just a douche. And he's passive aggressive. I am not a fan." Slam.

"Oh no?" Slam.

"House, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm exploring."

"What exactly..."

"Panty raid!"

"Save it for high school." At the touch of your right hand, a final white drawer slides open. Your jaw drops at the rainbow of colors that emerge from the tiny drawer. Reds, greens, blacks, turquoises, whites, pinks, purples, endless colors of skimpy frill stuffed the drawer.

"Jackpot..."

"What? What what what?" Wilson's surges of energy are sent over the line.

"Cameron has the tiniest...how can she....what a...." Your fingers gently dance on the material, playing at it's edges. They smooth the thin fabric between your forefinger and your thumb, creating a slight friction. Your mind wanders into what Cameron would look like, adorned in the skimpy garment, though the thought only stays for a moment. You only let it resonate for that long, it could get dangerous. Wilson's muffled voice comes through the speaker, though his actual words are unclear. Either way, you respond with a quick, "No"

"So you're not worried about Cameron's husband catching you fondle her underwear."

"Umm....nope." He can hint the slight happiness in your voice, though you won't allow him to note it.

"Hey, since Cameron isn't 'Cameron' anymore"

"Oh no, no, no," you interject, "Cameron will always be Cameron, no matter who she marries. She didn't take his last name." You hear Wilson hum in the background in intrigue.

"I guess that's good for you, yeah?" Without an answer, your finger presses firmly on the crimson end button. You can almost hear your friends chuckle from a few states East. Silently, you lace the red thong around your forefinger, and spin it carelessly, humming an old tune to a song you heard on the radio...though the name slipped your mind. Though as one phone call ends, another begins. The obnoxious tinny ring of a virtual minuet screams throughout the house. You shove the fiery undergarment in your back pocket, and hobble around to the nearest night stand, in search for that damn telephone

Without checking the caller I.D., you gruffly answer the phone with a harsh "What?"

"Greg, I'd really appreciate if my house phone was answered with more...warmth. I don't want to scare away the neighbors." Was that supposed to be a joke?

"All apologies," you respond, anything but remorseful.

"Could you tell Al I'm not going to be home until late tonight"

"Yup."

"Listen Greg, in all seriousness, we need to have a chat."

"Yes Core-ster?"

"Allison...is the world to me. I've given her everything. New clothes, a good house, a safe neighborhood, well, you get the picture. I don't know exactly what happened between the two of you before I met Ally, but I want to make sure that it stays as part of the past. I'm a good man, and I was generous enough to let you stay in my house. This is the least you can do after all of my humble generosity."

"Gotcha chief."

"Greg. One false move..."

"Mhm...yeah." Quicker than your previous call, you end this awkward conversation. Pretend it didn't happen, it shouldn't be too hard. Slowly, you make your way over to the couch. Maybe General Hospital wasn't such a horrible idea.

o0o

When that key scrapes along the inside of her door, you know to straighten up, act cavalier. It's not particularly difficult for you, then again, what is? The putrid smell of vomit enters the household as Cameron does. As the stench of the bile fades, you catch of whiff of her strawberry shampoo.

"You smell like puke," apparently you choose to omit the good.

"Oh, thank you Doctor." she's the one to provide the sarcasm this time. You see her eyes dart side to side and around the corners. She could care less about you, she looks for him. She offers you a pathetic half smile, "He's not home is he?" she asks after an eternity of silence.

"Negative. He called once or twice," you begin, thinking of bringing up her husbands insane overprotective behavior.

"And..." she begins. You see the hurt in her eyes, hoping for some sort of explanation.

"I didn't answer," you cover quickly, "It was walking distance. And, you know, bum leg."

You remember the bits and pieces of red you saw this morning, adorned on her skin.

"You're wearing a red bra today..."

She sighs, completely indifferent, you begin to step up your game, "You're not getting laid."

"Only because a stray dog showed up at my doorstep. I'm not so sure if you want to hear me scream from the room next door." she hisses in your ear, full of malice. You chuckle at her defensive mannerism in your head.

"And for the record," she begins, "I have an incredible sex life, thank you"

"Mmm, I'm sure, It's sooo interesting." you joke. Missionary, missionary, missionary. That's all you can really think about. He had a constant stick shoved up his ass! How damn incredible could it be?

"House, that's my husband you're mocking." she bites. Her hands are placed on her hips, every part of her body is secure, though her eyes are soft and weak.

"All you have to do is tell me why"

"It's nothing." she drawls.

"So say it." you stretch out on her couch.

"We got in a fight about kids, he said he wanted 3 boys and a girl. I said I didn't want to make any commitments to something I wasn't sure about. So the next morning he flew out and-"

"Snip snip."

"Happy?"

"Not even close."

"Riiight," she sniffles, "When are you ever?" You shrug and stand, passing her by.

Her eyes dart to you, and she latches on to your arm. Her hand slides down your physique, slowly reaching your hip. You feel your body becoming weak, though you refuse to show her your anthropomorphic qualities. You are a god, right?

Her hand sinks into your back pocket, letting it sit in the area just long enough to make it slightly inappropriate. Though, before a witty remark can escape your lips, she slides out a red lacy thong. The one you meant to save and shove in Wilson, Cuddy's, Taub's, Foreman's, Thirteen's and Kutner's face.

Dammit you curse in your mind.

"Thanks" she whispers in your ear, before sauntering out. Was she flirting?

Sorry Corey, no more promises.

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