Based on the song "Better Than Me" by Hinder. Not a songfic, though.

Enjoy, and be sure to let me know what you think.

I sit on my bed, the side closest to the window, thinking. My gaze travels to a slight tear in the wallpaper, not really seeing it at all, as my thoughts drift to her. The way she fought playfully with me about changing that same wallpaper one night as we lie in bed, my finger twisting her hair into soft curls. How, her first night here, she automatically moved to the side of the bed I currently reside on, mumbling incoherently about liking to be near the window. How there are no longer any "sides," just one big slab of mattress I lay on each night; at least, the nights I manage to make it to my bed.

It's been exactly a year since Allison Cameron has disappeared from my life.

My right hand travels unconsciously to the pillow beside me, the thick material feeling almost foreign beneath my slightly calloused fingers. She always used to lay her silk nightgown there, every morning, before she showered. Those mornings that I'd wake up while she's already in the shower, I'd run my fingers along the delicate fabric of her nightgown, imagining her in it, imagining her without it as I slipped it off her small frame and flung it carelessly across the room as I did on many occasions when she opted to spend the night. But tonight, the pillow is just a pillow. No silk nightgown covering it, no Allison resting her head upon it.

Just a pillow.

The night she left Princeton-Plainsboro, I thought that would be the last I'd see of Allison Cameron. I knew she had resigned because of my split-second decision to fire Chase. But the moment that she held my arm, the feeling of her thumb softly caressing my wrist, the second she said goodbye, I knew. I knew, no matter what, I had to get her back.

So I did.

She never came back to Princeton-Plainsboro, but she did reenter into my life. Now that we were no longer colleagues, we became more comfortable with each other's company. The wall that had separated us for 3 years began to crumble, and we finally saw each other for who we truly were. From there, our relationship blossomed.

For nearly two years it continued. She was my buffer. Whenever I had a bad day at work, she'd be there to comfort me. Whether it was emotional comforting I needed, or even just a physical outlet after a long day, she was there for me.

I can hardly say the same about myself.

Whenever she was in a mood, I let her vent. Sometimes she screamed at me, sometimes she cried until she fell asleep, and sometimes she needed that physical outlet. On most occurrences, I could tell what she needed. If she needed to yell, I took it. If she needed to cry, I let her. And if she needed sex, I took part until we were both blissfully unaware of anything other than each other.

I never took it one step further, though. I never comforted her, I never told her it would be okay. I was unconsciously pushing her away, little by little, bit by bit. One day, realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

She deserved better.

I remember that day. The day, exactly one year ago, where a piece of my heart seemed to break off and disappear. The day I told her.

She had come "home" to find me sitting on my bed, not unlike I am right now. She walked over to me, smiling, and rested her head gently on my shoulder. She held my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine, and told me giddily that she got a promotion. She had moved up to be department head of the diagnostics division of the hospital she worked at. I smiled tightly; I remember feeling such strain in my face, trying to keep myself from grimacing and ruining her cheerful moment. I mentally prepared myself for the moment I knew to come, where I would break it off. I had hoped she would take it in stride, move on quickly, and come to accept my decision.

I didn't know how wrong I was.

I told her that she was too young to put up with a selfish bastard like me. I told her that she could marry a funny, wealthy, nice doctor that she worked with at her new job. I told her she was too good for me. I didn't deserve her at all. She deserved so much better than me. She should be able to have so much more than I had to offer.

None of it worked.

I remember the look of pure shock on her face as I relayed my thoughts to her. She pulled her hand out of my grasp and folded them in her lap, looking at anything but me. It broke my heart to see her this upset, but I knew I couldn't let her stay. I couldn't put her through any more bullshit that I'd been giving her for the past two years.

She told me she had to go, wiping her face with the back of her hand, trying to conceal the tears that I knew were pouring down her face. I caught a glimpse of her and she stood up from the bed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her mascara had run in streaks down her face. I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms and tell her it was all right, tell her that I didn't really want her to leave.

But I did nothing.

She left my apartment in a hurry, and had I known that I wouldn't see her at all after that encounter, I would have stopped her. But I didn't.

I heard through the grapevine a few weeks later that her work had gone downhill from there. But like the trooper that she is, she pulled through and brought it back up to snuff. She pushed through her personal problems and excelled, just like the doctor I know - knew - and love.

But now, I sit on my bed, my bed that used to be ours, and I think back to our relationship.

I miss laying in bed with her after a blissful night of love-making, my arm tracing random shapes on her arm as she slept soundly, her soft brown hair splayed across my face. I never cared. I used to breathe in her scent, reveling in the moment, taking in every little detail, from the way the moonlight hit her face to the unique pattern of beauty marks on her back.

I miss the taste of her. I miss her innocence, her slight naivety, her beauty. Everything about her, I want it back. Everything in my apartment reminds me of her. Whenever I step into my shower, I think of her. Whenever I lie awake at night, I think of her.

I want her back.

A soft tapping noise jostles me from my thoughts. I immediately look at the window, expecting to see a bird pecking at the frosted glass. There was no bird. Another tap-tap that I now know to be coming from the next room over.

Someone's knocking at the door.

I grab my cane and walk slowly toward the front door, marveling at who would come visit me at - I steal a glance at my watch - eleven o'clock at night. Once I reach the door, I opt to not use the peep hole to see my visitor. The element of surprise is always good in these sorts of situations. As I reach out to grab the handle, I find my hand shaking slightly. It slips a bit on the door handle as the sweat on my palms meets the cold metal knob, but I grip it more firmly, more confidently, and swing the door open, fully prepared to bark at whoever was disturbing my peace.

My mouth, which had opened in preparation, snaps shut in surprise. There, standing in the threshold of my doorway, is Allison Cameron.

She looks extremely similar to the last time I saw her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were glistening with previously shed tears. The only difference was that she wasn't wearing makeup. She prepared to do this. She knew this was going to happen.

"Hi," she chokes out, looking directly into my eyes.

"Hey..." I say hesitantly. Why was she here? Tonight, of all nights? I shuffle aside, trying to subtly make room for her to get past me and into my apartment. She didn't budge.

I sigh softly, choosing to stare at my shoelaces instead of her as I ask, "Why are you here?"

She was quiet for a moment, and I almost think she's not going to answer me, but she does. "It's been a year, House. Exactly a year since you kicked me out of your life."

I grimace. She had to bring that up. "Yeah. I remember."

She sniffs softly, then continues. "House... I don't want a perfect man. I don't want the funny, nice, materialistic doctor who works with me. I don't want a so-called perfect life. I want you."

My breath caught in my throat and I look up at her. She's no longer crying. She's staring directly at me again, a blazing fire in her eyes that I've never seen before. My throat seems tighter than usual as I try to speak. "I... no you don't."

And there they were again. Tears had sprung into her eyes as she stares back at me defiantly, one hand resting on her hip. "Yes, I do, Greg! I get that you want to do what you think is best for me, but you don't get it! I want this. This, right here! You and me! Don't you get it? I want you!" she bursts out passionately.

I stare at her a moment, everything she said accumulating in my head. She wants me. No one else. Me.

She strides toward me and closes the distance between us, her hot mouth enveloping mine, her hands on my cheeks, pulling me closer than I could imagine getting. The kiss is wet, tears of joy uncontrollably pouring down both our faces as we embrace. I can't help but smile, and I feel her lips moving against mine as she grins too. Just an hour ago, I never would have thought being this happy tonight was possible.

But tonight is one of the happiest days of my life.

I have Allison back.

Wow, that was emotional.

-sniffles-

Review please, and thank you!