A/N: Without making this the longest Author's Note ever ... this story is the 4th in a series: Inertia, Paralzyed, Collide & now Momentum. This story covers the exact same event as in Collide, but this time we're seeing it from House's POV instead of Cameron's. Some of it will seem familiar, because I've kept the dialogue exactly the same. As always, thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't even think I put one of these on the first three parts because it's so painfully obvious that I don't own them, I didn't want to insult your intelligence.

Momentum

These feelings won't go away
They've been knockin' me sideways
I keep thinking in a moment that
Time will take them away
But these feelings won't go away
-Sideways by Citizen Cope-

Chapter 1 - Follow

You sit in your office, flinging your tennis ball against the wall and catching it in the crook of your cane. Flick, thump, catch. Flick, thump, catch. The rhythm is comforting. The repetition is comforting. The predictability is comforting.

You need a little comfort.

You flick your cane a little harder than necessary. The ball bounces harder off the wall and returns quicker. It ricochets off the edge of your cane and rolls lazily across the carpeted floor. You blow out a breath from puffed cheeks and prop your cane against your desk. You can't be bothered to retrieve the ball. It wasn't helping keep your mind off things anyway.

Off Cameron.

You're done denying to yourself that you think about her. Like most things that strike a chord in you, the more you try to keep her out of your head the more she appears. When you were a younger man, you might have been concerned about your obsessive need to think about something. Now you've built a life around your mind's obsessions. If your mind wants to mull over Cameron, mulling it will be.

You're not pining, or brooding, or any of the things Wilson would accuse you of if he knew the reason behind your current solitude. You're just … thinking. You had thought you'd figured this all out. She was with Chase; she seemed happy. Happy Cameron was what you wanted. Maybe, maybe, you'd prefer to think she could have been happy with you. But you're not so much of a bastard yet that you'd want to take it away from her on the chance you could give it back yourself.

Are you ready to take that chance now?

You've just overheard a new bit of gossip. It's both expected and another surprise from the woman who puzzles you more than any patient. Cameron and Chase are no longer together. You've been expecting to hear this for ages; you're surprised it lasted as long as it did. You expected to hear the split was messy; but you're surprised it was her who ended it. You prepared yourself not to think about; you tried not to care.

Not so much, at least.

You care. You've cared for a while. Longer than even you would willingly admit to anyone else. It's taken these entire four years to admit it to yourself. Keeping emotions at bay is second nature to you now, but if anyone has been able to surprise you into feeling things lately, it's been Cameron.

Yes, Wilson and Cuddy make you feel things too, but you expect that. They're from B.I., Before Infarction. They knew you when life and love were just that, and not things to be regarded with distrust and contempt. But Cameron is new; she shouldn't know you can feel those things, shouldn't know how to make you feel those things.

But she does.

You lean back in your chair, rubbing a hand over your face to help clear your mind. You were ready to let yourself think about Cameron, but all you're doing is going in circles, dancing around what you really want, what you need. You need answers.

Why did they break up? Why did they stay here in Princeton? If she stayed with Chase and they're not together, will she leave? What if Chase stayed for her? What if she stayed for you?

You need to know.

You grab your cane and limp off toward the elevators, closing your eyes in frustration when Wilson exits his office and joins you waiting for the doors to open.

"Going somewhere?" Wilson asks. You can sense by his tone of voice that he knows exactly where you're going and it annoys you. It's almost as if he knew this would happen when he came to your office to tell you they'd split up. You aren't going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that he's right, or that he knows anything.

The two of you step into the elevator and you press the tip of your cane against the button for the 1st floor. Wilson smirks.

"It's just past four o'clock you know," he says conversationally. Except Wilson never says anything conversationally and you know he's going somewhere with this. "The ER day shift has ended, I believe."

You tighten your fist around the handle of your cane and begin chanting in your head. I'm not going to bludgeon him, I'm not going to bludgeon him, I'm not going to bludgeon him.

Wilson opens his mouth to say something else when the elevator stops and the doors open. The lobby is revealed and you can hear two nurses gossiping at the central desk.

"It couldn't be for lack of other opportunities," flat-chested redhead says, making no effort to keep her conversation private.

Wilson elbows you in the side, and you turn to watch her, Cameron, your Cameron, willfully straighten her shoulders and march past the desk with her eyes trained on the door. That's my girl, you think. Wilson smiles at you and steps back inside the elevator, leaving you alone to do whatever is next.

"Then why did she stay?" the screechy-voiced blonde asks her companion. You ignore her, limping after Cameron as fast as you can manage, when she turns and comes nearly nose to Adam's apple with you.

"You know," you say to her in what you hope is a quiet voice, "I've been wondering that very thing."

"Keep wondering," she says to your collarbone. Interesting, you think as she stiff-arms the door and disappears into the parking area. She only shies away from a challenge from you when it's overly emotional.

You follow. Of course you follow. It took you all day to decide to come down here; she's not going to get away without giving you the answers that you need. The love that you need, a voice whispers in your ear.

Your hand easily encircles her forearm and she stops. She turns in your direction, but still doesn't face you. Now that it's happening, you remember why you've been avoiding this very moment. You don't know what to say. Usually you're insulting and she's direct. It's your pattern, and it won't get you anywhere.

"I heard a rumor about you," you say, still keeping your voice quiet. You spend an awful lot of time pontificating, blustering and railing at people. You've almost forgotten how to hold a normal conversation with a regular tone of voice. She must recognize the difference because she finally turns to look at you.

"Don't believe everything you hear. Everybody lies, right?" She flashes you a sad, bitter smile and tries to shake your arm loose. This is the new Cameron; the one who seems completely determined not to let you, not to let anything, get to her. The one who lies.

"Yes, but gossip always has a foothold in truth," you tell her. It does.

"What do you want, House?"

"I want an answer."

She stares blankly. "What's the question?"

You roll your eyes and wind up staring at your Nikes. She's not the same Cameron, not the same woman who followed you with starry-eyed optimism as when you first hired her. That's the product of your influence on her.

"The question," you mutter, and she leans in a little closer, "is why?"

"Why."

"Why did you stay? Speculation runs between you staying for Chase and you staying for me. My sources tell me that you two are splitsville. But you're still here."

"Yeah."

"So…why?" You look at up her and then away, afraid and anxious about the answer.

She sighs. Shit, you think, she did stay for him. Your mind floods with hurtful, cruel words. She can't ever know why you really asked.

She turns away without answering, but you can't let her go. Not like that. If she didn't stay for you, she needs to leave thinking you don't care. You grab her arm again, harder this time and prepare to unleash your acid tongue on her.

"I need to know," you say instead, and drop her arm. Damn your mouth for following your heart and not your head.

"And if we're really going to talk about this, I need a drink big enough to scare my mother," she says.

You raise an eyebrow at that and try to ignore the spark of hope you feel when she smirks in return. She turns and walks to her car in the lot. You just stand and watch her, wondering if this is the hardest or easiest decision you've ever made.

"You coming?" she shouts, and slides into the driver seat of her car, and then waits there to see if you'll follow.

You smile. It's the easiest decision. You follow.