Here is the next part of this story, and I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying it. Feedback is a wonderful thing!

To Nitpicker - Please email me with the medical/technical problems you noticed. My email addy should be in my profile. My limited research/semi-limited experience is a hindrance when it comes to writing believable medical scenes sometimes so I rely on others to help out! I agree with you about the ovarian cancer diagnosis... it doesn't work with the reality of history. I'm going to change it but haven't decided how yet. Frankly I'm not that thrilled with that entire thought exchange of House's so I may redo the whole bit.

Chapter 4

It was raining out, not that House could see it. He had all of the blinds in his office closed, including the ones that covered the walls that separated his office from the hallway. Those blinds were actually very non-standard equipment. The hospital wanted all of the doctors to seem open and accessible. That was why the walls were glass in the first place. The blinds were the first thing House had put up when he'd arrived. Usually when they were closed they kept people from even knocking. Not many people enjoyed getting their entrails handed to them along with a side order of sarcasm.

Unfortunately for House, Dr. Wilson was one of the few people who weren't intimidated by closed blinds.

"Dr. Cameron's being released today," he said as he entered and shut the door again.

House didn't look up from his gameboy. "So I've heard."

"So that's it then. You've seen the last of her. You'll just hide out here in your office for the next two weeks waiting for Vogler to work out a way to fire you."

House nodded. "Yep, sounds like a plan. Gosh, you really do know me!"

"Oh for God's sake, could you just cut the crap for once?" Wilson was one step from shouting and House's eyes actually widened as he sat up straighter. "Do you really think that alienating one of the two people who give a damn about you is the way to go?"

House stifled what he was really feeling and rolled his eyes. "She's a girl with a crush. Maybe distance is exactly what she needs to get over it and move on with her life."

"She's a woman who watched her husband die a lingering death, and is probably more mature than you, judging by your taste in television and juvenile games. But you're right about her moving on with her life. She probably will, and you'll still be drowning your sorrows in scotch and vicodin and playing melancholy songs to yourself to avoid sleeping."

"I'll have you know, this game is rated M for Mature, and what the hell do you know about it anyway?" House growled, feeling almost dangerously angry. How did Wilson know about Cameron's husband? He'd had to ambush her in the lab to get her to cough up that information and here was Wilson letting the words fall out of his mouth as if it was common knowledge. "You're working your way through marriage number three. I'd hardly call you a reliable source of relationship advice."

Most people might have been hurt by those words, but Wilson just looked resigned. He gave a little shrug. "At least I'm making an effort," he replied. "Maybe if one of them had been like Cameron I'd have stopped looking," he continued.

"Oh please! Is this where the sappy music is supposed to start and I'm supposed to realize everything that I'm missing? Because frankly, even you are not a good enough actor to sell that line."

Wilson met House's aggravated gaze and raised one eyebrow. "I think you already realize what you're missing. The question is whether or not you're going to get off your sorry ass and do something about it."

For a change, House didn't have a ready retort, and Wilson turned and left the office before he could think of anything suitably scathing. That just left him feeling even more pissed off, and he slumped back in his chair and tossed his game onto the desk.

Fuck.

Why the fuck did she have to go and get herself shot? He had been getting along just fine without her. All right, that was a lie, but at least he had resigned himself to her absence. She had been nice to have around. He could admit that. It sure as hell wasn't his fault that she had to go and get all mushy. Jesus, why did women have to be like that? Foreman and Chase didn't give a shit what he thought about them. Why did she?

Because she likes you, dumbass. He answered his own question. She'd even given reasons why she liked him as she stood in his doorway, feelings spread out naked in her eyes, her expression, her outstretched hand. And he thought she was damaged. Shit, he hadn't even been able to look at her, much less take her hand. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. He'd practically been in mourning since she'd left, and yet the first thing he did when she tried to share some honest emotion was cut her down and push her away… literally.

He hadn't said a word as he'd wheeled her back to the elevator and back to her room. He hadn't even helped her into bed; he'd called a nurse to do it. Then he'd left without a backward glance. That had been three days ago. He'd continued to keep tabs on her progress, but he'd done it by phone. He hadn't wanted to even risk the chance of seeing her in the hallway. Damn, he was a heartless bastard. He knew her family wasn't coming and he'd just let her lie up there, with only Foreman and Chase's sporadic visits to keep her from going stir-crazy. He knew exactly what that was like. He wondered if she had resorted to soap operas yet. He scrubbed his face with his hand and let out a frustrated sigh. Damn Wilson.


The steady thumping noise gave Wilson plenty of warning. He could probably have made a quick exit out of the lab through the side door. Instead he kept looking at slides and listening as the thumping grew louder.

"She's already been released," House said sharply.

Wilson casually looked at his watch, as if he needed to verify the time. He knew perfectly well that Cameron had left. He'd been the one to put her in a cab. "Four o'clock. Yeah. I guess she's been gone for almost an hour."

"Do you know who she hired for a home health aide? I can't believe Fraser let her go already. Her white count was still elevated."

"Her body's still healing from a bullet wound," Wilson replied. "I think a slightly elevated white is pretty much to be expected."

"Yeah, yeah. Now answer the question."

"I don't know. I don't think she called anyone. Foreman said she's already worried about the bills as it is."

"Damn it, Cuddy," House muttered too quietly for Wilson to hear. Now he had someone else he needed to go yell at. "If Vogler's looking for me, tell him I've gone off to accept my Nobel Prize. I'll see you tomorrow." And that was it. There was no apology for their earlier argument, not even a recognition that it had occurred.

Wilson shook his head as he watched House limp back out of the lab. "See you tomorrow, Greg."


Gregory House never drove anywhere without music blaring from the speakers, but there was always a first time for everything. The muffled swoosh-thud of the windshield wipers was currently the only soundtrack playing. In a way it was fitting because he was in the middle of another first: taking advice from Wilson.

He hooked a wide left in a busy intersection, cutting off a minivan and an SUV. Another left, then a right, and a left past the open 24hours convenience store. He'd only driven to her place once, but he remembered the way. He pulled into the little parking lot going ten miles too fast and zipped into the space next to her car.

Cameron's apartment was the second floor of an older Victorian house, with similar houses on either side, all sharing the same small parking area at the back of the properties. It wasn't the best part of town, but it was far from the worst, and House wondered how desperate or how stupid her assailant had to be to decide that this was the best place to conduct a mugging. His hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment before he reached down and cut the engine. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he needed to do it fast before his good sense kicked in and reminded him not to be a damned fool.

The rain had almost stopped and he walked down the slick, flower-lined path to the front door, avoiding the puddles and the worms that had emerged at the first sign of moisture. The three steps up to the front porch were easy enough to navigate, and he limped over to her front door. It was unlocked and led into a small entry way and the stairs to her apartment. They were narrow and steep. Naturally. He wondered how she'd managed them. Had she leaned against the wall to balance herself, or had she asked the cab driver to help her in? She really wasn't the type to ask for help and he pictured her leaning heavily on the railing and pausing half-way up to catch her breath. It was a scenario he was about to repeat.

At the top of the stairs was a landing, just big enough for a couple of people to stand. Coat hooks hung on one wall, and he noticed her raincoat and a summer jacket, and the black leather biker jacket he'd only seen her in once. A shoe rack was set against the opposite wall, with all her boots and shoes neatly lined up. He'd never noticed that she always wore heels; probably trying to compensate for some perceived deficiency. He remembered now that she'd seemed very small when he'd held her up in the elevator. He shook his head to clear it of that memory. It was better not to think about how she'd felt in his arms, his hand snug against her hip, her body leaning into his. He shook his head again and knocked on the door. He could hear faint movement on the other side and leaned against the coats, popping two vicodin as he waited. He had to shake his head once again when the door opened.

"Foreman. I wasn't expecting to see you here," he said. Was that jealousy pricking at the back of his brain?

"I could say the same thing." Foreman looked relaxed but wary.

"Just came over to see how the patient's doing. You know how it is. Once you've cut a person open you can't help but feel a certain connection."

Foreman wasn't buying the casual act. "That's the first I've ever heard you say something like that."

House glared at him. "Yes, well I generally make you people do the cutting."

"She's in the bedroom. I'm sure she'll want to see you," Foreman opened the door all the way and ushered House inside.

House didn't bother saying that he wouldn't be too sure about what she wanted.

The apartment was small but nice, with hardwood floors everywhere and one of the original stained-glass windows in the living room. Her furniture was simple but nice. Cream-colored sofa with pale green throw pillows. Black and white photographs on the walls. A bookcase crammed with books and pottery. They passed through the dining room and the table had a large floral arrangement in the center, probably from her parents. The built in hutch held more books along with antique bottles, sun-bleached shells and delicate teacups. It felt like everything held a memory and House was surprised that he actually wanted to examine it all but Foreman was still walking, and he hurried to keep up.

"Who was it?" Cameron called from the bedroom as she heard Foreman approaching. She sounded a little tired but otherwise all right.

Foreman pushed the door open and stood to one side while House came into view. The look of expectation on Cameron's face changed instantly to something completely unreadable. It was as if every thought, every emotion was suddenly locked behind an invisible door.

"I'm surprised to see you."

"I'm surprised to be here."

Foreman watched the look that passed between them and slowly backed out of the room. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough that he didn't want to be involved. "Now that you've got company I'd better head out," he said lightly. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

Cameron broke her gaze with House and gave Foreman the barest hint of a smile. "Thanks. And thanks for bringing over dinner." She motioned towards the Chinese food boxes spread out on her nightstand.

"No problem. A girl's gotta eat. Get some rest." He turned and gave House a quick warning look and then silently left the room.

House didn't move until he heard the sound of the front door closing and then he limped to the side of the bed and peered down at the boxes of food.

"Aww, no chicken lo mein, and that's my favorite," he quipped.

Cameron looked up at him and waited for him to turn and face her. "What are you doing here, Dr. House? I thought we'd already said more than enough."

"Probably, but then Wilson told me you'd been discharged and I felt honor bound to check in on you."

She closed her eyes for a second and then looked away. "Well, as you can see, I'm not completely without friends."

"Right. I was confusing you with me." House's expression grew serious and tired looking.

In fact, Chase and Foreman were the only people in Princeton whom Cameron could even consider calling friends. The competition in med school had kept her from making many friends and they had all taken positions in different states. She was almost embarrassed that the majority of her free time was spent holed up in her apartment, alone.

"You've got Wilson," she replied quietly, silently adding that he could have her too if he would just open up the smallest bit.

House seemed to realize that his eyes were giving away too much, and he blinked the shade of sarcastic detachment back over them. "Yes, of course, Wilson. He mentioned something else to me too." She looked confused and he continued on, "He told me that you didn't hire anyone to come in and take care of you."

"I don't need anyone," she reasoned. "I'm a doctor. I know how to take care of myself, and I can always call for help if I really need it."

"So you're gonna call Chase or Foreman over here to examine your sutures and help you with your bath? Because, technically, I have seen it all." What the hell was he doing? He had come here to talk seriously and all he could do was make sarcastic comments and lecherous suggestions.

Cameron's eyes grew wide with astonishment at what he was saying, but she was only tongue-tied for an instant. "So on the one hand I'm supposed to accept that you only see me as a naïve little child, but on the other hand I'm supposed to let you look at my tits?"

Now it was House's turn to be taken aback. Somehow 'tits' was one of those words he never expected to hear coming out of that perfect bow-like little mouth. It was on an unwritten list along with pussy, cock, and autoerotic asphixiation.

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Dr. Cameron?"

She smirked, feeling inordinately pleased to have caught him off-guard. "Every time I see her."

Even he had to smile at that, but he tried to hide it by looking down at his shoes and not at her. "Maybe not such a good girl after all," he murmured.

"Not much of a girl at all," she countered gently and something about the tilt of his head and a softening around his eyes made her brave.

She reached out and tentatively let her fingers brush over his until she was grasping his fingertips and pulling him a half-step closer. "I know this wasn't in your plan… I wasn't in your plan… but here we are, and I wish you could at least consider the possibilities."

"You have no idea what you're asking or what you're getting yourself into," he wanted to slap himself for sounding like the bad-boy hero in a hundred old movies.

"Then tell me. Explain it to me. Do something besides just telling me that you're a bastard and I'm a vestal virgin and never the twain shall meet." She cocked one eyebrow and caught his eye, "Because you may be right about the bastard part, but I'm no virgin."

He laughed ruefully and wondered if he was going to live to regret his next move as he leaned over and met her startled gaze for just a fraction of a second before capturing her mouth with his. He could tell that she was shocked, but a heartbeat later she was relaxing against him, her lips soft and pliant. He reached up with his free hand and cupped the back of her head, pressing her closer as he traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue and bit down on her lower lip. She let out a little gasp and he stole the opportunity to press further into her mouth, tasting her, memorizing her. His kiss was hungry and greedy, taking everything she offered and demanding more until he finally broke away leaving her breathless.

Cameron's chest heaved as she pulled in breath, hardly noticing the tug of the stitches down her chest. Her cheeks felt flushed and her fingers were tingling but when she looked up at House she saw that he was breathing hard too, and his hand was flexing and clenching on his cane.

"Was that supposed to scare me?" she asked feeling more confident than she had in days.

He blinked a few times before he replied, "I suppose it was."

"Then you'd better try again, because it didn't work."

"Given your current condition, I don't think that would be the best idea," he said, for once nothing in his tone but truth.

He took a small step backwards, suddenly needing that bit of distance. The kiss might not have frightened her but it had scared the crap out of him. It wasn't that he was completely out of practice, but this was completely different. He'd had a couple of brief flings since… well, since the one relationship that hadn't been a fling… but the women had entered them knowing exactly what the game plan was. The game plan called for drunken fun, a few nights out and a few nights in, having sex and making him forget about his leg and everything else. At the moment he couldn't even remember if he'd kissed any of them on the lips. He was certain he would never forget kissing Allison Cameron.

"So what would be the best idea?" He hadn't realized that he'd looked away but now he turned his head to look at her, sitting there with a look in her eyes that soothed him.

"Where do you keep your medical supplies? Closet? Bathroom?"

"What?" He could change gears faster than his car.

"Antiseptic, aspirin, thermometer, you know… the stuff you use when you're hurt or sick?"

"House, can't we just talk? Please?"

"We can talk any time. Your incision could be turning septic while we stand around blathering… okay, while I stand around blathering."

Cameron gave a little sigh and closed her eyes. "Bathroom across the hall. Under the sink. There's a basket there."

House limped into the bathroom and quickly found the basket. Like everything else in the apartment it was neat and well organized. He grabbed betadine, sterile pads and the thermometer just for good measure before heading back to the bedroom.

She pinned him with her gaze as soon as he came back in the room. "You don't really think I'm going to let you--"

"Let me what? Play doctor?" he cut her off. "Why not? I'm quite good at it, really."

"House…"

"Just let me do this," he said as he walked to the side of the bed.

In her mind she was screaming that she needed to demand that they sit down and talk, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was, "Fine."

He nodded once, a little surprised but glad. He just couldn't talk. Not quite yet. He needed to do something familiar, something easy, and compared to having an honest heart-felt conversation, even open heart surgery sounded easy to him.

"Here, open your mouth," he held out the thermometer and she rolled her eyes.

"I don't have a temperature."

"You seem to forget that I've seen your chart. You've been on mass quantities of antibiotics for almost a week and your white count is still borderline. Now open up and let's make sure you don't have a raging infection going on inside." Yes, this was definitely easier.

She opened her mouth and clamped it shut around the thermometer, but her expression said all the words she couldn't.

"I can't believe you haven't gone digital. Here I thought all the young people threw away anything over five years old," House remarked while he looked at his watch, counting the seconds.

"Not all of us," Cameron was finally able to reply when he took hold of the thermometer and held it up to the light to read it.

House pretended he hadn't heard her. She was trying to trick him into talking, and it wasn't going to work. "Ninety-nine point seven. Running a little hot, Dr. Cameron.?"

"Only when you're in the room," she shot back, and watched the startled look pass over his face.

"Okay, then, on to the next order of business," He was back to pretending not to hear, and Cameron felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a half-smile. "How do you want to do this?"

The smile quickly fled. He was gesturing towards her chest and suddenly her bedroom seemed much too small for the two of them. Despite the fact that she'd had him off-guard less than thirty seconds ago, he decided not to hold a grudge.

"Cameron, I just want to look at the sutures. Can you just unbutton enough for me to do that?" he said gently.

She nodded. "Right. Yeah. I can do that."

Her fingers fumbled at the first button, but by the third she had regained her composure. Soon she had the soft shirt completely undone and she pulled the edges apart just far enough so that the seam that now ran down the center of her chest was visible. To be completely honest, she was glad to have someone else take care of it. She could barely look at it without her stomach turning a somersault. In the hospital she'd seen a hundred things worse, but it was much, much different when it was her own body.

"Mind if I sit down? I'd rather not fall on top of you," House said, the sarcasm returning slightly.

She nodded, her head turned away.

House sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and propped his cane against the nightstand before looking down at the thin line of pale flesh accented by black surgical staples. It wasn't that bad, really. It seemed to be healing quite well. Probably wouldn't even leave much of a scar. All right, that last one was a lie and he knew it. The last time he'd seen this particular patch of skin he'd been acting on instinct. He'd sliced through it without a second thought except to what he was going to do next. The only emotion he'd felt then had been a furious rage; directed at Niquist for being incompetent, and the mugger for being a selfish asshole, and at Cameron for lying there dying. But now when he looked down at the evidence of that near-death he felt sick, and the bone-chilling fear he hadn't allowed himself at the time crashed over him like a wave. He swallowed hard and opened the bottle of antiseptic.

"Doesn't look too bad," he said and his voice was steadier than his hand as he poured the liquid onto one of the gauze pads.

She flinched when he touched the top of the scar. "You forgot to say 'this is gonna sting a little'," she joked.

"Well, being a doctor and all, I figured you'd heard it all before." Her little grin steadied his hand and he cleaned the rest of the wound and patted it dry with another pad. "There. All set. And you didn't even have to show my your tits." He made it a joke, but the truth was that as close as they were to being bare, he hadn't even thought about them.

Cameron started buttoning her pajama top again and House stood up and limped to the other side of the room, where he looked at the pictures hung on the wall and the few knick-knacks scattered on her white antique vanity.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, gathering her strength for what she knew would be a fight. "This is supposed to be the part where we talk."

House turned to face her. "Right. Talking. Never my strong suit, actually."

A snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "Yeah, right."

He scowled at her and limped back across the room. "Okay, what do you want to talk about? What do you want me to say?"

She pressed her lips together and just looked at him for a minute, letting her eyes do the talking for her until he'd released the ugly look on his face and replaced it with something less forbidding. "I want to talk about what happened a few minutes ago. I want to talk about what's been happening for a few months now. I want to talk about why I had to quit."

"I think I already know the answer to that one," House said wearily. "If I recall correctly it had something to do with protecting yourself. Seems like you've decided to throw caution to the wind now." He grabbed the stool from her vanity and sat down. This wasn't a conversation he could have standing up.

"Well it seemed like you might be willing to do the same," Cameron said slowly. "Look, I know you hate all this touchy-feely crap. Solving puzzles that have definite answers is definitely more your style. So I'm not going to ask what you're feeling. I'm not going to ask if you like me again. I think I already have the answer to that… I hope I already have the answer to that. I'm just going to ask if you can possibly not hide it quite so much, and if you could possibly try to accept the fact that what I'm feeling for you is not a crush, and it's not some hero-worship gone wrong. And then, if you can do that, I'm asking if you can at least think about doing something about it… you know… like normal people who find themselves attracted to each other." She was surprised that he'd let her get all that out without interrupting, and she concentrated on his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.

He nodded a few times and then rested his chin on his cane, his blue eyes piercing right through her. "You're right. I hate the touchy-feely crap," he said, watching to see if her eyes would waver. They didn't. "I'm not making any promises to you."

"I don't expect any."

"Good." He stood up and moved to her side. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow. Get some rest."

Cameron nodded. If this was all he could do at the moment, it was enough. She felt her heart speed up when he leaned closer and then he was brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. She didn't say anything as he pulled away and walked towards the door, but her eyes were focused on the line of his back and the angle of his head.

He turned around to face her as he reached the hall. "You're right," he admitted, "I do like you," and then he was limping down the hall, the thud of his cane growing lighter as he walked away from her and out of the apartment.