Nuts for you
House returned a minute later with a cushion, a glass of red wine, and a bowl of peanuts. "Here", he said, gently lifting her ankle and resting it and its ice pack on the cushion.
"Thank you". Cameron, who melted whenever House behaved like this, so caring and considerate, so at odds with his public persona if not with her, attempted to caress the back of his hand. But he had already turned away to retrieve the wine, which he handed to her. Second time around she succeeded, bringing his palm to her cheek. "Thank you", she murmured again. "Will you sit with me? Or do you need to cook?".
"I can stay a bit. S'why I brought these nuts". House brandished the bowl.
Cameron opened her mouth, clearly wanting him to pop a handful in.
But instead he raised an eyebrow and made a show of unzipping his flies.
"You think I wouldn't, buster?", she laughed from her bath. "You think I don't dream of sucking your cock every fucking night?".
"No way you do". Cameron rarely swore, so when she did it invariably made him smile.
Her eyes danced over the rim of the wineglass. "Fine. Every other night. Now, give me your nuts".
House duly grabbed a few and fed them to her, settling into the stool as she munched. "I like your recipe, by the way", he said, throwing back a handful himself. "Peri-peri chicken and jollof rice".
"Have you tried jollof before?".
He shook his head.
"I originally planned first time around just to make seasoned potatoes, but Sebastian Charles mentioned the rice to me that night when-". Cameron stopped mid-sentence and lost herself in the bubbles.
"Cameron. Speak. The crash doesn't matter to me, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. I have you, and I'm getting my mobility back slowly. That's all that matters".
Pathetically, Cameron could feel tears begin to prick her eyes. After months of burying feelings, she still needed to re-acclimatise to her boyfriend's peculiar tendency to dissimulate one day and confess the next. "I love you so much, House", she managed after a bracing gulp of wine.
"Yeah, yeah", he waved his hand in the air, "finish your sentence".
"Well, the night of your crash I went for dinner with Charles. I only agreed because he asked me a bunch of times and I was still angry with you for Thirteen".
"You don't need to explain yourself, Camster". House reached out and fed her more nuts.
"Anyway, at dinner Charles mentioned jollof rice. And I know you lived in Egypt, which is technically Africa, so I figured I'd try and make it for you". Cameron, because he likely remembered, left out how she had prayed to a god she didn't believe in for his safety, and how that evening would forever be emblazoned in her brain as the night she knew she wanted House back whatever it took. The recipe was, in its own small way, a personal link, both to the past they had left behind and to the future they would share.
"Sounds good", he nodded. "I'll have fun making it on your behalf. Bath OK?".
"Not as good as mine, obviously, but I wholeheartedly commend your effort", she grinned at him, feelings of lightness inevitably floating through her core. Not just due to his company, but also the simple recognition that she now lived here, too. This was their bathroom. The time when she was fully moved in couldn't come quick enough.
They chewed silently for a few moments, lost to their own thoughts.
House scooted closer to check the icepack's coverage on her ankle. The swelling was beginning to lessen.
"I've gone so long without the option of a bath", she sighed happily. "Did you use it much before I moved in?".
"Nope".
"Why'd you have it installed if you don't use it?".
"Dunno, really", he admitted. "Never gave it much thought. I guess if I ever wanted to perform surgery on myself I could do it here".
Cameron laughed, but he gave her such a weird look that she felt compelled to add: "please don't perform surgery on yourself".
"You're not the boss of me".
"Fine", she mused. "Please don't perform surgery on yourself…without me present".
"Deal. Anyway, you can help me decorate and reorganise when you move in".
"No need. I love this place. You're in it".
"Come on. Seriously". He crunched more nuts before feeding her, too.
The immunologist was actually being deadly serious. "Greg, you realise that I'd be happy living in a yurt in Mongolia if it meant I got to share it with you, right?".
"Spoken by someone who's never lived in a yurt in Mongolia. There must be something about this apartment you'd change if given the choice".
"Hmm". Cameron sought out his hand resting on the side and entwined their fingers. "I guess I'd like a bigger study, so I could sit near you when you play computer games. If you wouldn't mind me invading your cave".
"I don't mind", he shrugged. "We could get you your own computer, even".
"You try'na make me a gamer girl?".
"Well? How about it?".
Cameron shrugged, such that both wet shoulders emerged from the bubbles. "Could be fun".
"Cool". At that, the alarm on House's phone buzzed and he rose to his feet. "Need to check on the chicken. Back in a sec".
"Good. Kiss first".
He bent down, met her lips, and ambled out of the bathroom.
House's sweetness brought to mind its polar opposite. She spent the next minute or two considering her options as regards Turner from this morning. Really, it ought to be reported that he had once again behaved inappropriately towards her. But the prospect of initiating proceedings, sitting through a hearing, and justifying her allegation (for he would surely deny it), loomed large. The fact was he had been smart—it'd looked like he was simply offering to help her up, and she didn't know how these things got sorted. Presumably 'innocent until proven guilty'. Which, again, made her shrink from revisiting it.
Was it cowardly of her?
Possibly.
House would know what to do. If she told him. Last time around he had threatened to hurl the guy from the roof. Past experience taught never to get on the wrong side of that temper if at all possible. What she wanted was to forget it ever happened and move on. There remained so much good on the horizon.
Soon, this apartment will be my home.
Now that was a prospect to which she could drink.
House returned just as she sipped from her glass. "I know your recipe was oven baking", he said, "but I wanted to try grilling instead. And I've also basted it a little more in addition to your marinade. Maybe it's flavour overload, who knows".
"No such thing".
He reached for her glass and took a mouthful before refilling it from the bottle he had brought in with him and handing it back. Then he checked her ankle again. "Ice pack not too cold?".
"No", she lied.
House looked at her. "I thought we agreed you were a bad liar".
"Oh, what? I figured I'd got pretty good. Basically lied to everyone in the ER that I left Diagnostics because, and I quote, 'I wanted a change'".
"Sure. And they believed that?".
"Yep, think so. Like I say, I've mastered the art of deception".
Now House scoffed derisively, though he quickly necked another helping of roasted peanuts. Though he enjoyed nuts, he never thought to buy them. Cameron, however, had taken responsibility for the groceries over these last few months, and when House had demolished a small pack of peanuts recently, she had begun buying more on her own initiative. No words needed.
"Look, just because you're freakishly perceptive doesn't mean everyone else is. Lying's the only way I could get through it all without embarrassment".
This caught his attention and he regarded her keenly, suddenly disinterested in munching. "What the hell would you be embarrassed about? You did absolutely nothing wrong, CB. Everything that happened was my fault".
Cameron's heart swelled, as it usually did these days, but she tried to remain on track. "More that it's not a good look, is it? 'I left because I broke up with my boss and I couldn't work there'".
"You told me once that you didn't care what people think".
"Yeah, well, I'm not perfect. I do have crises of confidence".
"Well, you shouldn't. Your confidence in our relationship is one of the real anchors in my life".
Cameron's eyes narrowed. All this niceness from him was making her suspicious. "Alright, that's enough of that. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: it really freaks me out when you're like this. Stop it".
House merely laughed, poured more nuts into his palm, and held it out for her to hoover them up with her mouth. "I guess we'll need to postpone moving some of your stuff over tomorrow", he said, eyeing the ice pack.
"You can still bring a few things if I give you my keys".
"Nah, I'd rather do it together, if that's OK?".
"Fine", she smiled.
"Just think it'd be more, uh, meaningful if we do it together". He tugged his ear and predictably avoided eye contact. "Besides, I wouldn't want to come upon your fluffy handcuffs and riding crop".
"Why not?". A nonchalant wave of her hand sent tiny bubbles flying everywhere. "I come upon 'em all the time. Generally while thinking of you".
"Yes, well…", he rasped. "More wine?".
"No, we need to have a serious conversation before you head back to the kitchen". She carefully set her glass on the bath edge and fixed him with those green eyes. Throughout this conversation with the love of her life, she had been deciding on a course of action. House had taken a leap of faith in accepting her back in spite of the risks; he had done so well with work, both rehab and medical. This kind of strength and perseverance would be her model. The least she could do was summon up the willpower to bring a dirtbag to justice.
"Mmm", he nodded just as she opened her mouth, "sex'll be tricky with that ankle, but I figured I could, sort of, hold myself over you. It would mean you lying back and taking it, but-".
"-not what I was gonna say, actually", she interrupted drily. "D'you remember me telling you about a doctor I met in the ER…?".
For the next few minutes, the immunologist revealed everything that had happened, both this morning and that evening a few months back in the bar. She was careful to leave nothing out, meeting House's steely gaze every now and then. By the end, his expression was stormy and dark; and it was one she knew like the back of her hand, for it often arose in the bedroom. Only with this particular nephrologist did she recognise how close to each other were anger and arousal: both red-hot, both driven by the flashing blue of his eyes. Both, in their own way, stimulated by her.
"So, I suppose I'll need to report him", she finished glumly. "As you suggested the first time around".
"If you wanted to do that, I'd support you every step of the way".
Cameron circled the rim of her wineglass with a finger. "Your tone suggests I have a choice. I thought you'd want me to report him".
"What I want has absolutely nothing to do with it, Chicago".
"What do you want?".
"Well, since you're asking", he glowered darkly, "I want to rake this Turner over the fucking coals and ruin his goddam career while also saving you the trauma of having to stand before any committee at all". With his spare, nut-free, hand he brushed hair back from her forehead.
"Is that possible?", she swallowed, leaning into the contact.
The answer came solidly, finally: "it's fucking possible".