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Changes, Part 1
by OldHamster
Chapter 1: Night Thoughts
Good lord, Greg, you sound like a wounded Electrolux. Where's the mute button?
He was lying on his side, out cold and apparently training for the Snoring Olympics. Cameron actually liked his snore, annoying though it could get. It was the sound of satisfaction, the sound of trust, the sound of House. Almost as pleasant in its own way as his laughter.
It wasn't his snoring that was keeping her awake tonight. It was what she knew she had to say to him in the morning.
She remembered the first night they'd been here in her bedroom together. They'd gone out with Foreman and Chase to celebrate another case successfully solved. Later, they'd left separately, discreetly, and reconvened at her apartment to continue the celebration.
"Allison," he'd said, his expression deadly serious, as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, "I have to ask you something. Something important."
"Yes?" she'd said softly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"Have you washed those sheets recently? I don't want to go home with a case of wombat cooties."
The brief flicker of hurt in her eyes had made him instantly regret his stupid attempt at a joke. But then she'd burst out laughing.
"Oh, my God, I so want our next patient to be Australian so I can throw that out there during differential: 'wombat cooties.' Can you imagine the look on Chase's face? The colors he'd turn?"
"Crimson, scarlet, magenta, burgundy ... what the hell am I saying? I'm a straight guy. I'm not supposed to know the names of more than three colors."
"Your secret is safe. And for the record, I've done many, many loads of laundry since the last and final time I slept with Chase. Although he still comes around every Tuesday to remind me he likes me. I can't tell him to stop, because he'll get suspicious."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be with him? He's a much better catch than a grumpy old man with a bum leg."
"If I wanted puppy dog eyes on me all the time, I'd get a puppy. And the condition of your right leg doesn't seem to have affected your third one."
The light touch of her hand confirmed that diagnosis. A barely audible moan escaped his lips. "Mm, yes, they don't build them like that anymore. These older models will run forever if you're diligent about taking them in for a tune-up every 3,000 orgasms."
"Care to go for 3,001?"
Afterward, they'd propped themselves up with pillows and sipped cold beers. House had looked around the room, admiring its cool, unfussy decor.
"I never pictured your bedroom looking like this, you know. I thought it would be more ... girly."
"You mean French Provincial furniture, Laura Ashley prints and lots of ruffles?"
"I mean Hello Kitty sheets, Justin Timberlake posters and a pink Trapper Keeper on the desk, covered in hearts with 'Greg + Allison 4-Ever' in big, loopy handwriting. By the way, you do have big, loopy handwriting. We need to work on that. Doctors are supposed to have lousy penmanship."
She'd shrieked in mock indignation and poured the rest of her beer on his crotch.
"Argh! You clean that up, young lady."
"Yes, sir. Number 3,002, coming up."
She smiled at the memory, but it reminded her of tomorrow again. That's what she had to talk to him about: Greg and Allison.
Or more specifically, House and Cameron.
Chapter 2: Kitchen Differential
Cameron cleared the breakfast dishes, poured another cup of coffee and sat down across from him.
"Greg, we need to talk."
He closed his eyes, but not before she'd seen the look of dread in them.
"Four words that can make the strongest man run screaming for the hills: 'We need to talk.' What is it? Are we breaking up? Or ... please don't tell me you're pregnant."
She took his hand. "Neither. Relax. Well, I guess it is a breakup ... sort of. But not what you're thinking.
"Greg," she began, "no ... House. Working with you has been the greatest -- make that second greatest -- experience of my life. I've learned so much. But remember when we started seeing each other? We agreed that on the job, it was House and Cameron, not Greg and Allison. Maintain professionalism, don't give anyone reason to suspect that we're more than colleagues. Well, anyone but Wilson. He knows, but you two are more than colleagues; you're best friends. And he can't fire either of us.
"I don't know if that's possible anymore. We're overcompensating so much. It's become a chore. And I don't know how much longer we can keep it up.
"It may be time for me to move on. To a place where we don't have to be House and Cameron ... just Greg and Allison.
"So what I want to know, is: Does Dr. House think Dr. Cameron is ready? Does Greg want Allison to do this? And am I making any sense at all?"
House flashed back to a few days earlier. Differential. Her diagnosis had been plausible. Nevertheless, he'd been more concerned with keeping Chase and Foreman off the scent.
He'd thrown a quarter at her. "Cameron, call your mother. Tell her you'll never be a doctor."
She'd thrown it back. "House, call yours. Tell her you'll never be a human being."
House had turned his back to them, pretending to study the whiteboard. He had to hide his grin, think about the ending of "Old Yeller" and deathbed scenes on "General Hospital," to keep from laughing out loud. Damn you, Allison.
Foreman had spoken up then. "House, I agree with Cameron. About the human being thing and the diagnosis."
"Chase?"
"I think C-Cameron's on to something. The diagnosis, I mean."
"Fine. Since you three are united in your idiocy, run the tests."
They were right, it turned out. The puzzle was solved, and the patient was recovering. But that didn't change the fact that humiliating Cameron for show had taken priority, even for a moment, over treating a patient.
His silence made her nervous. "Greg? House?"
He picked up his cane, stood and began to pace the small kitchen. "Crap, why is there never a whiteboard when I need it?
"Differential, people. Two patients, 48-year-old male and 29-year-old female. Patient A suffers from muscle damage in the right thigh, result of an infarction. Patient B has an enlarged heart, figuratively speaking. Common symptom: multiple personalities.
"Patient A's alters are 'House,' a misanthropic diagnostician, and 'Greg,' a royal pain in the ass. Patient B's are 'Cameron,' a bright young immunologist, and 'Allison,' a beautiful woman, an amazing lover, with green eyes to die for and an inexplicable attraction to royal pains in the ass.
"Here's a hint: It's not lupus. Because it's never lupus. But it does start with L. Dr. Cameron?"
She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She settled for playing along.
"Ummm .... lunacy?"
"Brilliant! Tell her what she's won, Johnny. A new car, a matched set of luggage and a week in Bermuda? Oh? Never mind. A weekend in Princeton with some guy named Greg. Who has a message from her from one Dr. House.
"He says that Dr. Cameron is more than ready to move on. And he'll help. But if she moves any farther than a 10-mile radius of Princeton, Greg is gonna kick his ass into next Tuesday. No, make that next Thursday. Tuesday has wombat cooties."
He was clutching the kitchen table, face inches from hers. "Care to change your diagnosis, Dr. Cameron? 'Lunacy' has a couple too many syllables."
Cameron's shoulders were shaking with laughter, and tears were spilling down her cheeks.
"I stand by 'lunacy,' " she gasped. "That other L word you're thinking of? It makes strong men run screaming for the hills. I don't dare say it."
"Wimp. I guess I'll have to go first. But you have to come up here. Don't make the cripple get down on his knees. I may never get up again."
She stood. His arms were waiting.
"I love you, Allison Cameron."
"I love you, Gregory House."
(To be continued)
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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