To all of my reviewers... I'd name y'all but there are too many of you!... thanks! I swear I type faster just because I don't want to disappoint you by not getting a chapter out every other day!

Chapter 18

The afternoon passed slowly, but peacefully. Lunch was eventually made and eaten, and then Cameron suggested a game of chess. She'd spotted his set on the bottom shelf of his bookcase, covered in a thin layer of dust. House assumed that it would be a quick game, but over an hour and two checks from Cameron later, he finally managed to pin her down with a rook and queen's bishop.

"Check-mate," he declared triumphantly.

Her lips formed an extremely kissable pout which he ignored. "Next time I won't go so easy on you," she replied with a slow rise of her eyebrow.

"Oh, of course… you just let the old man win," House scoffed as he flipped the wood-inlaid board over and started putting the pieces into their velvet lined places. He glanced up at her out of the corner of his eye. "Where the hell'd you learn to play like that?"

"Grandfather," she told him, grin a bit too smug to be called friendly. "Just because I was raised on a farm doesn't mean we were all a bunch of yokels."

"I never thought otherwise," House claimed, with faked innocence.

"Liar."

"What about the piano?"

"What?" One of these days she would get used to House's rapid change in topics.

"You play? You were looking at it earlier."

She shook her head, hair falling forward across her shoulders. "No. Well… a little. My mom forced lessons on us for a few years. She played. I guess she hoped one of us would take after her."

"So let's hear you." House shoved aside the end table they'd been playing on and pushed up from his chair.

"Right now? No…no way. Why don't you play something?" Cameron looked up at him, eyes holding that soft, wistful expression he always had to blink to avoid. "I've only heard you play over the phone."

"I don't play to an audience," he groused, limping towards the kitchen.

"Unless they're a few miles away?"

"Right."

He disappeared from sight and Cameron sighed. Well, it had been worth a try. She rose from the sofa and walked to the piano, glancing at the books and music piled on top, an ashtray with a stubbed out cigar perched precariously on top of one stack of medical textbooks. She wondered if that was one of the ones she'd bought him for Christmas. She'd heard him mention them to Wilson and had taken a chance. In retrospect, feeding into one of his addictions probably wasn't a good idea, but it had been Christmas and she'd really wanted to get him something he'd enjoy.

The clink of ice heralded House's return, and Cameron looked over at him. He was standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his cane and staring at her as he took a drink.

"A bit early, isn't it?" she said before she could stop herself.

House lowered his glass slowly. "For ginger ale? Not particularly," he said dryly.

She thought about apologizing but decided against it, turning back to the sheet music instead.

"So, you going to play, or what?"

"I already told you no."

"I'll make you a deal. You play something, so will I." It was a generous offer. House wasn't one for making deals. Especially even ones.

"I told you, I don't really play."

"You took lessons, and I can tell by how your hands were moving a minute ago, that you remember something. Let's hear it."

Cameron rolled her eyes and sat down on the bench with an audible huff. "Fine. You asked for it."

Were her fingers actually shaking? House stepped a bit closer and watched her face.

"Could you not do that?"

"What?"

"Watch me like you're going to be passing out grades at the end."

House looked exasperated for a moment, but then he thumped his way back to the window and looked out at the cars speeding past. It was a residential street and they were going much too fast. Of course he was usually the worst offender. His ears perked up and the cars became a distant memory as he listened to a hesitantly played version of Beethoven's Adieu to the Piano. There were a few missed notes that made him grit his teeth, but he was surprised how nice it was to hear someone else playing. It was homey and domestic and everything he usually despised. But on this day, in this hour, he listened and he thought of perfect times that would never be and probably had never been. The final note sounded and he took that as his cue to turn back around.

"Satisfied?"

"Not really. It sucked."

Cameron looked distressed for just a second before pursing her lips and rolling her eyes. "Thanks."

House limped over to her and rested one hand on her shoulder. "You should start playing again," he said, voice low and seductive.

Cameron decided right then, that if he taught her, she'd practice as often as he wanted.

"Up," he commanded. "Go sit somewhere."

"I am sitting somewhere," she said coyly. "I'm sure there's room for both of us."

"I had to turn away while you played, and now you're going to sit on my lap?"

"No, I'm going to sit next to your lap." She grabbed his hand and pulled him slightly off balance so that his face was level with hers. "Sitting on your lap comes later," she said with a grin as she leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

Damn. When the hell had she gotten so confident? Hadn't she been crying on his sofa a few hours ago? That was the last time he played chess with her.

"Have it your way," House said grudgingly, lowering himself to the bench as Cameron scooted to one end.

He started off playing a quick tune, a short piece by Bach, and then segued into Mozart and then to a very slow version of The Beatles' Blackbird. He surreptitiously looked at Cameron who was sitting very still at the end of the bench, hands crossed on one knee, eyes concentrating on his fingers, lips just slightly parted in a way that made him want to stop playing, grab her shoulders and kiss her. Instead he paused in his playing and then started again with Chopin's Nocturne. When he finished, the final notes rang in the air, echoing against the high ceiling before finally fading away.

Cameron slid one hand across ivory keys and squeezed his left hand briefly. "That's my favorite," she whispered, "and usually I'm asleep by the time you finish playing it."

House grabbed her hand when she went to pull it away, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her the way he'd been longing to since breakfast. Soft and pliant and so wonderfully warm and alive. He moved his free hand to her leg and let his thumb stroke gently over the thick denim. A brief flash of memory. She'd been wearing jeans when they brought her into the ER. Damn, they'd talked too much today. He didn't want to think anymore. He just wanted to feel. His hand moved to her hip and then to her shoulder. Then his lips were moving across her jaw to the pink shell of her ear.

"I want you," he murmured huskily.

Cameron felt her heartbeat quicken. She couldn't ever remember House saying anything about wanting or needing or even liking her, except under direct questioning. All those things had simply been assumed. She pulled back slightly and scanned his face, reading every emotion there. She had a feeling that quite a few of them were on her own: desire, trust, fear, guilt; a need to forget some of the bad memories by pushing them aside with good ones.

"I want you too," she said. She wouldn't admit that she needed and craved and probably loved him too. Those were words for another, distant time.

House reached for his cane and then pulled her up with him, and together they walked down the hall and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.


Letting out a long groan, House rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Damn. Time to get up. He reflected, for the second time, that the early morning hours were not nearly as enjoyable without Cameron in the bed beside him.

Their lovemaking Saturday afternoon had been much needier and more primal than their first time. It had been all raw emotion and the heat of flesh against flesh as they came together; greedily exchanging kisses and embraces along with desperate cries and fierce shouts. The poetry of their bodies joining and moving together as one had still been there, but it had been a different kind of poetry.

Afterwards they had ordered dinner in and watched movies on the sofa until, by some mutual and unspoken agreement, they had retired once more to the bedroom. There had been no sex that night, just a few long kisses and gentle touches before they fell asleep, Cameron's hand cradled between both of House's.

Cameron had woken in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and thrashing enough to jostle House's leg and send him grabbing for the vicodin bottle. He'd reached for the light, but she'd stopped him, not wanting him to see her face and the fear written there. Not knowing what else to do, House had pulled her close and gently traced intricate patterns on her bare back until he felt her heart stop racing and the steady breathing that indicated she'd fallen back to sleep. He'd been annoyed by how surprised he was that she would have a nightmare with him right in the bed beside her. As if merely his presence should chase every bad thought from her head. Sometimes his ego disgusted him.

Sunday morning had been spent in bed with coffee, toast and the newspaper; House in his boxers and Cameron in his t-shirt from the day before, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she read. It had been early afternoon before she'd announced that she should really head home. After so many unguarded hours together, they both needed time apart. Time to think and rebuild walls that had started to crumble… perhaps adding doors.

Plans had been made for Wednesday night, and they had parted at Cameron's front porch. Their last kiss had been long and sweet, hands coming up to touch places that had formerly been forbidden territory. There were no declarations of love, or promises to call, just one long kiss and a shared look that said more than enough.

Sunday afternoon had been decidedly anticlimactic, in more ways than one, but House had actually enjoyed the time alone. Cameron was right. They needed space to digest what had happened and was happening between them. He couldn't decide if he loved or hated it when she was right. He knew that he much preferred when he was right. Of course he had agreed with her, so that made him right too.

Smoking, drinking, a tv dinner, a marathon of The O.C. followed by more drinking, piano playing and bed. He'd squeezed his thinking in somewhere between the rest of his busy schedule. The main thought centered around surprise… surprise that he kept looking up expecting to see her there, and surprise that the idea didn't completely bother him.

He had held off going to bed until nearly two in the morning, on the off chance that she would have another nightmare and call him up. She hadn't, and his late night was the reason Monday morning seemed much too early. The two vicodin weren't making his head feel any clearer, but his leg wasn't throbbing anymore, so he stumbled into the bathroom and attempted to make himself semi-presentable for the day.

Normally the clinic was packed on Monday mornings with all the people who had decided to try and 'wait it out' over the weekend. House was surprised to see the waiting room nearly empty and when his clinic hours were cut short by the arrival of a diagnostics consult the day really began to look up. He'd only had to treat two stuffy noses and bandage three knees.

Naturally there was a cloud to every silver lining. The patient had come in with every indication of a brain tumor, except there was no tumor in evidence. Wilson had been the first doctor called, and he was the one presenting the case to House, Foreman and Chase. The look in Wilson's eye every time he glanced in his direction was almost enough to make House squirm. Almost. House nearly decided to go and see the patient for himself just to escape the third degree he knew was forthcoming. In the end, he decided he preferred the devil he knew to the sick patient he didn't, and sent Foreman and Chase off to draw the blood and run the tests.

Meanwhile, he attempted to make a quick escape into his office, but Wilson was right behind him. After lowering himself into his desk chair he picked up his oversized tennis ball and started tossing it into the air.

"Some other pertinent detail you needed to tell me about Ms. Haynes?"

The smile that was already on Wilson's face grew larger and more smug. House rolled his eyes in response.

"You know you want to tell me."

"Tell you how ugly your tie is? You're right, I have been dying to let you know, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"It had to be good or you wouldn't be insulting me, you'd be mocking yourself," Wilson said knowingly, quite unperturbed by House's attitude.

"How many times have you been married again?"

"Three."

"And how many times did I ask you for a blow by blow on how those relationships were going prior to the walks down the aisle?"

Wilson did a fair approximation of one of House's smirks. "Never, and I was always very hurt."

House was tempted to hurl the tennis ball at his head. He settled for rolling his eyes again.

"So, did she like the restaurant? Did you end up getting her sappy flowers?" Years of friendship had taught Wilson that serious questions would get him nowhere, but teasing might at least get him snarky replies which could then be analyzed to decipher their true meaning.

"It was a good first date." House surprised him by actually answering.

"And how did it end? Kiss on the cheek? On the lips? She invite you up to see her etchings?" Wilson chuckled at the classic seventies pick-up line.

House said nothing. He tossed the ball a little higher and wondered if he could bounce it off the ceiling and land it in Wilson's smug mouth. He knew that Wilson was just trying to be a good friend, but hell, he'd only had forty-eight hours to process the dramatic change in his relationship with Cameron. He wasn't ready to start discussing it yet, even with Wilson.

"You sleep with her?" It was purely a joke on Wilson's part, designed to get House to spill the beans on what they actually had done.

The colored ball was caught and held. Long, dexterous fingers turning it slowly while their owner examined it as if it was a precious gem.

"You did! Good God, I can't believe it! I hope you wore a condom… you never know where she's been!"

The expression that rapidly took over House's face was one of fiercely protective anger, and Wilson knew that the old adage 'if looks could kill' fit it perfectly. His boyish grin faded and he looked at House with sincerity.

"It was just a joke, House." He watched the other man's face soften slightly. "One date and you're already gone." He smiled again, this time fondly, rather than smugly.

House let out a long sigh and tossed the tennis ball to Wilson as a sort of manly peace offering. "Dating had nothing to do with it," he said slowly. "And I'm not gone yet."

Wilson decided not to voice his opinion to the contrary. He tossed the ball in the air before throwing it back to House. "Anything else you're willing to share about this 'good date' of yours?"

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of House's mouth. "She plays chess."

"Thank God!" Wilson's eyes shone with amusement. "Does this mean I can stop trying to learn?"

House laughed, a sound that Wilson heard precious little of, and threw the ball against the floor, catching it neatly on the rebound. "Yeah, I think we can end those torture sessions."

"Good. I have enough humiliation in my life." He paused and waited until House looked over at him. "She any good?" The words held meaning far beyond the obvious.

"Yeah. She's good. She almost had me beat." In more ways than one.


Lunchtime, and House's mood remained remarkably good for a Monday. His patient was undergoing an MRI, he had his favorite sandwich in his hand, and he was contemplating giving Cameron a call. He banked a hard left around the corner to avoid being seen by Cuddy, and then made a bee-line for his office. Two more steps and he could enjoy his lunch in peace.

"Hey, Dr. House! You gotta minute?"

House froze, grimaced and turned around to face a rapidly approaching Foreman. "Since I don't think you'll care if I say no, sure, I've gotta minute," House replied sarcastically.

Foreman let the words roll off of him, though his expression did tighten a bit as he scanned House's face as if looking for hidden information, then followed the older doctor into his office.

"What's on your mind? Politics? Movies? The relative salary increase involved if you were to ditch the coat and start peddling drugs on the street?"

Foreman sighed with exasperation and shook his head. "I tried calling Cameron over the weekend and all I got was her machine. I thought maybe you'd heard from her."

The question seemed innocent enough; however, the look and tone that accompanied it was anything but. House picked up on it immediately and his eyes darkened.

"Why yes, Dr. Foreman, I did speak to Dr. Cameron over the weekend and she's feeling just fine. You could probably try calling her again and ask her yourself."

"Maybe I will," Foreman replied, words almost a threat.

House rolled his eyes and sat down. "Cut the crap, Foreman. We've already done this routine. You think I'm taking advantage of poor, sweet Allison, and you're here to play big brother again and warn me not to dick around with her. That about right?"

Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, and Foreman looked just as intimidating but slightly more annoyed. "Something like that, yeah. You aren't exactly known for being a nice guy."

"True," House said with a quick nod and bright eyes, "but as it turns out, Cameron isn't terribly interested in me being a nice guy."

"I guess she sees something the rest of us are missing," Foreman said with no little amount of sarcasm.

"True again," House replied, leaving off the 'including me'.

Foreman relaxed and unclenched. "If she's happy, I'm happy."

"Then we share the same point of view." House slowly unwrapped his sandwich, staring at the white paper instead of Foreman's curious eyes.

"You convince her to come back to work yet?" He wisely switched topics.

"I'm working on it."

"Good," Foreman nodded, at a loss for what to say. House hadn't said much but for some reason he trusted him. Maybe it had something to do with his expression. "Okay… well… enjoy your lunch." He backed out of the office without bothering to wait for a reply.

House looked up just in time to see him disappear from sight, and then felt in his pocket for his cell phone. He had already decided not to call. Somehow, just knowing that he could was enough.