Here we are at the end of another story... sad and yet satisfying I think. I hope that you all feel the same. Please let me know if you've enjoyed it... and if you think there are places that can be improved. I'll be working on the Saints and Saviors sequel now, and I hope to have the first chapter posted within the next week or two!

Chapter 4

Friday, and the end of the first week of Foreman's reign. House reflected that at least it had gone better than Vogler's and Foreman was about to leave for a week's vacation, so that would give him some respite from the annoyance of being bossed around in his own little kingdom. Evidently Foreman hadn't learned anything from Chase's betrayal and subsequent penance.

Chase would be gone for a week as well; travelling back to Australia to visit with friends. House wondered if he would visit his father's grave as well. That left Cameron. The only one who wasn't going home for Christmas; the only one who had volunteered to stay. It was an odd shaped piece in the puzzle that was Allison Cameron. Even with his ego, he knew she wasn't staying for him. She had volunteered so that she would have a convenient excuse not to go. And that was what House found unexpected. He had taunted her about being a stuffed animal from grandma. He hadn't thought that familial references were as uncomfortable for her as they were for him.

He was still thinking and wondering about her when he stepped out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor as usual. With towel wrapped around his waist, he stood in front of his sink, staring at his reflection for just a second before concentrating on squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. While in the shower, his thoughts about Cameron had wandered -- not least of all to what she would look like wet and naked in the shower next to him. Now his thoughts about her had narrowed to one: trying to decide if he should give her the present he'd bought almost a month and a half ago.

Unfortunately it was slightly too large to fit in that incredibly cheesy stocking she'd hung over the coffeemaker, and yes, he'd noticed that she'd hung his right next to hers. He'd scowled the first time he'd seen them, but it had been more from habit than actual contempt -- because inside, a feeling of indulgence had surprised him. It made her happy to decorate, and while that didn't exactly make him happy, it made him happier.

He remembered, as he ran a comb through his hair, that Cameron hadn't had a Christmas tree at her apartment. The wreath on her door had matched the wreaths on every other door in the building, but inside there had been no decorations. Hell, even he had a pathetic little tree that Wilson had insisted on buying him, and Steve's cage had a giant ribbon wrapped around the base. The knowledge that Cameron -- the woman everyone thought of as a hopeless optimist -- was going to be spending Christmas alone in her undecorated apartment made him feel... uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, really, but he wouldn't let himself dwell on any other feelings.

He'd give her the damn present.

The unseasonably warm weather had given way to flurries and an icy wind that blew in from the coast. House buttoned his coat all the way up and reluctantly gave up the idea of riding the bike. He'd have to get it back in Wilson's garage for the rest of the winter.

The Corvette wasn't much more suitable to bad weather, but it kept him out of the wind and he drove to the hospital with Cameron's present on the seat beside him. He was half an hour early. The extra time would give him a chance to smuggle it up to his office without being spotted by Wilson, Cuddy or any of the other hospital gossips. Even taking that precaution, he still felt annoyingly nervous as he rode the elevator to the diagnostics department.

When he got to his familiar glass castle he snorted at his own actions and shoved the present behind his desk before attempting to drown out his irritating "feelings" with loud music and Metroid Prime. He pretended to ignore Cameron when she arrived a few minutes later, and did ignore Chase and Foreman when they drifted in just after eight-thirty. He wandered into the conference room at nine, searching for coffee, and grunted at his employees before retreating to his office again. It was the only interaction he had with them for the entire day.

Cuddy paged him to the clinic at ten and he was stuck there until lunch, treating sore throats, cookie-induced stomach aches and one very clumsy bike-assembly accident. How a screwdriver could pierce a scrotum was something he didn't want to devote too much brainpower to imagining.

Lunchtime brought with it Wilson, and his ever-earnest invitation to a holiday dinner. House declined, but he did manage to get Wilson to pay for his lunch. Of course that was almost a daily occurrence so it didn't really count as anything remarkable. What was remarkable was the fact that Wilson managed to go almost fifteen minutes without mentioning Cameron in a sympathetic tone.

"I noticed she's on the board for clinic duty next week," he said, while staring at his sandwich. It never paid to look House straight in the eye for these types of conversations. "I suppose the two of you could--"

"No. We couldn't," House interrupted.

"You never talked to her," Wilson surmised, and there was that pitying look. "But I haven't seen you trailing after Stacy either."

"Well aren't you just the Sherlock Holmes of Princeton," House scoffed lightly. "As a matter of fact, you're wrong."

Wilson looked slightly confused. He was sure he would have noticed House obsessing over his ex. Oh. That wasn't what he was wrong about. His eyes took on that interested look that was often seen in Cameron's gaze.

"So you did talk?"

"Yeah," House muttered around a giant mouthful of pastrami.

"And?"

"And you're the nosiest man I've ever met."

Wilson had the self-control to keep his laughter subdued. "Me? I'm not the one who stole my ex-lover's medical records!"

"Whatever," House replied with a careless roll of his eye and a childish expression.

"C'mon. You've gotta tell me."

House looked at that serious and concerned face and let out a much-put-upon sigh. "Fine. We talked and things might be getting better."

"Then why not spend Christmas together?"

"We're not the celebrating type," House said, again taking a bite of sandwich at the same time.

"Cameron? Not the celebrating type? She's practically got the office smothered in decorations. I can't imagine what her apartment must look like."

House swallowed and then fixed his gaze on Wilson. "Not like the office."

"Oh." Wilson was back to looking confused, but he pushed it aside. "Still--"

"Maybe," House finally relented, more to get Wilson onto another topic than because he actually thought he and Cameron would see each other on Christmas.

"At least give it some thought," was Wilson's last statement on the subject, and then he started talking about the possibility of getting together New Year's day for the football game.

Chase had to catch his plane and left the office at two. Foreman left shortly before four. He was driving but he wanted to try to beat the traffic. That left only Cameron and House in the office, separated by a wall of glass. When Cuddy called her down to clear up some paperwork, House took his chance and limped through the connecting door with package in hand. He settled it on her chair and looked at it for a second. Two years in a row. A new tradition.

He pivoted around and noticed the stockings again. All empty. And she hadn't stopped by with any gold-wrapped boxes either. He almost turned and snatched the gift back, the words 'sentimental fool' echoing in his head. But that would only prove that he cared whether or not she got him something. And he didn't. Definitely not. He was giving her something because he'd bought it so long ago that it was no longer returnable. That was the only reason. He stalked back to his office, grabbed his coat and keys and headed out.

The childish petulance had nearly subsided by the time he unlocked his car and found the green be-ribboned present sitting on the leather seat.

It only took him a few seconds to remember that brief period that afternoon when he'd wondered where his keys were. He'd paced into the conference room looking for them and found them next to the coffee maker. He hadn't remembered putting them there, but he'd also taken two vicodin shortly after arriving, so a memory lapse had certainly been possible.

Apparently he needed to send Cameron on all the breaking and entering missions.

He shifted the package over to the passenger seat and got in. Normally he would have torn it open right then, like an impatient kid. This time he wasn't so eager for the gratification of knowing what was inside the box. Just possessing it was enough.

Amber and gold melted and curled together, pulling upwards and sending sparks drifting off, fading as they grew further from the nurturing fire. The ever-changing pattern of the flames held House mesmerized, ignoring even the scotch swirling in his glass. Every so often he would remember it and take a sip before staring into the fire again.

Next to him on the dark leather sofa was Cameron's gift to him, unwrapped and open, with ribbon trailing onto the floor and paper torn haphazardly. The plain white box had contained three things: a box of cigars identical to the ones she'd given him last Christmas, a bottle of Glenlivet which he had opened and was currently drinking, and a scale model of Gravedigger with two all-access passes for the St. Patrick's Day monster truck rally tucked in the truck bed. Apparently she also knew a guy who knew a guy.

House took another sip of scotch and then reached over and lifted the truck from its nest of tissue paper. He held it in his hand, looking at all the details and remembering the last time he'd seen it in person. He remembered how Cameron had looked with a backdrop of colored lights from the cotton candy stand, and the way she'd cheered like a little kid. He'd spent a lot of time and scotch trying to obliterate those memories the following weekend. Now he was glad he'd been unsuccessful.

His glass was just touching his lower lip when the phone rang. He lowered his hand and listened as the machine picked it up on the second ring. His own voice echoed slightly in the large room, and the annoyingly long beep that followed bounced off wood and wall and window.

"Hi," came a somewhat tentative voice. "It's me… obviously… I guess you're out. I just wanted to thank you--"

House picked up before she could say anymore.

"I'm here."

"Ah," she said, with that breathy voice she sometimes got when she was nervous. "Screening your calls?" she continued with more resolve.

"Can't be too careful."

"True. I might have been some telemarketer and then you would have had to waste precious sarcasm getting rid of me."

He couldn't see it, but he knew there was the shadow of a smile on Cameron's face.

"So, you got it then," House switched gears, going back to her original reason for calling.

"Yes," she replied and then paused before going on. "I guess this means you're expecting me to be a regular passenger?"

"Well the bike is twice as cool when I've got a hot chick riding bitch," House said matter-of-factly.

"That so, eh?"

"Yeah, and then there's that whole brain-safety issue to keep in mind."

A quiet little laugh reached House's ears and he smirked. He liked being responsible for that sound.

"I like the color," she told him. "I suppose you only picked it so the blood wouldn't be as noticeable if we crash," she joked.

"Red looks good on you," was his response, and it was said so simply that Cameron was momentarily taken aback.

"Did you… did you get your present?" she asked when speech returned.

"Oh, that was you?" he answered. "Here I was thinking that someone took the 'vette for a joyride and left a very girly looking package as payment."

"Ha, ha," she said, and again he could tell she was smirking at him over the phone line.

He wondered if she would ask him if he liked it, and when she stayed silent, save for the sound of her breathing, he had his answer. As usual, she pushed him right up to the edge, but never over it. She always waited for him to take that last step himself.

"I'm drinking the scotch right now."

He could just barely hear her little sigh of relief.

"Good?"

"Very. My carjacker has good taste."

"Glad you're enjoying it."

"It seems she's also getting paid too much," he said a minute later, after rolling the words around in his mouth and debating whether or not to let them out. "Those tickets don't come cheap."

"Well, fiberglass composite Syncrotec helmets aren't exactly on the discount rack at Wal-mart."

"Nothing but the best for you, dear," he said in that casually sarcastic tone of voice he was known for, yet beneath it was a thin thread of truth that he would deny if questioned about.

Cameron seemed to be letting his words settle and when she spoke again it was soft but hopeful; something House hadn't heard from her in a while.

"Also, I was sort of thinking that I'd be using that extra ticket."

"Oh you were, were you?"

"I know what monster trucks are now," she replied, "and I kinda like them."

"I should have known. Once is never enough."

"Unless you want to take Wilson. I mean, he missed it last time…" Cameron trailed off, unexpectedly backpedaling.

House refrained from telling her that Wilson had missed the last rally because he was out with Stacy. "He can buy his own damn ticket," he said instead, knowing that Cameron would be smiling at his words.

"It's a few months away," she said, not quite hesitatingly, but giving him an out if he wanted it. "A lot could happen."

"Not enough for me to let Wilson ride bitch," House said flippantly. He wanted to move away from talk of the distant future, and humor was the best distraction.

Cameron laughed and then quieted, her gentle breathing almost tickling House's ear although she was miles away.

"Well, I should let you go. I just wanted to thank you."

"I have a tree," House said abruptly.

"Excuse me?"

"A tree. With lights. Colored balls. You've seen the type. I've got one here and it's going to waste."

Cameron's response, when it came, was one of puzzlement. "How can it be going to waste?"

"Well obviously I'm not appreciating it. It takes a woman to really do that. You could come over." His words were clipped and almost rushed and he realized almost immediately that he sounded exactly the same as he had when he'd invited her to that first truck rally.

"Now?"

"Sure. Or Christmas. Or both."

"It's kind of late tonight--"

"Right. Right. Just forget it."

"No!" she said quickly. "I just meant that maybe I could come over tomorrow… Christmas Eve and all that. I could cook. Maybe…"

"Maybe spend the night."

"Maybe."

"I can cook too," House volunteered, defusing the question of sleeping arrangements. "Once a man hits thirty-five, Kraft macaroni and cheese seven nights a week looses its appeal."

"I can imagine," she said with a light chuckle.

When silence fell again, she was the one to break it.

"So. Tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"I'll call before I come over."

"Sounds good," he said, echoing words from long ago.

Cameron quiet again, only her breathing letting him know she was still there.

"Merry Christmas, Greg," she said at last, because although she'd get the chance to say those words in just forty-eight hours, she just didn't want to hang up without saying his name.

"Merry Christmas, Allison," he surprised her and himself by responding in kind in a voice that could almost be called gentle.

He held onto the phone until he heard her hang up and then he set it gently on the side table next to his glass. The honey-colored liquid caught the reflection of the fire and seemed to glow. Picking it up, he looked at it, at the flames, and at the little model truck. He was actually looking forward to Christmas.