The knock on Cameron's door was loud and hard. She rolled over in panic, a hundred scary possibilities in her mind. It was 3:10am. She peeked out the blinds and saw two police cars parked in her driveway. She grabbed her nightshirt and carefully opened the door.
"Dr. Allison Cameron? Hi I'm Sergeant Phillip Peterson. Do you know a Dr. Gregory House?"
"Yes of course, he's my boss. Is he all right?"
"I'd say so. Just far beyond the legal alcohol limit. He crashed his motorcycle into a fire hydrant in a residential neighborhood on 10th. Normally I'd run him in for a DUI but..uh well he saved my son last year. My boy, Calvin had leukemia, Dr. House not only arranged for my son to have a bone marrow transplant; he donated it himself. I owe him a lot more than my life."
Cameron was startled by this admission. House was a brilliant doctor even if a little rough around the edges, but to put himself through considerable pain to rescue a child was out of this world.
"Anyway I asked him where he lived and he told me to take him here. Can you keep an eye on him for the night? I had my buddy Charlie tow his motorcycle to his house."
"Where is he?"
"Back of my car."
Cameron followed Peterson to his car. House was blitzed and singing a bad Sinatra version of "Strangers in the Night."
"Hello Allison." He laughed.
House rarely called her by her first name unless he was trying to annoy her.
"Wait a minute. You're not wearing a bra are you? (chuckles) Oh lucky me!"
He attempted to stand up but stumbled. Luckily Peterson's partner was a good three inches taller than House and at least 60lbs heavier. He wrapped his arm around House's waist.
"Where do you want him, Miss?"
"Just put him on the couch in the living room. Follow me."
"See Pete I told you, Cam's got a nice ass."
After House had been laid out on the couch, Cameron showed the officers to the door and thanked them for helping him out. She assured them that this was uncharacteristic of House.
When she returned to the living room, House was laying on the couch shirtless. His right side was scratched severely from his ribs to his armpit, including his forearm and hand.
"What? You aren't naked yet? What kinda room service is this?"
"I don't get naked for drunken, road-rashed men."
"No booze when you were dissecting Bobby Chase?" He laughed at his own nickname for the Aussie doc.
"Lay still. I need to get you cleaned up."
"Ok and by the way I'm a fan of hot cherry oil."
When she got back from the bathroom with her robe on and a dishpan full of warm soappy water, a towel across her shoulder, bandages under her arm along with antiseptic and medical tape, she found him seated at her kitchen table with 3 out of 5 shots he had poured himself, already downed.
"What are you doing!?" She yelled grabbing the last two shots and bottle of Jack Daniels from his hand. She launched both glasses into the sink.
"Hey I want my Jack back! Oh! That's a totally wicked song, Al! I want my Jack back, something like a Big Mac..." He trailed off as he stood to his feet, supported only by the counter top.
"Come on Ray Charles, let's get you cleaned up."
"A sponge bath? Fun!"
She pushed him back down to his original position on the couch and began cleaning his scrapes.
"Ow!" He protested. "That hurt, you're supposed to be a doctor, gentle gentle."
Before she could figure out that he was plotting something, he took her hand in his and began kissing her hand and then her wrist. She tried to ignore the sensation, even reasoned that he was too drunk to know what he was doing but the kisses were so tender and so sensual she lost herself. And then suddenly he stopped. She figured he'd passed out but he penetrated her with those bloodshot Caribbean blue eyes.
"Gentle Al, gentle. Now you try it."
It took her more than a breathless moment to realize he'd meant for her to kiss away his scratches.
"Shh, gentle, gentle."
Humor a drunken man? Where in medical school did I learn this one?
Slowly she placed gentle kisses on his side and as she did so she could see the goosebumps begin to form on the unwounded pieces of his chest and stomach. This intrigued her. Softly, tenderly she kissed his damaged flesh. His hands were suddenly touching her hair. And then all at once his hand dropped from her head. He had finally passed out. Cameron returned to her task of cleaning and dressing the wounds. She slowly pulled the indian blanket across him and returned to her bedroom.
The sound of thunder woke Cameron the next morning. Her alarm clock said 9:15am. But it didn't matter because it was Saturday. And then as she moved to turn over and go back to sleep she felt something alien to her. An arm possessively wrapped around her. Turning slowly she saw House lying beside her, completely zonked out.
"House." She whispered, although for an unknown reason as they were alone. "House wake up."
A glazed over, red-framed, blue eye emerged from his eyelid.
"This can't be right. In my fantasies you're wearing red leather and talking with a Texas accent."
"House, this isn't funny."
"You're telling me. I'm not sure right now if my fruit of the looms managed to stay on. Give me your hand, you can check for me."
She jerked her hand back before quickly realizing that she herself had gone to bed bottomless.
"Get out of my bed!"
"Well considering my underoos are under that chair by the door, I'd say not a good idea. So maybe it's your turn to get out."
"No way am I giving you a free show."
"Pity. Well let's see we're both naked from the waist down, and neither of us is getting up so….. should we play sink the putter?"
"Not a chance."
"Ok then since we have no other alternative. 1-2-3!"
Cameron shrieked as the covers were torn from her body and his and thrown to the floor.
"You got some smooth thighs for such a hard ass."
"House! Get out of my bed!"
He smirked when he caught her glimpse at his manhood.
"Make sure you get a good look at the backside when I get up. See what you're missing."
He grabbed his underwear and left the room. Cameron waited till she heard him in the kitchen then made a dash for the bathroom.
She hoped with any luck that he'd be gone when she exited the bathroom, but no such luck. He was parked on the couch with a bagel in one had and a glass of orange juice in the other. There was also no sign of a hangover.
"Well I see you figured out where the fridge is. Is that juice spiked with vodka?"
"I think the better question is, why does a single woman keep vodka readily available? Does that make you pathetically lonely, or do you need to get smashed before cuddling up to Captain Kangaroo?"
Anyone else and Cameron would've been on the defense, but there was no good defense with House. He never counted himself wrong. She moved to the sofa and sat on the opposite end.
"So how did you end up smashed and at my door last night? Don't you and Wilson rescue each other?"
"Wilson can go to hell right now, thanks."
The words were simple yet they packed a punch.
"Wow that's a first. Usually Wilson's the only one who you don't hate."
"Shut up about Wilson!"
This astonished her to the point that she had to get up off the couch. She walked onto the back patio and made work of watering her lilies. She tried not being upset and thought of calling Foreman or Chase. Maybe she'd even call Cuddy to find out what had happened during her week's vacation, but she had no idea how to explain House being there. She'd find out on Tuesday. She had Monday off for the 4th of July.
When she turned around he was standing in the doorway. His shirt, open all the way down the middle.
"I don't want anyone to know I'm here, Cameron. So whatever you have in your mind to discover what's pissed me off, skip it."
"Fine, but what exactly are you planning?"
"I need a couple of days to lay low."
"Who are you running from?"
"You, if you don't quit asking questions. If I wanted the Spanish inquisition, I'd fly to Juarez."
"Fine. You can use the spare bedroom."
"I need one more favor."
"What?" She asked crossing her arms. House didn't ask favors, he made demands.
"I need you to go to this address and pick up my gym bag. It has 3 sets of clothes and spare amenities. Carlotta knows your coming."
"First of all why can't you get your own clothes? Second, who is Carlotta?"
"Because your place is probably being watched first of all. Secondly, Carlotta is a waitress down at the Fountain Rock. Gives great back rubs. Does my laundry when I spend the night."
"Nevermind I don't want to know."
When Cameron got home after a few hours of collecting House's personal items, buying extra food at the store and finally stopping at Mike's Convenience store on the corner to get her favorite, grape/lime slurpee, House was nowhere to be found. At long last she found him in her pool sitting on the steps browsing a Victoria's Secret catalog.
"Do you actually buy this stuff?" He said without looking up at her.
"I believe my lingerie is none of your business."
"Never cared for this stuff." He said launching the catalog onto the lounge chair.
"That's hard to believe considering you're looking at the catalog, and that most hookers wear it."
"It's probably better that you became a doctor, because as a lawyer your theory has more holes then the swiss cheese at Dom's Deli. There's only two ways you would know that. One, you'd have to be a hooker yourself, and given the fact that you are morally, boringly, little Miss Goodie Gum Drops, that would be wrong. Or secondly, you'd have to have hired one. And despite my wild fantasies about you and Cuddy in my office, I'd have to say you've never hopped that fence, not even to chase a ball, so again your theory is dead."
"Well if that doesn't get you excited. What does?"
"Well to be frank, come closer I don't want Mrs. Kravitz next door to get excited."
Cameron rolled her eyes and knelt down near him.
"Fully dressed women, soaked from head to toe."
There wasn't even a second to react. He grabbed her by the hips and Superman launched her into the pool. Cameron came up out of the water ready to attack like a shark, until she saw the look of anguish on his face.
"I fractured one of my ribs." He said wincing.
"You must have already fractured it last night. Come on."
She wrapped his arm around her and helped him out of the pool. This was when she noticed that he'd been skinny-dipping.
"It's a shame. I've always wanted to do it in a pool."
She helped him down into the lounge chair and handed him a towel. His breathing betrayed his calmness.
"Maybe we should get you to the hospital."
"You're a bad lawyer and a worse pirate. Going to the hospital defeats my hiding out. The rib's not broken it's fractured."
"I better get my medical kit and help wrap you up. I'll be right back."
As she entered the house she heard him say, "You won't find kissing in that medical kit. Seemed to do the trip before."
She nearly tripped over her own jaw. If he remembered that, then he certainly knew where he had asked to be taken by the police and even more so, he knew what he was doing climbing naked into her bed.
So just what was the salty doctor's intentions?