Apologies for the short chapter... the next one will likely be the last and then I will be working on the sequel to Saints and Saviors. Let me know if you still find this to be in-character and realistic. All comments and criticism are welcome and encouraged!

Chapter 3

Pain woke Gregory House. Warmth reminded him that he wasn't in his own bed.

He blinked groggily a few times and then experimentally tried moving. He was on his back and Cameron lay on her side right next to him, but not quite touching except for her forehead which was pressed against his shoulder. His movement caused Cameron to merely sigh and move her head back to her own pillow. He stifled a groan and reached over the side of the bed, finding his crumpled jeans lying on the floor. A quick shake revealed the dull rattle of pills and he dug in the pockets until he found them. Two pills later, he turned back around to face Cameron.

Whether from physical or emotional exhaustion, they had both fallen quickly asleep the night before. There had been only minimal awkwardness, with Cameron changing in the bathroom while House stripped down to his shorts and t-shirt before climbing under the covers. Cameron had turned off the bedroom light as she entered the room and had made her way to the bed in the dark. By common consent they had kept mainly to their own sides. The warmth generated between them had been comfort enough.

Cameron was still sleeping and he was surprised that he didn't feel the desire to make some obnoxious noise or shake her awake. Actually, that wasn't quite true. The urge was there, like an annoying bug, poking and prodding at him to live up to his reputation. The surprise came from the fact that he wasn't giving in to the urge.

Her long lashes fluttered slightly against too-pale cheeks and in the dim grey light of morning. House wondered why he hadn't noticed the dark bags under her eyes. Of course, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd avoided looking at her for the past two weeks. Now he was staring at her and feeling more and more out of place by the moment. What had felt peaceful and innately right had turned wrong as the sun rose, even though House couldn't explain exactly why that was.

In his younger years, with any other woman he would have snuck out of the bed, grabbed his clothes and run. There were three problems with that scenario now. Cameron wasn't any other woman, he couldn't run, and he hadn't done his equivalent of groveling just to put them right back where they'd been a week ago.

And so he stayed still and watched Cameron sleep as the Vicodin worked its magic on his leg. The sun rose behind a thin veil of clouds and the digital clock blinked off the minutes. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. House was getting twitchy and had just taken in a breath in preparation for an extremely fake but loud cough, when Cameron shifted and her eyes slid open.

She stared at him for a minute with her dark brows pulled together and her eyes searching his face as if she expected him to vanish at any given moment.

"Yeah, I'm really here," House said, and the sardonic tone of his voice proved it.

A tight little smile curled Cameron's lips and her face relaxed slightly. "Ah. Wasn't sure for a minute there."

"Yeah, last night wasn't a dream either. You completely forgave me for everything and promised sex in the near future." Feelings of awkwardness only made House more brazen in his behavior in order to cover them.

"Funny, I don't remember it that way," Cameron replied, cutting through House's sarcasm to find the truth beneath it.

"Close enough. You asked me to stay." Acting the misanthropic bastard was considerably harder when half-naked and in bed with a terminally sincere woman, and his voice lowered and lost its edge.

"I didn't want either of us to be alone."

"Mission accomplished. What now?"

She shrugged, as much at a loss as he was. "I wasn't expecting you to show up at my door last night, and I wasn't expecting you to stay."

"Neither was I."

They grew quiet and while Cameron concentrated on the 400 thread count sheets, House contemplating popping another Vicodin just for the hell of it.

"I should go," House said after a silence that lasted too long.

They were the words Cameron had been expecting since she'd opened her eyes. "I could make coffee," she offered.

"We're not at the hospital; you don't have to get ahead by making the best coffee," he replied, part truth, part sarcasm.

"I don't have to do it there either," she retorted.

"Right. You do it because you want to."

Her eyes narrowed and bored into his. "That's right. I usually do."

He had no quick and easy response. Lying there, with her slim body inches away, her sleep-tousled hair falling over her shoulders and her eyes seeing straight through him, he felt uncomfortably exposed. His ever-present sarcasm had abandoned him. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to get involved in the first place. This was exactly what he'd known he would have to push through.

"Getting ready to bolt?" Cameron asked softly, reading the restless look on his face.

"No," he replied stubbornly.

"Then I'll go make that coffee." She got out of the bed and quickly grabbed her robe from the chair, wrapping it around her as if flannel was a substitute for armor.

Her footsteps were almost silent, but House strained to hear them as he lay propped up in the bed, trying to decide what the hell he should do. Getting dressed seemed a good first step and he shoved long legs into jeans and long arms into cotton, letting his shirt hang open and feeling part boy and part old man. How many more chances at happiness would he get in his lifetime? How many could he afford to throw away?

In the kitchen, Cameron leaned against the counter, palms flat on its smooth formica surface. She stared down at the coffee maker and concentrated on the burbling dripping sounds it made. She was so familiar with them that she could tell how close it was to being finished just by the sound. A few more quick spurts, and a sigh of steam. She grabbed the pot and poured into two large mugs. One had a small pile of sugar resting on the bottom and the other had a layer of cream. In times of confusion she could still make the perfect cup of coffee.

A shuffling limp alerted her to House's arrival and she turned around with both mugs in her hands and held the sweetened one out to him. For a second it looked like he wasn't going to take it but then he stretched out his arm and nodded his thanks. His eyes were on her face and she was surprised that they weren't wavering.

"This is awkward," he said, breaking his gaze and making his way to one of the kitchen chairs.

"Yeah. Even for us," Cameron agreed with a wry little smile that slid away as she took her first sip of coffee. She maintained her place by the counter, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other tucked close to her chest, the steam from her coffee wafting up to her face. "I slept well," she said. She almost asked him how he'd slept, but she didn't want to hear a self-preserving quip or some shielding innuendo. It was best to stick with what she was feeling.

"Me too," he muttered over the rim of his cup. The words were a surprise even to him, much like his response to her tea that day a lifetime ago.

Cameron moved to the table and sat down, unclenching and releasing a long-held breath.

"I'm going to guess," House said as he watched her relax, "that sometime this morning you were planning on telling me that you just want to take things slow, even though we've already been going at the pace of geriatric snails."

"I think that would be a good idea," she replied, hand tightening around her cup.

"A little probationary time. Make sure old Greg doesn't screw up again," he said with a careless bravado that he wasn't feeling but needed to project in order to stave off the churning in his gut.

"Make sure it's really best for both of us," she corrected him. "And my first test-"

"You don't have AIDS," he interrupted, putting his cup down with enough force to slosh coffee over the rim.

She looked at him with those impossibly large, horribly innocent eyes and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "I hope not," she said, "but the test is in four weeks. We could try to get back to where we were by then." She took a sip of coffee and then concentrated on the creamy liquid as she swirled it gently. "I've missed you," she said, taking what felt like the biggest chance in years.

House was staring at her down-tilted head, seemingly memorizing each hair. Her words made him drop his gaze to his own coffee. "Yeah. Same here," he said, and it didn't come out nearly as grudgingly as he'd expected.

The weekend was spent half together (but largely silent) and half apart (but continually thinking about one another). Surprisingly, House didn't make an excuse to leave as soon as the coffee was finished. Instead he found an excuse to stay: a football game that he'd miss part of if he had to drive home. Cameron had rolled her eyes, as required, but the warm feeling in her chest was one she hadn't felt in a while.

They spent the rest of that day watching television, eating and bantering over true-crime and medical mysteries programs. Parting was the only awkward moment of the day. They'd hovered at the door, neither sure of what the new rules were. Cameron had ended up leaning in a bit and House had taken it as an invitation and pulled her in for a kiss that was less passionate than some they'd shared, but deeply satisfying in its own way as it mended cracks and filled in some of the empty spaces.

Sunday was their time for analyzing and second guessing; something which they were both experts at. Half a dozen times, Cameron had the phone in her hand ready to call him. House had nearly as many aborted calls to Wilson. He ended up at the off-track betting station instead which was where he met his - I Foreman's /I - next patient.

Having Foreman calling the shots was not as fun as he'd imagined, but he did get in a good number of insults and it was moderately amusing to sneak around behind his back. It had reminded him of his own residency, constantly getting one over on his supervising doctor. Thinking of ways to make Blackpolean miserable once he returned to commoner status also provided some moments of glee. Sending him to St. Helena probably wasn't in the cards, but loaning him to proctology wasn't out of the question. Brain, ass, same difference.

House also spent some time noticing the subtle changes in Cameron throughout the week.

They didn't speak about the weekend when they saw each other the following Monday, but there was a certain look that passed between them and an expression of strength on Cameron's face. That expression was repeated frequently as she stood by her diagnosis of Munchausen's Syndrome and made comments snarky enough to be worthy of House himself.

They both tried to be nonchalant when Foreman demanded that they pay an illegal visit to their patient's home. Cameron rambled about why she hadn't been put in charge, and House interrupted with his usual sarcasm. Neither of them wanted to talk about more personal matters, even though they were officially outside the hospital walls. They weren't ready. They still needed a bit of a buffer.

At least that was what House thought until they walked into the parking lot and his motorcycle was right there, and Cameron was right there, and suddenly he just wanted them to take off as far and as fast as possible. Cameron's reaction had been one of surprise, but it hadn't lasted long. She'd donned his helmet and climbed on behind him with practiced ease. She'd had more than a few trips since that second date.

And yet she hadn't been sure where to put her hands.

Only House's strong fingers, curling around hers, had let her know what to do. Had loosened another band from around her chest. He hadn't been sure if she'd actually stay there, snug against his back, but he hadn't been able to contain the momentary smile at the feel of her warmth behind him. If he'd looked, he would have seen her smiling too.

Once off the bike, they had both gone back to strict professionalism, except their banter had been looser than before. They'd sat on the bed beside each other without even thinking about it. They'd looked at each other with caring before snapping at each other, and it had removed some of the sting. Neither of them had mentioned to Foreman that the reason they'd taken so long was because they'd ridden back via the longest route possible.

Cameron's feistiness had increased after that little joy-ride, and House smugly took credit for it even as it pissed him off that she was defying him. He had to admit that when her sneaky ploy to get the woman to medicate herself actually worked, he'd felt a sense of pride. Naturally he wouldn't share that with her. He had an image to maintain, after all, and he still thought there was something else wrong and he'd be damned if he didn't find out what it was.

Forty-eight hours later, his suspicion was proven correct. The woman would recover, and platitudes were bandied around about how she could change. House knew then why he'd felt such a connection to her. They both craved attention, and they both manipulated people to get it. The sad part was that the attention they got was never the kind they really needed. They needed to change, unless they wanted to be alone for the rest of their lives, and he wasn't sure if either one of them was capable of it.

He went back to the off-track betting station that night, and drank two scotches while placing a single bet. When he got back to his place, there was a message on his answering machine. Cameron. Just a short message, teasingly congratulating him for his correct diagnosis and claiming half the credit for being right about the Munchausen's. Then her voice grew quieter and she'd said that she hoped he slept well. There was a space of dead air before the sound of her hanging up and he wondered what else she had been thinking of saying. His finger hovered over the button to erase it. Instead he played it one more time and went to bed.

The next morning he started thinking that maybe change was not impossible.