The bright colors of Christmas lights filled his eyes, streaking by as he weaved his way through traffic, but the only image that filled his mind was her pained expression as she turned her head away from him.

His motorcycle sped along his usual route home, tires plowing through recently fallen snow and ice that had caked itself into the asphalt. Speed and the snow caused no worry to him; in fact, it was the last thing on his mind. He paid no attention to the cold, the winter scent, or the fact that the motorist behind him blared his horn as a result of being cut off by an annoyingly loud orange motorcycle. The previous events held gave him a sort of rush. His speed was a mechanism, and he was using it to escape his thoughts.

Once again he was running from something he couldn't control.

Surprisingly, he managed to make it to his apartment without getting a well-deserved speeding ticket. Wilson's car was not parked in front, so it meant he was still at the hospital, or participating in some sort of smutty pre-divorce frivolity. It could go either way. He dismounted his motorcycle and removed his helmet. In the late hour it was beginning to snow again; the shield of his helmet had caught a few of the white flakes.

He couldn't help but to let his mind wander to the parking lot at PPTH. He had already made it to his motorcycle, and way ready to speed away when he heard short, hurried steps coming his way. It was Cameron, making her way to her car. She held her jacket over her arm- she hadn't given herself the chance to put it on in defense against the cold. Her eyes were just as puffy and red as when he had last confronted her. Her face was contorted into the expression he recognized most from her, brow furrowed, as if she was confused or upset. It was no great mystery to what she was feeling, though. She kept her head slightly bowed from when she entered the parking lot, to when she got into her car, giving him no recognition at all. He bit his tongue, preventing himself from talking to her once more before she left for the night, calling out her name or attracting her attention with a tasteless comment. He put his helmet on as means of shutting himself up and sped away, just as promptly as she had done.

The inside of his apartment was just as dark and cold as it had been outside. As miserable as he felt, he decided that this would be a nice spot to curl up and die-that being what he wanted to do. He tossed his cane on the sofa and hung his coat in the closet, and limped into the kitchen; desperate to pre-occupy himself something, that something being food. Scratching his day-old stubble, he pulled open the fridge and found the contents of it to be a wide variety of ingredients Wilson had collected, obviously in preparation for one of his fantastic meals. He stood there for a moment, debating whether he could ruin his roommate's plans by nabbing a few of the choice items, or how he could leave them be and just wait for the end result. Eh, it was the holidays, and he would be giving.

Having resolved that matter, he motioned himself to one of his dish cupboards and took out a box of cigars. He wasn't a frequent smoker, though he still needed to busy himself with something. After picking one from the box, he made his way into the living room, and made himself comfortable. As squishy and relaxing as the sofa was, his mind still remained in a state of restlessness.

He had found her alone.

It wasn't quite Christmas yet, but the hospital was already decked with gratuitous amounts of plastic holly and ribbons. It didn't pertain as much to the fourth floor as it did at the front office, but Cameron had added a touch of festivity here and there in their little "meeting place" Of course he had given her crap about it, making shrewd jokes and comments about them just as he did last year. She didn't seem to mind much; Cameron was like a wall of tolerance to his insensitivity. He knew of course that she could brush off anything he threw at her, but some sick side of him felt that he should know her breaking point. Cameron's own Achilles heel. And he had the opportunity to do so when he found her alone.

She was by herself, sitting alone at the glass table. This was where he talked to her most, and most of those conversations included him cutting down her medical opinions on diagnosing a patient. This was where he'd nitpick her appearance, this was where he'd see her simply sigh and frown at his mockery of everyone, and Chase and Foreman were no exception. She held a small photograph in her hands, and it interested and confused him on who it could be, until he saw her eyes shining with tears. He hesitated on entering the room; though he stood behind a glass wall she did not notice his presence at all.

He gave her time to leave, to collect her things, herself, and go. He gave her a good 30 seconds before he pushed open the heavy glass door, and limped his way into the room. In an attempt to hide his knowledge of her obvious distress, he proceeded in asking, "Chase and Foreman gone?"

He was suprised, she could have reacted in a more startled way; she instead began to hastily blot her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. He searched for something to busy himself with, but found nothing, so he stood, leaning against his cane, staring at her. He could have done more to ease the tension between them, but he did nothing but give the slightest expression of disinterest. It was a guise, he did not want her to know that he had been concerned, that he had been, in fact, interested.

She didn't buy it in the least. This had happened once before, and she hated herself for letting it happen again. This time, however, she would not give herself up; succumb to his relentless prying. After she composed herself, she placed the photograph in her bag. "Me, I get emotional during the holidays, too. Perfect excuse to get liquored up, in my opinion," House commented, drawing his attention to terms scribbled on the whiteboard. She said nothing, nor did she move again. She simply stared down at her reflection in the glass table, down at her tired appearance, at her hair which had become disheveled after working long hours. She felt his gaze. He had known exactly what she was doing, and who was in the photograph.

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He felt the familiar twinge of pain shoot across his right thigh, breaking his train of thought. He kneaded it, running his hand over the ridge of mutilated skin that disfigured his leg. It induced more pain, but it didn't register to him anymore. Steve made his presence known by running in his squeaky wheel. House stared at the now blissfully overweight rodent for a moment, and then made his way into the other room where he kept his piano. There sat his own home supply of Vicodin in a little prescription bottle. He took it and looked out the window which looked into the night, popping his usual dosage into his mouth. Tiny shimmering flakes were becoming visible against the black sky; it was really starting to come down hard.

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"You know, crying over a dead husband works best in seclusion. More of an ambiance...you could play some sad music..." He expected to see an expression of pain flicker across her face, but she did nothing. She lifted her head from its bowed position and stared at him. He was met by her unwavering glare. He felt a twinge of guilt, seeing her eyes shining with tears, but at the same time expressing her anger towards him. "You're not going to tell me again that you're not crying."

"Why should I? she asked, her voice calm, as usual. House cocked an eyebrow." Well, from my knowledge, you don't have an exceptionally hard time shielding your emotions from people."

"Guess we have something in common then."

House gave a short laugh, acknowledging how sharp her retort had been. Cameron, still irritated, noticed he was not acting as gentle as he had done before. No, this time he was not being as sensitive to the matter. She watched him as he made his way over the glass wall, facing the hall outside. She saw his reflection in the glass, and the expression he made when he was thinking; when he was on the verge of an epiphany. His look of disinterest no longer existed.

"You're crying..."

"What about it? Isn't it apparent?"

"It was apparent then, its apparent now."

Cameron snapped up from her seat in reaction, and began to hurriedly collect her things. "Then you sure have an eye for detail...it's not an issue open for argument..." she said angrily, letting House get the hint that she was in no mood to talk. And he did get the hint. A tiny part of him, though, made him felt that he should not have been so abrasive. There was a moment of silence between them as Cameron continued to prepare herself to leave. A tiny part of him wanted to back off, and leave her be, and a tiny part of him knew that his persistence was killing their relationship as colleagues. Cameron messily threw her notebag over her shoulder, and hung her jacket over her arm. She was about to leave the room when House threw up his cane, blocking the doorway. She exhaled sharply in exasperation, "House..."

"Your husband...did he die around this time?" he asked, in the most non-intrusive way he could muster.

"What?"

"This time, like Christmas."

Cameron looked away from him. Her face was more miserable than angry.

"House, I don't want to talk with you about my husband..."

She said those words with a clear, biting tone as she reached to remove the cane which barred her way. House instead replaced his cane with his arm in a sudden, cheap move to stop her.

"I just want to know."

Cameron looked at him. Her eyes were watering; blue eyes shimmering with tears he knew he had induced. He then recognized how tired she looked. Cameron felt like she had been trapped in a corner. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "No." House nodded his head, but a look in his eyes told Cameron that he had not figured things out yet. She sighed quietly, feeling slightly disappointed in herself. By answering she was only triggering more questions. She looked at his arm, still blocking the doorway.

"Are you going to let me-"

"He should have never married you."

The reaction he got was a look of complete shock. More tears welled up in her eyes as she surveyed his face, searching for some trace that told her he was kidding. She knew he wasn't. House looked at her, brow still furrowed in a state of confusion. For a moment, he contemplated bracing himself for when she slapped him. She didn't move.

He had cracked the wall.

She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind. To tell him what an ignorant bastard he was. But she said nothing. A part of her wanted to know his opinion of her situation, whether or not it was right or wrong. They hadn't spoken like this since they went on their date.

He carried on. "I say this because you're crying on Christmas Eve. I say this because years later you're still suffering while..." he hesitated, looking out the glass wall as she listened intently,"...while he's just rot in the ground. He was aware of his cancer, yet he was still greedy enough to let you fall in love with him and get married. At no point did he..." Cameron cut him off, face still filled with sadness. A tear spilled out of the corner of her eye. "We didn't get married for the longevity of our marriage, we did it because we loved each other," she said, voice breaking.

House snorted, giving a bit of an eye roll. "Sure, you did it out of love, but what you didn't realize was that love wasn't going to fix anything. Love's not going to cure thyroid cancer, and it never will."

Cameron's eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to combat his statement, but was cut short. "Cameron," he said, acting as if he was trying to force out the next sentence." You're a sympathetic, sensitive person. I can see this by how you develop a personal relationship with just about every patient we've treated. You married you husband so he would be happy in his final months. You asked me for a date in an attempt..."

Cameron shook her head, stopping him from saying any more. A few more tears crawled from her eyes. "Do you really think any of those went without love? Am I incapable?" she said, forcing out the sentence without sobbing. House gave another look of confusion, silently asking her to go on with her explanation. "Can you actually say that I do that without reason?"

"You were trying to heal."

Cameron stood silent, as if she was realizing it herself. That's what she had been doing, trying to find someone to fix; a replacement. He had mentioned it before. But she had, indeed, been healing. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of the possibility that she had only had feelings for House as a method of numbing her pain.

"Your persistence is admirable though, I mean, if it wasn't your husband, then it would be me, and if not, your patients."

He thought back to what she had previously said. How there had been some love in her actions. Was it their date? He remembered what he had felt back then, back to his growing attraction to her. It had been gradual and unobvious, but it was certainly present. While she had been trying to recuperate, he had been letting himself fall in love. He knew then that he had to know whether she had loved him, if she still did, if her naive advances had meant anything at all.

A majority of his being was screaming at him that this was neither the right place nor the right way to show what feelings he did have for her, but something else told him he wasn't going to catch her like this again. What he had said was genuine. The dead husband issue had been dug into the ground. Words could never be sincere and spontaneous as his next move.

"I don't think those decisions could have possibly been-" she was cut off as he leaned in to kiss her, breaking the tension each of them felt, standing in the doorway. He was certainly close enough to be able to catch her off guard, but she was too quick for his advances. She turned her head just enough for his lips to brush against her cheek. She felt a jolt of embarrassment and slight surprise, as if she had expected it from the beginning. He lingered there for a moment, but said nothing, feeling nearly the same as she did.

House moved him arm, his face looking like a child who had just broken a bit of his mother's porcelain. Something had broken between them. Cameron stood in the same position, head turned. It was then that she realized that her feelings, whatever love that she had for House, would never work out. It she ever recovered from the pain she endured from her marriage, the House would definitely open the wound again, if not injure her more. He would be like her dead husband. No, he wouldn't die, but their relationship would. She realized that he would slowly push her out of his life, just like he had done with Stacy.

House moved his arm without saying more, and Cameron exited. She stood silent in the hallway for a moment looking at him with a glare that told him she was angrier about the fact that any love between them would expire than sad.

"I can't" she said. With that said she made her way down the hallway.

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He heard keys jingling on the other side of the door. Wilson entered from outside, a few flakes of snow dotting his hair and shoulders. He shut the door behind him, and turned, looking at House, a bit confused at why he hadn't already asked him why he had been out late, or why he was looking so concentrated. He hung up his own coat in the closet as House put out his cigar in the ashtray on the table, his entire memory of what had happened having been thoroughly examined. "You know, meekness is most often associated with someone who's done wrong," Wilson said as he made his way into the kitchen, making the slightest hint to House being quiet and to his groceries. He heard the sound of the refrigerator being opened and a surprised "Hmmm." "No damage has been done, why so quiet? Anything I miss?" Wilson asked, loosening his tie. House heard the ticking of his clock, and looked up at it. It read 12:00.

"Merry Christmas."