Three Camerons

A.N. In an earlier note I mentioned that the series keeps Cameron's family and background criminally underdeveloped (she has two brothers. That's it). I prefer sticking as far as possible to canon, but its relative silence on this aspect makes additions necessary. As previously mentioned, there's a good (certain?) chance my interpretation of Cameron and her family will differ from your own. Please don't shoot the messenger.

House and Cameron pulled up to her apartment block and he helped her unload stuff from the trunk. "That was a really great few days, House, thanks".

"Even the prank this morning?".

"Yes, even that, you insufferable man".

"No wonder. It was fantastic", House grinned, turning back to the car with a little wave.

But Cameron blurted out: "-hey, I mean, you can stay over if you want? We can grab some takeout? That's if you aren't tired of me already". The immunologist was aware of her own neediness but the truth was she had greatly enjoyed 'living' with House, even if only for a short time. The chance to monopolise his attention had been both fun and rewarding and if there were a choice available, he would be sleeping with her tonight.

"Err-", he began.

"-it's fine, you don't need to explain", she smiled. "I'll see you at work tomorrow".

"Oh, it's not that…was gonna catch up with Wilson is all".

"Ah, well, you should. Maybe show him the video clip from this morning".

"Hmm. I'll stay if you buy dinner".

Cameron laughed at the banality of this reason. "Done".

The taxi driver poked his head out of the window to address the pair on the sidewalk. "Hey, you coming back in or can I go now? Time is money". At Cameron's signal, he pulled away while House texted Wilson to postpone their plans, explaining that the certainty of free food and the (distinct) possibility of sex necessitated the change. The oncologist quickly replied with a thumbs up.

"Right, all sorted. Let's go. Need me to carry that case?".

"Nah, s'fine". They both entered the block and pressed the button, House smiling to himself as her reply reminded him of her drunkenness from last night.

As if reading his mind, Cameron looked askance as they walked out of the elevator. "Meaning to ask… was I, ah, adequately behaved yesterday? It's a bit of a blur".

"A blur? I find that hard to believe. Y'know, since your metabolism is, like, so fast".

"Oh, God". The immunologist felt herself blush.

"I knew you were in strife when you started the conversation with, and I quote, 'the thing about doors is they are hard to open'".

"I don't normally get drunk like that. But it was the last night, and the others were drinking, and I knew you weren't available anyway".

House laughed. "You realise who you're talking to, right? I'm the guy who got hammered with death row dude last year. It's a plus not a negative. I actually thought you were adorable".

"What did you do with that giant man-head? Didn't see you pack it".

"Left it for housekeeping. Revenge for my knee". Cameron snorted at this as they approached her door and she was rummaging around in her bag for the key when House held out his arm suddenly. "Wait. Do you hear that?".

"No, I-", she began.

"-listen. Voices inside your apartment. I don't suppose you left the radio on?".

"I don't even own a radio". The immunologist pressed her ear to the door and turned white. "I hear them too. Fuck, fuck. How did they get in? The door is still intact…", she whispered.

"Ladder to the window, I guess. Did you see anything on the way in?".

"No, but it's dark and I wasn't looking".

"Me neither. It's only the first floor, though, and if they knew you were away, they could take all the time in the world. Give me your keys". House's voice was tight, and Cameron handed them over wordlessly.

"We should call the cops and wait", she spoke worriedly.

"I'll call them now, but there's no use waiting – if they used the window, they could be halfway to New York with your stuff by the time the police get here". House pulled out his phone, dialled 911, and described the situation. The complete seriousness with which he was behaving did nothing for the woman's heart rate as he rang off with a muttered 'fifteen minutes'.

"I don't care about my stuff. I only care about you and me".

House pressed his ear to the door. "Sounds like there's…a woman and a man. Reckon you could take the bitch?". Despite the situation, House couldn't help but feel a delightful rush of adrenaline. Sometimes the body provided its own Vicodin.

"Fuck, fuck, I don't…why are you smiling?", she hissed.

"Honestly? I've not had a good scrap for ages".

"This isn't a joke. They could be armed".

"We're in Princeton, not straight outta Compton. It's probably a math nerd trying to impress his android girlfriend". House drew himself up to his full height and flexed his shoulders. "Drop your bag and get behind me. I'll do the talking. And if it comes to it, aim for the crotch".

"Dammit, I don't…". Cameron was panicking, her mind moving at a hundred miles an hour. How did they get in? Did she leave the window open? What if they had guns? Suddenly the image of the office shooting surged through her brain, and memories she thought she had conquered rose to the surface.

"Cameron, it'll be fine. Trust me. The cops'll be our backup. We can't just stand here while someone is rifling through your home. Take a deep breath and let's go".

"You're right, you're right". Cameron ran a tongue over dry lips and prepared herself for a fight. If House could be strong, then so could she. "I'm ready".

House nodded, put the keys in the lock, and turned them quietly, entering the apartment. Ensuring that Cameron was safely tucked in behind, he strode into the living room and came face to face with a thickset man, whose green eyes initially showed surprise then naked hostility. "Who the fuck are you?", asked the man, squaring up.

Cameron couldn't see from her position behind House but the gruff male voice was instantly recognisable and she breathed a huge sigh of relief. "For God's sake, dad, we thought you were a burglar! What are you doing here?", she asked, brushing past a momentarily flat-footed House and embracing her father warmly.

Elder Cameron returned the hug, still eyeing House warily over her shoulder. "Well, your mom and I figured we'd come to Princeton to surprise you after the conference. We've been meaning to visit anyway, and since you missed Thanksgiving we thought it might be nice to pop across and have a late one with you this evening. Your mom's in the kitchen. Well, the kitchen area, I should say".

"Hi, honey". An older version of Cameron appeared, aproned and smiling, and the two women hugged. "How was London? We're so proud of you, y'know".

"It was great – very productive. I wish you'd told me you were coming and I'd have tidied the place up".

"Don't be silly, darling. Won't you introduce us to your friend here?", Mrs Cameron turned her attention to the nephrologist now, adopting a posture uncannily similar to her daughter, hands on hips, nose twitching a little.

"Mom, dad, this is Greg House, he's my, er-". The immunologist was suddenly unsure how to introduce him, since they had not actually spoken about going public beyond their immediate colleagues and friends.

"-boss", finished House smoothly. "Yeah, Cameron borrowed a book from me and I figured I'd pick it up on the way back from the airport".

"So you're the infamous Dr. House working Allison into the ground…we've heard a lot about you". Mr. Cameron eyed the other balefully.

"Dad…", Cameron warned.

House shrugged. "I ride all my employees hard and they are well compensated. If I didn't think she could take it, I wouldn't have hired her". If this man wanted to be difficult, he was welcome. The nephrologist was entirely used to provoking animosity in strangers. Very few people understood how he ticked and it didn't bother him in the slightest that Cameron's father was a member of the uncomprehending majority.

"Well", mom said, "if it's any consolation, all of the complaints we heard were from a while ago. We've been kept somewhat in the dark by Allison since then, haven't we, dear?".

Now it was Cameron's turn to shrug. "I told you I wanted to work through the aftermath of the shooting at my own pace. I'm doing really well, now, thanks in no small part to House and…my other colleagues".

Mrs Cameron nodded slowly. "Fair enough". Now she turned to House: "you understand that we love our daughter very much; she's our only girl. So when we heard about this maniac storming into your office…do you have children?". The diagnostician shook his head. "Maybe someday", she smiled.

"Maybe", he replied. Cameron shifted a little and her heart inexplicably skipped a beat.

"Anyway, my name is Sandra, and this is Paul".

The last-named cleared his throat and offered his hand. "Sorry if we're giving you a hard time. Our impression of you is probably somewhat biased. I'm sure you're not terrible".

House shook it. "Well, I am pretty terrible, to be fair".

"He is", nodded Cameron, smiling at him.

Paul caught the glance between the two doctors. "I bet. Just as long as you give her some time off when she finally settles down. Her mom and I are holding out hope that she'll find herself a good man at some point-".

"-enough, buster", warned Sandra, "you're antagonising Allison, and that's my job".

House stifled a smile at the term of affection, for Cameron also used it of himself. Paul held his hands up. "Sorry, sweetie. I know your career is of paramount importance to you. I'm just saying, your marriage is a long time in the past-".

"-dad, I make my own choices. It's not your business". Cameron folded her arms and glared at the other. House had seen that look before.

"You're right. Sorry I brought it up".

Sandra looked at House, hoping to defuse the tension. "Our family is pretty rough and tumble, Greg. Would you like to stay for dinner? I've made enough to feed Allison for a whole week so there's plenty to go around".

"Err…", House glanced at Cameron who winked covertly, "…would I have to pay for it?".

"Funny. Come, let's eat. Paul, grab Greg a beer, would you?". Cameron's dad, who still seemed faintly bellicose, nodded and followed his wife into the kitchen.

"What was funny about that?", asked a completely mystified House.

"I know, right? Thanks for staying – my parents are a bit of a handful, especially where my love life is concerned. Hence why I'm totally fine with keeping us from them. I'm too tired from the flight to deal with their certain disapproval".

"Uhuh. Not worthy of their smart, moral, beautiful daughter, am I?". House folded his arms.

"Definitely not. But to be honest it's not all your fault. I may have badmouthed you to them when I first started, so now you're pretty taboo".

"I'm OK with that", he replied. "You go on ahead. I'll be right through".

"Why? You gonna tuck and roll out the window to avoid dinner with my parents?". Cameron was only half-joking.

"Nope. Gotta retrieve our suitcases and cancel that cop car. Unless your dad fancies being accused of breaking and entering?".

"Good point".

The dinner with Cameron's parents was not quite as horrific as House feared it would be. In one sense, it was somewhat useful as a fact-finding mission. Cameron's father had procured the clarinet concert tickets for them on short notice, and since then the diagnostician had been curious about the man. Stockily built, he shared the same eyes as his daughter, but very little of her warmth. The nephrologist put this attitude down to protectiveness and thought nothing of it, though he wondered briefly whether his own and Cameron's father would get along. Probably yes. Even the close-cropped salt and pepper hair was similar, more like a retired soldier than a music teacher.

Sandra Cameron, on the other hand, shared a striking resemblance to the immunologist. The curve of the smile, the shape of the face, the long light brown hair; all of it was easily recognisable. As House studied Three Camerons, he began to understand why the Allison variety had chosen to leave Chicago and enter the uncompromising world of medicine. Her parents seemed completely traditional, entirely accepting of their societal roles in life. Even though they lived in a large city, their conversation was surprisingly local, focusing on neighbours, careers, friends old and new. Anything not on their horizon was simply assumed not to exist. Cameron had inherited her mother's smile and her father's strength, but beyond that, she had outgrown her family's settled provincialism: unmarried, career-driven, independent. A rebel. House suspected that he had contributed, unwittingly or otherwise, to her rebellion. And he suspected that Paul Cameron knew it, too.

"Greg?". Sandra was looking at him expectantly.

"Hmm?". House snapped back to reality.

"I was wondering if your job at the hospital left any room for a personal life".

"It does, but that's because I don't work as hard as my fellows. Being boss has its perks".

"So what do you do for fun?". Paul this time.

House suppressed an eye roll. There was nothing more tedious than making small talk, a fact that he had recently been reminded of in London, where his paper had spawned a cascade of inquiries into both his personal and professional life. "I like motorbikes and piano", he replied, plastering a smile on his face.

"No woman in the picture, then? Or man, of course. We're Democrats, so…".

"I have yet to take a lover, gay or otherwise. You?". Both the women laughed at this. Cameron senior merely cleared his throat.

"Maybe you can help us, Greg", smiled Sandra. "See, Allison here claims she hasn't the time to find a boyfriend, and both her brothers are settled down now with families of their own-".

"-for God's sake, mom. Can we get through one meal without you attempting to arrange my marriage?", the brunette commented archly through a mouthful of stuffing.

"Your father and I aren't going to be around forever, darling. All we want is for you to be happy and secure".

"I am happy and secure", she retorted.

"Fine, fine. All I'll say is, if Greg could maybe give you a bit of time off every now and then so that you can venture out to find Mr. Right. I hear dating apps are all the rage nowadays-".

"-please stop talking, mom. I think I'm old enough for you not to be meddling in my life", Cameron groaned into her wineglass.

House suddenly saw a way to make the evening interesting. "Actually, Sandra, you might be on to something. As a head of department I have access to all the personnel files in the hospital. Now, I'm not making any promises, but I just might be able to have a scan and direct eligible bachelors your daughter's way if they pass muster?". House's eyes glimmered in amusement; the immunologist's, meanwhile, shot daggers his way.

"Oh, that is fantastic! Can you think of anyone appropriate? What about this Chase man we've heard mention of? And I'm not meddling, Allison, merely thinking aloud. Humour your old mother for a minute".

The diagnostician sat back and assumed a contemplative air. "Let's see, now. Chase is potential husband material, for sure. Handsome, fairly smart, great hair. Only thing is he's Australian and something of a womaniser".

"Ahh, that's not ideal".

"Then we could go down the more mature but responsible route. The head of oncology is a very nice man, treats women like queens, he does. But he's a little bit older, unfortunately". From his position across from her, he swore he could hear Cameron's teeth grinding.

"Well", mused Sandra, "older isn't necessarily an issue, as long as he makes her happy".

"So we'd say that Allison's happiness is the most important thing in boyfriend conversations?", he asked.

"Most definitely. Right, Paul?". Dad nodded at this.

"OK, that's enough, mom. No more discussions. I'll bring the apple pie through, shall I? House, would you come help?".

"Of course, Allison! It would be an absolute pleasure", he replied with an exaggerated joviality, getting up and joining his fellow doctor in the kitchen. "Your dad's right. This is really more of an area than a room".

"What the hell are you doing?", she hissed, aware that her parents were chatting at the table across the partition.

"Watching you make a meal of cutting that pie, Allison. Here". The nephrologist took the knife and began to cut out regular slices.

"Don't call me that. It's weird. You're being weird". Cameron folded her arms and watched him do an admittedly better job than she had managed.

"As you well know, weird works for me. Anyway, you can call me Greg. Why can't I call you Allison?".

"Because the others use that to annoy me. I'd rather you stuck to your nicknames".

"Fine, fine. Hey, mommy and daddy are glancing over here suspiciously. Ask them if they want a refill, babe".

Cameron rolled her eyes but nevertheless did as instructed, retrieving their glasses before confronting House again. "Anyway, I hope you had fun making me cringe in front of my parents. Not cool, man".

"Hold on", he complained in mock indignation, "you could do much worse than James Wilson – he would marry you in a heartbeat. Chase would too, to be honest".

"I still think it was unnecessary".

"That's the only way I can get through these things. It's best you find that out sooner rather than later. Besides, I'm trying to bond with your mom who, I have to say, is an absolute delight. A babe, too".

The brunette put a hand on her hip and arched an eyebrow. "Do you, like, know anything about how to talk to women? Just wondering".

House tilted his head. "Wait. Are you saying that telling your girlfriend she should marry random guys and that she has a hot mom is considered bad form?".

"Yessir".

"Relationships are hard. I have a lot to learn", he mused.

"Indeed. It seems the master and the apprentice have switched roles. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. I know that you are still grasping human ways". Cameron took up the drinks while House carried the pie. "D'you fancy not initiating a conversation about boyfriends and/or husbands over dessert?", she asked casually.

House sighed. "If I'd known you were this demanding, I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you in the first place".

"Oh well. Sucks to be you, buster", she grinned. "Ready for round two?".

"Lead on, bombshell".

Much better, thought Cameron.