DISCLAIMER: I don't own a House, both literally and television…ally.
For blueheronz, whose stories I love and who has kept asking when a HouseCamfic would be on the cards…for like a year now XD. Thank you for persevering!
The woman was driving him insane, he was sure of it.
Why else would he find himself going out of his way to check up on her during the day, like some crazed, needy stalker?
The kicker was he didn't even care if he was stalking her, didn't even care whether he got the concerned, puppy-dog eyes or the suspicious, you-wanted-what frown.
Just as long as she looked at him.
Crazy. Almost as crazy as the eternal verbal Russian roulette they played- he threw a barb at her, it either hurt her or it didn't, as long as she glared at him and threw one back, tossing a comment over her shoulder along with her newly- blond locks as she stalked away, leaving him with a cramp in his leg and an absurd pleasure in his stomach…and lower body parts.
Eight consecutive times in the last week, he'd caught himself pondering the type of lingerie she might invest in, which, added to the rest of the times he'd pondered her, made a total he wasn't going to readily admit to without several instruments of torture present.
This morning, he'd watched her struggle to hide a grin as he'd lain into one of his new ducklings just for, y'know, kicks. She'd sunk her teeth into her bottom lip and, for an instant, he'd wished it were his teeth sinking in, preferably while she was up against a wall or handcuffed to an operating table.
He'd wanted to bite one of his ducklings. Well, that was probably normal under the circumstances, considering an hour ago he'd threatened to bludgeon one of them to death if he didn't stop whining about how late he'd made them work.
She'd never complained. Well, the usual House you do realise I'm on my twenty-fifth caffeine run kind of remark, but he'd seen the focus in her eyes, the desire to prove herself, heal the sick, save whales and people who walked with a cane and carried no mercy in their hearts, least of all for themselves.
And there was Wilson, invading his head again.
Damned Wilson, who'd told him just to ask, all those months ago, when she'd progressed from sometime brat to full time pain in his ass.
He cornered her in the lab, got her when she was tired and her defences were down. He'd forgotten to bring the damned tranquilizer it would take to get her defences down all the way.
"You think that by trying to beat me at being an asshole, you'll prove something to me?"
Her gaze never wavered from the report she was studying. "No."
He got up close, in her face, breathing in her ear. "Liar."
"No!" She pushed him away, sliding past him to pace around the table.
Curious, he let her escape him, watching her shoulders slump, then straighten almost instantly.
"I'm trying to prove something to myself." She said quietly.
"Why?" He fired at her, his cane banging the desk with a gunshot's blast, intending to provoke a reaction.
She just shrugged.
"Because I don't know why you want me. I thought if I changed my behaviour, measured your approval or disapproval, I'd find out. But you didn't change…" She sighed, and finally met his stare with her own.
"You didn't change, House. And I still don't know."
He looked at her, appraising, then had smirked at her, struggling not to laugh as she'd glared, insulted.
He twirled his cane nonchalantly, and she came to slam it back down on the desk between them. She stepped close, glaring up into his face.
"That was part of it. You wanted to know why I asked you out after that pesky little shooting incident. But it's been months now, and you're still being a brat at every opportunity."
He leant towards her, noting the fact she shrank from him, just a little, and her hand tightened on his cane.
"What to know what I think?" He whispered, mockingly.
She made a growling sound that went straight to his groin and spun away from him, putting the desk between them again.
"Why bother asking? You're going to tell me anyway. Even if you have to tap it out in Morse code on my bedroom wall."
His pulse, among other things, jumped at her words and he fought to keep his leer mocking.
"I'd rather tap it out on your uptight little hiney, but I'll take what I can get."
She crossed her arms, the calm doctor once more.
"A sex joke. So not obvious."
He studied her, the flush in her cheeks, the battle gleam in her eyes.
"You like it, don't you? You like being a brat. Talk about your good girls gone wild."
She glanced at him, for one beat, two beats. Glanced away.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He wasn't clear on what happened next. He'd made some flippant remark, then found himself kicked out of the lab, or maybe he'd been the one to hobble away.
Stupid Wilson and his penchant for talking. Talking to her had done nothing, except somehow they'd come to a workable arrangement.
When they met up, she argued with almost everything he said, he pretended not to notice, and sometime that night, would wake with her words running through his head, his hands sliding down his body, and he'd spend a very productive half hour or so cursing her existence.
He'd calmed his hormones down after the biting incident, was in fact in the process of coming up with new ways to torture her, when she'd stalked into his office, guns blazing, fired up over something he'd palmed off on to one of the more eager-to-please members of his Med Squad. Words spat at him to the effect of You're The Daddy, That's Why. And then it had happened.
She'd stormed out, eyes flashing, sexy as all hell and he'd progressed from PG 13 lingerie imaging to full scale Cameron-naked-and-in-my-bed scenarios.
Not that this was new.
But he'd managed to push them somewhere near the back of his mind and cover her up at least with a tasteful French Maid outfit.
Most of the time.
This was vaguely concerning in itself, but added to the fact that every time he licked her lips, wrinkled her nose, pressed her hand to the ache in her spine after a long day, he wanted to get up her against whatever sturdy and inanimate object happened to be handy and kiss her until she begged for him. Lose himself in her so completely he begged for her.
Obviously, he was insane.
But that was beside the point.
She was getting too bold for her own good, he mused.
He had caught her, of late, looking at him with a certain amused understanding. Couple that with the extreme makeover and the mistaken belief he wouldn't bite back harder than he was already…well, there was a problem.
Maybe it was time this duckling of his learnt that crazy men did still tend to be male.
Being too brave around a crazy man who also happened to be a genius and harboured intense sexual thoughts about said duckling…well, that was just stupid.
House chuckled, coming out of his reverie, hearing Wilson voice in his head instead of Cameron's, for a not-quite-refreshing change.
"And the worst of them, House, the truly sick and sad, make their problems someone else's fault."
"I love being me."
Author's note: Very first and possibly only Housefic- apologies from the bottom of my heart for any OOCness, or if it made you cringe. XD- Feedback warmly appreciated, thanks for reading!!