Full house
Later that evening there were knocks on the door, though House was currently wheels-deep in the hallway closet attempting to track down the cards and poker chips. Cameron would answer it, so he deployed his selective hearing and went about his business.
"House, sorry!", she called from somewhere else in the apartment. "Would you grab that? I'm in the bathroom!".
Unfortunately his selective hearing failed to filter out Chicagoan. This was a significant flaw which would need repairing at some point. Executing an impressive reverse, he rolled down the corridor and opened the door as the knock sounded a second time. "Yeah, yeah", he grunted, "keep your pants on. Except you, Cuddy. You can take 'em off if you want".
"Very good. Glad to see that you haven't lost your sense of humour in that thing", she replied, somewhat sardonically.
The new arrivals headed to the couch, looking around as they did so. The place looked cleaner and more well-ordered than usual, no doubt due to Cameron's influence.
"How's it going?", asked Wilson.
House did nothing but stare.
"I'll take your loaded silence as a 'great', shall I?", he joked, settling into the squeaking leather.
"Why are you wearing new clothes?". House wheeled close enough to smell the cologne. "Why are you fragrant?".
"Hey, I'm happy to see you, too, but d'you mind backing up a bit there, ace?". Wilson waved the bag of beer and attempted to shoo House away.
Cuddy stifled a laugh. If even she had noticed Wilson's new jacket, then he really stood no chance slipping it by their friend. Given what the oncologist had said in the car about keeping his counsel, she considered coming to his aid. But the impulse was shelved as Cameron came through from the hallway. "Hi, Allison", she smiled, noticing, if it were even possible, an intangible aura of lightness around the other woman. "You look well".
"Evening, guys", she smiled back, embracing Cuddy and nodding at Wilson. "Can I get anyone a drink?".
"Sure, I'll have-", began Wilson.
"-are you dudes screwing?", interrupted House, his eyes flicking between his two best friends.
"What? No!", they both answered instantly.
"Well, James here is screwing someone".
"I am not!".
"There's no other explanation for this…", he poked the brand new leather jacket with the flame cannon, "…and that rancid cologne you got on. Stinking out the whole apartment".
"I know you're too neurotic to accept at face value the slightest change in anything, but, honestly…". Wilson held his hands up.
"Hmm". House remained unconvinced, and he glanced at Cameron watching on with a degree of amusement: "maybe he wants to screw you?".
Cameron smirked but said nothing.
"So you're saying you don't have a girlfriend?", he persisted.
"…no. I mean yes. That is, I do not have a girlfriend".
House raised an eyebrow. Before he could inquire further, though, Cuddy took Cameron's arm. "Let's get that drink, shall we?".
The two women left the living room.
"You want one of these beers?". Wilson cracked the top and extended the bottle to House. "It's German. From that restaurant you guys went to last year".
House accepted the offering only after he had transferred his butt from the wheelchair into the sofa. He still had his suspicions, but the truth would emerge eventually.
"So…how's it going, man?", asked Wilson. "Pain manageable?".
Later that evening, having pulled out the coffee table and created some room, they were all sat around playing poker. Since Cameron was new, House had temporarily joined her side while Cuddy and Wilson fended for themselves.
Unfortunately, however, to keep their tactics secret from the others, Cameron had begun whispering in his ear. The feel of her hot breath on his skin, combined with the fact that she had put on a stylish pair of jeans that hugged all the right places and a black blouse-type thing that had lace for the sleeves and upper chest, was proving difficult to ignore. He didn't know anything about fashion. What he did know could be summed up straightforwardly: her look, as usual, was going straight to his throat. And to somewhere else. Forced chastity unironically sucked donkey balls.
"I think we should play it clever with this two and seven", she whispered.
"Depends if one of them raises immediately", he muttered behind a hand, though steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. "If they don't, we can stay in".
"Why does that matter?".
"If one of them bets off the flop-".
"-the what?".
"The flop. Those three cards on the table. If they raise then we gotta fold 'cos we'd have to meet their bet and our hand is, literally, the worst in the game". House took a sip of his whiskey.
"I will check", said Wilson.
"Raise five dollars". Cuddy.
"So, to still be in this round we'd need to meet Cuddy's five dollars?", asked Cameron quietly. "I don't mind doing that".
"It's not about 'not minding'. It's about whether it's the right thing to do. We're folding", House declared, grabbing the cards from her grip and slapping them on the table.
"Fine", pouted Cameron, "but you're gonna have a lot of egg on your face if it turns out we could've won that".
"Better egg on my face than that shitty protein shake you forced on me. 'No' means 'no', y'know".
"Oh, I saw some of that stuff in the kitchen", chimed in Cuddy as she and Wilson played out the hand. "It looked…interesting. Was it suggested by the nurses or something?".
"Hardly. Allison was just being petty 'cos I signed her up for a symposium at Sinai next month and she didn't like it".
"I mean, s'all completely true", Cameron admitted freely.
"That'll be cool", said Wilson, as he folded in the face of his colleague's incessant raising. "Sinai have a great Oncology department".
Cuddy scooped over her winnings and began dealing for another round. "Speaking of conferences, House, Sebastian Charles came to see me a couple of days ago".
"Why've you got that loser moping around, anyway?".
House disliked the guy at the best of times: sanctimonious, pretentious, and a real do-gooder. But, really, the root of his animosity lay in the knowledge that Charles and Cameron were perfect for each other. He still didn't quite know why those two were not an item. When House had spoken to her in his hospital bed about maybe starting things back up, he had asked if she was seeing anyone and received a response in the negative. And when he had told her about the hallucination in which she and Charles had taunted him about their pregnancy and upcoming marriage, she had seemed shocked at the prospect. And, true, sitting by the bed Cameron had reaffirmed loving him; there was no denying that. But he still secretly harboured jealousy. Cameron and Charles had been talking in the months after their breakup: he had seen them enough times. Maybe they'd even slept together.
The whole thing made no sense. Cameron and Charles were depressingly suitable for each other, and now she was reduced to his nurse and carer. How long would she be willing to put up with the status quo?
House scowled.
"-you to talk there", Cuddy finished.
"What?".
She sighed, annoyed that he obviously had not been paying attention. "Charles wants you to talk at his TB conference in a few weeks".
"Oh, gee, let me think about that", he replied shortly. "I literally need help showering, I'm in pain, I hate the guy...and you want me to go to his conference? Hard pass. We'll check". But instead of placing their own bets, the others were watching him. "No, no, I know that look. You all have the same look".
Cuddy braced herself. "Charles' argument is that it would, er, give you something to do".
"Good thing I don't give a shit what he thinks, then, isn't it? Is no one betting?".
"Well, what have you been doing?".
"Reading, watching, playing".
And showering, Cameron thought to herself, hiding a smile with a sip of wine. It was faintly pathetic how enjoyable she had found that morning.
"You don't wanna add a bit of light work into the mix? Charles is real keen", said Cuddy, sipping her own wine.
"Sometimes I feel like you don't know me at all", House snarked. Given that, indeed, no one was betting, he set down his cards and folded his arms lightly across his chest in preparation for an argument. His two friends had seemingly come into this pre-armed and co-ordinated.
"What do you think, Cameron?", asked Wilson.
Three sets of eyes, each with their own agenda, turned to her. She felt somewhat cornered. "Umm, well, it's not really my place to get involved. Whatever House decides is fine by me".
"Exactly", nodded the man himself.
"Although…", muttered Cameron suddenly, now fixing him with her gaze, "…you did sign me up to this conference in New York without my consent".
"Yeah, well", he said, shifting a little, "I only did that because it's a great opportunity for you".
"What exactly would it entail?", asked Cuddy, using the opportunity to discover more about this event which had been mentioned earlier in the evening.
"Doesn't matter", said House, waving his hand.
Cameron glanced at her neighbour but gave a mental shrug. "Oh, just some roundtable thing convened by someone I met in London. I thought I told you about Taylor at the debrief?".
Cuddy tilted her head as she cast her mind back. "Hmm, unsure. In any case, the hospital would obviously cover your expenses".
"Thanks, but it's literally a one-day affair. I'll head over in the morning, fulfil my obligations ASAP, and be back here in time for dinner".
"Great. So, can we resume poker? I wanna get a couple more rounds in before the pizza arrives". House, who had decided to summarily abort the ongoing hand upon revealing pocket twos, snatched up everyone's cards and began dealing rapidly.
"House, I really think-", began Cuddy.
"-if you're about to mention Sebastian Charles' TB conference, you can keep your mouth shut".
"I just don't understand why you're so against it. You can present from here remotely". She tapped the glass coffee table.
"Really? That's cool", offered Cameron. Upon quick reflection, she thought the idea a good one. If nothing else it would keep House's mind active. In fact, she suspected that he himself would usually have been open to the idea. In the past he had refused to conference because he had been receiving intellectual stimulation from his day job. But now that source of stimulation had been withdrawn.
"Makes no difference". House could feel his temper rise. Why could these people not just leave him alone? Only a few weeks ago he had been fighting for his life, and now they were trying to cart him off to work. It didn't help that Cameron seemed to be in on it, too.
His leg throbbed insistently in its cast.
"How long's Charles here for?", queried Wilson casually. "He seems on good terms with Townsend. Wondered if it might be a permanent thing".
Cuddy, whose buzzing phone had momentarily diverted her attention, looked back up. "Unlikely. His heart's in Africa. Though if this conference goes well…".
Suddenly House grabbed his cane, got up from the table, and hobbled to the doorway of the living room.
"House, sorry, OK?", she called out, feeling a little guilty.
But when she tried to follow him he waved her down: "I'm just going to the bathroom".
"Want a hand?", asked Cameron, half-leaving her seat.
"No. Play this one without me".
Later that night House was watching TV while Cameron washed up the plates and glasses in the kitchen. In truth, though, he wasn't really taking in what was on the screen. His mind was on the poker evening which had not been as much fun as anticipated, even if he had enjoyed seeing his friends again. He liked his own company, but a full house was OK, too, every now and then.
Cameron came through and sank into the neighbouring seat, giving a contented sigh. "What're you watching?".
He snapped back to the present and his eyes registered the images from the Queen's funeral. "Oh, just something on English monarchs".
"Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had fun".
"Yeah, yeah. Did you learn anything about poker?".
"I mean…", she twirled hair around a finger, "…kind of? A flush is better than a straight but worse than a full House".
He could tell by the resulting snort at her own pun that she was a little buzzed. "Right…".
"Hey, House?".
"Mmm?". He remained facing the television even though she had turned slightly towards him.
"Why're you so anti this conference?".
"Not you, too", he complained. "It was bad enough with Cuddy".
"I just wanna know, is all. I'd've thought you'd enjoy the intellectual stimulation now that you don't have diagnostics to do every day".
"Maybe it's escaped your attention, but I'm still in a lot of pain".
"I understand-".
"-no, you don't", he interrupted harshly. "None of you do".
Cameron nodded.
Regretting the tone, he tried again: "look, sorr-".
"-do not apologise. I've told you a thousand times it weirds me out, you freak".
They lapsed into silence for a few moments and watched TV.
House turned over the various explanations for why he was not particularly keen on this conference idea. Well, he thought, I know the explanation. In times past, this fact alone would have sufficed to ensure that he kept his counsel, so secure was his confidence in his own judgement. But given that Cameron had shown a willingness to tell him the truth, perhaps it was only fair that he return the favour. After all, had she not freely confessed her own jealousy of Fiona Townsend all those months ago?
"Fuck it", he announced, turning down the sound and inclining towards her.
Cameron looked uncertain. "Umm, you OK?".
"I'm jealous of him".
She glanced at the television and back. "The guy presenting the kings and queens on TV? I mean, he was handso-".
"-not the guy on the TV, no. Charles".
"Hmm, I dunno. I feel like following Elizabeth is pretty depressing. The only way is down, y'know?".
"Huh?".
"King Charles? There's no reason to be jealous of him. Sure, getting to live in a castle-".
"-not king Charles", he sighed, though in truth he found Cameron's slightly-drunk-obliviousness quite endearing. "Sebastian Charles. I don't want to do the conference because I'm jealous of him".
"Oh". Cameron seemed surprised at this and she spent a few moments thinking it through.
"Yeah".
"Why, though? You're a way better doctor than he is, and attending his conference wouldn't impact that. He'd be dead without you, frankly".
"Without us", House corrected. The diagnosis had been a team effort, even if he himself had landed upon the final answer.
"Without you", she insisted. "I was too busy with that press junket thing he called and Foreman and Chase were convinced it was TB".
Mention of her location that day caused another stab of jealousy and annoyance to flash through him: she had been sitting on the edge of Charles' bed and holding his hand; only House's own arrival in the room had caused them to break contact.
"Well, anyway", he said brusquely, "it's not to do with my being a better doctor. I'm jealous because…because of you and him. If I did this conference he…he would need to come over here to organise stuff and, y'know, I'd just have to confront you both".
"Me and him?", she repeated. "There is no me and him. There'd be nothing for you to confront. Like, at all".
"No, but-, ah, forget it". The fact of her utter confusion implied that, once again, he was being neurotic.
"House". She slid over to sit right next to him on the couch and tilted his chin up. Her eyes, which hitherto had been a little droopy with alcohol, were sharp once more. "There never has been, nor will there ever be, anything between Sebastian Charles and me. I told him so, actually, the night of your accident; told him to take a hike; told him how I felt about you".
"I didn't know".
"No reason why you would", she shrugged. "You were dosed up to the eyeballs post-op". Setting aside the fact that House had nearly died, she actually reflected more than a little fondly on those days because it had just been them, mainly, alone in the room. Few other people had interrupted her vigil.
And now that he was on the road to recovery, she treasured this time together even more. A sudden burst of euphoria swept through her body and, before she lost her nerve, she leant across and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks". He threw her a lopsided smile as she shuffled back to her end of the sofa.
"I told you a long time ago in the office that there's no one else. Does 'no one but you, Gregory House, Head of Diagnostics at PPTH, Princeton, New Jersey, America, Earth, the Milky Way, the Universe' sound familiar?".
"It does", he conceded. "But I'm still not convinced that's the best approach".
Cameron shrugged again. "Then I'll keep telling you until you get the picture. I'm a patient woman".
"Weirdo", he murmured.
"So, gonna do this conference?", she asked, changing the subject to something actually worth discussing. "It's remote".
"Ah, I dunno, it sounds like work, and I'm still hurting".
"Mmm, mmm. But it's infectious diseases. You could whip something up in three seconds flat". Cameron had removed her band and allowed her hair to flow down past her shoulders.
House scoffed but didn't dispute the observation, noting out of the corner of his eye how the sweep of gold caught the light beautifully.
"Might be kinda fun, though…", she continued casually, "…like, I'll be working on my Sinai thing; you could be working on this talk. We could be study buddies".
"Cameron, I doubt I can focus on anything academic right now. My body still really hurts".
"Mmm. I still think you should do it, though. Keep the grey matter active".
Now he looked across stubbornly. "I'm hurting".
"Y'know", she pondered, completely ignoring his complaint, "what you need is motivation".
"Yeah, right. I've got nothing to prove to anyone. You said so yourself".
"The motivation I was thinking of wouldn't be…cerebral". This last word emerged deeper than the rest of the sentence.
House's eyes narrowed. Cameron started twirling blonde strands around a finger again. Black nail polish. "What other kind of motivation is there?", he asked slowly.
"Well, we'd need to think about it. But off the top of my head…y'know, we'll be taking a lot of showers. Even more so when you start doing rehab and getting sweaty. Maybe you need help reaching certain areas; maybe my hand slips…maybe my mouth slips. I can be real ditzy sometimes…".
"Ridiculous". House had been meeting her gaze steadily but now looked away. His jeans were suddenly becoming uncomfortable. Whenever she adopted the 'blonde airhead' persona, which ran completely counter to everything she stood for and practiced, he invariably got turned on. A study in contrasts. God, I'm such a freak.
She snatched the remote from where he had placed it between them and upped the volume, ostensibly focused on the English monarchs flashing across the screen. Still she twirled her hair, as if absentmindedly. "Just sayin', House. Just sayin'".
