Disclaimer: Don't own; don't sue. Gracias.

Note: Post-Role Model (day after). Slight spoilers, but not many.

Summary: Goodbye was uncomfortable enough the first time. Twice, it was unbearable.

A/N: I hope all of you enjoy! I would greatly appreciate feedback.

Chapter Two

Bambi Blows A Gasket

House was pleasantly surprised when Cameron ordered a double meat, double cheese Big Mac with extra pickles and a large Diet Coke.

"Bit of an oxymoron, isn't it?" he asked her as she popped three fries drenched in ketchup in her mouth.

"Wha'z?"

House looked disgustedly at her. "Chew. Swallow. Speak."

She grinned in childish delight. "Excuse me. What is this oxymoron you speak of, Dr. House?"

"You ordered a heart attack on sesame bun with a Diet Coke. What point is there in that?"

"Um," she pondered in exaggeration, pretending to think. "I'm watching my weight?"

"What weight?" House quirked an eyebrow at her as he wolfishly bit into his own Big Mac.

She shrugged her one-shouldered shrug again and took a long sip from her tall paper cup, and then pretended to look down at her food while inspecting him. The bright lights of the typical All-American McDonald's highlighted the slight scratches on his brown jacket and how curly his hair really was. There was a very small, pale scar right above his left eyebrow that she had never noticed before.

"How'd you hurt your eye?" she inquired suddenly, before wondering if it was a touchy subject. She hoped it wasn't, and then hoped it was possible to eat her words if it was.

He looked confused for a second before realizing what she meant.

"Oh…lacrosse." Don't ask; don't ask any more, Cameron…

She nodded silently and occupied her mouth with a pickle, much to his approval.

"I broke my arm once."

House gazed at her. "And…?"

She stifled a laugh. "It hurt?"

"Did it now?" House shook his head. "Well, I'm relieved to know that it didn't tickle you beyond all measure of emotional capacity."

"Yes, but it was certainly close. I was almost scarred for life."

"And why weren't you?"

"I'm tough."

House carefully scraped the finely-chopped onions off his bun. Tough, yes. But still damaged. He discreetly looked down at her left hand ring finger, at the faint tan line where a wedding ring had once found its home. He wondered what she had done with it, but knew better than to even begin to vocalize such a question.

At least, not quite yet.

He knew she was combing him with her eyes. Secretly, but still doing it. He also knew that his appearance was more than lacking from a night of tossing and turning over the news of her resignation, and wondered for what felt like the zillionth time what exactly she saw in him. Scruffy face, messy hair, bitter and repulsive disposition – he would be willing to bet her husband had been sweet, nice, probably adopted sick puppies and healed them again, exactly like her. It was almost sickening until he realized how natural it was to her and how fondly he thought of her while she was caring for patients, or her friends…or him.

And yet, here she was in all her young and beautiful glory, pained inside that he had said no to her. Innocent, trusting…broken by her own faith in people, said House's thoughts, and he shut them out quickly before his ever-smothered conscience could rise from its bonds. He wasn't a fan of pity. She didn't need it, not from him.

House looked at her plainly. Her face was proud, and soft, and young. Her eyes were brown, and painfully reminded him of Bambi, a movie he vowed never to watch again after the thought hit him. Not that he had ever watched it before. Yeah.

"House?"

He realized she was speaking.

"You gonna finish that?" she asked, smirking at his half-finished, grease-stained box of French fries.

He pushed it toward her.

"Where are you going to go?" The words were out before he had fully formed them in his brain.

She looked at him, startled, and didn't need an explanation.

"San Diego."

He swallowed a lump in his throat. California. Beach. Men her age with medical degrees and open personalities.

Far away. An entire expanse of country away.

You are not jealous…only concerned, said House, and he scoffed at himself immediately.

Even you lie.

Cameron noticed his resigned expression.

"You picked me, House. Being fired would not look good on my resume."

House's head snapped up.

"What?" he asked in a deadly voice.

"You picked me! I was the least respected, least qualified – Vogler told me, and I quit."

House felt his blood pressure rising, but managed to not shout.

"Vogler did what?"

She looked astonished at his tone. "He told me you were firing me. He -"

"Bastard!"

House struggled to stand, grabbed his cane, and stalked out the swinging glass door. Cameron sat still for a moment, shocked, and then hurried after him, snatching her purse from the seat and muttering an apology for the trash left on the table, although no one heard her.

House was walking down the sidewalk, his head pounding.

"House! Stop! What is wrong with you?"

He stopped and whirled around to find her right behind him, looking utterly lost and forlorn.

"Why do you like me?" he asked quietly. Her lips parted slightly and she didn't reply. He hated her for approximately six seconds for making him ask, and then felt his ever-guarded heart start to hurt as she struggled to keep from crying.

"I…don't know," she whispered miserably, and furiously she wiped away the tears filling in the corners of her eyes. "You don't like me – you don't even respect me. I'm never right, and even if I am, you have to prove it before you're satisfied. You make me feel stupid, and naïve, and I'm never enough, I'm inadequate!" A floodgate had opened in her, and she found she couldn't stop. Feelings and thoughts came pouring out without reserve, and she realized that she didn't care what he would think when she was done. She was leaving, and it all needed to be aired out to dry and wither away, so she wasn't tortured inside, growing mildew at festering bothers.

"Am I just a piece of art to you? Because that's what it feels like! You've toyed with me every day of my life, House, and I'm sick of it! I'm not just some pretty thing to have around for pleasure! I'm smart, and a good doctor, and my bedside manner is a hell of a lot better than yours!" She got up in his face as much as she could within the limitations of her height. His face was impassive as she ranted.

"God, House, you can't do this to everyone! You can't manipulate everyone you meet! I don't know if it's just me that you don't like, or maybe it's just that you really don't like me, I don't know; you say that everyone lies, and you're a hypocrite! You lied the day you said you didn't like me, and you're lying now if you say that you still don't. I'm sick of being the one trying to get you to talk; I'm sick of being nice; I'm sick of being walked all over; I'm sick of being me!" she finished, and realized she had been shouting at the top of her lungs. A passerby car that had slowed down beside them quickly picked up speed as she whirled around and glared, tears of frustration and grief pouring down her cheeks.

When she turned back to him, full of dread, she found that her worst fears were confirmed. He looked coldly down at her.

"Are you finished?"

She screwed up her eyes and sat heavily on the garden wall, weeping, her hands covering her face. She heard him start to walk away, and tried to muster the courage to run back to him, but she couldn't move. She couldn't bear it any longer, and she herself stood up and slowly turned away, barely able to see for her tears.

"I've been waiting for something like this to happen," said House's voice somberly behind her, and she turned around in shock to see him standing there, his face twisted in a strangely handsome way. She thought she heard him sniff, but promptly convinced herself that she had imagined it.

"I didn't pick you. I fired Chase." House looked down at his Nike Shox and Cameron looked up at him in amazement.

"Vogler hates me for the speech thing," he muttered. "He doesn't care about the money – hell, he has enough of it to take a bath in it. He just wants to make me miserable."

Cameron blinked. "So when you said…"

House swallowed. "I said no because I wanted to keep you at Princeton. And now you're leaving anyway. I lied."

They stood there, mutely staring at each other. Cameron couldn't believe that she had actually blown up at him, and House couldn't, either.

"Could you give me a ride back to the hospital?" he asked in a low voice, and she nodded sadly, slowly. He wasn't going to ask her to stay. He wasn't going to beg.

But they both knew that he wanted to.

The ride back to Princeton-Plainsboro was silent. Both sensed that something was left undone and unsaid, but neither was brave enough to initiate it.

Cameron pulled up into the garage by his Corvette. House climbed out of the car without speaking, and shut the door with a soft snap. Cameron pulled away before he could see her crying again, and House was glad of it, because if she saw him crying, she would never be able to move on with her life.

Goodbye was uncomfortable enough the first time. Twice, it was unbearable.

Do I entertain you?

Do I preoccupy you with my wit to cover this lie?

Are you mesmerized?

Do you think me faithful, do you think me a clown?

I picked out this shirt, I put on this hat

I wore all this paint just for you

- jars of clay

A/N: Don't worry, there's much, much more to this story…