Interloper

A.N. Cameron's bedroom speech is lifted straight from S1E3 'Occam's Razor', so I take zero credit for that.


The next morning Cameron was in her slacks and t-shirt busy completing little jobs around the apartment and sorting out her laundry. She was a person who loved cleanliness and order in her home. Every weekend the place was cleaned—carpets vacuumed, wooden floors swept, garbage removed, sheets changed, picture frames and shelves dusted. Since childhood, her parents had insisted on the need for discipline in her domestic as well as professional life. The tendency gave her a somewhat detached air when it came to boyfriends, more than one of whom had complained that they had felt like a visitor in her home. No apologies had been extended. This was her realm, and she brooked no interlopers.

In her daydreaming moments, Cameron had begun to wonder how House would cope with her peculiarities if the time ever came that their relationship progressed to living together. These were never more than idle musings, since it was still early days and, as she had confided to Foreman more than once, she didn't want to jinx anything. But still, if the time arrived, it didn't hurt to think about what might happen, just for fun. Would he accept her for who she was, as she had him? Or would he demand she fit into his patented blend of ordered chaos? And, most pressing of all, would she allow him to breach the high walls of her citadel? The answers to these questions were unknown, except for the last.

On the point of stripping her bed, she heard a knock on the door: probably the next-door neighbour asking her to fill in a petition he had circulated two weeks prior. In truth, she had barely scanned it—something about evicting a young couple elsewhere in the building. She spent so little time at home that it didn't really seem appropriate to involve herself in apartment block politics. The neighbour had knocked last Saturday as well, but she had been at House's place, so instead he'd left a reminder under the door and an accompanying list of grievances.

The woman sighed and prepared herself for a confrontation. But when she put her eye to the peephole and saw who it was, she beamed and opened the door instantly. "This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting you 'til later!".

House couldn't stop a smile breaking across his face at his girlfriend's obvious delight. "Well, you know me. I'm a big fan of surprises where you're concerned. Hi", he said, kissing her. "May I enter the premises, madame?".

She ran a hand through her hair but didn't immediately move aside. "Err, well, the thing is, you've sort of come at a bad time".

"Oh?", asked House, eyebrows raised. "So, you weren't kidding about the boyfriend, then?".

"Nothing like that. It's just, my place is, ah, a bit messy. I normally clean before you come round, and I haven't changed my sheets…". Cameron fidgeted a little in the doorway, embarrassed that this particular character flaw was being revealed.

"Hmm. Well, what if I say that I don't mind about any of that?".

"You can come in", she sighed, "but I just want you to know that you caught me unawares a bit, and I'm still mid-chores".

"No problem. Also, I brought us lunch. Made it myself". House entered, removing his shoes before moving into the living room and looking around. There were a few books and cushions out of place, a couple of items of clothing still to be folded, but all in all it looked pretty well-ordered. "Umm. Were you joking about it being messy, or…?".

"Terrible, isn't it. Sorry. If you just give me a minute, I'll get it all tidied up and we can eat". Cameron looked inexplicably depressed and House realised that she was a fastidious cleaner, obviously used to getting everything sorted before guests arrived. Suddenly, an epiphany struck. Every time they'd gone out, she'd looked flawless: the dresses, the tight tops and jeans, the seductive outfit last night, even the casuals she'd worn whilst watching Airplane!, all of it had been carefully picked out for his benefit. But here she was in her cleaning scrubs, unmade up, unguarded. Just normal Cameron. Something about her vulnerability melted his heart.

"Cameron, come here", he said, holding out a hand which she took. "This place, right now, is lovely. But you are even lovelier still".

"Oh, stop it. I'm just wearing sweats", she retorted shortly, still uncomfortable.

"I mean it. Listen: I love your look. I think you have great taste, and everything you wear makes you seem even more beautiful every time I see you. But, in truth, I don't actually care what you wear. Your dresses are perfect, but all I want to do when I see you in them is to rip them off; your tops are gorgeous but all I want to do is see you underneath. And right now, I am seeing you, as you are, at home, wearing your clothes. I guess all I'm trying to say is, although I love your look, I love you even more. If you still want to clean, I can come back in an hour. But I'm hoping you'll let me let you be you. Or something". House awkwardly tugged an ear, aware that he'd just delivered something of a cheesy speech, which were not his speciality.

Cameron sighed and looked to the floor for a moment. When she met his eyes again, she was smiling. "That was good. Did you practice it on the way up?".

"No. I'm just incredibly smart".

The woman laughed and allowed him to pull her into a hug.

"This is actually really great", he murmured into her hair, "because now I'm not the only weird one in this relationship".

"Hmm", she mumbled against his shoulder, "I still feel like, objectively, you are weirder than I am".

"Possibly. Hey, would you mind if we had sex now? The issue is I've been thinking of you since last night and I just reckon it would be better for my state of mind if I got it out of my system. It's a mental health question, see".

"I'm all for it, as long as you don't mind week-old sheets".

House thought this probably wasn't the time to confess that he only changed his sheets once a fortnight. At best. "Great. The more Cameron in that bedroom the better. Afterwards, I'll warm the food up. With these containers, though, there wasn't enough room on the bike for my guitar. So, music playing is off the menu".

"What about your paper?".

"Did a bit this morning but not planning on any more today. Will finish it tomorrow".

"OK. Let's go, Greg". Cameron took him by the hand and led him down the hallway, not noticing House's eyes widen in arousal at the use of his first name.


"So, what's for lunch? I'm peckish", asked Cameron as they lay side by side in the week-old sheets, still panting from their exertions.

"I think you're going to love it. Spent an hour or two this morning slaving away in the kitchen". Actually, House had spent closer to four hours. It had been an early start, something which he generally avoided like the plague. But Cameron had placed her trust in him last night and he wanted to put in some effort. "I made Sunday gravy. For Saturday".

"What's that?". Cameron sat up and retrieved the glass of water from the bedside table. As usual, she hadn't bothered pulling the sheets around herself, and as usual House was distracted. "They're just boobs. Every second person in the world has them", she noted wryly over the rim of the glass.

"More, really, if you think about it. I mean, Chris Christie has a very nice pair". He reached out and took a swig from the same glass.

The woman laughed. "No, but we shouldn't joke about rampant obesity. I read recently that 45% of Americans can be categorised as such".

House shrugged. "It's not just an American problem; more like a Western one".

"Sure, but we're in America, so…".

The man, though, suddenly rolled over and snored loudly, pulling the covers over his head.

"Not a fan of talking points, eh? You shouldn't have brought up Chris Christie, then", Cameron mused, glancing across from her upright position.

"I'm asleep. Shhhhh…", he muttered into the pillow.

Cameron slipped downwards until she was lying on top of him. "Oi, you. Go and make me lunch. This woman needs feeding".

"Gimme a second to catch my breath. Every time I sleep with you, I feel like I've run a marathon".

She bit his ear. "Do you know what the human body goes through during sex? Pupils dilate, arteries constrict, core temperature rises, heart races, blood pressure skyrockets, respiration becomes rapid and shallow, the brain fires bursts of electrical impulses from nowhere to nowhere, secretions spit out of every gland, and the muscles tense and spasm like you're lifting three times your body weight…". As she spoke, she trailed her hand under the covers to grasp him directly, before continuing: "…it's violent, it's ugly, it's messy. And if God hadn't made it unbelievably fun, the human race would have died out aeons ago". House turned over to meet her eyes but remained quiet as she finished: "men are lucky they can only have one orgasm. Do you know that women can have an hour-long orgasm?".

"That was nicely delivered", he observed as she continued her work beneath the covers. "But you can cut out the God bit next time. It added nothing to your argument".

"Noted. I gave the speech to Chase a couple of years ago. Freaked him out. Did it freak you out, too?". The pair were gazing at each other, their breath mingling.

"No. It makes me want to experiment on you". House shimmied under the covers, dislodging Cameron's hand in the process. "I'll make you lunch in a bit. Got a real hankerin' to eat something else first. Next time you want servicing, all you have to do is ask. I ain't promising an hour-long experience, though. Mouth fatigue is a bitch".

She laughed but wasted no time in spreading her legs. "That wasn't actually my…ahhh, intention…fuck…".

"I can stop if you want…?", came the slightly muffled voice.

Both of Cameron's hands sped under the duvet to tangle in his hair and prevent disengagement. "Less talk. More…unhh…tongue".


"So, you never explained Sunday gravy". Cameron was leaning against the kitchen counter watching House busily unpacking the food from his bag.

"It's basically an Italian stew—meatballs, beef thigh, ribs, sausages—slow-cooked with tomatoes, herbs, and stuff. And we'll need some spaghetti. You can manage that, right?", he glanced up, only to see her smiling at him. "Wipe that grin off your face and jump to action. I'm starving".

"It's your lucky day, House", she saluted. "I may suck at rice, but I'm a wizard at (durum) wheat". While preparing the spaghetti, it brought her satisfaction to note that her earlier ambition to keep House in the kitchen or the bedroom as much as possible was proving successful. Lunch normally consisted of a basic sandwich, a piece of fruit, and a packet of crisps.

"Have you got a giant stewing pot so I can heat this through?", House asked, moving to a cupboard at her gesture. The utensils looked like they were still brand new, and they obviously saw little use. "You need a bigger kitchen. No wonder you don't cook much in here".

"Why would I? I've got you now". She gave the pasta a stir, ensuring that it didn't stick, before replacing the lid.

"You shouldn't get used to this. I'm normally pretty lazy when it comes to cooking, as I've said. But you put me in a giving mood".

"Huh. So…if I keep giving, you'll keep giving, too?", she wondered out loud, sidling up to him at the stove.

"Reciprocity makes the world go round", answered House, leaning down to peck her lips before turning back to the stew. "How's the pasta looking? This is almost done". The smells emanating from the pot made the mouths of both doctors water.

Cameron checked on the contents of her pan, fishing out a couple of strands to check consistency. "It's ready".

"Great. Let's plate up".


Following a delicious lunch, House and Cameron retreated to the bedroom for the rest of the day. Both were sat up in bed that night doing their own thing. The former was browsing the internet on his phone while the latter read her book. Suddenly she put it down and looked at her neighbour in surprise. House noted the movement. "Sup?", he asked, not drawing his eyes from the screen.

"I've just realised that I never did finish my cleaning. Nor have I changed these sheets".

"I'd say that was interesting, but I'd be lying", he replied, still flicking through tabs on his device.

"This is the first Saturday I've not cleaned properly since…I don't even know when".

Finally, he did meet her gaze. "Ruin your plans, did I? Threw a giant spanner in the works?".

"Yeah. You loped into my apartment unannounced and upset the apple cart". Cameron chuckled softly to herself, before adding: "you're an interloper".

"I've been called worse things".

"Like what?", she grinned.

He dropped the phone into his lap as he thought. "Hmm, let's see. Y'know that British babe I told you about? The one I learnt cricket for?".

Cameron nodded, remembering the tale from an earlier date.

"Well, she called me an 'utterly hideous beast' once".

"Was it deserved?".

"Totally. But worth it. Beasts are, like, uniquely terrible in English culture".

Cameron laughed.

"What about you? Have you been called anything bad?", he queried.

"My boss called me lobby art a while ago", she returned in a flash.

"Hah, nice. You're sharp. You know I meant it as a compliment though, right?".

"I know". She patted his cheek reassuringly before carrying on: "an ex called me a cold-hearted bitch. That wasn't especially pleasant".

House nodded slowly. "Was it deserved?".

"Yes".

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence. "Well", sighed House eventually, "I think you're great…Allison".

"Upon reflection, I think I prefer it when you call me 'Camster'", she replied thoughtfully. "'Allison' just sounds weird coming from you. I don't mind it every now and then for emotional impact, but probably not as a regular thing".

"Thank God. I don't like 'Allison' either. I only used it to make you feel better".

"Just being here with you makes me feel better".

"Even though I'm an interloper?", he teased.

"Especially because you're an interloper. You've stormed into my life, House. It's a fitting term for you".

House merely grunted in response, picked up his phone and returned to browsing. Cameron followed suit with her book. Nothing except an occasional page turn and steady breathing punctured the quiet that soon descended upon the room, its atmosphere of calm contentment a soothing accompaniment to its occupants' thoughts.