Kelly had secured an invitation to a tour, "wine and dine", and then to sit in on that evening's business meeting for a local women's and children's shelter; House suspected that their enthusiasm had less to do with their willingness to exchange information than their hopes that Kelly or her father might make a sizable donation for their trouble.

She invited him along, and he of course declined. While she was gone he packed for the trip, played his guitar, and ignored three separate calls from Foreman who left messages about charting issues. When the forth call came in on his cell, he assumed the likelihood that it would be more of the same. But in case it might have been Kelly, he checked the call display.

x- ID Unavailable -x

"What the hell," he muttered as he hit the answer button. "House."

"Yes, Dr. House! This is Philip Campbell calling. Kelly's father."

House was suddenly and unexpectedly nervous. "Oh... Hello..."

"Sorry to ambush you, but I talked with Kelly a few minutes ago and insisted that she give me your number so I could call and thank you for taking such good care of my daughter."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Campbell."

"Please, call me Phil! And I understand that you'll be making the trip with her back to California. I want you to know it means a lot to me that she won't be traveling alone. The fact that she'll have a medical professional with her in case something should happen does a father's heart good. Don't tell her I said that though, or I get the "I'm all grown up now" lecture when I see her next."

"I can assure you that your daughter is in great health; you have nothing to worry about." His polite and professional tone sounded foreign in his own ears.

"Good, good." House could hear him conferring with someone on his end. "So sorry, Dr. House, but I'm being called away. You kids enjoy your trip, and I look forward to meeting you."

House hung up the phone and started to feel a little sick. Meeting her family wasn't something he'd factored in, and considering 30 second spurts of politeness and professionalism was all he could generally manage, it didn't bode well.

"Dammit."

House was still brooding when Kelly returned. He was frowning when he answered the door.

Kelly didn't seem to notice. "Hey, you. Coming with me for the night?"

"I think I'll stay here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your toothbrush is at the hotel. Come on, it's late. Get some clothes for tomorrow."

"No, really, I -"

"My father called, didn't he."

Her deductive abilities bothered him to no end. Or, more accurately, her tendency to give voice to her deductions. But before he could confirm or deny, she was talking again.

"House, he's just a regular guy. You don't need to be nervous about meeting him. I swear, everyone who meets him thinks he's the most down-to-earth guy they've ever met. He -"

"FINALLY!"

She was taken aback by his exclamation. "What?"

"You're finally wrong about me! This deserves a celebration. You're healthy, so we're drinking."

She followed him to the kitchen, and despite his insistence refused the beer he offered; she never touched the stuff. "So you're not afraid to meet my dad?"

"Oh God, yes. Salut." He tipped the bottle back and drained an impressive amount in one gulp.

"But not because he's rich."

He was in fine form now. "I'm the best at what I do, remember? The ailing rich flock to me in their times of need, and I couldn't care less."

"So what is it, then?"

"Ah, the open book has closed." He was almost gleeful.

"Did he say something that offended you? Frankly I can't imagine him being offensive. Or you being offended, for that matter."

"No, but you're getting warmer, in a way."

Kelly's watch alarm interrupted them, and having been conditioned over the last two days she immediately removed a thermometer from her pocket and popped it in her ear. She laughed when she read the results. "That's a good bit of irony. How did you do that?"

He looked at the readout: she was indeed getting warmer, though not in the way he'd meant. "When was the last time you checked it?"

"In the car on the way to my meeting. It was pretty much normal then; maybe .2 higher than usual." Her face fell. "You don't think..."

"No, I don't." His beer forgotten, he led her to the living room and close to a lamp, which he turned on. "Shirt off. You know the drill."

This time she stripped right down without having to be cajoled, though she held her removed shirt against her chest. "It was hurting a bit, and itching, but I thought it was just from my bra."

He was carefully unclasping it as he spoke. "You didn't wear one yesterday."

"Yeah, but that was just with you." She peered at him over her shoulder. "Well, Doc? What's the damage?"

"It doesn't look too bad, but there's definitely an infection starting. You probably weren't careful enough when you showered this morning; I told you not to get the sutures wet. You'll need an antibiotic." He checked his watch. "Nothing would be open at this hour, and I don't feel good about leaving it overnight."

It was amazing how unconcerned having him there allowed her to be. No wonder her dad had been thrilled at the prospect of having her under doctor's supervision during the trip back. "So what do we do?"

"Go to the ER," he replied, turning away so she could get dressed. "Shouldn't take long."

Tugging her shirt back into place, she had to point out, "Since we're going out anyway, you may as well stay at the hotel tonight."

Now that he had a reason to leave the house and something to distract him and especially her, he was feeling more agreeable to the idea. He limped off to find an outfit for the next day.

On the ride over, she answered his questions about her evening. "I got a few ideas," she concluded. "And I made a contact or two that I'd like to keep in touch with. So it was worth it. Plus the dinner was really good. You were right about appetite being a symptom, I think."

"I'm always right," he responded automatically, distracted.

The ER was busy, but it didn't matter; House led her through the waiting room to reception and was instantly recognized by the triage nurse.

"This is Kelly Janes; she'll be in your computer as being an outpatient on my service. She needs an antibiotic for a post-op infection."

"If you're dumping her here, she'll have to wait awhile."

"I'll do it; just give me the paperwork."

A few minutes later Kelly was waiting in the exam area for House to return with the medicine when she saw Dr. Cameron.

"Kelly! What are you doing back here?"

"I had a fever, so I thought I should come in. Turns out I have a slight infection. I'm waiting for my antibiotics."

"Were you waiting long? We're really short-staffed tonight."

"Not too long," Kelly answered vaguely.

And then House appeared, and Kelly could see the wheels of Cameron's imagination start turning.

"House," she greeted. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." He handed Kelly two paper cups, one containing pills and one water to wash them down.

"No, you don't," Cameron corrected. "You work upstairs."

"My patient, my problem," he said by way of explanation. He took the cups back from Kelly and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Here's a prescription. You can get it filled at any pharmacy tomorrow."

A voice came from the end of the hall. "Dr. Cameron? Trauma coming in."

Looking doubtfully between the two of them, Cameron had no choice but to excuse herself, calling "Have a good trip home" over her shoulder as she left.

As House led her back through the crowded waiting area, Kelly felt guilty and asked, "Shouldn't you stay and help? Dr. Cameron said they're short staffed."

"Not my job," he said gruffly, keeping his eyes on the door.

"Just a few." She took his arm and slowed him to a stop. "You're a medical genius. That should be nothing for you." She smiled up at him coyly. "Unless you're not as good as you keep telling me you are."

He wasn't about to be challenged into work anymore than he could have been guilted into it. He started walking again.

Back in the car, House was quiet and Kelly was uncharacteristically sullen. Finally he called her on it just to break the silence.

"I guess I just had a bit of a wake up call, that's all," she said, slightly more wistful than terse. "I had myself fooled into thinking I could make you into a decent human being just by asking you to be one. Apparently I was wrong."

Immediately he went on the defensive. "Don't be pissed at me. I told you I was a mean bastard. You can't fault me for being exactly who I told you I was."

"Can't I? I..." She trailed off, and then suddenly she was smiling again.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're afraid to meet my dad because you don't know how to be anything but your offensive self." She signaled and pulled into the hotel parking lot. "Am I right?"

"Shut up."

"Closed book my ass. It must bother you to be so transparent."

Any other day, any other person, and he would have been gone. But it had just turned into Tuesday, the day before Wednesday, the day they would leave this place together. And she wasn't just anyone. Not to him.

"I hate you," he mumbled.

"No you don't." She grabbed the shopping bag containing his things out of the back seat and turned off the engine. "And just for the record, you don't give yourself enough credit."

She was out of the car and on her way before he'd even taken off his seat belt. He struggled to catch up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let's just say I know something about spotting potential; it's a part of my job. I deal with mean and messed up people all the time, and some of them are too far gone for me to even imagine them turning around without a miraculous act of God intervening. But not all of them."

He didn't like where this was going. But he pressed her further because a part of him wanted to hear it said aloud.

Kelly greeted the doorman and the evening receptionist and led him to the elevator. "I choose my friends very carefully, Greg," she told him finally as they waited for the car to arrive.

"You need to work on your criteria." His voice was nonchalant and uninterested, but he needed her to say it. He wouldn't let this drop.

And Kelly knew it, somehow. But she was still looking for the words, to make it meaningful in a way he would accept, so she said nothing as they rode the elevator to the 6th floor, and nothing of consequence as they went through their nighttime routines. And by the time she'd found the words she'd lost her nerve. She headed to her own bed and House followed her.

"I brought some topical antibiotic from the hospital," he told her, showing her the small tube. She held out her hand, but he didn't give it to her. "I'll do it; you won't be able to reach."

He was right, of course. Pulling back the covers, she lay face down on the bed and waited.

It was her doctor who completed the task, but her friend who lingered, taking extra care to apply just the right amount in just the right way. Who allowed his eyes to trace the curves of her back, and let his fingers follow before placing her night shirt to right.

He turned off her bedside lamp reluctantly. "Good night."

His intonation had lifted slightly, causing her to ask: "Was that a question?"

"I just wasn't sure if we were done. With what we were talking about before." He felt much safer now that she couldn't see his face. His eyes.

The mattress shifted as she turned and sat up. "Greg, you're not a bad man. You're rude and abrasive but only by habit, because it's served you to be that way, but I don't think that's who you are. That's not who you've been to me." Her hand found his. "Anyway, don't worry. My parents will love you because you saved my life. And they'll love you because I -"

She stopped in time, but the damage was done.