Helping hand
Following the loss of their patient, Cuddy gave the diagnosticians light duties only and refrained from foisting another case on them so soon. If pressed, she would admit to preferential treatment. After all, doctors lost patients every single day but still had to come into work and get on with the job.
In defence, she could point to mitigating circumstances: only a couple of months ago these doctors had witnessed an attempted murder, had in point of fact been threatened with death themselves. It was her duty to ensure that they weren't pushed too hard too soon; she had only recently signed off on their psychiatric reports. A lighter touch was necessary, and she saw no reason to rush House, either—the man was a sports car and you didn't use sports cars to do the school run. If he needed some time to recover, then fine. A blind eye was turned to his guitar playing and TV watching in the office.
The fellows were using the enforced pause in their own way. Chase had spent a few days on the surgical rotation, taking the opportunity to revise skills he'd not employed since returning to work following the shooting. Foreman, meanwhile, was co-running a drug trial with a colleague in neurology.
This meant that Cameron had the office to herself for large portions of the day, and she needed no second invitation to spend the time developing her article. Progress was solid if not spectacular, but with a bit of hard work she knew that things would pick up as she got more of her argument down on paper. The strumming of House's guitar through the glass partition was, depending on her mood in that particular moment, either reassuring or annoying. But she took comfort in his proximity nonetheless, allowing him space to overcome his malaise.
The following Thursday, she was working at the conference table, buried in piles of paper and weighty reference books. Unfortunately, one strand of her argument was too sparsely sourced and needed more support. Ordinarily this would be no problem, but in a caffeine-induced haze she had misplaced her scribblings for that subsection and was frantically attempting to piece together the blocks from memory. Too caught up in a self-perpetuating cyclone of tension, she failed to notice the dividing door between the two offices open.
"Well, hello there". House had an amused look on his face as he leant against the glass and observed a rather fraught scene.
"Not a good time, House". Cameron barely glanced up as she shuffled through papers in a seemingly random order, attempting to find some elusive document that only she knew existed, arms a whirl of activity as she lifted books, pens, pages, and laptops in a futile effort which succeeded only in knocking over her fresh cup of coffee. Though it missed her work, it spilled over the table and dripped steadily onto the carpet. "Oh, fuck".
"Cameron...", House said softly, though the other didn't hear him as she hurriedly made to mop up the black liquid with a few crumpled tissues from her pocket. "Cameron!".
This did get her attention, and she looked up, startled into stillness.
House couldn't help but take a second to appreciate her beauty, even in this moment of stress. Her light brown hair was wild, and long strands had escaped its band and lay strewn at strange angles, framing her face, which bore no trace of makeup; her eyes were bright behind the lenses of her glasses; and her mouth was open in surprise at House's tone, such that he could make out her regular white teeth behind the fullness of her lips. "Stand up and come here", he swallowed, regathering himself.
"But the coffee...", murmured Cameron, gesturing towards the slowly expanding pool on the table, "…the carpet...".
"Forget about the carpet. It's soaked up its fair share of my blood. I think it can take your coffee. Come here", he reiterated softly but firmly, holding out a hand.
She did as asked and walked towards her boss, frazzled expression softening as she approached. House pulled her into a deep embrace, nuzzling her hair. "You looked like you needed a hug".
Cameron mumbled incomprehensibly into his shirt.
"Yes, I totally agree with you", House replied, "the Pats were carried by Brady after all".
Cameron laughed but said nothing initially, allowing herself to sink into the other's arms, to enjoy the sensation of warmth and protection his body offered. They hadn't spoken since just after their self-set assignment in the morgue. House was a man who dealt with failure in his own way, who would bury himself in his television and his guitar to get over a puzzle left unsolved. She would be there if he needed her, but otherwise she had maintained her distance, unwilling to push things. The question of a second date hadn't arisen. Not yet, anyway. "I've always been more of an Eagles fan myself".
"Shhh, shhh, that stress must have fried your brain. Just relax, we're OK, we're OK".
She pulled back and rested her fists against his chest. "Hey, I'm serious!".
House looked down into her eyes. "I thought you didn't like sports".
"Actually, I don't like sports metaphors. I don't mind sports every now and then in moderation".
"Well", he said after a moment's thought, kissing her nose affectionately, "I suppose it's better than nothing. But why on earth do you like the Eagles? You're from Chicago".
"How do you know I'm from Chicago?", Cameron smiled.
"Uhhh, your accent? Ahnest ta Gahd, dough" [honest to God, though].
A grin emerged, and she punched his chest softly. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad. I think I've done a pretty good job training myself out of it".
"If you say so. I think it's adorable, anyway". House's voice dropped lower, as did his hands, which moved to her ass. "So, why do you like Philadelphia?".
She smirked and placed her hands on his chest in such a way that her thumbs rested between the buttons of his shirt, on his bare skin. "Why do you like cricket?".
"Answering a question with another question is a sure way to lose some fingers". House pulled her closer, his face millimetres from hers.
Cameron brought a hand to his lips, her voice husky. "These fingers? It'd be your loss, that's for sure. You've not seen what I can do with my fingers yet, buster".
"Nor you mine", House murmured, bringing his own hands up to grasp hers. His long fingers completely engulfed her own and he kissed each one softly. Cameron watched, taking shallow breaths, feeling the scratchiness of his stubble and the moisture of his tongue. "We need to decide on date number two, Dr. Cameron".
"Ye-", Cameron croaked, and she had to clear her throat.
"Tomorrow?".
"Yes".
"Good. Seeing as I organised the last one, it's your turn now. Dazzle me".
"Umm, I've never planned a date before".
House raised an eyebrow.
"What?", she said. "Guys like to entertain me, and I like being entertained. It's a win-win if you really think about it".
"Well, it's time you took off your training wheels. This is twenty-first century America, Cameron. You define your gender, not the other way around. Female empowerment and all that".
"OK, OK, but you haven't given me long to prepare...". Cameron's eyes glazed as she thought through her options, tapping a finger to her lips.
House loved these little mannerisms of hers. He had missed her during his self-imposed exile, but he needed time away to process his failure, to quieten his rebellious mind which accepted an unsolved puzzle only with great difficulty. In such moments, he had reflected, his brain controlled him, not the other way around.
"What do you like?", she asked.
"Nope, sorry. I want you to pick something that you like. I'm having zero input".
In truth, House had long planned to observe Cameron in her own setting away from work, away from everyone else. Even away from him, in a way. Every time they had met or got close it had been on House's terms: in his office, on his bike, in his chair, on his date. House had had control. At work this was fine because he was her boss. But if they were to be partners outside of the hospital, they needed to be partners, not superior and subordinate. Cuddy had observed that House attracted strong women, and he needed Cameron to be as strong as he believed her to be. He knew himself to have a powerful personality. He needed his partner to be similarly powerful, else he would break her. And that would do no good for anyone.
"Alright. I'll think about it and let you know tomorrow, OK?".
"Sounds good". House suddenly kissed her hard, entwining one hand in her hair while the other caressed her cheek.
Cameron overcame her initial shock and responded forcefully, both hands on his face. "What was that for?", she whispered after they broke apart.
"Helping me in the morgue", he murmured.
"If you're going to kiss me like that every time I give you a helping hand, maybe I'll do it more often", she smiled.
"Fine by me". House pulled her into another hug, burying his face in her hair and looking over her shoulder at the papers and spilt coffee on the desk. "What're you working on?".
Cameron released him with a sigh and turned back to the table, wiping both it and the carpet in an effort to prevent further staining. "My paper based off the Sjögren's syndrome case we solved a couple of weeks back. It's proving difficult".
"Don't bother about the carpet. It's a lost cause". House sat down and started browsing through the papers. "This article, however, can still be saved. D'you want a hand?".
"Umm, yeah. Yeah, I think I do". Cameron had stopped mopping up and straightened, a hand on her hip, staring at the other sitting in the chair.
House glanced up. "Why are you looking at me like that? You're weirding me out".
"It's just that the last time I gave you a paper to evaluate it sat on your desk for months and Foreman published it instead".
"Yeah, well, I like you now, so…". House trailed off, lost in reading.
"Huh. If I'd known that that was all it took, I'd have seduced you sooner". Cameron wandered over to sit on the table.
House scoffed, but his gaze was fixed on the laptop screen, analysing her sources. "Just don't tell Chase. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my hands off him if he wears those short shorts to work tomorrow. If I'm willing to help you with your article, and you aren't even wearing a tight top and low-rider jeans, who knows what I'll grant him in those babies?".
Cameron laughed, but her next words were delivered in a low whisper, as she hopped down to crouch beside him. "Would you like me to wear those, Dr. House?".
"I am immune to your charms, madam. My will is iron".
"That's unfortunate". Cameron raised an eyebrow and trailed a hand up his thigh. "Iron is incredibly hard. Very hard indeed…".
House reached down and took hold of her hand before it could complete its journey. "You know what else is very hard, Cameron?", he growled.
"What?", she whispered, leaning forwards slightly, breathing in his distinctive muskiness.
"Your argument here, to read, in this section". House pointed at the screen. "Sit. Let's turn this thing into something worthy of my department".
Cameron exhaled loudly, and the flutters in her chest died away. Nevertheless, she pulled up a chair, her thwarted desire soon forgotten as she listened intently to the words of the other.