S A I N T S    AND    S A V I O R S

by Enchanted April

Chapter1 - Chapter2 - Chapter3 - Chapter4 - Chapter5 - Chapter6 - Chapter7 - Chapter8 - Chapter9 - Chapter10 - Chapter11 - Chapter12 - Chapter13 - Chapter14 - Chapter15

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 Chapter16 - Chapter17 - Chapter18 - Chapter19 - Chapter20 - Chapter21 - Chapter22 - Chapter23 - Chapter24 - Chapter25 - Chapter26 - Chapter27 - Chapter28 - Chapter29 - Chapter30 - Epilogue

Chapter 1

The sun had set an hour ago but House continued staring out his office window as if watching the last rays cut across the sky. He hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, and the only illumination came from the fluorescents in the hall. His image reflected back to him in the window and he tried to focus through it to the pinpoints of light flickering on throughout the city. One of them was hers. When the hell had he become such an insufferable sap?

She’d been gone for two weeks. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t emailed. Hadn’t stopped by the hospital. She’d made a clean break. It was more than he could say for himself. He had been hoping for more cases. Disease, infection, biopsies, drug interactions, necrosis, anything to keep busy. He hadn’t thought about how strange it would be working any case at all with her gone, and every day he was pissed at himself for missing her. He’d made his choice. She’d made hers. They were both right, damn it. Unfortunately right and wrong had blurred the first time she’d responded to one of his acidic barbs with a gentle comment and the expression of a wounded Madonna.

A knock at the door and he was thrown back to the memory of Cameron’s insistent knocking. He shouldn’t have answered that door. This time he didn’t have a choice. These walls were glass and whoever was out there could see him. He turned around in time to see Cuddy letting herself in. He was only mildly surprised that she hadn’t just barged in. She’d cut him a lot of slack over the past couple of weeks. Actually everyone but Vogler had been giving him a wide berth. Vogler had just gotten worse. Cameron was gone and that bastard was still making his life miserable. Of course that stood to reason after the speech at the conference.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" House launched right into bantering. It was comfortable and familiar. "You’re lucky you caught me actually. My moping hours are only from six to eight you know."

Cuddy looked distinctly uncomfortable. Her face was drawn and her mouth set in a grim line. House leaned forward, wondering what Vogler had done this time.

"We’ve got a gunshot victim coming in by ambulance. The call just came in."

House shrugged. "And you’re telling me because you think I’d enjoy hearing about it? Got any stories about mothers selling their kids and puppies drowning in rivers, because I can’t get enough of them either."

"Greg, it’s Cameron."

The sarcastic comeback died on his lips and his jaw went slack.

"It looks like she was attacked outside her apartment. Her landlord heard the shots and called it in." She was still trying to be gentle, but it was lost on House.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Pretend nonchalance or push past Cuddy and race for the elevator? The decision didn’t seem to be his to make, because his body was already moving, cane thumping hard against the floor as he moved as fast as he could. Cuddy almost had to run to keep up.

They beat the ambulance but just barely. Two young, able-bodied EMTs were lifting the gurney out and the ER attending was shouting for a nurse to get two bags of O negative and a saline drip. House could see how serious it was from ten feet away. Jesus, there was a lot of blood. How the hell long had it taken the ambulance to get there? Then his eyes moved to her face and he felt his senses leave him again. Cameron was looking at him with such an expression of relief, as if she expected that he would be able to fix everything. Her lips were moving and he knew she was saying his name. He pushed his way to her side shouting out that he was a doctor to anyone who cared.

"Hell of a way to come for a visit," he resorted to quips.

Cameron was too lightheaded to even notice. She just knew he was there and he was talking to her and she gathered her energy and focused on his face. "Don’t leave me," she murmured, the words half garbled, but he heard them perfectly. They were the words he was repeating in his head.

"No, I’m not going anywhere," he reassured her and then felt every muscle in his body contract as her eyes slid closed.

*****

They’d tried to get him to leave. Apparently he needed to work on his reputation. There were still a few people who didn’t tremble in his presence. As usual, Cuddy was there to say a few words to the right people in her low, cajoling voice. It would have taken security to drag him out, but he still appreciated the gesture. Maybe he’d even thank her.

The ER team was competent enough, but fucking Nihquist was the attending. Smarmy bastard. House knew him well enough to avoid him whenever possible and now the little shit was working on Cameron. House stayed by her head, not touching her, just staring at her and struggling to keep himself from shouting out orders.

There was an intern working on her too, and House wanted to hit him across the shins with his cane when he took too long intubating her and then suggested exactly the wrong drug when asked what the next step was. He wanted to hit him almost as hard as he wanted to kick Nihquist in the balls for treating Cameron like any other teaching case. The jackass seemed almost bored by the whole thing, right up until the heart monitor went flat and its alarm bounced off the cold tile walls. One of the nurses made the unnecessary announcement that Cameron was crashing and Nihquist finally pushed the intern aside and took over with manual chest compressions.

House concentrated on breathing and staring at Cameron’s face. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Hell, he didn’t know what to say.

The alarm kept blaring and Nihquist kept working, calling for a crash-cart and trying to shock the life back into the woman in front of him. House had never thought about how grotesque it looked when three - hundred volts sent a body arcing into the air.

Shock. Pump. Shock. Pump. Another amp of epi. Shock. Pump. And House kept breathing and clenching his fists as the minutes passed. He only looked up when Nihquist ripped off his gloves and tossed them into the basket in the corner.

"We’ve lost her. The bullet must have pierced the heart. I’m calling it."

House heard him talking but the words didn’t register until he followed them up with, "Time of death…"

"What?" House shouted as he launched into action and pushed his way around to the side of the table. "She’s not fucking dead yet! It’s been less than ten minutes!" He started doing chest compressions himself but stopped as a gush of blood spurted through the bullet wound. "And unless hearts recently relocated three inches to the left the damn bullet didn’t hit it. It didn’t hit the heart, it nicked an artery," he was still yelling as he grabbed a scalpel off the tray beside him.

He knew who he was cutting into. Rationally, emotionally, he knew he was slicing open one of the few people who mattered to him, but he couldn’t let himself think that way. She had to remain just a body; a body that could still be saved. He could hear the ER doctor shouting at him but again, the words didn’t register. By the time security got there he’d be half-way to her heart.

"Get me the fucking spreaders," he barked at the hapless intern standing behind him. A second later and they were being slapped into his hand. He didn’t even wince at the sickening cracking sound as Cameron’s chest was broken open and laid bare before him. Her heart was still and he reached in and wrapped his hand around it, pumping gently, moving her blood the only way he could. More blood poured out and he pointed.

"There! Right there! It’s not the heart, morons, it’s the artery. You! Get in here and put your hand around her heart and don’t even think about moving," he was shouting at the intern again, and the poor boy looked shell-shocked as he rushed to obey.

House moved his deft fingers to the damaged artery and gently held it together. He was thanking God that the gun hadn’t been a higher caliber. Anything bigger and the artery would have been shredded beyond repair. "Alright, now pump a few times. I want to get some blood flowing so she doesn’t end up a vegetable."

The intern obeyed and this time the blood that leaked out was only a trickle. House turned to shout at the nurse but she was already there with a needle ready. He raised one eyebrow in appreciation and quickly repaired what he could. It was a shoddy job and he knew it, but it would hold until she could get to surgery.

"Paddles!" He shouted, and again the nurse was already there with long internal paddles.

"Charging," she announced as House pressed the circular pads to Cameron’s heart. "Clear!"

Her body didn’t rise off the table, but her heart jerked to life, pumping erratically at first and then evening out. House tried to remember the last time he’d seen something so miraculous and actually considered it miraculous. He turned and dropped the paddles back onto the crash cart.

"You can finish up, buddy," he said as he limped past the irate ER doctor.

He didn’t turn around to see the rest of the staff crowding around Cameron’s bed. He didn’t want the image of her open chest burned into his retinas any more than it already was. Instead, he ripped off the flimsy gown he’d been given and tossed it in the trash. He needed to get to a sink. His hands were covered in her blood.

 

*****

Three a. m. was a frighteningly quiet time in I.C.U. and House wished that someone besides the nurses would come by. Having someone he could yell at would take the edge off. Nihquist or Vogler sprang immediately to mind. Sitting around helplessly wasn’t something he was particularly good at, but he forced himself to remain in the chair, one hand tapping against his good leg the only outward sign of his discomfiture. She’d been out of surgery for hours and still hadn’t woken up. It wasn’t unheard of, hell it wasn’t even uncommon, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He tapped a little faster and then caught sight of the smallest movement out of the corner of his eye. It was followed by a shaky breath and a low moan.

"Cameron?" He turned all his attention to her face. She was still too pale and her eyes were sunken, with dark circles beneath them, but he ignored all that and willed those eyes to open. "Cameron, can you hear me?" his tone was brusque; as if he had just poked his head into the lab to demand some test results from her.

She grimaced but her eyes gradually opened half-way, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks a few times before she managed to focus. "House?" It was both confusing and comforting to see him hovering over her.

"You’re in the hospital. You were attacked. Do you remember?"

Her brows furrowed as she struggled to climb up through the fog of unconsciousness. "At my place?"

"That’s right. The bastard shot you in the driveway." His words came out harsher than he intended.

"I remember," she said slowly with a voice raspy and hoarse from intubation. "I didn’t have time to scream." As those moments of terror rushed through her mind she started to shake a little and took a deep breath, crying out when the action sent pain lancing through her.

House looked apologetic and met her questioning gaze. "We had to crack your chest to stop the bleeding."

She blinked a few times and frowned. "We? You were there?" As she finished speaking she lifted a shaky hand and pulled the sheet and gown away from her chest, looking downwards to see the row of stitches, dark and hideous running the length of her chest. Apparently they had decided that since she was a doctor she didn’t need the niceties of a bandage that was really only meant to keep patients from getting too upset when they saw themselves. She forced herself to look away and looked up at House instead. "You were there?" she repeated. Her voice was louder but still barely above a whisper.

He hadn’t known what to expect after telling her the seriousness of her injuries, but he was still surprised at her reaction. He could see in her eyes that she was angry. She almost never got angry, especially at him.

"Well, yes, if by ‘there’ you mean in the room."

"Did you work on me?" she asked pointedly and her voice, weak as it was, seemed to kick up a notch.

"In rather an unofficial way, you could say that." All of a sudden he felt awkward and gawky, like a pimply-faced sixteen year old standing in the presence of the prom queen. "You probably don’t remember, but with your last words you asked me to stay."

"Yes… stay… like a normal friend. In the waiting room… not cutting me open… seeing me like that." Her words were halting and shaky. House wasn’t sure if he should be glad or not as he watched some color return to her face. "But I forgot that we aren’t friends and you don’t even like me." She took a painfully long breath. "I should have expected that you’d only stick around if it was an interesting presentation." Her eyes, always so expressive, weren’t accusing or angry anymore. They were deeply, painfully disappointed and that was infinitely worse than angry.

For the first time in recent memory House was dumbstruck. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. He stared at Cameron as she turned her face away from him; watched as she shuddered when a wave of pain coursed over her. He stared for at least a minute, waiting for her to turn back, but she didn’t. Eventually words returned. Easy, professional words.

"They only gave you demerol after surgery. That shit wouldn’t relieve a papercut. I’ll have the nurse set up a morphine drip. You don’t need to be in pain." He pressed his lips together as his own words mocked him. She was going to be in pain with or without the morphine.

 

Chapter 2

Allison Cameron’s eyes were shut tight against the afternoon sun, but that didn’t keep it from flashing bright orange and red color spots on the insides of her eyelids. She thought about ringing for the nurse and asking her to close the blinds but she knew how hard the nurses worked and felt guilty asking them to play maid and butler as well. She also wasn’t sure that she really wanted to go back to sleep.

After the initial recovery from surgery they’d kept her heavily sedated in the I.C.U. for over twelve hours even though everything appeared to be going well. They’d finally brought her to a regular room just about an hour ago. They’d started decreasing the sedation just before that, and she felt the need to try and regain some control and stay lucid for as long as possible.

Dr. Cuddy had been with her during the move from I.C.U. to the fourth floor room in the cardiology wing. It was a private room, and Cameron had thanked her for that, but Cuddy had brushed it off. Cameron still couldn’t quite get a handle on that woman.

The room was nice enough, with a view out over the city. There was a small round table in the corner, flanked by two upholstered chairs, and a chest of drawers was opposite the bed. Cable tv, room service, private bath. It could have been a non-descript hotel room if not for the other pieces of "furniture". They consisted of a large cart housing a constantly beeping heart monitor, an IV stand that never had fewer than three bags hanging and an oxygen tank that sent a thin stream of air into her nostrils. It was supposed to cut down on her need to take deep breaths, but she just found it annoying. No, teal upholstery and flowered drapes couldn’t quite offset the pain. Maybe it was about time to call the nurse and drift back to sleep after all. He wasn’t going to come back.

There was a short, hard rap against the heavy wooden door, and Cameron looked up sharply as the door eased open, then relaxed against her pillows when she saw who it was. Foreman carried a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a magazine in the other.

"Hey there," he greeted her amiably. "You look like crap."

She rolled her eyes but smirked at him. "Thanks a lot… just what a girl loves to hear."

"I hear Chase beat me here, but I bet he didn’t come bearing flowers," he continued his bantering tone as he stepped closer to the bed.

Cameron looked pointedly towards the corner and Foreman turned to see a vase with at least two dozen pink roses balanced on the windowsill. He turned back to her and shrugged.

"Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?"

Thinking back to how Chase had been acting for the past few weeks, Cameron was forced to agree. "Definitely. I think there’s still some water in the pitcher." She nodded towards the bedside table.

Foreman managed to arrange the flowers and then sat down in the chair next to the bed. He had been sorely tempted to pick up her chart and start reading, but nixed that idea. He couldn’t help himself from reaching out and glancing over the paper readout from the heart machine that was keeping time beside him.

"I make a great show-and-tell exhibit now," she said dryly.

Foreman quickly dropped the readout and looked at her somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Yeah, and not just for you," she muttered.

He decided to ignore that random statement and instead handed over the magazine that had been rolled up in his fist. "Hey, I brought you some reading material."

She glanced at the cover. "Ooh… New England Journal of Medicine. Be still my beating heart." Almost immediately she realized the irony of her words and fell silent.

Foreman picked up on it as well but wasn’t sure how to respond. His bedside manner was great when it came to strangers but he was discovering that when it was someone he knew it was a lot harder to maintain that air of caring professionalism.

"How’re you feeling? Honestly."

Her eyes narrowed. "Writing a paper on patient rehab?" she asked.

"No, I’m trying to be sympathetic."

The sincerity of his words was easy to hear and she let out a sigh, wincing at the pain it caused. "Not that great, honestly," she replied.

"You want me to tell the nurse to up your meds?"

She shook her head. "I’ve been in a daze for long enough. Anyway, Dr. House had them set up this self-medicating drip. If it gets too bad I can just about knock myself out," she said, trying to make light of it.

"Don’t be afraid to use it," Foreman advised.

Silence fell as Cameron tried to weigh her options. House hadn’t been back since she’d basically thrown him out. At least if he’d come back it had been while she’d been passed out on morphine. Part of her was still saying ‘fuck him’, but the larger part was saying the same thing with a much different meaning.

She riffled the pages of the magazine and didn’t look up as she asked, "So, have you seen Dr. House today?"

Foreman’s expression became more animated, like a kid with a story to tell. "He’s been in a review board meeting most of the afternoon. He saves your life and he’s the one in trouble. Even Cuddy couldn’t keep the board from calling the meeting." He stopped when he saw the look of confusion on Cameron’s face.

"He’s the one who saved me?"

"Oh shit." Foreman rolled his eyes. It was too damn late to backpedal now. "I figured Cuddy or Wilson would have spilled the beans."

"Cuddy was only here for a minute, and I haven’t seen Dr. Wilson," Cameron explained. "Now what’s going on with the review board?" She was in pain and could feel her strength waning. She didn’t have time to pester the information out of him.

For a second it looked like Foreman was going to clam up and tell her to ask someone else, and he was, but one look in her eyes made him change his mind.

"You coded about five minutes after they brought you in from the ambulance," he stated without preamble, ignoring the new expression those words brought to her face. "House had insisted on going in with you and when the ER doc started calling time of death I guess he freaked out or something. He pushed the attending out of the way and took over, ordering some intern around like a drill sergeant." Foreman shook his head thinking about the balls it took to act like that. "He was right though. He massaged your heart by hand and then ordered the intern to do it while he did a patch job. But that’s not the best part. The best part is that the ER doc was Nihquist." Cameron knew the man by reputation. He was supposed to be almost as hard-assed as House but slightly easier to control. "You can bet he wasn’t happy when House swooped in and saved you after not touching a patient for almost ten years."

By the time Foreman finished his narrative his eyes were almost glowing. Then he seemed to remember that the patient in question was sitting right in front of him struggling to take slow, even breaths. He shook his head again and set his expression back to one of professional courtesy.

"He didn’t tell me any of that," Cameron murmured.

"Yeah, well you were probably pretty out of it when he saw you. He was probably waiting for you to be a little more with it so you’d be suitably awed." The sarcasm in his voice was light but unmistakable.

Pumped full of medication, hooked up to machines, barely controlling her pain, and still she felt forced into the defensive position. "He’s really not like that," she said, daring Foreman to contradict an almost-dying woman.

He did the right thing and backed down. "Yeah, well, whatever. He saved your life. I know that much."

*****

It was busy on the fourth floor and Wilson had to maneuver around a flower cart, four nurses and a huddled group of people waiting outside one patient’s door before he could get to Cameron’s room. A nurse had sent him an urgent page telling him to meet her there. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Cardiology wasn’t his specialty and he hadn’t been consulted on her case although he’d checked on her progress a few times… mainly to report it to House. Four-twelve. That was her room, and he gave a peremptory knock before opening the door and walking in. Cameron was propped up and looking at him expectantly. Confusion played across his features and he looked around for the nurse who had paged him.

Then his confusion cleared and he shook his head. "So now you have the nurses wrapped around your little finger too?" he said with a slight chuckle.

"I needed to talk to you," she replied, blue eyes silently asking him to hear her out.

For not the first time, Dr. James Wilson regretted both his current married status and the fact that the woman in front of him was currently in a one-way relationship with his best friend.

"I’m guessing this doesn’t have anything to do with how you’re feeling."

She shook her head. "I need you to talk to him for me."

A single bark of laughter was his response before pulling himself together and meeting her serious gaze. "Sorry. I had a sudden flashback to high school."

Cameron sighed, and her face was an open book of emotions. "I know. I’m sorry to drag you into it."

"So tell me, Dr. Cameron, why do you need me to talk to Greg? I admit I haven’t seen him for more than five minutes at a stretch since you were brought in, but I did ask if he’d seen you after surgery, and he said yes."

Her frown deepened. "Yes, he saw me, but I said some things I shouldn’t have… it seems to be a regular thing for me… and now I just…" she sighed again, struggling to put her thoughts into words. "I want to fix things. That’s all. And thank him."

Wilson stepped closer to the bed and crossed his arms. "This will be the second favor I’ve done for you," he said, with a grin and she knew he was referring to the non-date and not stepping forward to talk to those parents when she’d frozen.

"I know, and I appreciate it."

"I’ve had moments of regretting that first favor," he continued as the grin disappeared. "House isn’t like other men. You have to know that."

A smile ghosted across her lips. "I know that."

"I’ll talk to him."

*****

The nurse on duty had told him that she’d fallen asleep and he was grateful. He could slip in, check her chart, and slip back out without her ever seeing him. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the brushed metal handle.

"You going in or are you just going to hover in the hall all night?"

It was Wilson, and House glared at him for a beat before relaxing his expression to something closer to what he was actually feeling. "Undecided, actually. Both options have some benefits. Go in and see a girl half dead in a hospital bed… always good for some laughs… or pace out here and imagine said girl, half dead in a hospital bed."

Wilson gave him his customary sympathetic look. "Sounds like an easy choice to me. Hell, you won’t even have to think of any witty repartee while you visit."

House’s mouth twisted into a sardonic version of a frown. "I think she’s had more than she wants of that."

Cameron was right. He was planning on staying away. Wilson hid his surprise behind a sympathetic expression. It had been a long time since he’d seen Greg care enough to stifle his need to be right.

"I think you’d be surprised," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. "She’s tougher than she looks. Even tough enough to handle you."

"You seem to forget that she quit to get away from me."

"We both know that need had nothing to do with desire in that scenario," Wilson countered.

"Outcome was the same. And just for the record, apparently seeing a woman naked with her chest cut open changes how they feel about you."

An indulgent smile crossed Wilson’s face. "So now you’re basing your actions on what a woman tells you when she’s heavily sedated and barely conscious? Somehow that feels like a step backward, even for you."

House glared at him again and looked like he was going to turn and walk away.

"Just go in. She’s asleep. She’ll never know what a softy you’re becoming."

House opened his mouth to make a snide comment, but Wilson had already turned his back. He shook his head in irritation instead and popped two vicodin into his mouth. Then he grabbed the door handle and finally opened the door.

He supposed that he should have been surprised and horrified to see her lying helpless in the bed, attached to multiple IVs, a heart monitor and oxygen tank, but he was just too jaded to be shocked. He knew the damage her body had taken. Hell, he had inflicted some of it. He would have been more surprised to see any of those machines absent.

He limped over to the side of the bed and used his cane to hook the leg of a nearby chair and drag across the floor. He eased himself down into it and then glanced at the foot of her bed. Her chart was hanging there. That was supposedly what he’d come in to look at. Oh hell, he was only kidding himself. He inched the chair closer and stared up at her face, watching her breathe. It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Her hand was slightly closed but he eased his fingers into her grasp to rest against her warm palm and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, tracing the blue vein, starkly visible through her almost translucent skin. He paused to rub gently over a darkening bruise; the entry point from an IV line during surgery. Slowly he let his head droop forward into his other hand. He had stood with his hands in her chest, wrapped around her very heart, but this was the first time he had ever touched her skin. Well, unless you counted the times he had allowed their fingers to brush for a millisecond of time as she handed him his coffee. Somehow it wasn’t the same.

The heart monitor beeped in a slow, regular rhythm, but he couldn’t decide if the sound was comforting or ominous. Its very presence was a testament to the fact that Cameron’s surgeon was worried that there could still be bleeding and her heart could stop again. House shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that and went back to tracing the blue vein and contemplating how soft her skin was. It was softer than he’d imagined.

Her hand tightened and he looked up to see her flinching in her sleep as she took a breath. A quick glance at the morphine drip and he saw that she hadn’t yet reached the self-dosing limit. He reached across her body to get the control and clicked it twice, sending a stronger dose of painkiller into her system and hoping that she would sleep through the night. When he leaned back and looked up into her face he was startled to see her caring eyes staring back at him.

"Trying to get me addicted to pain meds?" she asked, with some effort.

"You… I…" he was stammering. He never stammered. He paused for only a moment and his mask slid back in place. "Why yes. You know how misery loves company and all that."

He waited for some sort of comeback, or the slightly girlish smile she sometimes tossed his way after a sarcastic remark. It was a smile that told him she could tell he didn’t really mean what he was saying. Sometimes she was right, and sometimes she was wrong, but he was always a little worried when she didn’t throw that smile. She wasn’t smiling now. In fact her expression grew very serious but House kept up the eye contact. Finally he was the one to break the silence.

"I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not sorry about going in with you, but I probably shouldn’t have told you about it the way I did. It was highly insensitive… and you know what a sensitive guy I am." He turned and studied the pattern on her blanket rather than look into her face.

Cameron could now count on one finger the number of times House had apologized to her, and this was one time when he hadn’t needed to.

"You saved my life."

He looked up at her and blinked dumbly for a moment. That was twice in one day she’d struck him speechless. "So, someone’s been telling tales out of school. Let me guess… was it Cuddy? No… Wilson. He’s always been a sentimental fool."

The corner of her mouth curled up slightly. "Actually it was Foreman."

"Ah, yes. Of course. He would be the one to relay a medical procedure as if it was a winning play in the Superbowl."

"So I’m the one who should apologize. I sounded like an ungrateful brat. I want to apologize for something else too… for what I asked you… the way I’ve acted…" she didn’t need to specify. They both knew what she meant. "I was acting like a pesky ninth grader."

"Not pesky… earnest," he corrected almost gently, "and I’d say closer to tenth."

Her wistful smile made him look away.

"Anyway, I haven’t liked anyone in almost ten years. You know that. With the possible exception of Wilson, and that’s only because he was grand-fathered in. I’ve known him for twenty." He gave a quick, half-grin as if trying to ease the sting of words spoken weeks ago.

"You don’t have to explain. It was a stupid, unprofessional question."

Diminishing her own feelings with her words caused an ache deep in her chest, and it wasn’t related to her injuries. What she felt wasn’t just some schoolgirl crush. She hadn’t quit a job she loved because of a temporary hormonal boost. But it was obvious that he couldn’t handle that, and right now it was more important to her to let him be comfortable and at her side than uncomfortable and gone.

"Well I’ve been a professional for a lot longer than you and I wouldn’t call myself a role-model." Another joke, meant to deflect her current line of conversation.

"I just wanted to clear the air. That’s all."

"Fine. Consider it cleared."

Her eyes were starting to get the glazed over look indicative of the morphine taking hold. She blinked a few times as if to clear her vision.

"You should sleep."

"You shouldn’t have upped the morphine," she murmured.

"You’re right. You were only cut open from stem to sternum and spread open like a butterflied steak. Wouldn’t want to take the edge off any pain that might have caused," he shot back.

Her expression changed from one of drugged weariness to one of horror. House mentally slapped himself.

"Sorry. I can’t be Mr. Sensitive all the time." When she didn’t reply he went on. "You really should sleep."

He was right of course. She appeared to be thinking hard and she was. Should she sound like an earnest ninth… no, tenth… grader again and pathetically ask him to sit with her for a while? Damn it, the drugs were making it even harder to decide. Pathetic or lonely? Which was worse? Hell, he probably wouldn’t stay anyway.

"I said you should sleep," House repeated again. "That usually involves closing your eyes. Maybe I should stick around and make sure you know how to do that."

She didn’t smile at him, but the look she gave him made him glad that he’d spoken.

"If you don’t mind," she replied. "Just until I fall asleep."

"Of course. I’m not going to be some voyeur watching your every breath," he lied.

She nodded her head as her eyes drifted closed. "’Course not. Not your style."

House moved his chair an inch closer. He was relatively sure that he could tell the moment she fell asleep. He picked up her hand again in the moment following. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. His leg wasn’t going to be speaking to him in the morning but at the moment he didn’t give a damn.

 

Chapter 3

Sitting in his office, surrounded by paperwork, Bohemian Rhapsody blaring through his computer speakers, it was difficult to believe that the past day and a half was a part of reality. Forty-eight hours ago he’d been trying to adjust to the fact that he would most likely never see Dr. Allison Cameron again. Now she was lying two floors above him and he was the reason she was still alive.

He didn’t think that with any sense of smug superiority, but rather intense, nearly mind-boggling relief. If he hadn’t been sulking in his office. If Cuddy hadn’t gotten the call. If she hadn’t immediately told him about it. If Cameron had been taken to another hospital. If. If. If. A person could go insane thinking about the multitude of seemingly random circumstances that could make the difference in a life or death situation.

A brief memory pushed its way into his thoughts. He was thirteen and his mother was in the hospital. Cancer, his father had told him but had never specified what kind. Now that he was older he suspected that it must have been ovarian. He remembered his father sitting him down. Explaining things to him. He’d been very pragmatic. "Son, right now there’s nothing we can do. It’s not up to us to save her."

To a thirteen-year-old, those words had seemed like the coldest, harshest words ever spoken, but he’d been right. She’d ended up recovering. She’d even outlived her husband by almost ten years. Still, House had never forgotten those words. He’d never wanted to be in that situation again. That was impossible, of course. Over the years he’d lived through variations of that scenario a hundred times. But not this time. This time it had been up to him, and this time, he’d been there to do something.

The song ended and another one started, but he shook his head and turned it down. He wasn’t in the mood for anything slow. The pile of mail in his inbox was about to topple under its own weight. Well, he’d have plenty of time to deal with that. He’d been ignoring it since Cameron had left. Sorting through the crap was something she did well and something he despised. With a long-suffering sigh he picked up the top half of the stack and started sorting it into two piles: definitely crap and probably crap.

He didn’t bother to look up when Cuddy walked in.

"Did you leave this on my desk?" she asked, holding up a computer printout and a credit card.

"Unless someone recently stole my identity, yes," he replied, still not looking up.

"How did you even get this? Patient records are supposed to be confidential."

House smirked and gave her a look she’d seen a dozen times before. "And since when has hospital policy ever stopped me? If I recall correctly, my ability to get around the system is one of the things you love about me."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"And your credit card?"

"It’s good. Charge away."

"You want me to put over ten thousand dollars worth of medical bills on your American Express card?"

A sarcastic reply was on the tip of his tongue but for once, he held back. "Yep, that’s exactly what I want. Oh, and if you could just have the rest of those bills sent directly to me, that would be keen."

Taking a deep breath, Cuddy centered herself and forced herself to remember that she was supposed to be the rational one. "House, what the hell do you think you’re doing?"

He was wishing he’d gone with the sarcastic reply. "Look, she doesn’t have another job yet. Even if she elected COBRA benefits the bills would be crippling. She’ll already be paying off student loans until she’s geriatric."

Cuddy shook her head again, trying to adjust to this new, semi-benevolent version of House. "She’s not going to let you do this. You know that."

"Well yes, that’s the other thing I need you to do for me. Explain to her why there isn’t any bill. Lie, if necessary… and it will be necessary. Tell her that her coverage extended to the end of the month or something. I’m sure you can get creative when the mood strikes you." He raised one eyebrow in a lascivious smirk.

She tossed the bill and the card onto his desk. "Maybe I’ll see what I can do to make that the truth," she said. "Save your money. You may end up needing it more than her." Her tone was serious but almost sympathetic.

"Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage to muddle through."

"You know you aren’t even supposed to be here."

"Au contraire. I’m not allowed to work on patients. I can spend as much time here in the hospital as my little heart desires."

She didn’t bother to argue with him, and he was actually grateful for that. He wasn’t in the mood to explain that the hospital without patients was still better than his apartment with nothing.

*****

Cameron was hurting, bored and lonely; not exactly the best combination for someone recovering from major surgery. She was happy to be alive, of course, happy and incredibly grateful, but unfortunately human nature made dwelling on the bad much easier than celebrating the good, no matter how good it was.

The heart monitor and oxygen tank were gone but the IV remained. Some of her lab results had shown the possible beginnings of an infection so now in addition to extra fluids they were pumping her full of antibiotics. She was at least grateful that the morphine drip was gone, replaced by shots of Demerol. They made her a little drowsy, but it was nothing compared to the morphine.

She took a cautious breath, slowly filling her chest to the point where the pain took over. It was frustrating not to be able to breathe deeply. Hell, it was frustrating to be eating hospital jello, peeing in a pan and counting the ceiling tiles for entertainment. The television was droning on in the background, but constantly flipping the channels had given her a headache so it was mainly on to cut the unbearable silence that filled the room otherwise.

After a lot of in-mind-debating she’d finally called her parents and told them what had happened. They’d wanted to fly right out, but she’d managed to dissuade them. Cameron loved them, but they owned a dairy farm out in the Midwest. Who could they get to look after it? Damn, and if House ever found out that she was raised on a farm, surrounded by animals and family he’d be even more sarcastic about her innate niceness.

Sometimes she even made herself sick. She was like a walking, talking stereotype of the sweet girl-next door, and when she tried to be wild and crazy some of that purity still managed to slipped in. Hell, she’d faced off with House a few times, but he still got the last word ninety percent of the time. She mentally rolled her eyes. Maybe she just needed more practice.

She let her head fall back against the pillows and sighed. Honestly, she hadn’t just been worried about who they’d get to watch the farm. She had been worried about the hundred and one conversations that she didn’t want to have, chief among them the "why did you quit?" harangue and the "you just tell me who he is and I’ll take care of it" possessive rant.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the chair he’d sat in last night. He’d been gone by morning of course, and she wondered how long he’d ended up sitting with her. An hour? Two? Did she dare to think about the possibility that it had been longer?

Would he be back? When? Maybe she could page Wilson again. God, she really did feel like she was back in high school again. She could practically smell the hairspray and the oxyclean. She’d already apologized once. The last thing she needed to do was start the whole damn cycle over again. But he hadn’t been able to shake her hand. And he’d sat with her last night. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

She hadn’t had a chance to ask him about the review board, not that he’d tell her anything anyway. Maybe Foreman or Chase would stop by and she could ask them. Chase would be only too happy to relay bad news. She tried to remember when he’d started changing into an insufferable prick. It was difficult to pinpoint and exact date.

A cheerful knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. Yes, the knock had actually sounded cheerful. It had to be one of the nurses. She didn’t tell her to come in but the door opened anyway.

"How are you feeling?" It was Heather, one of the younger nurses and Cameron liked her.

"Not bad. Not woozy for a change."

Heather laughed. "Not bad? Man, you’re the biggest liar on the floor!"

"All right, not that great either."

"Dr. Fraser wants you to walk around a little bit. You think you’re up for that?"

She really wasn’t but it beat lying in bed alone. "Sure, I’ll give it a try."

"Here, you may want to put this on first. I’ll give you a hand. It was left for you at the nurses’ station." She handed over a plastic bag from Tower Records.

Cameron’s confusion was quickly followed by a tight, nervous feeling in her chest as she opened the bag and saw her favorite nightgown with her hairbrush resting on top of it. Had he gone to her apartment? Had he been there looking for things to make her feel more comfortable? The nightgown had been hanging on a hook on the back of her bathroom door, and her brush was always on the counter.

"My nightgown," she muttered without realizing it.

"Yeah, Dr. Foreman said he thought you’d want it."

Foreman. Right. Of course. He and Chase had been over to her apartment plenty of times. It was the closest one to the hospital and particularly convenient when they needed to crash for a few hours during an urgent case. The combination of nerves and excitement vanished, replaced by an inevitable stab of disappointment. She mentally marked off ‘hopeless romantic’ on her good girl check-list.

"Yes," she replied, "definitely better than hospital issue."

"Yeah, those don’t leave much to the imagination when you’re walking around. I’ll give you a hand and then we’ll see how far you feel like going."

She didn’t feel like going anywhere. Well maybe home. Home would be nice. Except that it was even quieter and lonelier there. She knew the drill. They’d probably keep her in the hospital for another three or four days but even after she was released she wasn’t going to be able to do much. Not that she had much to do. She had her resume out to every hospital in New England, but it had only been a few weeks. It could be weeks more before she heard anything. Damn, and here she was racking up the bills. She could almost see her savings dripping from the IV and into her arm.

Cameron took nightgown out of the bag and Heather moved to untie the chintzy hospital gown. At least it would be nice to be able to use the bathroom and stretch her legs. It would hurt like hell, but that wasn’t exactly a change from how she was already feeling.

It took some time and maneuvering to get changed, and by the time Cameron put her feet on the floor she was already feeling tired and winded. The cool cotton of her nightgown felt nice against her skin, though, and standing up relieved kinks in her back that she hadn’t realized were there. She swayed just a bit and reached out to grab the IV stand.

Heather was at her side and put a supportive hand at her back. "We’ll just try going down the hall a ways and see how far you feel like going. Let me know if you need to stop."

Cameron nodded. "Thanks. I know the drill."

"Right. Sorry about that. I keep forgetting you’re a doctor. Down in Dr. House’s department, right? What’s he like to work with? I almost bumped into him in the elevator one morning and he practically took my head off."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Cameron replied with a wry grin as she moved one foot in front of the other until they were finally out of the room.

"So he’s like that all the time? How do you stand it?"

The stitches were pulling across her chest, and her legs felt like they hadn’t been used in weeks rather than days, but Heather’s question made her more uncomfortable than any of her physical aches. "I’m actually not working for him anymore," she said, attempting to keep her tone flat and neutral, "but he wasn’t that bad. He was actually great to work for."

Whether it was the tone of Cameron’s voice or just some indefinable womanly sixth sense, Heather spotted a sore point and quickly backed away from it. "The weather’s really warmed up over the past few days. If you’re feeling up to it we can take the elevator and go up to the patient garden."

The rooftop garden was built for patient comfort, with potted trees, plants, raised garden beds, wide benches, comfortable chairs and a high wall all around to keep out much of the wind. Cameron had been up there a few times when the stress had started to get to her. It was more private than the lounge and a hell of a lot prettier. The elevator was just at the end of the hall and she gauged her waning strength.

"Sure. I think I can make it," she decided.

Heather’s hand was at her elbow and she used the IV stand for support on her other side. Just a few more feet and they’d be at the elevator. Then a two-minute ride and she could sit down in the sun. She could close her eyes and let the warmth soak into her and take away all her troubling thoughts. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and ignoring the pain in her chest.

"Are you sure you can make it? You’re looking a little pale. I can get a wheelchair if you want."

"I’m fine," Cameron snapped, and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I’m not very comfortable being on this side of the patient/doctor relationship."

"Don’t worry about it. You’re right about doctors making the worst patients and most of them don’t apologize."

Cameron gave a little nod and then thankfully they were at the elevator. Heather leaned forward to push the button and the two women tilted their heads back to watch the numbers light up as the elevator approached the fourth floor. A high pitched pinging noise signaled its arrival and Cameron pushed her IV stand along and took a step forward as the door opened. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been leaning on the stand and she definitely wasn’t prepared when one of the wheels caught on the threshold.

There was a clattering sound and the world spun dizzily for a moment as she was pitched forward, but her meeting with the floor was postponed when a pair of hands caught her under her arms and managed to hoist her to her feet. She looked up into eyes so blue she could almost see through them to the thoughts inside and instantly felt every nerve ending fire as her face blushed scarlet.

Another pair of hands gripped her arm, and "Are you all right?" Heather asked as she helped Cameron grab hold of the IV stand again.

"Why yes, I’m just fine," House muttered as he struggled to pick up his cane. "What the hell is she doing out of bed? She’s pale as a ghost… or at least, she was a second ago."

"I’m sorry, Dr. House," Heather replied. "Dr. Fraser wants her up and walking around."

"Yes. Walking being the operative word, not falling. You do realize that she had a bullet dug out of her chest barely two days ago, right?"

Cameron wanted to get seriously pissed at the two of them talking about her as if she wasn’t there, but suddenly all of the blood drained back out of her face and she watched the world being reduced to two pinpoints of light. House nearly dropped his cane again as he jerked forward and grabbed her around the waist, holding her up until she came back to her senses a moment later.

"Why don’t you do something useful and get a damn wheelchair. I can’t hold her like this forever," House wasn’t shouting, but he might as well have been. Heather beat a hasty retreat.

"I’m fine. I’m fine," Cameron insisted, shaking her head to clear her vision. "Just a little lightheadedness. Perfectly normal."

"Yeah, perfectly normal, but hitting the ground with forty stitches running up your chest really wouldn’t be a good idea."

Cameron closed her eyes and took a breath. "I really wish you wouldn’t do that," she said quietly.

"Do what?" Usually when House asked that question he was being sarcastic because he knew perfectly well what, but this time he wasn’t sure. He started releasing his grip on her, thinking that was probably what she meant.

"I wish you wouldn’t talk about what’s wrong with me like that. I’m not one of your patients. I’m standing right here in front of you. Would it kill you to be just a little bit more sensitive." She couldn’t look at him when she spoke.

House swallowed a couple of times and her words echoed around in his head. "I guess I wasn’t thinking about how it sounded." He finally said. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right?"

He didn’t have time to respond because Heather reappeared pushing a wheelchair and smiling hesitantly. "Here you go, Allison. Just have a seat. You still want to go to the garden?"

Cameron winced as Heather helped ease her down into the chair. "Yes, I need to breathe some air that isn’t filled with disinfectant."

"Whatever you say." She turned to House and eyed him warily. "What floor were you going to?" she asked. When they’d hit the hold button all of the floor buttons had gone dim.

"Seven," House lied. "Look. Why don’t I take Dr. Cameron to the roof, and you go find some nice obese gentleman who needs a sponge-bath. I promise to get her home before dark."

Heather was trying to think of a good retort, but the look in Cameron’s eyes told her not to bother. She glared at him instead. "Fine. But try to hold back from pushing her off the roof if she pisses you off."

"Oh, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that," House replied. "Now shoo… shoo… I think I can hear the fat man calling."

He was standing behind her wheelchair, his body casting a long shadow over hers. Cameron folded her hands on her lap, then unfolded them and picked invisible lint off her nightgown. It was disconcerting having him so near, especially being at such a disadvantage. She had been foolishly hoping that he would stop by for at least a quick visit, but in her mind she’d had time to prepare. In her mind she definitely hadn’t literally fallen at his feet. He wasn’t talking. Why wasn’t he talking? She couldn’t take the silence anymore.

"Sorry about all this," she gave a slight wave of her hand. "You were on your way somewhere. Heather could have taken me up."

He didn’t bother telling her that his destination had been the fourth floor nurses’ station to get his third report of the day on her condition.

"Let the nurse who almost dropped you twice, take you to the roof? You’re a hell of a lot braver than I am."

"It was an accident. She’s very nice."

"Nice, she may be, but competent she is not. I wouldn’t trust her with my cat, if I had a cat."

Cameron rolled her eyes and sighed. He hadn’t exactly been Mr. Sensitive, as he put it, the night before, but there had been something there… a hint of tenderness maybe, a slight lowering of the hard mask he always wore. Apparently daylight had pushed even Mr. Not-Quite-Sensitive back into hiding.

"Nice nightgown, by the way," he continued as the elevator reached the roof.

Nervous fingers finally stopped their plucking and Cameron took a quick breath. "Thanks," she murmured, then squinted as he pushed her out into the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day out and Cameron took as deep a breath as she dared. It was nice to be breathing fresh air for a change. Spring flowers were blooming in concrete planters spaced out around the roof, interspersed with potted evergreens and even dogwood and cherry trees. House pushed her underneath one of the cherries and sat down in a comfortable lounge chair next to her.

"Are you comfortable in that chair or do you want to stretch out more?" he asked, and she was a little surprised at the offer.

"No, I’m fine. I just wanted to get a little sun. This is good." She closed her eyes and let the dappled sunlight through the pink tinged branches warm her face. She tried to forget about the man sitting next to her, and concentrate on the feel of the sun and the scent of the flowers around her. Within minutes she was asleep.

She wasn’t sure how long she actually slept but the sun had definitely moved in the sky, so it had probably been close to an hour, probably more. A tangle of shadows now fell on her face and a slight chill ran through her body. She looked around, surprised that House hadn’t woken her and taken her back to her room. When she spotted him, she froze. He was still in the lounge chair next to her, but he looked almost like a different man.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines smoothed away and replaced by a vulnerability that Cameron had never seen before. It almost felt like spying to watch him, but something about the way the slight breeze ruffled his hair forward, along with the peaceful look on his face, made it difficult to look away. She was seeing a part of him that few people saw. Maybe only one. Stacy. The woman he’d lived with. She’d overheard Wilson mention her name, and had put one and one together. It was hard to imagine him as part of a couple, but even harder to imagine him splitting up with someone she could only guess he had loved. As cold as he could be, he still didn’t strike her as the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. Ugh. She had to stop thinking about it. She had to stop staring at him.

Cameron reached out to give his arm a little shake. "House? Dr. House?" she called lightly, watching with amusement as his face screwed up into a distinctly annoyed expression before he woke up, eyes blinking at the bright sunlight.

"We fell asleep," she told him as his bleary eyes regained their focus.

"So it would appear. Sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night," he muttered, unintentionally answering Cameron’s earlier question about how long he had stayed with her.

"That’s all right. I’m just surprised you weren’t paged. I’m sure Foreman and Chase have been looking for you."

Damn it. They were approaching dangerous territory. "No, it’s been a slow day. Nothing exciting. But it is getting late. Nurse Nancy probably thinks I strangled you with your IV line and shoved you behind a potted rose."

It didn’t take a genius to recognize a distraction. "They suspended you, didn’t they?"

Shit. He didn’t bother lying. "Two weeks. Pending another review board meeting. It’s just a slap on the wrist. Probably wouldn’t have even come to that if that walking dick Nihquist wasn’t involved, not to mention Vogler. It’s a nice little break actually. I get out of clinic hours too. No snot-nosed toddlers and constipated eighty-year-olds."

It was a lame attempt at levity and Cameron frowned. "I’m sorry," she said remorsefully.

House rolled his eyes and hoisted himself to his feet with the aid of his cane. "Oh Jesus, here we go."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You. Looking at me like I’m some noble savior. I’m nobody’s savior, Dr. Cameron. I did what I had to do. I would have done the same even if it had been goddamned Vogler on the table. I just wouldn’t have been as happy about him actually surviving." He paced in front of her but never glanced in her direction. Shit. Fuck. Damn. What the hell was he saying? He couldn’t seem to shut up. "You look at me with those big doe-eyes and make me wish Foreman knew how to keep his big mouth shut."

Cameron sat there and felt her anger rising. "It’s not my fault you’re the one who saved me. I can’t help it if I’m grateful. I can’t help it if I wish you weren’t such a miserable bastard all the time."

He spun and faced her, nearly shouting at her. "But I am, Allison. This is who I am. This is the way I’m always going to be. You’re not going to kiss me and turn me into your romantic ideal, a prince among men, the man of your dreams."

"You have no idea what I dream about." The color had risen in her cheeks and she hated that he could always do that to her. "If you think I look at you like a savior, then you look at me like I’m some goddamned saint. A model of pure and virtuous womanhood, displayed for you to study and dissect. I’m nice. You’re right. And what a crime that is," she stole some of his trademarked sarcasm. "But you don’t know my thoughts. You don’t know what I want or what I need."

House stepped closer and briefly touched her cheek. "I know what you don’t need, and that’s to be chained to a bitter, miserable bastard."

She opened her mouth to reply but something in his expression stopped her. He wasn’t looking at her coldly, or meanly. His eyes just held a mix of sadness and longing. She was afraid to flatter herself that the longing was for her and not simply for a piece of himself that had fallen away and been lost somewhere; maybe the part that thought he might deserve to be something other than a bitter, miserable bastard. Whatever it was, it was only there for a moment, and then he moved around behind her chair.

"We need to get you back to your room," he said flatly. "You’re due for your meds."

 

Chapter 4

It was raining out, not that House could see it. He had all of the blinds in his office closed, including the ones that covered the walls that separated his office from the hallway. Those blinds were actually very non-standard equipment. The hospital wanted all of the doctors to seem open and accessible. That was why the walls were glass in the first place. The blinds were the first thing House had put up when he’d arrived. Usually when they were closed they kept people from even knocking. Not many people enjoyed getting their entrails handed to them along with a side order of sarcasm.

Unfortunately for House, Dr. Wilson was one of the few people who weren’t intimidated by closed blinds.

"Dr. Cameron’s being released today," he said as he entered and shut the door again.

House didn’t look up from his gameboy. "So I’ve heard."

"So that’s it then. You’ve seen the last of her. You’ll just hide out here in your office for the next two weeks waiting for Vogler to work out a way to fire you."

House nodded. "Yep, sounds like a plan. Gosh, you really do know me!"

"Oh for God’s sake, could you just cut the crap for once?" Wilson was one step from shouting and House’s eyes actually widened as he sat up straighter. "Do you really think that alienating one of the two people who give a damn about you is the way to go?"

House stifled what he was really feeling and rolled his eyes. "She’s a girl with a crush. Maybe distance is exactly what she needs to get over it and move on with her life."

"She’s a woman who watched her husband die a lingering death, and is probably more mature than you, judging by your taste in television and juvenile games. But you’re right about her moving on with her life. She probably will, and you’ll still be drowning your sorrows in scotch and vicodin and playing melancholy songs to yourself to avoid sleeping."

"I’ll have you know, this game is rated M for Mature, and what the hell do you know about it anyway?" House growled, feeling almost dangerously angry. How did Wilson know about Cameron’s husband? He’d had to ambush her in the lab to get her to cough up that information and here was Wilson letting the words fall out of his mouth as if it was common knowledge. "You’re working your way through marriage number three. I’d hardly call you a reliable source of relationship advice."

Most people might have been hurt by those words, but Wilson just looked resigned. He gave a little shrug. "At least I’m making an effort," he replied. "Maybe if one of them had been like Cameron I’d have stopped looking," he continued.

"Oh please! Is this where the sappy music is supposed to start and I’m supposed to realize everything that I’m missing? Because frankly, even you are not a good enough actor to sell that line."

Wilson met House’s aggravated gaze and raised one eyebrow. "I think you already realize what you’re missing. The question is whether or not you’re going to get off your sorry ass and do something about it."

For a change, House didn’t have a ready retort, and Wilson turned and left the office before he could think of anything suitably scathing. That just left him feeling even more pissed off, and he slumped back in his chair and tossed his game onto the desk.

Fuck.

Why the fuck did she have to go and get herself shot? He had been getting along just fine without her. All right, that was a lie, but at least he had resigned himself to her absence. She had been nice to have around. He could admit that. It sure as hell wasn’t his fault that she had to go and get all mushy. Jesus, why did women have to be like that? Foreman and Chase didn’t give a shit what he thought about them. Why did she?

Because she likes you, dumbass. He answered his own question. She’d even given reasons why she liked him as she stood in his doorway, feelings spread out naked in her eyes, her expression, her outstretched hand. And he thought she was damaged. Shit, he hadn’t even been able to look at her, much less take her hand. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He’d practically been in mourning since she’d left, and yet the first thing he did when she tried to share some honest emotion was cut her down and push her away… literally.

He hadn’t said a word as he’d wheeled her back to the elevator and back to her room. He hadn’t even helped her into bed; he’d called a nurse to do it. Then he’d left without a backward glance. That had been three days ago. He’d continued to keep tabs on her progress, but he’d done it by phone. He hadn’t wanted to even risk the chance of seeing her in the hallway. Damn, he was a heartless bastard. He knew her family wasn’t coming and he’d just let her lie up there, with only Foreman and Chase’s sporadic visits to keep her from going stir-crazy. He knew exactly what that was like. He wondered if she had resorted to soap operas yet.

Then he scrubbed his face with his hand and let out a frustrated sigh. Damn Wilson.

*****

The steady thumping noise gave Wilson plenty of warning. He could probably have made a quick exit out of the lab through the side door. Instead he kept looking at slides and listening as the thumping grew louder.

"She’s already been released," House said sharply.

Wilson casually looked at his watch, as if he needed to verify the time. He knew perfectly well that Cameron had left. He’d been the one to put her in a cab. "Four o’clock. Yeah. I guess she’s been gone for almost an hour."

"Do you know who she hired for a home health aide? I can’t believe Fraser let her go already. Her white count was still elevated."

"Her body’s still healing from a bullet wound," Wilson replied. "I think a slightly elevated white is pretty much to be expected."

"Yeah, yeah. Now answer the question."

"I don’t know. I don’t think she called anyone. Foreman said she’s already worried about the bills as it is."

"Damn it, Cuddy," House muttered too quietly for Wilson to hear. Now he had someone else he needed to go yell at. "If Vogler’s looking for me, tell him I’ve gone off to accept my Nobel Prize. I’ll see you tomorrow." And that was it. There was no apology for their earlier argument, not even a recognition that it had occurred.

Wilson shook his head as he watched House limp back out of the lab. "See you tomorrow, Greg."

*****

Gregory House never drove anywhere without music blaring from the speakers, but there was always a first time for everything. The muffled swoosh-thud of the windshield wipers was currently the only soundtrack playing. In a way it was fitting because he was in the middle of another first: taking advice from Wilson.

He hooked a wide left in a busy intersection, cutting off a minivan and an SUV. Another left, then a right, and a left past the open 24hours convenience store. He’d only driven to her place once, but he remembered the way. He pulled into the little parking lot going ten miles too fast and zipped into the space next to her car.

Cameron’s apartment was the second floor of an older Victorian house, with similar houses on either side, all sharing the same small parking area at the back of the properties. It wasn’t the best part of town, but it was far from the worst, and House wondered how desperate or how stupid her assailant had to be to decide that this was the best place to conduct a mugging. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment before he reached down and cut the engine. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he needed to do it fast before his good sense kicked in and reminded him not to be a damned fool.

The rain had almost stopped and he walked down the slick, flower-lined path to the front door, avoiding the puddles and the worms that had emerged at the first sign of moisture. The three steps up to the front porch were easy enough to navigate, and he limped over to her front door. It was unlocked and led into a small entry way and the stairs to her apartment. They were narrow and steep. Naturally. He wondered how she’d managed them. Had she leaned against the wall to balance herself, or had she asked the cab driver to help her in? She really wasn’t the type to ask for help and he pictured her leaning heavily on the railing and pausing half-way up to catch her breath. It was a scenario he was about to repeat.

At the top of the stairs was a landing, just big enough for a couple of people to stand. Coat hooks hung on one wall, and he noticed her raincoat and a summer jacket, and the black leather biker jacket he’d only seen her in once. A shoe rack was set against the opposite wall, with all her boots and shoes neatly lined up. He’d never noticed that she always wore heels; probably trying to compensate for some perceived deficiency. He remembered now that she’d seemed very small when he’d held her up in the elevator. He shook his head to clear it of that memory. It was better not to think about how she’d felt in his arms, his hand snug against her hip, her body leaning into his. He shook his head again and knocked on the door. He could hear faint movement on the other side and leaned against the coats, popping two vicodin as he waited. He had to shake his head once again when the door opened.

"Foreman. I wasn’t expecting to see you here," he said. Was that jealousy pricking at the back of his brain?

"I could say the same thing." Foreman looked relaxed but wary.

"Just came over to see how the patient’s doing. You know how it is. Once you’ve cut a person open you can’t help but feel a certain connection."

Foreman wasn’t buying the casual act. "That’s the first I’ve ever heard you say something like that."

House glared at him. "Yes, well I generally make you people do the cutting."

"She’s in the bedroom. I’m sure she’ll want to see you," Foreman opened the door all the way and ushered House inside.

House didn’t bother saying that he wouldn’t be too sure about what she wanted.

The apartment was small but nice, with hardwood floors everywhere and one of the original stained-glass windows in the living room. Her furniture was simple but nice. Cream-colored sofa with pale green throw pillows. Black and white photographs on the walls. A bookcase crammed with books and pottery. They passed through the dining room and the table had a large floral arrangement in the center, probably from her parents. The built in hutch held more books along with antique bottles, sun-bleached shells and delicate teacups. It felt like everything held a memory and House was surprised that he actually wanted to examine it all but Foreman was still walking, and he hurried to keep up.

"Who was it?" Cameron called from the bedroom as she heard Foreman approaching. She sounded a little tired but otherwise all right.

Foreman pushed the door open and stood to one side while House came into view. The look of expectation on Cameron’s face changed instantly to something completely unreadable. It was as if every thought, every emotion was suddenly locked behind an invisible door.

"I’m surprised to see you."

"I’m surprised to be here."

Foreman watched the look that passed between them and slowly backed out of the room. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough that he didn’t want to be involved. "Now that you’ve got company I’d better head out," he said lightly. "I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Cameron broke her gaze with House and gave Foreman the barest hint of a smile. "Thanks. And thanks for bringing over dinner." She motioned towards the Chinese food boxes spread out on her nightstand.

"No problem. A girl’s gotta eat. Get some rest." He turned and gave House a quick warning look and then silently left the room.

House didn’t move until he heard the sound of the front door closing and then he limped to the side of the bed and peered down at the boxes of food.

"Aww, no chicken lo mein, and that’s my favorite," he quipped.

Cameron looked up at him and waited for him to turn and face her. "What are you doing here, Dr. House? I thought we’d already said more than enough."

"Probably, but then Wilson told me you'd been discharged and I felt honor bound to check in on you."

She closed her eyes for a second and then looked away. "Well, as you can see, I’m not completely without friends."

"Right. I was confusing you with me." House’s expression grew serious and tired looking.

In fact, Chase and Foreman were the only people in Princeton whom Cameron could even consider calling friends. The competition in med school had kept her from making many friends and they had all taken positions in different states. She was almost embarrassed that the majority of her free time was spent holed up in her apartment, alone.

"You’ve got Wilson," she replied quietly, silently adding that he could have her too if he would just open up the smallest bit.

House seemed to realize that his eyes were giving away too much, and he blinked the shade of sarcastic detachment back over them. "Yes, of course, Wilson. He mentioned something else to me too." She looked confused and he continued on, "He told me that you didn’t hire anyone to come in and take care of you."

"I don’t need anyone," she reasoned. "I’m a doctor. I know how to take care of myself, and I can always call for help if I really need it."

"So you’re gonna call Chase or Foreman over here to examine your sutures and help you with your bath? Because, technically, I have seen it all." What the hell was he doing? He had come here to talk seriously and all he could do was make sarcastic comments and lecherous suggestions.

Cameron’s eyes grew wide with astonishment at what he was saying, but she was only tongue-tied for an instant. "So on the one hand I’m supposed to accept that you only see me as a naïve little child, but on the other hand I’m supposed to let you look at my tits?"

Now it was House’s turn to be taken aback. Somehow ‘tits’ was one of those words he never expected to hear coming out of that perfect bow-like little mouth. It was on an unwritten list along with pussy, cock, and autoerotic asphixiation.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Dr. Cameron?"

She smirked, feeling inordinately pleased to have caught him off-guard. "Every time I see her."

Even he had to smile at that, but he tried to hide it by looking down at his shoes and not at her. "Maybe not such a good girl after all," he murmured.

"Not much of a girl at all," she countered gently and something about the tilt of his head and a softening around his eyes made her brave.

She reached out and tentatively let her fingers brush over his until she was grasping his fingertips and pulling him a half-step closer. "I know this wasn’t in your plan… I wasn’t in your plan… but here we are, and I wish you could at least consider the possibilities."

"You have no idea what you’re asking or what you’re getting yourself into," he wanted to slap himself for sounding like the bad-boy hero in a hundred old movies.

"Then tell me. Explain it to me. Do something besides just telling me that you’re a bastard and I’m a vestal virgin and never the twain shall meet." She cocked one eyebrow and caught his eye, "Because you may be right about the bastard part, but I’m no virgin."

He laughed ruefully and wondered if he was going to live to regret his next move as he leaned over and met her startled gaze for just a fraction of a second before capturing her mouth with his. He could tell that she was shocked, but a heartbeat later she was relaxing against him, her lips soft and pliant. He reached up with his free hand and cupped the back of her head, pressing her closer as he traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue and bit down on her lower lip. She let out a little gasp and he stole the opportunity to press further into her mouth, tasting her, memorizing her. His kiss was hungry and greedy, taking everything she offered and demanding more until he finally broke away leaving her breathless.

Cameron’s chest heaved as she pulled in breath, hardly noticing the tug of the stitches down her chest. Her cheeks felt flushed and her fingers were tingling but when she looked up at House she saw that he was breathing hard too, and his hand was flexing and clenching on his cane.

"Was that supposed to scare me?" she asked feeling more confident than she had in days.

He blinked a few times before he replied, "I suppose it was."

"Then you’d better try again, because it didn’t work."

"Given your current condition, I don’t think that would be the best idea," he said, for once nothing in his tone but truth.

He took a small step backwards, suddenly needing that bit of distance. The kiss might not have frightened her but it had scared the crap out of him. It wasn’t that he was completely out of practice, but this was completely different. He’d had a couple of brief flings since… well, since the one relationship that hadn’t been a fling… but the women had entered them knowing exactly what the game plan was. The game plan called for drunken fun, a few nights out and a few nights in, having sex and making him forget about his leg and everything else. At the moment he couldn’t even remember if he’d kissed any of them on the lips. He was certain he would never forget kissing Allison Cameron.

"So what would be the best idea?" He hadn’t realized that he’d looked away but now he turned his head to look at her, sitting there with a look in her eyes that soothed him.

"Where do you keep your medical supplies? Closet? Bathroom?"

"What?" He could change gears faster than his car.

"Antiseptic, aspirin, thermometer, you know… the stuff you use when you’re hurt or sick?"

"House, can’t we just talk? Please?"

"We can talk any time. Your incision could be turning septic while we stand around blathering… okay, while I stand around blathering."

Cameron gave a little sigh and closed her eyes. "Bathroom across the hall. Under the sink. There’s a basket there."

House limped into the bathroom and quickly found the basket. Like everything else in the apartment it was neat and well organized. He grabbed betadine, sterile pads and the thermometer just for good measure before heading back to the bedroom.

She pinned him with her gaze as soon as he came back in the room. "You don’t really think I’m going to let you--"

"Let me what? Play doctor?" he cut her off. "Why not? I’m quite good at it, really."

"House…"

"Just let me do this," he said as he walked to the side of the bed.

In her mind she was screaming that she needed to demand that they sit down and talk, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "Fine."

He nodded once, a little surprised but glad. He just couldn’t talk. Not quite yet. He needed to do something familiar, something easy, and compared to having an honest heart-felt conversation, even open heart surgery sounded easy to him.

"Here, open your mouth," he held out the thermometer and she rolled her eyes.

"I don’t have a temperature."

"You seem to forget that I’ve seen your chart. You’ve been on mass quantities of antibiotics for almost a week and your white count is still borderline. Now open up and let’s make sure you don’t have a raging infection going on inside." Yes, this was definitely easier.

She opened her mouth and clamped it shut around the thermometer, but her expression said all the words she couldn’t.

"I can’t believe you haven’t gone digital. Here I thought all the young people threw away anything over five years old," House remarked while he looked at his watch, counting the seconds.

"Not all of us," Cameron was finally able to reply when he took hold of the thermometer and held it up to the light to read it.

House pretended he hadn’t heard her. She was trying to trick him into talking, and it wasn’t going to work. "Ninety-nine point seven. Running a little hot, Dr. Cameron.?"

"Only when you’re in the room," she shot back, and watched the startled look pass over his face.

"Okay, then, on to the next order of business," He was back to pretending not to hear, and Cameron felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a half-smile. "How do you want to do this?"

The smile quickly fled. He was gesturing towards her chest and suddenly her bedroom seemed much too small for the two of them. Despite the fact that she’d had him off-guard less than thirty seconds ago, he decided not to hold a grudge.

"Cameron, I just want to look at the sutures. Can you just unbutton enough for me to do that?" he said gently.

She nodded. "Right. Yeah. I can do that."

Her fingers fumbled at the first button, but by the third she had regained her composure. Soon she had the soft shirt completely undone and she pulled the edges apart just far enough so that the seam that now ran down the center of her chest was visible. To be completely honest, she was glad to have someone else take care of it. She could barely look at it without her stomach turning a somersault. In the hospital she’d seen a hundred things worse, but it was much, much different when it was her own body.

"Mind if I sit down? I’d rather not fall on top of you," House said, the sarcasm returning slightly.

She nodded, her head turned away.

House sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and propped his cane against the nightstand before looking down at the thin line of pale flesh accented by black surgical staples. It wasn’t that bad, really. It seemed to be healing quite well. Probably wouldn’t even leave much of a scar. All right, that last one was a lie and he knew it. The last time he’d seen this particular patch of skin he’d been acting on instinct. He’d sliced through it without a second thought except to what he was going to do next. The only emotion he’d felt then had been a furious rage; directed at Niquist for being incompetent, and the mugger for being a selfish asshole, and at Cameron for lying there dying. But now when he looked down at the evidence of that near-death he felt sick, and the bone-chilling fear he hadn’t allowed himself at the time crashed over him like a wave. He swallowed hard and opened the bottle of antiseptic.

"Doesn’t look too bad," he said and his voice was steadier than his hand as he poured the liquid onto one of the gauze pads.

She flinched when he touched the top of the scar. "You forgot to say ‘this is gonna sting a little’," she joked.

"Well, being a doctor and all, I figured you’d heard it all before." Her little grin steadied his hand and he cleaned the rest of the wound and patted it dry with another pad. "There. All set. And you didn’t even have to show my your tits." He made it a joke, but the truth was that as close as they were to being bare, he hadn’t even thought about them.

Cameron started buttoning her pajama top again and House stood up and limped to the other side of the room, where he looked at the pictures hung on the wall and the few knick-knacks scattered on her white antique vanity.

"Where do you think you’re going?" she asked, gathering her strength for what she knew would be a fight. "This is supposed to be the part where we talk."

House turned to face her. "Right. Talking. Never my strong suit, actually."

A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "Yeah, right."

He scowled at her and limped back across the room. "Okay, what do you want to talk about? What do you want me to say?"

She pressed her lips together and just looked at him for a minute, letting her eyes do the talking for her until he’d released the ugly look on his face and replaced it with something less forbidding. "I want to talk about what happened a few minutes ago. I want to talk about what’s been happening for a few months now. I want to talk about why I had to quit."

"I think I already know the answer to that one," House said wearily. "If I recall correctly it had something to do with protecting yourself. Seems like you’ve decided to throw caution to the wind now." He grabbed the stool from her vanity and sat down. This wasn’t a conversation he could have standing up.

"Well it seemed like you might be willing to do the same," Cameron said slowly. "Look, I know you hate all this touchy-feely crap. Solving puzzles that have definite answers is definitely more your style. So I’m not going to ask what you’re feeling. I’m not going to ask if you like me again. I think I already have the answer to that… I hope I already have the answer to that. I’m just going to ask if you can possibly not hide it quite so much, and if you could possibly try to accept the fact that what I’m feeling for you is not a crush, and it’s not some hero-worship gone wrong. And then, if you can do that, I’m asking if you can at least think about doing something about it… you know… like normal people who find themselves attracted to each other." She was surprised that he’d let her get all that out without interrupting, and she concentrated on his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.

He nodded a few times and then rested his chin on his cane, his blue eyes piercing right through her. "You’re right. I hate the touchy-feely crap," he said, watching to see if her eyes would waver. They didn’t. "I’m not making any promises to you."

"I don’t expect any."

"Good." He stood up and moved to her side. "I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Get some rest."

Cameron nodded. If this was all he could do at the moment, it was enough. She felt her heart speed up when he leaned closer and then he was brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. She didn’t say anything as he pulled away and walked towards the door, but her eyes were focused on the line of his back and the angle of his head.

He turned around to face her as he reached the hall. "You’re right," he admitted, "I do like you," and then he was limping down the hall, the thud of his cane growing lighter as he walked away from her and out of the apartment.

 

Chapter 5

It was six-thirty in the morning and the sun had been up for an hour, but not much else was except for the resident doctor of misanthropy who was limping down the hall to his office looking even more rumpled than usual. He entered his office and shut the door, then released the blinds, giving a satisfied almost-grin as they covered the walls. Damn cleaning people always insisted on raising them up at night.

His chair let out a squeaking groan of protest as he fell into it, without even bothering to take off his jacket. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his ipod and his gameboy. He’d stopped at the store and bought a new game after visiting Cameron. He was already up to level nineteen and was fairly sure that was some sort of record.

He put the game on the desk and opted for music instead. What he really needed was coffee. Coffee with four and a half sugars, made perfectly by only one person other than himself. Damn it. He was thinking about her again. His head lolled against the back of his chair and he closed his eyes, letting the soothing sounds of Frank Sinatra wash over him. Except that they weren’t relaxing. They were pithy and smart and romantic and damnit he was thinking about her again. He turned the music off. Coffee. That was all he needed. Coffee and about four more hours of sleep.

He managed to get two of them sitting in his chair before the sound of his office door opening woke him up. Wilson. Naturally. He was wearing the expectant look of a schoolboy and House suddenly wanted to throttle him. He settled for shaking his head like an irritated teacher faced with an overly enthusiastic apple-bringer.

"So?"

"Sew buttons?"

Wilson rolled his eyes at the childish joke. "So, you went over there. What happened?"

"You know, Wilson, if you get this much joy living vicariously through me you’d really have a ball watching the soaps. I advise starting off with All My Children and moving up to General Hospital."

"Done with the witty comebacks yet?"

"No, I’m fairly certain I have an unlimited supply."

Wilson sat down and held out a cup of coffee. "If you can manage to answer my question I’ll give you this perfect cup of coffee, straight from our very own cafeteria."

It was House’s turn to roll his eyes. "Four and a half sugars?"

"Four. Who’s counting?"

House was. But he stretched out an arm and grabbed the coffee anyway. Definitely better than nothing.

"How did it go?"

"God, you sound like we’re making plans for the prom," House said with exasperation. "It went fine. She has some wacky notion that we should try to have a relationship like normal adults."

"What a concept."

"Yes, I thought so," House replied, taking a long sip of coffee and wincing as he burned his tongue.

"And you said?" Damn, getting a straight answer out of him was like pulling teeth with rusty tweezers even after twenty-years of friendship.

"I said I couldn’t promise her anything."

Wilson threw back his head, utterly exasperated. "Well don’t go getting the poor girl’s hopes up! What a fall that will be! Jesus, Greg, I know you’re not exactly a glass-half-full kinda guy, but trust me, there are still a few drops in there if you look real close. You don’t have to toss the whole damn glass away already."

He was going to go on but stopped when he saw the look on House’s face. The man had an expression that wavered between fear, desperation and yearning. He’d seen something similar to it years earlier, right around the time House’s doctors had told him he wasn’t going to die, but he was never going to recover either.

"She’s got enough hope for the both of us," House said quietly. "A regular Pollyanna."

"And that bothers you?"

House nailed him with a look. "Damn right, it bothers me. I’m not a complete asshole. You think I really want to be the one to crush her into dust under the weight of all my shit? You think I really want to be the first one on the scene when that optimistic light in her eyes goes out for the last time?" He propelled himself out of his chair, needing to move and rid himself of the sudden urge to put his fist through the window.

Wilson, ever the calming influence, stayed seated and followed House with his eyes. "First of all, I think you’re underestimating her, and second, why don’t you try following her lead. God knows yours hasn’t gotten you very far."

House turned and leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes piercing into Wilson’s. "So you actually think there’s a chance in hell that this could end up as something other than a tragic movie-of-the week," it was a statement, not a question.

"That depends on whether or not you can stop being completely absorbed with self-pity and self-flagellation for more than twenty-four hours at a stretch."

"Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of."

"Afraid that you can or afraid that you can’t?"

House shrugged. "Both."

Wilson took a long breath while he waited for House to move back to his chair and sit down; his shoulders slumped. "She’s not Stacy. She’s already seen you at your worst and she hasn’t run away screaming yet."

"Oh? What would you call quitting?"

"Self-preservation. She quit because she felt too much, not the other way around. I thought we’d already covered that."

"Yeah, well I’m a slow learner," House sniped.

Wilson stood up and stared down at his friend. It was something he didn’t get the chance to do very often. "I forgot to mention the one other thing that’s going to have to happen if this is going to have a chance in hell of working out. You’re going to have to trust her. If you don’t think you can at least do that much, then for God’s sake, stop fucking with her emotions, because your trust is probably the one thing she wants more than anything else."

House wasn’t sure if that was completely accurate, but it was probably close. Wilson was getting much to smart in his old age.

"Are you done yelling at me?" he asked.

Wilson seemed to ponder the question for a second. "Yes. I think so."

"Good. I usually do enough… how did you put it? self-flagellation… for the both of us."

With a brief nod, Wilson agreed. He headed for the door but stopped as he was turning the handle. "You deserve more than you’ve allowed yourself lately," he said, over his shoulder, "try to remember that when you’re with her. You can be a real bastard sometimes, but you’re a good man." Another nod and he was gone, shutting the door on the way.

*****

"I’m telling you man, he came to visit her at her apartment. You think he does that for just anyone?"

"So what? He used to be her boss. He saved her life for God’s sake."

"He’s saved a lot of people’s lives, Chase, and I don’t see him going door to door to check in on them. Look. You didn’t see the looks that were flying. Something is going on there. We already know Cam had some sort of weird-ass feelings for him for some strange reason. Now we’ve got him going over to her place, and you know she’s gonna feel all indebted to him for saving her life.

"Well he did save it."

"Yeah, and if he’s not careful he’s gonna ruin it. I swear if he hurts her I’m gonna kick his ass."

"I don’t think that would go over very well with the hospital review board," Chase replied sarcastically.

"Screw them. Now hand me that slide. Damn, this is supposed to be Cameron’s job."

House leaned against the wall outside the lab, listening. He’d heard enough. Shit. Well, he’d expected Foreman to spill the beans. Hell, he’d also expected him to act the role of protector. He walked slowly back to his office. His leg was killing him from the trip up and down Cameron’s stairs and the fact that he’d spent most of the night in his leather chair trying to beat miniature ninjas to death. He popped two vicodin as soon as he got to his door, and limped to his chair.

He leaned back, cane twirling idly in his fingers. Damn, he hoped Cameron didn’t have any brothers. Between Foreman and Wilson she had enough substitutes. It wasn’t surprising really. She was exactly the kind of woman who engendered that kind of protectiveness. She was good and sweet and kind and probably helped little old ladies across the street and volunteered at the local soup kitchen. She also left her heart lying around in the open. Apparently no one had ever told her that was a good way for it to get trodden upon. Damn, he hoped he wouldn’t be the one to do that. He abruptly stopped twirling his cane and pulled the shade up, realizing that he was actually considering the possibilities.

Following the rather stark realization that he was seriously contemplating Cameron’s suggestion, House expected to be either immediately struck by lightning or compelled into a fit of dangerous introspection and contrition. Surprisingly, neither happened. He blamed that on exhaustion and too many video games. Obviously if he was in his right mind he would be shooting the idea down with a flurry of snide and sarcastic remarks.

He was just about to go and find Wilson and have a conversation about ties when his door slammed open and the Incredible Hulk stalked in. Only somewhere along the line the Incredible Hulk had taken on the semi-human form of Edward Vogler.

House merely looked at him with bored detachment and waited for the other man to make the first move. It was obviously what he’d come barging in to do. House didn’t have long to wait as Vogler walked forward and tossed a newspaper onto the desk. House looked at it, eyebrows knitting together as he tried to decide why Vogler had thrown it at him rather than hitting him about the head with it.

"The only reason I didn’t call for your immediate dismissal after your complete insubordination at the press dinner was because the media lapped it up. Oh yes, a doctor with a heart. A doctor with principles. Obviously none of them had ever visited the clinic. It bought you a temporary reprieve, but if you think this is going to save your job, you’d better think again," Vogler said, not quite shouting, but voice harsh and angry.

House picked up the newspaper. It was folded to an inside page and the headline read ‘Doctor Saves One of His Own’. House couldn’t help but smirk. Cuddy. There was a picture of him in the corner, one that had been taken years earlier at one of those benefits Stacy had always dragged him to. He noticed that her image was carefully cropped away.

"Interesting article, and quite a nice shot of me, wouldn’t you say? Of course I’ve always been particularly photogenic."

Vogler stepped closer to the desk, leaning on it and carelessly pushing a stack of mail and files to the floor. "Listen, House, you may think you’re some hot shot here, the crippled doctor with the brilliant mind, but all I see is an insolent, contemptuous, bastard who enjoys watching how people react to him."

"So, not very different from you, then?"

The vein on the other man’s head was visibly bulging and House wondered idly if he’d be expected to administer care if Vogler stroked out right on top of his desk. An instant later and a smug smile appeared on Vogler’s face as he pushed off from the desk and stood up straight again.

"Yeah, that’s right, Dr. House. Keep right on going with the petty insults. An arrogant bastard to the end. Well, we’re having a little vote here tonight, and if I were you I’d spend less time playing your games and more time cleaning out your office."

House shuddered dramatically "Oooh, I’m shivering in my shoes now."

One corner of Vogler’s mouth curled higher and he fixed House with a conquering look. "When I get through with you, you’ll be shaking all right, curled up with your tail between your legs and no place to go." He pointed at the newspaper still resting lightly in House’s hands. "You think you’re the only one who can spin something? You won’t be able to find a hospital that’ll touch you with a ten foot pole. Did you think I wouldn’t find out that your Dr. Cameron quit? You didn’t fire her; she got sick of you. Of course we both know why you hired her in the first place and I have to admit she looked damn good walking through the halls. What… did she get tired of you grabbing her ass in the lab?"

Later, House wouldn’t be able to recall exactly how he’d ended up on his feet, but the sound of flesh striking flesh would be permanently etched in his memory. He caught Vogler right across the jaw, but the man’s head just snapped to the right and he didn’t even stumble backwards. Instead he reached into his suit and pulled out a linen handkerchief, using it to dab at the fleck of blood at the corner of his mouth. His smug smile had barely been dented.

House on the other hand was breathing hard, and giving Vogler a look that would have had any other person running for the door.

"Keep it com’n, doctor," he said snidely. "I can always use more ammunition."

House almost took him up on it, his hand tightening on his cane and ready to beat the pompous bastard into the ground, but he managed to pull back some control and just stood watching as Vogler marched into the hallway, leaving the door wide open on his way out.

*****

He had never knocked before and he decided that now wasn’t the time to start. No doubt she’d heard him coming anyway, cane thumping against the linoleum floor.

"I have a feeling you might be getting a call from the police," he announced, and watched as Dr. Cuddy rolled her eyes before looking at him over the rims of her dark glasses.

"Oh God, House, what now?"

"Nothing really, just an unfortunate meeting between my fist and Edward Vogler’s face."

Cuddy had been merely exasperated before, but House’s words caught her attention and her eyes widened. "You HIT him? You hit the chairman of the board. You hit the man who is giving this hospital one hundred million dollars. You hit your boss."

"Oh, I’m not too worried about that last one. There’s a rumor going around the playground that there’s going to be a super secret meeting at the clubhouse tonight to vote me outta the gang."

Her expression told him everything he needed to know, but she spoke anyway. "Vogler called it, and yes, it’s pretty obvious what he’s going to demand."

House nodded sharply. "Good. Thanks for not sugar-coating it. You know I’m very good at taking my medicine without." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his credit card. "Since you didn’t end up following through after our little conversation, here’s my card. If security won’t let me in tomorrow you can mail it back to me," he said with a twisted smile.

"I tried," Cuddy said, sounding more sympathetic than he expected. "Vogler got wind of it."

.

House let a rough snort of laughter escape. "Amazing isn’t it? That he can run a successful business and still have time to make our lives hell," he commented, and then left the office without giving her a chance to disagree.

 

Chapter 6

The hallway was busy. Good. House wanted to make a quick exit and that meant avoiding everyone he knew. He’d had a lecture from Wilson, an uneven fistfight with Vogler and a meeting of the minds with Cuddy. Yes, it had been quite a full day and it wasn’t even noon. And he was supposed to be suspended.

He stepped out of the elevator, popped two vicodin, and hobbled towards the main lobby. He could almost see his car in his mind’s eye. A fast drive back to his place and he’d be able to wallow in scotch and morbid music. Except that he had told Cameron that he’d stop by. Well, he’d call and tell her he couldn’t make it. Shit. Great way to start the ‘normal people’ act.

"Hey!"

House heard the familiar voice but didn’t slow down.

"House, wait up!"

He kept walking.

"Greg!"

He let out a sigh and stopped, turning around and leaning heavily on his cane. "You called?"

Wilson came to a stop in front of him and looked up at him, his expression a mix of incredulity and scrutiny. Apparently news traveled fast. Well, it had been almost two hours.

"You punched Volger in the face?" Wilson exclaimed, his face taking on a look of boyish amazement.

"I assure you he had it coming," House replied, waggling his eyebrows for effect.

"Damn! What the hell happened?"

House rolled his eyes and directed Wilson to the corner of the lobby where they wouldn’t be quite so visible. "It was a reflex action. Nothing I could do about it. Maybe I could blame a late onset of Tourettes."

"Well he had to have said something to set it off!" Wilson was still filled with a sort of elation, at the fact that his friend had done something he would have loved to do himself.

"Does it really matter?" House snapped, putting an instant damper on Wilson’s enthusiasm.

"Sorry… sorry… you’re right." Wilson beat a hasty verbal retreat. "It was just a shock to hear Foreman and Chase talking about it."

"Yeah, well, as good as it felt at the moment, I can’t say I’m thrilled with myself now."

"Oh c’mon. You’d do it again in a heartbeat. Admit it."

House shrugged. "You’re right. I would. But I’d use my cane. My hand’s killing me now."

"So, now that you’ve virtually guaranteed that he’ll call for your dismissal, you’re heading out?"

A rare grin. "Seemed like the thing to do. I have a bottle of scotch at home with my name on it. You can give my tearful farewells to Foreman and Chase."

"Greg, you don’t know for certain…" House shot him a look that said not to patronize him, but Wilson continued anyway. "It takes a unanimous vote." His meaning was clear.

For once, House dropped his façade. "Don’t throw your career away, Jim. I’m not worth it."

Wilson wanted to disagree but he decided to change topics instead. "I talked to Dr. Cameron a little while ago."

It was an unexpected shift but House managed to follow along after a brief moment where he lost his equilibrium at the sound of her name. He rolled his eyes, instantly back in character. "Tell me you didn’t call her up to giggle and say ‘He likes you! He like, like-likes you!’. Planning on carving our names on a table in the lunchroom next? What are you, her best girl-friend now?"

Wilson stifled a chuckle. House’s reaction was about what he expected, and just what he’d hoped for. The easy sarcasm was an instant defense mechanism and frankly he didn’t want House leaving the hospital on a morbid, serious note.

"No, actually I called her up to see if she needed anything," he let a grin spread slowly across his face before continuing, "but she said you were planning on stopping by."

Damn. "Yeah, well that was pre-Vogler. I think I mentioned the twenty-year old scotch? It and Dr. Cameron are mutually exclusive."

Wilson met his eyes, seriousness returning to his face. "And which do you think will really make you feel better?"

House almost growled his annoyance, but he settled for twisting his face into one of his many irritated expressions, and stalking away towards the exit.

"Say hello for me," Wilson called after him.

*****

Wind rippling around him, scenery a blur, roar of the engine in his ears, the vibrations from the road a hum through his body. He was driving much too fast, but as usual he didn’t give a damn. He’d been half-way to his apartment when he’d suddenly pulled a u-turn, flipped off three irate drivers and sped off in the opposite direction. Now he was quickly approaching the convenience store, and he pulled the wheel to the left, almost allowing himself a smile as the car cornered like it was on rails.

Her car was the only one in the parking lot and once again he pulled in next to it, cut the engine, and sat there, clenching the wheel. Was he out of his mind? Of course he was. If he were sane he would be home already with one glass of scotch in his stomach and another in his hand. If he were sane he would not even be thinking of crossing that invisible line into emotional entanglement.

"For Christ’s sake, you’ve already kissed her… twice. The fucking line’s been crossed," he muttered to himself as he pulled himself out of the car and headed for the front door.

Great. Stairs. Again. His knee-jerk reaction was to take another couple of pills, but he remembered he’d just taken some at the hospital. Normally that wouldn’t have stopped him, but for some reason, this time it did. He didn’t want to think about the fact that the reason was probably sitting one flight up. Thinking too hard about that would send him sprint-limping back to the car.

The stairs actually didn’t seem quite as bad this time, and he didn’t even stop mid-way up. He rapped loudly on the door and listened. He assumed that she was in her bedroom and was surprised when he heard shuffling inside almost immediately. There was the sound of the lock being turned and then the door opened and she was staring up at him looking slightly bewildered yet pleased.

"House… I didn’t think you’d be by so early. Okay, I wasn’t sure if you’d be by at all," she admitted as she moved out of the way to let him inside.

"Yes, well, you know how it is, things are awfully busy at the hospital when you’re not allowed to see patients. Decided I needed a break from all that sitting around twiddling my thumbs."

A little lop-sided grin appeared on her face. "Well I’m glad you came. Do you want to sit?" In spite of their last conversation, or maybe because of it, she really wasn’t sure what to expect from him.

"Sure. Sounds good," he answered, and the words brought a sense of déjà vu.

He followed her towards the sofa, watching how carefully she was moving, with almost a slight limp. He hated seeing that and was glad when she sat down.

"I got tired of being in bed," she said by way of explanation when she noticed him looking at her with that slightly disapproving expression on his face. "I swear, the walls were closing in on me."

"Hmm. Hallucinations. Could be sign of an infection."

She released a tiny sigh of exasperation, and then froze when House reached out and touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

"You feel warm," he said. She also felt soft, and delicate and alive but he didn’t bother to mention that. "Have you taken all your medication."

"Yes, mom," she said, teasingly.

"What about food? Have you eaten?" Damn. Please say no. He needed something to do. Just sitting there and looking into her eyes while she waited for him to say something meaningful was like a slow torture.

"I had some cereal this morning."

"Well it’s after noon now. You should eat lunch. You already look like you’ve lost ten pounds," he said as he stood up, pretending not to notice the slightly bereft look in her eyes.

"Foreman dropped off a bunch of groceries when he stopped by yesterday," she offered helpfully as she got up to follow him to the kitchen.

He turned and pointed at her with the handle of his cane. "Sit. I don’t need you trailing me around." The words came out sounding a lot meaner than they had in his head.

"Sorry," she whispered as she sat back down.

Right. He didn’t need anyone trailing him around. Like for instance an obviously over-needy, over-emotional woman. She pinched her lips together, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about the kiss he’d given her the night before. He’d probably said a hundred more sarcastic, more biting, more disparaging things to her since she’d met them, and none of them had been said while on his way to make her lunch. The strong, level-headed part of her brain was trying to push that fact forward, but unfortunately it wasn’t having much luck. She was tired, in pain, and the cornucopia of drugs she was taking was playing havoc with her emotions.

A touch on her face and her eyes sprang open. He had her cheek cupped in his hand and was looking at her with a sort of softness in his eyes. She had no idea how he’d made it back across the room without making any noise. "I see the side effects are kicking in."

She just stared at him, feeling sheepish and slightly overwhelmed. "Something like that," she replied.

"S’alright. I haven’t had the best day either."

She nodded in understanding and when he moved his hand she reached out and clasped it gently. He winced and she turned it over in her hand and looked at him questioningly.

"Hit a brick wall," he said lightly as he pulled it away. "Now sit tight while I get your lunch."

Leaning back against the cushions she watched him leave the room and head for the kitchen. It felt surreal having him there. Having him do something as normal as make lunch. Normally she was the one telling him to eat and grabbing him something from the cafeteria. This… whatever this turned into… was going to take some getting used to.

The windows were open and a light breeze drifted into the room. Cameron closed her eyes and let it relax her. She had always preferred the spring-time. It came gently, with soft bird songs and the smell of flowers and fresh-cut grass. She breathed in and could just catch a hint of lilac in the air. She concentrated on it because concentrating on House made her nervous. She wanted to be in the kitchen with him, or she wanted him in the living room with her. It just felt strange to have him wandering around her apartment on his own. It made it seem a little bit too much like he belonged there and she was not ready to start thinking that.

The fragrance of lilacs passed and was replaced by something else, something cooking. Cameron opened her eyes and leaned forward. He was cooking? Whatever it was, it smelled good. She heard him coming down the hall and quickly wiped the look of astonishment off her face. Step-thump. Step-thump, and then he was leaning into the room.

"It’s almost done. Where are your meds? I know you’re supposed to take at least two of them with food."

"What did you do, memorize my chart?"

"What if I did?"

She didn’t have an answer for that. "They’re all lined up on my nightstand." She said, deciding to answer his first question instead.

He gave a short nod and moved away from the door. Step-thump. Step-thump. A minute later and she heard him coming back. She’d propped her legs up on the sofa to get more comfortable, but she swung them down and looked towards the doorway expectantly.

"I hope you like omelets," he announced as he came into view, carrying a heavily laden tray one-handed. "Not exactly lunch food, but you had a bunch of vegetables in there that were about ready to give up the ghost."

"I love them," Cameron answered, again trying to keep look of surprise hidden. It was obviously a losing battle because House was looking at her with his head cocked to the side and one eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"Nothing," she replied, "I just didn’t know you cooked."

"Did you think I’d survived all this time on Kraft macaroni and take-out?" He put the tray on the coffee table and handed her a glass of water and an Atlantic City shot glass with three pills rattling around the bottom.

"I guess I never thought about it," she admitted, then tossed the pills to the back of her throat and swallowed them along with the water. She would never understand how House could dry swallow his vicodin. Probably all that practice.

House picked up the tray and put it on her lap. "Eat up. Maybe if you’re really appreciative I’ll make you dinner some night," he said as he sat down, glad to be off his feet.

It was meant to sound like an afterthought, a throw-away line, like a dozen sly asides he’d sent her way, but this one felt different. His voice went down as he said it and it lacked that suggestive tone he used so often.

"It’s wonderful."

"You haven’t even tasted it yet."

"I’m hedging my bets."

She was smiling and he felt like doing the same. Damn, she was already getting to him.

"Just shut up and eat."

The smile dimmed to a grin, but her eyes still held that lightness she carried when she was pleased. "What are you going to eat?"

"Not hungry," he replied, leaning forward to grab a dishtowel from the tray.

There was ice wrapped in the towel and he pressed it against his sore knuckles. Cameron cut into her omelet and pretended not to notice.

The amazed look reappeared on Cameron’s face as she took her first bite, and then her second. "This really is good!"

"Glad you approve," House said with a smirk.

She ate a few more bites. "Are you going to tell me what really happened to your hand?" she asked, not looking up from her food.

House readjusted the ice and leaned back. "Wasn’t planning on it," he said, propping his legs up on the coffee table. Was she one of those women who hated feet on the furniture? Was he turning into one of those men who cared what women like that thought? Damn, this was harder than he remembered. With Stacy it had started with wild, drunken sex after a hospital banquet. It was difficult to feel self-conscious with someone you’d fucked six ways from Sunday. Cameron was definitely nothing like Stacy.

"Okay." She gave a little shrug and went back to her food.

Damn her and that soft-positional bargaining book. He needed to find it and burn it.

"Vogler," he spat out. She was bound to find out sooner or later. Actually, now that he thought about it he was mildly surprised that Wilson hadn’t called to tell her.

"Vogler?" She looked up. He had her complete attention now.

"Yes. Vogler. I punched him in the face."

Cameron looked like she was about to launch into a coughing fit and brought the glass of water to her lips.

"You punched Vogler?"

"Yes, I punched him. I punched the chairman of the board. I punched the man who is giving the hospital one-hundred million dollars. I punched my boss," House rolled his eyes as he repeated Cuddy’s words. "Well, technically he probably won’t be my boss for much longer."

She didn’t bother commenting on that last statement. He was probably right, and denying it would just be an insult. "I can’t believe you actually hit him. What on earth did he say to you?"

"He thanked me for giving him more ammunition."

Cameron gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, you meant before I hit him!" he said in mock surprise. "Nothing in particular. It just needed to be done."

"Why do I have a feeling it was more than that?"

"Suspicious mind? Maybe I’m rubbing off on you?"

She cocked her head to the side as she smirked. "I don’t remember any rubbing taking place."

House stared at her and swallowed hard. "Are the drugs doing your talking again?"

The smirk turned into a small grin. "Possibly."

He pulled his aching leg off the table and stood up. "In that case, maybe I should go take care of the kitchen clean-up."

Cameron raised one eyebrow. "Afraid I’ll rub off on you?"

"Possibly," he mimicked her words and left while she was still thinking of a snappy comeback.

Great. From needy and tearful to pushy and forward. That was just perfect. She let her head fall backwards against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling. There was a little water spot above her and she squinted at it, thinking she could see a face. Elvis? No… it looked closer to Vogler.

Damn, she hadn’t gotten him to open up about that. Obviously something had been said between them for House to finally haul off and clock him. Well, she wasn’t about to ask him again. If he wanted to tell her, he’d tell her. And if he didn’t… well, maybe Foreman or Dr. Wilson knew something.

"Taking a little cat-nap?"

His words startled her back to full-awareness and she sat up as he walked over to her. He reached out a hand and felt her forehead.

"You know," she said after he’d assured himself that she wasn’t running a fever, "if you really want to touch me, you could just sit down and give me a hug like normal people." She regretted the words almost as soon as they’d crossed her lips and she wanted to pluck them out of the air where they hung between them.

House was silent for a minute, observing her, his thoughts well-hidden behind suddenly expressionless eyes. "I’m not exactly the most normal person you’re likely to meet," he said lowly.

"You’re wrong about that. I think you’re more normal than you want to believe. You’re brilliant and sarcastic and defensive, but none of those things changes what you really want."

He leaned forward on his cane and affected a mockingly interested look. "So you know what I want, do you? Aren’t you the one who said that I didn’t know what you needed, but now you’re an expert in what I want?"

"That was different," she replied, wishing that she’d just backpedaled and avoided this conversation.

"Different how?"

"Well we were fighting, for one thing. Now we’re just talking."

"So semantics really makes the difference? I’ll have to remember that."

She sighed and met his eyes, trying to convey something through them that she wasn’t able to through words. "Up on the roof, you were trying to convince me that wanting you in my life was a mistake. Why?"

"I think we’ve been over this," he scoffed. "The whole miserable bastard bit, and all that."

"Right, but why would that make wanting you a mistake?"

He had started to pace, but he halted his progress half-way across the floor and turned to her. "Because you deserve better. Maybe a nice, young, blond pediatrician with a good bedside manner and a golden retriever named Rascal."

"Now you’re the one using semantics. Young, blond dog-owner or blue-eyed, bitter, cane-owner. Either way it’s someone to connect with. Someone to hold me and argue with me and make up and start all over again. The only difference is the person I want that with is not blond, and I’m allergic to dogs. That’s what makes you normal. Because I don’t believe for one second that you don’t want that too… no matter how bitter and miserable you are."

He had expected some flowery speech, some declaration of love, some treatise on how they completed each other and were two halves of the same whole. That wasn’t what he’d gotten, and he was taken aback.

When he still didn’t say anything, she decided to plow forward. "We’ve already established that we like each other. We’ve already kissed. Now, could you please come over and sit down so that I can relax instead of feeling like you’re about to bolt out the door?"

House’s mouth curled into an approximation of a grin as he raised one eyebrow in a sort of salute. "Are you the same woman who looked like I’d just run over her puppy half an hour ago?"

"Apparently I really needed food," she shot back.

He limped slowly over to the sofa and Cameron tried to control the suddenly frantic beating of her heart. Whatever had come over her to allow her to speak her mind fled out the window when he came in such close proximity. He sat down and put his feet back up on the coffee table. When she didn’t move, he turned his head to look at her with an expectant and humorous look in his eyes.

"Isn’t this the part where you put your head on my shoulder and fall asleep while I whisper sweet nothings into your hair?"

"If you start whispering sweet nothings I’ll have to start counting my pills," she replied as she moved closer.

When she was within arm’s reach he stretched out his hand and pulled her snug against his side, then draped his arm around her shoulder as she made herself comfortable.

"True enough," he said. "Now where’s the remote for the television?"

 

Chapter 7

The end credits for General Hospital were rolling, Cameron was sound asleep and House’s left arm was beginning to go numb. He looked down at her face and watched the way her eyelashes fluttered delicately against her pale cheek. She was dreaming and he wondered what it was about. Flexing his hand he tried to get some feeling back in his arm, but it wasn’t working. Obviously carrying her to the bedroom was out of the question. Hell, he had never carried a woman anywhere even when he’d had the use of both legs.

"Cameron?" He jostled her slightly and she stirred. "You’re crushing me."

One eye opened half-way. "How can I be crushing you?"

"Apparently your head weighs a lot more than it would appear. Must be all those brains."

"Was that some sort of back-handed compliment?" she asked as she pushed herself up enough for him to reclaim his arm.

He smirked. "Read into it whatever you like."

"How long was I out?" Sleep was still crowding the corners of her vision and she squinted towards the clock on the VCR.

"Well, I think you caught the end of The Bold and The Beautiful but you were passed out fifteen minutes into General Hospital."

She pushed herself a little farther away. "Sorry."

"Don’t be. You probably would have been asking all sorts of annoying questions about who’s sleeping with who and how someone who only looks thirty years old can have two kids over the age of eighteen."

"You have a point. If we’re going to make this a habit I’ll have to do some research."

"Now I know what to get you for a get-well present… a subscription to ‘Soap Opera Digest’."

She smiled at him, then grimaced as she twisted in just the wrong way. He looked at her with a combination of concern and annoyance.

"Still in pain?"

"It’s manageable," she answered with a shrug. "Like you said a few days ago, I did have a bullet dug out of my chest less than a week ago."

His look of distaste almost matched hers. Somehow those words sounded worse coming out of her mouth than his and he wasn’t exactly sure why.

They sat in silence for a few minutes and Cameron looked at him, not sure what to say. "Did you tell Dr. Cuddy you were leaving for the day?" she asked and then mentally slapped herself. He was suspended. He didn’t need to tell anyone where he was going.

"I talked to her before I left. Had to give her the heads-up about Vogler after all. Didn’t want the police storming the place and her wondering what the hell was going on."

"You don’t really think he called the police, do you?" Her hand was suddenly touching his leg gently, and she wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened.

He shook his head, face showing his disgust with even Vogler’s name. "Probably not. He’d already called for a board meeting, and the bastard already had other plans for me."

"What do you mean?" Cameron looked at him questioningly, surprised that he was revealing so much. For anyone else it wouldn’t have been anything, but for House it was more than she expected.

House looked her in the eye, seeming to weigh the options of telling her any more. He seemed to be weighing her. Judging what to say and what to keep to himself. It felt like being under a high powered microscope and she squirmed.

"Just the usual threats," he said finally. "You know the type. ‘I’ll make your life a living hell’, ‘You’ll never work in this town again’, ‘A pox be on both your houses’."

"Your reputation is a lot longer than his," she offered, feeling stupid and ineffectual. Was that the drugs or was it just the awkwardness of him actually sounding almost vulnerable?

"True, and I’m much prettier too," he quipped.

"Was that why you hit him? He threatened you?" She hadn’t meant to push and she inwardly rolled her eyes.

"Something like that," he replied. "But hey, let’s stop talking about the Vogler and discuss something more pleasant, like the use of maggots in treating infections."

Cameron’s face twisted into a comical squint. "Let’s not and say we did."

"In that case, how about making prank calls to Cuddy’s office? She could probably use the distraction."

She managed to talk him out of that, but it was a near thing and what really ended the discussion was the insistent ringing of the phone. It was one of those annoyingly shrill cordless models and House grabbed it from the end table and handed it over to Cameron.

"Hello? Yes, this is she."

House leaned back and studied a picture that was hanging across the room. He hated hearing one-sided phone conversations. Always awkward.

"Yes. Yes. I understand. Tomorrow would probably be all right."

House turned towards her with an inquiring expression which changed to concern when he saw that Cameron had turned approximately two shades lighter than a bedsheet.

"Fine. Yes. Thank you for calling." She hung up and House waited patiently for her to tell him what was going on. "They caught him," she said, and there was no doubt who she meant.

A startling anger rose in House’s chest. "Good. Son of a bitch should rot in jail. What’d he do, try to knock over a liquor store?"

She shook her head. "He attacked another woman not far from here. He raped and killed her," she went on, her voice sounding oddly distant. "But I guess… he… he left some evidence behind. That’s how they traced him. And the bullets…" she gestured to her chest. "They matched." She felt dizzy and sick, like she was about to be sucked into a dark hole, and there were tears in her eyes and she didn’t know where they’d come from.

"Cameron." House’s voice was strong and his hand covered hers. "Breathe, Cameron." He was focused on her face, studying the lost look in her eyes and trying to draw her back. "Don’t think about it."

But she couldn’t help thinking about it. She’d already spent a week ignoring it. "I… I thought he just wanted my money," she pushed the words out.

She remembered getting out of her car, feeling depressed and not paying attention to a man walking nearby. She remembered bending over to get the groceries out of the back seat, and then strong, rough hands on her arms, hot fetid breath against her cheek. She hadn’t even screamed; she’d just whirled around, hitting him in the chest with a bag of frozen vegetables. She hadn’t seen the gun, but she’d seen the flash of fire at the same instant she’d felt the horrible pressure in her chest knocking her back against the car and she’d struggled to stay standing as the shock of what was happening had sunk in. The sound of footsteps running away echoed in her memory, mixed in with the feeling of the cold pavement beneath her body and the struggle to breathe. She had known she was dying, tasted the blood in the back of her throat, felt her chest filling with it, and grasped at consciousness with all that she had. More footsteps, and her landlord from next door leaning over her, talking to the 911 operators, pressing something against her chest. The bag of vegetables still clutched in her hand, melting, leaving her in a puddle, or was that her blood? Then there had just been noise and lights, and a thudding, distant pain that hadn’t even feel connected to her body. Flashes of faces and needles and then, there was House, and then nothing.

"Easy, Cameron, easy," House’s voice was still there, and she realized he had her bent forward, head down. She was sobbing and hyperventilating at the same time. His hand anchored her, rubbing up and down her back, "You have to calm down," he sounded stern but anxious, using words of comfort that came unnaturally to his lips. "Breathe slower. Slower." His hand was moving in rhythm with his words. "You’re all right. Calm down. I’m here." That last was said haltingly. Only two words but they were charged with multiple meanings.

Cameron’s sobs became hiccups and her breathing slowly evened out. House felt relief sweep through him. She sat up, but clutched her arms around her chest and tried to bite back a scream. It felt like her chest was being ripped open by vicious clawing beasts.

"Shit," House moved faster than he thought he could, standing up and swinging her legs up onto the sofa so that she was lying down, head resting against a throw pillow.

He started pulling at her shirt but her hands batted his away. "I’m okay. It’ll pass. It’ll pass," she repeated, gasping and feeling like a complete idiot.

House’s eyes hardened to stone as he lowered himself to sit next to her hip. "Move your goddamned hands," he ordered and Cameron looked at him, startled, and let her arms fall to her sides.

She was still wearing the cotton shirt from the day before, but he didn’t bother unbuttoning it. It was loose and he tugged the hem up, baring the long incision but leaving her breasts mostly covered. Cameron’s face was turned towards the back of the sofa. He could feel the pounding of her heart in his fingertips as he touched her. He pressed gently, muscles in his neck tightening when she winced.

"That hurts?"

"It hurt before," she replied. "It isn’t any worse."

"It’s worse," he countered. "You pulled two stitches. You’re bleeding. Don’t move."

He levered himself off the sofa and walked to the bathroom as quickly as he could, gathering up the same supplies he had used before. She was still lying, unmoving, when he returned.

"I told Wilson that Fraser was an idiot for releasing you so early," he muttered as he used a gauze pad to dab at the blood weeping from her wound. It wasn’t terrible, two of the staples had just pulled apart slightly, but the entire area looked raw and sore. He cleaned it with disinfectant, trying to ignore when she flinched. "Damned doctor. What the hell was he thinking."

"He didn’t want to release me," Cameron admitted. "I told him I’d leave AMA if he didn’t."

House glared at her. It was much easier than letting the fear and anxiety show. "Well that wasn’t one of your smarter moves, was it?"

"I was fine until five minutes ago," she argued.

For once, House decided to let her have the last word. He finished examining her and pulled her shirt back down. "All right, I think you’ll live."

"Thanks." She turned her head to look at him and held up one hand. "Help me sit up?" She knew her muscles wouldn’t be able to take the strain.

He snaked one hand behind her back, between her shoulder blades and lifted her into a seated position, tucking the pillow behind her back. "Better?" he asked, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious.

"Yes," she said quietly, but what she was really feeling was drained and foolish.

House sat back down on the sofa and looked at her, trying to decide which one of them should talk first. "Whatever happened to the days when the police came to people’s houses to give them disturbing news?"

"I think that went out a long time ago," Cameron replied with a sigh.

Silence fell over them again.

"You want to talk about it? You never actually told me what happened."

"Not right now," was her response. She was already feeling naked and exposed beneath his clear blue gaze.

She looked small and defenseless, sitting wedged into the corner of the sofa, and House’s hands suddenly balled into fists as he had a sudden flash of what the bastard sitting in jail had planned to do to her. He wanted to punch something, but he’d already done that. He settled for moving until his leg was brushing against hers and pulling her gently into his embrace. When she released a breath she had been holding and relaxed against him, he felt a knot form in his throat. Damn. He was falling, and it was a long way down.

"Thank you for coming over," she said quietly.

"Well that’s what normal people do, right?"

He felt her slight smile against his chest. "Yes, but thanks anyway."

They sat in silence as the minutes ticked by, the sound of distant traffic the only background noise. Cameron’s eyes were closed and one hand was curled so tightly around House’s shirt that her knuckles were white. The tension in the rest of her body had eased, but that one hand refused to loosen its grip.

The sound of House’s heartbeat beneath her ear was comforting, strong and steady. His arms around her body were warm and reassuring. It had been a very long time since anyone had held her. Longer than she wanted to admit. But House wasn’t just anyone, and she knew that he had to be uncomfortable with her clinging to him. Any minute he would start to fidget, and then he would crack some joke. She didn’t want to push him to that so instead she pushed away.

Slowly she uncurled her fist and sat up, wiping a hand across her face. "Sorry, I know you’re not the cuddly type and I think I’ve permanently wrinkled your shirt," she said with a weak smile.

House was a little taken aback when she moved out of his arms, and even more taken aback by the fact that he missed the warm, solid weight of her against his chest. He glanced down at his shirt and snapped back to himself. "I’ll put it on your bill."

Cameron looked at him curiously. "Bill?"

"Right. I’m your new home health aide, remember?"

She let out a short laugh. "Well you have done a bang-up job so far," she agreed, setting slightly more distance between them as she leaned against the arm of the sofa.

"And you didn’t even have to interview me for the position," he said with a cocky grin.

A slight grin passed over her lips and his hand twitched. Damn, why did he just want to pull her back into his arms? Not cuddly? He was going to turn into the fucking snuggle fabric softener bear if he spent much more time around her.

"I don’t know if an aide would watch soaps with me either," she added.

House clenched his hand around his cane and stood up. "No, probably not."

Cameron glanced from him to the clock to the door. He was going to leave. "It’s getting late," she said, keeping her voice very even.

House raised one eyebrow. "It’s five-thirty," he said dryly, then looked at her questioningly. Maybe he was misreading her. "Did you want me to leave? You’re probably tired."

"I just had a two hour nap."

"And a half-hour panic attack," House reminded her, then mentally kicked himself in the ass.

"I’m okay."

He nodded, and decided to take her at her word. "You probably wouldn’t turn down a painkiller though," he said. "That’s what I got up to get you." He omitted the part about needing space before devolving into a stuffed animal of some sort.

"I wouldn’t turn one down," she admitted.

"All right. Sit tight." He limped out of the room, and then called back over his shoulder, "I’ll call for dinner while I’m at it. You only get one home-cooked meal a day outta me for the amount you’re paying me,"

He came back five minutes later with a glass of water in his hand. He gave it to her and then fished a bottle out of his pocket, read the label and popped the cap off. "These would be mine," he said as he dry swallowed two of them while Cameron winced. He reached into the pocket again and brought out another bottle. "These are yours."

She reached for them, but he held them up beyond her grasp and she gave him a puzzled look.

"Not so fast. Answer a question first. Tell me how bad the pain is, and remember that we’re both doctors."

A sigh passed between her lips. "Worse than this morning," she confirmed his suspicions, "but better than three days ago."

"Three days? You had to go back three days to find a day that was worse?"

"You said one question. Hand over the pills."

He dropped them into her hand but stared at her until she looked him in the eye. "If it gets any worse you know you have to go back to the hospital."

"I know. I’m a doctor, remember?"

"Right. Just checking." He sat down again, but on the chair rather than the sofa. He still needed that distance. "You never told me if you wanted me to leave."

She shrugged. "You’ve been here for hours. I figured you’d be reaching your limit of ‘normal people’ time."

"Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you. I’ve got music, scotch and cigars back at my place. Perfect to dwell in my misery on my last night as a head of diagnostics… or anything else. Turns out I’d rather be here. Now toss that remote over here. And remind me to get you tivo."

 

Chapter 8

It was after six-thirty, but the sick and injured rarely kept to a nine-to-five schedule and most of the hospital was still just as active as it had been earlier in the day. The hallway leading to Dr. Lisa Cuddy’s office was one of the exceptions. The offices there were mainly used by other administrators who had long since left for the day. Only Cuddy’s door remained open.

"Knock, knock." Wilson stood in the door-way and rapped against the steel support.

Cuddy looked up from the stack of paperwork she’d been seemingly engrossed in. She looked tired.

"You’ll be at the meeting, I assume," she said, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"I’ll be there. Wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun."

"You’re not going to vote him out, are you?" It was really more statement than question.

"What do you think?"

"Vogler’s not going to accept that without a fight."

"Vogler’s an ass."

"An ass with one hundred million dollars."

"I’d like to think this hospital’s integrity is worth more than that."

Cuddy was taken aback and didn’t have an easy response.

Seeing the look of hurt flash across her face, Wilson relented. "I’m sorry. I know it hasn’t exactly been a picnic for you."

"No, not exactly. One hard-headed, insufferable bastard is all I can take, apparently."

Wilson shrugged and leaned against the doorjamb. "Well it looks like you’ll be getting your wish. I know which one I’d pick."

"It isn’t that easy. We’re talking about--"

"One hundred million dollars. Yeah, I know. But what do you think is going to happen two weeks down the road? Two months? Two years? Vogler’s going to hold that money over your head to get exactly what he wants, and then, when he’s through playing philanthropic millionaire, he’ll leave and go back to his office and his mansion. You know what will be left? A hospital in disarray and a lot of new equipment."

Cuddy leaned back in her chair and released a long, drawn-out sigh. "I know what you’re saying is true, but damn, why do I have to be the one in this position?"

Wilson flashed her a brief smile, "I don’t know, I think you were made for this job. Who better to keep us in line than the biggest hard-ass of them all?"

She smirked at him and replied, "True, but sometimes even momma needs a day at the spa."

*****

One bowl of soup, one salad, one serving of chicken alfredo and the forced consumption of broccoli.

When House had told her that he’d ordered food, Cameron had expected Chinese again or possibly pizza. She had definitely not expected a delivery from the Italian restaurant across town that the entire team had gone to after one particularly hard case. He claimed she needed to eat right if she expected to get better. Of course she couldn’t argue with that.

"Fine. I ate broccoli. Happy now?" She pushed her plate across the kitchen table in his direction.

"Thrilled." House smirked at her and stacked her plate on top of his.

"You realize you’re turning into Nurse Ratchet, right?"

House continued to smirk but the truth was that the incident earlier had scared him. She had seemed to be doing fine, walking around, talking, even fighting with him. Then, one phone call and he’d realized that she was not even close to fine. Every time he saw the suture line up her chest he wanted to vomit, especially since he knew what it had looked like inside. Making her eat wasn’t exactly brain… or heart… surgery, but at least he felt like he was doing something.

"Are you ready to get in bed?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"It’s not even eight o’clock."

He just stared at her and she sighed and let her shoulders slump.

"You’re right. I am tired," she admitted. "And I’m tired of being tired."

"How’s the pain?"

"Better," she lied. It wasn’t better but it wasn’t worse and she didn’t want to risk having him order her to the ER. This gruff-caring side of him was tough to figure out.

 

Chapter 9

Dark and cold. Those were the words that best described House's first-floor condo. Even with the lights on it felt somehow dreary and empty. House draped his jacket over the leather sofa on his way to the kitchen. It didn't take long to pour himself a drink, and then he limped back to the living room and sat down at the piano.

He didn't play anything, he just sat there, head down, focused on the keys except for the moments when he looked up to take a drink. He considered lighting a cigar but they were over on the coffee table and frankly he didn't feel like moving. He was more in the mood to wallow in his thoughts.

Dating. He and Cameron were going to date. Maybe they already were. His stomach had formed a knot which had grown ever tighter the further he drove from Cameron's apartment, and he couldn't decide if it was caused by extreme fear or extreme anticipation. Probably a combination.

He wanted to be able to talk himself into the idea that he was only going along with the whole 'dating thing' for her sake. That yes, he liked her, but he knew a relationship would never work and he just didn't want to hurt her so this would be a good way to let her down easy. That after a few dates she would get bored or annoyed and then things would be able to go back to normal. But the truth was that things had never been normal between them, and his feelings were at least as much to blame as hers were.

The truth was that when he looked at her he felt parts of himself slip into place, and he'd felt that way for longer than he wanted to admit. Now it just remained for him to see if he could remember what it felt like to actually have someone who wanted to be around him, and to act accordingly. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be easy. Nothing about his life ever was. He plunked out a few bars of Sinatra's 'The Way You Look Tonight' and thought of how Cameron's face had shone when she'd smiled up at him.

His fingers picked up speed as he played the rest of the song, and then moved on to Chopin's Nocturne Op.9, No.2 and back to modern music with a jazz riff on 'Puttin' On the Ritz'. He was half-way through that song when the phone rang. Normally he would have just let the machine get it, but this time he quickly pushed himself off the piano bench and crossed to the end-table to get it. It might be Cameron. Maybe she was feeling worse and needed to go to the ER.

"Hello?"

"Oh, so you decided against spending the night?"

House rolled his eyes and controlled his impulse to hang up. "Did you have a reason for calling?"

Wilson chuckled. "Not really. Just wanted to check in on you."

"Thanks, Mom. I got home safe and sound."

There was another low chuckle and then Wilson spoke again, his voice turning more serious. "You didn't really want to leave her place tonight, did you?"

House lowered himself to the sofa and slumped back against the soft leather. "No." Hell, if he couldn't tell his best friend, who could he tell?

"You and her talk things over?"

"As much as I ever do," he replied.

"And she was satisfied with that?"

Staring at a spot across the room, House saw again the look of understanding in Cameron's eyes. "She was satisfied." He gave a little smirk despite the fact that Wilson couldn't appreciate it. "I think we're dating."

"You think?"

"Fine, call it pre-dating. She isn't exactly up for dinner and a show."

"But when she is?"

House sighed in exasperation at Wilson's relentless yet endearing prying. "When she is, I'll be ready, willing and able."

He could almost see Wilson grinning through the phone. "I don't think you'll regret it. I really don't. She gets you, Greg. I don't know how, but she does."

Completely unexpectedly, House found the knot in his stomach slowly untangling itself. "You're right. God help her, she does."

"All right. I won't keep you up. You coming in to the hospital tomorrow?"

"No. They caught the son of a bitch who shot her and she's supposed to go down to the police station for an ID. I'm driving her."

"They caught him? Shit, I should have been watching the news! Why didn't you tell me before? She must be relieved."

House decided against telling Wilson about Cameron's immediate reaction. "Yes, she's very glad he's off the streets."

"I'll pass the word on to Cuddy and everyone else. I have a feeling they're going to be late tomorrow themselves… there was a bit of a celebration in your office after Vogler's departure."

"Thanks. And if anyone threw up in my trashcan I expect it gone by the time I get back."

"Gotcha. I'll make sure to warn Chase."

They hung up and House headed back to the piano. It was almost eleven and he wasn't even tired. Another sip of scotch made a warm trail down to his stomach and he poised his fingers over the keyboard trying to decide between Bach and Bohemian Rhapsody. He had just settled on Bach's 13th Invention when the phone rang again.

"Talk to the machine, Wilson," he called out.

Three rings and he heard his own voice saying "Leave a message but I probably won't call back."

"Umm… it's Allison… Cameron, I mean… I guess you didn't go home… or maybe you're asleep… you don't have to call…"

House had rushed for the phone before she'd even gotten her full name out. Damn his leg for making him so fucking slow.

He grabbed at the phone and jabbed at the answer button. "Cameron, what's wrong?"

"House?"

"Yeah, I was just letting the machine get it. I'm here and awake. What's wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to climb all the way up to my place tomorrow. I'll meet you on the porch."

If she had been there she would have seen the look of extreme disbelief on House's face.

"Try again. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're a terrible liar?"

A short sigh and a pause before she reluctantly answered him. "Okay. Truth. I couldn't sleep. I got scared. I wanted to hear someone's voice, and that someone was you."

House sat down on the sofa again. His heart wasn't actually beating any differently but it felt somehow strange. "Do you want me to come back over?"

"No… look… it was stupid to call you. Please forget that I did, okay? I'm not like this all the time, I swear." Jesus, she was going to scare him off before they went on a single date. Her hand gripped the phone tighter. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Cameron, hold on." Shit. Now what? Fuck why did this have to be so awkward? "Are you sure you're all right? How's the pain?"

"The painkillers took the edge off. I'm fine" she sounded horribly nervous and he could picture her knuckles tightening.

"You don't sound fine."

"Look, I told you I shouldn't have called. Let's just hang up, okay? Please?"

"You wanted to hear my voice."

Shit. "Yes," she said quietly. "Could you try not to hold that against me?"

He wanted to reach through the phone, brush the hair out of her eyes and talk to her without words. "Are you still scared?"

"No. It was just a noise outside. It was stupid."

"Are you still in bed?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying down?"

"Yes."

"Close your eyes."

"Okay."

He got up from the sofa and limped over to the piano again, his leg throbbing after his race to the phone. "Eyes still closed?"

"Yes."

He put the phone down on the piano and started playing. His fingers flowed through Nocturne again, slowly and beautifully, every note ringing out clear and true. When he was finished he picked up the phone again.

"Cameron?" he said very quietly, and all he heard was the slow steady sound of her breathing.

A very slight, satisfied smile appeared on his face for an instant and he left the line open and carried the phone with him into the bedroom. For once he felt like sleeping and dreaming instead of dwelling on his pain.

*****

Directly in front of Allison Cameron's front porch grew a very large and very old crabapple tree. Its branches reached outward and skyward in equal measure, gnarled and loaded with blossoms. Birds darted in and out of it, and lazy round bumblebees hovered around it, and Allison Cameron sat on her front steps looking at it. She remembered glancing at it the day she was shot. The flowers had only been plump, pink buds then, and now they were all open, white and clean, palest pink just barely touching their petals. She wanted to bury her face in them and breathe in their scent, but just walking down the stairs had been an ordeal and she satisfied herself with looking.

It was only a few minutes past nine but she had been antsy inside the house. Antsy and nervous, with her mind going over a hundred scenarios of what she should say to House when he arrived. Her mind was still doing that, but at least now she had something prettier than the wall to stare at.

She had woken up with the phone still in her hand. The line had long since gone dead but she'd held it to her ear anyway and sworn she could hear Chopin in the silence. She couldn't believe she had called him and far beyond belief was the memory of him playing her to sleep. It made her heart quicken and her stomach flutter just to think about it. But now she was stuck struggling to think of what to say to him about it. Or maybe she shouldn't say anything.

That might be the safest course of action. Probably the last thing he wanted was a 'thank you' for doing something he no doubt considered insufferably sentimental. And then there was her part in the whole little scene. She had been so horribly stupid to call him in the first place. She had been trying to convince him that she was strong… strong enough to handle anything he could throw at her… and then she had ruined it by calling him and sounding like a lost little girl. Thinking about it made her roll her eyes for the umpteenth time and press her fingers against her temples.

"You getting a headache?"

The sound of his voice startled her and she instantly turned her head in his direction. He was at the end of the walk, heading towards her, look of concern on his face.

"No… no, I'm fine."

"Did you sleep all right?"

Damn, he hadn't meant to ask her that! He hadn't meant to mention anything that could in anyway lead to discussion of the previous night. He couldn't believe what a ridiculous sap he'd been. At the time it had felt right, but in the cold light of five a.m. it had felt sickeningly sweet, like something out of a pathetic chick-flick. She probably thought it was the lamest thing ever, excepting perhaps House himself.

Cameron felt herself blushing. Great. Now she couldn't avoid it. "I slept fine." House was looking at her uncomfortably and she could almost feel the tension coming off him in waves. He had stopped walking towards her. She had to say something. "About last night…"

"Ah, yes, 'About Last Night'. Good movie. Demi Moore before she sold her soul to the devil and made 'Striptease', although that did have its moments." His eyes landed on everything but her face as he spoke, and when they finally ventured back to it she was frowning. Forced jocularity fell away and he took two thumping steps forward. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You were saying?"

Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to say anything at all, but she no longer had a choice. "I was just going to apologize for calling, especially so late. I know I sounded like a needy, insecure little kid. I'll just have to blame the pain meds and swear it won't happen again…" She was staring at his feet, and then his cane, tracing the line up and down with her eyes.

House didn't say anything at first. He studied Cameron's face. Damn. She was looking at him as if she'd expected him to dump her before they even started dating and he was holding onto the words that could erase that expression from her face and yet he hesitated in saying them. Shit he could be a coward sometimes.

"I didn't mind," he said at last.

"What?" She raised her eyes to his as he took two more steps towards her.

"I said that I didn't mind. You're allowed to call me." He took a breath. "I'm just embarrassed to admit that I was glad to hear your voice, and I'm more embarrassed by the fact that I proceeded to destroy my cynical, bitter and wise-assed image."

The expression on Cameron's face lightened and she almost smiled before remembering that it made him uncomfortable. "I think 'destroy' may be going too far. Don't worry. I still think you're bitter and miserable."

"Good. Then everything's hunky-dory." He took the final step forward and then he was bending forward and offering her his left arm to lean on as she stood up.

"Thank you," she murmured and her eyes told him that it was for more than the helping hand.

"You're welcome," he replied.

Her hand was still on his arm, and she pulled on it gently until his face was level with hers and she could place a soft kiss on his cheek. She leaned in further until her lips were beside his ear. "You play beautifully."

House quickly stood back up and cleared his throat. "Right. We'd better get going or we won't have time for breakfast," was all he said, but Cameron could see a surprisingly pleased look in his clear blue eyes.

*****

They drove to a small 50's era diner not far from the police station, and then House watched Cameron spend forty minutes pushing scrambled eggs and toast around on her plate. He considered harassing her into eating but he knew it wouldn't be worth the effort and frankly he didn't have much of an appetite himself.

He just wanted to see the fucking piece of shit who had dared to pull a gun on Cameron. There would probably be glass in between them, but he was pretty sure his cane could take care of that. He glanced over at Cameron again and signaled to their waitress.

"You about done over there?"

Cameron looked up, blinking back to the present. "What? Oh. Yeah. I'm not very hungry. Sorry."

"It's all right." The waitress approached and he handed her his credit card without looking at the bill. "This is going to be quick. Just in and out. You point to the bastard and then we can get the hell out."

His words didn't seem to be reassuring her and she sighed heavily. "I hope you're right. I keep seeing it happen, over and over again and every time I remember something else. Some little detail. Like the fact that I was staring at the moon while I was on the ground, and now I can hear him shouting at me just when the bullet hits."

House was gripping his water glass so hard, it was a miracle it didn't shatter into a thousand pieces. "Maybe it's good to remember. Aren't you supposed to be able to put it behind yourself after that?" he forced the words out as his jaw clenched.

Suddenly pinned by her solemn eyes, he couldn't look away. "I don't care if it's what I'm supposed to do. I don't want to remember anymore. And if I ever do want to remember, all I have to do is look in a mirror."

He didn't know what to say to that, but she didn't give him a chance anyway. She quickly stood up and excused herself to the washroom and he sat there numbly and waited for the waitress to return with his card.

The station was less than a five-minute drive and neither of them spoke. It wasn't a situation that snappy banter could help. House parked as close to the entrance as possible and Cameron was out of the car before he'd even cut the engine. She just wanted to get it over with. She was scared and anxious and furious. She never wanted to see her attacker again, but she wanted him to rot in the ninth circle of hell. If picking him out of a lineup could make that happen, then she'd do it.

House had caught up to her by the time she reached the front door, and he even opened it for her. They passed into the brightly-lit lobby and were directed back through another set of doors to the violent crimes division. That room was brightly lit too, and everything looked much cleaner and much less depressing than the average cop show police station.

"Who are you supposed to talk to?" House asked quietly, but Cameron didn't have time to answer before one of the detectives was in front of them, introducing himself.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm Detective Hughes. I spoke to you on the phone yesterday." He turned to House. "And you're Dr. House. I recognize you from the paper."

House put on a snarky grin. "Ooh, I'm a celebrity."

Detective Hughes didn't know quite how to take that, so he didn't bother replying and instead led them both over to his desk and pulled an extra chair over for House to sit in.

"I know you gave a statement at the hospital, so I just have a few questions for you."

House watched out of the corner of his eye as Cameron visibly stiffened.

"Have you remembered anything beyond what you already told the police? Did he do or say anything else?"

She heard his shouted epitaphs ringing in her ears, but they weren't really pertinent. They wouldn't make or break a criminal case. She shook her head and kept her lips pressed together to keep her chin from shaking.

Det. Hughes nodded. "Okay then. I'll just give you a rundown of what's going to happen now. The ADA is going to be here in a minute and we're going to take you in for the lineup."

"I know how it goes," Cameron told him. "He can't see me, but I can see him."

"Right. Just point him out and you'll be on your way."

Cameron closed her eyes for only a brief moment but it was a moment too long. Long enough to feel chill night air around her, and remember wishing that she hadn't tossed her jacket in the back seat. His breath was at her ear again, but this time he was talking. 'Don't turn around, bitch.' His hands on her arms hurt, and she was struggling free and spinning around. This time she saw him pull the gun from his waistband as she turned but there still wasn't time to scream before the flash. She saw his face, caught in a paroxysm of rage, shouting at her. 'You goddamned fucking bitch!' She felt all the air forced from her lungs and her blood, first warm, then cooling and sticky, draining away, leaving her empty. She opened her eyes but she could still feel the blood rushing from her face while her heart pounded out sixteenth notes. She was not going to break. Not here. Not with everyone watching.

Cameron forced herself to keep breathing but she couldn't make herself maintain eye contact with the detective. Her hands balled into fists in her lap and she dropped her gaze to stare at them. That was when she saw that House had placed his hand on the edge of her seat; not actually touching her, but there. A sturdy, comforting presence. She snapped her head up to look at him and found that he was staring at her and his eyes weren't filled with gushing sympathy or coddling over-protection but with strength, support and righteous anger on her behalf.

She didn't notice that Det. Hughes was looking strangely at them both but she heard him say, "Are you all right, Dr. Cameron?"

She set her jaw and her chin rose almost defiantly. "I'm ready whenever you are."

 

Chapter 10

Det. Hughes gave a brusque nod and stood up. "I'll call down and make sure everything is set. Then we'll just have to wait for the attorneys." He stepped away from the desk and Cameron watched him go until he was out of sight around a corner.

"Let's hope the bastard doesn't have a tragic accident walking up the stairs," House muttered.

Cameron glanced over at him. "That would solve some problems," she said quietly.

"You doing all right?" He knew that she'd just had some sort of flashback and was grateful that it hadn't been as bad as the one at her apartment.

"I'll be better when this is over," and although she was referring specifically to the lineup they both knew that 'this' covered a lot more than that, and neither one was sure how long it would take before it was over, or if it ever really could be.

They were saved from further conversation by the reappearance of Det. Hughes, along with a somewhat short, but very powerful looking man whom they assumed to be the ADA assigned to the case. They were correct, and after another round of introductions ADA Paul Atherton told them that the suspect was being brought up and they were ready to proceed.

Cameron felt a sudden wave of dread pass over her body and her skin felt electrified from head to toe. She stood up with some effort and hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself by immediately toppling over. Next to her, House pushed himself up with the aid of his cane, and one hand instinctively hovered at the base of Cameron's spine. She didn't even know it was there, but he was ready to catch her if she fell.

"Actually, Dr. House, you can just wait here at my desk while we take Dr. Cameron in."

"What? I'm going in with her." House's eyes had hardened to stones and his voice made it clear that he didn't consider the matter up for debate.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't permitted." Atherton was sympathetic, but he wasn't about to let a technicality interfere with his case. "Only the victim or witness is allowed in to the line-up."

"Well what kind of fucked up--" House was cut off by Cameron turning pleading eyes towards him.

"It's okay," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "Just let me do this and get it over with."

House was ready to continue his protest but the look on her face silenced him. The last thing she needed at the moment was more stress and disruption. "Fine." He turned to the other two men. "I'll be a good little boy and wait right here." He turned back to Cameron and looked her right in the eyes. "Right here," he repeated, dropping the snide tone and making those two words into a promise.

She tried to give him a tight-lipped grin, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. She had to settle for the tiniest nod of her head before moving away from his side and following the men who were going to lead her to the man who had tried to kill her. House remained standing as he watched her go, looking remarkably small even in comparison to the ADA. He didn't take his eyes from her until she passed through a door which was then shut tightly behind her.

Hand tightening on his cane, he kept his eyes on that door even as he lowered himself back to his chair. He felt completely impotent, with a furious anger churning in his stomach and unable to escape. He set his cane between his legs and grasped it with both hands. So much for making short work of the glass barrier and beating the son of a bitch to death.

*****

The door closed with a metallic echo and a chill ran up Cameron's spine sending a violent tremor through her body. Damn, she hadn't realized how much she'd been depending on House's presence beside her. No he wasn't draping his arm around her shoulders or even holding her hand, but he was There. Quietly, steadily, comfortingly, There. She squared her jaw and tried to center herself. She was a strong, independent woman… a doctor, for crying out loud… she could do this without anyone's help. She moved to the center of the narrow room and violently pinched her own leg to distract it from its shaking.

The room was dimly lit, and through the half-glass wall in front of her she could see the stark white room on the other side, black lines on the far wall to measure height, a single door on the right hand side. A noise from behind her almost threatened to undo her, but she clenched and unclenched her hands and watched another man, thin and tall, enter the room. The three men were talking in low voices but she wasn't paying attention. She had her eyes fixed on the far wall again, reading the numbers next to the lines and then counting them.

Detective Hughes moved to her side and spoke to her, his voice low and tempered to calm her. "They'll be coming in now, and you just have to take your time, look at them all and tell us which one shot you, okay?"

She nodded, not trusting words at the moment. 'Tell us which one shot you…' So easily spoken, as if being shot were an every day occurrence. The absurdity of such a phrase being directed at her nearly forced a burst of hysterical laughter from her chest.

Det. Hughes stepped away from her again and pressed the button for an intercom set into the wall. "Send 'em in."

Again, Cameron kept her eyes focused on the back wall as the door into the other room opened and a line of men shuffled in. They were all dressed in jeans and black leather jackets, just as she'd described, and now her eyes were focused on their feet. She didn't want to look up. She knew if she looked up she'd see him. See his face in the bright light, not half-hidden in the dark. She'd see him straight on, agonizingly close, and not just for a terrifying split-second. She didn't want that face burned into her memory and she stifled an inarticulate cry when she realized that it already was.

"Do you see him in there?" A calm voice at her ear.

She looked up; past shoes and knees and belt-buckles and chests. He was there. He looked almost bored, with a sneer on a face that might have been handsome if it hadn't belonged to the man who had almost killed her. Her heart raced and she had to keep convincing herself that he couldn't see her.

"Number five," she said it without hesitation.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Cameron turned to face him and if her words hadn't been strong enough, the look on her face was. "It's number five."

The detective looked over at the two lawyers and nodded, then hit the button for the intercom again. "Okay, you can take them down."

The door opened and the men filed out again while Cameron watched, her eyes now pinned to the man she now knew only as Number Five. When they were gone she turned to the detective and the ADA as her would-be killer's attorney left the room. "What now?"

"Now he's arraigned and a court date is set. You'll be asked to testify at the trial but it probably won't be for at least two to three months," Atherton told her. "He already has a record. Getting him held without bail won't be a problem."

The idea that he could make bail and be out walking the streets hadn't even occurred to her so the attorney's words came as both a shock and a relief.

"I just need you to sign a few papers at my desk and then you can leave," Det. Hughes said, his voice still pitched to make her feel more at ease. He reached behind her back and Cameron allowed herself to be led out of the room.

House's eyes hadn't left the door since the moment Cameron disappeared behind it. Each time it opened he tensed, in preparation for seeing her again. How the hell long did these things take? It felt like she'd been in there for an hour but it had been closer to ten minutes. The door opened once more, and this time Cameron reappeared, Det. Hughes right behind her, hand solicitously placed on her arm. House had the insane urge to break that hand. His eyes scanned up and down Cameron's body. She looked pale and drawn, but otherwise fine. He didn't notice the slight tremor in her hand until she was closer.

He didn't know if he was supposed to say something, or not. What was there to say? Did you have a good time pointing out your attacker? She looked at him with something that might have been relief, but didn't speak, and he remained silent as well.

Paperwork was quickly signed, hands shaken, thanks given and then House was opening the door for her again and they were stepping out into a beautiful spring day.

"So." He glanced at her as they walked to the car. "Back to your place for game shows and soaps? We can make bets on who's going to win 'The Price is Right'."

Cameron swallowed hard and took several deep breaths before answering, "Actually, I think I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Alone? I don't think that's-"

"Please." She cut him off for the second time in one day.

He unlocked the car and opened her door for her. "Fine," he said as he slammed it shut an instant after she was inside.

Her apartment was almost fifteen minutes away and they spent the ride in silence once again. House was concentrating on not saying something bitter and mean to cover the fact that he was actually hurt. He channeled his feelings into his driving instead of his words, cutting people off and speeding far above the limit. He raced down her street and almost hit the curb when he turned into her driveway. He had a sarcastic goodbye on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it the instant he turned and looked at her.

Every muscle in her body seemed to be focused on holding her upright in the seat beside him, and her eyes were staring straight ahead at nothing. Her hands were clenched around the edge of the seat and he was fairly certain that her nails were gouging the leather. She hadn't looked quite so pale since the night of her surgery.

An uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling of guilt twisted House's gut. Damn, he could be a bastard sometimes. Here she was barely holding herself together and he'd had the audacity to get pissed at her. He reached out and laid a hand on her knee, causing her to look up at him sharply.

"I'll call you later."

She nodded and put her hand over his, squeezing it slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Pain made her slow as she got out of the car, and walked to her front door, but House didn't take her eyes off her until she was safely inside. Then he threw the car into gear and sped out of the drive way and down the street twice as fast as before. His hand twitched on the wheel and all he could think about was how much he regretted the fact that he hadn't had a chance to kill the man who was currently sitting safe in jail.

*****

House drove around for almost an hour before ending up at the hospital. It was either the hospital or home and as usual the hospital won out. No one was around when he entered his department and he was extremely grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk. He limped down the hall to his office, went inside and closed the door and the blinds. If he couldn't watch game shows and soaps with Cameron then he'd just have to watch them alone. He slumped down in his chair and popped two vicodin before turning on the t.v. and attempting to turn off his mind.

Two hours later and he was still sitting there, slightly more slumped and definitely more bleary-eyed. He heard footsteps outside the office and willed them to keep walking. No such luck.

Wilson was almost past House's office when the fact that the blinds were closed registered in his brain. He halted, took two steps backward and listened. Yes, the television was definitely on. He opened the door without bothering to knock.

"House?"

"No. I'm just a figment of your imagination. Close the door on your way out," House replied, knowing full well that Wilson was going to ignore him. He did.

"I thought you were taking Cameron to the police station," he said as he walked over and sat down on the comfortable lounge chair across from House's desk and swung his feet up on the footstool.

"Been there, done that," House didn't bother looking up from the television.

Wilson's eyebrows drew together as a perplexed expression settled over his features. "All right, I'll bite," he said after a moment's pause, "What happened? Did you see the bastard? And why are you sitting here watching television with the blinds closed instead of over at her place? Don't tell me she's sick of you already." He was only teasing with that last remark, but the glare House directed at him made him regret it.

"I didn't see the fucker. Apparently I need to watch more cop shows. They don't just let random brilliant doctors into the special rooms down at HQ," House made his words sound like any other sarcastic jibe, but the true anger was just below the surface and Wilson was well-adept at hearing it.

"But she ID'ed him, right?"

"Yeah, she was a real trooper," and again the snideness was there but this time Wilson wasn't sure if it was mixed with pride or bitterness or both.

"So let me ask again. What are you doing here?"

"She wants to be alone," House answered, separating each word into its own little breath. He dropped his glare from Wilson's face and turned back to the television.

Wilson took a breath, wincing in sympathy for what he knew House was feeling. "Greg, it's not you. She's probably still in shock. She's upset."

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am aware that I am not the center of the universe. Thank you, Dr. Phil."

"If you know that then why are you in here sulking?" Wilson shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking one eyebrow.

"It's been a few days. I was due for a good long sulk," House answered, and then, before Wilson could form another plan of attack, he spun in his chair and slammed both hands down on the top of his desk. "I couldn't fucking DO anything!" he spat out. "I had to sit there like some stupid prick while they took her in to face the goddamned son of a bitch who shot her. He was trying to rape her. Did they include that on the news? Yeah, that was his plan. Rape her and then kill her. And I had to just fucking sit there. I couldn't even go in with her. Not that I could have helped her anyway, since I'm an emotional as well as physical cripple. I saw myself bashing his skull in but I couldn't even fucking hold her hand when she started to lose it. And I wonder why being alone is preferable to being with me. Fuck! Just fuck it all!"

The words spewed forth, accented by the sound of him pounding his hands on the desk, and then his cane against the floor. With his last sentence he hurled the polished wood across the room to land clattering in the corner. He was as out of breath as if he'd just run a marathon and he curled his hands around the arms of his chair.

Wilson, ever the stalwart rock, stood up and slowly went to retrieve the now-battered cane. "Well," he said deliberately, "I'd say it's a good thing you got all that out."

House looked like he was about to launch into another tirade but then his face fell and his shoulders slumped. His eyes were begging for Wilson to give him some kind of relief from feeling like a useless waste of flesh and bone.

"You did what you could, Greg," he said as he walked over and placed the cane on top of the desk. "You're not Sylvester Stallone and this is not some Rambo revenge movie. In real life we don't always get to beat the crap out of the people who deserve it. She doesn't expect that from you."

House was shaking his head, unsatisfied. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Okay, how about this. You saved her life."

That stopped the movement of his head but it didn't quite wipe the look of self-disgust from his face. "I wish that felt like enough."

Wilson shrugged slightly. "Well I can't help you there. Some things you just have to work out for yourself." He sat back down and propped his feet up again. "Are you stopping by her place later?"

"I told her I'd call."

"Well when you talk to her, you might try a little thing we like to call 'sharing our feelings'. Just try not to throw your cane at her."

House put on a snide little smirk. "No, I save that for you," he said, not really feeling better but at least feeling slightly more in control.

He looked down and glanced at his watch. It was just past three. He'd give her one more hour before he called.

*****

How had her apartment suddenly become so small? Two bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, bath. She'd always found it more than roomy enough, but now as she wandered from one end to the other she felt trapped. Watching television had proven useless; she couldn't stop switching channels. She'd tried reading but hadn't been able to concentrate. The only thing she'd been able to do for more than ten minutes was cry, and an hour of that had left her red-eyed and feeling disgusted with herself. Being alone was making her crazy but she didn't feel like fit company for anyone, especially House.

She bit her lip every time she thought of him, which was often. He'd been mad at her and she knew it. Hell, he'd practically slammed the car door in her face. She knew she shouldn't be taking it personally. He was angry at the whole damn situation. He'd told her she didn't have to be sorry for needing to be alone. That didn't change the fact that she was and it didn't change the fact that he was most assuredly upset. He had every right to be. She'd spent two days getting him to open up, and now she was the one shutting him out.

Tea. Maybe tea would help. She wandered into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on to boil. Nervous energy wouldn't let her stop moving, and she paced back and forth in front of the stove, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her chest hurt like hell but she didn't want to take any more pain medication. She'd already taken two after her crying jag left her in throbbing agony.

Maybe she should just call him. But she didn't know what to say. She wasn't any better. She still couldn't stop the random images from flashing through her mind. She still couldn't shake off the feeling of his hands on her arms. She couldn't stop remembering the instant of hot pain and the cold, hard ground. Damnit, what a wimp she was! Women were attacked every damn day and plenty of them ended up injured far worse than her, and here she was holding herself and crying like a damn baby.

She moved the kettle off the burner and turned the knob so hard she nearly ripped it off. She wasn't in the mood for tea anymore.

*****

He'd told her he'd call. He'd never said how far away he'd be when he did. He looked up through the windshield towards her living room windows. He couldn't see any lights on, but it was still early, and the sun hadn't completely set. Her number was on speed dial on his cell phone and he hit the button and waited.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Cameron, it's House."

Silence, and then, "Are you coming over?"

"Do you want me to come over?"

More silence. "Please."

"I'm sitting in your parking lot. I'll be right up."

"The door's unlocked."

House snapped his phone closed and quickly got out of the car and headed for the front door. He hadn't been able to do anything for her earlier, but maybe now he could. The stairs seemed less daunting every time he climbed them. Maybe he was getting used to them, or maybe the destination was making the pain worth it. He was surprised that she'd left the door unlocked. The idea that she'd done it in anticipation of him visiting was one he didn't allow himself to dwell on.

She wasn't in the living room and he closed the door and started down the hallway to her bedroom. The door was ajar and he pushed it the rest of the way open, jaw clenching involuntarily when he saw her sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door, bare feet just touching the floor.

"Cameron?"

She looked up at him, eyes clear and strong looking but apprehensive as she took a breath before saying, "Please get in bed."

He shook his head, certain he had misheard her. "What?"

"You don't even have to get undressed," she continued speaking as if he hadn't asked her to repeat herself. "I know that I said last night that I'm not usually like this, but I guess I lied or I changed or something, because right now I need you to hold me. You held me yesterday even though I didn't ask you to, and I'll never ask you to again, but if you're going to stay, I need your arms around me because I can't talk anymore and I can't stand you looking at me. I'll understand if you can't, but you'll have to leave and let me sort this out on my own. I'm not making any sense, and I know I sound like an idiot-"

House held up his hand. "Shut up," was all he said and he limped to the other side of the bed while Cameron closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing.

He toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, letting it land on the floor. His button-down shirt was next, revealing a black t-shirt underneath. Then he took off his belt, afraid that the buckle would jab into her back, but kept the rest of his clothes on. She had moved under the covers and he looked at the waving curve of her back, shoulder to waist to hip, then flowing down the length of her legs. Her sheets were soft, much softer than his, and he slipped between them feeling awkward and clumsy but not allowing himself to think.

"Is this all right?" he asked, voice low and gravely. He draped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently into the curve of his body.

"Yes. Perfect."

"Good."

Another man would have kissed her, or stroked her skin, or whispered to her while she lay there, eyes staring at the reflection of the sunset in the mirror above her vanity. He didn't do any of those things. He just held her, breathing in time with her breath, and counting her heartbeats until they both fell asleep, long after the sun vanished and the night stole into the room.

 

Chapter 11

Cameron woke up when the sun was just beginning to send rosy tendrils across the sky. It was the longest she'd slept since the attack, not counting the nights she was in a drugged stupor. At first the feeling of a warm weight pinning her to the bed startled her, but then the memory of the previous night came back to her.

She pressed her eyes closed again and breathed deeply, concentrating on the momentary feeling of security that being in House's embrace provided.

This was what she wanted. After all the pacing and crying and flashes of memory, she wanted his arms around her, his breath in her ear. It wouldn't change anything. She'd still wake up in pain. She'd still be startled by the sound of raccoons in the trash. But she wouldn't be alone, and neither would he. It was corny as hell but they would be stronger together.

The sun rose higher, warm light glinting off the mirror and pooling at their feet. House's voice broke the silence and to Cameron it felt like the breaking of a spell. Now they would have to get up and face the day, something that no longer gave her any joy.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes," was her whispered reply.

"Hungry?"

"No."

"In pain?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm tired of taking pills."

"So am I, but it beats the alternative." House rolled away from her and then groaned as his own pain hit him hard. "Shit," he muttered, throwing back the covers.

Cameron was slightly faster, swinging her legs out of bed, one hand protectively clutching her chest. "I'll get them," she said as she leaned on the bed and walked around it, picking up House's jacket from the floor, a task which proved more painful than she had anticipated.

The pills rattled and she reached into the pocket and retrieved them, then sat down on the bed, looking at House with concern. He had closed his eyes and lines of pain marred his features.

"Is it always this bad in the morning?"

House grimaced. "Who's nursing who, here?" he asked as he snatched the pills from her hand. He swallowed two before looking back at her and feeling a stab of guilt. "Some mornings are worse than others," he said grudgingly.

Cameron's hands clutched at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I'm sure sleeping with me didn't help."

House tilted his head and looked at her, then hesitantly reached out and awkwardly patted her leg. "Actually this is one of the good mornings. I didn't even think about the damn leg until I started moving."

His words made her inexplicably relieved, pleased even, and her hands released their death-grip on the sheets.

"Why don't you take your pills like a good girl and get back in bed while we wait for the miracle of modern medicine to kick in."

"I told you-"

"Right. You're above painkillers. I get it. Tell me, do you like seeing a look of pain on my face? Because I don't enjoy seeing one on yours. So take the damn demerol and get back in bed."

She honestly hadn't considered that he even noticed when she was in pain beyond a purely clinical interest. Now she regretted being so stubborn. She made her way back to her side of the bed and took a painkiller. There was still a little water in the glass on her nightstand and she used that to wash it down.

The sheets were still warm and it felt nice to slide in between them again, especially when she felt the heat from House's body radiating out towards her. They lay there, side by side, shoulders not quite touching, eyes drifting closed.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yes." She turned and glanced at his profile. "Thanks for staying with me."

"It was the least I could do."

Cameron couldn't quite read his tone of voice and she was surprised to hear him say such a thing. She waited for him to say something else, some little jibe, but he remained silent for so long that she thought he had drifted back to sleep. She turned to face the ceiling again and followed the shadows cast by a large tree outside her window.

"I wanted to kill that fucking bastard."

The words were laced with pure hatred and Cameron's stomach turned over as she was thrown back to the police station; it's clean and airy atmosphere covering up the despicable acts that were recorded and combated there. The sheets rustled as she slowly rolled onto her side to face House. He was still on his back, eyes closed, hands at his sides.

The pragmatic response would be to tell him that she didn't think that would solve anything. The brave response would be to tell him that she didn't need him to fight her battles for her. The thoughtful response would be to tell him that she didn't expect him to be her avenger.

"I wish you could have," was what she actually said.

His eyes opened and he moved to face her, pale blue staring into her, through her. She didn't blink.

"I felt like a complete ass sitting there waiting for you. A waste of space and air."

"I was glad you were there."

"There to do what? Honestly, Cameron, I don't know what you get out of having me around. Hell, you should have asked Wilson to take you. At least he would have had his arms around you and let you cry into his shoulder."

"That wasn't what I needed. If I'd cried then I never would have been able to go into that room and see him. And you held me last night. When I asked you to be here for me, you were."

House shook his head but he didn't say anything else. There was only just so much soul-baring he could take at one time, and anyway, Cameron didn't need to know that he'd been so angry he'd nearly taken Wilson out with his cane. He reached out and touched her shoulder where it peeked out from under the sheets.

"You don't need to hear me tell you this, but I was proud of you when you went in there." He shook his head again. "No, that's not it. I wasn't proud of you… I knew all along that you'd never shirk a responsibility no matter how painful. I was proud to know you. That's what I was proud of."

"I didn't do anything really. I was just glad I didn't embarrass myself by falling apart."

"No one would have blamed you."

"I would have blamed me." She closed her eyes slightly, shutting the open window between them and glancing down at the sheets. "I blame myself right now. You always said I was a soft-hearted, naïve little innocent and I guess you were right. I did what I had to do, but that doesn't make me brave or strong. I came back here, threw up and spent half the afternoon crying. How's that for brave?"

He knew he needed to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He just stared at her, shocked at the level of self-loathing he could see in her expression. The hand he had resting on her shoulder moved down to cup her cheek, tilting her face up so that she could see his eyes again and hoped that what she saw there would be enough.

In those few moments Cameron knew that she could tell him everything. She could tell him all that she remembered and how it had made her feel and how it was still making her feel. She could tell him about the flashbacks and the way she'd been afraid to look her attacker in the face. She could tell him everything, but the problem was that she didn't want to. Talking about it was like reliving it and she wasn't ready for that. Just thinking about it was making her throat close up with unexpressed emotion and she blinked rapidly and hoped in vain that he wouldn't notice.

"You know, I think I'm hungry after all."

"Cameron."

"Really," she said quickly. "And you know I have to take my meds with food."

House slowly pulled his hand away from her face. So this was what it felt like every time he deflected one of her well-meaning questions or caring remarks. Definitely not a good feeling. How had she lasted a month working with him, nevermind a year? Wilson was right. She was stronger than she looked. There she lay, obviously feeling weaker than she wanted to be, despite the fact that it had to take a soul with the strength of steel to put up with his abuse day and day out and never strike back. If she didn't want to talk he was the last person who had a right to force her.

"Omelets?" he asked as he prepared to get out of bed.

She shook her head. "No, you don't have to make me anything. I just want some toast and maybe cereal." She was suddenly wondering if she'd even be able to keep that down.

More rustling sheets and the gentle movement of the mattress and she was out of bed again and walking out of the room. House was left lying there staring after her, wondering if maybe he should have said something else after all. The vicodin had done its job and he was able to get up with only minimal difficulty and one muttered curse. He picked up his cane and headed towards the kitchen, not particularly surprised to find her standing by the counter staring at the milk rather than pouring it. He pretended not to notice and stepped around her to put on a pot of coffee.

"I'm sorry."

House turned and looked at the stiff line of Cameron's back. She was still staring down at the milk.

"Stop fucking saying you're sorry," he said sharply. "What do you have to be sorry for? Being attacked? Getting shot? Having trouble dealing with the fact you were almost raped and murdered?"

She appeared to collapse in on herself, shoulders slumping and then trembling.

"Shit." The vein in House's forehead began to throb and he stepped up behind Cameron and put one hand on her shoulder, not ready to see the look in her eyes. "When it comes to keeping everything in, you're talking to the master. You aren't sorry because you think you've done something wrong. You're sorry because you're not meeting some self-imposed expectation of healing. You feel guilty because I'm here and in your ridiculously selfless mind you think that you should be opening up and telling me everything even though you're not ready. Hell, maybe you'll never be ready, or maybe you'll be ready to talk, but not to me. I was a prick yesterday, but that had nothing to do with you. Trust me; if you want to talk, I'll listen, but if you don't, I'm not going to hold it against you."

Her shoulders were still shaking and he couldn't tell if she was crying but he didn't want to see her face. It would only make him want to get in his car, speed down to the police station and commit a justifiable homicide. Cameron seemed to know this, in that innate way she had of knowing so many things about him. There were tears pricking the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, and instead she quietly pulled herself together while his hand moved up and down her back.

"Better?" he asked after she took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Better." She knew better than to add the 'thanks' that was in her head.

"Good. Now eat." He walked back to the coffee machine, leaving her to make prepare her cereal and settle herself at the table. When he brought over the coffee she was almost done eating and the flushed look on her face had begun to fade. He just had to avoid looking directly in her eyes, because they still held the remains of silent tears.

"I know you're still on suspension, but are you going to the hospital today?" Cameron asked, keeping her face slightly averted.

"I suppose so. Why? You need to pass a note to Wilson? Or maybe Chase?"

The familiar sarcastic tone set her at ease in a way that foreign sounding sentiment never could. A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and she rolled her eyes.

"No. No notes. I'm supposed to go back for tests and to have the sutures removed today. It's been ten days." Ten days. It felt like a lifetime and the blink of an eye. How was that possible?

"You know I could pull them for you in the clinic."

"I know, but he wants a full run-down anyway. I may as well let him do it." She couldn't tell him that the last thing she wanted was for him to get yet another look at the damage. Maybe in a few weeks. After the scar had healed more. Maybe then.

House looked at her downcast face and tried to read what she was thinking, but with her eyes turned away it was impossible. "All right," he answered her, "I'll drive you in. See Fraser and then come find me and I'll bring you home. Maybe I'll even stop and let you pick out some stereotypical sappy movie on the way back."

Another shy smile appeared at the casual way he was basically inviting himself back to her apartment for the afternoon… or maybe even the evening. "Maybe I'll surprise you and rent 'TombRaider'.

House smirked and gulped down the last of his coffee. "You can never go wrong with Angelina."

Cameron finished her cereal and House paced the living room while she got dressed and ready to go to the hospital. Then it was her turn to pace when he stopped at his place to change out of his even more rumpled than usual, slept-in clothes. She had only been there once before and hadn't actually seen anything except House in his black shirt, and rumpled hair, smelling faintly of scotch and cigars. She remembered the piano and the leather chair but not much else.

He had stacks of books next to the piano and on every table. Some medical, but most were subjects as varied as the art of ancient China and Stephen Hawkins' 'A Brief History of Time'. She wanted to leaf through his sheet music and study the black and white photographs on the wall, but he was faster than she expected and was soon ushering her out the door.

On the drive to the hospital Cameron struck up a conversation about music and House seemed startled and then pleasantly surprised that she knew the difference between Billie Holiday and Billy Idol. It was a completely normal conversation, and those had been few and far between for them. Between work and bantering they usually weren't at a loss for words, but casual conversation? No, that was something they didn't normally engage in. House tried to remember the last person he'd really talked to besides Wilson. He couldn't think of anyone. A quick glance at Cameron and he saw that she looked relaxed, animated even, in a way she rarely was at the hospital. It was enough to make him relax as well.

She grew quieter as they neared the hospital, and by the time they pulled in the parking garage she was silently looking out the window, fingers toying with the long strap of her pocketbook. House's usual spot was open and he parked and shut off the engine. Neither of them moved.

"Fraser's office is on the second floor over in the other wing. I probably should have parked closer to it," House muttered.

"No, this is fine. There's never any parking over there."

"You'll come to my office when you're done?"

"Yes. Hopefully it won't take long."

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum will probably want to see you. I'll let them know you're around."

House finally opened his door and Cameron followed suit. He didn't know why it felt so strange, then recognized, with some degree of annoyance, that it was because he didn't really want Cameron going off on her own. He didn't trust any other doctor to take care of her. He decided to blame those feelings on his own ego rather than a preposterous over-protectiveness towards her.

They walked to the door, side by side, and then parted without saying another word, but House watched her as she made her way down the hall towards the south wing elevators. Even after she was out of sight it took a few seconds for him to head off in the opposite direction and he rolled his eyes at himself, limping along with a particularly forceful use of his cane.

*****

Cameron stared up at the fluorescent light and tried to avoid flinching as Dr. Fraser removed the surgical staples which had held her incision closed. The tinny sound of them landing on the metal instrument tray seemed to echo in the small exam room.

"What have you been doing, aerobics?" Fraser asked. "Two of these almost pulled out. You're lucky you didn't have to come back in."

She knew he was still annoyed that she had threatened to sign herself out of the hospital. "Dr. House was with me when that happened. It was nothing."

"Mmm-hmm." Fraser sounded unconvinced. He pulled the last one and pushed back from the table. "There. All set. It's actually looking very good."

The idea that a scar could look good was almost enough to make Cameron laugh… or cry. She wasn't sure which. Dr. Fraser helped her sit up and she glanced down at the pink line running from the bottom of her rib cage to the top of her chest. The tiny holes from each staple were still visible, and the whole scar was slightly raised. A smaller scar, to the left of the incision was a paler pink. Strange that the bullet had left less of a mark than the scalpel used to save her life. She felt her stomach roll over and looked away.

"Your EKG and blood gasses all look good," Fraser was speaking to her but looking over her chart at the same time. "You're lucky it was only a .22 caliber. You probably wouldn't be sitting here otherwise. Have you had any more pain from where the bullet nicked that left lower rib? That was another lucky thing. At least we didn't have to deal with an exit wound. You had enough blood-loss without one."

"No. Sore, but not horrible," she replied. She didn't want to be talking about this. Why was he talking to her like a colleague instead of a patient? She didn't want to hear the gory details. She just wanted to be told that she was doing fine and ready to go.

"Be careful anyway. It's definitely cracked and if you're not careful it could break. Have you had any shortness of breath? Dizziness?"

Cameron thought about standing in the police station looking at man number five. That dizziness hadn't been caused by any medical problem. "No. Really, I've been doing fine."

"Well I'm going to want to see you back in two weeks just to be sure."

She nodded and pulled the flimsy gown tighter covering up the scar she couldn't stand looking at. The fabric was so thin that she could still feel the pronounced ridge beneath her fingertips and she crossed her arms and gripped her waist to try to rid herself of the feeling.

Glancing up from the chat, Dr. Fraser saw Cameron move. "We could probably set you up with someone in plastics," he said, sympathetically.

A slight shake of her head. "We both know it's too early to even think about that."

"Yes, but a consult couldn't hurt."

Now she shrugged in addition to shaking her head again. "Plastic surgery isn't usually the first thing people think about right after having the equivalent of open heart surgery."

"Well most patients who have open heart surgery aren't thirty-one years old."

Cameron pressed her lips together and remained silent. He was right, but she didn't want to admit it.

"Fine. If you change your mind, you know where the office is" Fraser tossed her chart onto the counter. "I'm sure you've heard the rest of the drill already. No full-time work for at least two more weeks. No baths or swimming. No heavy lifting. No driving for another week."

Cameron nodded at each point. Yes, she knew the drill. It was depressing to think about the fact that none of those restrictions, even the one about work, would have any great impact on her. A sudden feeling of nausea rolled over her and then passed as she realized that she still hadn't gotten a bill for her surgery or anything else. Maybe she would stop by Dr. Cuddy's office and see if she could arrange for some sort of payment plan. She brought herself back to the present when she noticed that Dr. Fraser's mouth was still moving.

"Any sharp pains, weakness, or palpitations and you need to get to the ER."

"Right. I'll remember," as if she wouldn't recognize the sudden onset of a heart attack.

Fraser gathered up her chart and his instruments and started to leave the room in order to give her some privacy to change back into her clothes. He paused at the door and looked back at her.

"I heard on the news that they caught the guy?"

An instant of dismay and then, "Yes, day before yesterday," she said, never missing a beat.

"Good. Last thing we need is scum like that wandering the streets. Take care of yourself. I'll see you in two weeks," and then he was gone and Cameron was alone in the cold room wearing a completely inadequate gown and staring at her distorted image in the stainless steel cabinets.

It took a minute for her to comprehend that she wasn't tearing up, she wasn't shaking, and her fingernails weren't digging little half-moons into her palms. She took a deep breath as she reached for her shirt. It was a baby step but she would take what she could get. Maybe she was stronger than she thought after all.

 

Chapter 12

The halls were relatively empty and House thought that he'd be able to make it to his office without seeing anyone. His luck ran out as he turned the final corner and almost ran into Dr. Foreman who appeared to be in a bit of a rush for someone who didn't have any patients.

"Whoa, there sonny. Where's the fire?"

Foreman took a step back and gave House an exasperated look. It wasn't even in the same league as most of House's but he couldn't expect to beat the master.

"Cuddy has us filling in for you down in the clinic and there's a busload of food-poisoned football players coming in."

"Oooh, lucky you! Damn this suspension, that's just the kind of challenge I like." House could barely keep the smug smile off his face.

Foreman ignored the needling and tempered his own attitude with concern. "I heard that they caught the son of a bitch who shot Cameron. That true?"

House had been about to limp past and make a break for it, but he stopped. "They caught him, yeah. Cameron went down and picked him out of a lineup yesterday."

One eyebrow rose. "Cameron went or you took her?" He knew he was treading on thin ice.

Drawing himself up to his full height, House stared Foreman down. "I took her. Are you going to ask me what my intentions are now?"

"No. Not yet anyway."

"Oh, that's good. I'd hate to have to fight you for her," House remarked snidely.

Foreman crossed his arms across his chest. "You may be the most brilliant doctor in the whole damn hospital, but as a human being, she's worth about ten of you. You fuck her over and I will be there to personally hand you your ass."

House regarded the younger doctor seriously. The threat wasn't an idle one made of one part bravado and two parts testosterone. He meant every word he'd said. House couldn't blame him. He could relate. He wanted to kill the man who had hurt Cameron, and Foreman was giving fair warning that he'd do the same.

"Point taken," he said, "but just for the record, I'm not planning to fuck her over although I suppose just plain fucking isn't out of the question eventually."

A distorted grimace appeared on Foreman's face. "Yeah, thanks, you can keep that information to yourself."

Turning serious again, House stared into Foreman's dark eyes. "I plan to. And I expect you to do the same." His voice was pitched dangerously low and Foreman nodded his complicity.

"So, how is she doing?" he asked after their silent agreement was made.

"You can ask her yourself in about an hour. She's up getting the sutures removed and letting Fraser run her through a series of expensive tests."

"She's here? Great. Page me when she comes down. I'll run back up here and let the jocks puke in their helmets for a few minutes."

"Ah, the ever sympathetic Dr. Foreman. Obviously you really need a dose of Dr. Cameron's niceness." He started limping down the hall again. "I'll page you," he said without turning around, "but do me a favor and don't bring Chase with you."

Foreman chuckled. He'd been wondering if Chase was off the hook yet. Apparently the answer was no.

*****

It had been a hellish day, dealing with reporters wanting to know about Edward Vogler's sudden departure from the hospital and reworking budget drafts to subtract one hundred million dollars in funds. On top of that, she'd been trying to keep the clinic running with only two doctors on staff, and deflecting consult requests for House. Damn, she was actually looking forward to his return.

A soft knock at the door and she looked up ready to bite the head off the person standing there. Ten insults and part of her bad mood slipped away when she saw Cameron standing in her doorway looking slightly nervous.

"Dr. Cameron, come in. I didn't know you were in the hospital." She stood up and waved her in, motioning to the small sofa that lined one wall as she walked around her desk to join her.

Cuddy had never been a buddy-buddy kind of boss, and Cameron had never even worked for her directly so their interaction had been limited to patients and the occasional request to relay a threat to House. However, over the past month a very small soft spot for her had formed. She'd respected Cameron's decision to resign and had suspected the real reason behind it. Even if she hadn't seen a few unguarded looks pass between them, House's worsening mood after her departure had given it away.

The attack had caused another shift in her attitude toward the younger doctor. It was impossible not to feel something when a person you'd seen and worked with on almost a daily basis for a year was wheeled past you on the verge of death, but again, seeing House's reaction to it was what really made the difference. She'd watched House spend over five years trying to disprove the phrase 'no man is an island', and seeing him actually show some emotions other than bitterness and anger had been a shock, but a welcome one. For that alone, Cameron had earned her admiration and even a sort of distant affection. She poured two cups of coffee from the pot on her filing cabinet and handed one to Cameron before sitting down across from her.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, getting the most obvious question out of the way first. It was surprising how unused to friendly conversation she was. Fifteen years scrambling her way through a sea of male colleagues could do that to a woman.

"Sore, but getting better," Cameron replied, feeling slightly out of her element. "I actually came by to talk about my bill here at the hospital. I know that probably sounds pretty stupid, but I haven't gotten one in the mail and I know it has to be large to say the least. I thought that if I talked to you I could make some sort of arrangement with the hospital. I'm not actually working right now, but--"

Cuddy held up her hand and cut her off. "It's taken care of."

Cameron stared at her, brows knit together in confusion. "What? I didn't have any insurance. How can it be taken care of?"

"Actually you did have insurance," Cuddy told her after taking a sip of too-strong coffee. "I added you back into the system the day Vogler left."

"Dr. Cuddy, I'm not an employee."

"I'm well aware of your status at the hospital. I simply continued your coverage for the next sixty days. Consider it a severance package."

Cameron had already worked out in her head exactly how much she would be able to afford per month and still be able to eat, drive, pay her student loans and keep a roof over her head. The knowledge that her plan wasn't needed came as such a relief that she almost laughed. She couldn't keep the pleased smile from spanning her face. "But wait… there are still the deductibles. They have to be at least a thousand by now."

"Also taken care of."

"By what, the Vogler parting gift?" Cameron said with a grin that could almost be called a smirk.

For a second, Cuddy considered keeping the truth to herself, but she changed her mind a moment later. House was a closed-off, sentiment-free bastard most of the time. Cameron deserved to know when he was actually being nice to her, especially if the rumors down in the diagnostics department were true.

"House," was all she said.

"Dr. House paid them?" Cameron's stomach did that rather annoying flutter and she felt a pleasant blush creeping up her neck.

"He was going to pay the whole bill, on his American Express, no less, and after I finagled you back into the system he insisted on paying everything that wasn't covered."

Cameron leaned back, a bit astonished, but feeling a sense of peaceful happiness settle in her chest. She looked across at Cuddy and tilted her head to one side. "He wouldn't want you telling me this," she said.

"You're right. He probably wouldn't. Then again, he never swore me to secrecy either," Cuddy could smirk with the best of them. She put her coffee down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Allison, I've known him for a long time. He's always been a cynical, egotistical pain in the ass, but he's a great doctor. I have no idea what is or isn't going on between you two, and since you don't even work here anymore, it really isn't any of my business. Even though he's a pain in the ass, for some screwed up reason I still think of him as a friend and I wouldn't mind seeing him a little more content." She paused and sat up straight again. "Let's just say I haven't seen him tossing his credit card around for any other women, and I'm telling you this because I know that dragging his feelings out of him is going to be like pulling teeth for you, so good luck."

Cameron could suddenly hear Chopin's Nocturne in the back of her mind, but that bit of sentimentality was something she was going to treasure and keep to herself. "Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. For everything. I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it. If you can keep him on an even keel that only makes my job easier. Now you'd better get out of here before he starts searching the hospital for you."

Another little smile. "I'm not sure he'd go to that much effort, but I did tell him I'd meet him in his office."

"Good. Try to keep him out of trouble until his suspension's up. And you know, I hear there's an opening down in his department. Sounds like that could be a good fit for you if you're still looking."

Cameron put her empty cup on the coffee table and stood up. "I don't know if I'm ready for that," she said honestly, "but I'll keep it in mind."

*****

He looked up before she even came into view and he wasn't sure if it was coincidence, or the sound of her footsteps, or that he'd had some kind of 'Cameron detector' installed in his brain without his knowledge. He couldn't remember being that conscious of another person's presence since the age of eighteen when he'd rushed to hide porn under his mattress when his mother walked by the room. And it hadn't even been the good porn.

His blinds were open for a change and he watched her walk down the hall, her stride slower than he was used to, her clothes hanging loosely on her frame. His critical eye noted every change, but he also noted two things that had gone back to normal. She didn't have her arms wrapped around herself as protection, and her eyes were looking straight ahead, clear and purposeful instead of focused on the ground. He saw it all in the five steps it took for her to walk the length of his glass-walled office to the open door.

"Fraser done poking and prodding you?" He asked as she walked into the office.

One of her shy little grins appeared, just small enough that House wasn't forced to look away. He couldn't know that it was caused more by her conversation with Dr. Cuddy than Dr. Fraser.

"He wants to see me again in two weeks, but for now I'm good to go."

That was just what House had been expecting, but hearing the words still caused a surprising amount of relief. "Good. That's good." He found himself nodding because the words "Thank God" would sound ridiculously over dramatic despite the fact that he was thinking them.

"I stopped by the lab and Foreman and Chase weren't there, and they aren't here either. Do they have a patient?"

"Cuddy has them working down in the clinic. I told Foreman I'd page him when you got back."

"Oh, I can just head down there," she replied, but she hesitated when she should have turned to walk out.

On the walk to his office she'd been having a little argument with herself over whether or not to tell him that she knew about what he'd done for her. He'd been less than receptive the last time she'd thanked him for something like that, but that didn't change the deep need she felt to show her gratitude. But was that just a selfish need on her part? Or maybe things had changed since then. Maybe now he would be more open to hearing her.

"Something wrong?"

His words made her decision for her. "No. I…" she hesitated once more before continuing on in a rush, "I stopped by Dr. Cuddy's office on the way here. I wanted to work out how to pay for everything, but she said it was already taken care of."

House feigned disinterest. "What? Ah, right. She told me she was extending your insurance."

Cameron took a step closer to his desk as she looked into his eyes. "Yes, and she told me you paid the rest."

It was easy to break her doe-eyed gaze by pushing back from his desk and standing up, exhibiting a sudden desire to get a folder from the other office. "I did," he said bluntly, never one to mince words when it came to cold, hard facts.

"I know you're not big on being thanked, but I really appreciate it. I figured I'd be living on a pretty strict budget for a while. You really didn't have to do that, and I know you probably didn't even want me to know, but now I do, so…" She was starting to ramble as she followed him through the door into the office that had once been hers.

This was wrong. Completely wrong. House turned away from the shelves and limped back across the room to stand a scant foot in front of her. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him with a questioning look on her face.

"You've got to stop this," he said and his tone was just a hair's breadth away from anger.

Cameron was completely taken aback. Of all the reactions she'd pictured, this one hadn't even been on the distant horizon. "What? What's wrong?"

"This… this little play we're acting out right now, with you the timid ingenue and me the gruff professor you're afraid will tear you apart. If that scenario is the basis for our relationship, or whatever the hell it is we're getting ourselves into, then it's never going to work."

Cameron blinked a few times and bit her lower lip, which was, she supposed, exactly what he didn't want her to do. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I can't help it… I get flustered around you sometimes. I'm afraid of how you'll react."

A short grunt from House and he took a half-step backwards, considering her words. "Word on the street is that I'm a real bastard, so you were probably right to be afraid, but do you really plan on keeping it up forever? You've put me in my place more than once this week. What changed when you walked in this office?"

"Force of habit?" She bit the bullet and decided to put the truth out in front of him. "I'm still not used to you being nice to me… not like that, and when you are, you try to brush it aside like it's nothing, or pretend it never happened. You did something that I don't think a single one of my pathetically small number of friends would do for me, so I wanted to thank you for it, and I didn't know how you'd take it. If you'll remember, you didn't really care for my gratitude earlier."

"Yeah, well that was different." It bothered him more than he was going to say that she was actually admitting that she didn't expect niceness from him. "For one thing, you worked for me then, and as your boss it was my job to do what I could to keep you employed."

"And now?"

Shit. His eyes wandered around the room, looking at anything but her face. How was he supposed to answer that without sounding like a bad romance novel? "Now you're a woman and I'm a man." Shit. "A man who-" He looked down suddenly as Cameron wrapped her arms loosely around his waist.

"Shut up," she said quietly. "I get it."

He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Good." He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "And about the money? You're welcome."

They stood holding each other quite comfortably for nearly two minutes before Cameron muttered, "I suppose that people in glass offices shouldn't hug."

"Afraid of ruining your reputation? Because being seen with you can only improve mine," House replied.

Cameron tilted her head back and waited for him to look down at her. "Definitely not afraid," she said firmly. "But I'm surprised you aren't."

A little smirk. "Oh, I'm full of surprises."

Of that she was quite certain. She was also certain that despite his words to the contrary, he wouldn't be happy if rumors about them began to circulate. Making jokes was second only to making insults in his line of defensive maneuvers. She stepped out of his embrace but held his gaze.

"I should go down to the clinic."

"Ah yes, the boys will be falling over themselves to get you a cup of coffee and a place to sit."

She rolled her eyes and gave a little laugh. "I think you overestimate their chivalry."

"I think you underestimate your womanly charms."

He turned away quickly as if to avoid the tender look he knew she would give him, but it floated across her face anyway, along with a faint blush.

"It's almost lunchtime. I could probably get one of them to drive me home if you want to stick around here and catch up on paperwork."

"Oh yeah, that's just my favorite thing to do," he replied with mock happiness. "Give me a call when you're ready to go."

"Okay. I'll call you." She paused when she got to the door. "One request."

House had walked back over to his desk. "Yes?"

"You put the top down," she said with a coy little grin.

He lowered himself to his chair and stifled the ludicrous smile that threatened to appear. When was the last time he'd had to fight to keep from smiling? He couldn't remember.

"I think that could be arranged."

Cameron was still grinning as she gave a little nod and walked out of the office and back towards the elevator. House finally let the barest shadow of that smile appear as he watched her go.

*****

The clinic was even busier than usual, and Cameron let herself fade into the background of bustling nurses and agitated parents and irritated patients. It was hard to believe that she almost missed it despite the frenetic pace and the usually boring cases. The cases in the diagnostics department were challenging and satisfying to solve, but clinic work was fulfilling in its own way. There was something to be said for ending a shift and being able to say that you'd sent twelve people out healthier than they'd arrived. She watched as Foreman came out of an exam room with a burly kid in a football uniform. The kid looked slightly peaked, but Foreman made some sort of joke and gave him a pat on the shoulder and the boy laughed and headed out towards the waiting room.

Foreman was looking around for a nurse when he spotted Cameron standing against the wall observing everything. His face broke into a grin and she gave a little wave and walked towards him, meeting up near the nurses' station.

"Hey there, Cam! House said he was gonna page me when you got done with your appointment. Damn, you look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you." He caught himself and quickly added, "No offense!"

She grinned. "None taken. I did look like something a not very discriminating cat would drag in."

He laughed. "C'mon and sit down," he said as he led her to a quieter part of the hallway with some chairs lined against the wall. "Chase is around here somewhere. I'll find him and we can take a break and get some coffee."

Cameron allowed herself to be led to the chairs and laughed inwardly. House had them so pegged. "Looks like it's pretty busy around here. You sure you have the time?"

"What, this? Trust me, they can wait. And frankly if we disappear for a few minutes maybe they'll finish throwing up and I won't have to switch lab coats again." He waited until she was sitting and then gave her shoulder a squeeze, saying, "Sit tight," before heading back towards the waiting room.

He was back within five minutes, with Chase right behind him, and Cameron stood up as they came into view. They were both smiling and looked pleased to see her and she had to admit that it felt nice to be missed.

"Allison, I was going to call you. How are you doing? Dr. Wilson told us that they caught the-"

"They did," Cameron said, cutting Chase off before he could finish his sentence. It was a subject she really didn't want to talk about.

Chase might have pressed the point, but Foreman read her body language and broke the momentary silence with, "Quick, let's get to the elevator before one of the nurses spots us."

A few minutes later and they were seated out on the patio, with coffee in their hands and the warm sun filtering through the potted trees. Another silence had fallen and they looked at each other, both men with questions on their minds, and Cameron half-dreading what they might ask.

"Now that Vogler's gone, there's a rumor that you might be coming back," Foreman was the one to break the silence again.

Cameron took a sip of coffee while she formed an answer in her head. It was still too hot, and burned her tongue. "I'm glad he's out of your hair, but I'm not really sure what I'm going to do. I'm not supposed to work for another couple of weeks anyway."

"And does your indecision have to do with House?" Chase asked with just a hint of bitterness. "Because that's another rumor that's been going around."

She felt herself blushing, and Foreman glared at the other doctor.

"Chase, what the fuck?"

"Hey, I'm just asking! He's the one who's been taking care of you, isn't he? Because suspension or not, he'd be all over the hospital if he didn't have someplace else he'd rather be."

Foreman was still glaring at him, and Cameron wasn't sure what her expression looked like but she guessed it was something between wariness and shame despite the fact that she didn't think she had anything to be ashamed about.

"Yes, he's been checking in on me. I didn't want to spend the money on a visiting nurse and since he's been off he decided to take the job on himself."

"And?"

"Chase, shut up already!"

Cameron felt the shame slipping away, to be replaced by indignation. "And, I don't think the rest is any of your business."

Foreman looked smugly pleased at her answer, and Chase rolled his eyes and leaned back, drinking a mouthful of coffee and wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

"He's just going to take advantage of you. You know that, right?"

"She's a big girl, I guess she can take care of herself," Foreman snapped, surprised to find himself actually defending whatever was growing between his boss and his friend.

A grateful smile was sent Foreman's way before Cameron turned to Chase and stared him down. "I know what I'm getting myself into, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't treat my life like a soap opera."

"He's twice your age," Chase said incredulously, feeling some need to get in one more jibe.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Actually, he's not, and anyway, you're half my age in maturity, so what's your point?"

Foreman let out a bark of laughter. "She's got you there, man."

Chase just rolled his eyes again and took another sip of coffee. Cameron decided to just ignore him. He hadn't always been like this, and maybe he'd go back to his old self eventually, but she didn't have the energy or the inclination to deal with him the way he was now. Foreman launched into the story of Vogler's departure, which she'd heard about only through House's brief mention, and she concentrated on him, letting herself feel a part of the group again. It was something she had missed since her resignation.

When Foreman trailed off in the middle of another story, she looked at him and Chase quizzically, then looked up as a warm hand settled on her shoulder. House was standing there, but his eyes were fixed on the other two doctors.

"The nurses down in the clinic are about to send a search party after you two, and I hear the instructions are to shoot first and ask questions later. Apparently they're tired of dealing with the mob in the waiting room."

"Shit." Foreman looked down at his watch. "I guess our break is over." He stood up and nodded at House before giving Cameron a warm smile. "I'll call you and see how you're doing. Drop by for lunch when you're feeling up to it."

"I will."

"Take care of yourself, Allison," Chase said, not looking at his boss at all.

"Thanks. You too." She couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness that things had turned so strange between them.

When they had gone, Cameron reached up and lightly touched House's fingers as she looked up at him again. "You know, I think you just increased production at the rumor mill."

"And yet strangely, I don't give a shit," he smirked, as he reached down to give her a hand up despite the fact that she didn't really need such assistance. "Anyway," he continued as they walked inside, "they've had bets riding for weeks. With any luck Chase now owes Foreman some money."

 

Chapter 13

House kept his promise and put the top down in the convertible as soon as he started the engine. Then he watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the stress that had kept Cameron tight as a bowstring while they were in the hospital gradually melted away the further they got from the parking garage. The wind caught her long hair and sent it swirling around her and she even smiled and allowed a small, joyful laugh to bubble up out of her chest.

"Having fun?" House asked, keeping his own grin in check but enjoying her reaction nonetheless.

She turned to him, still smiling. "Yes. I don't think I've been in a convertible since I was in high school, and it was definitely not as cool as this one."

"Yes, well this is a regular chick magnet," House replied drolly. "Or at least that's what Wilson keeps telling me."

Cameron raised one eyebrow and turned to him, her expression mischievous. "Funny, I would have thought he'd call it a pussy wagon," she commented, and then turned back to the road while House stifled his shocked expression and his chuckle.

"Keep that up and I'll drive us right off the road."

She merely grinned and kept her eyes facing forward.

They stopped at the video store to fulfill House's other promise, and Cameron rented not only 'TombRaider' but 'TombRaider2' as well. The rest of the drive home consisted of a debate as to which was the superior film. Cameron called it a draw. House insisted he had won. Neither of them mentioned hospitals or police stations or pain medications, but pizza was discussed and ordered.

Credits rolled on the last movie at just after seven, and House stretched and levered himself off the sofa. He had started out in the chair, but somehow, between pizza and popcorn and bathroom breaks he had ended up next to Cameron with his arm once again draped casually over her shoulder. She missed its warmth when he stood up.

"You should eat something else."

She grimaced. "I'm full of popcorn," she protested.

He let his eyes roam over her body and she felt herself getting uncomfortably warm under his gaze. "You're losing weight."

"Surgery will do that to you," she shot back, slightly annoyed.

"So will not eating right."

"You're the one who suggested pizza."

"That was lunch. Now I'm suggesting dinner."

Cameron wanted to laugh. This back and forth bantering could go on all night. "I'm full and I'm not eating anything else," she announced, effectively ending the argument.

House stared at her as if he could change her mind with just his eyes. Normally he could, but not this time. "Fine. Don't come crying to me when you're malnourished."

"Don't worry. I won't. I'll go crying to Dr. Wilson."

There was a gleam of playfulness in her eyes, and on her face, and suddenly House wanted to reach down and pull her up and into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Instead he said, "It's getting late. I should go and give you a chance to rest."

All playfulness left her and she pushed herself off the sofa as House turned his back on her. Step-thump. Step-thump. Step-thump. And he was at the door. She caught up to him and put her hand over his on the doorknob.

"Don't be angry," she said softly. "I was only kidding."

He looked down at her, wondering how she could be so mistaken about his feelings when normally she saw right through him. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

"Trust me. I'm definitely not angry," he said.

That was when she saw the burning light in his eyes and she took in a quick breath. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

A blush was definitely creeping up her neck but for once she didn't mind. "Kiss me," she said, and it wasn't a request.

His brain was telling him not to but his baser instincts won. He separated their hands so that he could run his fingers through her hair, brushing it back until his hand rested at the back of her head. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him and he memorized that look for future reference. Then his mouth was descending and his hand was supporting her head and her eyes were slipping closed on a sigh. Her lips were soft and so yielding and he had to taste them, just once, and his tongue slid out as she opened her mouth to welcome him in.

At some point, one of her hands found its way to his shoulder while the other covered his on the handle of his cane. Her knees were feeling weak and she needed the support as much as he did. The taste of him, the heat and the power and the wonderful feel of his mouth on hers was making her forget all of her earlier self-consciousness. A slight sound, almost but not quite a moan, came from her lips and House took a deep breath and gently pulled away.

He looked down at her, and she looked up at him, and they both caught their breaths and regained their footing.

"I need to go."

She nodded. "You'll call tomorrow?"

His hand trailed down her arm. "I'll come over at noon. I'll bring lunch."

A little smirk. "Make it something healthy. I hear I'm not eating well enough."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied and then he was opening the door and she was standing in the doorway watching him limp down the narrow staircase and out. He didn't look back, but she didn't expect him to.

The rest of the week followed a pleasant routine that was neither discussed nor agreed upon. House would go to the hospital in the morning, putter around, annoy the nurses, harangue Cuddy, Foreman and Chase, chat with Wilson, and then leave the parking garage by no later than noon. The rest of the day belonged to Cameron and even though he would never admit it, he was surprised at how well they fit together.

She had a dry wit that he had only seen the barest edges of at the hospital. Her sly one-liners were usually timed for when he had a mouth full of either food or drink and had to fight to keep from choking or spitting it across the room. She also knew when to be quiet. That was key. Sitting in companionable silence, reading or watching television, or doing crosswords from the enormous book Foreman had sent over, were some of their most pleasant hours.

Evenings were slightly harder. House was never sure if he should stay for dinner or not, but most often he ended up staying. Something about evening and its proximity to night and therefore bed-time, made both of them more keenly aware of one another in a physical way. Inevitably the night would end with a kiss at her door, neither ready for more, but neither capable of telling the other exactly why.

House was surprised when the phone rang on the second night and he heard Cameron's ragged voice on the other end. He had been dozing on his sofa, as usual, and was half-way to the door when she told him that she was all right. She was fine. She had just had a nightmare. She had just needed to hear his voice, and remember, he had told her that it was okay for her to call. He told her that he remembered, and then he played her back to sleep.

*****

Wilson entered the office and immediately took his place in the easy chair. "So, first day back and already a difficult patient. After two weeks off you must be relieved to jump right in."

House shrugged. "Yeah, nothing like people on the verge of death to really get the ol' blood pumping."

His friend laughed. "Nice try, but I know you. You love this. It's like the thrill of the hunt. Not to mention it gives you a chance to bark orders at whoever happens to get in your way. In fact, it seems like things are just about perfect except…"

"Don't."

Wilson ignored him. "Except for the notable absence of a certain immunologist."

House rolled his eyes and turned away. "You know damn well she isn't cleared to work yet."

"And if she was?"

"If she was, she still wouldn't be working here," House said bluntly.

A slightly confused look and then, "I thought you wanted her to come back."

"I do. She doesn't know if that's what she wants and this is one time badgering her won't work."

Wilson drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh. "But she hasn't taken anything else yet?"

House slowly reached inside his jacket and pulled out three rather battered looking envelopes.

"You stole her mail?" he asked incredulously. "Yeah, that's a good way to start the relationship."

"Borrowed. For an indefinite amount of time." Shit. He'd been counting on Wilson to back him up. He'd felt like crap ever since pulling the letters out of Cameron's mail on the way up her front stairs two nights earlier. The return addresses were prominent doctors at other hospitals. One was from another hospital in the area, but the other two were from Boston.

Wilson stood up and walked to the desk, taking the letters from House. He glanced at them briefly and looked up. "Greg, she must have sent out her CV over a month ago. Before everything happened." He didn't know why, but he had trouble referring to Cameron's attack directly. "You don't think she'd seriously consider moving now, do you?"

No, he didn't. Maybe that was part of the problem. He could fake a weak ego and say he feared losing her, but that wasn't the truth. He knew she wouldn't go anywhere now that they were on the edge, the teetering precipice, of actually turning their newly comfortable, if still strange, relationship into something deeper. She wouldn't leave him now, and that scared the shit out of him. It was all totally up to him. He would have to forcibly push her away if he wanted her out of his life, and the most frightening part of all was that he didn't want that.

House noticed that Wilson was staring at him and settled his eyes on him. "No," he remembered the original question and finally answered it.

"Didn't want her to see what she's missing, then?" Wilson dropped the letters on the desk and grinned as he shook his head. "You really are in deep. Greg House, committing petty larceny for reasons unknown even to him."

A jeering grin appeared on House's face. "Yes, ha ha. Very amusing."

The satisfied smile faded a bit as Wilson retook his seat. "You don't like having this much control over her, do you?" he said, more a statement of fact than an actual question.

"She's her own person. I don't have any control over her," House scoffed, picking up the letters and putting them back into his pocket.

"Right. The fact that you know she won't leave doesn't indicate any attempt at control on your part at all."

"But I'm not keeping her from doing whatever she wants to do."

"You have her letters."

House turned away again. "Fine. I'm controlling and I don't like it."

"There's something else though, isn't there?" Wilson prodded. "I know you. I can tell."

A moment of silence before House spoke again. "If she saw those letters she'd ask my opinion. She'd want me to tell her not to go."

"And you'd tell her to leave."

Damn, Wilson really did know him. He remained silent and turned on his game.

"You know what, though?" Wilson asked rhetorically as he stood up. "She wouldn't go even if you told her to because she knows you now." He chuckled a bit. "That's why you're in trouble."

*****

Four o'clock and he hadn't talked to her all day. She hadn't called, which didn't surprise him. She only called late at night, and after that first night they never spoke about those calls again. He tried to put the fact that he'd never played the same piece twice, down to coincidence, and not a subtle need to show-off his repertoire.

He flipped his cell-phone open, closed it, then opened it again. Checked his messages. None. Changed the ringtone to 'Paradise by the Dashboard Lights'. Changed the background image to a picture of a red corvette. Finally he pressed her number on the speed dial.

"Hello?"

She sounded like she'd just woken up from a nap. Good. She was supposed to be resting.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Cameron almost laughed. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. I thought it was fairly simple," he said flatly.

She blinked a few times, surprised at his tone. "Umm… nothing. I'm not doing anything. You know that."

Of course he knew it. That was beside the point. "Would you like to go out? I thought dinner would be good… nice."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Does it sound like it?"

"Yes."

"Then you have your answer."

A smile spread across her face. "But we've already been spending almost every evening together. You don't have to be so formal all of a sudden."

"Maybe I want to be. You mentioned dating like normal people. It's been a while but I'm pretty sure this is still how it's done."

She blinked again. "Oh. Okay. Then yes. Yes, I'm free, I mean. I'd love to go out to dinner. With you."

"Good." He relaxed his grip on the phone. Damn, why was he nervous? It was pretty damn obvious that she was a sure thing. "I'm working late tonight so I won't see you until tomorrow. I'll pick you up at seven."

Right. He was working. Apparently that meant that their comfortable, unwritten routine was ending. A small knot of sadness settled in her chest. She was going to miss it.

"Seven?" he repeated.

"I'll be ready."

 

Chapter 14

House woke the next morning feeling slightly grumpy and he realized that it was partly because she hadn't called him. Her calls weren't an every night occurrence, but after not seeing her all day, he had missed hearing her voice before going to sleep. Damn, could he be any more selfish? Here he was wishing she had called when he knew that she only called after a nightmare left her trembling and unable to go back to sleep. If he'd wanted to hear her voice that badly he should have picked up the damn phone himself. Great. Just great. Their date was less than fourteen hours away and he was in an even worse mood than usual. Wilson would tell him it was nerves. So he wouldn't ask for Wilson's opinion.

He swept the sheets back and grabbed for his pills, popping one in his mouth as he got out of bed. His leg was killing him, but lying in bed waiting for the pain to pass wasn't as enjoyable alone. Shower, comb, cologne. He was done in the bathroom in just under fifteen minutes. He spent the next thirty staring into his closet.

In his head he was cursing himself for making seven-thirty reservations. There was no way he'd have time to change after work and he was going to have to wear a suit to the hospital. Maybe this was just a mistake. Maybe he should call back and tell her he'd be bringing over take-out. Cameron had said he didn't have to be so formal.

Of course she said that. She always said whatever she thought would make him more comfortable. He grabbed the dark navy suit and tossed it on the bed. Well for once, he was going to do something for her. He could suffer through feeling slightly out of place for one night.

At least the pants were comfortable. He pulled on a pale blue dress shirt and shoved a tie into the jacket pocket. He could put those on in the office just before he went to pick her up. Now he just had to hope that no one noticed that his shirt was neatly pressed and his pants had a crease you could slice butter on. Maybe he'd actually wear his lab coat for the day.

His lone pair of dress shoes rested at the back of his closet and his curses made their way from his head to his mouth as he bent over to get them, striking his forehead on the overhead rod in the process. They were quickly tossed into his old gym bag, and then the suit jacket was folded carefully and laid on top. With any luck they wouldn't end up smelling of sweaty socks by the end of the day.

One last look around his bedroom and he glanced at himself in the mirror. Hair combed. Shirt buttoned. Stubble still in evidence but lighter than normal. The creases around his eyes didn't seem as noticeable this morning, but there was no mistaking that he was a man quickly approaching middle age if he hadn't already reached it. Face a bit too long. Eyes startlingly blue, but almost too big. Cheeks slightly hollow from years of living more on adrenaline, scotch and vicodin, than food. Was this what Cameron saw when she looked at him? Was this what she wanted?

The muscle in his jaw twitched and he turned away. He didn't have time to stroke his own ego into believing he was worthy. That would take the better part of a week. Probably longer. Cameron wasn't a child and she'd made her wishes abundantly clear. He wasn't going to start questioning them again now.

*****

A puff of steam followed Cameron out of the bathroom as she wandered across the hall, towel wrapped around her hair, robe wrapped around her body. It felt wonderful to be clean and still damp from the shower. Every day she was able to move a little more freely, and being able to wash and dry her hair with only a few twinges of pain felt like a major milestone. A contented little sigh rose from her chest and she couldn't stop grinning despite the nervous flutter that kept invading her belly.

She slipped into a black lace bra and matching panties, not looking down as she fastened the bra and pulled up the straps. She knew what she'd see and she didn't want to think about it. She wanted to hold onto the feeling of happiness that had settled over her.

The decision to wear her favorite black dress had been made that morning. It was dressy but not stuffy; short skirt, v-neckline, cap sleeves inset with black lace. She'd wear her mother's earrings and let her hair dry with its natural wave. The dress hadn't been worn for a long time, but she found it easily and slipped it over her head. Delicate fingers smoothed the silk skirt and she gave a little twirl and then froze.

Her reflection stared back at her from the oval mirror and she felt like she was watching someone else raise a shaking hand to the scar that started four inches above the neckline of the dress. She couldn't undress fast enough, fumbling with the zipper and then throwing the black silk on the bed as if it burned. Quick steps and she was at the closet, biting her lip as she started flipping through the rest of the clothes. Another rush of motion and she was at her dresser, opening drawers and pulling out anything she could find.

Almost an hour later found her standing in front of her mirror, clad in only her bra and panties, arms hanging limply at her sides. A pile of discarded clothing lay behind her on the bed. Her eyes were burning but she wouldn't let any tears fall. She had to look. This was her body now and she had to look. She ran a finger up the long scar, feeling every uneven bump. Yes, it would fade in time, but how long? Five years? Ten? Even with plastic surgery there would be a long healing period. By the time it was gone, would she even care? She was already thirty. Thirty years old and she couldn't wear a bikini anymore, or any bathing suit at all, for that matter. She couldn't wear a tank-top or a low-cut blouse. She couldn't even wear her favorite dress.

The tears came then and she couldn't stop them even though she was furious with herself. She dug her nails into her palms and collapsed onto the bed, surrounded by the clothes she didn't even want to look at. She wept as she screamed at herself in her mind, calling herself every disparaging name she could think of; selfish, vain, ungrateful, stupid, petty, childish. Yes, she was a stupid, stupid child. What the hell was wrong with her? She was alive and all she could do was cry because she wasn't beautiful anymore. Beautiful. She had never called herself that out loud, but she had always known. She wasn't one of those women who constantly berated themselves just so that others would praise them. People had called her beautiful and she had just thanked them and moved on, never dwelling on it, always feeling prouder of the accomplishments she had worked for than the looks she'd been born with. Beautiful. She wouldn't have to worry about deflecting that compliment anymore.

Her breath came in quiet, desperate gasps, gradually slowing and evening out as her mind moved on from anger at her unsuspected vanity to disgust at her stupid selfishness. Why couldn't she just be happy that she was still alive? Happy that she wasn't even more injured? Happy that the man she had been quietly pursuing was finally reciprocating her feelings? A long, shuddering breath and she knew that the thought of finally being with House was one of the reasons she was so devastated. She wasn't some high-school girl, and she had never fantasized about them being together, but deep in her heart she knew that she'd had longed-for expectations, no more than wispy thoughts and hazy images, but they were there. And in none of them did she feel the need to hide herself from his gaze.

Was this how he felt about his leg? Did he worry how she would react? No matter what it looked like, she wouldn't care. Why couldn't she make herself believe that his reaction to her would be the same? He, more than anyone, would be able to understand how it felt to be scarred. The answer prodded at the corners of her mind. She had always known he was damaged and she had fallen for him anyway. She had no idea if his feelings were based at least in part on a perfect, unblemished version of herself. A self that no longer existed.

But he had seen her scar. Hell, he had seen everything, and he was still with her, caring for her, spending time with her, nervously asking her out on a date. Soft fingertips traced the dark pink line again. She knew in that moment that it wasn't just a fear of rejection that made her stomach roil at the though of him seeing her. It was also the little part of her heart that had envisioned being beautiful. For him.

Cameron wiped a hand across her eyes and turned to look at the clock. She had two hours before House was going to pick her up. She closed her eyes slowly. Maybe she should just cancel. She could say she wasn't feeling well. No. That would just make him come over faster, and besides, it wouldn't be fair to him. He was trying so hard, and she knew he was only doing it for her.

Sitting up, she braced her hands against the bed and gazed towards the closet. There had to be something in there that would cover her chest completely and still look acceptable. She pushed herself to her feet and walked the few steps to the corner, then slowly started looking again. Two hours. Two hours to find something and then make herself look like she hadn't spent twenty minutes crying.

*****

Six-twenty. Thank God their patient was finally starting to show some improvement. He had just enough time to make himself look presentable before heading to Cameron's apartment. Foreman and Chase were down in the lab running last minute blood tests so they wouldn't even see him leave. They'd both given him a few strange looks throughout the day. Foreman's had been more questioning while Chase's had been decidedly petulant. If Chase didn't start growing up he was going to find himself on the receiving end of a well aimed cane.

He pulled his bag out from under his desk and unzipped it; taking out the jacket, he draped it over his chair and dropped the shoes onto the floor. The jacket fit well and he moved his arms back and forth, getting used to the feel. He was sitting in his chair tying his shoelaces when Wilson walked in. Damn.

"Hey, I thought you might be interested in getting a drink," he asked, then did a slight double-take. "Well, well, well. What have we here?"

"What's wrong? Did you think you had the market cornered on the GQ look," House quipped.

Wilson laughed. "You. In a suit. Should I be looking for a pod somewhere, because I think I'm in the middle of 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers'."

"You really should take your show on the road," House said as he pulled the tie out of his pocket and started threading it under his collar.

"Sorry. Sorry," Wilson replied, with a grin still firmly etched on his face. "I take it that you and Cameron are going out someplace?"

"Got it in one, Watson."

"Well you do look awfully pretty."

House glared at him and continued to work on his tie.

"So where are you taking her?"

"Why, you looking to double date with the chemo nurse?"

"Come on, Greg."

Around the tree, down the hole, House finished tying his tie and leaned back in his chair. "Lahier's," House replied, naming one of the most expensive restaurants in Princeton. "Then a walk down by the river and over to Giamano's for the late show. They have a jazz band playing there."

Wilson's eyes grew larger as he listened to House's plans. He let out a little chuckle, more at the rather resigned look on House's face than at the clearly well-thought out itinerary. "I know there's a difference in your ages, but you don't have to make it so blatantly obvious by using every dating tip from a 1950's issue of Playboy. What next? Flowers and candy? Kind of lame, don't you think? Of course we already know she likes lame," he said with a friendly little wink.

"It's supposed to be a nice date. You know. The opposite of what you do with your little paramours," House retorted, not mentioning that he had been pondering where the closest florist was.

The teasing expression on Wilson's face softened to one of sincere happiness. "I know," he said as he leaned across the desk and straightened House's tie. "She'll love it."

House looked slightly doubtful. "You think?"

"Greg, I think you could take her to the local Burger King and she'd be thrilled."

A little smirk. "Yeah, I thought about going there, but I don't want to overwhelm her on the first date."

*****

The dress was a pale blue-grey with fine silver filaments woven into the cloth, ensuring that it would shimmer in sun or candlelight. It was sleeveless, with a high, barely scooped neckline but Cameron still kept touching her silk-covered chest to assure herself that nothing showed. The skirt on this dress was longer, less playful, flowing straight to her ankles with a slit running back up to her knee. She had only worn it once before, and she felt much dressier than she had planned. Her stomach rolled and she hoped that he wouldn't think she was overdressed. She knew that if he teased her, even in a lighthearted way, there wouldn't be enough resolve in the world to keep her from bursting into tears.

It was quarter to seven when she stepped out of her apartment and started down the stairs. There was no sense making him walk all the way up to her door when she could easily wait on the front porch. She had also been going crazy pacing her living room and thought that the fresh air would help to calm her nerves.

There was a solitary wicker chair in the corner, and she dusted a stray leaf off the seat and sat down, clasping her hands in her lap on top of her handbag. Almost immediately her fingers started picking at the silver trim on the bag. This wasn't working. She had to calm down and forget everything that had flooded her mind that afternoon. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

The evening air was still warm and a lilting breeze played with the ends of her hair, brushing it back and forth over her shoulders and back. Another breath. He was expecting her to be happy, not moody, and she definitely didn't want to answer any questions that a sad expression might inspire. One more breath and she pulled her earlier feelings of hope back around her like a comforting cloak. She wasn't going to let her own insecurities ruin this night. She planned on being able to look back on it and smile. After another minute of quiet the heaviness in her chest began to lift. Her one remaining fear was that House would want to take their relationship to a more physical level but realistically, she knew those fears were groundless. Technically this was just their first date, and he would never push her.

A very distinctive roaring sound suddenly filled her ears and she opened her eyes in time to see the red corvette pulling into the driveway. The fluttering feeling was back, but this time she didn't mind it. Rising to her feet, she watched as he got out of the car, and even from a distance their eyes met and held for a timeless moment.

When House saw her stand up he was shocked to feel his heart suddenly speed up, and he got out of the car praying that he didn't look like the broken-down cripple he suddenly felt like. Automatically, his eyes sought out hers, and the tender expression on her face instantly scattered his personal doubts. He swallowed hard, and walked down the path, keeping his eyes trained on her slender form. As he drew nearer his eyes roamed over her body, taking in everything about her from her low, delicate shoes to her enormous eyes, which had never looked bluer.

Standing on the top step, her face was level with his and he simply had to lean forward and kiss her. His lips were soft against the corner of her mouth, not fully kissing her because he knew if he did they would definitely miss their dinner reservations. When the kiss ended he rested his cheek against hers, letting her warmth flow into him for just an instant before pulling away.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand. "You look… beautiful," he said as she slipped her hand into his and stepped down from the porch.

He completely missed the sudden catch in her breath at his words. His heart was pounding in his ears and that was all he could hear.

For a second Cameron couldn't speak but she looked up at him with one of her shy, pleased smiles. "And you look very handsome," she finally replied.

When they got to the car, he released her hand, opened her door for her, and then waited until she was completely settled before shutting it. Limping around to his side gave him the few seconds he needed to gather himself back together again and stop feeling like an overwhelmed middle-aged gimp who was dating the most beautiful doctor in Princeton, despite the fact that he was.

The car rumbled to life and the soft strains of a piano concerto filled the air.

Cameron raised one eyebrow and smirked at him. "What, no classic rock?"

House smirked right back and hit a button on the dash. A brief shuffling sound and the strident chords of a Who rock ballad blared from the speakers.

"That more what you were expecting?" he asked as he put the car in gear and pulled out of the driveway.

"With you I'm never quite sure what to expect anymore," she replied honestly.

"Well, I wouldn't want to be too predictable."

She grinned at him. "Considering the fact that you're wearing a suit and taking me out on a date, I'd say there's no chance of that happening any time soon." She felt herself growing more relaxed as their usual bantering style took over.

Unfortunately it didn't last long. The longer they drove, the quieter House got, until he was only muttering his replies. They drove the last five minutes in silence. He knew that the sudden tension was his fault but he couldn't seem to do anything about it. His mind was wandering through a minefield of doubts, from his choice of tie, to his restaurant selection, to his decision based on Wilson's teasing comments.

He pulled up in front of the restaurant, rolled down his window and passed a five to the valet. "No joyrides," he said as he sized up the kid who was about to take control of his precious, and still relatively new, car.

He rolled his eyes when the kid gunned the engine before driving around the corner to the parking lot. When he looked back towards the restaurant Cameron was standing there with a little smile on her face and one delicate brow arched upwards.

"I'm sure he won't hurt it… much."

"He'd better not." House said as he joined her on the sidewalk and they walked to the door side by side, but not touching.

There was a man at the door waiting to open it for them and they passed through into the dimly lit but lavishly appointed restaurant. House gave his name and the maitre'd smiled, nodded and introduced them to a serious and eager looking man who was going to be their waiter. Cameron followed the waiter and House followed Cameron, feeling older and more out of place with each passing second.

Ahead of him, Cameron's hips swayed gently as she walked, her hair a silken fall over her back. He could imagine that her eyes were sparkling. He was sure that she was smiling. And here he was, trailing behind looking like her elderly uncle or something. Is that what people thought when they saw them? Not that he ever gave a fuck what anyone thought, but what about her? Shit. He was doing it again. He was trying to dissect her motivations when she'd already laid them all out for him. Damn it. He was happy when he was with her, and he knew she was happy too, so why he couldn't be happy with her in a stupid expensive restaurant like she deserved?

They were seated at last, at a table near the middle of the room with candles and flowers in the center and decoratively folded napkins at their places. Menus were passed out, wine ordered, and then House and Cameron sat in silence, neither sure what to say to break the uncomfortable tension that had formed a bubble over them.

Cameron toyed with the stem of her water glass as she looked around the restaurant, trying to think of things to say. When they were alone in her apartment they were never at a loss for words, especially him. Now he was sitting with his face buried in his menu, apparently reading each and every word.

She had always been an observer, shyer than she had any reason to be, and often on the sidelines; an audience of one to the dramas of other people's lives. It was easy to fall back into that role as she wondered how long the elderly couple in the corner had been married, and then she watched as a ramrod straight waiter walked over to a table a short distance from theirs. He pulled a rose from behind his back and handed it to the woman seated there, who immediately broke into a smile while her companion thanked the waiter and sent him on his way.

A wistful look passed over Cameron's face as she watched the couple kiss across the table, and House looked up to see her watching them.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low as he reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "I thought about getting you flowers, or something… candy… jewelry… iPod…" he trailed off when he noticed that she looked like she was about to cry; not sad tears, but the happy ones he'd only seen in sappy movies and soap operas.

She turned her hand in his so that they were holding hands on the tabletop, in plain view of anyone who cared to look. She tightened her hold on his fingers and let the corner of her mouth curl upwards.

"This is all I want," she said as she squeezed his hand again. "I don't need anything else."

Suddenly House didn't feel old, or unattractive, or even awkward. He wasn't ready to go join the Optimists of America either, but he gave Cameron a crooked smile and reached over to cup her cheek in his other hand for just a moment.

"Let's get out of here," she said abruptly.

"What?"

"Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. You're not comfortable here, and that makes me uncomfortable. Let's find someplace where we don't have to try so hard."

"This is supposed to be a date," he said stubbornly, "not a scavenger hunt."

"We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves, and that's not happening here." She was already on her feet and House pushed himself up from his chair.

"Are you certain? I'll put on my happiest face if you want to stay."

Cameron shook her head lightly. "Nope. I want to go somewhere you don't have to put on a happy face. I'm so touched that you did this, but I'm not interested in you giving me your idea of what you think I must want. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

House pulled a fifty dollar bill out of his wallet and dropped it on the table. "Apparently I'm a slow study," he quipped, and then he took hold of her hand and headed for the door.

 

Chapter 15

The valet looked surprised and a little perturbed to be asked to retrieve the corvette he'd parked less than fifteen minutes earlier, but a twenty pressed into his palm relieved most of the annoyance. He came squealing around the block, oblivious to the limping man's grimace and the beautiful woman's suppressed grin.

"He didn't do anything to it," Cameron said, with amusement, as they drove away from the restaurant.

House's eyes had been checking every gauge and indicator since entering the car. He threw a sidelong glance her way as he replied, "That remains to be seen."

Her soft laugh brought his attention away from the car, and he glanced at her again, enjoying the look of contentment that graced her features. He turned back to the road and drummed his fingers on the wheel. Where was he going? He had no idea, but he kept driving.

"Pull in here," her voice broke into his thoughts.

"What? Where?" He was already turning in the direction of her pointing index finger. He looked up and squinted at the sign perched on the roof of the building. "Denny's?" Through the windows he saw that the restaurant was practically empty.

She shrugged. "It's food, isn't it? Besides, I like Denny's." She grinned. "Breakfast twenty-four hours a day."

House just stared at her for a minute, but then he shook his head and actually laughed.

If there was anything incongruous about a woman in a silk gown, and a man in a stylish suit walking into a Denny's in downtown Princeton, the wait-staff pretended not to notice. Or at least they pretended not to notice within sight of the couple. Behind the swinging door in the kitchen, the three teenage waitresses and two middle-aged cooks took turns concocting elaborate stories as to who they were and what they were doing there. The youngest waitress insisted that they had to be spies of some sort. The oldest cook just rolled his eyes. He knew an affair when he saw one, and he hoped the woman's husband didn't come barging through the door. Seated at their vinyl-upholstered booth, with ketchup and a laminated desert menu for decoration, House and Cameron were blissfully unaware of the controversy.

Despite her earlier comment about breakfast, Cameron ended up getting the fried chicken, and House got a hamburger almost as big as the plate it was served on. A mild disagreement broke out when Cameron persisted in stealing his french fries after he put up a hand to protectively hoard them. It was settled when Cameron gave her most pleading look and promised to pay him back later. Damn. He'd always been able to resist that look.

With no one around to watch them, and no expectations to be met, House found himself relaxing more and more as the meal went on. Cameron talked about her family, and he only gave one smirk at the discovery that she had grown up on a farm. House talked about his college and med-school days, and she knew not to press him about anything earlier than that.

When the dessert plates were cleared away and only their coffees remained, Cameron was full, and happy, and perfectly content. She looked across at House, attempting to guess how he was feeling about everything, but coming up blank.

"Not exactly what you had planned," she said with a lop-sided grin, hoping to draw him out.

House shook his head. "Not exactly."

"I've had a really good time," she told him, all at once shy under the combination of the harsh overhead lights and his piercing blue eyes.

"I did have one other thing planned for tonight," House said, as he folded and refolded the receipt before tucking it into his wallet.

Cameron looked up, surprised but expectant. "You did?"

"If you're not too tired."

She shook her head. "I'm not."

House stood up and avoided her gaze. She was smiling too much again. "Good. Then grab your bag. We can just make it."

He gave her only a moment to collect herself before heading towards the door. Cameron followed right behind, schooling her expression to one of polite detachment. Eventually he was going to have to get used to seeing her happy, because hiding her full emotions was beginning to get more and more difficult.

Night had taken over, and the city lights gave form to office buildings and the shopping district, with the twinkling illumination from a suspension bridge a distant landmark. He drove out of the center of Princeton and towards the east side, nearer to the river. Shifting in and out of gear, slipping between cars and around corners; Cameron had to admit that House was a masterful driver. He didn't even seem aware of his injured leg as he used it on the gas and brake.

A few more turns and he pulled into a nearly full parking lot, bypassing the handicapped spot and finding one close to the end of the lot. Cameron had never noticed that he didn't have a handicapped plate. It had actually never been a thought in her mind until that moment. Despite his limp, she just didn't see him that way, and obviously he didn't see himself that way either.

She got out of the car, shoes crunching on the gritty asphalt. House locked the car and joined her, and she was only a little startled when he slipped his hand around the crook of her elbow. Her eyes moved to it instantly, taking in the sight of his large hand against her pale, soft skin. He was looking at the building, never breaking stride, as if taking her arm was simply the normal course of action. She forced her smile to be an inward one.

Above the door, a blue neon sign glowed brightly, Giamano's, in a loose cursive script. There were no other signs, no windows, just a low brick building with music audible even from the street. House held the door open and Cameron walked in, immediately assaulted by the smell of smoke, and the sound of jazz. Through a velvet-curtained doorway she could see a few dozen tables spaced closely together, and most filled with people. There was a raised stage along the back wall and a long, bar, packed with the less boisterous, more serious drinkers, along the back. Tubes of blue neon formed art deco images on the walls and red glass candleholders dotted every table. She looked around, not sure where to go, but then House was back at her side and he nodded at a man dressed in a ridiculously expensive suit, and led her to a small round table near the stage.

They had only been seated for a moment when a waiter appeared with a scotch on the rocks for House and a questioning glance for Cameron. She ordered a vodka martini and then cast her own questioning look at House.

"Do you come here often?"

Scotch burned a familiar path down his throat as he shrugged. "Often enough."

She cocked her head to the side and peered into his eyes, a tiny smile playing about her lips. "Have you ever brought anyone else here? It was a stupid question and she regretted it almost as soon as she asked it, but it was too late. The words were already in the air between them.

He stared back at her, expression serious. "Only Wilson and I don't think he counts since it wasn't a date."

Cameron blushed and looked down at the table, concentrating on the flickering candle. Stupid question. She felt like a child.

House contemplated her self-conscious expression as he took another drink of scotch. He set the glass down, swirling it slightly and feeling, more than hearing, the ice clink against the sides. Leaning slightly forward, he stared at the same flame she was watching.

"You seem to be under the mistaken impression that hidden beneath this scruffy exterior is some kind of lady's man," he said. "Maybe someone who picks up random women and has his way with them."

Her head shot up, the look in her eyes shocked and anxious. "No! I don't think that at all," she said quickly, suddenly remembering the mocking conversation between Foreman and Chase as they guessed at how many hookers House had slept with. She had wanted to slap them but all she'd done was laugh nervously and try to distract them.

"Two," House said simply. "That's how many in the past five years."

She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

"Oh, and I didn't have to pay them and they didn't come as a set. But you don't have to tell that to Foreman and Chase. After all, I have a reputation to maintain."

She felt herself relax slightly at his snarky words.

"I never thought… Really… It's just my mouth…"

"Your mouth says exactly what's in your head and your heart," House finished her thought. "I like that."

Cameron blushed again. "I thought you always said I was too emotional," she replied.

"Sometimes you are, but at least you're honest about it."

Their eyes met and he could read what she was thinking. She would always be honest with him. She would always trust him. She would always… He shifted his gaze to the stage. He wasn't ready to see what else lay in her eyes.

Her martini arrived as the band began to warm up, and House moved his chair. He said it was so he could see better. He wasn't about to tell her that he wanted to be able to feel the heat of her body next to his. A minute later the music started and Cameron swayed slightly in her chair. She thought of jazz, sexy smoke, and Chopin and how good he looked in that blue shirt; General Hospital, the wind in her hair, and House's hand in hers and on her arm. She hardly noticed when her hand drifted onto his thigh, but instead of ignoring it and waiting for her to move, House covered it with his own, tapping the rhythm lightly against her long fingers.

*****

Fresh spring air met smoke and scotch and candlewax as House and Cameron pushed through the door of Giamano's and stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was after one a.m., and yet neither of them was tired. Cameron wondered, self-consciously, if she was actually glowing, and House was unashamedly holding her hand.

They didn't talk much on the drive to her apartment, but it was a peaceful, contented silence. When House pulled into her driveway a slight twinge of uneasiness returned to Cameron's chest, but she didn't let it stop her from asking if he wanted to come up and using the undeniably lame offer of General Hospital on tape as incentive.

Ten minutes later and they were seated on her sofa, hands entwined in long brown hair and running over crisp cotton and muscular shoulders while their mouths met in one kiss after another. Cameron could taste scotch and a hint of the cigar she had bought him at the bar when she'd pretended to go to the restroom. Her tongue swept along the inside of his cheek and she gasped when she felt him slide his along the roof of her mouth, sending an electric spark through her body. House's hands were pressing her tightly to him, and she didn't know if it was the alcohol or the music, or the night itself, but she want him to stop. She didn't want him to, but she knew they had to or they'd go too far, and neither of them were ready for that. House seemed to know that as well, and he pulled back, just a breath away, and leaned his forehead against hers.

"Much more of this and I'll actually be in a good mood." He was breathing her air, smelling vodka and perfume and coconut shampoo under the scent of smoke that clung to them both.

"We wouldn't want that," she replied, her own breathing shallow.

Pulling back a little further, he looked into her eyes. "You should change into something more comfortable. I'll set up the VCR."

She nodded and rose from the sofa slowly as he let his hands drop from their place on her body. House watched her retreat down the darkened hallway, and then dragged his eyes away from her and picked up the remote control. He had everything cued up and ready to go in a matter of minutes, then tapped his cane with a sort of nervous impatience. Coffee wouldn't actually help that, but the act of making it might.

He pushed off the sofa and started towards the kitchen, calling out, "I'm making coffee. You want some?"

"What?" Cameron called from the bedroom.

House limped down the hall and pushed on the half-open door. "I asked--" That was as far as he got before seeing that despite the open door, Cameron had not finished changing. Blue silk was pooled at her feet and pale green pants now hung loosely on her hips. Her back was to him, a pale expanse of skin broken only by the sway of her hair and the thin black straps of her bra. He was only standing there mesmerized for an instant, but it was long enough for her to turn around and when she saw him she let out a strangled cry.

Her hands flew to her chest, but they couldn't begin to cover the entire scar, and she spun around again, nearly screaming at him. "What are you doing in here? Get out! Get out of here!"

"Cameron…"

Her voice was thick with tears as she shouted again, "Out!"

He backed out of the room, stumbling over his own feet and his damned cane.

As soon as Cameron heard the door click shut she fell to the bed, still holding herself and choking back a sob. Why had he come in? How much had he seen? Everything! He had to have seen it all, and this time without anything to obscure the full vision of what her body had become. A canvas for a jagged line. And now what could she do? Was he gone? Had he left? Was he still waiting right outside the door? What was she supposed to say to him? Sorry, I freaked out, but I never wanted you to see me naked? I'm a vain, shallow twit who can't get over her looks? The doctor says that plastic surgery can fix it if you don't mind looking at for the next year? I promise, we can just make love in the dark until then? The sob broke free and she pushed her fist against her mouth to stifle the sound. One night. She'd had one night with him. One chance. Why was it ending this way?

*

Step-thump, step-thump, step-THUMP. House paced the living room, growing more and more agitated with every step until he finally sank into the overstuffed chair. Well, he had his answer about how she was handling things. She obviously couldn't stand the sight of herself. Shit. Fuck. Shit. He pounded his fist into his thigh, throwing his head back at the pain and enjoying it because he felt he deserved it. She was going to think that he had saved her life and ruined her body and she was going to think it every time she looked in a mirror. He had turned her into him. All she needed now was the addiction and the shitty attitude.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Fuck. Things had been going so well. Why the hell had he gone into that room? He tossed two vicodin to the back of his throat, only then realizing that he hadn't taken any since that morning. Closing his eyes again, he tried to think of what the hell he was going to do now. Should he just go? No. Christ, even he knew that would be a mistake. Yeah, leave her alone when she was already feeling ashamed and unattractive, that would be a good idea… No. He couldn't leave. But then what? How long should he wait for her? Was she going to come out? Shit, did she think he had left? A check of his watch and he saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. It felt closer to an hour.

There was no sound, no motion coming from down the hall, and House got painfully to his feet. For another minute he just stood there, staring down the hall, willing her to come out. When she didn't, he limped slowly to her door, stopping there for another five minutes before finally knocking, the handle of his cane echoing in the still apartment.

She didn't answer and he was about to go back to the living room but he stopped himself. He was not going to just sit and wait. That wasn't who he was. He was going to make her talk. Now if he could just make his damn hand turn the knob.

*

Inside her bedroom, Cameron had wrapped herself in her heavy terrycloth robe and was sitting on the chair in front of her vanity, arms crossed in front of her chest, blue eyes turned almost black as she stared at herself in the mirror. She'd blotted away her ruined mascara, and her cheeks were too pale, her eyes too red. She covered her face with her hands, but lowered them the instant she heard the door opening.

House stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane and looking at her. At first he looked everywhere but at her face, but then his jaw clenched and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

"So..."

"I thought maybe you'd gone."

He frowned and stepped forward. "I wouldn't walk out like that. Even I'm not that much of a bastard."

"I wouldn't have blamed you," she explained, seeing in his eyes that he was upset at what she'd thought. "I did throw you out, after all."

"I wouldn't walk out," he repeated.

Cameron sighed and stood up on legs she was surprised to discover could still hold her weight. "Now what?"

"As much as I hate to say it, we should probably talk."

"What is there to say? You've seen it all now. I knew you would eventually. I guess I just wasn't ready yet. Especially not tonight. I wanted to stay…"

"Stay what?"

The smallest of shrugs preceded her words. "Beautiful. For one more night."

Two strides had him standing right in front of her and he grasped both her shoulders in his strong hands. Shit. He hated this. He sucked at this. "You are beautiful." The words came out slowly as if they had to travel through his entire body before reaching his mouth.

She laughed mirthlessly. "A ten inch line up the chest is not beautiful, House."

"You are more than a fucking scar," his voice rose and his fingers tightened involuntarily.

Tears pooled in her eyes and she pressed her lips tightly together.

"If you need to blame me, that's fine..."

"Blame you?"

"Damnit, I'm the one who gave you that damned scar!"

"You saved my life! The man who gave me this is sitting in jail."

They were quiet for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Letting bits and pieces of truth fall into place.

"I want to see it."

She was shaking her head instantly. "House, no."

"Let. Me. See. It."

Blue eyes captured hers and she bit her lip and then nodded her head almost imperceptibly. Her fingers worked clumsily at the knotted tie holding her robe closed, and when it came loose she looked back up at him anxiously.

"I don't want you to see."

His hands covered hers. "I've already seen it."

Her eyes dropped to their entwined hands and she moved slightly and let the robe fall open until it was barely resting on her shoulders. She was still wearing her bra, and she'd slipped into her soft cotton pajama pants before he'd interrupted her. Inhaling a sharp breath she looked up at his face and saw that he was just waiting for her. He hadn't let his gaze drift to her chest.

House's hand moved towards her and then he stopped, asking permission with a look and being given it by another. She couldn't help flinching as his gentle fingertips touched her sensitive skin. A shiver passed through her and then she was still, calm almost, as his callused fingers traced the line she'd followed herself many times that day. His hand felt warmer than hers had, and even gentler than her own.

A hundred images rushed into his brain as he looked at her. Blood, helpless anger, fury and relief. Fear. Fear that he had barely acknowledged even that night. He pressed his hand between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat in his palm. Remembering it beating in his bare hand. He looked up at her worried face.

"This changes nothing. Nothing," he said, the words harsh and resolute.

Tears were in her eyes again and she blinked rapidly, not wanting him to see them fall. Without thinking, she covered his hand with her own. "Maybe from now on, when I see it, I'll think about the reason I'm alive."

He shook his head and grimaced. "Don't give me that much credit."

Slowly he closed her robe again, tying the sash into a loose knot at her hip. "I should go. It's late and you need your rest."

Before he could take a step away her hand was on his arm. "Don't go. Please. Stay here tonight. Just lie here with me. Like you did before."

Just as before, he didn't say anything, simply toed off his shoes and started to get undressed, this time stripping down to his t-shirt and boxers while Cameron slipped a shirt over her head and removed her bra. Rustling, and shifting, and the squeak of the box-spring as they settled in under the covers, close, but not touching. Then a small hand slipped into a larger one, and more shifting until his arm was around her shoulders, and hers was draped across his chest, and her long hair was falling over both of them. Long minutes later, and their quiet breathing was the only sound other than the crickets outside the window.

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