Disclaimer: Don't own House, but how kind of you for thinking it could be possible.

A/N: So much to comment on. Disturbing spoilers (eew!) and an excess of baseball (sorry to the fans out there) have me agitated. Not to mention the piles of ungraded essays and a high school homecoming week to organize and run that have left me with little time to update. (Notice, though, that I am updating and not grading.)

Anyway, this is it – the end of this particular story. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. As I've said before, you've made this more fun than I thought it could be.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Now who's the moron?"

House bit back a grin. He liked feisty Cameron, but she was going to pay for that one. He turned his head to snap back but never got the chance.

"About time someone besides me called you that."

House groaned and gritted his teeth. "Jesus! Why don't all of you people just go away?" he yelled. He craned his neck around to see Lisa Cuddy smirking in the doorway of the lab.

Cameron grimaced. This was getting ridiculous. First her mother, then the messenger. Now Dr. Cuddy. Oh, wait. Couldn't forget the ever-present Dr. Wilson. She was starting to believe that she was in the middle of a very clichéd romance novel. She was amused, though, by the apparent level of frustration that Greg House was currently feeling. He looked like he could chew through chains.

"Well, honestly. I just came in to remind Dr. Cameron that she is due in the clinic in about ten minutes. I didn't want you to make her late." Cuddy smiled sweetly. The glass windows in the lab had afforded her a good view of their argument and then what followed. Even though she considered a relationship with House to be the height of masochism, she still had shivered a little when she had seen the way he had touched Cameron. Despite that, she was glad that the messenger from imaging had interrupted when he did because she didn't think that the middle of the lab in the middle of the hospital was really a great place to finally come to terms with one's feelings. God knew House needed all the help he could get, so Cuddy considered her interruption to be very well-timed and fortuitous. Obviously, House didn't agree.

Cuddy watched as House turned around slowly and as Cameron followed suit. The two doctors stood there for just a couple of seconds, neither one of them willing to let go of whatever connection had been achieved in the past few minutes. In that short moment, Cuddy recognized something she had thought she'd never see again. House had managed to find someone whom he was actually in sync with. As stupid as it sounded, Cuddy thought that the two looked good together.

She chuckled. What a thought for a Dean of Medicine. She should be discouraging this sort of thing. She should recognize it for the possible problems it would cause and the ugliness that might ensue, but she just couldn't do it.

She waved Cameron through the door. "The clinic awaits, Dr. Cameron."

Cameron walked towards the door feeling rather petulant. She really didn't want to leave because she was afraid that he would use this as an excuse to cancel out any progress that they might have made. It was as if the lab were a protective bubble where she and House could actually deal with each other without completely screwing things up.

She sighed and was about to walk out when the little doctor voice in the back of her mind stopped her. She turned and looked at the samples sitting next to the microscope that she had been studying before House had come in.

"Um, I need to …" she began and pointed towards the counter.

"I'll take care of it," said House.

She nodded and reluctantly started to leave again.

"Cameron." House's voice made her stop quickly.

"What?"

"When we decide on the next course of treatment, I'll send you a message."

"Oh, right our patient." She nodded, deflated.

Cuddy jumped in. "No, Dr. Cameron. What he means is when he figures out how in the hell he is ever going to be able to talk to you without someone interrupting, he'll let you know." She gave Cameron a gentle shove on the back. "Now go. There's a backlog of sick people who need to be dealt with."

Cameron left, blushing.

House glared at Cuddy, who only smiled and asked, "You do realize that this place has glass walls, don't you?"

"Kind of hard to miss that," he snarked.

"Well, it was kind of hard to miss what was happening in here a few minutes ago." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I suppose that now you're going to start telling me all of the bad things that can happen when co-workers have a relationship." He limped over to the counter and began organizing the stuff Cameron had left there.

"No, I have a feeling – knowing you like I do – that you have thought about every single one of them all by yourself." She leaned against the counter, arms folded in front of her and a small smile on her face. "I'm sure you've also thought about all the potential problems when one of the co-workers is actually the boss, as well."

"It's crossed my mind." He really didn't want to look at Cuddy. He was afraid if he did that she would tell him to forget it, that it would be completely unethical for him to be involved with Cameron. A few months ago, he would have jumped on that. Now, he dreaded it. Feisty Cameron, angry Cameron, weepy Cameron, too-nice-for-her-own-damned-good Cameron. He liked all the flavors. A lot. He had finally figured that out, and he found himself afraid that Cuddy would try to snatch it all away.

"As long as you've thought about it," she reached over and patted him on the arm, "you'll be okay."

House turned a puzzled eye toward her.

"I know. I'm supposed to squelch this, but like I told you once before, she may be the only woman who can put up with you. And if it makes you just that much more bearable, who am I to stand in the way?" She pushed away from the counter and started for the door. "May I just make one suggestion?"

"Could I stop you?"

"Don't let the day go by without finishing whatever it was you were starting in here." She raised a hand to stop the comment that was about to fly from House's mouth. "And don't turn that into something disgusting. I just mean, find someplace where you can actually talk to her. Somewhere that doesn't remind her or you that you're her boss. And don't invade her apartment without warning. That can't possibly turn out well."

"How did you…?" House stopped himself. "Never mind."

"You're not the only sneak around here."

OOOO

In the middle of dealing with a colicky baby in the clinic, Cameron's cell phone vibrated in her lab coat pocket. She did the unprofessional thing and excused herself to see what was going on. She was hoping that whatever was on the screen would calm her jumpy stomach, but the message only served to kick the butterflies into high gear.

"My place. 7:00. Don't eat."

Right. Like she could keep anything down.

OOOO

At six forty-five, House had already taken slightly more than the recommended dosage of Vicodin, not that there was anything unusual about that, but he really wanted to take a couple more so that he might relax just a tiny bit. He forced himself to stay out of the brown bottle. Whatever happened here, he was at least smart enough to know that he shouldn't be stoned when it did.

Cameron was coming to his apartment for what could only be called a date. Or possibly a negotiation. The last time she had been there, she'd come to quit. God, that would be just dandy. Surely he hadn't completely misread the situation. He knew her too well. Of course, there was always the possibility that she would not show or that she would show up and then tell him that he was insane.

House took a deep breath and silently berated himself for being so uptight.

This was territory he hadn't explored in a really long time. College, he thought, was the last time he had been so nervous about a new female in his life. Later, with Stacy, there had been no time for nerves. She had been like a gale force wind that had blown in and knocked him over. There had been no hesitation and, well, no thought involved in their relationship. She had moved in so quickly that House wasn't even sure whose idea it had been. All he had known at the time was that one day he was living the single life, and the next he wasn't.

This was far less fun. He wasn't enjoying this whole thing with Cameron because he was so completely horrible at dealing with other people. He knew that. He accepted it. He reveled in it most of the time. He had built his entire reputation on the grouchy bastard persona, and he had no intention of altering that. What he was willing to change, he had decided, was where Cameron fit into the grand scheme of things. He liked her, and he wanted her around. Apparently, she liked him and wanted him around, too, but he couldn't convince himself that this could possibly work. His only hope was that she was okay with him "as is."

The entire afternoon he had waited for a message from her telling him that she had changed her mind. The only one he had received had said, "I'm not dressing up." He had laughed (scaring Foreman and Chase), but he couldn't quell the feeling that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

Cuddy was right; he had thought this through from nearly every angle. He wasn't stupid enough to try to convince himself that he wanted her to pal around with. He had Wilson for that. He still wasn't sure that he wasn't too old or too crippled for her, but he found himself willing to let her decide that.

Actually, as he sat on his couch, nervously playing with his cane atsix fiftythat evening, he figured that he had Stacy to thank for his change of heart. They hadn't thought anything through in the years that they had lived together. They had burned hot and fast. Like flash powder. Obviously, that had not been a great way to go about things. He wasn't sure that they had ever really dealt with anything seriously until his infarction. He wasn't even sure they had known each other all that well. He had loved her, and he thought that she had probably loved him, but it had never been something lasting. The future had never come into the equation.

Cameron was different. He had known her for close to two years. They had fought horribly and they had had fun. He respected her skills as a doctor, but, more importantly, he respected her skills in dealing with him. She knew when to push, when to yell, and when to back away. He, in turn, had learned that there were times when he needed to push her, yell at her, and back away.

That was at work, though. Outside of work, he wasn't sure of a whole lot, but he was sure that he needed to find out if he had what it took to be with Allison Cameron. She challenged him in every possible way and he found himself craving that.

OOOO

At six fifty-five, Allison was at House's door trying to stop her hand from shaking before she knocked. This was her last shot, and she knew it. She had left her cell-phone and pager in the car. She had looked around the street in front of House's place searching for signs of James Wilson. Nothing. Hopefully, House had not ordered take-out, and, hopefully, there would be no calls from Foreman, who was again staying with their patient at the hospital. She would kill him if he called. It was time to fish or cut bait, as her dad would've said.

She looked down at her clothes and for a moment reconsidered her choice of outfit. Jeans and a college t-shirt would just have to do. As far as she was concerned, this was their third date – she didn't care anymore what he said about the monster truck thing – and third dates called for casual wear. If he had a corsage waiting, she'd just have to pin it to the shirt. Grey made a good backdrop for anything.

She knocked, maybe a little too loudly, and hoped that she wouldn't collapse from fear.

When he opened the door, she was relieved to see that he was also in jeans and a t-shirt. Actually, she wasn't too thrilled that he wasn't wearing something to cover up his arms. They just one more reason that she liked him a little too much, and she needed to keep her head about her.

He stood back as she walked in and looked around the place. "Wilson here?" She asked.

"No. I told him that if he called or came within a hundred yards of the place, I'd castrate him."

She wrinkled up her nose. "Well, that ought to work."

"I told Foreman the same thing. I don't think he was quite as intimidated, but I don't think he'll be bothering us." He motioned for her to sit. "In a further attempt to have no interruptions, I've actually done the cooking. I'm not sure that was a great idea, but it might be better than a visit from a sixteen year-old delivery boy."

"Oh. What did you make?" She hopped up from the couch like a spring had popped under her seat and headed for the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?"

He smiled. At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous. He reached out to stop her as she walked by. "I made spaghetti. The bachelor's choice. Also the only thing I can make from scratch. The sauce needs at least another hour to simmer." She just looked at him. "Go sit back down, Allison."

"Right." She turned around and shuffled back to the couch, where she perched on the edge and resumed her inspection of the place.

He resumed his inspection of her. She looked like she had just come out of the sorority house, but he had to remind himself that she hadn't. He told himself that when most girls had been rushing pledges, she had been burying her husband. He didn't want to focus on such morbid things, but it helped him to remember that in some ways, she was just as screwed up as he was. She wasn't an innocent girl walking into this blind, which was something he had not been willing to see until the mess the week before.

Just as he was about to start in with the topic they were there to discuss, she noted, "Wilson told me once that you had a piano. I didn't realize that it would be a baby grand." She stood up and walked over to the instrument, her back to House.

Still the great ass, he thought. Aloud, he asked, "Do you play?"

"Academically. I was a good girl and took classes, but there was never any artistry in what I played." She hit a chord. "Will you play something?"

"Nope." He walked over to his armchair. "Sit down. Time to get this show on the road."

She sighed. "You're right." She took her place on the couch again.

She surprised him by opening the conversation with, "So, do you still think I'm trying to fix you?"

"Ouch. Glad to see you still don't avoid the messy subjects."

"No point in that. Nothing is neat, especially not with you."

"And you're seriously willing to deal with that?"

"Seriously."

He was considering what to say next when she asked again, "Do you?"

He didn't try to pretend that he didn't know what she meant. "I'm not sure. I can't think of any other reason a beautiful, young woman like you would want to be with me." He went out on a limb by voicing his thoughts from earlier, "Unless you're just as screwed up as I am."

"Maybe I am." She smiled and noticed his long fingers tapping on his knees. "Makes us a pretty interesting pair, wouldn't you say?"

"That's one word for it." At some point in the previous two minutes, House had realized that she wasn't going to get up and walk out. She wasn't there to tell him that she was resigning or that she had decided that he was too much effort. Good time to broach a touchy subject.

"What about work?" He asked, certain that this would be the breaking point.

"Work?" She realized he was trying to lay everything out, and she thought it was kind of cute. "Well, I still have some time left in my fellowship and a contract I have no intention of breaking again. I guess that I'll just finish it out and we can see what happens from there."

"It won't bother you?"

"What, having you as my boss? Not any more than it does now." She grinned and stood again. As she walked toward him, she started ticking things off on her fingers. "Let's see, we've covered our insecurities, work, and the fact that you can't cook." She stopped in front of him. "Have we forgotten anything?"

"Can you cook?" He staring intently at her, the kitchen the last thing on his mind. There was really only one more topic they needed to explore.

"Nope." She leaned over and put her hands on the arms of the chair. "But I have no problem with spaghetti."

He reached his hands up to her hips and splayed his fingers wide. "Too bad I lied about the sauce. It's from a jar." He pulled her towards him.

"Will it burn?" she whispered.

"Not even in the pan yet."

"Good."

He pulled her in and they were both smiling as their lips met for the first time. He was shocked at the feeling. It was like gold where they touched. He moved his hands up to her waist and brought her to sit on his left leg, but he never moved his mouth from hers. He framed her face and deepened the kiss, wanting as much as she would let him have.

Allison wasn't sure that what she was feeling wasn't pain. It was so piercing that she had tears behind her tightly closed eyes. An excited warmth radiated out from her chest and into her arms and legs. She should have been prepared for the intensity that he would inspire, but she hadn't considered that it might be like it was.

She tried hard to covey what she knew he wasn't comfortable hearing yet, and he was trying to tell her what he was incapable of saying with words. They were smooth and gentle and burning and clinging. They broke apart only to catch quick breaths, and then they rushed back to each other.

After a while, the beautiful moments turned into heated groping, rough and impatient. When his hands pushed their way under her t-shirt, he brushed one of her ticklish spots. She jumped and laughed, but then froze when she saw the look of pain that shot across his face.

"Oh, God. I hit your leg didn't I?" She tried to stand, but he held her where she was. "Do you need your pills?"

"No," he growled, and he pulled her back to him.

OOOO

Some time later, a group of interns who had stopped in front of the diagnostic conference room to chat suddenly scurried away as the sound of House's cane slamming against the table scared the devil out of them.

"Can't you come up with something better than that?"

"We have tried it your way. We have tried it Foreman's way. And we have tried it Chase's way. None of you were correct, so why shouldn't we try my idea?"

"Because it's too simple. Look at this." There was another whack with the cane, this time against the much less sturdy surface of the white board. "There are too many symptoms for it to be that easy."

"Well, at least you didn't say it was moronic," chimed in an amused Wilson, "because your logic is holding up so well here."

"Shut up."

"You know, it wouldn't hurt to give my idea a try," said Cameron in a precisely calm voice. "Not anymore than the dozen unnecessary tests you've put the poor kid through have anyway."

House and Cameron glared at each other. "Fine. Go do what you think is best. We clearly don't have anything better to try."

Foreman, Chase, and Wilson walked out the door, with Cameron following close behind.

"Allison."

"What?" she snapped.

He limped over to her. "What've you planned for dinner tonight?"

"I have planned to eat whatever you bring home," she tapped him on his scruffy cheek, "but I absolutely refuse to eat spaghetti again. So don't even think about it."

When she left the room, they were both feeling a little smug.

End