HamOnWry

Auld Acquaintance

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 03:33:39 GMT

Title: Auld Acquaintance
Author: NiiceLaady
Summary: A collection of New Year's Eve drabbles featuring the women in House's life -- past and present
Pairings: None, really. Brief mention of Cuddy/Lucas.
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Just playing dress-up and pretend with the characters. Nobody's paying me.

Cuddy:

Rachel is awake. It’s as if she knows she’ll miss something important if she goes to sleep. Thankfully, she’s not fussy. She squirms happily in her mother’s lap, babbling something in baby-ese. This time next year, she’ll have actual words.

Lucas pours two more glasses of champagne and settles in beside her, with an expression of devotion that makes her heart skip. He mutes the stereo, which has been playing soft, mellow jazz, and turns on the TV so they can watch the ball drop.

A new year, a new love. Maybe this time next year, a new home. Together.

Cameron:

Her family doesn’t make resolutions. They write down what they want to forget about the old, and toss the papers in the fireplace. Then they share their wishes for the new year.

She elects to keep her paper private. It reads “Robert,” “House” and “Death.”

Her brother asks her what she wants in the new year. She says she wants those who have gone down the wrong path to find their way back. He says she sounds like a religious nut. She pokes him in the ribs and teases him about his wish: a Super Bowl win for the Bears.

Stacy:

Mark hates New Year’s Eve. He used to take her dancing, and now he can’t.

The past few years, they’ve stayed home and gone to bed early. But this year, she can no longer avoid the firm’s annual bash. She convinces him it’ll be fun. They’ll get a table far from the dance floor and find someone interesting to talk to.

At midnight, she kisses him passionately, sings “Auld Lang Syne” at the top of her lungs – off-key – and blows her noisemaker with a vengeance. But she can’t kiss, sing or blow away the pain in his eyes.

Lydia:

The kids begged to stay up. Ben made it to 10:15 before falling asleep with his head in Aunt Annie’s lap. His sister is holding on.

It’s her first holiday season without snow. It seems so strange to be ringing in the New Year in the desert. But it’s also her first holiday season in a decade that her beloved best friend and sister-in-law has been able to spend with her.

She squeezes Annie’s hand, smiles at her husband and offers up a silent prayer of thanks for fake superheroes, music boxes, gray-haired doctors and slow dances in the dark.

Thirteen:

The entire world is squeezed into this tiny, frigid space. She must be crazy for coming here.

It’s Dick Clark’s fault. Seeing him last year on TV, body crippled and speech slurred by his stroke, but gamely ringing in the new year. If he can do it, so can she.

There’s so much she wants to do in the time she has left: save lives, make a difference. For tonight, though, all she wants is to feel alive.

The ball drops, the crowd cheers, then disperses. She finds a bar, a drink, a girl. They toast the new year together in a Chelsea loft at 4 a.m.

Blythe:

They watched Guy Lombardo. John reached for her at midnight, his hazel eyes a bit glassy from the champagne.

She looked into those eyes and prayed it was true – that all babies are born with blue eyes, but they don’t all stay that color.

The phone rings. “Blythe? Don Blake.”

“Oh! How are you?”

“Fine. I was just thinking of you -- first New Year’s alone and all. Are you OK?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking.”

“How’s Greg?”

“He’s fine.”

“Good. Uh, well, when you talk to him again, give him my best.”

“I will, Don. Happy new year.”

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 22/22 (yes, the end)

Mon, 28 Dec 2009 03:13:36 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: Character death
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

Thanks to everyone who has taken this journey with me and left encouraging comments along the way. Hope you like the way I've chosen to end it. As always, I may return to this 'verse, and anyone who wants to try his/her hand at an epilogue or "missing scene" is welcome.

To start at the beginning, go here.

"It's late."

"These charts aren't going to finish themselves," Cameron says, not looking up.

"They also aren't going to sprout wings and fly away in the night. You can finish them on Monday."

"I know, but I'd rather get them done tonight." She slides an open file down the table to where House is standing and points to a spot at the bottom of the page. "Sign." He takes the nearest chair and scrawls his name where she's indicated.

"You're avoiding," he says.

She puts her pen down, takes off her reading glasses and looks at him. "What is it you think I'm avoiding?"

"Everything. But let's start with me."

"That's funny; I thought you were the one avoiding me. You've been acting as if what happened at your mother's ... never happened."

"No, I'm acting like the guy who had a triple workload this week. And who wanted to give you a little space.

"When you came on to me, you thought you'd just been through a simple breakup. Then you learned the truth. Then he died. I figured the last thing you needed was some guy just out of the loony bin trying to jump your bones."

She smiles. "If it weren't for the loony bin, as you call it, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? Because the guy you were before wouldn't be concerned about such things."

"He might," House says. "But he wouldn't show it."

"You're right, though," Cameron admits. "I am avoiding. But not you."

She sighs. "When my first husband died, I-I was a wreck. I couldn't function for months. Even though I knew it was coming -- knew he was going to die -- it killed me.

"But losing Chase ... it doesn't feel the same. It hurts. It hurts like hell. But it doesn't hurt the way it did the first time. And that scares me. That's what I'm avoiding -- having to think about the idea that maybe ... I didn't ... really love him." She drops her face into her hands and begins to cry.

"No, no, Allison," House says gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "All it means is that you grew up. You lived through a few more losses ... and learned that losing someone isn't the end of the world.

"That's something I had to learn, too," he adds. "And I was a lot older than you when I did. Remind me to tell you sometime about Lydia."

"Who?"

"I said sometime. Not now."

She wipes her tears, then stares at her hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

"House, I need to ask you something, but I've been afraid of the answer. It's about Cuddy. Everyone's saying you're ... interested in her."

House takes a deep breath. "I was," he says. "There's some history ... some good memories. All right, one good memory. But it would never work. I'm not what she needs.

"But you ... you're what I need. Not what I deserve, but what I need.

"There's something you have to understand, though. I don't want a fling. If this ... happens, I'm in it for the long haul. You need to think about what you'd be giving up: the picket fence, the two-point-five kids, the dog ... ."

"You really think that's what I want?" she says with a mischievous little smile. "Come on, what would I do with half a kid?"

"Feed it to the dog? Allison, I'm serious. You really need to think about what you want."

"I already know," she says. "I want to be a good doctor -- as good as you."

He snorts. "You're already there. And you've already overtaken me in the bedside manner department."

"And ... I want someone to love. Someone smart -- no, not just smart, brilliant. And funny. And passionate. About everything he does.

"Someone who's tender and considerate in bed, even if he isn't always that way out of bed. And he should have a great smile that he doesn't show often -- because that makes it all the more beautiful when he does."

"And blue eyes. Gorgeous blue eyes that I want to get lost in."

The tenderness in her eyes is almost too much to bear. House looks away.

"That's a tall order," he says, a tiny crack in his voice.

"You're tall."

She reaches out her hand, places it over his.

"What should we do?" he says at last.

"I think ... we should start over."

"From where? The part where you quit and will only come back if I take you out on a date?"

She smiles. "How about we skip right to the date part?"

He smiles back. "Hungry?"

---

"Are you sure you wouldn't like dessert?" Wilson asks.

"Goodness, James, do you want me to explode?" Blythe answers. "If I ate another bite, I'd be like that fellow in the Monty Python movie who ate a mint and blew up all over the restaurant!"

Wilson chuckles. "I never took you for a Monty Python fan."

"Oh, I'm not. Greg rented the movie once, when he was home on break from medical school. I just caught bits and pieces of it -- including that part. I didn't care for it. I guess I just don't get British humor."

"Well, if you don't have room, I'll get it to go. You can't leave town without trying the delicious fudge marble cheesecake they make here."

Blythe nods in agreement, but her face falls. She dabs at her eyes with her napkin.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, James. You just reminded me that I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. And I don't want to.

"I'm going to miss Greg. You know, we've spent more time together in the past couple of weeks than we have in years. And it's been good. I hate to say this -- it makes me feel disloyal to John -- but it's so much easier for Greg and me since his father died.

"And I'll miss those sweet children on the cancer ward. And Allison -- dear Allison. I think I've fallen in love with her."

"She is very easy to love."

"Yes. And I hope Greg hasn't lost sight of that."

"You mean ... he and Allison have ... ?"

"They were -- how do I put this? -- growing rather close while he was getting her settled in at my house. But with Robert dying, everything got so complicated. I think they've put it on hold. I just hope it doesn't stay that way. They're so good together."

Wilson shakes his head in mild disbelief. "Years ago ... she was very interested in him. He wasn't. Back then I thought she'd be good for him, but I figured that ship had sailed. But maybe it can work this time. He's different now."

"You mean since he was in the mental hospital?"

"He told you about that?"

"Yes. Not a lot, but he promised to tell me more."

Wilson flags down the waitress and orders a slice of cheesecake to go. When she's gone, he looks at Blythe with an "I've got an idea" expression that reminds her of her son.

"Blythe, I was just thinking ... maybe you should consider moving here."

Her eyes widen with surprise. "Move here? Oh, James, I couldn't ... ."

"Why not? What's keeping you in Lexington? A few friends? The house? Memories of John? You have friends here. You have family here. We have houses. And memories are portable."

She looks off into the distance, contemplating the idea.

"You could see your son anytime. You could see Allison. You could keep volunteering at the hospital."

"And ... piano lessons," she muses.

"Piano lessons?"

"When Allison was staying with me, I was teaching her piano. It was such fun ... reminded me of teaching Greg when he was a boy. I can keep working with her. And maybe even hang out a shingle and teach children.

"Oh, but I shouldn't go off like this until I see how Greg feels about it. Maybe he won't want his old Mom around all the time."

Wilson's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks at the display. "Speak of the devil," he tells Blythe. "Hey, what's up?" he says into the phone. "Oh ... Seriously? ... Yes, I'll tell her. Have a good night, House."

Blythe looks at him, head cocked quizzically. He's grinning.

"He said ... to tell you not to be concerned if Allison gets home late. Or not at all."

Blythe answers his grin with one of her own.

"That's my boy."

-end-

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 21/?

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 03:03:33 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: Character death
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

To start at the beginning, go here.

The memorial service in the hospital chapel is brief, simple and private. Just Cameron, House, Blythe, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman and a handful of Chase's colleagues from the OR. Cameron manages to persuade her parents and brother not to attend, explaining that it won't be worth it for such a short service. She knows they'd want to justify the travel time by staying around to fuss over her, and she doesn't want that. Blythe's non-fussy support is all she needs. She promises to make it up to them by coming out for Thanksgiving.

By happy concidence, the priest Cuddy found to officiate -- Father Dionne -- is the same one who heard Chase's confession in jail.

"As a man of God, I can't condone what this young man did," he says. "It's not up to us to decide who lives and who dies. But he believed he was doing the right thing and threw himself on the mercy of his Lord. I can't help but think of another young man who did what he believed was right ... and paid with his life.

"I realize not everyone here shares my beliefs, or his, but for what it's worth, I believe Robert died in a state of grace and will be welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven.

"Let us pray. And I urge you to pray in whatever manner you see fit."

House looks around. Cameron's head is bowed, but her lips are still. Cuddy and Wilson are murmuring in Hebrew -- he recognizes it as the Mourner's Kaddish. Blythe and Foreman are mouthing the Lord's Prayer.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. Foreman and Cuddy both say a few words. The priest offers a benediction. Wilson invites all present to share refreshments in the doctors lounge. House is pleased to discover that those refreshments include his favorite whiskey.

He raises his glass. "To Chase."

---

Blythe stays with Cameron for a week. They spend the evenings sorting through Chase's possessions, deciding what to donate to charity and what to keep. She wants only a few things: photos, souvenirs of their honeymoon, his favorite tie.

By day, Cameron throws herself into work. House's department isn't lacking for cases. In that one week, they go through three -- all with good results.

To fill the time while Cameron is working, Wilson sets Blythe up as a volunteer on the pediatric oncology ward. She's an instant hit. The children adore her, and the feeling is mutual.

On her fifth day there, Wilson arrives to take her home, explaining that Cameron is working late. Blythe, who's been sitting Indian-style on the floor playing a rousing game of "telephone" with six little girls, inquires about the patient.

"He's recovering. She's just up to her elbows in paperwork. How about I take you to dinner?"

"Sounds good. But I think you need to help me up!"

He reaches out his hand. She takes it, uncrosses her legs and eases herself into a standing position. "Good night, my darlings. I'll be back tomorrow," she tells the children.

"Bye, Nana Bike!" they respond, almost in unison.

"What did they just call you?" Wilson asks when they're out of earshot.

Blythe chuckles. "That little angel who was sitting just to my right -- in the Barbie cap. Is she your patient?"

"Yes, that's Lexie. Sweet kid."

"Well, she asked me yesterday if I'd be her Nana, because both her grandmothers have gone to heaven. I told her of course I would. Next thing I knew, all the children were calling me Nana Blythe.

"Except for little Jeremy. He can't pronounce Blythe, so it came out 'Nana Bike.' Now they all call me that, because, as Lexie put it, they 'don't want him to feel bad about not talking right.' "

Wilson grins. "I love how they look out for each other. You know Alex? The 10-year-old in the corner who was reading a Harry Potter book just now?"

"Of course."

"Bald as a billiard ball -- just like the rest of them. But the treatment he's on doesn't cause hair loss. He had the nurses shave his head as a gesture of support for the kids who have lost their hair."

Blythe smiles. "I used to think you had the most depressing job in the world -- treating little ones with cancer. But now I can see why you do it."

Two days earlier:

"Long time no see, Greg," Nolan says genially as he ushers House into his office. "I understand there's been a bit of excitement at work. That young man who died -- Dr. Chase -- didn't he work for you?"

House nods as he sits down. "It gets worse. That woman I told you about that I was sort of seeing?"

"Yes?"

"His wife."

"Oh! So I imagine you have a lot of thoughts and feelings to sort out."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious, M.D."

"Where should we start? Maybe you should tell me why you just used the past tense and the phrase 'sort of.' Is the relationship over?"

"Good question."

"So what's the answer?"

"I don't know. We had sex three -- no, four times. She was the instigator. But at the time, she thought Chase had dumped her because he'd fallen out of love with her. Then she found out he did it because he loved her. He was trying to protect her from the consequences of his actions. She'd barely had time to process that when he died.

"Consoling a jilted bride is one thing. It's another to take advantage of a grieving widow. And hard as some people may find that to believe, I do have some scruples."

"So you're trying to give her some space? Or you're taking the situation as an opportunity to back off from something you don't feel ready for?"

"Where's the check-off box for 'all of the above'?"

"You obviously like this woman. Why are you backing off?"

"She's too good for me."

"Ah, the low self-esteem monster rears its ugly head."

"It's not that. When I say she's good, I mean it in the way Santa Claus says it. She's kind and caring and warm ... a bad fit for a selfish bastard like me."

"Sounds like another woman we discussed recently."

"Oh, God. You mean this is some warped Oedipal thing?"

"Not at all. There's nothing Freudian about an adult being drawn to people who remind him of his parents. It comes from wanting to re-create the past and make things come out right this time. For instance, I think your relationship with Wilson has a lot to do with your father. You've told me that Wilson frequently expresses disapproval and disappointment with you. Just like your father did. But unlike him, Wilson has yet to reject you."

"Actually, he did. But he got over it. That still doesn't explain Allison. I have a good relationship with my mom. It's been kind of distant, but it's good."

"But you need more than that. You're a grown man. You need more than a mom -- you need a partner. Someone who will give you the same sort of love you got from your mother, but in a way that fills your adult needs."

"And by 'adult needs,' you mean sex?"

"And more. Greg, if you think Allison needs her space right now, It's good that you're respecting that. But don't shut yourself off in the long term from something -- someone -- who could be just what you need."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just think about it."

Chapter 22 (the end)

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 20/?

Tue, 22 Dec 2009 03:38:54 GMT

Sorry for the delay in updating. Holiday madness, you know. This fic is in the home stretch. When it's over, I'll have time to read all those marvelous Secret Santa fics that people have posted.

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: Character death
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

To start at the beginning, go here.

"You overheard?" House asks.

Cameron shakes her head.

"Then how ... ?"

"Because I'm an idiot," she says, dropping into the nearest chair. "I allowed myself to think -- for one brief moment -- that it couldn't get any worse. So of course it did."

Blythe places a hand tentatively on Cameron's arm. "Allison, darling, I'm so sorry," she whispers.

Cameron pats the older woman's hand in acknowledgment, then looks up at House. "What happened? Did he ... ?"

"Take himself out? No." House pours her a cup of coffee, sits down and tells her what Wilson told him.

"Oh, God." Cameron buries her face in her hands. House and his mother just wait. Neither has any words.

After a while, she looks up, and into House's eyes. Her own eyes are dry.

"I-I want to go home," she says softly. "I need to see him ... and I need to go back to work.

"Nobody's going to come after me now. They've got their -- their pound of flesh."

"OK," House says gently. "If that's what you want ... we can leave whenever you're ready."

"I'm coming, too," Blythe interjects. "That is, if it's all right with you."

"Yes," Cameron tells her. "I'd like that."

Blythe places a quick call to the neighbors and asks them to look after the cats. The women go upstairs to pack, and House calls Wilson to let him know he's bringing Cameron home. Wilson tells him to call back when they're within range of the hospital, and he'll meet them.

---

The trip is mostly silent. They stop for bathroom breaks, for House to stretch his aching leg and to switch drivers. Blythe eagerly shows off her new skill with a stick shift.

Wilson, as promised, is waiting in the lobby, along with Cuddy and Foreman. He steps forward and takes Cameron in his arms, whispering words of sympathy. House feels the same little pang he felt watching them that morning in the apartment -- that morning that suddenly feels like years ago.

"Blythe!" Wilson exclaims after he's released Cameron to accept hugs and condolences from Foreman and Cuddy. "This is a surprise. What brings you here?"

"I'm here to look after Allison," she says. "Didn't Greg tell you -- oh, that's right, he said he didn't tell anyone. She's been staying with me."

"He said she was staying with a relative. He didn't specify whose relative. It's good to see you." He bends down and kisses her on the cheek. "I just wish it were under better circumstances."

Cuddy has an arm around Cameron and asks her if she's ready. Cameron nods. They board the elevator to the morgue.

At the entrance, Cameron shivers, as if she's already in the cold room. "Do you want someone to come in with you, dear?" Blythe asks.

"Let's all go."

---

House has seen death. He knows what a person who has been strangled looks like. But none of that can prepare him for the sight of that once-handsome young face mottled and bloated and so ... un-Chase-like. He remembers teasing Cameron before the wedding, about how she would soon be the "second-prettiest Dr. Chase." He thinks of The Shawshank Redemption and a dozen other prison movies, and wonders if Dibala's son didn't do Chase a favor, given what happens to pretty white boys behind bars. And he thinks about how none of this should have happened ... if Chase had only kept his mouth shut.

His racing thoughts are interrupted by Cameron's barely audible, "Oh, Robert." She's been holding his hand, and his mother's. She releases them both and walks slowly toward her husband's body. She kisses his cold cheek, caresses his forehead and mouths something that might be Why? or I'm sorry or I love you.

The five of them cast their eyes downward, willing themselves to give her privacy, until she turns to face them again. She looks around, as if uncertain which one of them to turn to. Five friends, five pairs of comforting arms, 10 shoulders.

It's Blythe who makes the decision. She wraps an arm around her son's waist, and the two of them gather her in. Wilson, then Cuddy, then Foreman join them. They stand there in silence, a circle of warmth against the chill of the death room, Cameron's muffled sobs the only sound.

At last she raises her head from House's chest. "We should go," she says. "We need to talk about ... arrangements."

"My office," Cuddy says. "I've ordered some sandwiches."

---

Wilson has the envelope that Chase gave House before he went to the police. The organ donor information has been dealt with, but the packet still contains his will and his final instructions. House surveys the latter -- a single sheet.

"He wants -- wanted -- a priest, but no Mass and none of that open-casket calling hours business," House says. "And he's requested cremation. I thought Catholics didn't do that."

"Depends on the priest," Wilson says. To House's incredulous look, he adds, "I'm an oncologist. I've been to lots of funerals. But I don't know any priests well enough to ask."

"I'll check our list of chaplains," Cuddy says. "Allison, is there anything ... ?"

Cameron shakes her head. "I just want this to be simple ... and private."

"OK," Cuddy says. "We'll talk more about this after I've found an officiant. Now I want you to go home and rest."

Chapter 21

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 19/?

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 04:11:01 GMT

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 18/?

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 05:34:36 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for passing sexual references
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: Character death. Yes, you read that right.
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

To start at the beginning, go here.

"Allison!" Blythe exclaims. House knows that tone. It's the one she used when he swore in front of her as a small boy, or sassed his father, or insulted Aunt Sarah's cooking.

He holds his free hand up for silence, then motions to his mother to sit down. His other hand is still on Cameron's shoulder.

"Please, Allison," he says softly. "I need to explain ..."

She raises her head, and he winces at the anger in her red, swollen eyes.

"All right," she says flatly. "Explain. Explain why you lied to me. Why you both lied to me."

"I-I had to. We had to. This is literally a matter of life and death. Your life and death."

"I don't get it ... why?" she says. "Was he going to kill me next?"

"No. It's like this." He tells her everything. Dibala's death. Chase's remorse, and his fear that Dibala's men would seek revenge by harming his killer's wife.

"This is crazy, House. Why didn't he just tell me what was going on?"

"Have you been listening? He knew that if he told you the truth, you'd insist on standing by him. Which would have made you a sitting duck -- pardon the mixed metaphor. They have less reason to come after you if there is no you ... no you and Chase. He'd rather you end up a live Miss Havisham than a dead Tammy Wynette."

Cameron shakes her head in disbelief. "My God, House. For the past week, I've been thinking he hates me. But he doesn't. He only pretended to hate me ... because he loves me. He gave me up, gave up our marriage, because he loves me. I-I don't know what to think -- what to say. It feels like I just rode a roller coaster into the Twilight Zone."

"Oh, come on, what he did isn't that far removed from marrying a terminal case so he wouldn't die alone. If self-sacrifice were a sport, you two would have more medals than Michael Phelps. I'd say you were made for each other, if it weren't for that whole ... murder thing."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" she says wryly.

"No. Because nothing can. This sucks, Allison. And I wish none of it had happened. I'm sorry."

Blythe has been listening intently. She rises and walks over to them. Cameron makes room for her on the end of the couch and slumps into her arms.

"Greg," she says softly over Cameron's head, "I'm sorry to ask this, but I have to know: Are we in any danger? Is there any chance those men could track her down here?"

"No. That's why I brought her here. It's the last place anyone would look for her. And nobody knows she's here. Not even Wilson."

"You're absolutely sure?"

House nods.

"Good. But you know what? If they were to figure out where she is, it would do them no good. Anyone who wants to hurt our Allison has to answer to me."

Right. You'll beat them off with your son's cane. House smiles inwardly at the image of his petite mother standing up to a band of thugs ... and winning. But it's our Allison that gives him a pleasant little ache in his chest.

You hear that? he says, not aloud. You're ours now.

Cameron's phone buzzes insistently on the coffee table. She picks it up and grimaces as she reads the display.

"Oh, God, it's my mom," she says. "I can't talk to her now. I just can't."

"Want me to answer it?" Blythe asks.

Cameron nods and hands her the phone.

"Hello ... Mrs. Cameron? ... No, this is her friend Blythe. ... I'm sorry, she's not up to talking on the phone right now. I'm sure you realize she's had quite a shock. ... OK ... Yes, of course. ... I'll tell her. ... Yes. ... You're welcome, dear. Bye."

She ends the call and hands the phone back. "She said to tell you she loves you, she's thinking of you, and she wants you to call as soon as you're able. And you really need to do that. Mothers worry, you know."

"I know," Cameron whispers. "Thank you."

After a while, Blythe retreats to the kitchen to make dinner. "I know you don't think you're hungry," she tells Cameron. "People never do when they get bad news. But you have to eat. I'll fix something light -- maybe some grilled chicken. Sound good?"

"Sounds just right," Cameron says.

When she's gone, Cameron turns to House. "So what do I do now?"

"Same thing you've been doing. Stay under the radar, and lie low until this all blows over. And ... if you want to do the lying low part without me, I understand.

"But if you want to do it with me, I promise to keep my hands to myself."

Cameron smiles gratefully. "Let me think about it."

After dinner, she curls up on the couch and falls asleep. She awakens at 1 a.m., alone except for Chance, who's purring at her feet. House has left two Ambien on the coffee table with a glass of water and a note: To get you through the rest of the night.

She swallows the pills and goes downstairs. She climbs into the sofa bed beside House and lets his breathing lull her back to sleep.

----

House is the first one up. He's just put the coffee on when Blythe stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," she says around a yawn. "Is Allison still asleep?"

House nods. "Are you OK? You're usually more chipper than this."

Blythe smiles apologetically. "It took me a long time to get to sleep. I'm so worried about Allison. I wish there was something I could do."

"You're doing it," House says. A noise from the living room catches his attention. Cameron's phone again. He goes to fetch it and waves Blythe away when she offers to take the call. It's Cuddy.

"This is House."

"House? Why are you answering Cameron's phone? Is she with you?"

"Yes and no. She's asleep."

"Wake her up. I have to talk to her. It's important."

"If you're calling to tell her Chase is in jail, she already ..."

"No, House. He isn't. Not anymore. He ..." The last word is strangled in a sob.

Sound of Wilson's voice -- Here, Lisa, let me -- and the phone being passed.

"House, it's me. Chase ... Chase is dead."

Chapter 19

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 17/?

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 05:11:58 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for passing sexual references
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

To start at the beginning, go here.

Thursday

Princeton:

They solve the case that morning. The patient is on her way home with a fistful of prescriptions and instructions. Chase finishes the paperwork and heads for the clinic. He seems calm, at peace -- almost happy.

House remembers reading something about suicides in a brochure he'd picked up during an idle moment at Mayfield. A calm demeanor in a previously agitated person was a red flag, it said. It could mean that the person had made peace with his decision to do the deed.

He knows Chase isn't contemplating suicide -- not the literal kind. Career suicide, most definitely. Even if the legal system is easy on him, he's unlikely to keep his medical license. And he's already thrown away his marriage.

Idiot. He could have gotten away with killing Dibala -- House and Foreman had seen to that. But some enormous mutant Godzilla-movie version of Jiminy Cricket had planted itself on his shoulder, and he'll have no peace until he pays the price.

Having a Jewish best friend -- who's been carrying the burden of a hangup phone call for years -- has taught House something about guilt. Not to mention being the reason that same best friend lost the love of his life. But Catholic guilt is another thing entirely. Maybe Chase should have stuck with seminary instead of medical school. When it comes to medicine, religion just gets in the way.

He leans back, closes his eyes and thinks of Cameron. But he tries to keep those thoughts G-rated. He pictures her at the kitchen table with his mother, sipping coffee while Blythe tells her embarrassing stories from his childhood. He imagines the two of them sitting on the couch, petting the cats and watching "Days of our Lives." Or at the piano -- maybe playing that simple four-handed arrangement of "Ode to Joy" she'd played with him when he was 7 or so.

He tries not to give in to those other thoughts of her -- smooth skin and soft moans and sweet urges and merging bodies. They feel out of place now that he and Chase are back in the same ZIP code.

Because despite his best efforts, Gregory House is no stranger to guilt.

Friday

Princeton:

He arrives at work to an empty conference room and a hastily scribbled note from Chase.

House, thanks for everything. It's time. RC

He stashes the note in his pocket and heads for the clinic.

Three hours and 16 patients later, he's at the door of Wilson's office, hoping to invite him to lunch. But the door is locked and the lights are out. He turns around, resigned to a solitary meal, when Wilson turns up, a bit breathless.

"Nooner?" House asks.

"Traffic," Wilson says. "There's something going on at the police station. I had to take this detour, and I ended up lost in Lawrenceville."

Police station. Presumably where Chase was headed. "Any idea what the deal was?"

"Dunno. I did see a couple of trucks from the TV stations. One from Philly, one from New York. Maybe they made a big bust."

House shivers and hopes Wilson doesn't see. Damn. The news. Dibala's death had gone national within hours. His killer's confession would do the same. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Now his only thought is getting to Cameron before the news does.

"Gotta go," he tells Wilson. "Raincheck on lunch?"

"Uh ... we had lunch plans?"

"I did. Never mind. If Cuddy's looking for me, tell her I had a family emergency. And if you want to know what the hell this is all about, watch the evening news."

Lexington:

He sprints out of the terminal as fast as his bad leg will allow and brings up Blythe's number on his phone while he hails a cab. He has no bags -- he'd booked the next flight to Lexington on his way to the parking lot, hopped on his motorcycle and driven to the airport, stopping only for traffic lights.

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me. I just landed and I'm on my way over there. Where's Allison?"

"Greg! She's -- in the living room. 'Oprah' just ended, and she said something about watching the news."

"Turn it off."

"But why?"

"Just do it. Now."

Before she can react, House hears the sound he's been dreading -- a distant scream, followed by "Oh, God! Robert!"

This is followed by a startled gasp from Blythe. "Whatever you didn't want her to see ... I think you're too late," she tells House. "I'd better go check on her."

"Yes. Do that. I'll be there in a few minutes." He flips the phone shut and tells the cabbie to step on it.

Blythe scurries into the living room, where Cameron is standing in front of the TV, pale and trembling. It's as if that old cliche has come to life, Blythe thinks: She looks as if she's seen a ghost.

As she rushes to the younger woman's side, she's vaguely aware of the words coming from the speaker. Dibala ... doctor ... confessed ... causing his death ...
Robert Chase ... Princeton-Plainsboro ...

"Ally, what is it?" Blythe asks, grabbing Cameron by the upper arms. "What's wrong?"

Cameron points to the screen. Over the anchorwoman's shoulder is a police mug shot of a young man with disheveled blond hair and a pained expression.

"Th-that's ... my-my husband."

---

Fifteen minutes later, House bursts through the front door, panic in his eyes.

"Where is she?" he demands.

"In there," Blythe says, pointing toward the living room. She just got back from the bathroom ... she was sick ... I gave her some tea ..."

House dashes past his mother. Cameron is huddled in a corner of the couch, still trembling.

He sits down beside her and places a hand on her shoulder. "Allison ... "

She doesn't look at him. She just buries her face in her hands and chokes, "Go away!"

Chapter 18

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 16/?

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 05:24:53 GMT

Undisclosed Location, Chapter 15/?

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 03:05:24 GMT

Undisclosed location, Chapter 14/?

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 04:15:26 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for soft-focus sex
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

To start at the beginning, go here.

Chapter 14 is

His conversation with Nolan has eased House's mind. He returns to Cameron's room and slips into bed beside her.

There's still plenty to think about: getting the power turned back on at his apartment, packing up his things, getting someone -- Wilson, maybe? -- to get rid of the remaining Vicodin stashes, but they can wait. He drifts off into a contented, dreamless sleep.

When he awakens, sunlight is streaming through the window, past the ruffled curtains, and casting a soft light on Cameron's sleeping form. The sight of her face, framed in sleep-disheveled curls and the floral-print pillowcase, may be the prettiest thing he's ever seen. He props his head on his elbow and watches her, a little half-smile on his face.

After a while, her eyes open. "Morning," he whispers.

"Hi," she answers. "Have you been watching me sleep?"

He nods. "Is that creepy?"

"No." She smiles and lays a hand on his cheek. "It's kind of sweet."

House chuckles. "That's the second time in two days someone has called me that. You and my mom are going to ruin my reputation."

"It'll be our secret." She leans in and gives him a long, deep kiss. His body responds immediately.

"Careful, there," he says. "Don't start something you can't finish. I smell coffee, which means my mom's up."

Indeed she is. As Cameron pulls reluctantly away, they hear her voice from the bottom of the stairs. "Greg? Allison? Are you up? I need to talk to you!"

"We'll be right down!" Cameron calls back.

Blythe is in the kitchen, wearing a smart teal pants suit and a flustered expression.

"I'm so sorry," she says. "In all the excitement of you being here, I completely forgot that I promised to take the Emersons -- they live next door -- to church this morning. She doesn't drive, and he had a hip replacement last week, so he can't. I put coffee on, but I'm afraid I can't stay to make breakfast. I'm so sorry," she says again.

"Relax, Blythe," Cameron says. "We'll be fine. You go on ahead."

"I don't suppose you two would like to come along?"

"We'll pass," House says. "If I walked into a church, Jesus would probably come down off the cross, poke me in the chest and say, 'Who the hell are you?' "

"Greg!" Blythe tries to look indignant, but the laugh lines around her eyes give her away. "I'll be back in a couple of hours," she says as she grabs her purse, kisses her son on the cheek and heads for the door.

House waits a few seconds after the door closes and walks up behind Cameron as she's pouring coffee. "You know," he says, "Maybe we should go to church."

She turns around, incredulous. "Seriously? I guess we could still catch ... "

"Not that church. When I say, 'go to church,' I mean 'take you back upstairs and make you scream, "Oh, God!" at the top of your lungs.' "

Cameron smiles and slips her arms around his neck. "Can I get an 'Amen!'?"

----

He didn't think making love with her could be any sweeter, but free of worries about his mother overhearing, she gives free rein to the sounds of pleasure, which only feed his desire. Oh, God ... yes ... House ... -- but not his first name. That's a line she's not ready to cross. And at the end, the sounds she makes aren't words at all.

They lie together in blissful exhaustion, then enjoy a long, leisurely shower for two before dressing and going back downstairs, where Blythe returns to find Cameron making brunch and House playing the piano.

She lights up like a little girl on Christmas morning. "Oh, this is wonderful!" she exclaims. "The smell of bacon and the sound of Chopin. I don't care what that minister said -- this is heaven!"

----

They both insist on accompanying him to the airport that afternoon. Despite his protests about parking hassles, he's pleased to have them there.

"It's been so good to see you, Greg," Blythe says, holding him as if she can't bear to let him go. "I promise to take good care of Allison."

"I want you to take good care of each other," he answers. "I'll be back when it's time to take her home."

He kisses Cameron chastely on the lips and whispers in her ear, "Remember: Frills. Barbies. Just say no."

Blythe puts her arm around Cameron's waist, and they watch him make his way slowly to the security checkpoint line.

----

Wilson is reading a medical journal and trying to stay awake when House bursts through the door, singing softly.

"Well, it's about time!" he exclaims, setting down the journal. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Don't give me that 'my kid was out past curfew' act," House says. "I called and told you I wouldn't be home until tonight."

"Yes, you did. But I'd still like to know where you've been. And why you're so chipper. When you're in this kind of mood, there's usually either a female or pharmaceuticals involved."

"Actually, there were two females."

"Something tells me I don't want to know."

" 'Something,' whoever he is, is a smart guy."

"So you're not going to tell me what you've been up to?"

"Got a new hobby. Magic. For my first trick, I made Cameron disappear."

Wilson's eyes widen. "The whole hospital's been wondering where she is. She told me about Chase breaking up with her, but that doesn't explain ... . Do you know where she is? Is she OK?"

"She's fine. She's staying with a relative. Now, for my next trick, I'm going to make me disappear."

"Huh?"

"From here. I'm moving out."

"But your therapist ... ."

"His idea." House pulls out his cell phone and holds it out toward Wilson. "Ask him yourself."

"It's almost midnight, House. Can we talk about this in the morning?"

"OK. Good night, Wilson." House limps off in the direction of the bedroom-turned-study-turned bedroom.

"Good night, House."

Chapter 15

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 13

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 01:57:57 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for passing sexual references
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

Blythe's friend Anna turns out to be a recently retired professor of biology, 4 feet 10, with a charming Kentucky drawl, a dry wit and an infectious laugh, who greets House and Cameron as if they were old friends.

Her team spirit is infectious, too, and House yells himself hoarse at the game. Afterward, Anna directs them to a tiny pub on the other side of town that the students haven't discovered. They devour huge sandwiches and talk about medicine; Anna tells them she wanted to be a doctor, but an unexpected pregnancy forced her to switch to a part-time Ph.D. program instead.

"So I spent 40 years teaching future doctors. You know that intro biology course that all the freshmen who want to be pre-meds take? And half of them run screaming from and become business majors? I only lost about two students a year. And the ones who stayed all passed."

Cameron smiles. "I wish I'd gone to school here. I flunked that course the first time." She turns to House. "Oh, I suppose you not only aced it, but were teaching it by sophomore year."

"Nope," he says smugly. "Freshman year. There's this little thing called Advanced Placement."

Anna drains her beer and pats Cameron's hand. "I'm glad you persevered. It always makes me happy to see women make it. I know it's easier now for us, but it wasn't always."

"Was it hard back then ... being a woman in the sciences?" Cameron asks.

"It was at first," Anna tells her. "I was the only woman in the program, and, well, look at me.

"But the first time someone pulled that sexist crap on me, I told him, 'Look, buddy, I may be too short to kick you in the you-know-whats, but I bite.' "

Blythe blushes. Cameron giggles. House grins broadly and calls, "Barkeep! Another tall one for the short one!"

-----

He and Cameron are both exhausted that night, and she makes love to him slowly, gently, mindful of his leg and his aching muscles. She falls asleep almost immediately, but he can't. His body is tired, but his mind is racing.

He slips out of bed as quietly as he can -- thankfully, she doesn't awaken -- and pulls on a pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. Cell phone in hand, he pads downstairs to his father's den and stretches out on the couch.

Four rings, then Nolan's sleepy voice on the other end. "Hello, Greg. What's going on?"

"Just checking to see if you meant it when you said, 'Call anytime.' "

"Of course I did. So talk to me."

"I-I'm at my mother's."

"Oh. Has something happened to her? Is she OK?"

"She's fine. Why would you assume something's happened?"

"Because most of my patients have to be dragged kicking and screaming to visit their mothers."

"I'm the daddy issues guy, remember?"

Nolan chuckles. "So what's the problem, Greg?"

"I'm leaving for home tomorrow. And I don't want to go."

"Why do you think that is?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be interrupting your Saturday night."

"I'm the 'no personal life' guy, remember? You're not keeping me from anything. We haven't really talked about your mom. Tell me about her."

"She's ... amazing. When my father was alive, she was all about playing peacemaker, smoothing things over between him and me. But now that he's gone, and it's just us ... there's nothing but love. You know, she barely blinked when I told her about Mayfield."

"It's more than love, Greg. It's unconditional love. And acceptance. And you're not getting that in your everyday life, are you?"

House's eyes sting, and he blinks back tears. "No," he says softly. "My team ... Cuddy ... Wilson ... especially Wilson. It feels like they're all waiting to pounce on me for whatever I say or do. The guy who's supposed to be my best friend ... he came right out and said he'd rather talk to his dead girlfriend than to me, because talking to her makes him feel better -- and I don't.

"And what really sucks is, they're right. I'm an ass. But I'm trying to be less of one ... and they aren't giving me a chance."

"And how exhausting that must be for you, Greg. Expecting your every move to be criticized or second-guessed or judged. Trying to earn back the trust of people who have learned not to trust you.

"But your mom ... she's loved and trusted you all along. With her, you're able to relax and be yourself. No wonder you don't want to leave that."

The sharp intake of breath on the other end tells Nolan he's hit home.

"Greg, are you OK? You're allowed to cry. I won't tell a soul -- doctor-patient confidentiality, you know."

"I know," House says weakly.

"Tell me why you're crying."

"Because I'm pathetic. I'm 50 years old and I want my mommy."

Nolan chuckles again. "Show me a person -- of any age -- who doesn't want Mommy now and then, and I'll show you a person with no pulse. The need for unconditional love is something we never outgrow. But you're an addictive personality who is a bit overwhelmed by it at the moment, because you've been without it for so long."

"Please tell me you're not reading anything Oedipal into this. I mean, I love my mom, but I don't want ... "

"Relax, I'm not a Freudian. I'm a cognitive-behaviorist."

"Good. Because I'm already covered in that department."

"Oh? You met someone new?"

"Met her years ago. The, uh, bedroom gymnastics part is new."

"She married?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Just your recent track record."

"I thought we agreed that judgmental thing was bad for me."

"I'm not judging, Greg. I'm just concerned. I saw what happened last time you got involved with a married woman. I'd like to think you learned something from that."

"I did. I learned that I can get hurt ... and it won't destroy me."

"So ... is she?"

"Technically, yes. But her husband broke up with her. And no, it wasn't her fault. Long story."

"And if she and her husband get back together, you're prepared to deal with that?"

"Yes. But I don't have to like it."

"That's progress, Greg. I'm proud of you. So now ... what do we do about your going back home?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me."

"I think you should start by moving back to your own apartment ... putting some space between you and Wilson."

"Break up with my best friend?"

"No. Just set some boundaries. If you're not in each other's faces every day, it'll be easier for you to change, and for him to see it. What do you think?"

"Sounds like a plan. Makes me nervous, though. I've still got Vicodin stashed all over the place."

"Get someone to clean it out. You can do this, Greg. I have faith in you. Just like your mom. Do you want me to call Wilson? Tell him I've OK'd you to move out?"

"No, I'll do it. He can call you if he doesn't believe me."

"OK. And there's one other thing I want you to do. Got a picture of your mother?"

"No."

"Take one before you go. Keep it with you. Look at it regularly, and remind yourself that there is someone in the world who loves you no matter what. And don't let too much time elapse between phone calls."

House is smiling now. "Thanks," he says softly. "You're good at this."

"That's my job," Nolan says in his best Jack Webb. "I'm a shrink. Call me when you get back to Princeton, OK?"

"Will do."

"Good night, Greg."

Chapter 14

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 12

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 04:18:37 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

House finishes his coffee. "Mom, I want to talk to you more about this ... about Dad. But not now. I should get dressed." He picks up his cane and rises from the kitchen chair.

"Of course, honey," Blythe says. "And ... if it's OK with you, I'd like to know more about why you went to that hospital. Will you tell me about that?"

"Yes," he says. "But in case you're wondering, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. In fact, if it weren't for you, I might be an even worse head case.

"And I hope Dad knew ... how lucky he was."

There's that smile again -- the one that lights up her face like sunshine after a storm. "Oh, Greg," she whispers, then flings her arms around him. "That may be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

"Probably the only sweet thing I've ever said to you. And that's a pity ... because you deserve more."

"There were others," she says. "Like the time you were 4 and told me I was the 'prettiest mommy in the whole wide world.' "

"You still are."

"Stop. You'll turn my head." She glances at the clock on the wall. "You'd better get a move on if you want to watch 'Judge Judy' with me. She's on in 15 minutes."

----

He stretches out on the couch, Lucky beside him, while Blythe settles into his dad's old recliner, Chance in her lap. "Judge Judy" gives way to other judge shows -- Greg Mathis, Joe Brown, Marilyn Whatshername who replaced the formidable Judge Wapner.

"They remind me of you," Blythe tells her son during a commercial break. "The way they call people out on their bull. If you hadn't become a doctor, you'd have made a good judge."

"If it didn't require law school," House says. "I dated a lawyer, remember? The stories she told about law school had me convinced I'd have lasted about a week."

He's pleased to find out his mother's favorite soap, "Days of Our Lives," is on before his. He listens patiently during the commercials as she fills him in on what's happening with Bo and Hope and Sami and Nicole and EJ and baby Sydney, until it's as if he's been watching it for years. The show is at the 45-minute mark when Cameron returns.

"Little help?" she calls from the kitchen doorway.

Blythe jumps up. "Come on, Greg. She's got all those groceries you asked for. You should lend a hand."

House holds up his cane. "Cripple, remember?"

"I said, 'lend a hand.' Your cane only takes up one. Let's go."

-----

Blythe digs out the small portable TV that she used to watch in the kitchen while John watched news or sports in the living room. The three of them watch "Prescription: Passion," and House delivers the play-by-play in between directing them in slicing, dicing, mincing and sauteeing.

"Damn," he says as the credits roll. "I was sure Moira would find out today that Jonah faked his death."

Blythe grins. "How long have you been watching soaps, Greg? You know they never give away anything good on a Friday."

Dinner is an elaborate, multinational affair that has both Cameron and Blythe exclaiming appreciation every few bites. Pork tenderloins in mustard-caper sauce. The gnocchi he'd learned to make in Wilson's cooking class. The azuki beans he turned into a succulent Somali dish called cambuulo and the filling in daifuku, a Japanese pastry.

"Greg, I had no idea you were such a good cook," Blythe says when it's over. "I had no idea you even liked to cook."

"Blame my shrink. He wanted me to get a hobby, so I borrowed one of Wilson's. Turns out I wasn't half bad at it."

"Now there's an understatement," Cameron says. "But what about your leg? You wanted to do this because ... ."

"It's better. Damned if I know why. Cooking worked on the pain for a while, then it stopped working. But at least for tonight, it helped."

"And figuring out why will give you another puzzle to solve," Cameron says. "And that will help."

-----

In the living room, House, with Lucky the cat purring beside him, watches the National Geographic Channel while Cameron reads and Blythe works a crossword puzzle, until the phone rings, interrupting their respective reveries.

Blythe picks up. "Hello? Oh, hi, Anna. ... Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Hope he feels better soon. ... Me? ... Well, I've got company this weekend. My son is here with a friend. ... You haven't? Maybe they'd like to; let me ask them. ... OK, I'll call you right back. 'Bye."

"You kids like football?" she asks as she hangs up the phone.

"Who wants to know?" House says.

"My friend Anna. She was going to the Kentucky-North Carolina game tomorrow with her husband and daughter-in-law and grandson. But the little fellow has a nasty cold, so they can't go. Jeff -- that's her son -- gave her the tickets and told her to take some friends.

"I was the first one she called, so she still has all three tickets. Would you like to go? The Wildcats are having a winning year, so it could be quite a party."

"Sounds like fun," Cameron says. "I haven't been to a college football game since I was an undergrad. What do you think, House?"

He thinks about all the reasons not to go -- hard bleachers and chilly air, bad for his leg. Hordes of obnoxious, underage drunks. Then he remembers the reasons he enjoyed going to games himself as an undergraduate: the excitement, the bonding, the being part of something big -- albeit unimportant in the grand scheme of things. In the stands, the lines between geeks and jocks, preppies and scholarship kids, even blacks, whites and Asians, were erased. Everyone was a fan, and everyone belonged.

Belonging. That's what he's been missing. Maybe a little dose of football will be good for his soul, the way cooking was good for his leg tonight.

He looks at the two women who are eagerly awaiting his answer.

"Go, Wildcats," he says.

-----

Blythe nods off over her crossword and startles herself awake when she drops the puzzle book and pencil in her lap, startling Chance, who's dozing on her lap. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I guess it's time to turn in. Someone want to help me unload the dishwasher?"

"I'll help," Cameron says. "Unless you want to wait until morning."

"Oh, no, it's part of my bedtime routine. Helps me unwind."

And it has been for as long as House can remember. As a little boy, he'd lie awake listening to the clattering of plates and the clinking of glassware as his mother put the dinner dishes away. A comforting sound. The memory makes him smile.

He starts to doze off and is vaguely aware of Blythe heading upstairs. It's Cameron's voice that jolts him fully awake. She's standing in front of him, cheeks red. "House!" she hisses. "She knows!"

"Knows what? The square root of pi? The meaning of life? Who's buried in Grant's tomb?"

Cameron's response is an exasperated sigh. "She knows about last night! Before she left the kitchen, she said to me, 'I think you two might be more comfortable upstairs tonight.' Then she winked at me!"

His only answer is a bemused smile. You're cute when you're flustered, he thinks, but doesn't dare say it aloud. That would get him slapped, or at the very least, denied access to the "comforts" of upstairs.

Her eyes widen. "You ... you knew she knows? And you didn't tell me?"

He shrugs. "Must've slipped my mind. But yes, she knows, and she's cool with it. Why are you freaking out?"

"Because she's your mother, and this is her house, and ... I don't know, I guess I just didn't expect this."

"Full disclosure: I didn't either. But here's the deal," he says as Cameron sits down beside him. "I'm only coming upstairs if you want me to."

"I do," she says softly, taking his hand.

"You're sure? Last night was ... pleasant, but I was prepared to write it off as a one-time thing. If that's what you wanted it to be."

"I know what you're thinking. But last night was about more than wanting to be comforted, or be in control. I-I felt something."

"I noticed." He waggles his eyebrows playfully.

"House! You know what I mean. A long time ago ... I had feelings for you. But you weren't interested, so I ... locked up those feelings. But they never went away. And last night, I started to feel them again."

"You're insane."

"That's my line. Remember what you said the other night? That a man would have to be crazy to turn me away?"

He nods. "I told you I've got a note from my doctor.

"But what I didn't tell you was what's in that note. It says I'm not crazy anymore."

She leans in and kisses him lightly on the lips. "I'll go make up the bed."

-----

"House! Get up here!"

He looks up to where she's standing at the top of the stairs. "Eager, aren't we?"

"Just do it. Come on!"

He climbs the stairs as fast as his cane will allow and follows her to the doorway of her room.

The trundle mattress has been pulled out and the resulting queen-size bed made up with luxurious cotton sheets and a thick floral comforter. The only thing that would make it more inviting would be if Cameron were already in it. Candles are burning in an assortment of holders on a table in the far corner.

"You've been up here, what, two minutes?" he says. "How'd you do this?"

"I didn't do it," Cameron answers. "She did."

House looks at her, then at the scene before them, before entering the room. He throws back the covers, peeks under the bed, opens the drawer of the nearest end table.

"What are you looking for?" Cameron asks.

"Rose petals, scented oils and a copy of the Kama Sutra," he answers. "My mom doesn't do anything halfway."

Chapter 13"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 11/?

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 00:27:45 GMT

Undisclosed Location, Chapter 10/?

Sat, 14 Nov 2009 07:36:10 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for sexual references
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

Cameron leans back from the table with a satisfied sigh. "Blythe, if you keep feeding me like this, I'm going to gain 50 pounds while I'm here. That was an amazing breakfast."

"Goodness, it's just bacon, eggs and biscuits. Nothing amazing about that. But I'm glad you liked it," Blythe says. "More coffee?"

"Just a little, thanks. Are you sure those biscuits don't have some secret ingredient?"

"Endorphins," House interjects. "It makes her happy to have someone to fuss over. Maybe those pleasure polypeptides found their way into the biscuits. Or as Madison Avenue would translate it: 'Nothin' says lovin' like somethin' from the oven.' "

"Medically implausible, but I like it," Cameron says. "Here, let me get those." She rises and begins to help Blythe clear the table.

House waits until the two women aren't looking to give in to the pain. His leg is killing him. But his mother turns around in time to notice him grimacing.

"Greg, are you all right?"

"My leg. Don't worry. It'll pass." I hope.

"Allison, there are some vitamins and things in that cupboard to your right. See if there's a bottle of Advil in there," Blythe says.

Cameron finds the bottle and hands it to her. She shakes out two tablets and hands them to her son. "Take these, honey. I know they're not as strong as what you usually take, but they might help a little."

In spite of the pain, he can't help but chuckle.

"What's funny?" Blythe asks.

"Just had a musical flashback," he says, and begins to sing: "One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small. And the ones that Mother gives you don't do anything at all."

"Go ask Alice, when she's 10 feet tall," Blythe finishes. "I remember that song. Look, maybe they won't help, but they won't hurt. Go ahead; take them."

House swallows the pills with a swig of coffee. "I was teasing," he says. "Ibuprofen does help. Doesn't kill the pain, but it turns down the volume."

"Speaking of endorphins, I really should find a place to go running, especially if I'm going to be eating your cooking," Cameron says. "Is there a park around here?"

"Jacobson Park is just a few blocks away," Blythe says. "You may have passed it on the way here. John and I used to go there quite a bit; he liked fishing in the reservoir, and I enjoyed watching the dogs play in the dog park. There are always lots of people jogging there.

"Oh, and if you're interested, I'm in a club called the Fayette Fleet Feet. We go walking in the mall every Monday morning. You're welcome to join us."

"Mall walking?" House says. "I don't think Allison meets the minimum age requirement."

Cameron giggles. "Don't listen to him. I'd love to come. You know, I think I'll go check out that park. I need to go out anyway; there are a few things I need at the drugstore. And you and your mom," she says to House, "can use some time alone."

"Allison, wait," House says. "Mom, have you got a paper and pencil?"

"Right here." She tears a piece of paper from the note pad by the phone and hands him a pen.

"My leg still hurts," he tells Cameron as he scribbles on the paper. "I'm going to see if something that worked in the past will work again. Relax," he continues in response to her stricken expression. "I don't mean Vicodin.

"I'm going to make dinner tonight. I need you to pick up some things."

He hands her the paper. It's a shopping list.

"Azuki beans? What are those?"

"Key ingredient in the best red bean paste you've ever eaten. But you'll probably have to go to an Asian grocer to find them. Is there one in this town?"

"Yu Yu's on Waller Avenue," Blythe says. "Hang on, I have a map of the city in my car."

Cameron departs a few minutes later, clad in a T-shirt and track pants and carrying the map.

Blythe pours the rest of the coffee into her cup and sits down across from her son.

"So ... you and Allison. Is it serious?"

House responds with an enigmatic little smile. "Can I plead the Fifth?"

"Why?"

"Because if I say no, you'll lecture me about not toying with her affections. And if I say yes, you'll start planning the wedding and naming the grandchildren."

"Just tell the truth, Greg."

House sighs. "The truth is, I don't know. Last night ... was the first time. And it may be the last."

"Will that be your call ... or hers?"

House thinks for a moment.

"Probably hers. There are some issues. A breakup. An old crush.

"But I don't want to talk about her right now, Mom. I want to talk about Dad."

Chapter 11"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 9/?

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 04:08:47 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG-13 for sexual references
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Deviates from canon after that.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

When it's over, she collapses against him, breathless.

His heart is racing, and he can't tell where his stops and hers begins. He wants to speak -- say something, anything -- but he has no words. He just runs his hands gently up and down her bare back and tries to remember the last time he felt this good.

She's the one who breaks the silence. "Are you OK, House? Your leg ...?"

"What leg? It ... it hurts a little, but the rest of me had so much going on, I didn't notice."

"Good," she whispers. "I tried to be careful ... and quiet. I hope we didn't disturb your mom."

House snorts. "That woman could sleep through the Normandy invasion -- and probably did, since she was about 7 years old at the time.

"But I should be asking you ... are you OK? I know this was your idea, but -- no remorse?"

Cameron rolls off him and nestles beside him, her head on his chest.

"None," she says. "Part of me thinks we should figure out what this means, but not now. I don't want to think about how it might end."

"A wise woman once told me that just because endings suck, doesn't mean we can't enjoy the beginning," House says.

"Is that the same wise woman who's sleeping upstairs?"

"No. One of my -- uh -- therapists in the loony bin."

"I wish you weren't leaving tomorrow night."

"I don't have to. Tomorrow's Friday. I wasn't sure how long I'd be comfortable hanging around here. But it's turned out to be more comfortable than I expected. I can change my flight to Sunday, if that's OK with you ... and my mother."

"It's more than OK with me. As for your mom ... let's see, her only son, who never visits, wants to stay an extra couple of days. Something tells me she won't have a problem with that."

Cameron stifles a yawn. "I should go back to my room. Don't want her to find us in here together."

"Not yet," House whispers. "Not ready."

She stays, and he drifts off with her in his arms and a smile on his lips.

----

He awakens alone. Cameron must have slipped out after he fell asleep. He's not exactly alone, however; the cat is back, and he perks up and jumps off the bed to follow House as he makes his way to the nearby half-bathroom.

"Lucky, my ass," he says. "Your mistress should have named you Ken Reeves."

The cat looks at him as if to say, "I don't get it."

"The White Shadow. Before your time. Now do you mind? A little privacy? Get your own litterbox."

Lucky turns away with an expression House swears is indignation and heads for the stairs.

Minutes later, House is taking the same route. He finds Blythe in the kitchen, frying bacon. "Morning, sleepyhead," she says brightly. "Coffee's ready, and breakfast is on the way. Did you sleep well?"

He nods, limps to the coffeepot and pours himself a cup. "Where's Allison?"

"In the shower. She slept in, too. Guess you both needed it after that long drive. So, did you two have a nice time last night?"

House wills his jaw not to drop. The mischievous twinkle in his mother's eye tells him all he needs to know.

But what the hell. Playing innocent is worth a shot.

"Um ... of course. Oma's meatloaf and 'Grey's Anatomy' -- what's not to love?"

"Don't be coy with me, Gregory," she says as she fishes the last of the bacon out of the pan and turns off the burner. "You know that's not what I'm talking about."

House sinks into the nearest chair. "You -- you heard? I thought you were a heavy sleeper."

"I am. But at my age, my bladder isn't. I had to get up in the night, and I passed Allison's room. The door was open, the light was on, and she wasn't there. And she wasn't in the bathroom."

Blythe winks. "I don't need a medical degree to diagnose that situation. I learned to put two and two together way back in the first grade.

"And no, I didn't hear a thing."

House can't remember the last time he blushed. But he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, turning them as red as the coffee mug in front of him -- a dead ringer for his favorite mug back at work.

Busted. By the only person on the planet I'm incapable of lying to.

Blythe notices his discomfort and sits down across from him, placing her hand gently on his.

"Oh, honey, relax. I'm old, not blind. I don't expect my 50-year-old son to be a monk, for heaven's sake. And Allison is lovely. It would shock me more if you weren't -- what's that you young people call it? -- 'hitting that.'"

House almost chokes on his mouthful of coffee. He forces it down and bursts out laughing. Blythe joins in.

Cameron walks in as they're catching their breath. "What's so funny?" she asks.

"Old family joke," House says. "Hungry?"

Chapter 10"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 8/?

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 13:37:40 GMT

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 7/?

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 02:21:32 GMT

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 6/?

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 05:23:46 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron (friendship, at least for now)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Any resemblance to the way the show actually plays out after that is purely coincidence. I'm unspoiled.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

Cameron couldn't look more incredulous if he'd told her he was delivering her to a moon of Jupiter.

"Your mother, House? But why?"

"Symbiosis," he says. "You need to get out of town. She needs company. She's been at her wits' end since my father died. It was only a matter of time before she started taking in strays and turned into a crazy cat lady."

"Is that what I am? A stray?"

"Sort of. But in your case we can get her to stop at one. There aren't exactly herds of feral immunologists roaming the streets of Lexington. And you don't pee in a box."

"She's ... OK with this?"

"OK? She's thrilled. You're going to be the daughter she never had. But definitely put your foot down if she tries to dress you in frilly outfits and buy you Barbies."

"What about work?"

"You've been terminated. Without prejudice," he says, pulling an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and handing it to her. "You'll be hired back when the time comes."

She opens the envelope and reads the letter. Regret to inform ... budget cuts ... your services no longer needed.

"Either you forged Cuddy's signature or made one hell of a deal," she says.

"I agreed to do all your clinic hours, and Wilson's, for the next six months. And work third shift in the ER on New Year's Eve."

Cameron chuckles at the thought of House wrangling an ER full of rowdy drunks and fender-bender victims. "But why get me fired? Couldn't I just have taken a leave of absence or something?"

"Because I can't lie to my mother. And your cover story is that you lost your job and need to get away for a while."

"How long is 'a while,' House? What do you mean by 'when the time comes'? How long are you keeping me in this James Bond movie? Or is it the Witness Protection Program?"

More like the anti-Witness Protection Program, he thinks. Witness protection is for people who know too much, not too little.

"I don't know, Allison," he says aloud. "If I did, I wouldn't be here. I'd be driving around Tahiti in a Lamborghini bought with my lottery winnings. All I can do here is quote the woman we're on our way to see: 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' "

"She's a fan of proverbs?"

"Just that one. When you're married to a Marine, you have to be."

----

Several hours and two rest stops later, House eases Cameron's Toyota into the driveway of a modest split-level.

His mother is waiting with an ear-to-ear grin and a pitcher of iced tea, which she sets on the steps so she can rush into his arms.

"Greg, it's so good to see you!" she exclaims. "You look wonderful. And your hair ... your father would love it!"

House smiles sheepishly. "Only took me 40 years. Too late for the Marines to take me, though."

"And this must be Allison. We've met before, haven't we? But your hair was different then."

Cameron nods and extends her hand. "I really appreciate this, Mrs. House."

"It's Blythe, dear," the older woman says, taking Cameron's hand in both of hers. "And it's my pleasure. Any friend of my son's is a friend of mine. Come on, get your bags and come inside. I'll show you to your room."

House grimaces when he sees the room she's designated for Cameron. It's a riot of floral prints and ruffles. "Looks like Laura Ashley threw up in here," he says. But from the corner of his eye, he can see Cameron is delighted.

"Greg!" Blythe gives him a little swat on the arm, then turns to Cameron. "My husband didn't want any flowers and 'frou-frou,' as he called it, in our room. But when we bought this house, and he set up his den in the basement -- that's where you'll be sleeping tonight, Greg -- I told him I wanted a room just for me. I guess I went a little wild with the decorating."

"It's beautiful," Cameron says.

"And that daybed is very comfy. It's actually a trundle bed. You can pull the other mattress out from underneath and make a queen-size if you want more room. Just let me know; there are queen-size sheets in the linen closet down the hall."

"I'm sure it'll be fine, M-- Blythe," Cameron replies.

"You two must be hungry," Blythe says. "I've got cookies and banana bread in the kitchen."

----

"Another cookie, Allison?" Blythe asks as she refills the pitcher of iced tea.

"No, thank you. They're delicious, but I don't want to spoil my appetite for dinner. Whatever's in the oven smells wonderful."

Blythe beams. "It's meatloaf. Greg's grandmother's recipe. It was always a favorite of his."

"If it tastes as good as it smells, I want the recipe," Cameron says. "Oh!"

House turns to see what's caught her attention. It's a pair of cats -- a white Persian and an orange tabby, wandering into the room as if they owned the place.

"Oh, God, I was afraid of this," he says. "It's the Crazy Cat Lady Starter Kit."

Blythe grins. "They're not mine. They belong to my friend Marge. Her building has a new owner who doesn't want the tenants to have pets. I'm just baby-sitting until she finds a new place. You're not allergic, are you, Allison?"

"No, not at all." Cameron is scratching the orange cat behind the ears and earning an appreciative purr in response. "What's your name, beautiful?"

"That's Chance," Blythe says. "The white one is Lucky."

"Chance and Lucky? Did she win them in a poker game?" House asks.

"No, but she really likes those riverboat casinos down in Biloxi," Blythe answers as the white cat jumps eagerly into her son's lap. "I think he likes you, Greg."

"Just what I needed -- another one-sided relationship," House says with a wink at Cameron. "OK, go ahead and hang out here, but if I find fur in the meatloaf, you're kitty kebabs."

Chapter 7"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 5/?

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 00:52:13 GMT

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 4/?

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 15:38:56 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author:NiiceLaady
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron (friendship, at least for now)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Any resemblance to the way the show actually plays out after that is purely coincidence. I'm unspoiled.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

"Chase! Get in here."

The young doctor obeys, walking slowly as if he's going to his own execution.

God, he looks like hell, House thinks. Like he hasn't slept, or if he did, there was a large dose of Dr. Jack Daniel's patented sleep aid involved.

Chase stands before House's desk, looking like a naughty child summoned to the principal's office. "What is it, House?"

"If you have to ask, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought. What the hell is going on? Why did you throw Cameron out?"

Chase sinks into the nearest chair and puts his head in his hands. "I-I had to," he says. "It's better this way."

"Better for who? Come on, man, I see the way you look at her. I can't believe you just fell out of love with her. This is about Dibala, isn't it?"

The stricken look in Chase's eyes tells House he's right.

"Y-yes," he stammers. "I don't want her around when it comes out ... that I killed him."

"It's not going to come out. We saw to that." House pauses. Oh, God. "Unless you're planning on doing something ridiculous like turning yourself in."

"I-I have to, House. I don't know how much longer I can live with this," he says. A tear trickles out of one eye, and he brushes it away abruptly. "I killed a man, and I have to pay the price. And I don't want her to pay. It's better if she's just not in my life anymore."

House leans back, closes his eyes and holds his own head. "Why don't you let her decide that? Christ, she married a dying man. I think she can handle being married to a jailbird. Besides, a good lawyer could get you off easy. Maybe probation. Or community service. Hell, what you did was a community service."

"I don't want to get off easy!" Chase exclaims, fire in his eyes. "And this isn't about sparing her feelings, House. It's about saving her life. Don't you get that?"

"No, I don't," House says. "She didn't kill him, you did. And even if she did, New Jersey hasn't executed anyone in 30 years."

Chase swallows hard and stares at his hands. "I'm not worried about that. It's Dibala's men. They play dirty, House; you know that. Worse than dirty. When it comes out that I killed him ... I don't want to think about what they'd do to her ... to punish me."

He looks up and into House's eyes. "And if I told her the truth, she'd insist on standing by me. I can't do it, House. I can't risk her life. I'd rather see her heartbroken than raped ... tortured ... dead. It's better this way. Until Dibala's thugs have all been executed by the new regime ... or jailed for life."

"That could take years," House says. "What if she finds someone else in the meantime?"

"That's a risk I have to take," Chase answers, brushing away another tear.

House sighs. "I still think you're an idiot, but it looks like I'm not going to change your mind."

Chase shakes his head. "No ... you're not. How'd you know about this anyway, House? Did Cameron call you?"

"She came to Wilson's last night. She's still there. Waiting for me to tell her what's going on. Don't worry, I won't," House says in response to Chase's frightened expression. "Now get out of here. I've got some thinking to do."

When Chase is gone, House stares at the phone. What now?

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock. Cuddy.

"You're in early, House," she says, holding out a large envelope. "Congratulations. The board reinstated your license. Which means you can treat patients again. And we happen to have a clinic full of them."

"Yes, Mommy." He starts to stand, then stops as it hits him. He knows what he has to do.

"You all right?" Cuddy asks.

He nods.

"Let me know if there's anything you need to help you get back to work," she says. She drops the envelope on his desk and turns around to leave.

"As a matter of fact, there is," House tells her. "I need a couple of days off.

"And I need you to fire Cameron."

Chapter 5"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 3/?

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 18:59:20 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron (friendship, at least for now)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Any resemblance to the way the show actually plays out after that is purely coincidence. I'm unspoiled.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

"Shhhh!" House hisses as he slips out the door of his room, closing it behind him. "We've got company."

"No, apparently you've got company," Wilson retorts. House is already heading for the kitchen, Wilson trailing and sputtering behind. "House, are you insane? Don't answer that. What the hell were you thinking, sleeping with Cameron?"

"What makes you think it's Cameron?" House says with an expression of faux-innocence that would make Eddie Haskell proud.

"Her clothes hanging in the bathroom. I recognized the blouse she wore yesterday. House, she's a married woman! A newlywed, for heaven's sake. This is low even for you." Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose as he always does when House pulls something outrageous.

House finishes filling the coffeepot, sets it on the counter and waits for Wilson to meet his gaze.

"Fine," he says at last. "I slept with Cameron. And when I say 'slept,' I mean slept. No sexing, no screaming, just snoring."

Wilson's expression softens a bit. "You're ... serious," he says incredulously.

"Would I lie?" House says. "Don't you answer that. Yes, I'm speaking literally. I'm also speaking literally when I say she got into my pants."

Wilson shakes his head. "But I don't get it. Why is she here? Did she and Chase have a fight?"

"If you define what happened between us and the Japanese at Hiroshima as 'having a fight,' " House replies, emptying the pot of water into the coffeemaker and turning it on. "It's a long story. I'll let her tell it. You're actually the one she came looking for; I was just pinch-hitting."

"By ... taking her to bed."

"And talking to her. And listening. And letting her cry on my shoulder."

Wilson shakes his head again. "Now that is harder to believe than the part about the two of you just sleeping in there."

"Ask her yourself."

"I will, when I'm done asking you, 'Who are you, and what have you done with House?' "

"Is it so hard to believe I'm capable of not being an ass? Give me some credit, Jimmy. I happened to pick up a few pointers in the bughouse about making connections. But you wouldn't know that, since you seem to prefer connecting with the dead."

Wilson flinches. "OK, I withdraw that last question -- you're obviously not a pod person. It's just hard for me to think of words like 'listening' and 'crying shoulder' in the same sentence as 'Gregory House.' "

House never told him about Lydia, wanting to avoid another of his "Do as I say, not as I do" lectures on the evils of adultery. But maybe it's time.

Not now, though. Cameron is up.

"Morning, Wilson," she says shyly, glancing at House, then back at him. "It's -- uh -- not what you think."

"So he tells me."

"He's telling the truth."

House watches as Wilson takes in the sight of her -- hair mussed, eyes red and swollen from the previous night's crying, small body lost in his clothes -- then takes her in his arms. He feels a little twinge of ... he's not sure. Envy, perhaps? For the fact that Wilson's now the one holding her, or the way he makes it look so easy?

"Allison, I'm so sorry," Wilson says softly. "I'm sorry about whatever's happened between you and Chase, and I'm sorry I wasn't here for you last night."

"Thank you," she says. "But there's no need to apologize. House took good care of me."

"Speaking of things I'd never thought I'd hear in the same sentence ... ," Wilson says as he releases her. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of numb," Cameron answers. "I feel like I haven't started to process this. I don't even know what I'm supposed to be processing."

"Suppose you tell me all about it," Wilson says, handing her a cup of coffee. "House, you want dibs on the shower?"

House nods. The sooner he can get out of here, the sooner he can get to the bottom of this. "Save me a cup," he calls over his shoulder as he limps off.

Chapter 4"

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 2/?

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 11:51:41 GMT

Fic: Undisclosed Location, Chapter 1/?

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 13:06:48 GMT

Title: Undisclosed Location
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase wants Cameron to disappear. House offers to help.
Pairing: House/Cameron (friendship, at least for now)
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season six up through "Brave Heart." Any resemblance to the way the show actually plays out after that is purely coincidence. I'm unspoiled.
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. I don't own the show or the characters, and I'm not making any money from writing about them.

House is dozing off in front of the TV when the knock comes. He glances at his watch. Eleven p.m.

The team doesn't have a case, so either Wilson forgot his key, or Murphy downstairs has turned back into King Jerk and is here to complain about the volume. Even though the rain outside is coming down hard enough to compete with the TV. He sighs, hoists himself off the couch and goes to the door.

Not Wilson. Not Murphy. It's Cameron -- sobbing, shivering and soaking wet.

He doesn't know what to say, so he settles for a weak "Hi."

"Is-is Wilson here?" she stammers.

House shakes his head. "He's at the hospital. One of his cueball kids coded."

Her face doesn't look as if it could fall any farther, but it does. "Oh," she says in a voice choked with tears. "I'm sorry to bother you." She starts to turn away, and House catches her by the wrist.

"Cameron, wait."

She stops.

"Are you here because you need an oncologist ... or a friend? Because I think I can manage that. Get in here."

Meekly, she follows him inside.

There's a basket of clean laundry by the sofa. He fishes out a T-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a bath towel and hands them to her.

"You look like you swam here," he says. "Go get out of those wet clothes and put these on."

"OK," she says and heads down the hall toward the bathroom. While she's gone, House goes to the kitchen and pours two glasses of scotch. He brings them back to the living room and waits.

He stifles a smile when she returns, looking ridiculous in the oversized clothes.

"Now you look like you're swimming in those," he says. "But at least they're dry. C'mere." He pats the couch next to him, and she sits down heavily and accepts the drink he hands her, shuddering a little as the warm liquid makes its way down her throat.

"Now suppose you tell me what the hell is going on," House says. His tone is gentle, but his words bring a fresh flood of tears. She sets the drink down and lets him gather her into his arms.

"It's OK," he whispers. "Let it out. But eventually you have to talk to me."

After a few minutes, her sobs subside, and she catches her breath. "It's ... it's Chase. He ... threw me out. Said he never wants to see me again ... said that marrying me was the biggest mistake he ever made. God, House, everything was perfect -- the wedding, the honeymoon. He's been acting strangely for a few weeks, but this ... .

"I'm scared, House. I'm afraid he's lost his mind."

House squeezes her hand. "Well, any guy who would turn you away would have to be out of his mind."

"You did."

"Exactly my point. I've got a note from my doctor and everything." This earns him a wry little smile.

"I don't think he's gone crazy, Cameron," he continues. "I think he's trying to protect you."

"From what? Whatever it is, I can handle it. If there's someone else, we'll either work it out or I'll step aside. If he's sick, I'll take care of him. What's so awful that he'd rather break up with me than talk to me?" She begins to cry again.

"I don't know," House says softly. Which is true, but he has his suspicions. This has to be about Dibala. But until he knows the facts, he's not going to speculate. There's some twisted reason Chase wants her not to know, and for now, he'll honor that.

"He wants me to quit my job. Leave town. Get as far away from him as I can," she says between sobs. "But where will I go? I can't go to my family. They'll have too many questions ... and I have no answers."

"For tonight, you'll stay right here," House tells her. "I'll talk to Chase in the morning -- see if I can figure out what's going on. What you need to do right now is finish your drink and get a good night's sleep."

She gulps down the rest of the scotch. "Where do you want me to sleep? Here on the couch?"

House shakes his head. "No, I'll take the couch. You can have the Shrine of St. Amber."

"Huh?"

"You'll see. Come on."

She follows him into the study-turned-guestroom and glances around at the photos. "Oh, I see what you mean. House ... is this where you sleep?"

He nods.

"I-I can't kick you out of your own bed," she says. "Won't you stay?"

"Here, with you? You trust me?"

"I trust me," she replies. "I couldn't do anything but sleep right now ... even if I wanted to. And I don't want to be alone."

"OK," he says. He pulls back the comforter and gestures toward the bed. "Après vous."

She climbs in and curls up on her side. He lies down next to her and places an arm around her. "Oh, by the way," he says, "if you hear voices in the night, you're not going crazy. It's just Wilson talking to ... talking in his sleep."

"Good to know," she murmurs. "G'night, House."

"Good night, Cameron."

The last words he utters silently, before he drifts off, are the ones he'll be saying aloud when he arrives at work in the morning: "Chase, you're an idiot."

Chapter 2"

Ficlet: Glass House

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 02:40:31 GMT

Title: Glass House
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: G
Pairing: House/Cameron friendship
Summary: House pays a post-Mayfield visit to the ER.
Spoilers: Season 6 premiere
To satisfy the suits in legal: Just playing dress-up and pretend with the Houseverse, which doesn't belong to me, and nobody's paying me for this.

In biblical times, lepers carried little bells to warn of their approach, so that healthy people could get out of their way.

In pre-Gandhi India, domestic servants from the Untouchable caste carried little drums to beat as they made their rounds, to warn off the masters of the house so they would never have to look upon them.

You don't need a bell or a drum. Not with this invisible tattoo on your forehead that reads "Crazy Person." You've been in the bughouse, loony bin, booby hatch, Chock Full o' Nuts. And that's all it takes for people to give you a wide berth -- to treat you as if you might have a psychotic break ... or just break, period, shattering into a million pieces before their eyes.

Even Wilson. Even Cuddy. Especially Cuddy. She'd embraced you warmly when you appeared in her office -- and you'd refrained from grabbing her ass -- but you saw something in her eyes that could only be called fear.

As for Wilson, of course he was glad to see you, but there was something in his eyes as well -- suspicion, distrust. He'd been in on enough of your scams to be wary of believing that you hadn't scammed your way out of Mayfield.

Damn. You've finally arrived at a point where you think you can begin to trust people, and nobody is willing to trust you.

Except one. Maybe.

You get on the elevator and press the button for the ER. Once there, a nervous-looking nurse points you in the right direction.

Your heart stirs as you spot her in her tiny office just off the nurses station. She's clad in her usual pink scrubs and white lab coat, and engrossed in paperwork. She doesn't hear you approach.

The scent delivers a pleasant assault on your nostrils as you enter the little room. It's a heady mix of disinfectant and citrus -- her shampoo, you guess -- and peppermint tea from the oversized mug at her elbow. She still doesn't look up.

"Allison."

You're not sure why you called her that. It just slipped out. It felt right.

She looks up, and a broad smile spreads across her face. In her eyes you see no fear, no suspicion, no distrust, only delight.

"House!" she exclaims and jumps up, almost spilling her tea. She flings her arms around your neck, and you return the embrace, fighting the urge to hold onto her for more than the few seconds it takes her to break loose, still smiling.

"You ... you hugged me back," she says incredulously.

"Guilty."

"And ... you called me Allison."

"Yeah, well, I ... uh ... didn't know what last name you're going by these days," you say, nodding in the direction of the wedding picture on her desk. You try not to look directly at it. You don't want to be reminded of the fact that she's given her heart to someone else. Right now you just want to access that little part of it where she holds you -- if it's still there.

"Still Cameron," she answers, pointing to the name tag on her lab coat. "Less paperwork, and less confusion for the staff."

"Makes sense," you say. "Especially since it doesn't get any less confusing to designate one of you 'Young Dr. Chase' or 'Pretty Dr. Chase.' "

A little color creeps into her cheeks, which intensifies as she gently touches your close-cropped hair. "ECT?" she asks.

"Detox. It's harder to tear my hair out when it's this short. What do you think? Should I stick with this look?"

Her blush deepens further. "It -- it suits you. How is your leg?"

"Still attached. Still hurts, but I'm coping. Makes a difference to have the screwed-up pain receptors -- well, unscrewed."

She smiles again, and you can only smile back. "So ... are you back to work?" she asks.

"No, just visiting. It'll be a few weeks yet before I get my astronaut's license."

"Your ... "

"Long story."

"So I guess that means you're not here looking for a case."

"No, not a case. A face. A friendly one. Who won't treat me as if I'm made of glass."

She motions to the chair against the wall by her desk. You ease yourself into it and have a brief flashback; the chair looks as if it was stolen from a junior high school, circa 1970. She wheels her own chair out from behind her desk and places it across from you. When she sits down again, your knees are almost touching. She reaches over and gives the door a little push so it closes.

"You want to talk about it?" she asks.

Your first impulse is to cringe at that question. You heard it so many times over the past few weeks ... always with the unspoken follow-up: "It'll make you feel better." Why the hell wasn't anyone asking that question 40 years ago, when you did "want to talk about it" -- wanted to tell someone, "My father hates me and I don't know why," or "The other kids all think I'm weird because I 'think too much.' "?

Cameron had been the master of the loaded "Want to talk about it?" once upon a time. But not today. There's no unspoken message behind her question, no undertone of "Let me make you better." She might as well be asking if you'd like a cup of coffee.

You nod and stare at your hands. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she says. "But I'll settle for whatever you're comfortable telling me."

You take a deep breath. "Where do I start? I helped a fallen superhero recover his powers, which, unfortunately, didn't include invulnerability. Nevertheless, he was still able to rescue the fair damsel from the Tower of Silence."

She answers with raised eyebrows and a quizzical little smile. "Something tells me that this isn't some elaborate metaphor."

Again, you return the smile. "Only the tower part." And you briefly consider not telling her the rest. You're pretty confident that there won't be an eye roll or a lecture -- but there's the risk that you'll trigger her Concerned, Caring Cameron reflex. And you're amazed to realize that this wouldn't be such a bad thing.

You swallow hard and continue: "And I ... I fell in love with the damsel's sister-in-law. But she wouldn't leave her Prince Charming and all her little princelings." You look down as you finish the sentence, and when you look up, there it is. The wide, sad, sympathetic eyes. The whispered, "Oh, House." The small hand covering yours. Part of you wants to withdraw your hand, but you leave it where it is. Her touch is comforting ... and you like it.

"It's ... it's OK," you tell her. "See, I found out what the Wizard told the Tin Man was true: Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable. But I still want one.

"And ... I found out that I am The Man Behind the Curtain."

Cameron slips her hand under yours and squeezes it. "Looks like you raided the Cowardly Lion's supply of courage while you were at it," she says. "I'm proud of you, House."

Your words to her ... coming back to you and giving you a pleasant little ache in your chest and a sting in your eyes. You bite your lip and return the hand squeeze.

After a long minute, she takes your chin in her other hand and tilts your head up so your eyes meet. "House," she says softly, "I know this may be a loaded question ... but ... are you happy?"

"I-I dunno," you stammer sheepishly. "Let's just say I'm not in Kansas anymore.

"I'll get out of your way now. You have work to do, and I have to see about dropping a house on Cuddy's sister."

She chuckles, stands and bends over you, then plants a soft kiss on your lips that reminds you of Lydia.

"All right, House. I'm so glad you're back, and I'm glad you stopped by. Anytime you want to talk, you know where to find me."

You rise and retrieve your cane. "I'll be back," you say. "I still have to tell you about how I became a rap star."

-end-

Ficlet: Mickey House

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 01:34:09 GMT

Title: Mickey House
Author: NiiceLaady
Rating: PG for implied sex and mild profanity
Summary: On a working vacation, Cameron makes a new friend and is reunited with two old ones. Set about six years in the future. Follow-up to "Small World." Pure fluff.
Pairing: Romance: House/Wilson. Friendship: Cameron/Wilson, Cameron/House, Cameron/OMC
Disclaimer: Labor of love, this. Not making any money from writing about "House" and its characters. Same goes for Disney.

"House! Freeze!"

House and Wilson stop in their tracks as Cameron, fresh from a dip in the pool, rummages in her bag for her phone. Giggling like a girl, she holds it up and snaps a picture.

"You, in Mickey ears!" she says. "There must be a way I can use this for blackmail."

"Don't be so sure," House replies. He takes off the ears and falls into the nearest lounge chair. "Oh, God," he groans. "Happiest place on Earth, my ass!"

"And you can't wait to go back," Wilson interjects. He turns to Cameron. "Picture this: I had two 8-year-olds with me. And guess which one pouted when I said we didn't have time to do Space Mountain."

"I'm guessing it wasn't the short one," Cameron says, still grinning.

"I still don't see why we couldn't," House says petulantly.

"Did you see that line? By the time we got to the front, not only would Dennis have missed his bedtime; he'd have missed third grade!"

"But cripples get their own line," House counters, patting his prosthesis.

"Yes, and there were about 40 Shriners Hospital kids ahead of us in the handicapped line. Tomorrow, Space Mountain. First thing. I promise."

"Where is Dennis?" Cameron asks.

"Men's room," Wilson says. "Oh, there he is." He waves to catch the boy's attention.

"Allison!" Dennis, also wearing mouse ears, calls excitedly. Cameron smiles and holds out her arms, not sure if he'll accept the gesture -- but he does. He runs into her arms and hugs her as if she were his long-lost best friend.

"Hi," she says. "Did you have fun?"

"Oh, yeah! I took lots of pictures. Wanna see?" He pulls a digital camera from the pocket of his shorts.

"Maybe later, honey," she says. "I've been poring over notes from this afternoon's lecture, and my eyes are tired. I'll bring my laptop over and we can look at them there."

"OK." Dennis glances over at his stepfather. "House is being one of the Seven Dwarfs," he says. "Guess which!"

"Just one?" Cameron says. "He looks like three of them. Grumpy Sleepy Doc."

This yields a giggle from Dennis, a hearty laugh from Wilson and a chuckle from House, who says, "Did I mention that my happiest place on Earth right about now is on the outside of a cold beer?"

"Coming up," Wilson says. "Anything for you, Allison?"

"Surprise me."

"OK. Come on, Den. You can help me carry."

When they're gone, Cameron pulls her chair closer to House's and sits down. "What was that about not being able to blackmail you?"

House sighs. "The Menace -- his favorite holiday is Halloween. Cuddy's already posted pictures of me in the doctors lounge dressed as a pirate, a clown and Chewbacca."

"I figured you more as the Darth Vader type," Cameron says. "Or Voldemort."

"You don't get Halloween, do you? The idea is to dress up as something you're not. Wilson was Darth Vader that year. The point is, the ears aren't exactly a big embarrassment after all that -- even if I did have to listen to the kid sing 'M-I-C-K-E-Y H-O-U-S-E' about 300 times on the trip back here."

"So where are Wilson's ears?"

"I found something that suited him better." House sits up and reaches into the tote bag Wilson left by his chair. He pulls out a white baseball cap with a likeness of Jiminy Cricket.

"Oh, that's perfect!" Cameron exclaims. "Because he's ..."

"My conscience -- I get it. Now where's my damn beer?"

As if on cue, Wilson and Dennis return. Wilson is carrying two cups of beer. Dennis has a can of soda for himself and a pina colada for Cameron.

"Plastic cups?" House says. "What is this, a frat party?"

"No glass by the pool, sorry," Wilson replies. "Hotel's rules, not mine. You want a glass, you have to go into the bar -- and buy your own."

"Free in plastic trumps paid for with my plastic," House concedes. "Gimme."

They sip their drinks and chat -- about the park, about the lecture Cameron attended while they were gone, about work and news from Princeton-Plainsboro. Wilson reports that Rachel is growing like a weed, Cuddy is dating a widowed lawyer from Milburn, Thirteen is thriving on an experimental Huntington's drug, Taub is joining a plastic surgery practice in Beverly Hills.

After a while, Dennis grows restless and announces he wants to swim. Wilson hands him the room key so he can change into his trunks. But before he leaves, he remembers: "House, did you give Allison her present?"

"Damn, I forgot," House says. "Cameron, I have something in my shorts with your name on it."

"Beg your pardon?"

"This one," House says, waving his hand in Dennis' direction, "has been saving his allowance ever since we sprang this trip on him -- for souvenirs. We get there, and what does he blow it on? This."

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to Cameron. It's a day pass to the park.

Cameron smiles. "For me? Dennis, this is so sweet of you."

"Dad and House helped. I didn't have enough. Will you come?" Dennis asks eagerly.

"Magic word, Den," Wilson says.

"Will you come, pleeeeeease, Allison?"

"Of course."

"Yay!" The kid is close to jumping up and down with delight. "And we'll be with House, so we can use the cripple lines!"

"Handicapped lines," Wilson corrects him. "Cripple's not a nice word."

"But House says it."

"That's because House is ... oh, never mind. Go get your suit on."

Dennis takes off in the direction of the hotel. House drains his beer and squirms in his chair. "I need a nap," he says.

"Go ahead. You've got another key," Wilson answers.

"Will you tuck me in?"

"Uh ... I think we can arrange that. Allison, I hate to impose, but would you be willing to ..."

"Watch Dennis? Of course," she says. "I think I even remember how to play Marco Polo."

-end-