---)(---Truth---)(---

There's a part of this feeling that I just cannot kill
But the name of this thing is not love
And I can't take a potion, and I won't take a pill
So it tortures me still
But the name of this thing is not love
—Elvis Costello, The Name of This Thing Is Not Love

He really didn't want to think about her, he really would rather drink himself into oblivion—or hell even put himself into a nice drug induced sleep that would with any luck dull, if not block, his mind from calling her and soft lips up, but Gregory House was owned by his need to solve puzzles, and Allison Cameron was, if nothing else, a puzzle.

Allison Cameron was not someone he wanted to love, but there wasn't really much a threat of that, it was just that there was something about her that conjured a feeling that while certainly not love, was something he wasn't at all comfortable with. He didn't like that he, like he told her, would always chase her down, bring her back. He would fight for her and that sickened him. He had compared many people, many women, to her when she had quit, part of him had been thrilled at the possibility of replacing her because even then he could feel himself becoming attached. Turned out not only had he been attached he had been completely ensnared. Not a single woman could compare, not a single one was his Cameron. But that didn't mean he loved her, no, not at all—he just wasn't all that comfortable with change.

She was beautiful and he really couldn't think of another woman who was as gentle as she was. She always wanted to do what was ethical which while it irked him he also found it kind of sweet…but that didn't mean he loved her, no, just meant he liked having someone who checked him, challenged him—that was it, he liked challenges.

She was soft, squishy--she was a girl and wasn't ashamed of that fact...and he liked that she wasn't. He liked that she wore her hair long in soft curls, that she wore heels and blushed a little when he cursed. He liked that while she was hard steel when challenged she wasn't afraid to be gentle--to be soft after she had won her battle. But that didn't mean he loved her--no, it just meant that he was a guy--that was all. If he was going to be honest with himself—which he tried not to be too often because in his case truth could be harmful—that was why he wasn't sorry to see her ice up, see her harden, it made it easier for him to lie…It wounded something inside of him to see her break--to be the one to break her but he was selfish—he was a selfish bastard, and it was better for him to make her break. Then it wasn't tempting, it wasn't as wrenching.

He hated the image of Chase putting his hands on her, but that was just because she was his—his employee, his immunologist—his. Hadn't he made that clear?

She was in love with him.

That shocked the hell out of him. Not that it should have, she had said she liked him before, but this was different. This was the resolute kind of love that was just matter of fact. This was the kind of love that was dangerous because it wasn't flashy or demanding, it was giving and self sacrificing…it was the 'true love' that's sole purpose was to make the object of one's devotion happy…to have them close, to share space to just be…

"Shit."

House slammed his fist into his coffee table. He was in love with Cameron. "Damn it, damn it!" he cursed. He had been so good at pushing anything remotely heavy, even the slightest bit emotional away keeping it hidden under his sarcasm, but there it was, he was in love her. And it was all because she decided she couldn't be a liar...'And why the hell not?' he asked himself, he had been doing it, he was lying to himself, it wasn't that hard...But no, she had to go and make things all confusing and complicated by deciding to be all truthful.

Well, he figured now that he was doomed anyway he might as well drink…or he could call her up and who knew, maybe he could get lucky—there had to be perks to being in love with a woman who was in love with you...

"Cameron—what are you doing?" he snarked into the receiver when she answered.

"It's three in the morning, what do you think I'm doing?"

"Get over here; I need to talk to you."

"Isn't that what Bell had in mind when he invented the phone…talking?"

He could hear her pulling on clothes even while she grumbled.

"Yeah and while the idea of phone sex is hot what I had in mind is much more fun in person."

---)(---

"What is going on here House? Why am on your doorstep at…" Cameron glanced at her watch, "3:30 in the morning?"

"Because I asked you to come here…and you uh, did."

"Goodbye House." She spun marching away not at all in the mood.

"Wait—wait—Dammit Cameron wait a second!" he limped out the door managing to grab a hold of her grey pea coat spinning her around. "I said wait…" he said it little too loudly. Unable to stop his awkward forward momentum as she stopped in front of him he sort of fell into her.

"I stopped, you don't have to squish me…" she grumbled pushing away from his chest.

"Hey take it easy with the cripple…" he gripped her waist feeling unbalanced—he told himself it was from the collision not the sight of her in low cut baby blue yoga pants and the white tank top which she wore braless…

"House…" she stepped back pulling her jacket tight around her, covering herself, his eyes were blatantly focused on her chest.

"Huh…?" he finally looked up.

"Eyes here big guy," she grinned.

He obliged, "I totally forgot what I called you over here for…" his eyes kept creeping down, "So how about we have sex…yeah?"

She blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You know me, you, doing the nasty…Yes?" She was shaking her head at him. "Or no…" he nodded in the affirmative while his words were not.

"Hey—keep it down out there, people are trying to sleep!" a head came out from the apartment down the hall.

"Yeah, yeah," House grumbled taking Cameron by the arm pulling her back to his apartment.

The door closed on them and Cameron was stumped, "House, how many vicodin have you taken? Have you been drinking?" she looked over him with clinical inquisition.

"No dammit, I haven't taken too many pills—okay maybe I have, but this isn't because of that…would you get away from me stop trying to feel my forehead--I don't have a fever, sit down or something!" he paced in front of the couch she sat on with clear confusion.

"House I have absolutely no idea what is going on…Why don't you quit pacing and try using your words…"

He stopped, he turned, he looked at her, "Did you just tell me to 'use my words'?" he was grinning widely.

"Well it seemed prudent…"

"I don't like you…"

"Yes, I know we've—"

"You didn't let me finish—I don't like you—I love you."

"What?" she dropped her mouth to the floor.

"You heard me."

"Yeah I did, which is why I am very confused."

"You want me to spell it out?"

"That would be helpful yes."

"Fine…I l-o-v-e, u"

"That's not…"

"Yeah, I know, but I'm not really too keen on explaining everything right now so can't you just take my word for it?"

"House you really need to tell me what medications you are taking so I can figure out what's causing the interaction…" she frowned most serious.

"Are you thick tonight or what? I'm not high—this is me on love…maybe you see now why I try and abstain from it, I'm not pleasant when in love."

"Okay—I'll go along, just till I figure out what's going on. Why are you under the impression you're in love with me?" she took the position of therapist.

"You really want to do this, like this?" he lowered himself into a chair. "Okay—we'll do it that way. I am sure I love you because you drive me up a wall. Because I've been comparing every woman I've met to you…and have found them all wanting. I'm sure I love you because even though your morals and ethics make me want to punch something I am grateful for your contradiction. I am sure I love you because for the first time since high school I have felt the need to beat to a pulp a guy who put his hands on a girl I deemed to be 'mine'. You make me crazy—you make me tell the truth--when I would so rather lie, that's how I know I love you."

"Wow…" she leaned forward on her knees trying to keep her breathing normal. "Wow…"

"Tell me about it…" he pushed out of the chair going to his liquor cabinet. He poured two glasses of scotch, he kept his straight he added a splash of water to hers.

"How come you are telling me this now…? How did you go from not even liking me to loving me…how did you go from treating me like the last woman you'd have in your life to…to this? You can't be serious…"

"You wouldn't think but you threw me a curve ball today," he handed her a glass. "You changed the game." He downed his glass and refilled it.

"What do we do now?" she wrapped her hands around the glass squeezing it like it was her lifeline. She looked up at him eyes wide, but not as wide open as her heart.

"I was thinking we could have sex, like I mentioned before…but well we don't have to…but I'd sure like to…"

She put her untouched scotch on the table rising slowly to stand with him. "But this isn't just a ploy to get me into bed right?" she ran her hands along the waist of his loose sweatpants; she splayed them on his firm abs.

"Would I really go through the effort? I could order someone who looked pretty close to you…Oh hello," he choked a groan as her hands went under his t-shirt and the lower part of her body was pressed very intimately against his.

"Hello…" she bit her lower lip hooking her thumbs into the drawstring waistband of his pants drawing him even closer, "You won't mention the order-a-girl again okay?" she nudged under his chin, her lips almost kissing his neck.

"Never—ever…" his arms wrapped around her.

"Good. Now, I'm thinking we better head to the bedroom."

"Yeah…that sounds like a good, no, brilliant idea." He lifted his hands from her waist to frame her face. Their eyes met and more was said in split seconds then ever had been said with their inadequate vocabulary. His mouth crushed hers.

---)(---

"Truth…now that's not a four letter word…" she muses, tracing circles on his bare chest.

"No it's not...neither is sex or G-Spot but they are still good words," he wraps his arms around her a little tighter not caring that he hadn't a clue what she meant by truth not being a four letter word.

She giggles kissing the places where her fingers had teased shapes. "I love you House."

"I know you do and damned if I don't love you too…"

"You don't have to sound so pained by that idea," she leans up looking into his eyes, she finds them laughing.

"You're a vixen, a beguiling witch of a woman…" he grins with a chuckle and in a quick motion flips her to her back. "You're also a puzzle...which I might have to warn you, could be the reason I love you."

"That's okay, I'm a girl--we're mostly just one big confusing mess anyway, it won't be hard keeping you interested with something to figure out. Besides, if you were just looking for a puzzle you could have just went down to the 99 Cent store and bought a dozen..."

His kisses over her neck, the nipping of her clavicle makes it momentarily hard to think, so instead she moans.

"When you were a kid did you ever imagine that you'd end up with a guy like me? Or did you picture a dashing prince?" he questions between kisses.

"I dreamed of castles, unicorns and fairy tales…" He captured her hands above her head. "Though I was never cut out to be a princess…but House…" she stops him wanting to see his face, "I never wanted a prince…I wanted a knight, I wanted someone who would fight for me, who would fight to keep me—not give me up to the pansy prince," she grins arching up to kiss him, "You're my knight."

"Yeah…?"

"Yeah."

"Well babe, I'm going storm the castle—that okay with you?"

"Oh, you think I'm just going to let you in without a fight?" She catches him off guard managing to reverse their positions, "I think it's my turn to figure out what makes you tick..."

Puzzle pieces. In a mess of chaos strewn about the room a picture is being put together but two pieces are without a place. Similar in shape and color, they are opposites or perhaps mirror images of each other… Puzzle pieces that don't fit anywhere yet continually try to fit themselves in niches where they just don't go. Puzzle pieces scattered across the room…puzzle pieces, never right, never true till they come together— and then it's whole, it's absolute—it's home. Puzzle pieces.

END