Barbie and Ken
A.N. There's been some activity on this story recently. I'm glad it's still bringing people enjoyment after a few years!
I've been rereading it from the beginning, and there isn't much I would change. Commas are inconsistent, and I don't like my use of epithets. Will likely look to edit them out at some point. Except for 'the immunologist/neurologist/nephrologist'. I have a soft spot for the -ists. Sue me.
Not much later Cameron was breathing heavily, basking in the afterglow of a magnificent orgasm caused by House's mouth and fingers. "Greg…Greg…", she murmured, reaching down with a hand, groping around for his hair, and dragging him up to lie next to her.
"Yeah?".
"That was…amazing. Thank you".
"It's easy when your butt's so peachy".
"I want to do that again, but swear you won't tell anyone. Not Wilson, not Cuddy, not anyone in the office".
"Scout's honour", he smiled, propping up on an elbow to better observe her. Before long he reached across and brushed hair from her forehead.
She hummed in satisfaction and inclined slightly towards him. "What do you want to do today?".
"Stay in, eat pizza, have sex".
"We can do that whenever. How about inviting Wilson and Cuddy over tonight and we hang out or play cards or something?". Having recovered from her explosive climax, Cameron rolled over to lie on top of him so that their noses nearly touched.
"That works. Gotta say, I'm surprised you don't have any grand plan, since you're basically a stuffed animal made by grandma".
"Actually, I do have a plan, but it's more a weekend thing", she replied, kissing his nose before taking his hands lying on the bed and placing them on her ass.
"Sounds ominous…".
Cameron took a breath. In actual fact, what she was about to say had been rehearsed once or five times. One of the reasons why she had ensured to bring him breakfast and sex was because she wished him in as good a mood as possible. In the short time they had been back together, she had thought long and hard about a present for this birthday. House was not a person who treasured material goods, so she had intentionally kept these to a minimum. Instead, he seemed a man who preferred experiences: monster trucks, sporting fixtures, gambling, even Vicodin; all events, transient, 'you had to be there' moments. Impermanent by their nature, but all the more valuable for that.
So it was that Cameron had landed on a present which, though 'experience-heavy', could go one of two ways.
"Well, I originally wanted to take you to monster trucks again, but I couldn't secure tickets".
"That's OK. They're impossible to get, and we've been before together anyway".
Oddly enough, her heart began racing. "So, I, uh, sort of, booked, like, a…a hotel-trip-to-Connecticut-and-a-clam-chowder-place-Friday-to-Sunday". The last few emerged in a rush all at once. She also didn't make eye contact. Given that she was still lying on top of him, this was a challenge. But she managed it, nevertheless.
"That's-", he began.
"-we can totally cancel it if you don't want to go. I know a trip's a big deal, and I know that you prefer staying in. Especially since you just stated your preference for today. In fact, y'know, I'll just cancel; doesn't matter. No deposit or anything. Probably too soon for us to-".
House kissed her.
Cameron, still mid-splurge, was taken completely by surprise; her eyes remained open and her mouth closed. By the time she thought to accept his tongue, he had already pulled back.
"-be going away", she finished lamely, as soon as she were able.
"Too soon? I think not. We've been living together for months. Reckon we can handle a weekend in close Connecticut confinement".
The immunologist, so caught up in delivering her rehearsed points, ignored this receptive observation and carried on speaking as if she hadn't heard him: "and I remember a while ago at the Indian restaurant you saying how you'd like one day to explore New England and eat clam chowder-".
"-yes-".
"-and I remember you saying as well that you were bored being holed up in your room all the time. And I know that-".
"-Cameron-".
"-you're not technically trapped in your room anymore. But I thought that you might still enjoy getting out and-".
"-Cameron, can I-?".
"-about-".
"-talk now, please".
"What?".
"I'd like to talk now".
"Oh". Cameron's eyes slid to his and she, finally, breathed in. "Yeah, OK. I guess".
"I think it's a great idea", said House, the merest smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.
"Cancelling or going?".
"Going", he replied, before adding: "to Connecticut".
"Oh. Right".
Evidently she was still trying to process things. On more than one occasion House had recognised this reaction, as if she were surprised that he might wish to share in such activities with her. Last year, when she had behaved similarly upon revealing her date idea for a clarinet recital, the reflection arose that his ironic putdowns pre-relationship may have contributed to her lack of confidence. Things had developed since then, of course. Mostly he found it endearing, but a small part of him regretted that, even now, after everything they had been through together and apart, she still felt it necessary to take the defensive.
Defensive was bad. He had always preferred Cameron on the attack; passionate and genuine. So different to his brooding self, but so magnetic.
"Blondie", he said, pecking her nose.
"What?".
"Let's go away this weekend. I was thinking Connecticut someplace?".
"Umm, sure. It's weird, actually", she murmured, having recovered her poise, "because I've booked a place Friday night onwards".
"That is weird. Serendipitous, almost".
Cameron laughed. Then she said: "come on. Open your envelopes. After that I'll give you my presents".
"Dude, you know I'm not into presents. You shouldn't have-".
"-and you know that I like giving, buster".
"Ugh, fine".
With that, House placed a hand on each of her upper arms and tossed her off him like a ragdoll. Once again Cameron laughed, sweeping blonde hair from her eyes as she reclaimed her side of the bed, sat up, and looked on as he retrieved the several envelopes she had brought in with breakfast. The bagels, untouched, remained on their plates.
"Sorry, that was rough". He glanced across. "Did I hurt your ankle?".
"No".
House opened the first envelope, fished out a motorbike card, and read the message. Though Cameron, reading over his shoulder, couldn't recognise the handwriting of Blythe House she had guessed instantly its owner. During one of their many dates last year House had confessed to sharing with his parents his love for motorbikes. His father, allegedly, had not cared. But his mother had. The immunologist found it incredibly sweet how this simple thing reflected that interest expressed long in the past.
As Cameron watched him read the message and throw the card to the sheets, she silently swore that, when it came time (and the time would come) to raise their own children, they would nurture and treasure their hobbies, whatever they might be.
A card each from Wilson and Cuddy soon joined the first.
The fourth he regarded watchfully for a moment. The envelope, bright pink, displayed:
House
"Is this yours?".
Cameron said nothing.
"You're so oblivious sometimes", he sighed, nevertheless slipping a finger under the flap and retrieving the card. Ken and Barbie in a convertible.
"This looks familiar". He had got her a similar one two months ago.
"I'm glad. Proof you don't have Alzheimer's".
Flipping it open, he read the message:
House,
Happy millionth birthday.
With all my love.
For now, forever, always.
Your Cameron xxx
Unlike the others, this one ended up on the nightstand.
"Thank you", he said, kissing her on the lips.
"No problem. Stay there!". With that, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and sauntered from the room, completely naked.
House tilted his head to get a better angle.
Peachy indeed.
He sat back against the pillow propped against the headboard and closed his eyes. Traditionally not one for birthday celebrations (mainly because he didn't tend to have anyone to celebrate with), today was already looking up. Warm fuzziness, a near-constant companion these days, soon enveloped his limbs, especially as his brain flitted automatically to the prospect of a long weekend away and what they would do. London late last year was the nearest comparandum, and that had been pretty fantastic. There was no reason to suspect Connecticut would buck that trend. During their time apart he had lost all desire, seldom bothering even to dip into his extensive porn collection. Recently, however, like a pair of honeymooners, he and Cameron spent much of their spare time in the bedroom. As if by the flick of a switch, he had rediscovered his appetite.
Sure, it helped that a certain Chicago Blonde, by turns feisty and vulnerable, fired his blood simply by existing.
It wasn't all fun and games, though. Since Friday he had been quietly turning over several considerations. First on the list, obviously: destroying Turner. House's hands clenched the sheets. God, just thinking the name made him angry. The guy's profile picture, retrieved from the hospital server, smug and smirking, he had memorised in preparation for reconnaissance Thursday. Maybe Friday, too, even if it strictly breached the parameters of his return-to-work schedule.
Beyond that, he had given thought to Diagnostics and staffing. For the vast majority of his professional life, such a subject was far from his mind. But now he had Cameron to think about. At some point, given the noises she had been making, he guessed that she might float the idea of returning to Diagnostics. From a leadership perspective, he would happily take her back: the team could well use an immunologist's input, and he certainly missed her around the office.
The question was whether Cameron needed her old fellowship, which by its nature was ring-fenced. Foreman had made it clear that he saw diagnostics as a leadership pathway, but in truth his opportunity was limited; and it would be all the more so when House did finally make a full return.
House didn't care about Foreman's ambition. He cared deeply about Cameron, though, and she possessed a great deal of potential. All the reports he had heard about her work in the ER reinforced an impression crystallised from several years of watching her firsthand. If she stuck at it, she could go far. And even if not, she could join the immunology department and make rapid progress. Genevieve Taylor's approach at the London conference last year spoke to her credentials.
Yet Cameron had rejected Taylor's offer, and that was why he had been devoting increasing attention to the problem. From day one, the non-negotiable was his refusal to drag her down; if she wished to return to the fourth floor, it should not be for him.
"Ah, sorry about that; couldn't remember where I'd hidden them". Cameron returned, dumped several presents on the duvet, and clambered under the sheets.
"Mmm". House dragged his eyes to hers, casting away his reflections. Now was not the time.
"You OK?". She looked at him closely, smiling faintly.
"Uhuh", he managed, holding her hand. "Just thinking about stuff".
"Honestly, we don't need to go away this weekend. Whatever you wanna do".
"We're going away. Discussion over".
"Fine", she smiled, now widely.
"But we still need to find time for moving your stuff in. Couldn't do it last weekend. Nor this weekend".
Cameron shrugged, her pale shoulders rising and falling beneath the tangle of her messy bed hair. "I've been living out of your drawers for ages. Another few days ain't going to make any difference. Anyway, open your presents".
House picked up the nearest of the three. "When d'you get these?".
"Over the last couple of weeks", she replied, settling against her pillow propped up against the headboard. "Got 'em delivered to my place then shuttled across".
He didn't recognise the wrapping paper, which was unsurprising because he didn't own any. The first was a box, whose lid's lifting revealed a pair of sneakers. As it happened, his own—which he had not replaced for several years—were falling apart. But they were his own, and he disliked buying new clothes on principle.
He turned them over in his hands, that new shoe smell in his nose. Nike. They looked incredibly expensive.
"I know you're allergic to change, but your old pair were getting kind of battered".
"I guess I did need new ones. But they must've cost you a fortune", he replied doubtfully.
"Nah, not really. Doctors earn quite a lot. Dunno if you know that".
House placed the things to the side. "Well, thank you. I will wear them".
"Actually, I'm hoping you'll run them…into the ground".
"I'll do that, no worries".
For the next few minutes, House opened his presents as Cameron watched on. The rest were small offerings, but well-considered all the same: practical, worthwhile, and individual. Truly, she could claim to know him as well as Wilson and Cuddy. Maybe more so. In combination with their upcoming trip, Cameron had clearly spent a lot of money.
"We'll go halves on Connecticut".
"No. It's part of your present".
"Cameron, you've spent too much".
"Nah".
"Allison-".
"-I'll spend my own money however I like, Greg", she stated, gathering up the discarded wrapping and balling it onto the floor.
House frowned. He considered such things to be a wasteful expense, and he especially didn't like someone going to this expense on his behalf. For him, money was a game. Like borrowing thousands of dollars from Wilson just to measure how he evaluated their friendship and then paying it back. Or making him (or Cameron) pay for cafeteria food. Or, conversely, shelling out a thousand bucks for monster truck tickets. Or betting on the races. House was simultaneously frugal and frivolous: it mattered to mooch off Wilson precisely because it didn't matter. But, now, Cameron had bought him stuff because she cared. And that was a state of affairs he couldn't really appreciate nor understand.
"Y'know, most people would accept a gift happily", she mused.
"Well, I'm not 'most people'".
"We're agreed there".
"You've spent too much on me".
"I like spending money on you. If I can't buy my Ken pretty things, then who can?".
Once again he frowned. "You're pathetic".
"And you're adorable", she shot back, kissing his cheek.
"I've figured out what I want to do today".
"Yeah?".
"Let's drive to yours, pile our cars full of your crap, and bring it back here".
"That's not very exciting for your birthday".
"Actually, I can't think of anything more exciting".
Cameron raised her eyebrows and looked at House. His gaze did not waver. "Really?", she prompted, still extremely sceptical. "Anything at all, and you want to move stuff?".
"Yep. It's been a long time since I've lived with anyone officially. Let's do it". House tried to bonk her on the nose with his thumb, but instead she swung her legs over his to sit in his lap. "What are you-?".
"-you said 'let's do it'", she breathed. "So, let's do it".
"That's not what I meant. As you well know".
"I don't think I do know. I'm blonde, remember? Not…vewwy…smart". The last three words emerged in her patented valley girl accent.
House and Cameron would not leave the bedroom for the next two hours.