Bombshell
Cameron woke up early as usual and padded into the bathroom bleary-eyed. It took a few minutes standing under the steaming water for her to feel like a human being again. Last night had been a late one. Following her appointment, and not wishing to disrupt House's stated plans to spend the evening with Wilson, she was at a loss as how to spend the time. Things had begun innocently enough, but tension over his mood increased with each passing half-hour and stirred in her a desire to watch cartoons and drink wine. Suffice to say, she had dozed off in front of Rick and Morty and stumbled through to bed a great deal later, and more panicked, than originally planned. Unfortunate.
Stepping out of the shower, she towelled herself off and dried her hair, briefly glancing at her reflection in the mirror, which caused a little smile. Then, her gaze slid down to the cup which held her toothbrush and the almost-new one House had used a few times. After this, she wandered back through to the bedroom and dressed. Wardrobe choices for the hospital were limited to a selection of tried and tested combinations. Today, it was a navy blue blouse, grey pants, and black pumps. Hanging up on the closet handle was the outfit picked out for the function at Cuddy's place tomorrow evening: a dress, but nothing too outrageous. It was a 'work' thing, after all.
As she ate breakfast Cameron read a book. But her mind refused to focus, flitting back to House every other minute or so. The man had been in a strange mood over these last few days. Although she considered herself a knowledgeable interpreter of his behaviour, this latest episode posed a puzzle. It was probable, perhaps even likely, that the answer lay somewhere in her parents' surprise visit. Barring the odd conversation during various dinners, House seldom spoke of his own family. Clearly there was a degree of unresolved tension there, and it wasn't too much of a stretch to think that it had impacted how he viewed their relationship. If true, it would be completely understandable. The difficulty lay in getting him to open up to her. The one thing she had learnt about House was that he responded very poorly when put on the spot.
But then again, Cameron had known this about him since day one, and it was one of the many idiosyncrasies that made him an individual. Occasionally he was bound to clam up. In such situations there was nothing for it but to be there if he needed her. Cameron only hoped that at some point he would let her share his burden, because the thought that he might be suffering in silence made her feel sick. Hopefully, she could at the very least improve his mood this morning.
With a soft exhalation, the immunologist rose from her seat at the table and rinsed her cup and bowl in the sink. Then she went to clean her teeth, apply the usual minimal makeup, and prepare to leave for work.
House and Wilson were walking through the lobby discussing Prometheus, the subject of last night's 'pizza and a movie' extravaganza. "I still don't fully understand it, to be quite honest", said the oncologist.
"I've already explained how the black goo works. If you don't get it now, maybe it's time to cut your losses and move on, man".
"But basically what you're saying is that the goo has both destructive and procreative properties…".
"No", House sighed. "I'm saying that there're two different types of black goo. One is destructive; the other is procreative".
Wilson pressed the button for the elevator. "But those two different types are nowhere defined in the movie. Black goo is black goo".
"You have to infer the types from the results they cause. One creates life on earth; the other literally kills everyone. Not everything can be spelled out". Both walked into the elevator and House selected their floor.
"I feel like films can be too smart for their own good. They didn't even explain the relationship between the Engineers and the aliens. Like whether the former created the latter or what".
"I think the aliens were an unintended by-product of the 'creating humans' process. But I agree it's never explained. Maybe we should write a screenplay: a pair of doctors riding off on their motorbikes into the sunset solving crimes and shit".
"Like a medical Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?".
"Exactly".
"Sounds really derivative". Upon reaching the third floor they walked out and began the journey to Diagnostics.
"I think you're really derivative…", grumbled House under his breath.
"So. Cameron. Have you made a decision?". The pair had spent a good deal of last night talking things through. Although House had refused to disclose the reason for his crisis of confidence, Wilson, like Cameron, had perceived that something was up. And as he had done many times before, the oncologist knew how to talk him down. House had expressed his concerns; Wilson had listened and critiqued. In the end, the former had declared his intention to sleep on it.
"More or less", he replied as they reached the department.
"Gonna share?".
"No. Get lost".
"Uhuh. Whatever happens, you'll always have me, Greg".
"See, it's comments like that which make people think we're gay".
Wilson ignored this. "If I don't see you in the cafeteria today it'll be at the party at Cuddy's tomorrow. Still can't believe you agreed to go to that".
"Not lunch tomorrow?".
"I'm on the midday shift in the clinic".
"Ugh, I'm due there at some point too". House had been putting off doing this duty, having so far assigned it all to his fellows.
"Why did you agree to go to Cuddy's little gathering?", Wilson tried again.
"Are you kidding? Open bar".
The other scoffed before giving a mock salute and heading down the corridor to his own office. The diagnostician smiled faintly. For all the snide remarks and short-temperedness, he really was grateful to have such a friend in his life. As he had once informed Cameron, without Wilson he'd likely be dead. Ties of friendship were simpler than those of love.
House slung his backpack under the desk and switched on the computer, flicking the baseball from hand to hand. Wilson had helped last night, but really the decision was his own. After logging in, half-heartedly scanning various new emails, and looking forlornly at an empty coffee cup from yesterday, he gathered up the case files which had magically appeared by the keyboard and went in to join the others.
Foreman and Chase were at the table and some random blonde woman was at the sink making coffee, back turned. "Since when was it 'bring your hot sister to work' day, skippy?", asked the nephrologist.
Before Chase could retaliate, Cuddy poked her head through the door. "You get the files I sent through?".
House barely glanced up from the readout. "Just sat down, so get off my jock. Anyway, we need Cameron here before kick-off".
Cuddy gave him a weird look. "Funny".
"How is that funny? Don't tell her I said this, but she's actually pretty good at immunology. You may leave. The actual doctors have work to do. Take Chase's hot sister with you too…", he muttered, head buried in the papers.
When nothing happened, House peeked up to see everyone looking at him. "What, I can call Foreman 'the dark one' but I can't say that Chase's sister is hot? Don't understand these standards. Hey, blondie", he called to the woman who was stirring a pair of coffees, still with back turned, "get lost. But leave your number with my secretary on the way out. Why don't I have a secretary again?".
"Because you're a misogynistic pig", answered the Dean pleasantly.
"That's sexist: assuming only women are secretaries…", he retorted, still leafing through the graphs, "…these rashes are weird. Did you spray this guy with your disgusting perfume on a date or something?".
"Also, for the record, you can't call Foreman 'the dark one', either", said Cuddy.
A mug was placed on the table before him. "Coffee?".
This familiar voice did cause House to look up finally, and the sight caused an utterance born out of a mixture of surprise and arousal: "holy fucking shitballs".
Cameron had gone blonde.
The differential was in full swing. "I still don't think the rashes are the main thing. For all we know, it could be simple allergies", said Foreman.
"Well, we need a full patient history. The file is pretty bare bones in that regard". Chase chewed the end of his pencil.
"The abdominal pain, though…I think an autoimmune disease. We need an ANA test". Cameron this time, though her tone was flat.
"How're you figuring that? Apart from muscle ache, there're none of the usual symptoms: no myocarditis, no screwed vision, no nothing", replied Chase.
"It could be an atypical presentation".
The Australian scoffed. "If something doesn't fit with your theory you can't assume atypicality. I think its leukaemia. House?".
House had been at the board twirling the marker and trying not to stare at Cameron. "Huh?".
Foreman sighed. "We need to redo all these tests. Obviously, whichever junior compiled this file did a crappy job".
The diagnostician cleared his throat. "Good call. The first rule of fight club is: no hand-me-downs. You guys go forth and get me brand new stuff, including a new history. Then we'll know for sure what we're dealing with". The three doctors nodded and rose to their feet. "Dr. Cameron", he spoke levelly, "a word". Foreman and Chase shared a glance but left quietly.
The immunologist experienced a flash of adrenaline. More than likely, their boss' strained behaviour over the last few days was about to come to a head and his monosyllabic comments in the differential did not bode well. Heart hammering, she walked into the adjoining office, hearing his footsteps behind. "I want to speak first", she blurted out once he had closed the door. "I tried to be professional just now, y'know, keep it on the medicine. I don't know what's going on with you, but I thought about it all last night; didn't get any sleep. If you think you're going to break up-".
"-sit", he gestured towards the seat.
"I'm not fucking sitting. Tell me straight – are we over?". The woman stood with arms folded and a tense expression on her face. "Because if that's what you think, I have arguments-".
"-we're not over-".
"-for the defence", she finished rapidly, talking over the other.
For the first time in a while, House smiled a genuine smile. "You get so 'lawyerly' when you think you're backed into a corner. Really cute".
"Well?", demanded the immunologist.
"We're not over", he repeated calmly, observing how her hair caught the unseasonable morning sunshine streaming through the window.
Cameron eyed him warily. "And your weird mood?".
"Sorted".
"How come?".
"I realised that Princeton is not Rome", he replied, perched on the desk corner.
The ridiculousness of this statement caused her anger to rise. "Obviously Princeton is not Rome, idiot moron".
House raised an eyebrow. "That's not very nice, Allison".
"Don't call me that, moron. I thought you were gonna call it off. Do you know how stressed I was last night? I resorted to watching Rick and Morty".
"You did? Like it?".
"I don't give a shit about Rick and Morty".
"Right. Anyway, you seemed calm enough yesterday".
"Well, I wasn't calm. You scared me".
"Sorry. But you know what I'm like". House got to his feet and walked towards the other, who had remained standing belligerently in the middle of the room.
"I know. Moron".
"Stop calling me a moron, blondie", he growled.
"Noticed that, did you?".
"Hmm. You look like a hooker". The nephrologist had reached Cameron, tucking a few golden strands behind her ear, before once again moving back to lean on the desk.
The annoyed bravado suddenly seeped away, replaced by a look of familiar vulnerability. "I'm not kidding, House. I was worried".
Join the club. "All I can do is apologise".
"Will it happen again?".
"Probably", he admitted.
Cameron sighed. "Well, I guess I deserve it for being in love with a complete freak".
"Stop, you're making me blush".
"Are you going to explain why you've been so tortured?". It was a question asked more in hope than expectation.
True enough, House shook his head slightly. The conversation between himself and Paul would remain confidential. The last thing he wanted was to introduce conflict into Cameron's interaction with her father. Loving relationships, at least in his own experience, were rare and to be protected. In fact, this reason was precisely why the nephrologist had decided to reject his inner critic and preserve the status quo. Whatever his own misgivings, he and Cameron had a good thing going at the moment. If Dad didn't like it, then fine. In a way, it added to the appeal.
"So…we're good?", she asked tentatively.
"We are good. Until the next issue, that is. We can book it in ahead of time if you want. I'm free around Christmas. This wasn't even a real crisis, anyway".
"Have you thought about, I don't know, being normal? I think it would makes things easier for both of us". Cameron, hands on hips, looked up at her boss who had remained standing.
"Yeah, but so boring".
"Well, I just-", she began.
"-you are very beautiful", he interjected, taking a step forwards.
"That's not-, stop trying to change the subject". The immunologist could feel herself blushing. Even though they had been together for many months, whenever he complimented her it caused butterflies to turn in her tummy. No doubt a psychologist would say this stemmed from the simple fact that, pre-Hameron, she had long grown used to acerbic comments and ironic put-downs. Did my brain just think 'Hameron'? Yikes.
"Especially when you're embarrassed".
"We're talking about you not me. Anyway, I'm not embarrassed. Why would I be embarrassed?", she asked, desperately trying to regain the initiative.
"Beats me". Another step closer. House's tone had lowered and his eyes darkened. A familiar sign.
"We…we were having a serious conversation and you changed the subject". Cameron hated how her heartbeat began to quicken. When she had first entered this office it had been because of frustrated tension. But the tension now was of a completely different type.
"I merely said you were beautiful. Please continue".
"You're making it very difficult…looking at me like that, saying things like that". Cameron couldn't shake the impression that he was undressing her with his eyes. Even though they were at work. Even though they had a case and the others were waiting.
"I'll keep quiet. All I'll do…is kiss your forehead". House placed a hand on each of her shoulders and gently pulled her close, brushing his lips against her skin, which felt warm to touch.
The light contact made her shiver, but she persevered. "I was saying that, that it…would be easier if you shared your problems like a normal person. I don't like the idea of you suffering in silence".
"I love that you care, but I spoke with Wilson. S'all good, m'lady".
"Ah, OK then", she smiled. All that mattered was that he had been afforded the opportunity to talk it through with someone. As Wilson had mentioned to her a while ago, they were both members of the same club now.
"You don't mind?".
"I told you on an earlier date: I don't mind being a close second to Wilson. Anyway…", she patted his chest, "…if you're not gonna break up with me, and the crisis has been averted, I should go. Foreman and Chase need help with the tests".
But House still held her tightly. "You have blonde hair now. I want to discuss this. I hope it wasn't for my benefit, since I already-".
"-get over yourself, dude. This is my natural hair colour and I suddenly couldn't be bothered to maintain brown. D'you know how much of a royal pain in the ass it is having to go to the salon every week?". Though not quite the full story it was close enough, for she had long intended to return to blonde at some point. All the same, Cameron did not fancy admitting that Fiona Townsend's brilliant red hair and effortless glamour had also made the decision somewhat easier.
"Exaggeration?".
"Maybe a bit".
"I literally had no idea you were blonde".
Cameron shrugged. "I found I was taken more seriously as a brunette". While she spoke, House's 'lobby art' comment flashed through her mind. OK, bad example.
"And now?".
"Now? Now, I have to go", she grinned, making to pull away. But House was not for budging. "Release me, buster. I need-". Before she could finish, he had kissed her hard on the mouth, running one hand through her hair; the other slipped to her butt. For the flash of a second Cameron wondered whether to be professional and break contact. But then the twofold realisation that House was an excellent kisser, and also that they hadn't made out for a few days, swept aside any latent misgivings. Instead, she cupped his cheeks and responded forcefully, his stubble reassuring scratchy against her palms. After a minute or two, a telephone ringing down the corridor brought them back to reality. "I should go", she murmured.
"Hmm, OK". House pulled back and flicked her nose characteristically with his thumb.
"What're you gonna do in the meantime?", she asked, patting his chest again before moving to the door.
"Clinic, I guess. Cuddy's been a bitch and actually appealed to my better nature. Disgusting".
"No kidding. If it's any consolation, I still think you're a giant douche. And I really mean that from the bottom of my heart".
"Oh, you. Always know what to say to a guy, hey?".
Cameron snorted and turned away, on the cusp of leaving.
"What with the blonde hair, I'm likely to be hard-pressed in resisting you". House went to slouch in his desk chair, intending to kill a bit of time before clinic. But his gaze never left Cameron.
The woman glanced back and tilted her head. "Well, what differentiates humans from animals is our impulse control".
"If I recall, you called me an elephant in London", he mused.
"And a stubborn mule. Don't forget that", she added, neglecting to mention that he often reminded her of a big cat, especially now that his cane had been consigned to the closet.
The nephrologist nodded and waved his hand. "Off you go, then. Be seeing you around, BB".
"BB?".
"Blonde Bombshell".
With a laugh, Cameron left the office, much happier than when she had first entered this morning.
A.N. I only found out recently that Jennifer Morrison is a natural blonde and that she dyed her hair for the House audition. I'll need to go back and edit a couple of lines of dialogue in earlier chapters to account for this. Also, you'll likely have realised by now that for variation I frequently use 'the brunette' instead of 'Cameron'. Now that Cameron is blonde, that'll be used as a descriptor too. I only mention this because about three quarters of the readers of this story are American and I absolutely refuse to spell it 'blond'!
Unless the chapter requires an advisory warning ('sex ahead', for example), I'll be experimenting with end notes to make them easier to skip for those who would rather do so. And also because they don't give the game away quite as much.
Stay safe, and thanks for the continued support! I have a lot of stuff planned.