A/N: Welcome to part two of the angst. Part two of three I think.

Chapter Eleven: Bitter Hearts

James Wilson walked out of his office and nearly tripped over House, who was sitting on the floor outside his door. After a startled curse and a moments' ungraceful stumbling, he looked down to see that, even though his feet were caught up in House's legs, House hadn't even acknowledged him. He had apparently been staring at the floor between his feet before Wilson arrived and was now staring, just as blankly, at Wilson's ankles.

"House?" Wilson asked carefully.

House merely blinked and continued to stare.

"Huh," said Wilson with a shake of his head. "Can't believe the janitor just left this here. I'll go call him and let him know." He started back through the door to his office.

"What do you want?" House asked without looking up.

Wilson turned to stare at House, his mouth falling open slightly in disbelief.

"Oh…what everyone wants, really. Love, acceptance…to know why you're trying to kill me."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"What happened?"

"Depends on what you're talking about."

"Cameron was supposed to pick you up today. Either she didn't show or she did and left without you." He paused to collect his thoughts. "If she didn't show or called to say she couldn't make it…either way, you would have barged through my door without knocking half an hour ago. Which means something happened between you two and you're trying to avoid talking about it by pretending you can't see me. Very mature, by the way."

House finally met his eyes with a glare. "Are you done?"

"So, what happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," House said forcefully.

"Right…I'm not driving you home until you tell me, by the way."

House hauled himself to his feet. "I can't believe you're going to make me drag my crippled ass home just to prove a point."

"Now who's being dramatic?" Wilson said with a weary smirk, gesturing toward his office. "Get in here."

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Cameron was fuming. She couldn't believe House thought she was sick of him. She just couldn't believe he had so little faith in her. She paced around her living room agitatedly. Finally, she stopped and slumped against the wall, feeling drained. What was wrong with him anyway? What was wrong with her? They hadn't even been fighting. How could everything have gone so wrong with so little warning? Maybe they were both more stressed out than she had realized.

She knew House was getting impatient, and though he didn't talk about it, he probably felt a little discouraged too. Since he had gotten up out of the wheel chair, progress had been getting slower. It was to be expected but she knew that didn't keep House from getting frustrated with his leg and with himself. Sometimes it was hard for her to remember that just because he wouldn't talk about them, didn't mean that the emotions weren't there. It was hard for anyone to picture House with feelings, but the truth was, he wasn't all that different from anyone else. His gauge was just usually set to miserable, it seemed.

She tried to remind herself of this and to not get angry with him, but part of her still felt stung. She wondered if he would ever really trust her.

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Wilson stared at the top of his desk in silence for a moment.

"I seriously doubt that she meant it like that," he said reasonably. "I mean, she married a guy with cancer. This has got to be a breeze compared to that. You know Cameron; she was probably just worrying out loud."

"Yeah, maybe," House said, noncommittally, staring out the window.

"The way you reacted, you probably scared the crap out of her."

House didn't answer. He'd been wondering about that. If she hadn't meant what he'd thought, how badly had he just screwed up?

A/N: This one was kind of short but it was really only a transitional chapter. There will be more actual action in the next chapter, which will be up very soon.