A/N: This is sort of an AU of the episode "Meaning" from season three. Many thanks to my betas, everytimeyougo and jesmel. This story is for AllegraDante, for her generosity in making some fanart for me. I do not own House, Cameron, or the dialogue that I snagged directly from the episode.

Come to My Window

In the dark of her room, her thin cotton nightie clung to her like a new layer of skin. The air, stirred only slightly by the ceiling fan above her head, pressed into her from all sides, thick and sticky as honey. She rolled over again, trying to find a cool spot on the bed, and sighed. If the storm hovering in the distance would just break already, she might be able to get some sleep, she thought, fist pounding into her pillow.

A tap tap tapping on glass startled her and she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and tried to settle her manic heartbeat. A brief flash of lightning lit up a silhouette in her window and she let out a strangled cry, fumbling for the phone on the nightstand, uncertain whether to call for help or brandish it like a weapon.

"Cameron, open up!"

With a gasp of relief, she recognized his voice and rushed to the window to open it, letting in a blast of stifling humidity that was even worse than the air inside. "House, what the hell? You scared me half to death. Do you know what time it is?"

"Circumventricular system sends his cytokines, releasing the early stages of the immune response but CDOS releases prostaglandins that reset the hypothalamic set point upward, unless it's countered by antipruritic therapy. His brain's on fire. The suicide attempt was not a suicide attempt; he drove that wheelchair into the pool because he couldn't regulate his body temperature. He had hypothalamic dysregulation. If the scar tissue on his hypothalamus is resting against the pituitary, the adrenals would shut down."

"You think he has Addison's Disease?" she asked, quickly catching on to his thought process. "Let me guess, you jumped into the community pool and had an epiphany."

"Fountain," he corrected, swiping at his brow. "I can cure him. I can make him walk."

As he spoke, he raised his arms to lean against the window frame and it was like Moses raising his staff to the Red Sea; the sky opened up and poured forth its offering. A violent thunder clap shook the building and one bolt of lightning after another lit up the inky night sky like a strobe.

"Get in here before you get struck by lightning," she said with a sigh, pulling on his arm as he climbed over the window sill and spilled into her bedroom.

"You could be wrong, House. But... one shot of cortisol won't hurt him. We'll try it tomorrow."

Glancing up into his eyes when he didn't respond, she felt the room get even warmer from the intensity of his stare. She was suddenly hyper aware of her appearance; her nightie as insubstantial as tissue paper covering her breasts and falling just below her pelvis, with only cotton panties beneath. Self-conscious, she tugged at it, as if she could somehow make it cover more of her.

"I'll get you a towel," she said, and turned to leave. She didn't get one step away before he grabbed her by her arm and dragged her back to him, pulling her right up against his chest. Beneath his damp t-shirt, his heart thundered against her palm. There was lightning in his eyes; she was sure she was about to be struck, and oh how she wanted it. His hand on her bare skin burned like a hot iron and then he was kissing her like she'd never been kissed in her entire life.

He peeled her nightgown off her and lowered her to the carpet, kissing down her neck and then sealing his mouth over one of her breasts, rolling his tongue around her nipple as if it were a lollipop he'd stolen from the clinic. Her blood felt like molten lava running through her veins. She arched into him, reaching frantically for whatever part of him she could get. Feverish with lust, she pulled at his shirt and then his shorts as he kicked off his sneakers.

She touched him everywhere she could with her hands and fingers, sliding and tugging and grasping, desperate for him to put out the fire. His skin against hers created a delicious friction she thought might throw off sparks into the darkened bedroom and set it ablaze. They slowed down only long enough for her to grab a condom from her nightstand and then he slid into her, thrusting with such intensity she knew she'd have carpet burns on her back.

While he pushed into her, he grunted and pressed his mouth to the skin of her neck and jawline and dipped down to kiss her lips and the spot just behind her ear. One of his hands went around her, smoothing down her spine and cupping her ass, urging her upward, while his other hand seemed to be everywhere at once: on her breast, tracing her lips, stroking back her hair, pressing her legs wider, and sliding down her flattened stomach to where their bodies met.

Neither of them spoke beyond breathy sighs and gasps of pleasure. The storm outside the window began to fade away just as the storm inside reached its peak.

They lay side by side on the floor, catching their breath. She looked at him, unable to keep the smile of satisfaction off her face. It wasn't that she thought he loved her or that this was the beginning of a relationship. She knew better than to hope for that. And he was so very very different now, and she was still processing the changes within him and how she felt about them. But she was so thoroughly sated, her skin tingling from head to toe, that she could do nothing but smile.

"I could sleep for a week after that," she said with a laugh, trying to ease away the awkward tension that threatened to settle over them.

"Yeah, me too," he replied, sitting up and reaching for his clothes. "I should get going."

She passed his shoes to him, then eased her nightgown back over her head. "I'll go in early and give Richard the cortisol shot."

With a nod of approval, he shoved his feet into his sneakers and moved back to the window, climbing through before she could protest or offer him a ride home. She watched as he jogged off and disappeared around the corner. Closing and locking the window, she fell back onto the bed and wondered if there'd ever be a repeat performance.

She hoped, she dreamed, and eventually she slept the sleep of a very satisfied woman.

A/N 2: This could stand alone. But there are also three more parts, for those who are interested. Reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading.