A/N: Warning—there be fluffy House/Cameron in this chapter. To those who don't enjoy the romance: I'm sorry. I am but a weak, weak shipper. To those that do: enjoy.

Feedback: Wins. Please review!

House sighed in relief as he entered his living room, the warmth of the room starting to leech into his bones. He'd let Cameron and Chase leave hours ago, and stayed with Foreman until they were both convinced their patient wouldn't code again. Now it was late, the sun having long since set, and he was just glad to be home.

He threw the patient's file on the coffee table, rolling his eyes when it landed on a small pile of fashion and beauty magazines. He'd been going out with Cameron for over a year, living with her for a good portion of that time, and yet he still wasn't quite accustomed to the shear amount of girly accoutrements she possessed. But as much as he complained about it, he didn't really mind—it made the place seem less like a bachelor pad and more like a home.

The enticing smell of food was in the air and he followed it, wandering into the kitchen to see Cameron stirring a pot on the stove. He feigned astonishment. "Oh my God, she cooks!"

She turned, a smile on her face. "Very funny. I didn't feel like takeout, and it's not like you were going to make anything." She moved over to the cutting board and started chopping some onions and peppers. "How's Mrs. Joseph doing?"

House made his way over to the stove. "Better. It looks like she's finally stabilized, although Foreman's staying the night, just to make sure. And you know I can cook—I just usually don't make the effort." He leaned over the pot. It looked like some kind of stew, and the varying spices made his mouth water. "Mmm. Wife soup."

Coming back over to the stove Cameron laughed, swatting his hand away as she slid the vegetables into the pot. "Get away, you. It's not ready—it has to simmer for at least another half an hour." She twisted a knob, lowering the heat. "And besides," she teased, "you can't call it wife soup, because I'm not your wife."

He stood behind her silently for a few moments. Then he moved closer, until his chest was brushing the back of her sweater, pulling his hand out of his pocket and resting it beside hers on the counter. "We could fix that, you know."

She stilled, gasping slightly as she turned in his arms, looking up at him in astonishment. He angled his head, and she followed his gaze to the hand he had rested against the counter.

He was holding a small velvet box.

Cameron looked back up at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer. "Greg…" she whispered.

All of his normal bravado left him. "Answer? Please?"

She laughed softly at his nervousness. "Yes," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Of course. Yes."

He slid the ring onto her finger, and then she was kissing him, winding her arms around his neck as he pressed her back into the counter.

When they broke apart, she smiled mischievously at him. "You know, technically you still can't call it wife soup…"

He laughed as he grabbed her hands, leading her to their bedroom. "Details, details…"