Gutterball
A.N. House rocks at many things in the series, but bowling isn't one of them. House and Chase go bowling in season 4 and the former gets destroyed by the latter. I'm transferring Chase's skills to Cameron. I haven't been bowling for ages. This is all pretty fluffy but we're still in lockdown and I like writing fluff. So there.
Cameron arrived at the bowling alley that evening to see Cuddy at the bar by herself sipping a cocktail. The two women embraced. "Hey, Allison. House and Wilson are on the way. You don't mind if we use first names, do you?".
"Of course not. What're you drinking?", replied Cameron warmly.
"An Aviation. It's actually not bad. For a bowling alley. Can I get you one? I remember your policy of never refusing a drink", smiled Cuddy, turning towards the bar and signalling the tender. "Guys must've hated you in college—a bottomless pit of booze and crushed dreams".
The other laughed. "I actually wasn't a massive party girl, to tell the truth. You'd be more likely to find me in the library than the sorority house".
"Mmm, I know what you mean. Medicine was so obnoxiously male-dominated in my time that it motivated me to work harder than everyone else, just to be the best".
Cameron accepted her drink and the pair clinked glasses. "Same, though I've always had a strong academic interest in medicine. Leaving the men in my dust was simply a bonus. Saying that…", she added with a hint of defensiveness, "…I know that Foreman is a better doctor than me. Realised it the first day on the job".
Cuddy shrugged. "All three of you are excellent doctors. House wouldn't have hired you otherwise. Correction: I wouldn't have let House hire you otherwise".
"Well, I know why House hired me", said Cameron as she sipped her surprisingly delicious cocktail.
"Let me guess…because you're hot?".
"Yes. But it's fine. I don't mind".
Cuddy looked carefully at her companion who was studiously avoiding eye contact. Suddenly it was obvious. House had never told her that he valued her as a doctor, and she had been too self-conscious to raise it. Ugh, men are stupid. "House wanted to fire Chase", she said.
"Huh?". Cameron had been lost in her own thoughts and she snapped back to reality.
"During Vogler. Chase was going to be fired, but Vogler forbade it. So rather than fire you, House decided to give the speech. The only reason he did it was to save your job because he appreciated your contribution. 'I need my immunologist', he said".
The other's pulse quickened. This was a new revelation: she had always assumed House was simply looking for a reason to fire her. Hence the voluntary exit. But to hear that he had actually fought for her was incredibly touching. "But he didn't give the speech", she murmured.
"No. And why is that?", asked Cuddy.
"Because he couldn't sacrifice his principles".
"Partly, no doubt", agreed Cuddy. "But I think a part was also down to the fact that he was scared of you. Easier to get over it if you're not in his face every day".
"So, you're saying it was a defence mechanism?".
Now that she thought about it, this was something House had told Cameron just before their first night together—that he feared his feelings and where they might lead. But she had not applied that insight to the night of her leaving the hospital. Either way, it made her feel warm to know that he had tried to have her back when things were tough. After all, it was the fear that he genuinely was indifferent to her wellbeing following a brush with their AIDS patient that inspired the one-night stand with Chase.
"I don't know. But I do know House thinks you're a damn good doctor. Hey", said the Dean quickly, catching sight of their colleagues approaching, "keep that to yourself. He doesn't like it when I discuss his personal life".
"Evening, ladies", announced House. "I hope we didn't make you wait too long. Wilson was sorting out his hair".
"You want a drink? I'll get the first round", said Wilson, retrieving his wallet. Cuddy, meanwhile, excused herself to the bathroom.
"Go on, then. The usual", replied House, leaning down to kiss Cameron on the lips.
Before he could disengage, though, she whispered in his ear: "you went in to bat for me. Thank you".
"Not sure what you're talking about, but whatever", he murmured back. "Also, you just used a sports metaphor".
"Huh, you're right", she mused. "That won't happen again, honest".
He grinned, pulling back to accept his drink from Wilson, who immediately moved away to answer a phone call. "Hey, do you like baseball?", asked House.
"Not really. Football I don't mind. But you already know that".
Cameron took his scotch and sipped it herself. Though she was not a massive drinker of liquor, spending an increasing amount of time with House had conditioned her to the taste. Whiskey was becoming a comfort in itself, chiefly for the value it held as symbolising that he was somewhere close. The drinks they had shared looking out from atop the hospital roof came back to her. Was it a positive or negative development that she was beginning to associate alcohol with a state of happiness? Probably the latter.
"What's a good scotch to buy?".
"Depends what kind of flavour you're after", he replied. "Rich and smoky, light and aromatic, fruity or clean aftertaste…".
Cameron handed the drink back. "Well, which do you normally get? Maybe I'll grab a bottle for my place and we can share it when you come over".
"That's sweet. You don't need to fit your drinking habits around me, though".
"It's no trouble", she answered, unwilling to divulge the real reason for why she was growing to appreciate whiskey. Even were he not to consider it faintly pathetic, she did.
"I favour Macallan. You can pick up a twenty-five-year-old sherry oak for a couple of grand".
Cameron spluttered into her cocktail. "I was thinking more in the fifty-sixty-dollar range".
"Ahh, then you want the Macallan 12. We had that on the hospital roof if you remember that night".
"I think I remember it, yes, even though I wasn't really focusing on the nuances of what I was drinking at the time", she smiled, tossing him a sly look as Cuddy returned.
"How're we doing this? Every woman for herself or teams of two?".
"I'm thinking the men versus the wenches. Wilson?", asked House, nudging the oncologist who had finally finished his call.
"Err. Before we settle on teams we need to know how good Cameron is".
"I know how to aim and shoot if that's what you mean", she replied.
"Yeah, see, that's already an issue. House and I are…not very good at all".
"Are you just saying that because you want to trick me?". She found it hard to believe there was something on this planet at which her partner did not excel.
House coughed discreetly. "I mean, look, bowling isn't our strong suit, is it, Jimmy? But I've got a good feeling about tonight. I'm not worried".
"Your funeral, losers. Let's get our shoes and head out to the lanes. Come on, Allison. We're gonna wipe the floor with them". Cuddy winked at the other woman, and they set off, leaving their two companions looking askance at each other. This could get messy.
Wilson sank back into his seat, watching as Cuddy gleefully recorded his third low score in a row. "Not the best there, hey?", she said. The Dean had revealed herself to be intensely competitive. Cameron had found the whole thing incredibly funny, especially as it became clear that their opponents really were awful.
"I think I'm struggling with the weight of the balls. They're too light, like tossing a pillow. I need a nice heavy one". Wilson took a swig of his beer and looked to House for support.
"There are balls of different weight, man. These excuses are making us look bad".
Cameron got up, patting his cheek as she wandered over to the conveyor belt to select her weapon of choice. "Well, if we're being brutally honest, what's making you look bad is that neither of you have registered a strike in seven attempts. That's…not ideal". Once she was satisfied, she ambled over to the lane and let rip, her bright orange ball crashing into the pins and sending every single one flying. On the way back to her seat, she high-fived Cuddy, who input the numbers with a satisfied snort.
"It's like a fucking heatseeking missile", muttered House to no one in particular, waiting by the belt to retrieve the same ball used by his girlfriend. Maybe some of her magic would rub off on him. His first effort clipped the right of the clump, leaving him a square five to clear up second time around, which he managed to do.
Cuddy nodded her appreciation, sinking her own shots as one pin remained unscathed. "OK, team Hilson need to start picking their scores up otherwise Cameruddy are running away with it".
Wilson exhaled loudly. "I got this".
House raised an eyebrow to signal his doubt and sat next to Cameron, draping his arm across her shoulders as she snuggled against him. "Given your skill with balls and all-round athletic ability", she murmured, "I'm surprised you suck at bowling".
The other sniffed airily. "And I suppose given your skill with balls, we shouldn't be at all surprised that you're a dab hand at it, eh?".
"Guilty as charged, sir", she replied as Wilson's first effort, to the surprise of no one but himself, flew straight into the gutter.
"Try aiming a bit more to the left", offered Cuddy helpfully from her position at the scoring terminal.
"Gotcha, thanks".
"Hmm", whispered House, gazing up at the scoreboard, "you've scored four strikes already".
"Yeah? I've not been counting". Cameron began to pat a rhythm on his knee. The contest was all well and good, but really she was enjoying simply spending time with House and his friends. Indeed, they were quickly becoming her friends, too.
"It's a massive turn on. What colour panties are you wearing? I'm asking for science", he grinned down at her.
Cameron sighed dramatically but nevertheless leant forwards a touch so that he could glance down her back to the space between her jeans and her body. House swallowed, catching sight not just of the light blue underwear she had worn in the impromptu photo shoot last Friday, but even the delicious swell of her butt. "I like those", he croaked, finding his voice surprisingly thick. A loud throat clear saw to it.
She sat back with a grin of her own. "I know. You can have another drink. I'll drive us back to yours after".
"Oh, now you're just going for bonus girlfriend points, offering to be the designated driver. Unless…", he tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully, "…you're trying to get me drunk so I throw gutterballs. I see through your plan, missy".
The woman whispered in his ear: "I think you can throw gutterballs without my help, mister".
Wilson's next shot, to the surprise of everyone except himself, stayed the course and annihilated all ten skittles. "Boom. That's how we used to do it at McGill. Still got the gift!". He did a little jig up to where House and Cameron were sitting, meeting the former in a high five on the way to retrieving his beer from the table.
"Pipe down. Spares won't win you the game", called Cuddy, dutifully inputting the score.
"Gotta celebrate each victory though, don't you?", said Wilson.
"Do you?", asked Cameron, rising to her feet to prepare for her shot.
"I think you do", he replied.
The immunologist merely winked in response, waiting to select the ball she wanted.
"We're in trouble here".
House's gaze never left Cameron as he cleared his throat again. "Yeah…I am".
"You're a liar", declared House as the pair were driving home after a bowling session which quickly turned into a rout.
"That's probably true. Do you have a specific instance in mind or is this more of a broad-brush statement?", returned Cameron lightly.
House adopted a high-pitched voice. "'I know how to aim and shoot', she says, before proceeding to obliterize the bowling alley".
"First of all, 'obliterize' is not a word. Second of all, your impression of me? Uncanny. Third of all, you're completely right. I rock at bowling. Sue me". Cameron glanced across and patted his knee. "Are you sulking?".
"Are you kidding? It's great. You keep saying you're not a sports fan. But really you are". He sat back into the seat and sighed contentedly.
"For the last time, I don't like sports metaphors. Sports are fine in moderation. Anyway, bowling isn't a sport".
House, who had closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened one of them. "It kind of is, though".
"Anything which allows you to drink beer and munch nachos while playing is not a sport".
"Well, we're not doing that again. It was a massacre, and Cuddy in the throes of victory is, it turns out, pretty annoying".
House could complain, but really he quite enjoyed having Cameron involved with both his friends. When things had been going well with Stacy, the four of them had frequently hung out together, and he knew that Wilson at least had kept contact even after she and House had split. In fact, if it were not for Wilson secretly going to visit Stacy, Cameron would never have gone to monster trucks, because she had been asked only after the oncologist had cancelled. Without that evening, things may well have turned out differently. Then again, thought House, getting shot also contributed. Fate was a funny thing, especially since it did not exist.
"Oh, come on", complained Cameron, unaware of the other's train of thought. "You just admitted to it being great. How about I join your team next time and we show them who's boss, hey?".
He frowned and folded his arms. "Hmm, I could manage that, I suppose".
"And remember: whatever happens, you'll always be my boss". Cameron's voice was cooing, almost teacher-like, as she patted his knee again.
House recognised the tactic as an attempt to turn him on. He went along with it because the attempt was succeeding. "Your boss at home or at work?".
"Both. I've told you before I think you're sexiest when you're in control".
"Hmm", he tilted his head. "Maybe we can bowl together, then. If you can guarantee us a win".
"Nothing is guaranteed, House. But if winning means that much to you, I'll try hard to make it a reality". She kept her eyes on the road but still managed to flash him a smile, and the pair lapsed into silence, watching Princeton pass by the windows. Raindrops flecked the glass steadily and even though it was not yet December, Christmas-themed decorations and billboards studded the shopfronts.
"I won't always be your boss, Cameron", said House suddenly.
"You gonna fire me?".
"I'm serious. If you're still my fellow in three years' time, then something has gone terribly wrong". House turned in his seat to regard her profile before continuing: "you're a brilliant doctor, and you have the potential to go far. Right now, this fellowship is serving its purpose, but I want more for you in the long-term. A lot more".
"Did Cuddy speak to you…?", she questioned suspiciously, thinking back on the conversation the two had shared before their bowling partners had arrived.
"About what?".
House's mystified air was enough to convince her that this conversation topic had arisen spontaneously. "Nothing", she said, before adding: "are you drunk?".
"Tipsy", the other admitted. "But still aware of how I feel about this".
Cameron allowed the silence to grow once again as she considered a response. "It means a lot to hear you say that, House. But I love my job, and I love working for you even more".
This was something she had realised many times over her placement, but especially in the weeks after the shooting when the fellows had been temporarily redistributed around the hospital. Normal medicine was fine; diagnostics was exhilarating. There was something endlessly fascinating about the job: running around playing private investigator and solving puzzles that only they knew existed. Her feelings for House did not even need to be added into the equation.
"At some point, though, you'll be applying for a better job. Maybe a head of immunology, or a diagnostics department of your own. You won't be my duckling forever. Nor should you be. None of you should be".
She nodded, appreciating his seriousness. "I understand that. And you know I applied for other jobs when I left during Vogler. I'm happy with my career prospects. What about you?".
"What about me?".
"How do you see your own career trajectory?".
House exhaled softly. As ever, Cameron had asked a question he had not anticipated. "I imagine I'll be at PPTH until I retire. Or get fired, which is probably more likely, tenure or no tenure", he answered truthfully.
"What if I wanted to stay at PPTH, too, with you?".
"There would be opportunities for you elsewhere. PPTH is great, but it's a training hospital; this relationship is great, but I wouldn't be at all comfortable with you sacrificing your career for it. You could work anywhere you wanted".
The car pulled up to the traffic lights and the woman took the chance to look at her partner carefully. "Where is this coming from? You never showed any interest in this stuff before".
"I wasn't in love with you before", he replied instantly. "But now I care about your future as much as, no, more than, mine. How fucking scary is that?".
Cameron was unsure whether to be touched, amused, concerned, or all three. "Fair enough. But is it OK if we punt this debate down the field for now? We're here".
"Right, that's it. You're a hardcore football fan. I don't care what kind of excuses you make", House chuckled before unbuckling and opening the car door.
"Whatever, man", she snorted, following suit. The pair walked into the block hand in hand and entered the apartment, after which Cameron suddenly put on a spurt of speed and jogged down the hallway. "I'm using the bathroom first!".
The man merely called after her: "when you gotta go, you gotta go!". Then he sank into the couch and flicked on the television, channel hopping absentmindedly. Before long, a huge yawn materialised. And then another.
A few minutes later, Cameron emerged and slipped into the neighbouring seat. "I'm done…".
But House was fast asleep, snoring softly. She smiled faintly. As quietly as possible, she retrieved a folded blanket from the other chair and draped it over his body, brushing her lips to his forehead. Then she turned out the light and padded into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar just in case.