A/N: okay, so I don't know if this story has any potential, but I wanted to add a little more, hope you enjoy reading it because I had fun writing it!

Disclaimer: House belongs to all the people with big scary lawyers, not me. Unfortunately. Its very sad.

HOUSE MD

They stood like that, caught in the moment, for what seemed like forever, but what was, in reality, only seconds. He had begun to kiss her back, this was undeniably true, but it wasn't forceful or invasive, it wasn't even awkward, it was simply nice. Which made it all the more confusing for her when he broke the kiss and took several, very deliberate steps backwards, widening the space between them and returning his gaze to the floor.

The same silence that had only moments ago brought peace between them was now deafeningly unbearable. She tucked loose stands of hair behind her ear, now more self-conscious, and silently begged him to speak. To say something, say anything. To look at her. What was he thinking? Why wouldn't he look at her, talk to her? She was angry, and she was hurt. She wanted to scream 'I hate you!' and to hit him until she cried, then wait for his arms to fold around her. But she knew this would never happen, that she was romanticising the situation. She knew the person she really hated was herself. She could have told him at work. She could have just told Cuddy. She should have just focused on her work rather than indulging in her crush. She shouldn't of came here tonight, she shouldn't of kissed him, she shouldn't want to kiss him again. He didn't love her, it seemed he couldn't. Perhaps he was too screwed up to love anybody. But that didn't seem to matter any more. She had offered herself and been rejected. The feeling was worse than she had imagined it would be; devastatingly bad was now an understatement. All that was left for her was to collect the shattered pieces of her dignity and leave.

He could tell that she was tense when she kissed him, but he couldn't pinpoint his own emotions. He was both terrified of and grateful for the contact, yet it was in the instant he kissed her back (from will or instinct, he still could not decide), when he felt her relax, that he gathered all the strength in his body to pull away from her. Reason was screaming at him, telling him to avoid this woman, this moment, this thing. Reason told him all of this would lead to pain, told him to run away. He thought the running part was ironic, but got the message. This wasn't meant to happen. They didn't like each other; she was too young, too naive, looking to handle somebody else's pain instead of her own. He was a bitter old man, too arrogant, looking to inflict his pain on others instead of handling it himself. They would be a time bomb waiting to happen and he wasn't about to let one kiss, no matter how much he wanted it too, persuade him that anything other than a work relationship between them would lead to anything other than pain.

Once she felt capable of logical thought, of movement, she bent down to pick up the jacket she had carelessly dropped and turned towards the door. This time though, there was no hesitation; she needed to leave, to escape as far away as possible. She needed to be back in the safety of her own apartment, where she could cry out her frustration in privacy. She turned the handle and made her exit, and with the click of the lock, left House alone in silence.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. What had just happened? It didn't seem real, like it hadn't sunk in just yet. Not moments ago, one very attractive, young, female doctor was in his arms. Now, by choice, he was alone with a drink in his hand and a need for more vicodin than he could handle. There was something about his so-called logical choice to reject Cameron that seemed flawed on re-examination. He walked over to and sat on his couch, gulping down his drink and leaning back. Looking up to the ceiling, he wondered how he was going to fix this awful mess, if it even could be fixed. He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew for certain that this wasn't it.

She drove home as quickly as possible, and took the stairs to her apartment two at a time. She had no time to be concerned with anything except getting home. She took out her keys and walked in to her home, leaning back on the closed door behind her. Still carrying her coat and things, she let out a sob while thinking how dreadful this evening had turned out to be. She put her hand to her face, and then ran her fingers through her hair as she regained her composure. She decided this wasn't the first time, and wouldn't be the last time, that a man had been the cause of her pain, and so she wouldn't allow herself to cry, especially since that's what House would probably be expecting her to do. She hung her coat in her closet and set her keys on the table. She got changed. She washed her hair. She fed her cat. She started doing the washing up. She went about her precise routine in a robotic manner, trying desperately to avoid all and any thoughts of House. How he had appeared so cold towards her. How he had acted. She had kissed him, for god's sake! He had kissed her, and he wouldn't even look her in the eyes. He was a coward! She hated him; she hated his sarcasm and stubbornness. Hated the way that he would say and do outrageous things, just to play with her. The way he'd try to analyse her. They way he looked. His cologne. They way he kissed her. She began to cry, despite herself, into the dish she had been scrubbing for the past ten minuets.