Siren's song

A.N. Back slightly earlier than intended because I was experiencing fanfic withdrawal symptoms. This entry is something of a slow burn, but it does get a bit naughty in the final third, even if there's no sex and it's not explicit. Actually, it's fine.

Cameron's thought process I've extrapolated from the season 4 episode 'Ugly' in which she admits to loving House and then tries to clarify it to herself in the mirror. House references the Greek hero Odysseus (mastermind of the Trojan Horse) in the season 6 episode 'Lockdown' (which, incidentally and unfortunately, is the last Cameron episode before the series finale) while talking to a Princeton Classics professor. As you may have guessed by now, I also have a strong interest in Classics and ancient history. Hence the title and allusions in this chapter. And my username!

Wilson poked his head through the office door. "Where is everyone? It's the middle of the afternoon".

House glanced up from the reference volume he'd been consulting, annoyance flashing across his face at being disturbed. It was make or break time for his article and the last two hours had been spent fine-tuning the transitions between each segment of the argument. Most of what he wanted to say was in place, but it would take the rest of the day and, probably, much of the weekend to go through a final draft. What he needed was peace and quiet. "I gave my fellows a half-day", he replied shortly, turning back to the page.

"You don't have a case?".

"Not had a case all week".

"Does Cuddy know you've been taking the hospital's dime for nothing?".

House rolled his eyes. "You gonna tell on me? Well, too late—the week is over and the ducklings have already gone home".

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "I think I've left it a bit late in our friendship to start ratting you out to the bosswoman now. How's progress?".

During their meetup, House had revealed a couple of the key points, including where he was having trouble reconciling the evidence, and they had discussed a possible way forward. From what he'd gathered, this paper was shaping up to be one of House's strongest yet. It was a strange thing. His best friend was a lazy person by nature, but when he actually stirred himself to think deeply on an issue he cared about, the results tended to be spectacular.

"Not bad, but it would be better if I could work without interruption".

"I'll leave if you agree to reference me in a footnote when you publish it", smirked Wilson.

House snorted. "Nice. You fancy basking in my reflected glory, eh? I'll think about it. Now buzz off". The other grinned in response and turned away, before being called back: "actually, I could use a second pair of eyeballs on this page. It's not running together as I'd like. Maybe a stupider man can see what I can't".

"Gee, well, when you ask that nicely, how can I refuse…".

House held out the sheet of paper. "Read".

Cameron was sitting in her car considering what to do with an unexpectedly free afternoon. Ordinarily, she'd have stuck around the hospital to help in the clinic but since they'd got on top of their duties for once, that option had disappeared. There wasn't any research to do either since the conference paper was already finished, and the prospect of starting a brand-new project so soon didn't appeal in the slightest. And food had already been taken care of. The three fellows had gone out to lunch and parted ways afterwards. Foreman was due to meet his high school friend again, and Chase had also made his excuses after the meal. Cameron suspected that their chat yesterday had rendered him a little less sure around her, which was absolutely fine as far as she was concerned. But it did mean that for the first time in a while she had nowhere to be.

Hmm. What to do, what to do.

The problem with being a workaholic was that, when you'd been told to leave your workplace early, things suddenly felt…empty. House was likely to be holed up all day writing his paper, so that also wasn't ideal. Anyway, she didn't need him to have a good time. Actually, she thought to herself, tapping the steering wheel, this is good for you. Too often over these last few months her spare time had been a combination of talking with House followed by sex with House. Or sex followed by talking. Or just sex. Or, occasionally, just talking.

I mean, sure, the whole experience had been a dream. And, granted, he's in your head 24/7. But life isn't just sex and talking. Nope. Much more to existence than that. Apparently.

Cameron nodded forcefully, listing off her hobbies one by one: reading, exercise, films, clarinet. And a couple more she'd not yet had the courage to reveal to House. It was all pretty uncomplicated—she was a woman of simple tastes. The act of running through her favourite things suggested a way forward. For this afternoon off to be a success, objectively speaking, then all she had to do was:

(1) go for a jog,

(2) followed by reading a chapter or two of her book,

(3) followed by an hour or so of clarinet practice,

(4) followed by a film.

That would take her to the evening. Then it was just a simple matter of a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, a quick browse of the internet, maybe involving a glance at the Chicago Local and/or Breitbart News (for laughs, obviously), and bedtime. Not a House in sight. Yes, thought Cameron, that all sounds…pleasant.

The woman exhaled suddenly. The fact was (and she could admit this now because nobody else was here), even though she had claimed to be fine with House not being available for two nights, she really wasn't. The fact was (and again this was something she felt safe thinking to herself), she yearned for him. House had claimed during their 'date' at Café Spoleto that she needed rather than loved. Upon reflection, he was both right and wrong. It wasn't that she needed companionship, or even needed love—after all, she strove to maintain the sanctity of her private life against all comers—it was more that, because she loved him, she needed to be with him as much as possible. In other words, it wasn't so much men in general she needed, only the man. Cameron didn't think there was anything particularly unusual about that—she simply adored floating in his orbit and it was perfectly natural, surely, to chase that feeling.

Still, House did have to work, and it would have been unbelievably selfish to demand he drop everything to be with her. It was a strange situation. Cameron considered herself to be independent and strong and had never once self-identified as clingy. But it was proving difficult to imagine a world where they weren't together. Subconsciously, her brain was already beginning to divide her life into pre- and post- House. And this was utterly ridiculous because they'd only been going out for four months. There had been blocks of cheese in her refrigerator for longer than that, after all.

No, but I am completely head over heels. One hundred percent, entirely, totally, doomed.

Regardless, whatever her own feelings, she hadn't been lying when she'd told him in the clinic that this relationship would only go at a pace with which he was comfortable. The man was exceptional, and she'd never ask him to prioritise their relationship over medicine. Medicine, science, defined House and she would sooner end things than take away his meaning. Strong words, but that was the reality.

What all this meant for Cameron's afternoon was unclear and she shook her head, refocusing on the list of things: go for a run. Yes. That would be a good start. She hit the ignition and eased out of the hospital grounds, pulling up to the first set of traffic lights while mentally preparing a running route in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a trio of women about her age, walking on the sidewalk with a bunch of shopping bags in hand. That was something she'd not done in a while. Looking closer, she could see them giggling together as they glanced into one of the bags. Victoria's Secret. When was the last time she'd ventured there? The benefit of being beautiful was that you didn't really need to try hard. And yet. On the spur of the moment, Cameron took a left turn and headed in the opposite direction to home. Running could wait.

That evening, House was typing away at the keyboard with one hand while shovelling Singaporean noodles into his face with the other, wielding his chopsticks like a conductor with a baton. There was a real art to chopstick technique. Wilson, for example, was worse than useless: food everywhere but his mouth. House had never seen Cuddy use them, nor Cameron. At that, he sighed. Back to familiar terrain. For the past two hours the woman had been at the forefront of his mind, lurking, enticing him away from his work like the Sirens to Odysseus. He dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. Go away. I'm busy.

A fresh drink would see to it.

House ambled down the corridor to the liquor cabinet in the living room and poured himself a generous measure of Highland Park. Not the best scotch but it needed finishing. He turned away, thought better of it, and picked up the bottle, thinking as he wandered back to the study. The strength of his desire for Cameron no longer surprised him. What was continuing to surprise him was how she'd seemingly penetrated every aspect of his life. When he had first told Wilson of the hallucination, he'd confessed that she'd pop into his brain every now and then watching TV or drinking at night. Things had developed, though, and the symptoms were far more serious. And it's fantastic.

The paper was in fairly good shape. As he sat back down, he briefly toyed with the idea of texting and asking if she fancied meeting up. It probably wouldn't go down well, if only because she had made it clear yesterday that she could manage a couple of nights without him. A woman like her probably had a busy social calendar. Friday night and the afternoon off to boot. The fellows, he knew, had all gone out to lunch. More than likely they were in a bar somewhere.

The best course of action would be to finish his noodles, have some whiskey, and get on with the presentation. With a bit of focus, he could break its back tonight and then maybe see Cameron tomorrow if she was keen.

House chewed thoughtfully for the next few minutes, thinking through the latest section. The best research articles relied on first-hand experience and this one was no exception. But euthanasia was a controversial topic and, in America, illegal. There were no grey areas in the eyes of the law. Consequently, he had been forced to be clever. Although he had drawn on medicine that he himself had practised (mainly the case involving his cancer patient Dr. Ezra Powell), it had been suitably fudged, and the argument materialised as a series of hypotheticals rather than factual statements supported by evidence. The other camouflage tactic resided in its presentation. Rather than straightforward prose, he had resorted to the format of a Socratic dialogue whereby the participants 'Dr. Perlmutter' and 'Dr. Davids' posed and answered questions. The result, he had to admit, was a characteristically brilliant academic paper, even if it wasn't yet finished.

Suddenly his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced over to see a message from Cameron, likely telling him what a great time she was having in the bar. The thought that he should probably ignore it flashed through his mind. But they rarely texted so it might be important. Plus, he missed her.

How's the paper going?, it read.

Pretty well. Progress has been good, House typed back, taking a sip of whiskey.

She replied almost immediately. That's great. Remember, you promised I could read it!

Yeah, yeah. You out painting the town red, then?

Haha, no. I think you have a misleading impression of my personal life. It's not all jello shots and wild sex, y'know x

House smiled to himself, picturing her mock exasperation. That's really disappointing.

Well, she returned in a flash, I have jello shots. The wild sex part will be the issue. What's a girl to do when her man is away at war?

He sat back a little in his chair. It would be better for his concentration if they steered clear of intimate talk. Best to keep it neutral. Rather than reply to her question, he asked one of his own. Did you have a good afternoon off at least?

Cameron didn't take long to reply. Yep. Went to lunch with F and C, did some shopping, went for a run, played clarinet. Nothing fancy x

House exhaled, telling himself he was pleased she had accepted a return to safe conversation. That reminds me. I still want to play music together.

Tomorrow?

OK.

Mid-afternoon? What time will you be done, you think?

House thought it through briefly. If he were honest, the paper was unlikely to be finished by then. It was looking like a Sunday/Monday job. Still, he didn't relish going three nights without Cameron. More like evening probably. But I'll likely have to dash off Sunday morning to put pen to paper. When the muses called, there was no escape.

No problem. Mine or yours?

Yours, he replied. But he thought it sounded too abrupt, so he added: if that's OK? Could use a change of scenery.

Well, I'll have to kick out my other boyfriend earlier than usual but should be fine.

House grinned. He'd used a similar line on her at Wilson's place. Before he could reply he could see she was typing so waited.

Listen, I need your medical opinion on something. I went for a shower after my run and I've got something on my body. Not sure what to make of it. Would you take a look if I send you a picture and we can do a differential over text?

His heart sank. The likelihood that a woman Cameron's age would have something seriously wrong with her was low. But then again, she was an excellent doctor herself, and if she was unsure what this thing was, it made him nervous. He typed rapidly, making a couple of mistakes. What kind if thong? A lump? A rash?

It would be easier if I showed you. But I don't want anyone else knowing about it. Not even Wilson. Doctor/patient confidentiality, right?

He experienced a sudden flash of tension-provoked irritability at her state-the-obvious attitude and, to his own annoyance, momentarily slipped into text speak. Yes yes of course..make sure u get a good light on it. I need 2 see the colour and size.

House's mind raced as he thought through possible diagnoses. Lumps could be anything from backed-up faeces to hernias to cancers. Cancer was unlikely, though if the lump was in the breast…but he'd seen her breasts recently and was sure they were clear. But then again, he'd skimmed over the area pretty quickly and he didn't know if it ran in her family. As for rashes, that was a whole different ball game: if it lost its hue when pressed, if it was wet or dry. But Cameron would know all this. Which made him even more concerned.

How's it going?, he typed impatiently.

The next message he received contained an image which he opened immediately and with some apprehension. As soon as it had loaded, however, he let out a breath, whether of relief or arousal he wasn't sure. It was an image Cameron had taken of herself wearing cut-off jean shorts and a gossamer-thin top, under which she had on only a baby blue lace bra. The button of the shorts was undone, revealing a tantalising sliver of matching underwear. The accompanying caption read: So what're your initial thoughts? It feels pretty uncomfortable.

House swallowed but tried to regain the initiative. I was really worried for a moment there, Cameron. I thought you were being serious…

I am being serious, House. Deadly serious. Now what's your diagnosis, doctor? Do you think it's life threatening?

He knew he should get back to the presentation, but he couldn't draw his eyes away from the screen and her unbelievably sexy outfit. For some reason Odysseus and the Sirens flashed through his mind again. The internal battle between his brain and libido raged for all of three seconds. It's hard to make out. I'd need to see more of the relevant zone.

Cameron's next picture was taken from a higher angle, and she looked directly into the lens with a finger hooked on her lower lip in mock concern. No clothes had been removed but she'd hiked the top up and shimmied the shorts down her hips, completely exposing her frilly panties. Is this better, Dr. House? I think it could be lupus.

The other chuckled despite himself, taking a sip of his drink. It's too early to say. More evidence is required before we can jump to any conclusions.

You're right, she replied. That's one thing I've learnt from being under you… The message was left hanging, but she soon started typing again.

This time she'd aimed the camera at the floor to ceiling mirror. The shorts and top were gone, kicked to one side on the floor. The bra looked new, and virtually sheer. His eyes raked over her body which glowed in the subdued lighting of her room. With her spare hand she'd pulled down on the blue waistband, almost revealing herself to his view. How's this?, read the caption, I seem to be turning blue. Should I be concerned? At least it matches your eyes. House didn't know this, but she had bought them today for precisely this reason.

"Fuck…", House whispered out loud, his noodles and paper completely forgotten as he rearranged his jeans, which had suddenly become uncomfortable. It looks serious, Cameron. In my professional judgement, the affected areas need to be removed before they can cause further damage.

Wow, that sounds bad. You're saying the whole thing must go? Are you sure?

House appreciated the subtext to Cameron's words. These pictures were for his eyes only. Yes. You can trust me. I'm a doctor.

Well, OK, if you think it's for the best. In the next message, as he anticipated, she was completely naked. But she had positioned herself in such a way that left just a little to his imagination. The camera must have been propped at the foot of the bed because she was lying on her front looking straight into it, her green eyes alight with familiar mischief, her mouth set in a wide smile. From this angle he discerned the contour of her breasts, even though the shadow was heavy, and her chocolate brown hair tumbled down to the bed. Over her left shoulder the swell of her butt was just visible. As he had told himself many times, this woman really was stunningly beautiful, and this was the content of his reply.

Yeah, yeah. Be careful with those pictures, old man. Don't want you to have a heart attack.

I'll take care of them, babe, he returned.

You did not just call me that!

Are you wanting a picture of corporal House to even the score?, he asked with a smile. Cameron made him feel lighter than he felt he had any right to be.

Nah. You can pay me back some other way.

Sure thing. Are you off to bed, then?

I guess so. You?

House had half a mind to ride to Cameron's this very second, but the scotch buzz put a stop to that. There was simple recklessness and then blatant stupidity. Soon, he typed back. I have a personal errand to complete before I sleep.

Enjoy yourself. See you tomorrow xx

Look forward to it. Sweet dreams.

The siren's song would remain unanswered for tonight. But tomorrow was another matter entirely.

I borrowed the idea for the final third of this chapter from CherryRed70's story 'Phone sex'. Check it out!