Archive of Our Own

God, it was so laughable.

She’d just told House that she was officially giving up her pursuit of him. “I thought you were too screwed up to love anyone. I was wrong. You just couldn’t love me. It’s okay. I’m happy for you.” 

And yet, as she went to her locker to get her coat and bag, it wasn’t the words she’d just spoken ringing in her ears. It wasn’t House’s face, blank and unreadable as she made her pronouncement.

It was Wilson. Wilson’s face and voice in her head. She could remember it as clearly as if their conversation had taken place mere seconds ago.

“Oh, it’s not you I’m worried about. It’s been a long time since he opened up to someone, and I…you better be absolutely sure you want this because…if he opens up again and gets hurt, I don’t think there’s going to be a next time.”

And she’d said: “You’re worried I’m going to break his heart?”

That was the joke, of course. House, getting his heart broken? What a gas. He’d told her point-blank that she didn’t know how to love (Boy, wasn’t that ironic – him telling her that she didn’t know how to love). That she wanted only charity cases she could fix. He’d rejected her, despite her attempts to tell him that she didn’t want to fix or change him (“I’m not expecting you to be someone you’re not.”). That she wanted him for who he was, warts and all. And now here he was, practically stalking the woman that had foisted the debridement on him against his will. He was capable of love, but apparently enjoyed heart-break, considering his pursuit of the ex who was now married to someone else. Oh yes, she told herself bitterly, getting into her car and slamming the door shut as hard as she could. He’s just so fragile, so delicate. So easily hurt. Wilson was right, he so needs to be treated with kid gloves. She laughed bitterly, started the car with a roar, and peeled out of the parking lot.

*~*~*

Wilson was utterly mystified at his best friend’s behaviour. He could definitely understand House trying to be the hero by curing Mark, so he could show Stacy, at minimum, how brilliantly wonderful he still was. Not to mention that Mark’s condition had been, at the time, a puzzling medical case, and Greg was always hot to treat those, no matter what. But everything that had happened since….First, Greg had told Cuddy to go ahead and hire Stacy, even though he ought to have predicted that he was not going to handle her presence well.

And then, mere weeks later, House had started taking his anger out on Cameron. Or at least, a lot more than usual. OK, maybe she’d gotten a little over-emotional about Cindi, but from what Wilson had heard through the PPTH gossip mill, House had been way nastier than necessary. But then again, given House’s almost complete lack of reaction to Stacy herself, it made a kind of sick sense that he’d taken his anger out on a safer object – another woman who cared for him. And who had, in some fashion, proven herself willing to put up with a lot of Greg’s shit.

Wilson knew that, despite evidence to the contrary, House liked Cameron. He’d seen Greg the day after he’d gone to the monster truck rally with her, and when Jim had asked him if he’d had fun, there had been this look on House’s face. Only the briefest of flashes, of course – Greg had his reputation as a miserable S.O.B. to maintain, after all - but it had been there. And Jim knew that look, rare as it was. A look that said that House had enjoyed himself. And was surprised that he had. After that, Jim had been almost certain it was only a matter of time before the hospital’s most famous misanthrope started dating the pretty young doctor. And if this had a positive effect on House, which the signs appeared to suggest, Wilson was all for it.

But then, nothing had happened. There had still been some signs, such as House’s Glare of Death when Wilson had jokingly hinted at making a pass at Cameron. And Jim had also witnessed a few of those patented House stares, aimed at Cameron when she wasn’t looking. The kind of stare that House gave someone that interested him. Stacy had initially caught House’s attention by being interesting to him, and now he was, at least occasionally, bestowing the same kind of attention on Cameron. In Jim’s mind, these brief moments were confirmation that there really was a soft spot for Allison Cameron in House, behind the moat and sea monsters and spikes and cauldrons of boiling oil and huge castle walls that made up Greg’s defenses.

But, as Jim ought to have expected, House had stayed behind those defenses, instead of daring to grow up, to live a little. Surprise, surprise. And then Stacy had come along, and then House seemed to have gone completely off the rails. First ignoring Stacy and taking things out on Cameron. And then ignoring Cameron, and starting to take way too much interest in his ex and her possible residual feelings for him.

Jim kept trying to remind Greg what an idiot he was being, that Stacy wasn’t going to take him back. Asking him why he would even want her back, when he’d been so certain that she wasn’t trustworthy. Never mind the fact that Stacy was married. Not that the latter was that great an argument for Wilson to use, though. House had just glared at him and said: “Married, huh? Never stopped you, did it, Jimmy?” Jim tried other tactics, instead snarkily pointing out to House, repeatedly, how his real focus (no matter how he tried to reframe it as revenge) was to win Stacy back. How his attempts to come between her and Mark belonged on General Hospital, not in Princeton-PlainsboroHospital. But no matter how Jim nagged him, it didn’t get House to stop what he was doing. And Jim should’ve predicted this, after 9 years of being this man’s only real friend.

On top of this, Wilson felt bad for Cameron. He guessed that she’d gotten very confused about House’s mixed signals. Jim knew, through the trusty grapevine, that House had flirted (hidden, most likely, as ‘sexual harassment’) with Cameron. Not to mention the whole monster truck rally thing. Then, Greg completely turned around and pushed her away when she’d tried to get closer to him. And although neither Greg nor Cameron had given out any substantive details about their ‘date’, Wilson was fairly sure that House had managed to sabotage it. His specialty.

Now, fast-forwarding to the present, House was chasing after Stacy, leaving Cameron on the sidelines (when he wasn’t abusing her, that was). And Jim felt even worse about the whole business when he remembered how he’d told Cameron to watch her step on the date, to make sure not to hurt House.

Perhaps as penance for that, Jim had tried to help get them together since the date had taken place. First, he’d tried to push House into going out with Cameron a second time (third, if you counted the monster truck rally). Wilson had tried to (only partially jokingly) hold up Cameron’s positive traits as things that House needed in his life. Although he’d stopped short of reminding House about the Glare of Death, and the Post-Monster-Truck Look, knowing House would just call his memory into question.

When Stacy had arrived on the scene and Greg had started shifting all his focus to her, Jim had shifted gears, trying to point out the uselessness of pursuing her, the way House was effectively sabotaging himself with his obsession. But all of his attempts to push Greg hadn’t gone anywhere. And House didn’t want to recognize the negative effect that Stacy’s presence was having on him.

So finally, almost out of sheer frustration, Jim had tried to fill in the gaps where House was being, at worst, negligent in his duties as Cameron’s boss. When he saw what was happening between her and House over Cindi, he tried to mentor her, tried to teach her what he knew about getting too close, too emotionally involved with one’s patients. To do what House was unable—or unwilling—to do. And Jim knew more about this sort of thing, anyway.

“It’s not your job to be her friend. Do you understand? And it’s not worth it. She feels better her final few days, and you’re not the same - maybe for years.”

She hadn’t gotten it, he knew. “When a good person dies, there should be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. Somebody should be upset.”

He still wasn’t sure, even now, if what he’d said had gotten through to her. And House had been especially snarky to him the next day. It seemed that he’d heard through the PPTH grapevine (or, more likely, by eavesdropping on some oblivious nurses) that Wilson had been trying to help Cameron.

That was when the idea had first been planted. Trying to push House hadn’t helped things. But trying to help Cameron, if in a different context, had gotten House’s attention. Even with Stacy around. Interesting. Could Jim make something of that? Could he still push House, but indirectly?

Even if it didn’t work in the end, so what? They said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions, but wouldn’t it be an even greater sin to stand by and watch his best friend make a mess of everything? To watch him grow more and more obsessed with Stacy? To allow him to continue to abuse Cameron, who had done nothing to hurt House and deserved far better treatment from him? He’d be a pretty lousy friend if he just gave up now, before trying every last possible avenue.

Not to mention that Stacy was his friend, too. Distracting House from his petty need for revenge was also in her best interests. Wilson didn’t presume to judge whether or not Stacy had made the wrong decision in ordering the debridement, but it was done, and she’d moved on with her life, and now it was high time that House did the same. And besides, even if Stacy deserved punishment for what she’d done, Mark surely didn’t. And he would pay, if House managed to destroy their marriage.

*~*~*

Two weeks had passed since the whole debacle with Cindi. House and Stacy seemed to have achieved an uneasy truce. At least, that’s what Allison figured, since House was no longer using her as his personal doormat.

But even with two weeks to dull the awkwardness, when Wilson paged her to his office at the end of the day she was sorely tempted to ignore his page and just go home. She was still a little embarrassed by how emotional she’d gotten over Cindi, and how Wilson had witnessed that. She still thought that she was right, that she’d been doing the right thing by fighting for Cindi, using every diagnostic tool at her disposal to ensure that she was drawing the right conclusions about Cindi’s illness. But looking back on it now, she probably should have maintained more of an emotional distance.

Just to add to the fun, she thought darkly, Wilson probably even told House about it. Which might even explain why House was backing off – maybe he thought that with this new information, he’d finally ‘figured her out’. Probably figured that he’d gotten confirmation for his crazy notion that she got involved with people only because of some kind of twisted saviour complex.

But despite her misgivings, she went. House was already keeping her at arm’s length, so talking to Wilson couldn’t possibly do any more damage.

              *~*~*

Wilson looked up as Cameron knocked on his door. “Dr. Cameron,” he said, trying to project an aura of friendliness. “Please, come in and sit down.”

Allison did as he requested, perching on the edge of the seat. He looked a little nervous to her. What does he want? she wondered. To rub some salt into the wounds?

Jim folded his hands in front of him on the desk. He’d given this a lot of thought, and he now felt sure of the right course of action – based on what he knew of Greg – but he had to go carefully. Cameron had been hurt, and he needed to handle this carefully.

“Cameron,” he started, pausing to take a deep breath. “Do you still have feelings for House?” The look on her face immediately told him that it probably wasn’t the best opening gambit, though. Oops.

Startled by his question, she glared at him silently for a few seconds, before she managed to get some control of her sudden anger. How dare he involve himself in this? How dare he try to drag her back in, after she’d been trying so hard – and failing – to stop caring about House and what he did (or didn’t do)? Of course, she realized at some level that it was really House she was angry at. And yet, it was safer to be angry at Wilson. House would just brush her anger aside like cobwebs and go back to limping after Stacy with his tongue hanging out. And she could hurt Wilson; his defenses weren’t even half as good as House’s. Payback for his stupid warning to her, before her date with House at Café Spoletto. And payback for trying to drag her right back into this mess, right now.

But then she realized that, all things considered, it was probably better to get the Hell out of here. Before she tried to poke Wilson’s eyes out with one of his golf trophies. She could hurt him, but that didn’t mean she ought to. Hurting is House’s game, she thought darkly. “That, Dr. Wilson, is none of your business,” she said, managing to sound calm and cold, despite all the negative emotions warring inside her mind. She started to get out of her chair, intending to make a quick escape.

Crap, Jim thought. He put his hand out, trying to stay her. What could he say, to get her to stay? “He’s interested in you, Cameron.” And he could’ve said more, but he paused to see her reaction.

“Yeah,” she answered, short and clipped, starting to move to the door. “As a doctor. And some days,” she added, thinking of Cindi, “not even that.” She put her hand on the doorknob.

“Cameron, please. I know he’s good at hiding his feelings, but I also know he feels more than that for you. I’m just sorry that he’s too much of a coward to show it.” He hoped he’d piqued her interest.

She turned back to face him, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. She didn’t want to jump back into this. Not now. She didn’t know what kind of game Wilson thought he was playing, but she wanted none of it.“Right. Bull. Shit.” she stated flatly. God, I’m so fucking tired of all of this. “He doesn’t want me, he wants Stacy.”

Aha! Jim thought. And now for the hook. “He wants Stacy because he wants you.”

Allison froze, hand still on the doorknob. She turned to glare at Wilson. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Sit down, and I’ll explain it to you.” Jim folded his hands in front of himself, waiting. “Please, Dr. Cameron.” He put on his best ‘pleading’ look.

Against her better judgement, Allison went back to her seat, sitting back and folding her arms. If House had been there, he undoubtedly would’ve made some comment about her ‘clenching’, but he wasn’t. “I’m sitting, so explain.”

Boy, she even sounds like Greg. But Jim pushed that thought aside. “Think about it, Cameron. He’s been hurt. He’s afraid to trust anyone any more.”

“I got that,” Allison said, still irritated. “And yet, he continues to pursue the one person—”

Jim held his hand up, stalling her. “Because he can’t have her. She’s married, and obviously devoted to Mark. You, on the other hand, are single. Available. He can’t even count on professionalism to get in the way of the two of you, because Cuddy’s willing to overlook the fact he’s your boss. If he pursued you, he’d catch you. If he pursues Stacy, it’s safe, because she won’t let him in. And he doesn’t have to worry about opening up and getting hurt. For him, the perfect plan.”

 “So what? Is that supposed to help me?” Chasing House hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Letting him go hadn’t gotten her anywhere, either. Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t. And now that she thought about it, Jim’s ‘revelation’ wasn’t really news to her. She’d thought a few times since Stacy’s arrival that House now had a convenient excuse to not pursue anything with her. So now she had confirmation. Big fucking deal.

Cameron started to get out of her seat again. She had more important things to do, especially given that Jim wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already known at some level.

“Cameron, please.” He tried again to get her to stay. But then he hesitated, feeling that he needed to have all the information he could, if his twisted little matchmaking attempt was going to work. “Just wait a moment. There is a point to why I paged you here. But before I can discuss it with you….please, I don’t want to pry, but…would you tell me what happened on your date with him?”

The anger spiked higher inside her, whirling, wanting to be released. And yet, she saw the concern on Wilson’s face, the sympathy, and she held it back, fought it down. He’d been trying to help her, she knew, by warning her not to break House’s heart, all those months ago. And, uncomfortable as it was to discuss these things with him, he was trying to help her now. How much crap has House put him through? she wondered suddenly. Tons, I’m certain. And yet, he’s still willing to go to bat for him. She didn’t know if that made Wilson the most loyal of friends, or a really greedy masochist. And then she heard House’s voice in her head: “Why can’t both be true?”

After wavering hesitantly for a long moment, she finally decided that it couldn’t hurt to let Wilson into her confidence. Hell, House had probably already bragged to Wilson about how he’d ruined their date, so it wouldn’t make things any worse if she told him her side of the story. She settled back into the chair, sagging slowly into it.

“He…I made the mistake of asking him how he felt. About me, about us.” She could feel her cheeks heating up at the memory of her stupid question to him. Why was it that, whenever she’d been around him back then (and sometimes even now), she made such a complete mess of things? “He told me that I didn’t know how to love. That I looked for men to fix, which was not only why I married a dying man, but why I wanted him. That he was a ‘charity case’, and I was the ‘non-profit organization’.”

She paused, drawing in a deep breath, surprised at the sadness she still felt. She made herself meet Wilson’s soft brown eyes again. “And then he reeled off this whole list of all his flaws. And that was pretty much it. We ate dinner in near silence, and then he took me home, dropped me off, and said he’d see me at work the next day. That was it.” Her sadness increased, but she didn’t want to cry in front of Wilson, so…she used it to feed the anger, laughing bitterly instead.

Jim raised his eyebrows, wondering at her strange laughter. “Something’s funny?”

She tried to regain control of her emotions once again, but couldn’t resist throwing a verbal barb at Wilson’s well-meaning face. She couldn’t help it. All these months of pain, and she wanted someone else to finally hurt, even a little bit, for it. “You. You warned me not to break his heart. That’s rich. He tore my heart out and…and…” She paused, trying to come up with an appropriate phrase to describe just how effortlessly he’d cut her down that night. Finally, she finished, “he danced a one-legged rumba on it!” Her voice was rising, and she worked to control her anger again. That’s enough, she berated herself. Stop it. “If anyone got hurt that night, it wasn’t him”, she finished more quietly.

Jim did indeed feel guilty about that. But that was partially why he was doing this, wasn’t it? “I’m so sorry, Cameron. I guess I thought that if he was ready to take the step of taking you out to dinner, that he’d at least try to let you in. But I forgot how stubborn he is, how set in his ways…” He trailed off and paused. Wondering how best to approach this. “Let me make it up to you.”

She stared at him, wondering what he was up to. “And how are you going to do that? Tie him to his office chair until he agrees to date me again? That won’t work, unless you take away his Gameboy first.” She could still hear the edge in her own voice, her anger still fighting to get back out, to strike at someone. But then the mental image her words created made her smile a little, and she felt the anger and the hurt inside her starting to cool.

He smiled, glad to see that she was attempting to make a little light of all this. She was more resilient than he’d thought. Good, she’d need to be. “You see how taken he is with Stacy, how obsessively he pays attention to her? If you want that, if you want him to give you his full and undivided attention like that, I think I know exactly how to get him to that point.” 

She didn’t know about the ‘obsessive’ part, but the rest, maybe. It sounded hopeless, but…what could she lose by trying? “How? And besides, I already ‘publicly’ told him I was ‘letting him go’.” She felt her cheeks heating yet again. God, being around House could make her so stupid, sometimes.

“So much the better,” Jim said. Oh yes, if they played this right, there were going to be fireworks. “Here’s what we have to do…”

*~*~*

At first, House didn’t notice anything unusual going on amongst his colleagues. He helped Jimmy treat Andi, the 9-year-old Wunderkind, he helped Cuddy with her handyman – he couldn’t remember the guy’s name, something that sounded like a pasta dish – and he went on playing his little games of push and pull with Stacy.

But then he started to notice things. First, he’d caught Jim in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room a time or two, chatting in a friendly manner with Cameron. House didn’t think anything of it at first, since Jim seemed to have a legit reason for being there. Besides, House had more important things to attend to, like ruining the PPTH career of a certain ex-girlfriend. He didn’t have the time to occupy himself with ‘less important matters’.

He managed, this way, to remain oblivious for a while. But when he was paged to Jimmy’s office a few times and caught Cameron there, smiling and apparently shooting the shit with Wilson like they were old friends, he started to wonder what was up.

Still, he did his best to stay on plan. Diagnostic cases. Gameboy. Clinic duty. More Gameboy. Carrying out his Grand Plan for Stacy Domination. Still more Gameboy, still more clinic. Snark at Cuddy. Try to thoroughly annoy Chase and Foreman. Snark at Cameron. More cases, more Clinic, more Gameboy. More undermining of a certain female PPTH lawyer. And he told himself that he didn’t care if Cammie and Willy were becoming friends. So what?

Except, he saw them together yet again, sitting in the cafeteria. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but Cameron was laughing and smiling, and Wilson was looking very pleased by her amusement. Like it was some special gift that she was bestowing upon him and him alone. And then they leaned forward towards each other. Leaned closer. Talking together in a way that looked decidedly intimate, and House looked down and realized that he was clutching his cane so tightly that his knuckles were white.

He limped off as fast as he could. Who cares? he told himself. I have a certain female lawyer to annoy. Except, apparently, his brain had other ideas. Even as he went through his usual daily M.O. (Diagnostic cases. Gameboy. Clinic duty. More Gameboy. Carrying out his evil plans for Stacy domination. Still more Gameboy, still more Clinic. Snark at Cuddy. Try to thoroughly annoy Chase and Foreman. Snark at Cameron. More cases, more Clinic, more Gameboy. More undermining of a certain female PPTH lawyer), and even as he tried to occupy the slow periods by plotting new and inventive ways to work his way between Mark and Stacy, to get on Stacy’s nerves professionally, to get her to chase him…his mind’s eye kept breaking in, to present him with other images. Cameron laughing. Wilson smiling at her. The way they’d leaned in, their faces getting closer together. The quick warm flash of a smile that she’d bestowed upon Wilson before leaving, when he’d caught the two of them talking in the Oncology office.

Fuck, he thought, pushing the images away forcefully. Or trying to. It was like the classic psychology experiment – tell someone not to think of a ‘white rabbit’, and that’s all they’re liable to think about. So instead, he just kept telling himself that he didn’t care, that it was none of his business who Jimmy hit on. House’s master plan was to get into Stacy’s tight pants – or to wreck Stacy’s marriage, at any rate – and that, plus his day job, was all that ought to concern him. He didn’t care what - or who - Cameron did in her spare time. He shouldn’t care. Didn’t. Not for a second. Not half a second, even.

Or so he told himself. Until a few days (and a few more glimpses of bosom buddies Wilson and Cameron) later, when he saw Cameron holding hands with ‘TB Doc’. That jolted him. Even just standing there watching them, his traitorous mind’s eye showing him jump-cuts of Cameron and TB Doc holding hands, mixed with images of her smiling at him. And with even a few select movie clips from the Cameron and Wilson love-fest thrown in, just for giggles. Repeating over and over in his mind. The endless movie matinée from Hell.  

And he started to get angry. Why, he didn’t know. Cameron had let him go. She’d said as much. And he hadn’t pursued. He wanted Stacy back. Really. He didn’t care. Really. So why should he be angry? If Cameron wanted to screw Wilson, if she wanted to run off to Africa with TB-Idiot, if she wanted to go to Atlantic City and strip for high-paying CEOs on the weekends, let her. It was no skin off his nose, he had more important puzzles to solve, higher-stakes games to play.

He shouldn’t have been angry. Had no reason to be. He didn’t care, remember? But he was. So when he realized that they were still holding hands, he’d stormed into TB Doc’s hospital room, turning off the AC, throwing crap on the floor, trying to flush the guy’s cell down the toilet…and all the while, that voice in his head, arguing with his mind’s eye, insisting: You don’t care. You don’t care. Really.

However, for someone who didn’t care, he sure spent a lot of time thinking about it over the next few hours. Those endless movie reels in his head, featuring Cameron and two handsome young male leads, they kept on playing. There was no room any more inside his skull for plotting his revenge on Stacy. There was still, thankfully, room for diagnostic cases and clinic patients, but his free mental moments were all rapidly turning into “As the Cameron Turns”, or maybe “Guiding Cameron Light”, or perhaps even “The Young and the Cameron”.

He tried to defuse things, tried to get all the ‘Cameron-clutter’ out of his own mind. Get his attention back onto Stacy, where it belonged. Trying to minimize the importance of the ‘Cameron issue’. He told himself he was just interested to know who she preferred – Wilson, playboy extraordinaire? Or, given that whole ‘fix-it’ fetish of hers, would she go for Mr. TB or Not TB? He has the same ‘pathetic sincerity’ issues, they ought to get along famously, he thought venomously to himself. It was just another puzzle to him. That was all. It wasn’t like he actually cared who Cameron dated. It wasn’t that he wanted her for himself. Nope. He didn’t. Not even for a half-second.

Later, he’d asked her casually – it meant nothing, really - if she was going to go out with TB-Idiot. He told himself it was still about the puzzle, the game, trying to predict which ‘hot young stud’ she’d go for, just out of his own amusement. Just to pass the time between interesting medical cases. So when she calmly said that she wouldn’t, that there wasn’t any ‘future’ with TB-Idiot, he should’ve felt victorious. He’d figured that once TB Guy was all better, she’d lose interest. He’d called it, he was a genius. Look out, Nobel Prize for Understanding Women and their Motivations, here I come, he snarked to himself.

He should’ve made bets with Chase and Foreman, raking in the money. Oh well, next time.

And yet, even as he went through his ‘label’ routine for her, simultaneously proving his point to Cameron, absolving himself in Cuddy’s eyes, and both getting the clinic complainer off his case and giving her a footache into the bargain – Man, I’m good! he thought – he wasn’t feeling victorious. He should have been happy, should’ve been dismissing the solved puzzle of Cameron from his mind. And going back to the important puzzle – how to get under Stacy Warner’s skin. Instead, the new thought running ceaselessly through his mind was: Had she dumped TB Guy because Wilson was available to her?

For two days, the idea would not leave him alone. He kept trying to keep his emotions in check. He kept trying to focus on Stacy. But it proved near impossible. Hell, even focusing on his job was becoming difficult. He had to do something.

So when he spotted Cameron and Wilson together in the cafeteria yet again, even though they seemed to be discussing nothing more romantic than a cancer patient Wilson was treating (or so the file between them seemed to indicate), he decided he was going to confront Wilson about it. It’s the responsible thing to do. I don’t need the tension between my team and my colleague if he fucks her and dumps her, he told himself. Only that. That’s why I’ve been thinking about it so much lately. It’s because I don’t want my team to be compromised. Yeah.

*~*~*

The plan was working, Jim was sure of it. He’d caught House glaring at them, at him, from time to time. Of course, every time this happened, Greg had either swiftly looked away, apparently distracted himself with something else, or left the area, but Jim knew that eventually House’s limit would be reached, and he’d crack. He’d start to interrogate. House would definitely interrogate him. And even Cameron, if all went according to plan.

And so he was not surprised at all when, only a few days after that famous TB doc was discharged, House was rapping at Wilson’s office door with the handle of his cane. Jim could practically see the angry black storm cloud above the other man’s head, and he hid a smile, motioning Greg in. He’d have to play this carefully, but he had every hope that it could be done.

House limped in and stood in front of Wilson’s desk, towering over his best friend, glowering. He didn’t want a repeat of the triumphant “You’re in trouble!” speech, but damned if he was going to sit by and let Jim’s issues screw up one of his team members.

“You and Dr. Cameron have been getting pretty close lately. Cruising for wife number four?” he began, snarkily, reaching into his pocket for some Vicodin.

Jim maintained his calm demeanor and shrugged. He had to play this carefully. If House even realized for a minute that he was being played- “She’s available, after all, isn’t she?”

There was the anger again, churning inside him like acid. “She is. But that doesn’t mean she deserves the singular dishonour of being Mrs. Wilson Number Four. And besides, what about Julie? Don’t you think it’s her business who you’re doing in your spare time?”

“Are you suggesting that I’m a lousy catch?” Jim commented in a mildly mocking tone, deliberately not answering (or reacting to) House’s last question. No need to drag Julie into this. “I thought you’d cornered the market on that niche.”

House couldn’t help himself – he started to limp-pace back and forth. If he didn’t, he might start beating Wonderboy Oncologist with his cane. “I haven’t been married three times.”

Jim watched House’s agitation with a strange mix of triumph and guilt. “No, you’ve never been married at all.”

“Your point?” House asked, stopping dead and turning to glare at Jim.

“Let me tell you how relationships with women work, since I have some relevant experience in that area. If you let the girl get away – which you did – that means she’s fair game for anyone else that cares to make a play for her. So you don’t have the right to come in here and tell me to lay off.”

If looks could kill, House was sure Jim would be lying dead on the floor right now. “If you distract her, screw with her emotions, it’ll affect the functioning of the team. That makes it my right.” And still, the voice in his head insisting: I don’t care.

“Allison is an adult, Greg.” Jim didn’t miss the sudden tightening of House’s jaw at his casual use of her first name. Good. “That means she can make her own decisions. It means she can go out with whomever she wants. And it means that she doesn’t need you to play nursemaid.”

House couldn’t think, for once, of a single thing to say. If he argued further in that vein, he might as well hang a big blinking neon sign around his neck, saying “I want Cameron.” All his thought processes seemed to have frozen. What the Hell was happening to him? He tried to get his stalled brain to ‘turn over’.

Jim paused, waiting to see what House would say or do. When House said nothing for a few long moments, he again thought, Good. Speechless House was surely a good sign in this kind of situation. Now if he could just push the right button…“Besides,” he went on, casually, “you’re too busy chasing after Stacy, trying to wreck her marriage. Letting Allison go really is for the best, for both of you. I like my women pretty and smart, but also caring and empathetic. You’ve got Stacy for the first two, and the last two obviously don’t really interest you. May as well let a man who appreciates those aspects of her have her for himself.”

Have her for himself. Have her for himself. The words kept bouncing in House’s head, spinning and dropping through the sudden red haze that filled his mind, clunking around in there like sharp stones. A man who appreciates her. She’s fair game. Play nursemaid. For himself.

Before his homicidal urges got the better of him, House turned abruptly and shoved himself through the doorway, limping out into the hall without even a backward glance. Limping away as if he was a man with a very important appointment to keep.

Jim sat back in his seat, not surprised at all by the tension in his back. Getting House really angry was frankly a little scary – who wanted to get a cane-shaft in the face, after all? – but if it was the only way to make Greg realize how badly he needed to make a move on Cameron...

He wasn’t concerned about his friendship with Greg being damaged by his little game. Greg had no other friends, for one thing. Jim seriously doubted that Carl in Bookkeeping was a serious replacement. For another, Jim was willing to bet that if Greg let Cameron in, being around her would mellow him out, if only slightly. Assuming, of course, that he didn’t manage to botch it royally again. Still, Jim thought that was at least a little less likely this time. Greg wouldn’t be able to amass his usual defenses and rationalizations, now that he was angry. He’d just act on instinct, Jim knew, and that was the whole point.

He allowed himself a rare moment of smugness, thinking about how well his little plan had worked. Once he’d explained to Cameron the necessity of her being less open about her emotions and activities to House, the rest had been easy. And Jim himself had made sure never to mention Cameron in House’s presence again (nor to push House about a relationship with her), knowing from long experience that House would likely see Wilson’s sudden silence on the matter as highly suspicious.

After that, all it had taken was to let House see the two of them together. It had been a bit of a struggle, finding things to talk about, but they’d managed. Shop-talk, mostly. An occasional comparison of notes about how House appeared to be reacting to their little ‘experiment’. And, once in a while, weightier topics like how Wilson had learned to distance himself appropriately from his patients. And they’d even traded the occasional funny or rueful story about House himself. They both cared about Greg and were loyal to him, each in their own particular way. And that created a sort of kinship between them.

And now it seemed that their game had done the trick. House suspected (wrongly) that Jim was seeing Cameron, and had gotten angry enough to confront him. And if Jim wasn’t mistaken, House’s next step would be to confront a certain young ingénue doctor, one that had fallen in love with her gruff, older mentor. And if Cameron continued to play the game, Jim had no doubt that Greg would indeed be forgetting completely about a certain Stacy Warner, in very short order.

*~*~*

Allison had no clue if Wilson’s master plan was working, but she kept telling herself to be patient. Rome hadn’t been built in a day…and their construction workers hadn’t been busy obsessing over women from their past.

She sat at her usual desk in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, answering emails and idly sorting through House’s mail. They were between cases at the moment and she was bored. And this gave her plenty of time to worry about her little ‘experiment’ with Wilson . Okay, so House had seemed to go a little crazy after she’d been holding hands with Sebastian. As crazy as he’d been when they’d been trying to figure out Mark Warner’s diagnosis. But did that mean that House had been jealous of her and Sebastian? Had he even noticed that she and Wilson were ‘hanging out’ together? No, she corrected herself. He’s noticed. I just don’t know how he’s going to interpret it – if he bothers to, wrapped up in Stacy as he is right now.

Still, she figured there was no harm in continuing the ‘experiment’ for at least a little while longer. If House continued to ignore them, she supposed that after another week or two she could just thank Wilson for trying and gracefully withdraw. Focus on learning as much as she could from House about diagnostics, and on finishing out her fellowship.

And if House got jealous…she didn’t allow herself to go there. In case he disappointed her yet again.

She supposed that Wilson was right, that House had felt something for her in the past, before Stacy had breezed back into his life. Wilson had told her about the Glare of Prolonged and Agonizing Death that House had given him when he’d even hinted at making a pass at her. And to be honest, it was that confession from Wilson that had really sold her on even attempting this game. House might have had all his masks firmly in place when talking to her, but she supposed he had to let the masks drop, at least momentarily, in front of someone, and James Wilson seemed the most likely candidate.

The only question in her mind now, was whether House had enough Stacy- and medical-case-free attention to—

That was when the door to the conference room – the one that connected with House’s office – swung open. House limped in, and then stood there silent, those unnerving cyan eyes locked on her. She realized she was holding her breath, wondering what this was about. Almost-panicky questions rampaging through her mind: Was he angry about something completely unrelated to her, and just looking for a handy punching bag? Or, had he been noticing her and Wilson hanging out together, and things had finally come to a head?

Either way, it looked like Hurricane Gregory was about to make landfall. And she wondered just how much would be left unchanged in its wake.

House stalked into the room. He was angry. Why, he still wasn’t really sure. Then again, he really didn’t know what he wanted from Stacy, either, so uncertainty was clearly the order of the – Day? Month? Year? Millennium? Whatever. All he knew was that he and Cameron were going to have a talk. Now. And that he wasn’t going to have it here, not in this fucking fishbowl of an office.

Allison watched, frozen, as House limped over, finally pausing beside her. She steeled herself, almost half-expecting a blow, and thinking for the first time that maybe pushing House’s jealousy button hadn’t been the smartest of plans.

It was only now, now that he was towering over her, that House realized Jim had never directly answered his question. That he still didn’t know for sure if he’d been making moves on Cameron. Nor if she’d been reciprocating. Well, looked like he was about to find out. But again, not here.

“You’re coming with me,” he said to her.

She made herself look up at him, studying his expression. Something’s changed, she realized. The anger was still there, but something else was there as well. She’d only seen it on his face before in one other context. When he’d been watching Stacy. She hesitated to put a name to it, but…was that possessiveness?

House shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to control his agitation. She wasn’t obeying him – wasn’t doing anything but sitting there, looking at him. Impatient, he reached down and caught her sleeve in a firm grip, tugging at it until she was up on her feet.

She didn’t want to question him, didn’t want to give him an excuse of any kind to bolt, but he’d never acted this way before. “Where are we going?” Don’t ask him why he wants me to leave with him, she reminded herself. Don’t give his rational side a chance to get involved. Don’t trigger his defenses.

Still, it was so hard to maintain the game. She dropped her eyes to the floor as House led her around the desk. Easier to do this without meeting that piercing (possessive) blue gaze. Remember what Wilson and I discussed, she coached herself. When he starts grilling you, don’t give him any concrete information.

But he didn’t answer her earlier question. And he didn’t ask her anything. Instead, he started to limp slowly towards the door, her sleeve edge still held in his fist. She resisted the urge to question him further, just followed, reaching to snag her coat and bag from the coat-rack as they passed it. He wasn’t looking at her, and for that she was grateful. She didn’t want to go into a deer-in-the-headlights moment, not now. Not when she was so close. Not when she needed to focus, needed to stay within the frame of the puzzle she and Wilson had created for House.

Once at the doorway, he released her sleeve. Allison glanced up, and saw he was looking back at her. He seemed less angry, now, but that other look was still there. He motioned sharply for her to follow him, and then started to limp down the hallway. Damn straight I’m following you, she thought. I didn’t put in all this effort to chicken out now, she reminded herself. So, she held her head high, breathing deeply and calmly, and followed House down the hall and to the elevator. And then to the parking lot. And then to his ‘Vette.

House settled himself behind the wheel, eyes staring resolutely in front of him. He didn’t know why he wanted to do this on familiar (safe) territory (He was only going to talk to her, right?). He only knew the anger, the jealousy, the…fear. Still, as he started the car and roared out of the parking lot, staring straight ahead, seemingly ignoring his silent passenger, his rational side kept trying to reduce the shape of the problem. To make it only about the integrity of his team, about his need to control everything and anything that could disrupt his pack of loyal minions. Although it was getting harder to believe that, as the motor droned and the seconds ticked by.

*~*~*

The ride took place in utter silence, but Allison was glad for that. It gave her a chance to shore up her defenses, to collect her thoughts. She’d been waiting for this moment forever, it seemed. To see that look in his eyes, but aimed in her direction. And now she was not going to let House pick her apart, let him run roughshod over her emotions, let him raise his defenses against her once again. So she only leaned back in her seat, watching the passing scenery, and waited.

When they pulled up at House’s place, though, she was relieved. Although the last time she’d been here – to quit – hadn’t been pleasant, at least it was somewhat familiar. And she didn’t want him in her place. Didn’t want him analyzing the book titles on her shelves and making snarky remarks about her wedding photos and making psychological diagnoses of her through her knickknacks. Not if she wanted to keep playing the game until the end.

So, she silently got out of the car, following him, still waiting. She let him unlock the door to his place, walked slowly and gracefully past him as he motioned her abruptly in ahead of him. And then she chose her spot, standing in the middle of an empty space in the living room, tossing her coat casually onto the couch behind her, and then turning to face him, still waiting. Resisting the urge to clench, she put her hands in her pockets instead. She tried to steady her breathing, resisting the urge to tremble.

Now that he had her here, House felt a rare moment of anxiety. Did he really want to find out the answer to his question? Did he really want to hear that she’d moved on? Facing away from her for the moment, he shed his outer coat, dumping it on a nearby chair. Best to do this like pulling a loose tooth, he thought. Quick and sharp and without hesitation. Or like stabbing Mark Warner in the thigh, come to think of it. He made himself turn and face her, made himself meet her gaze. “Are you seeing Wilson ?”

Be vague, be ambiguous, she chanted in her head. “I’m not sure what you mean”, she said, low and rational and calm. Like he brought her to his home like this every day.

The anger stirred powerfully in him again at her calmness, unexpectedly killing the anxiety dead. He took a limping step forward, cane thumping loudly on the floor. “Don’t pretend to be stupid, Cameron.” he said harshly, roughly. “Are you dating Wilson ?”

Feeling her own anger start to flare up, Allison put her hands on her hips, glaring right back at him. “That is none of your business, Dr. House.”

“It is my business, Dr. Cameron. Let’s say, oh, he screws you. Maybe he makes you think he’ll leave Julie for you. But then he doesn’t, because a nurse with legs up to her chin catches his eye instead. So he dumps you. And now, whenever we have an oncology consult, you go all emotional and become next-to-useless to me and the team. Never mind the cancer patients already bringing out that whole ‘saviour’ thing of yours.” He took another step forward, feeling even more angry.

He’s trying to get at you, trying to push your buttons. Don’t let him. “I think I’ve come a long way since Cindi.” Deliberately, to remind him of how Wilson had stepped in. Meeting House stare for stare, trying to keep herself from shaking. “And even you can’t predict what might come of dating James. Though, I suppose, if you’re really concerned, I could always resign again.” And now she was reminding him of how he’d reacted when she’d been here last time. Again, deliberately. Push his buttons the way he was always pushing hers. Pushing everyone’s.

House felt his jaw tightening again, at the casual mention of Wilson ’s first name on Cameron’s lips. And the red haze was back, filling his head, blurring everything else, everything except Cameron standing there, meeting his gaze so defiantly. He took another two steps forward. Two more, and he’d be right in front of her, in her face.

“I don’t want you to resign.” he heard himself say, as if from a great distance. “And I don’t want you dating Wilson .” One more step forward.

There was a fire blazing in his eyes now, and she almost lost control of herself, almost started visibly trembling. He looked like he was either going to kill her or jump on her. Still, though, she went on. Kept pushing him. Sticking to her game-plan. “And why should I care what you want? It’s not like you were ever interested in me.” She wanted to say more, but stopped herself. Words were more his weapon than hers, so it was better to say as little as possible. Just enough to keep pushing those buttons of his. No more, no less.

He was losing the battle. Or rather, he was fighting himself, holding himself back…and yet, with much less determination than before. If he needed Stacy so badly, what was he doing here? Why was he so angry at the thought that Cameron might have finally moved on without him?

  “You’re wrong.” he said, as if someone else was speaking, as if some irresistible force – his anger – had taken over control of his body.

As if five years of loneliness, of pain and hate, were finally forcing him away from Stacy. Away from the shadow of what they’d had, before everything had gone to Hell.

She almost had him. Allison was sure of it. She couldn’t chicken out now. “Whatever.” she said, feigning indifference and disbelief. Gazing defiantly at him. Prove me wrong, she challenged him silently.

He took that final step forward, their bodies mere millimetres apart, and he knew there would be no going back from here. And he was glad. He wanted this to change. Right. Now.

“Strip.”

The haze left no room in his mind to question what he was doing. To wonder if Cameron even wanted this. To wonder if Wilson would be hurt. There was only passion and anger and desire. And he wasn’t going to be denied. Unless, of course, she ran away. Not much he could do, then.

Allison didn’t let herself give in to the fire in his eyes, the hungry look on his face. In all the times she’d fantasized about this, she’d never imagined this, never imagined resisting him for a second. And yet, after everything he’d put her through, she’d be damned if she just obeyed him now. He wasn’t her boss. Not here. “What?”

She was just standing there, looking up at him, doing nothing, and House had to shake his head a little, trying to organize coherent sentences through the red haze. “Strip.” he repeated, more forcefully, trying to bend her to his will with the intensity of his stare.

It almost worked. She almost gave in to him. But she made herself continue the game, staring defiantly into his eyes. “You want me naked, Dr. House?” She leaned in deliberately, closing the last tiny distance between them, feeling her chest press against him, and stared up at him. “Do. It. Yourself.”

Eyes widening in shock, jaw twitching, House stood there for a few long moments, trying laboriously to process this. Staring down into Cameron’s blue eyes. She wasn’t saying ‘no’, and yet she was still defying him. He became aware that he was achingly hard inside his jeans. And that he wasn’t going to wait any longer.

A sound came rumbling from House’s chest, and Allison realized it was a growl. And then he was lurching forward, the pressure of his body on hers forcing her back, back…until she was trapped between a wall and his body.

He didn’t waste any time once he had her pinned. Staring into her face the whole time, he undid the buttons on her shirt, fumbling as he tried to open them as quickly as possible. He pulled it off her and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor, and then went after the clasp of her bra, forcing his hand between her back and the wall. He yanked it down and flung it away, and then his hands were tugging at the fastening of her slacks.

His eyes bored into hers, occasionally leaving her face to burn along her bared skin. But she wasn’t afraid of being hurt, of being consumed by that fire. In fact, she intended to stoke it even higher, if she could. She made no moves at all to help or hinder him, only standing still and continuing to stare up at him defiantly as he got her slacks open, pushed them and her panties down to her knees, and then used the tip of his cane to shove both articles of clothing down to the floor.

He pressed himself against her then, flattening her against the wall, and she had to bite off a moan. The wool of his blazer was rough against her bare skin, his button-down soft, his jeans also soft, wrinkled and old and worn. He was hot, too, even through his clothes, and she had to silence another moan at the feel of his muscles shifting under the fabric, at the bulge under his belt pressing insistently against her. At the feel of his forearms pressed against her sides, trapping her own arms hard against her body. Oh yes, he had her right where she wanted to be.

He apparently wanted to kiss her, leaning down and tilting his head to bring his lips in line with hers. But she refused to give in that easily, turning her head at the last possible moment, so that she got the heat of his lips and the burn of his stubble across her cheek instead. Another low growl came from him, rumbling past her ear, and then his hands were on her, one tightly gripping her shoulder.

It was the first time he’d touched her skin – Hell, it was the first time he’d ever really touched her, period – and part of him marveled at the satiny flesh, the curved bones underneath, the flexing muscle. But he wanted more. He’d wanted to kiss her, and she’d defied him again. Evaded him. Not for long. He grabbed a large handful of her hair with his free hand, wrapping the length of it around his palm. And then he used his grip on her hair to force her to turn her head back towards him.

As soon as he had her lined up, he took her mouth in a fierce kiss, their teeth jarring together. He wanted to slide his tongue into her mouth, to taste her, but she was still resisting him, her teeth an immovable wall that she wasn’t allowing him to breach. Frustrated, his other hand came off her shoulder, closing around her jaw and chin. But he didn’t have to try to force her to give in, this time, her mouth opening and allowing him access, and he felt a thrill of triumph, thinking that he’d won her surrender.

There was an aftertaste of coffee in her mouth, and he let his tongue explore, searching for the rest of that coffee taste. Suckling on her tongue, sweeping over her teeth and along the inside of her cheeks, caressing the roof of her mouth. He thought he felt her relaxing against him. Or maybe it was himself, relaxing into her? Didn’t matter.

He broke off the kiss, untangling his hand from her hair, and then groping along the wall. He’d leaned his cane hurriedly up against it mere moments ago. He hadn’t heard it fall (although, admittedly, he’d been kind of distracted), and he didn’t want to knock it over now and look like an idiot. His hand finally brushed over the handle, and he grabbed it, taking a few awkward steps back from Cameron, so that he could take in the sight of her naked.

Allison pressed her hands back against the wall, trying to regain control of her breathing, her trembling. His touch still lingered on her skin. The warmth of his hands,  the strength in them, the harsh scrape of his stubble, the heat of his mouth, his wet tongue inside her own mouth…She was far too conscious that her nipples were hard, that she was sweating, that she was soaking wet between her legs. It was hard to maintain the game, to play at resisting him, when she wanted so much to give in. But no, she was going to see this through to the end. And besides, it was too much fun pushing him, feeding his animal side and watching and feeling his rational side lose control. He was so emotionless all the time, so controlled, and it was such a thrill to see him like this. To watch him try to control her, like always, except this time she was finally getting what she wanted out of the deal. So she kept her eyes locked on his face, watching him look at her.

She was so very beautiful, pale in places, flushed pink in others. But no, she hadn’t surrendered, not totally. He could see it in her face. That was fine, he was more than up to the task.

He limped forward again, grabbing her by the elbow, and pulling her slightly forward, until she had no choice but to step out of her clothes or fall over. And then once she was clear, he limped towards the couch, dragging her behind him. She didn’t resist him, not as much as she could have, but she didn’t assist him either, forcing him to exert some effort to keep her moving along in his wake.

She let House drag her over, until they were standing by the back of his leather couch. She even let him turn her until she was facing the back. Resisting him only a little when he shoved her face-down over it. She had to force back a moan again, at the feel of the cool leather against the underside of her breasts and along her belly. The contrast of House’s heat, his jeans brushing against her legs as he moved behind her.

“Spread your legs.” he ordered her, low and rough.

She almost obeyed him this time. She hadn’t expected it, but she felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable, bent over his couch naked. With him standing behind her, where she couldn’t see him easily, and still fully clothed. She forced away the urge to give in. Not yet. Instead, she didn’t move, except for turning her head until she could look back over her shoulder at him. “Make me.” And then she made herself turn her head forward again, looking straight ahead. As if she was ignoring him, as if he wasn’t worth her consideration. As if she was dismissing him. She tried not to tense up. Tried not to let on how aroused she already was.

Some part of his mind noted that she still had her socks on. He suspected that in a different time or place, he would’ve found that rather comical, all that pretty naked flesh, and then those businesslike black socks. But most of him was gearing itself to respond to her latest taunt, and he soon found himself leaning down to brush a callused hand along the back of her leg, noting how her skin was already damp with sweat.

She felt him stroking the back of her knee, and she flinched involuntarily at the ticklish sensation. And then she again had to swallow a moan as she felt a large warm hand closing strongly over the back of her knee, and then pushing her legs apart.

He didn’t know if she’d try to pull her legs back together, but he wasn’t about to wait around to find out. Instead, as quickly as cane and his thigh would let him, he got down on his knees behind her and between her legs. He wanted her, badly, but he managed to hold himself back for a moment, to make sure his leg was going to let him do this. A warning throb or two, and then it seemed to adjust to his change in position. Or maybe all the blood rushing to his erection was just distracting him from the pain. Didn’t matter.

He paused just a moment longer, examining his prey. Sliding his hands between her trembling thighs to force her to spread them even more for him. He could see pink glistening skin, damply curling hair, and the scent of her made his mouth water. And it gave him another thrill, to realize that even as she was resisting him outwardly, her body was communicating a very different story. Telling him that she wanted him, wanted this. Still, he didn’t trust her not to try and escape, so he laid his left arm across the small of her back, pinning her down against the couch, using his other hand to spread the tender folds of skin in front of him, and began.

She could barely breathe with his arm pinning her down so forcefully. And yet, she loved it, being held, contained, by his considerable strength. She dug her hands into the slick leather cushions, burying her face in them as she tried to muffle her cries. Still trying to defy him, still trying not to give in, even as his hot wicked tongue moved all over her, searching for the most responsive spots. His stubble made her skin tingle, and he was warm, so very warm…and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t stay silent, couldn’t muffle the sounds of her pleasure entirely, as his tongue found its way into her depths, as he occasionally let it surf across her clit.

The floor was hardwood, and his knees and back were soon joining his thigh, begging him to stop. Not to mention that it was uncomfortable to be fully clothed and doing this – he was hot and getting itchy and the shoulder of his blazer was pulled uncomfortably taut against the shoulder of the arm he was using to keep Cameron in place. But he was a stubborn bastard, after all, and this particular situation was no different. He kept on, starting to pay more and more attention to Cameron’s throbbing clit, enjoying the fact that every time he touched that tiny, swollen spot, he was rewarded by a shudder and a low throaty sound…Me likey. Sometimes, it was the little things that satisfied.

“I like those noises you’re making, Dr. Cameron.” she heard him say smugly behind her. But she couldn’t marshal her defenses, fire racing through her as his mouth wrapped around her clit, and she felt an insistent tugging at that little node as he sucked hard. She couldn’t thrash, not pinned down as she was, so she dug her nails into the couch. She was still fighting, now to keep from coming, fighting to deny him that as long as possible, to keep him working for every last second that she could wrest from him. But he was too clever for her, as he usually was, and when she felt him shift his position slightly and then push what felt like several long fingers inside her, still pulling on her clit with his mouth, she exhaled in a long breathy rush and came hard, finally yielding completely to him and the pleasure.

Long before she’d even finished shuddering, House released her and grabbed his cane from the floor, using it and the back of the couch to haul himself to his feet. Eyes locked on her, willing her to stay put, he tore off his blazer. Next came his button-down (although he paused to mop his sweaty brow on the sleeve first), and finally his tee-shirt flung away to some distant corner of the room.

And that was when he realized – Dammit, condoms – that dropping his pants and just having at it could be a very bad idea. He had a box of them in his night-table – the hookers always appreciated the extra gesture – but would Cameron try to escape if he left her? Only one way to find out.

So he limped as fast as he could towards and into the bedroom, ignoring the growing protest in his thigh. He wrenched the drawer open and grabbed several loose packets as quickly as possible, and then he limp-raced back to the living room.

But she was still there, still bent over his couch in the same position he’d left her in. Still breathing rapidly and looking up at him, watching him approach through loose, sweat-darkened strands of hair.

Except, her legs were together again.

She’d given in to him, yes, but just like before, when she’d allowed his tongue to invade her, she wasn’t going to let him entirely off the hook. Hence, this new resistance. However token it was.

He moved behind her again, and she let her head droop back to the cushions. The sound of both his zipper and his harsh breathing was loud in the room, and she found herself tensing in anticipation. And a little anxiety. She didn’t dare let herself look back over her shoulder at him again, but she hoped he was about to have sex with her, and not cane her for her insolence.

House shoved his pants down around his knees, and his briefs soon followed. He didn’t even bother to shove them the rest of the way to the floor and take them off completely – he’d waited too damned long for this, already – so he just shifted until he was balancing himself against the backs of Cameron’s legs, fighting to keep steady while he used both hands to rip open the condom packet. He tossed it deliberately on the couch beside Cameron’s head, so that she’d know he was using protection, and then he rolled it onto himself, hoping he’d be able to last long enough to make the effort worth it.

There was the thump of the cane behind her, and then House’s hand was pulling the same trick as earlier, yanking her legs apart. Except this time she felt his legs between hers, and then he was sliding himself with agonizing slowness deep inside her.

He kept one hand on his cane, trying to take some of the weight off of his complaining leg, and moved slowly in and out of Cameron. He couldn’t believe how tight and wet she was around him, the heat inside her. God, so good. He used his other hand to press down on the small of her back, limiting her movements as best he could, trying to dictate the pace so that he wouldn’t go off like a rocket. A prematurely launching rocket.

He had to alternate a few times, periods of heat and tight and wet and pressure alternating with holding himself still inside her, feeling her inner muscles shivering around him. Stopping to catch his breath, to wait for the pressure building in his balls to lessen. To replay in his mind the soft sexy sounds she’d been making during those times of sliding repeatedly inside her.

It was during a stop-period that an unwelcome thought intruded. This was all very tasty, but he couldn’t see her face. And she couldn’t see him. Never mind the undeniable pleasure of watching her as she lost control, but also, so long as he was standing behind her like this, how could he ensure that she knew it was him? That she wasn’t fantasizing that it was Wilson fucking her? He felt jealous anger spike inside him again, at the very thought. No way. Easily fixed, however.

When she felt House suddenly pull out of her, she had to bite off a plea for him to continue. Was this his way of punishing her? Get inside her, get her to the edge, and then stop? Maybe even kick her out of his home altogether? There was a pause and a rustle behind her, a resounding clack on the floor as something (she assumed it was his belt-buckle) impacted against it, more rustling, and several cane-thumps. If he tries to leave me like this, I will fucking kill him, she thought.

But then one of those hands grabbed her elbow, pulling her up and back off the couch. And then a stark naked House was dragging her behind him again (much more willingly, right now), this time by the elbow and to the bedroom.

Once he had the two of the standing by the side of the bed, he almost ordered her to lie down on it. But he stopped himself just in time, realizing he didn’t have the patience for further resistance from her, so he just discarded the cane (a loud thwack sounding in the room as wood met wood), grabbed Cameron by both arms, and then pushed her down onto the bed. He didn’t let go even then, but pushed and pulled until he had her in the position he wanted, watching her like a hawk the whole time. He finally got clumsily onto the bed, crawling – well, it was a kind of limping crawl, if such were possible – between her thighs, which he’d wisely shoved wide apart while positioning her, and then got back inside her.

As much as she’d enjoyed their acrobatics over the back of the couch, this was even better. She could still feel him, thick and hard inside her, but now she could look into those incredible eyes. He was looking into her face, invading her with his eyes as surely as he was with his throbbing hard-on, and it felt to Allison as though he was marking her as his, branding her with his possessive stare. And she kept her eyes open as long as she could, as if they could somehow meld through that heated regard.

She was so very beautiful, and he was a damned fool for ignoring what had been right in front of him all along. When her eyes closed, he continued to watch her face, pausing once again inside her satin depths to catch his breath and let the urge to climax dissipate a little. Was he ever going to be able to look at her in the conference room again, and not see her like this in his mind’s eye – flushed and sweaty, panting softly through her mouth, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted back against his pillows? Who gives a fuck?

He started to move again, harder and faster inside her than before, and she felt his mouth on her nipples for the first time, roughness and warmth and wetness and softness, sucking and nipping and lapping, even as he continued to move inside her. Pretty well-coordinated for a ‘cripple’, she thought distantly to herself.

And then his mouth was all over her throat, now branding her with the marks from his stubble, and she couldn’t take it any longer, raising her arms from where she’d left them at her sides, and putting them around House, her nails digging into his back as she moved with him. And she finally gave in completely when he kissed her again, tongue slipping inside her, swallowing her groans, his chest hair brushing like tickling fingers over her nipples, and she arched her back, pressing their hips tightly together as she came. But even in her surrender, she got to enjoy her own final thrill of victory, hearing him groan deep in his throat, and then feeling him pulsing rhythmically inside her as he gave in himself.

When she came back down to earth, she became aware that she was now lying on her side, House no longer within her. But he was still there, she could hear him breathing, feel his breath stirring her hair, feel his heat very close beside her. And she could even feel his eyes still on her, his stare boring into her closed lids. She tried again to breathe deeply and quietly, waiting to see what he’d do now. Steeling herself against the possibility that he’d be angry, or upset. Trying not to fruitlessly hope that he’d crave more, now that he’d gotten a taste.

When he finally spoke, his question didn’t surprise her at all.

“You never were dating Wilson , were you?” He knew, now that his rational mind was at least partially back in the ‘on’ position, that it was true. Jim hadn’t answered him directly, one way or the other. And neither had Cameron. And he hadn’t really pursued the question with his customary stubbornness, had he?

He didn’t sound angry (which she was very grateful for), just spent (sated?) and curious. “No.” she answered back, eyes still closed.

“You tricked me. You both did.” He should have been angry. They’d tricked him. Both of them. Manipulated him. Beaten him at his own game. But the bitch of it was that he felt too damned good to get angry. Nothing like coming his brains out, to keep ye olde righteous anger at bay.

No, he wasn’t angry. ‘Aggrieved’ was probably the best word to describe it. Like he couldn’t believe that she and Wilson would even be capable of pulling one over on him. So she dared to open her eyes, meeting his now much-softer cyan gaze.

She tried not to sound too worried. “Did you enjoy what we just did?”

House rolled his eyes. Duh, Allison. “No, I get off spectacularly like that all the time. With my inflatable doll Gertrude. And as an added bonus, she doesn’t pester me with heavy small-talk after I climax. And she stows neatly away in the closet when I’m finished.”

Good, he’s gotten his snark back. I was starting to wonder where it went, she thought. She smiled at him, stretching lazily.

House noted the calm, unconcerned smile on her face. She’s been spending too much time around Wilson, he thought, sighing inwardly. Must fix that. “But that doesn’t change what you did,” he repeated, still trying to make her uncomfortable, to get under her skin. He deserved some payback for what they’d pulled on him.

Allison had been expecting as much, so she just launched into her pre-prepared argument. “We told you the truth - that I was free to date whomever I wanted. You’re the one who decided I had to be dating Wilson. And then got all angry.”

It was true, of course, damn them both. He’d only seen them hanging out together and talking, and he’d jumped to conclusions. Never mind the fact that yeah, it really hadn’t been his business who she saw or hung out with. Especially after he’d pushed her away like that, and then ‘let her go’. So her refusal to give concrete details about her and Wilson would’ve been reasonable in any case. But he stubbornly refused to let them off the hook that easily. At least for a few more moments. “You still did it deliberately.”

She snuggled closer to take the sting out of her words, as she pointed out sharply: “And you don’t? You’re always pushing people, running little ‘experiments’ and studying the reaction you get. Why should you be the only one? And besides,” she added after a pause, “we did this for you, for your benefit. Not to amuse ourselves, or even to ‘study’ your reaction.”

Yep, definitely been spending too much time with Wonderboy . But this was also true - he was always running experiments on people. Even Jim. And yes, no one had gotten hurt this time. Sure, being angry and jealous hadn’t been comfy, but the payoff....yum. It was something that he could eventually come to terms with. Probably. Yeah, most likely.

And even he had to admit that he admired the trap, the puzzle, they’d laid out for him. He could appreciate the complexity of it, from a scientific point of view. This had been an exercise in subtlety, in using his own tricks and habits against him. And while he’d known that Jim could be subtle when he wanted to, for Cameron to be able to pull it off as well, that was interesting.

“Quite a puzzle you and Jimbo set up for me. ” he finally said, grudging admiration in his voice.

She closed her eyes again, still smiling. She had him now, for sure. “We both know how much you like them. This one was just for you, House.”

He closed his own eyes, pulling her closer. Distantly, he supposed he could make one or both of them pay later. But he felt way too good to get angry right now. Stacy, who? So all he said in return was, “Nice.”

She put her arms around him, relishing his warmth. “I thought you’d appreciate the elegance of it.” After a pause, she added jokingly, “You’re an asshole, but you’re a smart asshole.”

“That I am. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?”

“No.”

“Thought so.”