Here is chapter two, and the beginning of the date. Thank you all for your comments so far! This chapter was a bit more difficult to write, and there are a couple of places I am still slightly unsure about, so any criticism would be very welcome. Thanks again for reading!

Chapter 2

He left another note on her chair that afternoon. All it said was '7pm'. Rather than feeling annoyed that he assumed she'd just be there waiting for him, despite the lack of any formal invitation, she felt a slight jolt of pleasure hum through her body. She thought about analyzing her feelings in comparison to the accepted norm, but decided it wasn't worth the effort or the discomfort. She'd never fit the definition of normal. She guessed that House hadn't either.

"He's dying. You're tying yourself to a dying man. That's not normal. What am I supposed to tell people?"

"I love him, mom. You don't have to come down for the wedding."

By the time she got the note, he was already gone and it was already five-thirty. She walked out of the hospital with a thin, hesitant smile on her lips after waving good-bye to Foreman and Chase who had both told her to have a good weekend and go out and have fun for a change.

Shower, stockings, dress, hair, makeup, earrings, shoes. She was ready when the rap of wood against wood met her ears.

"Ready to go?" he asked before the door was half-way open, but the searching look in his eyes, revealed that speck of nervousness which Cameron had now become adept at spotting.

"Ready," she replied, lifting her small evening bag from the sofa and pulling a soft wool wrap around her shoulders.

The trip to the car was silent, giving Cameron time to surreptitiously run her eyes up and down House's body. He was wearing the same suit he'd worn at that infamous dinner where he'd given his infamous non-speech and virtually guaranteed that she would be fired if she didn't quit. The shirt was different though, a deep rust color that she'd never seen him wear before. It matched the leaves that were slowly shifting across the parking lot as they walked to his car.

She was wearing a black dress, but not the same one she'd worn to their infamous first date. This one was slightly longer, and sleeveless, with a scooped neckline that stopped before showing cleavage, but not before showing an expanse of pale skin that made House shift in his seat before he was comfortable enough to drive.

"I still don't know where we're going," she said as he pulled the corvette onto the road.

"It's a surprise."

"I think you said that last time."

He graced her with a trademark leer. "Well, I am full of surprises." Her raised eyebrow and sly grin made him quickly turn his attention back to the road. "Just sit back and relax."

Since there was really nothing else she could do, Cameron settled into the black leather seat and resting her hands on her knees.

"You realize you have control issues," she said.

"I prefer to think of them as gifts."

"You would."

They were silent for a few minutes and Cameron cast frequent glances at him, feeling more nervous as the silence stretched. House had been brilliant to pick her up on his motorcycle for their last date. It had completely done away with the need for awkward small talk.

"If you're looking for deep and meaningful conversation, you should have latched onto Wilson," House said, as if reading her mind. "I think he's got a script all worked out."

Her muted laugh hung in the air for a moment before she spoke. "That's not really what I'm after. It would just be nice if we didn't have to go through this," she indicated the awkwardness between them, "to get to the semi-normal talk that we're actually pretty good at."

House shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe practice makes perfect."

And Cameron's heart sped up just a little, because that was one of the more optimistic things she'd ever heard him say.

He ended the discussion about discussions by turning on the CD player and letting mellow jazz music fill the small car. He only smiled slightly when he heard Cameron humming along to the eclectic music. He hadn't known she liked jazz. Of course, he'd never asked.

When they reached the edges of the Princeton campus, Cameron had to speak again.

"Don't tell me you really are taking me to the hospital cafeteria for dinner."

He smirked in her general direction. "No. That would have required an evening gown and tux and darnit, mine's at the cleaners."

Cameron smirked right back at him before leaning forward a bit, trying to guess where they were going. When he parked the car across from the Carl Ichan Laboratory, she turned to look at him with a distinctly puzzled expression.

He finally took pity on her and pulled a stiff formal invitation out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. She read it over and then looked back at him, tiny furrows creasing her brow.

"How did you get this?"

"Cuddy. I owe her another ten hours of clinic duty. Oh, and a promise that I wouldn't embarrass the hospital while I was here. Now hurry up or we'll be late," he answered as he got out of the car.

If he thought his quick answer and quicker escape would prevent further questioning, he was wrong.

"You bargained with Dr. Cuddy to get this? Did you tell her who you were taking?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, but then she wasn't sure if she would have stopped them anyway.

When he had agreed to their first date, she had felt like she needed to tell people. Not because of any hormonal adolescent glee, but because she had been afraid that if she didn't have witnesses to their deal, then he would find a way to back out of it. Times had changed. They had changed. She had been very careful not to let anyone know about their second date. She hadn't wanted the pitying looks or teasing if it had all gone to hell. She wasn't sure how she felt about the idea that House suddenly didn't care who knew.

When he stopped short beside her, she kept walking a step before realizing it, and turning around to face him.

"Would you be upset if I had told her it was you?"

She took the step back to his side. Thinking. Making a decision.

"No," she said, voice strong in the crisp air. "I wouldn't have cared."

He nodded once before walking forward again. "The invitation just says 'and guest'. It doesn't say one is required. She didn't ask, and I didn't tell her."

"Would you have told her if she'd asked?" The question was an obvious follow-up and now the pressure was on House.

He didn't even break stride. "Yes."

Cameron slipped her hand into his as they walked into the building, and was only mildly surprised when he actually held on.

The banner which spanned the lobby announced the event: a select miniature show from the Body Works exhibit which was currently displayed in Philadelphia. Human bodies preserved and posed in such a way that was both fascinating and controversial. Cameron had read the invitation, and apparently one of the senior heads of the Lewis-Seigler Institute, along with an influential alumni, had managed to finance the small weekend-only showing. The founder and inventor of the exhibit was even going to give a short speech before the unveiling, and the reception was already underway in the large hall off the right side of the lobby. People in suits, ties and dresses were mingling about inside the decorated conference room, while the majority of the lobby had been partitioned off with black curtains.

"You know, some people would think that taking a woman to see dead bodies on a third date is a little bit morbid," Cameron said as a waiter strolled by with glasses of champagne and a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

House tipped back half his glass before asking, "And what do you think?"

"I think it's very you," she replied glibly, taking a sip of champagne and holding it in her mouth while the bubbles tickled her nose.

"I'll accept that as a compliment."

They had a chance to eat a few more canapés; scallops wrapped in Canadian bacon, coconut chicken, and finely cut carrots and celery with dip, before the head of the institute stepped up to the podium at the front of the room. He politely asked the assembled guests to take their seats and House and Cameron moved forward and sat towards the middle and on the far right side, where House could stretch his bad leg out into the aisle. Once everyone was seated, their guest of honor, Gunther von Hagens was introduced, with a polite smattering of applause accompanying him as he approached the microphone, and Cameron saw that even House clapped a few times.

Taking another sip of champagne, she leaned back and listened to von Hagen's heavily accented voice as he described some of what they were going to see, and explained his feelings about it all. He was a bit overly-enthusiastic for her tastes, and rambled as well, but she was content to sit there, because House was leaning to the left, his suited shoulder brushing hers. She'd let her wrap drift down to rest in the crook of her arm and the feel of wool against her bare skin was more erotic than she could have imagined.

Several times she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but he was always seemingly transfixed by the man at the front of the room. It wasn't until close to the end of the speech that she noticed that each time she glanced at him, he pressed against her slightly more while keeping those blue eyes focused straight ahead.

A brief fifteen minutes later, and von Hagen closed with a somewhat trite aphorism about how one could only truly appreciate life by witnessing death. House turned towards Cameron as those words reverberated through the sound system, but this time she was the one who kept her gaze studiously trained on the podium. Another muffled round of applause and then von Hagen's speech was followed by the invitation to file out of the hall and go through the exhibit.

The well-dressed assemblage did just that, orderly going back to their mingling as they filtered through the double doors and back to the lobby. House noticed that Cameron had finished her drink, and he gave a short nod to one of the waiters who came around with a refill as they waited for the room to clear out.

"You think he times that speech to be just long enough that people have started to digest and won't vomit as soon as they see his work?" House asked, typically blunt.

"Probably," Cameron replied after a small sip of champagne. She was already feeling the last glass and needed to pace herself. "Of course most of the people here tonight have seen bodies before so he probably won't have anyone passing out like they had in Philadelphia." She looked up at him, wishing she'd worn higher heels so that she'd be closer to eye-level with him. "What do you think of him?"

"I think he's a crackpot, but he does interesting work."

Cameron's initial reaction was to chuckle at House's assessment, and a short laugh did escape before she caught herself.

"You?"

"I've heard there are rumors that some of the earlier bodies were dissidents executed by the Chinese government."

"Interesting, but it doesn't answer the question."

If not for her bare shoulders, he might have missed her small shrug, but the semi-contrite expression was plain to see. "I suppose it would ruin my image to say that no matter where the bodies came from, I still think it's fascinating."

"Ah, a rare blip on your otherwise pristine moral record."

"I'm sure it's not the only one."

House raised one eyebrow as he studied her face for a second. "Interesting; and no, your image remains intact. I never thought that you actually were perfect, just that you try to be."

"Is that so bad?" Cameron asked, wondering if she should be insulted.

"No," he responded, and disappointed her by saying nothing else as he limped down the aisle beside her and motioned her through the doors ahead of himself.

In the lobby, the heavy black curtain had been parted in the middle and tied back to allow people to pass through into the improvised exhibit space, and people milled about sipping their drinks and talking before heading inside. It was easy to distinguish who was there to see the exhibit and who was there merely to be seen by others. Cameron recognized a few of the people from the hospital and the university, but she knew that they probably wouldn't have been able to pick her out of a line-up. They were all heads of departments, or committee chairs, and they didn't exactly run in the same circles, even within the walls of PPTH.

As they walked across the polished tile floor, Cameron's gaze swept over all of them, recognizing that almost all of the women were older than she was, and looked as if attending formal functions was a daily occurrence.

"You look perfect."

If she hadn't felt his breath against her ear she might not have believed he had spoken. "Thank you," she said softly, the flash of insecurity fading away.

The exhibit itself was by turns intriguing, compelling and disturbing. A skeleton walking behind the muscles that had formerly covered it and a man standing, holding his own skin draped over his arm, were not images that were quickly dismissed. Some of the pieces were smaller: perfectly preserved individual organs, the nervous system laid bare for their examination and single body parts stripped and opened. Others were more dramatic and it was impossible not to believe that they had been staged in large part to garner a reaction. There was a full body of a swimmer, neatly bisected with the two halves moving in opposite directions, and another man was posed suspended in mid kick, with all muscles showing, tendons stretched and taut, while yet a third, skin and muscle peeled away to reveal the white curve of a spine, was seated at a desk, staring blankly at a computer screen.

House and Cameron moved around them, speaking only occasionally to point out specific areas, and of course House had to try to diagnose why each one had died. On the whole, however, they were silent, looking at people no one had been able to save in life but who were now preserved, however bizarrely, in suspended animation and staring through sightless eyes at the world moving around them. Neither of them had worked with full cadavers since medical school, and seeing them displayed and arranged as both art and science exhibit brought interesting feelings to the fore. The human body… perfectly formed machine… and what they had both dedicated their lives to understanding and healing.

The area was divided up with curtains partitioning off the different displays, and they had almost finished viewing them all when House paused in mid-stride. Cameron noticed and turned questioning eyes upwards.

"That man waving to me?" he said, motioning with his chin.

"Yes?"

"We used to play golf together."

Cameron looked from the slightly older man and then back to House. "I can walk away. Get another drink," she said, although her glass was only half empty and she wasn't sure why she was so willing to hide herself away like something to be ashamed of.

To her surprise, House looked equally startled by the suggestion.

"I was just warning you," he said gruffly, and now she wondered if she had offended him by thinking he would want her to disappear.

She didn't have much time to think about it because House started walking forward again and the other man and his wife did the same until they were standing face to face and a thick hand was being thrust in House's general direction.

"Greg, good to see you out."

"Same here, Peter," House answered, being more personable than Cameron had thought him capable of.

"You know Marie, but I don't think I've met…"

Cameron was about to introduce herself, and was again startled when House filled in quickly.

"Dr. Allison Cameron," he said, touching her arm lightly. "Peter and Marie Folsum. Peter chairs one of the biological science divisions."

"Nice to meet you," Cameron said as her small hand was pressed between Peter's two larger ones and then lightly shaken by Marie's slim, cold fingers.

"If you're the reason he's out and about, keep up the good work," Peter said with a wink, the sly insinuation better suited to someone half his age.

"I don't…"

"She's definitely part of the reason," House cut in again, leaving Cameron with her mouth parted slightly in surprise.

"Good to see you wised up and stopped feeling sorry for yourself," a clap on the back and an oblivious smile as House flinched more at the words than the physical contact.

"Yes well, we'd better get to the rest of the exhibit," Cameron had regained her tongue and wanted to extricate both of them from the situation.

"Take care of yourselves," Marie said lightly. "We'll have to have the two of you over for dinner."

"Yes, of course," Cameron said, knowing that such an invitation would probably never be given and would certainly never be accepted.

They parted and the other couple was halfway to the next area before House spoke.

"I'd almost forgotten what a gregarious bastard he can be, with his hearty back slaps and constant loud cheeriness."

"You were friends?"

"No, we played golf. He had a good handicap and nerves of steel. Wilson's first wife made him give up playing and I needed someone to go with." He was still looking at them as they walked away, but then he turned to face her. "And what the hell was that, trying to weasel out of having your hand crushed?" His manner was the usual bitter sarcasm, but Cameron caught an edge to his voice.

"Sorry. I wasn't sure…"

"You got over that shrinking violet routine a year ago. Don't start up again," he said. "And for the record, I'm fairly certain you're the one who should be ashamed to be seen with me, not the other way around. I'm not such a bastard that I don't realize that."

She stared at his serious eyes until she felt herself begin to blush and had to look away.

There was only one more exhibit left to see, and the two of them walked towards the break in the curtains, which led to it. They were still a few paces away when House saw the warning disclaimer posted on a small sign beside the entrance.

With a fluid pivot around his cane he turned and motioned back towards the front of the exhibit, saying, "Your glass may be half-full, but mine's empty. Let's see if we can go scrounge up some more bubbly."

Cameron's brows drew together, and those little furrows he'd become so familiar with, appeared on her forehead. Subtlety wasn't one of House's many skills, and she looked from his face, to the sign and back again. His eyes were darting around, in the way she had become so familiar with and she lightly touched his wrist and then let her hand drop.

"Let's finish looking around."

Cameron moved towards the improvised doorway and heard his distinctive steps fall in behind her. She had read about what lay beyond the warning sign, and although the thought of it made her uncomfortable, she was more uneasy at the idea of showing weakness in front of House. She was also surprised that he would let her get away with any show of frailty. Surprised, yet touched. Touched, yet strangely annoyed. Why did he suddenly think he needed to protect her? That puzzle he'd never solved was obviously still picking at his brain, and she didn't want to be his game, his mystery to unravel and then discard like the patients he became bored with after the diagnosis was made.

Again he seemed to read her mind when he rested a hand on her forearm and stopped her before she passed through the curtains. "We're not at work. You don't have to prove anything," he said roughly, eyes slightly hard and finally meeting hers.

"I'm not," she said, convincing herself that it was only a half-lie because she was trying to prove something to herself, and not to him.

He released her arm and she missed the contact immediately. She could imagine that in other circumstances, other lives, he would have his arm around her shoulders or his hand cupping hers, but these were their circumstances and their lives, and fleeting touches were all they were allowing themselves.

The lighting inside was slightly dimmer than in the rest of the exhibit, perhaps to dull the harsh reality of the display. Along one cloth wall were a series of pedestals, each holding a fetus at various stages of development. Four weeks, eight weeks, twelve weeks, twenty-four weeks and beyond… Cameron walked down the row studying them, marking where fingers formed, and wisps of hair covered miniature heads. Then she turned to the centerpiece display and House was just behind her, his warmth touching her back despite the space between them.

It was a woman, eight months pregnant, and set on a platform as if she was simply reclining in indolent ease. Except her hair was gone, and some of her skin removed, revealing milk ducts that would never nourish, while a missing strip of flesh from sternum to pubis created a window into her body; into her womb, where a baby curled, palest white and waiting to never be born.

Cameron felt the tension. Felt House trying to think of something to say. Something sympathetic though he didn't know what he was being sympathetic about. Something understanding, though he had never been told what there was to understand… if there was something to understand. Something to make her blink and move and breathe again. She relieved him of the obligation.

"She was very beautiful," she said and he moved beside her and nodded.

"Ready to go?" He sounded more uncomfortable than her.

"Ready," she replied and managed not to twitch in surprise when he arced an arm around her back and guided her out.

The temperature had fallen while they'd been inside, and Cameron pulled her wrap tight around her shoulders as they walked to the car in silence. House unlocked her door and then limped to the other side to let himself in, quickly turning the engine over and blasting the heat.

"A movie probably would have been a better choice," he muttered.

The cold air ruffled the hair around Cameron's face, and gradually turned warmer, drawing a blush to her skin. She turned in her seat, leather squeaking slightly.

"Movies are for normal people," normal couples, she wanted to say, but didn't dare. "We aren't exactly normal. I'm glad you thought of this instead."

House loosened his tie and massaged his leg with one fist. "It's still early," he commented, allowing himself to relax. "I suppose food is out of the question."

Her light laugh sounded almost sad. Life had made her harder than she looked. Dead bodies made her think and feel, but they no longer held the power to make her queasy.

"I could eat something light," she said.

"Light it is," House replied, and threw the car into reverse, pulling out of their parking space and then out onto the road.

As before, silence fell over them, and this time it felt even more laced with tension than before. Cameron wondered if they would ever be capable of simple conversation, and then answered herself almost immediately. There was still too much hanging between them for any light chit-chat to be able to feel natural. Until they cut through it, they could never find their semblance of normal.

They pulled through the gates of the Princeton campus and onto the main road heading towards the center of town.

"Just ask me," she said, fingers tightening around her evening bag, eyes focusing on the nose of the corvette.

"Ask you what?"

"You know what," she said, and of course he did.

He cleared his throat and pulled the car around a pothole. "I seem to recall asking before and being called a bastard."

"That's because you were being a bastard and you had no right to ask me."

"And now?"

Fingers tightened again, picking at a loose thread. "Now you do."

A breath. Then another.

"You were pregnant."

"Yes."

"The baby died."

"The baby was never born. I was two months pregnant when Matthew died and I didn't even know it. His best friend was the one who noticed I was finally putting on some weight. I miscarried three weeks later before I'd even picked out an OB/GYN."

Cameron was stubbornly proud of the way she could now recite the facts without breaking down in tears. It had taken a long time for that to be the case. Now she saved her tears for other people.

"I'm--"

"Don't. Don't say you're sorry," she said lowly, knowing that would be the thing that would make her crack and she didn't want to dissolve messily in the cramped leather interior of his vintage corvette.

She looked over at him and watched his jaw clenching, imagining she could see the muscle itself, naked before her eyes, like in the displays they'd just left. House wasn't a man who wasted time on self-recrimination but something in his expression made her think he was calling himself a bastard this time. She flexed one hand and released its hold on the silk bag, letting it drift over his on the gearshift. It was only a brief caress, enough to feel the sinew beneath the skin, and the fine hairs that dusted the surface.

"I got through it," she said, and just saying those words let her know that she wasn't really 'through' anything, because her chest felt heavy and tight.

"You're stronger than you look," he said, and she thought it was probably the best compliment he could have given her.

Then he turned the CD player on, letting the jazz music create a peaceable lull between them. They were silent, but the tension was broken. When they pulled up in front of House's townhouse ten minutes later, Cameron was confused and it showed on her face.

"I don't think either one of us is in the mood to face other people," he said simply and she had to agree. "I've got eggs and toast and I make a surprisingly good omelet. Or else I can drive you home."

"You still owe me dinner," she said, a slight smile at the edge of her mouth, "and I intend to collect."

"Good. Just don't tell Wilson I cooked for you or I'll never be able to live it down."