"If you could be someone else, someone entirely different, for just one day – who would you be?"

That's how it starts.

Cameron doesn't care what the advertisement is about – she flicks off the tv and sits, thinking to herself. Who would I be? Someone brave enough to go for what they want. This feeling is so familiar now that she barely registers it as it settles over her heart like a shadow, like a winter glove she's worn a million times before.

"Stop being weak," she can imagine him saying. "You don't even wear gloves."

When would she ever shake this feeling of regret? It's not like it's really her fault at all. She's tried on so many occasions to make him understand, to plead for a connection. He just won't give back. He owns a piece of her and she's not sure if she loves or hates him for it.

It's him, he's House, and she accepted that much long ago.

***

When he pushes Stacey away again, her heart breaks for him. She knows it's wrong and it's entirely his fault but she can't help feeling sorry for him. She knows he's too stubborn to let himself feel, so she feels for him. She's become a vessel, a secret vent for the emotions he won't acknowledge. She suffers, and he doesn't even know.

"Not anymore," she whispers. Maybe it's the three and a half cocktails she's had but she can't stand to be on the sideline any longer. She just wants one night. One hour. That's all. They never have to speak of it again. That's what she prepares to tell him as she gets in her car and drives toward his place.

The steering wheel is smooth under her hands as she turns into his street, her heart speeding up as she slows down and pulls into a car park. Winter is almost upon them – she can feel the chill in the air trying to claw its way into her lungs. Every sound seems enhanced – the brake lights switching off, the slam of the car door. Her footsteps on the pavement.

One night.

No commitment.

Please.

She runs through the explanations – the pleading – in her head so that it will be right when she sees him. She knocks on the door three times, well aware of the time of night and that his lights are still on, so she may be in luck.

"What are you doing here?" House asks, not quite opening his door the whole way.

"I…"

For stability her fingers slip over the doorframe and pull it open so she can see him in full. He is only wearing a shirt and loose pants, his work clothes, like armour, have been stripped away. It strengths her, and her speech falls away like shreds of silk as she crosses the threshold and presses herself into him.

"What…are…you…doing?" he murmurs in between kisses as Cameron lightly traces her mouth over the terrain of his jaw. He's stiff at first, his lips still and his back rigid. Her hand comes up to play at the nape of his neck, massaging the back of his head. Oh, his lips! His scent! Her life could be happily spent here in his arms, swimming in his heat. She answers him by ever so lightly pushing at his chest so he steps back into the apartment, and she pulls the door closed behind them. She's always imagined that in a moment like this he would be reluctant and shy, that she'd have to coax him out of his clothes and into bed. So she's surprised when his hands linger at her waist before wrapping determinedly round her back, drawing her body closer and squeezing the air from her lungs. Having forgotten how to breathe somewhere along the way she gasps into his mouth, stealing his air before seeking out her own. She stands panting and trembling in his arms, staring into his searing blue gaze.

He's always known this would happen at some point. They've been heading in this direction long before Stacey reappeared and turned his world around. Her timing, as ever, is impeccable. What better way to heal a broken heart than break someone else's? An eye for eye. He's being cruel and measured and thinks that maybe she knows it, but right now he doesn't care.

"Are you sure?" he asks, the whisper a caress on her skin.

She nods her permission, her downfall, hands falling to his shoulders. With conviction he tugs her down the hall, needing to lean on her without his cane in hand.

The moment they hit the bedroom they're on each other again: lips on lips, hands running through hair, tugging at buttons and zips. Her eyes are closed so she can imagine he's got love in his eyes. He's not looking at her so he can imagine Stacey's weight on him as they fall to the bed. It's a little like rewriting each other: they both shed their layers until nothing is left but skin, then with each stroke and kiss they indent something onto one another, a new story. Their story. He shifts her so she's sitting in his lap. Straddling his thighs, Cameron moves to pull her hair free of its tie but his hand rests on hers.

"Let me," he says, more a demand than a plea. She nods, fingers roaming his bare chest. They dig into his shoulders as he grips the hair tie and roughly tugs it free. She gasps in shock at the pain, and his mouth falls open slightly at the sight of her heaving chest, fluttering eyes and hair spilt over her shoulders.

Her radiance shocks him out of his nostalgia: a wake up call; a chance for redemption. He's far too afraid of that.

"Come here," he tells her. Reaching one hand up to tangle into her hair he brings her mouth down to his and captures her lips in a fiery kiss. The flame burns through their skin, pounding hard through their hearts and up their spines. She shudders against him, moans as he lifts her slightly and rolls them over until he's rearing above her.

"House," she pleads, not sure what she's begging for.

He revels in the pitch of her moan as he sinks into her.

"God," she breathes out, her arms draped around his neck.

"Who are you with here? Me or him?" he still can't stop being House, even in the throes of passion. Can this be called passion? She'd call it a lie. Neither of them are getting what they really want from this.

He picks up a fast rhythm that has her writhing and whimpering within minutes. It's hard not to look at her like this, not to relish the heat and the pulse of her but he tries, tries not to let her see him vulnerable when really that's all he wants. He's so confused. He's miserable and angry and though he denies it, a little bit weak too. She knows that, and she's taken advantage of it. He grunts and thrusts hard, dips his mouth and rakes his teeth along her collar bone, trying to bruise her because it's her fault. She's close, so close to falling. Shattering. Tears spring to her eyes as she gasps and arches her entire body into him.

"I loved you," she whispers against his skin.

"I know," he breathes back, cold and sharp. "Don't ruin this."

She nods and feels herself clench and break into pieces. She's blinded by ecstasy, terrible, bittersweet release. He follows the fluttering of her eyelids with an intense gaze. He pushes and strains and just as he stops thinking about it to instead realise how perfectly her body fits to his, it happens. He spasms and gasps and is shocked at the force of his release. He shakes against her, eyes wide open. This time he's the one who moans to god, who feels tears biting the corners of his eyes. He rolls off of her when he realises she's watching him.

"Stop it," he orders and she looks away. Of course she does. She'd do anything for him. She closes her eyes and curls onto her side, facing away from him.

Guilty now, his gaze follows the curve of her body as he watches her breathing. He feels so very far away, on his side of the bed, and he lifts a hand to reach out to her. He catches himself in the act and lets his fingers drop to the sheets angrily. He can't touch her, not after this. He can't look at her. Daren't say her name. He's mad at her now, for putting him in this position. Growling, he slides over until he's right behind her and drags her body back into his with a grunt. He puts his lips to her neck and bites down softly at the nape, eliciting a gasp from her.

"It's your fault," he growls, "I tried not to touch you. I knew this would wreck everything."

"What's everything?" she bites back, trying to turn in his grasp but he won't let her. She snakes her hand around to dig her nails into his back. She feels his erection against her back and shifts to rub it. He hisses into her ear, his grip around her tightening. "From my understanding there was nothing to ruin."

"There was always something," he whispers. "A possibility. Now it's gone."

"Some people are able to move on, House."

"We aren't some people. How can we go on after this? I've broken you."

"I was broken long before I met you, House."

His grip softens and Cameron leaps at the chance to turn around before he can change his mind. There's nothing between them now, nothing and everything. She presses herself as snugly into his skin as possible, her arms folded against his chest. Only his eyes move, following the movement of hers. "Why can't you see that?" she whispers. "Why can't you let me be broken with you?" He feels the flutter of her lips against his own though she's made no attempt to kiss him; that's how close they are. Why indeed? He's been blind this entire time. He doesn't bother with a reply, just a kiss. A kiss that is so unexpectedly gentle and tender with regret that it makes her weep just a little. His arms are tight around her back again but this time it's so he can pull her closer and sweep his mouth over her skin, wiping the angry bite marks away.

"House," she murmurs, her arms reaching up to wrap around his shoulders.

"Home," he whispers, losing himself in her embrace.

It's like coming home.