A short chapter, but the next one should follow within two days, and I wanted to get something out after that heartbreaking episode.

To Val'istar (and anyone else who is interested)... Please email me if you'd like to read my other story. I tried emailing you but your address didn't work. Mine is listed in my profile.

I love that so many people are following this story. It's a real joy to write and I love reading all of your comments.

Chapter 13

House kept his promise and put the top down in the convertible as soon as he started the engine. Then he watched, out of the corner of his eye, as the stress that had kept Cameron tight as a bowstring while they were in the hospital gradually melted away the further they got from the parking garage. The wind caught her long hair and sent it swirling around her and she even smiled and allowed a small, joyful laugh to bubble up out of her chest.

"Having fun?" House asked, keeping his own grin in check but enjoying her reaction nonetheless.

She turned to him, still smiling. "Yes. I don't think I've been in a convertible since I was in high school, and it was definitely not as cool as this one."

"Yes, well this is a regular chick magnet," House replied drolly. "Or at least that's what Wilson keeps telling me."

Cameron raised one eyebrow and turned to him, her expression mischievous. "Funny, I would have thought he'd call it a pussy wagon," she commented, and then turned back to the road while House stifled his shocked expression and his chuckle.

"Keep that up and I'll drive us right off the road."

She merely grinned and kept her eyes facing forward.

They stopped at the video store to fulfill House's other promise, and Cameron rented not only 'TombRaider' but 'TombRaider2' as well. The rest of the drive home consisted of a debate as to which was the superior film. Cameron called it a draw. House insisted he had won. Neither of them mentioned hospitals or police stations or pain medications, but pizza was discussed and ordered.

Credits rolled on the last movie at just after seven, and House stretched and levered himself off the sofa. He had started out in the chair, but somehow, between pizza and popcorn and bathroom breaks he had ended up next to Cameron with his arm once again draped casually over her shoulder. She missed its warmth when he stood up.

"You should eat something else."

She grimaced. "I'm full of popcorn," she protested.

He let his eyes roam over her body and she felt herself getting uncomfortably warm under his gaze. "You're losing weight."

"Surgery will do that to you," she shot back, slightly annoyed.

"So will not eating right."

"You're the one who suggested pizza."

"That was lunch. Now I'm suggesting dinner."

Cameron wanted to laugh. This back and forth bantering could go on all night. "I'm full and I'm not eating anything else," she announced, effectively ending the argument.

House stared at her as if he could change her mind with just his eyes. Normally he could, but not this time. "Fine. Don't come crying to me when you're malnourished."

"Don't worry. I won't. I'll go crying to Dr. Wilson."

There was a gleam of playfulness in her eyes, and on her face, and suddenly House wanted to reach down and pull her up and into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Instead he said, "It's getting late. I should go and give you a chance to rest."

All playfulness left her and she pushed herself off the sofa as House turned his back on her. Step-thump. Step-thump. Step-thump. And he was at the door. She caught up to him and put her hand over his on the doorknob.

"Don't be angry," she said softly. "I was only kidding."

He looked down at her, wondering how she could be so mistaken about his feelings when normally she saw right through him. He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

"Trust me. I'm definitely not angry," he said.

That was when she saw the burning light in his eyes and she took in a quick breath. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh."

A blush was definitely creeping up her neck but for once she didn't mind. "Kiss me," she said, and it wasn't a request.

His brain was telling him not to but his baser instincts won. He separated their hands so that he could run his fingers through her hair, brushing it back until his hand rested at the back of her head. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him and he memorized that look for future reference. Then his mouth was descending and his hand was supporting her head and her eyes were slipping closed on a sigh. Her lips were soft and so yielding and he had to taste them, just once, and his tongue slid out as she opened her mouth to welcome him in.

At some point, one of her hands found its way to his shoulder while the other covered his on the handle of his cane. Her knees were feeling weak and she needed the support as much as he did. The taste of him, the heat and the power and the wonderful feel of his mouth on hers was making her forget all of her earlier self-consciousness. A slight sound, almost but not quite a moan, came from her lips and House took a deep breath and gently pulled away.

He looked down at her, and she looked up at him, and they both caught their breaths and regained their footing.

"I need to go."

She nodded. "You'll call tomorrow?"

His hand trailed down her arm. "I'll come over at noon. I'll bring lunch."

A little smirk. "Make it something healthy. I hear I'm not eating well enough."

"I'll see what I can do," he replied and then he was opening the door and she was standing in the doorway watching him limp down the narrow staircase and out. He didn't look back, but she didn't expect him to.

The rest of the week followed a pleasant routine that was neither discussed nor agreed upon. House would go to the hospital in the morning, putter around, annoy the nurses, harangue Cuddy, Foreman and Chase, chat with Wilson, and then leave the parking garage by no later than noon. The rest of the day belonged to Cameron and even though he would never admit it, he was surprised at how well they fit together.

She had a dry wit that he had only seen the barest edges of at the hospital. Her sly one-liners were usually timed for when he had a mouth full of either food or drink and had to fight to keep from choking or spitting it across the room. She also knew when to be quiet. That was key. Sitting in companionable silence, reading or watching television, or doing crosswords from the enormous book Foreman had sent over, were some of their most pleasant hours.

Evenings were slightly harder. House was never sure if he should stay for dinner or not, but most often he ended up staying. Something about evening and its proximity to night and therefore bed-time, made both of them more keenly aware of one another in a physical way. Inevitably the night would end with a kiss at her door, neither ready for more, but neither capable of telling the other exactly why.

House was surprised when the phone rang on the second night and he heard Cameron's ragged voice on the other end. He had been dozing on his sofa, as usual, and was half-way to the door when she told him that she was all right. She was fine. She had just had a nightmare. She had just needed to hear his voice, and remember, he had told her that it was okay for her to call. He told her that he remembered, and then he played her back to sleep.


Wilson entered the office and immediately took his place in the easy chair. "So, first day back and already a difficult patient. After two weeks off you must be relieved to jump right in."

House shrugged. "Yeah, nothing like people on the verge of death to really get the ol' blood pumping."

His friend laughed. "Nice try, but I know you. You love this. It's like the thrill of the hunt. Not to mention it gives you a chance to bark orders at whoever happens to get in your way. In fact, it seems like things are just about perfect except…"

"Don't."

Wilson ignored him. "Except for the notable absence of a certain immunologist."

House rolled his eyes and turned away. "You know damn well she isn't cleared to work yet."

"And if she was?"

"If she was, she still wouldn't be working here," House said bluntly.

A slightly confused look and then, "I thought you wanted her to come back."

"I do. She doesn't know if that's what she wants and this is one time badgering her won't work."

Wilson drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his thigh. "But she hasn't taken anything else yet?"

House slowly reached inside his jacket and pulled out three rather battered looking envelopes.

"You stole her mail?" he asked incredulously. "Yeah, that's a good way to start the relationship."

"Borrowed. For an indefinite amount of time." Shit. He'd been counting on Wilson to back him up. He'd felt like crap ever since pulling the letters out of Cameron's mail on the way up her front stairs two nights earlier. The return addresses were prominent doctors at other hospitals. One was from another hospital in the area, but the other two were from Boston.

Wilson stood up and walked to the desk, taking the letters from House. He glanced at them briefly and looked up. "Greg, she must have sent out her CV over a month ago. Before everything happened." He didn't know why, but he had trouble referring to Cameron's attack directly. "You don't think she'd seriously consider moving now, do you?"

No, he didn't. Maybe that was part of the problem. He could fake a weak ego and say he feared losing her, but that wasn't the truth. He knew she wouldn't go anywhere now that they were on the edge, the teetering precipice, of actually turning their newly comfortable, if still strange, relationship into something deeper. She wouldn't leave him now, and that scared the shit out of him. It was all totally up to him. He would have to forcibly push her away if he wanted her out of his life, and the most frightening part of all was that he didn't want that.

House noticed that Wilson was staring at him and settled his eyes on him. "No," he remembered the original question and finally answered it.

"Didn't want her to see what she's missing, then?" Wilson dropped the letters on the desk and grinned as he shook his head. "You really are in deep. Greg House, committing petty larceny for reasons unknown even to him."

A jeering grin appeared on House's face. "Yes, ha ha. Very amusing."

The satisfied smile faded a bit as Wilson retook his seat. "You don't like having this much control over her, do you?" he said, more a statement of fact than an actual question.

"She's her own person. I don't have any control over her," House scoffed, picking up the letters and putting them back into his pocket.

"Right. The fact that you know she won't leave doesn't indicate any attempt at control on your part at all."

"But I'm not keeping her from doing whatever she wants to do."

"You have her letters."

House turned away again. "Fine. I'm controlling and I don't like it."

"There's something else though, isn't there?" Wilson prodded. "I know you. I can tell."

A moment of silence before House spoke again. "If she saw those letters she'd ask my opinion. She'd want me to tell her not to go."

"And you'd tell her to leave."

Damn, Wilson really did know him. He remained silent and turned on his game.

"You know what, though?" Wilson asked rhetorically as he stood up. "She wouldn't go even if you told her to because she knows you now." He chuckled a bit. "That's why you're in trouble."


Four o'clock and he hadn't talked to her all day. She hadn't called, which didn't surprise him. She only called late at night, and after that first night they never spoke about those calls again. He tried to put the fact that he'd never played the same piece twice, down to coincidence, and not a subtle need to show-off his repertoire.

He flipped his cell-phone open, closed it, then opened it again. Checked his messages. None. Changed the ringtone to 'Paradise by the Dashboard Lights'. Changed the background image to a picture of a red corvette. Finally he pressed her number on the speed dial.

"Hello?"

She sounded like she'd just woken up from a nap. Good. She was supposed to be resting.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?"

Cameron almost laughed. "Is this a trick question?"

"No. I thought it was fairly simple," he said flatly.

She blinked a few times, surprised at his tone. "Umm… nothing. I'm not doing anything. You know that."

Of course he knew it. That was beside the point. "Would you like to go out? I thought dinner would be good… nice."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Does it sound like it?"

"Yes."

"Then you have your answer."

A smile spread across her face. "But we've already been spending almost every evening together. You don't have to be so formal all of a sudden."

"Maybe I want to be. You mentioned dating like normal people. It's been a while but I'm pretty sure this is still how it's done."

She blinked again. "Oh. Okay. Then yes. Yes, I'm free, I mean. I'd love to go out to dinner. With you."

"Good." He relaxed his grip on the phone. Damn, why was he nervous? It was pretty damn obvious that she was a sure thing. "I'm working late tonight so I won't see you until tomorrow. I'll pick you up at seven."

Right. He was working. Apparently that meant that their comfortable, unwritten routine was ending. A small knot of sadness settled in her chest. She was going to miss it.

"Seven?" he repeated.

"I'll be ready."