House limped sulkily from his bedroom, having changed into his sweats and a t-shirt. He had gone home early, tired of hiding from Wilson in the clinic. After the initial meeting with his newest patient, Wilson had pestered him the rest of the day for answers. But as open as he was with Wilson, House could not talk about Emily Baden. Not yet.

Pouring himself a glass of scotch, House sat down at the piano. His hands started lightly roaming over the keys, sounding out the melody of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. His thoughts traveled as smoothly as the notes, flying back some hours earlier. The first look Emily had given him had been etched in his mind; it was almost as though she knew she had seen him before, but couldn't quite place it. He had known, of course, that she wouldn't be able to remember him. But there was still a pang of disappointment and hurt that struck him every time her face passed through his mind.

House's fingers skidded slightly at the hollow knocking coming from the front door.

"I know that knock!" he called, the annoyance sinking in. Wilson just wouldn't give up. "I'm not going to tell you, Wilson. So go home to your wife!" His fingers continued gliding efficiently over the keys and the knocking came to a stop. As he pounded out the final chords, though, the knocking started again, just as persistently. He swore silently, hoisted himself up, and limped towards the door, popping a couple of vicodin. For dramatic purposes, he opened it slowly, and was surprised to find a pink-faced Cameron blinking up at him.

"That sounded beautiful," she breathed, nodding at the piano. She rubbed a gloved hand over her nose, trying to get the circulation going again. Seeing this, House stood aside, letting her step into the heat.

"Is there something you needed?" House asked unsurely, clicking the door shut behind her. He turned to see her shedding her heavy jacket and gloves. Shaking her head, she wandered over to the piano, lightly fingering the keys. House got a jolt, watching her make herself at home like that.

"I just wanted to see if you were alright," she explained, turning to face him. "You disappeared on us. We were worried."

"You mean you were worried," he corrected. She turned back to the piano, but he caught her sheepish smile. Scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck, he came forward and settled back on the couch.

"How long have you been playing?" Cameron asked.

"I started lessons when I was nine." House cleared his throat uneasily. "The teacher refused to see me again after my seventh day. Claimed I was hopeless. So, I taught myself, just to spite her." He chuckled at the memory.

"Well, you are incredible at it." She gently pressed down on one of the keys, breaking the momentary silence. "Why are you so interested in Emily's case?" She asked nonchalantly, sitting on the piano bench.

"Not you, too," House groaned. "If I tell you that it was the delirium that got me, will you leave it be?" Cameron thought about it seriously for a few moments before meeting his eyes.

"It's really that bad?" She pulled her feet up on the bench, drawing her knees close.

"I don't want to talk about it," he mumbled.

"Obviously." They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, keeping their eyes away from each other. "Play me something?" Cameron finally asked.

"No free concerts." House stood up and moved closed to her. She slid her feet to the floor, making room for him on the piano bench. "So what are you going to give me?"

"How about…you play me one song and…I will make you dinner."

"Dinner?" he asked as he shifted uncomfortably. "Cameron, I don't think…"

"Oh, House," she said, whacking him on the arm. "It's harmless. One person cooking for another. I'm not asking you to act all sweet and pretend that you enjoy it." House winced, and peered into her enchanting blue eyes.

"I wouldn't have to pretend…" he offered. The corners of her mouth turned up so slightly, that it might have been easy to miss if House hadn't known her so well.

"Just play me something."

He obliged then, his fingers expertly belting out some Chopin. Her eyes slipped shut as she began to sway along with the music. House glanced at her out of the corner of his eye every few moments, just to see if she was accepting his playing. Luckily, the look that had spread over her face was one of true appreciation.

"Amazing," she whispered as he finished. His hands remained frozen on the keys as he floated back into reality. It was then he realized the hand squeezing his shoulder gently. Cameron's eyes eventually flickered open and she, too, noticed her hand's betrayal. Blushing, she hastily removed it to her lap.

"So what's for dinner?" he asked gruffly.

Cameron smiled and told him to stay put. She hurried to his kitchen, and began rummaging through his cupboards. He went back to playing, something more modern this time, enjoying the smells and sounds that were filling his apartment. She didn't comeback into the living room, but he saw her go to his dining table and clear it off. It made him smile, seeing her setting out the plates and silverware in a way he hadn't seen or done since Stacey. 'No,' he thought. 'This is Cameron. Forget about Stacey. It's Cameron that's still with you.'

"Come and get it!" Cameron called, setting two Rueben sandwiches on the table. She went back in the kitchen as he stepped over. "No pickles." She returned carrying two cans of Coke and a bag of potato chips.

"This looks incredible," he said earnestly. He sat down, hesitating only a moment before taking a wary bite. His face took on an expression of pure delight. "Are you sure you picked the right profession?"

"A lifetime making sandwiches for starving cripples?" she said sarcastically, ignoring the nearly offended look House was giving her. "Yeah, how could I have chosen a medical career over that?" They chewed in welcome silence for a few more moments, until Cameron made another attempt at conversation.

"So you won't tell me why you're so interested in Emily Baden…"

"Don't go there, Cameron," he said edgily. "It's something that has nothing to do with you. Something that does not need to be drudged up." She fixed her eyes on her sandwich and set to picking off bits to stuff in her mouth. "I'm sorry. You wouldn't know why it's so hard for me to…"

"No, it's fine. Really. I don't need to know."

"But you want to. I understand. It's just your curiosity. Cameron, you have to know that some things…" He stopped, setting the sandwich on the plate. "Some wounds are not meant to be opened. It could…it might result in even more pain than when they were created."

The finished their sandwiches in complete quiet, ignoring each other as well as they could manage. When they'd finished, Cameron gathered the plates and brought them to the dishwasher. She stood silently by the table, thinking of what to say or do to fix this mess. But all she could do was pull on her coat and gloves and leave.

"I'm sorry, House," she said quietly. He closed his eyes; the brief burst of cold air the only proof of her leaving.