The final chapter of this little story... and yes, I'm already planning the next... Thank you for your comments and criticism, as usual!

Chapter 3

House got out of the car and Cameron followed suit, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs that led to his townhouse. She'd seen them before, but hadn't given them much thought the last time she'd been there. Now she wondered for a moment why House was living in a place that required him to face his disability at the beginning and end of every day. It only took an instant for the answer to come to mind. He had probably lived in the townhouse prior to his infarction, and sheer stubbornness kept him there now. She mounted the steps without looking at him, not sure how he would react to her seeing him awkwardly climbing one step at a time when in all other things he seemed strangely graceful despite the cane.

He had his key out when he got to the landing, and nudged her aside so that he could fit it into the lock and swing the door open. With an automatic flip of his hand, he hit the light switch as he entered, and held the door while Cameron walked through. As she got her second look around the living room she thought that it might have been more than just his obstinate nature that tied him to the place. It was very beautiful in a very masculine way. All leather and wood and classic details. Not at all like her strictly modern apartment with its straight lines and harsh angles and sterile conformity. The circular window in her living room was the only unique touch that differentiated her apartment from all the rest on her floor. She realized she was probably looking around too much, and turned towards House who was slipping his suit jacket off and casually dropping it over the back of one of the leather easy chairs.

He was looking at her as if he wanted to say something, and ran her gaze up and down her body, wondering what was triggering his questioning look.

"What?" she asked after another second of silence from him.

"You look cold. It takes a while for the heat to kick on in this place."

It was a little chilly, but she hadn't given it much thought. "I'm all right."

"I probably have something you can throw on so you don't catch pneumonia," he said as if she hadn't spoken, and proceeded to limp away from her and down the dark hallway, flipping on the overhead light as he went.

Cameron didn't follow him, and when he returned she was looking at the black and white photographs that hung over his bookshelves.

"Here. Put this on." He thrust out his hand to give her a navy sweatshirt.

"The tag's still on it," she said with a laugh that couldn't quite decide if it was nervous.

"Oh let me see it," House's exasperation was half of what it might have been and he snapped the thin plastic cord and removed the trendy designer's tag.

Cameron was smiling just a bit when he gave it back to her. "It's not very--"

"Me? No. It's not. My mother's been telling me to layer up since I was ten. She gives me the layers to do so at every available opportunity." He nodded to indicate the sweatshirt. "That's her latest attempt. Gave it to me during her visit."

Dropping her woven shawl on top of his jacket and pulling the sweatshirt over her head, Cameron tried not to think of how silly she probably looked. The hem fell below her waist and she had to roll the sleeves twice.

"Very warm," she commented, attempting to straighten her hair.

House nodded sharply. "Good. It looks… good on you."

Cameron glanced away and blushed, thinking that now she knew first-hand that House was right about everybody lying.

"Come on. You can make the toast. You do know how to use a toaster, I assume?"

She rolled her eyes upwards and looked at him through her long lashes. "Who makes the coffee every morning?" she asked rhetorically. "I think I've mastered small appliances, thanks."

House granted her a low, unexpected chuckle and led the way into the kitchen. It was small but efficiently organized, and surprisingly enough, House actually seemed comfortable in it as he gathered ingredients from the refrigerator and then utensils from the cupboards.

"Since you think you can handle the toast, how about cutting up some of these too," he said, pushing a bag of peppers and a tomato towards her as he cracked an egg into a clear glass bowl.

Strange that as much as Cameron respected him for his medical abilities, that respect went up a notch as she watched him crack eggs one-handed. She already had bread in the toaster ready to go, so she reached for a knife.

"Cutting board's under the counter," House said, anticipating her question.

Those were the last words spoken for a few minutes as the sizzle of butter in the frying pan and the dull thud of the knife hitting the wooden board became their soundtrack. It was almost surreal, standing together in House's kitchen, doing something as domestic as cooking, and feeling more comfortable than either of them would have expected.

"You can put the toast down," and the words seemed more like background noise as House poured the egg mixture into the pan and a louder hissing sound rose in the air along with the scent of breakfast.

Cameron kept an eye on the toast, feeling like a child again, worried lest it burn. She cast frequent glances at House, and he was seemingly oblivious, or maybe he just didn't want to acknowledge her scrutiny as he finished with one omelet and started the next, putting the first one into the oven to stay warm. She was watching him flip the second omelet onto its plate when the toast popped up and she laughed a bit in surprise, the sound startling her. A minute later and she had it buttered and cut.

A simple round kitchen table sat at the end of the kitchen, under a wide window and flanked by two chairs. It was currently littered with books and paperwork and Cameron made a move to clear it off before House stopped her.

"Don't bother. I never eat there. We'll sit in the living room." Then, as if he realized he was being too authoritarian, he backpedaled. "Unless…"

"No, the living room is fine. You can introduce me to 'The OC'." That won her a wry grin, as she'd known it would, and the two of them picked up their plates and headed towards the comfortable open space.

Food was eaten, and Cameron found that she was hungrier than she'd thought and that House was a better cook than she'd expected.

"Any idiot can make an omelet," he'd said, but he hadn't looked at her as he'd said it and she could have sworn there was a glint of pride in his eye.

She had a hard time following the show since she'd only seen a few minutes of it before, but like most soap operas, it didn't take long to get caught up, especially with House muttering explanations to her in between scenes. If there had been a less likely date, she could not have thought of it, and yet she couldn't keep the warm flush of contentment from flooding her chest. Couldn't keep herself from leaning slightly closer to him, as he had done to her at the exhibit. Couldn't stop her hand from cautiously touching his where it rested on his good leg.

Her touch pulled his attention from the flashing colors onscreen, and he looked down at her, soft and young looking in his too-large sweatshirt, but with eyes that stared up at him and seemed to see right through him. When his hand touched her cheek she wondered if he was as surprised as she was.

Their lips meeting seemed the most natural consequence and there was no heart-rending angst or flowery harlequin metaphors as the first kiss led to another. They were both out of practice, and lips and tongues became awkward at moments, but soon found their places, touching, tasting; a sweep inside a warm mouth, a tug on a soft lower lip. Cameron could still taste the remnants of champagne, and the bitterness of the Vicodin he'd taken while cooking. One of her hands rose to his shoulder, and the action drew her closer and she felt his cane-roughened palm sliding under her hair and over her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her ear.

Her breathing hitched and she thought she could feel House's catch as well. Another kiss, and then another, and her hand moved to his chest while his stroked down to the base of her spine, and they both knew where things were leading. A breath, and another, and a pounding heart, and then the pleasure in her belly coiled too tight and turned to something else and she thought that House felt it as well because when she pushed just the slightest amount, he pulled his lips from hers and drew back so slightly that they were still breathing each other's air.

"I…" she began, feeling foolish and stupid, because how could she be backing away now that she had what she'd always thought she wanted?

"I should take you home," House broke in before she could continue.

They looked at each other, eyes still so close that focusing was difficult. In passion-darkened eyes, they could still read the truth that they both knew. They weren't ready. They weren't even close to ready.

But they both knew that eventually…they would be.

"I think so," she said, and they both leaned in again and the next kiss was soft and gentle, much gentler than Cameron would have expected from House. It was an unspoken agreement that it wouldn't be their last.

They parted again and House didn't meet her eyes as he levered himself off the sofa and limped towards the chair that held his jacket. He lifted up Cameron's shawl and turned to hand it to her as she started tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt.

"No. Keep it. Looks better on you," he said, words slightly gruff although he didn't intend them to be.

Cameron reached out and took her shawl from his hand, letting her fingers linger and twine with his.

"Thanks," she replied, and it was for more than the sweatshirt, but neither of them would say more despite the words that were tumbling unspoken around them.

"Now I won't be lying to my mother when I tell her it's getting some wear," he said, pulling them back to more familiar, solid, ground with a half-suggestive remark.

He pulled on his jacket and moved to the door, and when he opened it the ground shifted just a bit again as he grasped her hand and led her outside.

They didn't need the jazz music to fill the silence on the drive to Cameron's apartment. They actually spoke. Their speech wasn't completely free of awkward pauses and fumbled words, or from accidental sarcasm and too-piercing looks. Still, it was different than it had been before. Better. Definitely better.

"I'd invite you up for coffee…" Cameron said, trailing off into one of those weak sounding pauses she was trying to avoid.

"No. You're right," House said over the crunching sound of the parking brake being thrown and the high idle of the engine. "I think we're already at our limit of foreplay for the evening."

Cameron should have blushed, and she did, but she also looked at him through half-lidded eyes and showed him a sweet, relaxed smile. One of her eyebrows arched slightly higher and one dimple deepened before she spoke.

"Yeah. Something like that," she agreed with a smirk.

He started to turn off the engine so that he could at least walk her to the door, but she laid her hand over his and stopped him, making him glance at her with a question written on his face.

"You don't have to walk me up." She could feel her heartbeat quicken just thinking of him standing at her doorway. Kissing her. Hands on her waist. Around her back. She liked to think that her self-control was stronger than most, but she didn't know if even she could stop her pounding pulse a second time. "You probably shouldn't walk me up. I--"

"Understood," was all he said, and he met her halfway when she leaned in for a kiss.

It was shorter than the others had been, but it still held the same feelings. Cameron broke away first, delicately licking her upper lip and letting a coquettish smile pull at the corners of her mouth. She squeezed House's hand one last time and quickly got out of the car, her heels clicking loudly in the frozen air as she passed through the Corvette's headlights, her body silhouetted against the night. A few more steps and she would be at the front doors and would turn around to watch House drive away.

"Cameron!" House shouted as he rolled down his window and he sounded just like he was calling out to her to go to the lab or cover his clinic hours, but when Cameron turned to look at him she smiled.

"What?" she shouted back in the same brassy, confident tone.

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

She took a half-step towards him, cocked her head to the side and lowered her voice. "Nothing. I still had you penciled in, remember?"

"Right. Put it in pen. I'll pick you up at nine for breakfast."

"More omelets at your place?" she asked, a bit of coyness slipping into her voice.

"No, I'll actually spring for the diner over on Keeler."

"Never been there."

"You'll like it."

"Promises, promises," she said lightly, wondering how far their unspoken little promises would carry them.

He smirked at her and replied, "Just don't be late."

There were echoes of conversation so long ago; of promises kept in word but not in spirit. Of beginnings that had never led anywhere. They were echoes only.

"I won't be," she said, the teasing mirth replaced by a soft tone and a softer gaze.

With a quick twitch of his lips and a quicker nod of his head, House rolled up his window and watched as Cameron gave him a little wave before turning away. She walked into her building as House drove away, and neither of them looked back. Cameron could almost picture House's self-loathing slipping away just a bit, and House knew that Cameron would carry that slightly hopeful expression all the way up to her apartment.

After stripping off her clothes and scrubbing off her makeup, Cameron snuggled into her bed with the television remote in her hand. No CSI tonight. Tonight she was actually in the mood for one of those romantic comedies she usually scoffed at as being unrealistic.

Halfway across town, House settled himself at his piano with only half a glass of scotch. Tonight he didn't feel the need for more, and he played quick Mozart concertos and a few of the old show tunes that his mother had always loved.

Both of them went to bed thinking about the coming morning, and surprised to find themselves thinking even further into the future.