I'm still a little unsure about the end of this part so I'm eager to hear what people think about it. Hopefully there's still some interest in it!

Chapter 2

Cameron had the television on but she wasn't watching it. Lately she just liked having it on to keep her company. She'd even moved it from her bedroom to the living room. It sat in the corner on an overturned fruit box she'd had since college and had never thrown away. She refused to buy an actual television stand or a bigger television; convincing herself that soon she'd take it back to the bedroom.

At the moment, the voices on-screen were punctuated by the sound of her feet striking rubber in a measured cadence. She had the treadmill set on a thirty-minute workout and was half done. She knew she wouldn't finish. She hadn't been able to run more than twenty minutes since two days after starting her anti-viral medications. They made her heart race without any exertion at all, and running left her light-headed and somewhat nauseated, but she kept doing it anyway.

Outside the weather had turned and a mix of rain and sleet struck her windows with heavy, wet slaps. Another sound to keep her from thinking. Another sound to distract her from her inner voice.

It wasn't enough.

She'd felt strong when she'd confronted House. Disheartened, but strong. She'd laid her cards on the table and stood up for herself and what she needed. It would have been self-destructive insanity to allow things to continue with him still mourning Stacy while going through the motions of a relationship with her. She'd been smart to tell him that he needed to make a decision. She'd just thought that things would have gone differently in the time since that day.

And she wished that she could just blame him, but now she was just as much to blame for the near suffocating fear and depression that struck at random times and sucked the breath from her lungs. If only it had stopped with the depression, but she'd managed to make things worse without any help from House. She'd tried blaming Kalvin for pushing her, but the truth was that she'd had one foot over the edge already.

Her whole youth had been about making herself as quiet, small and helpful as possible and then in adulthood that had changed into being empathetic and giving. She'd gone through brief periods of regret, but none so deep as the one that followed her HIV exposure and House and his subsequently cruel behavior towards her. Kalvin had only voiced something she'd feared all along: that she had never really lived.

The drugs had been a horrible mistake but she had just wanted to feel something -- anything -- that would make her feel alive. Something that would drown out the voices that told her she really hadn't amounted to anything despite the capital letters that followed her name.

House wouldn't come. His actions during the day had made it clear that she couldn't depend on him for support. Foreman would have tucked her into bed and told her to sleep it off. Wilson… even his numerous affairs wouldn't extend to sleeping with his best friend's not-quite-girlfriend. She had almost no one else. Her few other friends would make sympathetic noises and tell her that things would be all right, but that wasn't what she'd needed. She had known, even as she was making the call, that Chase wouldn't turn her down. That he would fuck her and kiss her and make her feel. She had known, even as she was making the call, that she would live to regret it, but she had still dialed his number. Consequences and risks and her usually ever-present personal and professional credo of 'do no harm' had all been blotted out by ragged emotions and a dangerous dose of crystal meth.

The next morning, House had almost tried to be sympathetic in the elevator, but it had been too late for sympathy and she was instead ashamed to have him look at her. She was also angry at him for not being the one to knock on her door without being called. She hadn't expected House to find out so soon, but then realized that had been even more stupidity on her part. Of course he would know. Of course he wouldn't keep it a secret. That wasn't his style, especially when he was hurt, and he had been hurt. She'd seen that injured look in his eye even as he was cutting her down.

They hadn't spoken since then. He'd barely looked at her, and as angry as she tried to make herself at him, she couldn't really blame him. She wasn't in the mood to face anyone at all. There was no doubt that this would change the whole team dynamic, to say nothing of her non-relationship with House. Chase had tried to make things better, as if more drugs and a few comforting words could erase what had happened. She'd wanted to be mad at him but there was no point. He'd done exactly what she'd wanted him to do, no matter her regrets after the fact. What was it she'd said to House once? Men should grow up. And his reply? Not gonna happen.

Spots started appearing in front of her eyes, and Cameron slowed her pace down to a walk and then got off the treadmill. Eighteen minutes. She pressed one hand against her chest and leaned against the wall, sliding down it until she was sitting with her knees tucked up and her forehead resting on them. At least it was one minute more than yesterday.

She forced herself to her feet and half-stumbled to her room, needing a shower but just wanting to sleep. The think sheen of sweat that coated her bare arms was making her shiver and she rummaged through the basket of clean clothes that sat at the foot of her bed. There. A warm sweatshirt. Cozy and soft and much too large for her.She slipped it over her head and crawled onto her bed. Pressing her face into the pillow, one part of her mind tried to forget who had given her the shirt, while the rest insisted on clinging tenaciously to the hope that things could somehow get back to the relative happiness of their bizarre little courtship.

House knew where he was going. What he didn't know was why. He thought that the chances that she would let him past the door hovered somewhere around three percent. The fact that he was even making the attempt said more than he wanted to contemplate about his feelings. Effort was generally something he left to the other person in any relationship he was in, and he didn't even know if what he and Cameron had qualified as any kind of 'ship' at all.

If she tried to shut the door in his face, he would just claim he'd come over to drop off a prescription. The bottle rattling in his pocket made that the truth at least. Again, he wondered if she'd stayed home because she wasn't feeling well or because she just wanted to avoid him. The pills could only fix one of those scenarios.

He reached over and turned up the stereo until the music blocked out even the sound of rubber against asphalt. He wanted it to purge him of his thoughts as well but it wasn't having the desired effect. He was still feeling the unfamiliar pangs of regret.

When he tried to turn that regret around and make it all about Stacy he was only half-successful. Yes, he could say that he just regretted that she'd returned, and he did, but he was also angry about his own actions and that was something he always said he'd never be. He would allow himself to be angry about ultimately being wrong, but never about acting badly. Now he had a list of actions he wished he could take back and others he wished he could perform.

High on the list were virtually every word he'd spoken to Cameron on the day she'd been exposed to the HIV tainted blood.

When he'd gotten the news from Foreman, his initial reaction had been a blank stare even as his stomach rolled. That uncomfortable feeling obviously had to go and so he'd pushed it down and covered it with the lingering anger he felt at her for distancing herself while he dealt with Stacy. Concern and compassion were so much harder to show than sarcasm and apathy. He'd even tossed in some extra cruelty just to cover himself.

He wondered if he'd ever forget the look in her eyes when she'd walked into his office dressed in stiff pink scrubs, with her hair pulled back and her expression one of fear battling strength. He'd taken that look and thrown it back in her face. Repeatedly. And she hadn't even flinched. It was as if she had expected it.

He'd actually felt guilty when he'd cornered her on the elevator the next morning. He'd almost reached out to her. Almost. But almost didn't count, especially not in matters of the heart. Then he'd added one plus one and arrived at two copulating ducklings and the guilt had deepened for an instant before being squashed by snide innuendo and banter designed to make her know how much he didn't care. The only problem there was that he did.

No. There was no way she was going to open her door.

The weather had changed to straight snow and it fell lightly and silently on the streets of Princeton. Curled in the middle of her bed, Cameron noticed the difference - the haunting silence that followed the not comforting, but at least steady, pattering of rain on roof and window. The nausea had passed and she knew she needed to get up and eat something. She'd gotten away with calling in sick once, but House wouldn't put up with it for long. He'd send Foreman over to drag her into work. Or maybe Chase.

Rolling over, she swung her legs off the bed and then rested her elbows on her knees, pausing while her head stopped spinning. The knocking sound coming from her living room brought all of her senses back to center. She knew that knock.

Strong slender fingers clutched the edge of the mattress. She really didn't want to answer the door, but the knocking grew a bit louder and faster. It wouldn't be long before her neighbors became annoyed and started wandering out to see what the fuss was all about. Then House would start spinning some idiotic story, and before long the landlord would be there with a key and an admonishment not to scare the nice doctor. She'd seen him put on the kindly cripple act before, and he did it remarkably well.

With a sigh, she pushed herself off the bed and walked out of the bedroom. It started as more of a shuffling gait, but gained strength and purpose as she approached the door. She wouldn't let him see her weak.

A flick of the chain and a turn of the knob and she pulled the door open, catching House in mid-knock. He looked startled and lowered his cane slowly, leaning on it a bit more than usual.

"You really should have called," she said, voice dull and indifferent.

The muscle in House's jaw worked itself tighter while he bit the inside of his mouth and tried to keep his wandering eyes focused on her face. He fumbled around in his pocket and extracted a bottle, holding it out and rattling the contents for effect.

"I hear you aren't feeling well. These should help," he said, hand hanging in mid-air when she didn't reach out to take them.

"You didn't need to drive over--"

"You gonna take them?" House interrupted, irritability creeping into his tone.

Cameron's chest moved with her sigh, and she gave in and took the pills.

House lost the battle to keep his blue eyes fixed on hers and let them drift to the floor, then his shoes. Her shoes. Her sweatshirt. He gripped his cane tighter. "They're good at counteracting most of the side-effects you're having."

"You don't even know what they are," Cameron maintained.

"I can make an educated guess," he replied, looking up at the slight, almost imperceptible waver in her voice. "You know that the chances--"

"Are extremely low. Yes, I know," she cut him off, her words clipped and sounding stronger than the body delivering them. "Why are you really here?"

"I got tired of staring at my rat."

"So I rank slightly higher than a rodent. Good to know."

House looked perplexed and that expression changed to a mild scowl. "Are we going to keep talking in the hallway, or are you going to invite me in?"

Cameron didn't move, she just looked at him, attempting to keep her expression impassive.

"Or is this the end of the conversation?" House continued, ending on a note that was more statement than question.

The cool, hard edges of Cameron's expression softened slightly under House's sharp blue gaze. She let out her breath in a rush of exasperation and walked away from the door, turning her back and leaving it to him to decide if he was going to cross the threshold. It was all the invitation she was willing to give, and House accepted it and limped forward, cane thudding hard against the floor. He shut the door and followed her to the sofa.

She didn't sit down, but he did, and she stared at him for a moment before tightening the line of her mouth and perching on the far end of the sofa. She wouldn't have sat down at all, but his eyes had spoken gently to her and it showed more humanity than she'd seen from him in a month.

"So how are you feeling?" he resorted to medicine, so much more familiar than emotions.

"I hope you didn't come here just to ask me that."

He looked at her for a second, face frozen, before letting his head shake and his shoulders slump. "No."

"Then what? A few weeks ago, I thought that maybe…" she let her shrug fill in the blanks. "But now…"

"I'm done with Stacy," he said abruptly.

That made her sit up straighter and she peered at him, judging his honesty. "For now, maybe," she decided.

"For good."

A sad little smile appeared on Cameron's face and was gone by the time she raised her eyes to his. "I could have dealt with you being snide. I could have dealt with you getting Stacy out of your system. Hell, if you'd slept with her, that would just make us even," she said, a thread of bitter self-recrimination creeping into her voice. "But you had to be cruel and hateful too." Her brows furrowed in a sort of puzzled hopelessness. "Did you have to be nasty to me just to make yourself feel better about throwing me away?"

"I didn't-" House's voice started out as a shout that made Cameron flinch, and he released a breath and gripped his cane with both hands. "I didn't throw you away. You told me I needed to make up my mind."

"And now you say that you have, but that doesn't answer my question."

"I don't know," he said, bluntly. "I know that Stacy isn't really what I want. She's just a symbol of the past that I never got over."

"Are you over it now?" she asked, not quite gently, but softly.

House squirmed under her scrutiny and leaned back, resisting the urge to reach into his pocket and pull out his own pills. "As much as I can be," he said, the words were pulled out slowly. " I think we've gone over the many layers of fucked up that comprise my character. I've scratched through a few of them."

Cameron nodded. "Is this where I'm supposed to apologize for-"

House's head shot up. "No," he said sharply. "Frankly it would be better if we didn't talk about that at all."

Her teeth tugged at her lower lip. Was she supposed to be ashamed or grateful?

"Let's both just promise not to repeat our mistakes." It was as close to an apology as House was ever likely to give, and simultaneously absolved her of any guilt.

"Right," Cameron responded, not exactly sure how she felt about that.

"So…" House said awkwardly.

"So," she repeated. "Is this how this goes? Now we're back together? If we were ever together in the first place?"

"Works for me."

The sharp, short laugh from Cameron was unexpected.

"What?"

"I don't know if it works for me right now," she answered, stomach twisting as she spoke. She was probably pushing away the one thing she wanted to hold onto more than anything at that moment, but she just couldn't set herself up for any more pain. She had enough to deal with already.

"What, you suddenly lose interest?" he prodded.

She looked at him, finally letting all of the hopelessness and pain show on her face. "You know that isn't it."

House swallowed, his teeth clenched. That look was worse than the one she'd worn along with those pink scrubs. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, the words pushed from some deep cavern in his chest.

"Yes you are," she said with a careless shrug. "It's what you do. It's who you are. You can't help it, and most of the time I can deal with it. I can deal with it because I know you don't really mean it."

She knew him too well. "You're right. I don't."

Slight nod and a quick breath. "It's just… right now… I can't be hurt like that."

House hated fighting losing battles. They made him bitter and antagonistic, and that wasn't what he wanted at the moment. "Fine," he said, louder than he'd intended. "I'll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing." He used his cane to hoist himself to his feet and rapidly moved to the door.

"Please don't leave like this," Cameron said, as she followed him.

"Like what? I'm getting used to being turned down by women. I may make it a new career." He reached out a tugged on the sleeve of her sweater. He'd have to tell his mother that it was getting some use. "Mine." It was a random comment, just thrown out there.

"You gave it to me," Cameron tugged her arm back and hugged herself.

"Yeah. I gave you a few things I hadn't intended to."

Cameron looked into his face, seeing an unfamiliar pain there. A longing and need and honesty that hadn't been visible before. It changed her mind when none of his words had been able to and she suddenly cast about for some reason to keep him from leaving.

"It's snowing too hard now. You should wait until it stops."

"It's going to snow all night."

"Stay."

"Is this how you dump all your boyfriends?"

Her face twisted into a grimace. "Let's not use that word."

"Right. Because we're both much too mature for that," he said sarcastically.

"Just stay. Stay the night. Just to sleep." She wouldn't tell him that if nothing else she wanted the memory of him in her bed. "We'll figure everything else out later."

"Aren't you afraid of getting hurt?"

"Yes," she said simply. "Stay."

House looked down into her face for a long time. An eternity of seconds. With unexpected gentleness he reached out and touched her cheek.

"You'd better not hog all the blankets."

"You'd better not kick." It was said with the barest hint of a sarcastic smile and House caught it and rolled his eyes. Then he hung his coat up and followed her into the kitchen. He was suddenly hungry and there would be time enough for pillow talk later.