Taub sighs. "If he was having an affair then…."

The trailing off causes House to look up, never breaking his uneven stride as he and his fellows watch her walk in.

"You three never see a woman after she ate a kid? Quit staring."

He steadily limps to where she's waiting by the adjoining door to his office with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"Who knows how quick she digests? If I'm not back in a few minutes tell Cuddy I fought the good fight, and that her ass was the last thing on my mind."

"Don't worry about him guys," she smiles as she opens the door for him. "I don't eat anything past its expiration date. Are you busy, House?"

"If you're looking for lunch money to feed that thing, yes."

"I'm serious."

He sits down at his desk with a shake of his head. "Some woman's life hangs in the balance. Nothing serious."

"Of course not."

"So, what's up?"

Cameron takes a breath. "I've got an appointment today, and Cander was hoping to get some blood to run genetic tests on. I would've done it before, but the last few times I got near a sample of your blood I thought you had cancer and syphilis."

"You should've known better the second time around."

"I know I –. You remember that?"
Rubbing his forehead, House shrugs his shoulders. "Some of it."

She's almost tempted to ask how much more he recalls, almost. For now, it's better for her if she believes he only remembers the bare bones of his past, their past. It makes this so much easier for some twisted reason.

"So, are you free this afternoon to get some blood drawn?"

"Seems like a slow day today."

She swabs the iodine on his arm, quick and perfunctory, before reaching for his file.

"These are good days."

"Days where you're more useless than normal."

"Says you."

"No one else is righter than me."

"And you wonder why people think you have a big ego."

"No, I wonder why people are surprised I think I have a huge ego. Ow, a little warning before you stick, doctor."

Cameron looks at him, waiting for him to catch her gaze.

"Is your ego hurt?"

"Nothing a good stroking wouldn't fix."

She should look away, end the brief moment of something almost engaging. But it's brief, too brief, and so she imagines she can hold it a little longer. And then at the very moment she starts to find herself smiling, he tilts his head in a manner that causes her to take a sharp breath.

House doesn't know what's happened. One second she's light and warm, and the next she's slapping a band-aid on his arm without so much as a word. He catches her wrist, faintly feeling her blood beginning to pulse after a few seconds in his tight grasp. The small cuff of her glove rubs against his skin, almost squeaking through the friction, the need.

Trying to pull away, she stands awkwardly, only to have to bend slightly at the odd angle of his capture.

"Let go, House."

It's halfway between an order and a plea, much like their life together has been. That was always what failed them most, she thinks as she looks down at him. They never could make up their mind which end suited them best, or maybe they had, and chosen the wrong sides.

"Don't do this to me. I can't – I can't deal with you now."

He wants to ask 'when' and 'why not', but his tongue is thick in his mouth at the responsibility such an answer will lay upon his shoulders. He has no right to ask her anything. He can't even promise her anything but frustration and fear, doubt and worry. Maybe all he wants are the good memories, and this is his twisted of trying to regain them.

The force is gone, fingers becoming nothing but a mixture of epithelial, skeletal, connective and nervous tissue surrounding listless pieces of short bones. Cameron gathers his vial and file, ignoring the subtle harshness in her throat as she leaves him surrounded by the hanging partitions. It's his turn to watch someone walk away.

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

Wilson watches House shut the door behind and limp towards the window to look outside.

"Never."

"We were supposed to eat there a while back."

"Who?"

House reaches for his vicodin and glances over his shoulder at Wilson.

"Me and Cameron. I think it'd just opened and she," he swallows the pills, "thought it'd be a good place to have our anniversary bonanza."

Waiting, Wilson releases the pen in his hand.

"I was going to meet her there since she was working on the ER's budget."

He puts a hand on the glass for no reason other than to distract himself more.

"I was there. I saw her through the glass looking at her watch."

He watches his hand fall, leaving an oily smudge to mar the sharpness and then turns around to rest his back on it.

"I turned around, got back on my bike, and went to her apartment. I waited for her for an hour."

"You mean she waited for you for an hour?"

"Same difference."

Leaning back in his chair, Wilson rests one arm on the rest as House finally takes a few step forwards that are unusually cautious.

"You need to stop, Wilson."

"Stop what?"

With a fluid movement, House pulls the card out of his blazer pocket and flicks it onto the desk in front of him.

"I was just trying to help," he replies as he fingers the simple card.

"I don't need your help. You've done enough."

They look at each other and House sighs loudly.

"All I need is divine intervention. Not so hard to come by. So unless you can get Gabriel to play Twister with God, leave it alone."

Wilson nods.

"Okay."

"What's wrong?"

She stiffens her shoulders, drawing her afghan closer to her body when he sits on her coffee table in front of her.

"Bad day."

House stretches his legs out so that he can feel the pressure of her legs resting against his. He could comfort her, try to hold her, maybe even try to coax her into talking, but he won't. He's not good at it, and he's almost sure he doesn't want to hear about it anyways. They all have their bad days.

A commercial blares from the television, its volume almost twice the level of the movie that's taken a short break for a few words from a sponsor. He wonders if she even hears it.

"Sometimes, it just seems so hard." Her eyes flicker to his, holding his blue gaze before falling down to the cane beside him.

"You handle it," is all he can think to say. "I guess I'm going to go."

He waits for a response and when it doesn't come, he moves his gray sock covered feet to cover her white socked feet. There's only so much he can do, but sometimes, he doesn't think about it and does what he can.