Author's Note: I forgot a disclaimer in the first chapter and a few other things, so here they are now.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Please don't sue me. My parents already can't afford me.

This is a Cameron/House ship. A/U at the moment, although, in my opinion, she's coming back.

Thanks for the feedback. I can take both praise and constructive criticism. It's a part of life. This is my first fan fiction story, so I'm still figuring out how to work the upload parts of the thing.

I'll try to update whenever possible, which will be quite often at the moment. They'll be short, but worth it.

The song is purely the work of the genius, Bob Dylan. A Simple Twist of Fate is an amazing song. And now, on with the story…

She looked at him and he felt a spark tingle to his bones

'Twas then he felt alone and wished that he'd gone straight

And watched out for a simple twist of fate

The red convertible looked especially stunning as the first stars emerged from their cocoon of daylight. Cameron's face betrayed her shock as House opened the driver's door.

"I'm incredibly sorry, but drooling on or near the car is grounds for immediate removal from aforementioned car. And one word about how I'm trying to compensate for something, and I'll leave you here to fend for yourself," House warned her.

Cameron's mouth shut and she gingerly opened the door.

House fastened his seatbelt. He drove fast and didn't like to take chances with his own life, noting how precious it was to so few people, one of those fans was sitting next to him at this moment. He didn't know why he had decided to go along and knew he should have thought of an excuse. He was Dr. Gregory House for God's sake—jazz did not take precedent over his damn reputation.

"Ladies and Gentleman of this journey, please buckle your seatbelts. I don't have the money to pay for the insurance suits that are sure to follow if someone's neck snaps because of my incredibly fast and adept driving skills."

Cameron cast him a look that told him to shut up and he chuckled, while he watched her secure the belt.

"And here goes we," he mumbled under his breath.

Cameron didn't say anything as they pulled out of the garage. House worried that she might be thinking naughty thoughts about what she wanted to do to him—or maybe he wasn't so worried about that situation.

It wasn't that he wouldn't sleep with her; he'd do that in a minute. It was the fact that he couldn't sleep with her and then leave her knowing she loved him. He was cold and callous and basked in those facts, but breaking hearts of widowed women was not something he wanted to start specializing in.

"So, Dr. House, how'd you get into jazz?" Cameron asked as he turned right.

Don't ask me questions, Cameron, they lead to answers you don't want to hear, he silently begged her. Instead of answering her question, he hand flicked on the radio to a classic rock station that was currently blasting Billy Joel's Big Shot.

"Dr. House?" She asked with a pleading tone in her voice.

His fingers drummed along to the music and he desperately tried to think of a biting remark or anything else he could possible say that would make her stop. He didn't want to tell her the truth and he knew she didn't want to hear it.

"I've always loved jazz, but I loved it even more so when Stacey and I listened to it together."

He could see the look of disappointment and confusion in her eyes. He smiled knowing as always that he was right. She didn't want to know the truth. He knew that she didn't know who Stacey was, but that it was a woman's name. He had loved someone else.

"Stacey…?"

"Yes, and we did have sex. Daily. Sometimes twice a day. Good for the soul, you know? Or, perhaps you don't?"

"You're saying I'm a virgin? House, I cannot believe you…" she started.

"Well, I didn't invite a grouchy old man to come along to a jazz show now did I? You got what you wanted—me coming to this thing with you. Now could you shut the hell up so I can enjoy Mr. Joel?"

Her eyes burned into the side of his head.

"Don't make me take my eyes off the road. We don't need to have an accident now do we?"
"Pull over."

He sneered.

"Why? Can't take a little teasing? Oh, Cameron, such a weak woman. Tsk, tsk," he reprimanded.

She set her jaw once again and started to turn her head. House looked over at her and she swiveled her head back around to look him dead in his clear, blue eyes.

She didn't say anything and didn't have to for him to understand. Her head turned to watch the speeding dark of the night and the blurry lights of the Princeton metropolitan speed by.

Her eyes had been filled with passion and lust, and I want you, now. He couldn't do this. He was drowning in the wind and her and the silence that now hung between them cut more than any of his biting remarks ever could. He should have told her to go home, or give the ticket to Wilson. He should have snapped at her to really go away. He should have walked away from her and saved himself. Should have. The decisions we make in the moments of insecurity and empty desire for something that exists in the phantom recesses of memory, he thought, are the ones we regret most.

He tilted his chin up and scratched at his graying beard. This was going to be a long night, especially if they were as he suspected—

Pitifully lost.