A/N: I'm not really sure what this is... besides my own insanity manifesting inself in the form of fic. But I had this fluffy (?) idea, in my head and decided to write it, of course :P Thanks to cagey(tigers)!
Allison Cameron, Doctor Allison Cameron. Smart, pretty, young. 'Too young,' he had thought, 'and far too pretty to be any kind of useful.' He had looked over her resumé as she had sat there across from him, Wilson in his customary position (making sure House was... sort of in line), her wide earnest gaze bearing down on him. He had frowned at the neat print in front of him, obviously she was lying to him – fudged details and whatnot – she was far too beautiful to have a double specialty. His jaw had ticked as he considered, he should have had a triple specialty... or he maybe he should be running Oncology and Diagnostics. Surely this young, doe-eyed doctor had gotten away with such things because others had been staring at her and not the details printed on the page before them.
But he had not been a typical male (had never been that guy), and so of course he had set out to do something to set her off track. He had assumed she would smile and bat her pretty eyelashes, bullshit her way around the subject at hand, but... she hadn't. She didn't show her surely perfect white teeth, there was no quirking of lips, not even a hint of a smirk. She answered his questions without using 'oh my god,' or 'like totally,' she had sat there and gave him logical well-founded responses. And he found himself officially intrigued by this surely mythological creature before him, had allowed his gaze to rake down her torso and back up to her probably symmetrical features and smiled inwardly as her cheeks flushed.
It might have been the biggest mistake of his life (and he had made some grande ones). But had he known that she would set him so off-kilter at times, he wouldn't have hired her in the first place... He expected her beauty to be a slight distraction, but he had been around gorgeous women before – it wasn't that hard to ignore, after all he wasn't a teen aged boy and not many things could distract him in the face of a good medical mystery.
But just as he wasn't the typical male, Allison Cameron (formerly his immunologist, currently the bane of his existence) wasn't the typical pretty girl. She would surely be his downfall, his ruining, his knife in the power outlet, his toaster in the tub, his hot pocket with the molten lava-cheese filling. It was already happening, he was slowly losing IQ points to this beautiful female and her quote unquote charm. He often found himself wondering where on earth he went wrong. He thought he had scared her off (and onto Chase), but obviously he had been mistaken. Somewhere along the way she had slipped back into his life, or more appropriately, he had become a nuisance to her ER life.
And then somehow he had ended up kissing her after following (in that annoying way that he tends to do), nagging her about Chase. She had been all rolling eyes and quick return bites about his failed love life, and for some strange reason she thought retreating into the locker room would actually have an effect on the man with clearly no boundaries. When she had turned around to give him another ear full he found himself pressing her into the lockers, kissing her (of all things). It was probably just to shut her up, because GOD could she ever get going when provoked, and besides those ugly pink scrubs served better as floor covers than suitable clothing choices for someone like Cameron.
Somehow that very insane and unlikely encounter progressed to something more (she had probably cast some voodoo love spell on him or something...) and that's when he found himself literally losing his mind to her. He had to give her credit though, she had a very disarming smile. That smile should have been on the cover of People or Vogue or whatever the hell was considered the most popular magazine these days, or hell should could have been on the cover of the Walmart flyer selling people pajamas. That smile was one of those infectious, deadly smiles that made you want to smile (like an idiot) back, and he did occasionally find himself grinning (like a fool) back at her. She would bring him lunch most days, to make sure that he ate semi-balanced meals, and would leave him with a quick peck and a brilliant smile reminding him to eat his vegetables.
That wasn't the only proof that he had gone off his rocker, there was snuggling (snuggling?!). She would come over after work (he refused to make trips to her place at least), in her oversized coat and a very appealing blouse, not to mention exceptionally well-fit jeans and they would eat takeout and he would allow her to worm her way against his side while they watched Dirty Jobs. She was very cuddly he found, and for some strange reason he didn't mind it. She was warm and light, and just the right amount of softness so he wasn't uncomfortable – besides if he grumbled just the right way while his hand pressed into his damaged thigh she would look up at him with those wide caring eyes and offer to massage it for him.
It wasn't all bad really, he was still an ass to everyone else, that had to make up for it, right? Except for the fact that he had made her breakfast and he might have said something along the lines of, "Have a good day at work," but that was only after she had given him a particularly enthusiastic kiss goodbye.
God, he was turning into Wilson.
What had happened to him? Is this what happened to men who were around gorgeous women for extended periods of time? Even the most cantankerous of them? He did not do warm and fuzzy. Ever. But Allison Cameron had reduced his off-putting, continually grouchy self into someone who ate his greens just so she would give him that brilliant smile. This had to stop, and immediately. Before his reputation was ruined for good, especially before certain people (Cuddy and Wilson) caught wind of it and began calling him something absurd and degrading like Dr. Teddy Bear.
He had decided that there would be no more green foods, and definitely no more half-smiles at his girlfriend (really? Girlfriend? Oh, gag.), there would be no more goodbye pecks or voluntary breakfast making, and most certainly there would be no more cuddling. It definitely wasn't his most devious of schemes, but he figured someone as sensitive as Cameron would get the hints. Gregory House simply did not do warm and fuzzy, and he was most certainly not 'boyfriend' material.
House, along with Wilson, were both enjoying a rather calorie-infused lunch when Cameron had appeared, with not one but two salads. They were set down on his desk in a manner that didn't intrude on their current heart attack inducing feast, and then followed a pleasant smile from Cameron. He eyed the green leafy substance, frowned at it as if he could make it disappear by glaring at it, and then quirked a questioning eyebrow at this woman before him in (ugh, not again) ugly pink scrubs. She lifted her own eyebrows in response, her smile widening (his heart rate accelerating as he panicked slightly), "I'll see you later?" House swallowed, and gave a quick nod, relaxing as his (he refused to say the word again) retreated from his office.
Oh, he bet he got the message across (he wasn't really fooling himself either). He felt triumphant, like it was a small step towards reasserting himself as... the king! He readjusted the plate before him as he calculated what his next move would be, and shoveled some of the contents into his mouth. Wilson frowned at him and tilted his head as if looking at House sideways would somehow make what had just transpired make more sense. It was no secret that his friend was dating the beautiful senior attending of the ER, but what the hell had just happened?
House noticed his friend's strange exaggerated stare, and looked down. Oh good lord, he didn't. How did the salad get there? He grimaced, he had truly – undeniably – lost his mind. He felt like he was in the matrix and Cameron had screwed with what the food tasted like.
Wilson pointed at him, "Did you just eat salad?"
"Not intentionally... who does that?" House scoffed.
"You just ate salad," Wilson accused, "salad your – girlfriend – brought you."
House growled, "She is not -" He rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, exiting quickly before Wilson had time to comment further. Thankfully Wilson didn't follow him down the hallway, or pop into the elevator at the last moment. House had time to map out how he would fix this in one fell swoop, he was an ass plain and simple. And he would prove it to her, (he didn't think most others except maybe Wilson needed a firm reminder), no more spoonfuls of Cameron sugar would help him swallow his tried and true jerky attitude. It had worked for him far too long to sabotage it simply for one woman who was his polar opposite.
He found her (bumped into her) leaving her office, and effectively corralled her back inside. "Listen," he started, sounding very un-him, "I can't do... this anymore."
Cameron had stared at him patiently and lifted an eyebrow, "Do what?"
House stuttered, trying to find the appropriate words but could only come up with, "... This."
"Is this about salad?"
"It's not just about salad," He grumbled petulantly.
Cameron smiled at him, that familiar disarming smile, "It's salad, it's not like you're reading to sick kids on a Saturday night, or are you really afraid some leafy greens are going to ruin your reputation?"
"It's not just – it's -" House raked a hand down his face, he felt insane – literally – bat-shit crazy in that moment. Was it really that absurd?
Cameron stepped up to him, still smiling, the light still dancing in her eyes, "Is it really that bad to curl up on the couch, or make me breakfast? No one else is there... I'm not going to tell anyone."
House sighed, maybe he really was crazy, except for different reasons than he believed. But surely he hadn't been wrong, Allison Cameron was his Achilles' heel. Always had been, always would be. And he supposed he could deal with that.