I Slept With Dr. Gregory House And All I Got Was...

...A Place To Call Our Own?

'Ours?'

He wants me to move in with him? I can't just jump whenever he wants me to! Sure I like him...maybe even love him, but this is definitely putting the horse before the carriage. I frowned. Where had I heard that from? I think my mother said that once...

Anyway, I can't move in with House! It'll turn into him and Stacy all over again. I want to, but it's just not right...no, I can't do it.

But what if this is my only chance?

"No?" I said, not realizing I had said it out loud and more like a question than an answer.

"No?" he asked, taken aback with a raised eyebrow. "No what?"

Great, now I'm nervous because I was going to word that differently. Oh well, too late now. I shook my head. "I'm sorry, House, but I can't live with you."

"Huh?" he asked, innocently cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.

"It's just that...it seems like we're moving way too fast and I really want this to work, whatever it is that's going on between us, and-" I babbled.

"Cameron," he said, stopping me mid-rant, placing his hands on my shoulders. "I'm not asking you to move in with me."

My brain was working time and a half to comprehend the words he just spoke. "What? But...the keys…" I stammered.

He grinned maliciously. "Spare set. In case you ever find yourself too horny to contain yourself and need some House lovin'. That way, the doctor can cure you of said ailments when he gets home."

Home. He said home again. It was a very domesticated thing to say, but it felt oddly liberating to hear it. I smiled.

"Or if you just get bored or something, you can come on over," he mumbled softly, close to a whisper. I knew it was his smooth way of asking for company.

"Thanks," I smiled, blushing. "Just..." I paused, waiting until I had his full attention, "let me know ahead of time when you've got company over."

"Wilson hardly ever comes over anymore now that he's getting some from Cutthroat," he sulked as he thought the words through before saying them.

Sympathizing with him came easier since I felt like much of a loner myself and I gave him the most empathetic smile I could muster, trying not to blush. "Actually…I wasn't really referring to Wilson. But, I won't intrude if you have plans with him."

Before he could respond, Nurse Gracie walked in holding a folder.

"Dr. Cameron, here are your discharge papers," she said, timidly. I could tell House was making her uncomfortable by the unusual shyness she presented when she handed me the paperwork. She avoided eye contact with him at all costs and tried to maintain a safe distance from him. Smart woman.

"Thank you," I said, scanning over them habitually for mistakes. She stood nervously, waiting for me to sign off on them.

House knew what I meant when I had mentioned "company". The kind of company that looks great, feels good, and rips you off by the end of the night. To my surprise, he responded quite differently than I expected. Almost thoughtfully, you could say.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that."

Those words meant one of two things; either, "It's none of your business, so don't worry about it" or "I don't plan on hiring anyone anytime soon, so don't worry about it." I simply nodded, not wanting to look too happy on account of an unknown meaning to such a statement.

"So...food?" I asked, hopping down off of the hospital gurney and heading for the door. He nodded and followed closely behind me.

Taking notice to my walking speed, which, I suppose, was a little faster than normal, he commented on my eagerness for food. "Hungry?"

"I'm starving! I swear I could eat a whole elephant!"

"Well, there goes my next date idea. No circus or wild animals for you, young lady! Unless they're in cookie form; then you better share."

"Date idea?" I asked.

He glared at me. "Non-date."

"Right," I teased him. "Ok, no elephant. How about Chinese?"

"From elephants to cats and dogs," he half-smiled. "I'm surprised you're not a vegan."

"I like meat," I stated proudly with a tiny spark of mischief in my glance toward him. I wonder if he'll pick up on it…

I could tell he was trying to hold back a small smile.

"Yummy household pets it is!" He bounced the end of his cane off of the floor and we walked through the hospital lounge and out the door; ignoring all the inquiring stares being thrown our way.

"WHAT in the name of clinic duty is that?" I shrieked, looking down at the contents of Cameron's Chinese food container.

"They're fried dumplings," she said, stabbing one of them with her fork and holding it up for me to continue critiquing.

"That is truly revolting! How can you eat something that looks like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like it came from a biohazard waste facility!"

"House," she scolded me, "it's practically a meatball fried inside of dough."

"It still looks like something a cat hacked up," I insisted.

She grimaced at the thought and looked down at her food, not sure if she could eat it anymore. "Thanks."

"No problem," I smirked in triumph, on the brink of making her loose her appetite. It must've disgusted her pretty badly because she hesitantly sat the carton down on the coffee table and stood from the couch.

"I appreciate you letting me stay here, House," she thanked me, sincerity oozing from her words. The politeness made my stomach churn and it doubled as she tacked my last name on the end of it.

"Greg," I corrected her, my mouth half full of white rice drenched in soy sauce.

"Right," she nodded, smiling shyly at me. She walked over to the door and grabbed up her bags that she left there when we walked in. Noticing this, I narrowed my eyes and threw my carton down on the table and struggled to get up in a shocking, unnatural wave of panic. Afraid I did something wrong, I stumbled to my feet and hobbled a few steps towards her when she paused to look at me questionably.

"I invite you to stay and you're ready to bolt?"

She smiled and hoisted her overnight bag over her shoulder. "Actually, I'm getting kind of tired so I thought I'd get ready to turn in for the night. Bathroom?"

I nodded in the direction of the hallway. "Straight down the hall."

"Thanks," she said, walking off; the sound of her bare feet padded against my hardwood floor.

I let out a large sigh of relief and plopped back down on the couch. Picking up my food carton, I looked down into it and stared at it, contemplating what had just taken place. I thought she was leaving. And in all honesty, the idea scared the hell out of me. I then realized that if I had to let her go, it wasn't going to be easy. I got ready to stick my fork back into a pile of rice when Cameron's voice cut through the silence.

"Would it be alright if I took a shower?"

I jumped; startled by her returned presence and prayed she hadn't noticed from across the room. With one glance to the hallway, I discovered what she was wearing and dropped my fork into the bucket and set it down on the table absentmindedly, nearly missing it. All of my previous theories and speculations of what Cameron would wear to bed were all shot to hell. The fabric that adorned her slim figure was about as modest as your run of the mill hospital gown. Fortunately for me, it was only missing the giant gaping hole at the back.

She continued. "I usually take one in the morning, but if that would bother you, I could take one tonight, instead."

Instantly, my mind had shut off to what she was saying and was dwelling on the image she presented.

Cameron...

In my shower...

Glimpses of tan, baby-like, smooth skin with soap running down it...

Steam's emanating from above the shower curtain as she lets the hot water soothe her aching, tired muscles...

Water cascades down every glorious curve of her-

"Greg?"

The distant sound of my name on her voice brings me back out of my lustful, impure thoughts and I try shaking them from my memory.

"You lookin' for a raise? Because you're bound to get one, one way or another," I smirked.

She blushed. "It's all I had to wear."

"I'll consider myself lucky then."

She grinned. "Consider yourself cursed; this is more than I usually wear."

Bold. I liked it. Made me proud, even.

For some strange reason, my collection of sarcastic remarks was tainted by the urges and desires that were creeping out of my subconscious to the front of my mind. All I knew was that I wanted her. I wanted Allison Cameron.

NO! I reprimanded myself. She's too young, too naïve. Too fragile. Too pure. I'll only ruin her and everything good about her.

I shook my head. "What were talking about?"

She giggled and my stomach did a couple of somersaults. "Shower privileges. Yes or no?"

"Sure. Don't want you stinking up the place."

She shook her head. "Now or in the morning?"

I parroted her. "Don't care. Just don't ruin my beauty sleep."

"Ok, I think I'll wait until morning, than," she said, turning to head back down the hall. "Are you, uh, coming?"

I arched an amused brow at her way of wording and she blushed, stammering. "To bed?"

With a tilt of my head, I remained silent and watched humorously as she kept digging her own grave. Her cheeks reddened with every addition she tried to add to make it sound less sexual.

"I meant, the-the bedroom," she pointed to the room, "are you planning on going to bed anytime soon? Because, I-I, well, what I mean is…"

"Monster Jam's on in ten. I'm not gonna pass out until Gravedigger buries the competition."

She smiles at what had to be one of my lamest of all puns and slowly shuffles across the room to stand in front of me. I can tell she's nervous; her muscles are clenched tightly and she's wringing her hands. Crap. This is going to be something that relates to feelings and I just haven't had enough to drink to even consider the word, let alone hear her life story. Instead, surprisingly enough, Cameron doubled over at the waist, gently cupped both hands on the sides of my face and smiled wider. Then her right stroked the stubble of my couple-day old beard and she tipped her head to the side and placed a delicate kiss on my left cheek.

Normally, this would be the perfect time for me to mock her or fire at her with something sarcastic, but my brain doesn't seem to be functioning properly, giving her time to say, "Thanks. Goodnight, Greg" and skip back down the hall. Well, not literally skip, of course. Don't be an idiot...

"Hm." It's all I can say that really sums up what just happened. I'm not sure what to think or how to respond. Do I really need to? I mean, it is just Cameron, after all. Blowing a big sigh to my cheeks to puff them up and let it out; slowly letting them deflate, I decided I needed something to drink. Something hard after that, I should think.

Standing, I hobbled canelessly over to my cabinet and grabbed my bottle of liquid courage before making my way back to the couch. Single-malt, perfectly aged, liver-mauling Scotch. They say that a dog is man's best friend. Obviously they never had a drink before in their lives. Besides, if I wanted someone to fetch me my slippers or bring me the newspaper, I'd call one of my lackeys. If I wanted to be barked at for awhile, I'd hang out with Wilson. For someone obedient and loyal, I'd get Cameron.

Ah, yes…Cameron. The reason for this mind-numbing drinking session.

I popped the lid, poured myself a hearty glass and returned it to the table. Grabbing my glass, I made my way to the piano and set it down on a coaster. Normally, I'd never use a coaster, but I'd never forgive myself should my baby ever become "ringed" or damaged in any way.

Huh… Damaged. The piano's about the only thing in my life that isn't.

Removing the cover, I positioned myself in the center of the keys and let my fingers take on a mind of their own; moving with minds of their own, dancing along the ivory keys. The tune was familiar and it was after noticing this that I realized it was of my own composition; the very song I had written in high school and wasn't able to finish alone. Later on, a brain-damaged patient of mine (Paul? Peter? Phillip something or another? I can't remember…), came up with an ending to it that I had been searching for for years.

In the background of my thoughts, I had subconsciously changed songs and was now playing the sweet melody of Oscar Peterson's "Hymn to Freedom". I'm not quite sure, but the notes struck chords of security in me. A few songs later, I started to grow tired and my leg started to bite at me. I popped a couple Vicodin and downed the rest of my amber warmth, grabbed my cane and headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and was heading into the bedroom when I was confronted with an odd sight through the doorway.

Cameron was lying on the bed, peacefully asleep. This would've been considered normal if she'd been lying in correctly, but her head was at the end of the bed and her feet by my pillow. It was odd puzzle; a downright anomaly.

Doctors love anomalies, but they just downright bug me.

I pulled my cane up and held it like a sword and poked her still form with it in the shoulder. When she didn't move, I did it again, only this time a little harder. She heaved a large sigh and stirred; her eyes opened, taking in her surroundings. Only half-awake, her eyes were still slightly hooded. "I think there's been a mix-up with which part of your anatomy goes at which end of the mattress."

She sat up, looking around her and confirmed that her head and pillow were at the wrong end.

"Sorry," she replied, yawning and lying back down correctly. "I just loved hearing you play."

Stunned, yet relieved she was asleep once again, I nodded with a smile on my face that I knew she couldn't see. I climbed into bed and turned off the light, wondering what adventure tomorrow would bring.