Stubborn mules
A.N. Happy New Year! What will 2023 bring for House and Cameron?
This chapter mentions the American pastry store Cinnabon. I've never entered one myself, but I like the concept.
Cuddy knocked on Wilson's door and entered without waiting for a response. "Hey, can you-", she started, but upon realising that he wasn't alone: "sorry, I didn't think you had a patient".
"No problem; not a patient", smiled Wilson at his not-a-patient, a woman, who smiled back and stepped to the side of the room. "So, what's up?", he asked.
"I can wait, if you…?", Cuddy offered, glancing between Wilson and the stranger.
"Go for it".
"I was hoping you'd be able to chair a panel at Sebastian Charles' TB conference Thursday. One of the moderators has broken a leg and can't make the trip over".
"D'you think the trip over is responsible for the guy's broken leg?", he asked casually.
The woman in the corner chuckled and the pair shared a look.
Cuddy's gaze flicked between them both again, unsure of this dynamic. "That's, yeah, no, that's funny, James. So, what do you say?".
Wilson shrugged. "I'm happy to do it, though you know, of course, that I'm cancer not infectious diseases".
"You'd just need to facilitate the post-talk conversation, select questioners from the audience, come up with a couple of general questions yourself if necessary. Chances are it'll be really 'light touch'. Your panel doesn't have any online participants, so it should be simple enough".
"Fine. Send me through the info?".
"Will do", Cuddy replied, looking once again at the lady in the corner of the room, who had evidently listened to their conversation with interest. The blonde hair reminded Cuddy of Cameron, even if her attractiveness could not quite rival that of the immunologist. "So, are you gonna introd-?". She was interrupted by the beeping of her iPad. "Scratch that. I'm being summoned. I'll let Charles know your agreement?".
Wilson nodded.
"Fine. Well", said Cuddy, inclining her head towards the other woman, "nice not-quite-meeting you".
"Same".
With that, the Dean left.
"Seems nice".
"She is", nodded the oncologist. "A great boss and friend".
"A friend…so if this goes any further, I guess I'd better get on her good side, huh?". She had moved to sit across from the desk.
"It would help", admitted Wilson, who leant back in his own chair with a smile. "But the real investment is House. Which is why I suggested you drop by later".
"Not the only reason why…".
"No. He'll want to thank you. In his own way".
"I'm obviously happy to meet him. What with this staggered return to work after the crash, I have a couple of spare days a week". The woman gently touched her right cheek, whose bone had suffered a fracture from a collision with something or other on the bus. It had healed quite nicely, but she still applied a heavier than usual amount of concealer.
"You say that, but I feel it's my duty to forewarn you". Wilson flashed his companion a slight grimace before continuing: "House…isn't your regular Joe".
"But he's still human, right?", she laughed.
"Sure, why not".
"Oh, relax, James. I've read about him in the meantime and checked out a couple of his articles. I'll just head over there, have a talk, and be on my way".
"OK". This emerged in a slightly sceptical tone.
"Great. I'll let you know how it goes". The woman rose to her feet and moved to the door. "We still on for tomorrow night?".
"Yep, sounds good. Bye".
Now alone, Wilson smiled to himself before tabbing over to his diary and an afternoon of appointments.
Cameron pulled into her parking bay, grabbed her keys, phone, and bag, and headed into her apartment block. Since living with House, it had been necessary to drop by her place occasionally to check on things, pack spare clothes, pick up mail, and so on. These trips always felt like a burden and she much preferred spending her time under his roof. As she had more than once realised, she had always found his apartment strangely alluring, and those feelings, heavily tinged with the attraction she felt towards the man himself, had quickly resurfaced in the recent weeks.
Having picked up the few items in her mailbox, she unlocked the front door, dumped the mail on the kitchen table, and carried out a quick sweep of the place, its unwarmed air causing her to shiver a little. The sooner she got back in her car, the better. Quickly, she stuffed a few clothes in her bag. Though she had made free use of House's washing machine, spring was progressing and with it the weather was improving. Not quite time for dresses, nevertheless some lighter wear would soon fit the bill. A couple of pairs of shorts, too, for running. Around this time of year she normally carried out a complete wardrobe switch, but that was obviously impossible. Living out of a duffel bag had its drawbacks.
Happy with the state of her apartment, Cameron slung the bag over her shoulder, locked the door, and made her way back to the car. The phone in her pocket buzzed and she pulled it out. House.
Be a doll and pick me up a reuben sandwich from the deli on Bridge? No pickles and cold.
Cameron rolled her eyes but smiled to herself. Reubens were a sign of progress towards normality. Yes, I remember. You feeling the pangs of withdrawal?
Either that or you can put your circle queen skills to good use and secure me a cbn.
Cbn?, she typed back, concerned that this was a reference to some form of hard drug.
Standard abbreviation for Cinnabon. Moron. The guys always serve circle queens faster.
Watch who you're calling a moron, idiot moron. Do you want the stuff or not?
While she waited for a reply, Cameron plugged her phone into the socket, put on her seatbelt, and started the engine. She didn't have to wait long.
I want the stuff.
Once again she smiled to herself. Still think I'm a moron?
You're not a moron. You're great. A real top notch citizen. Pick something up for yourself.
Cameron sent him a thumbs up and a kiss. Maybe the latter wasn't strictly appropriate, but sometimes propriety could take a hike.
Later that afternoon, Cameron unlocked the door with the only set of keys and entered House's apartment, calling out as she dumped her holdall by the door: "hey, I'm back-, oh, er, hello".
Sitting on the sofa was a woman with straight dirty-blonde hair and red lips. "Hi. You must be Allison Cameron".
"Um, yes. And you are…?". She walked over, scanning for House, who was nowhere to be seen. The bag with their sandwiches landed on the coffee table.
"My name's Amber", she replied, before gesturing into the adjoining hallway. "Dr. House is just in the bathroom".
"Amber?". Now Cameron folded her arms. That name, combined with knowledge of House's movements, got the antennae twitching.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not a hooker", laughed the other.
"I never said you were a hooker".
"You were thinking it".
Before Cameron could answer, House ambled into the living room, the flame cannon clasped in his right hand. "Yo. Did you pick up the reuben?".
"I did", murmured Cameron, unsure what was going on.
"Anyway", said the woman, getting up and grabbing her handbag from the floor by her feet, before heading to the door, "I'm off. Great to meet you again, Dr. House. It was…interesting".
House inclined his head and, with a final nod, the woman departed. Now alone, he sank into the sofa and rapidly unwrapped his sandwich, licking his lips like a young boy before dinnertime. "Nice. Sit".
"'Great to meet you again'? Who was that?", asked Cameron, still standing solidly by the table.
"The woman who saved my life on the bus", he replied simply. "I had Wilson track her down".
"Ohhh". The accusatory air dissipated and she did sit down next to him, much lighter than ten seconds ago.
House had already taken a huge bite of the sandwich, seemingly oblivious to Cameron's prior antagonism, but he raised an eyebrow as he munched. "Who did you think it was?".
"No one", she replied quickly, but her inherent honesty compelled her to revise the initial answer: "maybe a hooker. Amber's a hooker name".
House laughed.
"What? I mean, she was pretty, we're not technically together, and I know you don't know many pretty girls". Cameron unwrapped her own sandwich and joined him in eating.
"It's true. In any case, I don't do hookers anymore. Plus, she had blonde hair. No reason to go for a blondie while you're on the scene".
"Sure, sure. How do you eat so fast?". His sandwich was gone, bar a few crumbs.
"I was hungry and I like food. Hey, do you think our dynamic", House nearly said 'relationship' but stopped himself, "runs on jealousy and paranoia too much? Like, I was jealous of you and Chase originally, then you and Charles. And you were jealous of Fiona Townsend and now Amber. What's that about? Is it healthy?".
Cameron shrugged. "Jealousy is a perfectly natural emotion. As long as it doesn't become all-consuming, I'm totally fine with it. I do get jealous quite easily, though".
"Same". The first iteration of House's red mug, shattered but now replaced, floated before his mind's eye. "But that's only because Sebastian Charles and Chase are basically male models. If Quasimodo started flirting with you, I wouldn't be jealous at all".
"I'll bear that in mind", she laughed.
"You get everything sorted in your apartment?". House had already retrieved his cinnamon roll from the paper bag and was eyeing it, seemingly checking for consistency. This complete, he munched half in a couple of mouthfuls.
"Yes. Can I, can I ask what you discussed?". The immunologist still possessed only a vague idea of what had actually happened on the bus that night. She had not been part of the on-site crew, nor even the surgery team, so what information she'd gleaned had been second- or third-hand.
He shrugged, but Cameron was attentive enough to see his eyes glaze slightly as he recalled the memory. "Not much. Amber was sitting opposite me and we, sort of, collided on impact. Hence why we were meeting again".
The other nodded, speaking softly: "so you wanted to see if she was alright?".
"Not quite. At the time, before I lost consciousness, she tied a tourniquet on my leg and I remember thinking it was good technique. So I was interested in tracking her down and seeing who she was. I'd guessed she was a doctor, possibly a nurse. And I was right. She works in New York".
"Wilson did this for you?", asked Cameron, still chewing on her own sandwich, but reflecting fondly how even while suffering a traumatic injury House's mind refused to stop asking questions and seeking answers. No one she had ever known was so relentlessly inquisitive.
"He did…and secured himself a girlfriend at the same time".
"Err, what?". She looked across in surprise. "What makes you think Amber and Wilson are together?".
"That new jacket, the cologne…I thought he was screwing Cuddy. Turns out I was wrong".
"Even if that's the case, there's nothing against him dating, is there?".
"Nope. I just wanted to know what she was like, what she looked like, how she spoke".
"And?". A full five minutes after her lunch partner, she started on her own cinnamon roll. Generally she avoided junk food, beyond the occasional chocolate bar or drink, but treats were fine every now and then.
House rested his chin on his cane, looking to the floor as he thought. "She's clever", he said eventually. "Sharp. I can see why he went for her. Doesn't seem overly needy, though, and he really is one for damsels in distress. Maybe she's got some PTSD from the crash or something, and he's looking to nurse her back to full health".
"Like I am you?", wondered Cameron.
Now it was his turn to glance across, eyes unwavering. "Perhaps", he conceded. "But I'd wager you're a better nurse than old Jimmy. That guy only knows cancer; narrow-minded specialist".
She gave a little snort through a mouthful of sugar and pastry. "A 'narrow-minded specialist'. What're your preferred fields again? Nephrology and infectious diseases, or something?".
"You know what I mean, CB", he sighed.
"More information's needed, really. If you'd like, I can do some investigative work on your behalf?". The last time this had come up, when Wilson had been dating Mathilde, Cameron had been decidedly reluctant to poke around other peoples' lives and carried out her assignment under extreme duress. Now, though, things were different. The regret in the hospital chapel the night of the crash—that she had not insisted on spending every single day with him—came back to her.
House raised his eyebrows. "You've changed your tune".
"You nearly died", she said, licking her fingers of cinnamon frosting. "And nearly dying, in this case, does indeed change everything".
"Getting soft…", he grunted.
Cameron looked at him pointedly. "Says you, who literally taught me poker a couple of weeks back and let me play your computer games".
"It's different. You're a girl". A hand wave, as if this explained everything.
And in a way it did explain everything, for she had discovered long ago that House possessed a notion of right and wrong, a peculiarly idiosyncratic standard of behaviour which some might even consider to be honourable. No one got to see this apart from her. Her mind cast back to the fury he had exhibited at Turner's antics. For House, she knew, busting balls and getting a rise from others was par for the course. Aggression and physical threats to women, however, were another matter entirely.
"And you're a gentleman", she announced, intentionally mimicking her 'allegation' from last year, before their second date.
"No". As expected, he seemed utterly appalled that anyone would accuse him of sentimentality even if, in reality, he knew himself to be a closet romantic.
"So, what're you gonna do about Amber?".
The change in subject was taken seamlessly in stride. "Dunno", he admitted. "Didn't think that far—just wanted to see what was going on under the hood".
Cameron nodded, and both remained quiet for a few moments, each lost to their own thoughts.
"I guess I'd better finish my talk for the TB thing", said House eventually.
"When is it again?".
"Thursday. When's yours?".
"Next Friday. I'll drive to New York early in the morning and be back that evening".
"You could always stay over Friday night if you wanted to explore the city. I can survive a day by myself". House glanced sidelong at his companion. This suggestion stemmed from the fact that he still felt significant guilt that she had ended up sacrificing her quality of life (not to mention her time) to care for him. It would be good for her to spend a night away and recharge her batteries.
"Nah". She didn't even look up from her plate and the remnants of the roll.
Given that House had put some thought into this idea, the immediate blanket refusal took him aback somewhat. "Cameron, carer burnout is a thing. You should take a night or two to yourself; sleep in a proper bed".
"I'm fine on the sofa—as you know, I'm small and very bendy. Regarding burnout, I know it's a thing. But it's not happened yet. Not even close. What about you?".
"What about me?".
"Burning out". She had taken to scraping off the cinnamon frosting from the paper bag with a finger, seemingly absentmindedly.
"Why would I be burning out? You're the one doing all the work".
"It doesn't feel like work. I like living here. Do you like me living here?".
"Well, I mean, that's not on the table for discussion", replied House in surprise. Cameron had an annoying (though admittedly intellectually provocative) habit of turning the conversation in unplanned-for directions by asking questions about him rather than answering his about her.
"It could be on the table, though", she mused, before exclaiming suddenly: "man, these cbn's are really nice. I don't normally go for sweet stuff, and, sure, they're fattening like nothing else, but…yum, yum. Do you mind if I have a go at the syrup pot?". Her hand hovered over said pot.
The other sighed, looking to get things back on track. "What I'm saying is that you could see other people, maybe hang out with a couple of the attendees, or-".
"-I'd rather hang out with you", she interrupted calmly, eyes still fixed on the job at hand. "I think you're great".
House ignored the 'provocation', which this time was flirty rather than intellectual. "Genevieve Taylor will wanna speak to you".
"And I will speak to her".
"But she'll likely suggest grabbing a drink or something afterwards. That's where all the major stuff goes down".
"You're enough 'major stuff' for me at the moment. I'll do this thing, which, by the way, you signed me up to. Then I'm coming straight back. And then I'm gonna write in my diary about my grumpy roommate who I'm secretly crushing hard on".
"I'm being serious, Allison".
"So am I, Greg. FYI, I don't have a diary, so don't bother looking for it". Her mischievous green eyes met his for a couple of seconds before returning to scraping out the syrup pot with a second hunk of pastry.
House was finding it hard to come up with reasons in the face of Cameron's bald statements of apparent fact mixed with playfulness. It didn't help that her responses were so quick that it left no time for him to consider a suitable riposte. "I still think you should stay back Friday evening", he finished lamely. "Network opportunities".
"It sounds like you want me out of your hair for a reason". Finally, she gave him her full focus. A serious look replaced the mischievous one. "Am I cramping your style? Because you can tell me and it'd be fine, honestly. You'd be well within your rights to want some space".
"This is about your career only. You're not cramping me". Once again House was on the back foot.
Cameron examined him closely, in a way that he himself liked to do with every single other person in his life. Being on the receiving end didn't feel quite as cool. "Well", she continued eventually, "the only thing that would keep me in New York Friday night is if you wanted space. If you don't want space, then I'm coming straight back here. So…you want a coffee?".
"Stop changing the subject".
"Oh, there's more?". She seemed genuinely surprised.
"Well, I mean, not really", muttered House sullenly before sitting up straighter and attempting to project an air of authority. "I've said my piece".
"Right. So, d'you want a coffee? I'm making one to wash down the cinnamon".
"Umm. OK".
"Be right back". Cameron sauntered from the living room, leaving House feeling subtly defeated. Women were hard enough to debate at the best of times, but this woman's selective obstinacy, tempered by a great deal of experience dealing with himself, was a different beast. A doormat no longer. It was a massive turn-on.
"And she calls me a stubborn mule…", he murmured to himself.