Sunlight eagerly filtered through the blinds and into the conference room as though it knew that its presence was equally needed as it was despised. Cameron perched half-precariously, half-languidly in the corner, scanning the contraband file known formerly as her case. As her mind rationally worked through causes and effects, her body prepared for his arrival.

She hadn't intended on confronting him the night before - she simply couldn't stop herself from seeing what he was doing with the scans. She also didn't know whether to be happy in her self control or ashamed of her need to know.

As much as she wanted to work with House again, to be let back into his world of mind games and watery ethics, she drew power from her nearly constant mental reminders that she was no longer under his thumb. Gregory House had no official control over her. She knew, though, that the operative word in that statement was "official," and she was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the irrational mumblings of her mind that occasionally gave her a thrill by reminding her that all interactions from this point forward between her and House were consensual. Oh, how she hated those voices.

She heard the door to his office open, heard him drop his bag carelessly on his chair. He shuffled through the conference room, not bothering to turn on a light as he grudgingly turned on the coffee maker. He gazed sourly at the sunrise out the window for a while, and then his gaze shifted languidly to Cameron. If he was shocked or surprised in the least he didn't let on - another thing that had always frustrated her to no end. Anger, happiness - these were reactions she could deal with. But no reaction at all?

"Tired of your office already? Never did like the view from that side of the building." He turned his attention back to the coffee and she longed to slap him. To make him answer her ever burning question of "why." To make him answer anything.

"I thought I could help with the case." A beat of silence as he carefully selected a mug from the cabinet.

"You thought wrong." She'd been expecting this - counting on it even. The door to the conference room swung open as Clark and Miller jaunted in, laughing no doubt at some tale of the previous night's exploits. House began to regard them woefully, but caught Cameron's knowing smirk and stopped. So it wasn't that he didn't need her help, she thought. She'd suspected as much, but one could never be too sure with House.

"Should we leave?" a more seriously mannered Miller cautiously queried.

"Actually, Dr. Cameron was just leaving. I'm sure she has many sick immunology patients to attend to." His eyes were full of annoyance and pain, as per usual, but she noticed something else - something she hadn't seen in a long time, wasn't sure she'd ever seen directed at her. Mirth.

His eyes quickly darted to the door as Janie and Laura entered. Their smiles were hopeful and full of nervous energy. Today was the day they would consult with the great Dr. House. Cameron forced herself not to wince at their idealism and excitement. She felt his eyes return to her, though, and sensed that he shared her thought.

"I didn't know we were having a slumber party today! Too bad my good jammies are at the cleaners." His tone was sarcastic, mocking, biting - the essence of House - and the girls unconsciously stepped back against the door.

"Well, Dr. House," Cameron refused to be deterred, "If you don't want a consult, then we'll just sit in. I'm sure my interns would benefit much from watching the brilliant Dr. House in action."

"Don't much like being observed. Stage fright." House shrugged helplessly and moved to hold the door open for the two newly bewildered women.

"Wanna check with Cuddy on that one?" She smiled sweetly at the taste of her small victory. She was nowhere near close to winning the war, but maintaining her own against House? A worthy battle. He chuckled sardonically, conceding this one to her, no doubt already preparing for round two.

"Fine. Girls, sit back and watch." He turned to his fellows but eyed Cameron as he said, "Let's show the feeble minded weaker sex how the real men solve the cases." He was having fun now, she could tell, and she relished the small power of amusement she held over him.

Clark and Miller cautiously took seats on one side of the table while Janie and Laura sat opposite them. All four showed varying signs of confusion and captivation at the antics of their respective bosses. Cameron watched House retrieve his cup of coffee while she expectantly sat in a chair nearest the white board.

"Okay, Patient `Whatsherface.' Vanna, file." He snatched the folder from Cameron, flipping it open dramatically. "And the survey says...why the hell hasn't she had a biopsy?"

"Her white cell count wasn't down," Cameron replied.

"Well gee, let's see...spot on her lung, cough, breathing problems - no, you're right. Sounds nothing like cancer."

"I looked again this morning at her chart. Problems with her fluid-producing glands, problems with her lungs...she's been through so much that I thought it might be a good idea to check out some immunological causes before jumping to cancer." House pursed his lips and bowed his head, and she hoped that meant he was actually listening. Moving toward his board, he stopped suddenly and began scanning the room.

"What are you looking for?" Miller asked, confused as to whether or not this was part of House's diagnosing antics.

"Where are my markers?"

"You seem to have misplaced them." House slowly looked over at Cameron, a twisted hint of surprise hiding behind pursed lips. "I have some," she offered sweetly, reaching into the pocked of her lab coat, "But I'm not allowed to touch the board, am I? Oh, or speak either, right?"

He sank into a chair across from her, refusing to break eye contact. She felt her resistance wavering under his gaze. It reminded her of every time they'd been close to having a "moment." It made her angry. "Gland problems. Go," he tersely commanded, breaking the tension and preventing her anger from boiling.

"A link between the lungs and the nervous system is highly unlikely," Clark piped up. He was the more handsome of House's fellows, yet Cameron also sensed that he was the smarmier one. "I think we should just do the biopsy so we can all go home."

"Excellent. Vanna, write that one down," House said with false brightness.

"Hang on a minute," Cameron said slowly, "Unlikely yes, but not impossible -"

"Okay, let's test her for all `unlikely but not impossible' diseases. That way we can help her waste what little time she has left. Of course, we'll save the cancer test for last because we wouldn't want to have to give her bad news, now would we?" House cut her off. The younger doctors seemed paralyzed and everyone barely noticed Wilson slipping into the room.

"What about Sjogren's syndrome?" Laura ventured. Cameron breathed a small sigh of satisfied triumph. This was what she'd been hoping for.

"What?! Her symptoms are classic for cancer. There's nothing about them to suggest some crazy immune disease. She might as well have AIDS," Clark shot out.

"Painful eyes or dry mouth," Miller piped up. Cameron suppressed another grin. "They're symptoms."

"Dry mouth is one of her symptoms," Laura added.

"What about scleroderma?" Janie said with burgeoning confidence.

"Okay," Clark said animatedly, looking at House for back up, "She has no symptoms. We would be seeing signs in her other organs."

"They could appear later," Miller shrugged.

"Well, while we're waiting to see if it's one hundred and one of our favorite rare diseases, Clark is going to go do a biopsy," House replied. Wilson sighed. Cameron glanced over, catching his eye thoughtfully. There was silence in the room and she briefly considered giving in - just for a moment. Then she realized that while she would have three years ago, she couldn't now. Not if she had any hope of making this work.

"What if it's Lupus?" she baited him.

"What if it's polio?"

"What if it's," she paused, taking a deep breath and catching his eye, "sarcoidosis?"

"Sure, let's wait around and tell ghost stories while you test her. You do realize that if you're wrong you're wasting time she doesn't have." She narrowed her eyes at him. He was purposely making this especially difficult and she longed to know why. He had summoned her back, he had shown, finally, after all these years, that he wanted her - didn't matter in what way, didn't matter how little.

Every day she was feeling more and more the fool. She refused to believe that he would ask her here only to amuse himself at her expense. She'd been hoping for change - if not in him, then in the way he saw her or at least in the way he treated her. What frustrated her most, however, was his complete certainty that she hadn't changed at all. She supposed that she had confirmed that a little by coming back in the first place, but it was still a bit surprising. House prided himself on his ability to read people. She could see changes in herself. Friends and colleagues had noted changes. So what was House seeing that everyone else didn't?

"So go do the biopsy," House snipped at Clark, who jumped a little and stood up abruptly.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Cameron said, rising slowly just as Clark had reached the door. He paused in agonizing indecision.

"Not your patient," House chirped.

"This is true, but I can't let you send him, because the patient isn't in her room."

"I'm confused. Did she walk out of here. Have we cured her merely by thinking about it? And people say I'm not God." Wilson rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to lower his head into his hands.

Cameron took a deep breath and steadied herself. "She's currently being pumped full of prednisone." House allowed the slightest bit of his taken aback-ness to show, and seeing gave Cameron a momentary thrill. Wilson, however, had closed his eyes and was now covering them with his right hand.

"Come again?" He leaned his head forward, ear cocked up.

"Other part of the file," she said innocently, holding up a sheaf of papers.

He snatched the paper from her grasp, skimming it for a moment before narrowing his eyes and saying, "You did a biopsy."

"Well of course, I'm not an idiot," she said. "It seemed clear, but I wasn't convinced. So, I put it under the microscope and..."

"Granulomas," House muttered, continuing to read the paper.

"You'd only see that if it were sarcoidosis or TB," Laura said thoughtfully, "How did you know it wasn't TB?"

"She didn't have any of the usual TB symptoms," Cameron shrugged. "I figured that if I was right, she'd start to get better. And if I was wrong..."

"Oh, you figured?" House interrupted with false drama. "Who authorized it?"

"Mmm, let's see," she leaned forward to peer at the papers in House's hand. "Can you read that? It's very loopy, but it seems to be a `g.' George Hose?"

Sensing danger, the four younger doctors deftly made for the exit. She watched a grin slide onto his face, and for a moment he let it settle there. "I taught you well," he said, satisfied. She paused in her inner-reveling.

"You knew I was right, didn't you?" she said, shocked at the fact and shocked that this knowledge seemed natural to her. His gaze revealed nothing. He let her mind work as he barked for his subordinates to come back and receive their new orders - retrieving the test results asap. In the meantime, she caught Wilson's gaze again and was surprised at what she saw. His shrug signified his response to House's usual behavior, but his eyes conveyed his fascination with her own.

She had changed, she decided; only it wasn't because of him but rather in spite of him. He had challenged her. Bent her, used her, pushed her, pulled her - abused her and captivated her as no man ever had. In the end, she'd left. Not running, no. She'd tried that once. She had left slowly and in stages, promising herself a future that was perhaps not as alive, but one that would at least be livable.

Had he called her back to see if his trial by fire had worked? To see if the mold that both his intentional and inadvertent lambasting had created was finally hardened and ready to be used? She wanted to damn him, to hate him enough to be merely and objectively professional - or at least as professional as he would allow other to be in the midst of his behavior. But instead she felt a smile grace her lips. Arguing had been fun. Playing him had been fun.

Knowing somewhere inside her that he understood the game, knew the outcome from the beginning - it frightened her. It fascinated her. It filled her.

He liked her.

His feet were propped up on the desk, television turned to some sporting event. Baseball, soccer - he was only mildly paying attention. The results of Cameron's treatment rested unlooked at on his desk. He continually bounced a blue ball off the nearest glass wall, deaf to the harshly annoying sound.

He liked Wilson because the oncologist was easy to crack and yet interesting to study. Wilson followed patterns - in his marriages, his relationships, his work. At times he deviated from those patterns, and life was a bit more interesting for House. The potential monotony of their relationship was assuaged by Wilson's refusal to make analyzing him into a hobby. Sure, Wilson could shoot barbs, could cut (on occasion) to the truth of House's character. But he seldom judged, seldom seemed to care about the observations he made. He was more interested in presenting his findings to House, in forcing House to face himself. It was a bumpy cycle that never quite repeated in the same way.

He didn't slow his rhythm, even when Miller lumbered in with tentative confirmations of the sarcoidosis. The puzzle was over. The time for caring - if there ever had been a time for caring, and only in relation to the puzzle, never the patient - was well past. Miller waited a few seconds longer than necessary for no answer from his boss, and House fumbled the ball as annoyance gripped his attention.

He had never liked Cameron much.

She was hot, yes. In the beginning, she'd been a puzzle. A moderately easy puzzle that he knew he could figure out by making some phone calls, putting in a little effort. But she was hot and so he'd decided to draw out the puzzle as long as he could. What he had discovered was that the puzzle was more complex and deep than he'd first assessed. And, while he hadn't been looking, she had decided to make him her puzzle.

Unlike Wilson, she judged. She poked and prodded, every minute, every day. Even when she wasn't consciously doing it, he could feel her. Her looks, her words. She wanted something from him, and he couldn't live with that. Her suffocating need made life with her cumbersome and predictable. Or perhaps that was simply what he told himself. Everyone lies, so how could lying to himself possibly come as a surprise?

"Heard Cameron was right - sarcoidosis," Wilson stuck his head into the office, startling House and causing a slight glitch in the rhythm.

"Don't care." Ker-THUD. Silence. Ker-THUD.

"Oh, right," Wilson said smugly, sliding into a chair, "You undermined her, she undermined you - which, I remind you, she's never pulled off successfully before. Ah - okay, at least not that often. Why would you care?"

House reluctantly, thoughtfully stopped his motions. "I didn't know if she would do it," he said intently.

"Well, like you said, she learned from you."

"No," House shook his head slowly. "I didn't teach her. I didn't want to."

"Oh please," Wilson scoffed. "You never knew what you wanted. You still don't. You think she's this damaged, yet somehow pure creature, and you alternate between trying to preserve her, to keep her intact, and selfishly trying to taint her so that, oh, I don't know, you'll finally have someone who really understands you." House said nothing for a moment, then began his rhythmic bouncing once again.

After a few more minutes, House simply said, "Dinner?"

Wilson had always provided House with the truth, and then left him to his own devices. Cameron held the truth up like a victorious mirror and then stood over House's shoulder as she forced everyone to face her neatly drawn version of reality. He had never figured out the `why.' He'd had his theories, but had never been able to confidently and conclusively reconcile himself with any of them. Part of him knew that was one of the reasons he had brought her back. She herself could forever remain an enigma and he wouldn't care - if only he could solve the `why.' Or at least that was what he told himself.

Wilson had yet to answer his question when Cameron purposefully walked into the room. House suspected she'd been avoiding him, but puzzling over the newest developments in their relationship was proving unsatisfying and he found himself, for once, resisting the urge to confront her.

"Treatment's working. The damage to her legs will take longer to heal - if it can ever completely heal at all," she said, directing her attention more toward Wilson than him. She'd changed into a navy cocktail dress - shorter than the skirts she sometimes wore to work - yet she still had on her damn lab coat. She'd let down her hair and freshly applied her makeup, he noticed. He wondered if she wanted him to notice, if she wanted him to care, and thus, finding himself caring, cursed himself.

"That's good news," Wilson nodded. "Beats lung cancer."

"Doesn't matter," House quipped. "She was either going to have cancer or not - it was unrelated to the other stuff."

"Yeah," Wilson said in exasperation, his brow wrinkling, "Who cares if the girl has cancer? You're not even amused by the sheer improbability her having those symptoms?" House shot him a triumphant grin, ready to pile on the numerical barbs.

"Wilson, not statistics," Cameron sighed.

"Jimmy here and I are gonna go get some dinner. You should come," House said abruptly. He heard a strange note of hesitation in his voice that made him nervous. He caught her eyes for the briefest of moments before looking down at his ball with a feigned deep interest. Her mouth opened slightly, her eyes round, and she seemed to be searching for a breath so that she could answer.

"Actually I meant to tell you that I have to cancel. Something came up," Wilson ruined the moment with his inane vagueness.

"What?" House scrunched his face up. "What the hell do you have to do?" He was saved from answering as all three turned their attention to the sound of the door the adjoining conference room opening.

"Ali," boomed a smooth voice. Cameron looked like she was on mental processing overload, but nevertheless dutifully accepted Richard's embrace. The man looked just as tidy and fit as the last time House had seen him. Turning from watching him rub her lower back slowly, House mouthed the word `Dick' to Wilson.

With a stern look toward House, Wilson stood up, engaging in idle chit chat with the couple as House glaringly observed. His latest issue of US Weekly had featured a column that dissected the body language of celebrity couples in order to discern their relationship status. He sneered a little as he focused on Dick's arm wrapped firmly around Cameron's waist, noting the way she seemed to be leaning away from him. Definitely more "Tom and Nicole: The Later Years" than "Tom and Katie."

He was a little surprised when, while Wilson and Dick were still being gossiping girls, she sought his gaze. He slackened his face into a passive expression, expecting her own to be either irate or nervous. She was neither. Calmly she looked at him - stared at him - even as Dick tightened his hold.

"Babe, you ready to go?" The presence of others in the room was reasserted by Dick, who'd only given House the curtest of nods.

She smiled and awkwardly, apologetically said, "We have reservations." House gave a nod, tired and disappointed that Dick had interrupted his game. There was an awkward silence for a time.

"You both should come," Dick said with a brightness House was willing to bet was false.

"Richard, I'm not sure-"

"It's alright Cameron. I'd love to, but I have a prior commitment." Wilson put on his "people pleasing" manners which, apparently, charmed the hell out of the smarmy Dick. After making his excuse, he looked pointedly in House's direction, as did Cameron - albeit with more uncertainty in her eyes.

"Love to," House said cheerily. Wilson narrowed his eyes while Cameron turned a shade paler.

"Great then. Shall we?" Dick droned on. House wondered if the man was simply ignoring Cameron's thinly veiled unease or if he truly was oblivious.

"After you," he said, standing up and grabbing his coat and hat off the stand. He ignored Wilson's peeved gaze on the way out but was intrigued by what he swore was a hint of amusement that briefly flashed across Cameron's face. "Say, Richard. Does this place have steak?"