This is my first piece of fanfic (not just my first House fanfic), and I hope you'll enjoy it. Thanks for reading!

Regards,
-RGB

"He's still in there."

Chase continued packing up his bag as he replied "So what? He has his music on. He probably fell asleep."

Cameron shook her head in disagreement, not turning away from the glass wall separating the conference room from House's office. "He's not asleep. He's just sitting there. He's hardly moved in an hour, and he's been in there for more than two."

This was enough to merit a brief glance towards the glass wall from Chase, but not enough to actually interest him. "Well, it's home time for everyone else. He can stay in there all weekend if he wants. See you Monday."

She turned her head slightly and waved, but Chase had already walked out. She rolled her eyes and returned to contemplating the connecting door to House's office. Chase was right; it wasn't unusual for House to spend long periods listening to his music, and he'd occasionally doze off. This time, though, she could just see through the gaps in the blinds that he was fully awake. The blinds were also drawn, and the lights in the other room were off. Something was on his mind, and she was curious. Perhaps a little worried, though she'd never have admitted that to Chase or Foreman.

After another few moments of thought, she walked out into the corridor and around to the main door to his office, and knocked. There was no reply, but that was hardly out of the ordinary. She sighed, turned the handle and walked in.

House was sitting back in his chair, feet on the desk and hands behind his head. His gaze didn't move from the roof as Cameron approached. The music was soft jazz, which meant he was both sober and in a contemplative mood. She stood silently, waiting for some response, and after a few moments he glanced toward her and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm... just heading out. Did you need anything else?" she said, studying his face as much as the dim light would allow.

"Nope. See you Monday." He held eye contact for a few seconds, seeming about to say something more, then nodded and glanced away again.

Cameron opened her mouth to speak - Is everything ok? - but realized how futile and ridiculous the question would be. This was House, after all. She sighed inwardly, and turned to leave. Her hand was on the door-handle when he spoke again, startling her.

"Do you think people are defined solely by the experiences they've had with other people?"

She turned back slowly to face him, surprised but trying to seriously consider the question. "Well, I think people are the sum of their experiences plus hereditary traits. Their personalities are also influenced by how they want other people to see them."

House smirked, still not looking at her. She was trying to leave her answer open, to draw him out. How very Cameron.

"And which has most influence?" he asked, swinging his left leg off the desk and lifting his right down to the floor. He watched her intensely and with noticeable amusement in his eyes as she thought for a moment.

"I guess... experiences? Environment. We learn to be who we are."

House nodded, seemingly in agreement; that had apparently been the right answer. She noticed his brow crease into a frown for a moment, and then his face became expressionless again.

"See you Monday." he repeated, and turned in his chair to face directly away from her. Clearly, this was her cue to leave.

Have a great weekend, Cameron thought, and stepped out into the corridor. She couldn't help but take one look back before closing the door, but she could only see the back of his head in the gloom. Even after working together for three years, the man remained a mystery to her. There was something else this time, though; something about the 'conversation' they'd just had. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it troubled her.

Cameron shook her head as she put on her jacket and picked up her bag. She'd have to figure this one out later.

It was after 6:30 pm before House thought to check the time. That meant he'd been in his office for almost four hours now, thinking about the week that had just passed. He'd spent more time with a patient this week than during the last year or so of patients combined, though not by choice; the girl, Eve, had insisted on speaking only to him. She'd been raped, and refused to talk about her ordeal until House had shared a trauma from his own past. He eventually had, and the girl had duly began talking about what she'd gone through. It was a positive step, for her at least. A significant step.

What had been occupying his mind these past few hours was that having spoken to her (or rather, to anyone, much less a complete stranger) about his relationship with his father as he grew up was also a significant step for him. He wasn't convinced, however, that it was also a positive one.

Eve had said that a person's life was the sum of the experiences they had with others, and could be viewed as a series of rooms you're stuck in for a day or so with each person you encounter. Meaningless analogy, he thought. Perhaps it was, but it stayed with him nonetheless. The idea of rooms certainly conveyed what for him was an important caveat regarding memories and experiences; that some rooms, once left, should be kept locked.

The question was, why had he chosen to reopen this one now? He could readily have lied to Eve, convincingly, and the outcome would presumably have been the same. There was no reason that his story had to be a true one. He'd kept the truth of his father's abusive nature from everyone, even Wilson. And yet he had told the truth this time. He spun his cane between his nimble fingers and frowned.

When the chance to open up came along, I took it. Now, unlike every other time. The patient is gone now, so no consequences. But still... why?

And more to the point, there was the newer question which had kept him there in the gathering dusk for another 90 minutes after Cameron had left. Why had he then began to bring the topic up again with her?

Because that's what I was doing; no use lying to myself about it.

He stood up awkwardly, pausing to let blood flow back into his legs after sitting for so long. Pacing could bring clarity to almost any problem, but pacing for any extended period was difficult when you lacked a right thigh muscle. That had never stopped him before, and it wasn't about to now.

Cameron was a mystery to him. Some parts of her were as easy to read as the latest Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. Her pathological empathy, her optimism, her fundamental and misguided belief that people are basically good and noble. But she was also unreadable in other ways. Exactly what it was that motivated her past attraction to him. How she continued to put up with his gentle, and sometimes not so gentle teasing and even ridicule with a dignity that the others couldn't maintain.

And whether she still... And how she feels now.

He had made it through into the conference room and over to the coffee machine, when the thought stopped him. He was strict about not allowing himself to think of her that way. He was particularly strict about not admitting to himself that most nights, as he lay awake waiting for the last Vicodin of the day to take its full effect and allow him some sleep, he thought about her that way nonetheless.

And if he was suddenly becoming aware that he might be capable of opening up to her? Well, that would be a problem, and would be best avoided as usual. Too little, too late anyway, he thought, then immediately frowned. That was also not an acceptable thought, on a day in which he'd already had too many. Time for some coffee, perhaps a little more pacing, and then home.

The coffee machine began to warm up with its characteristic bubbling noise, but House barely noticed. Lost in thought, he was entirely unaware that his eyes rested on the chair almost always occupied by Allison Cameron.

Just once - once - she wished she could leave House at the office. Cameron had gone home, changed, and quickly discovered she had nothing for dinner, necessitating a frustrating Friday evening grocery shopping trip. She had now returned from the store, and was in the process of putting away her groceries when it hit her.

He was talking about himself.

Her mouth fell slightly open as her hand paused in mid-journey towards a package of pasta. The patient. This has something to do with the patient.

She stood up, and began pacing, unconsciously mirroring the man she was thinking about, though they were miles apart. House and the rape victim, Eve, had been at the jogging park that week, and she had started talking about what had happened to her. She had also said earlier that she wouldn't discuss it with House unless he offered her a comparative tale from his own past; Cameron knew that much because House had asked her and every other member of the team for advice on what he should say.

And Eve talked. She talked, after saying she wouldn't talk until he did. So, he talked first. Then he started asking me about whether a person was defined by what's happened to them in the past. My god.

The need to put away the groceries had vanished from her mind as she quickly shrugged on her jacket and grabbed her car keys from the kitchen table. Dinner would have to wait.