The icy rain beat down mercilessly against the windshield. House observed Cameron's profile from the passenger seat. Her jaw was set firmly, her eyes determined slits as she carefully navigated her way down various narrow streets. Her hair was loosening from where she'd tucked it behind her ear, threatening to cloud her vision, and he resisted an urge to brush it back for her. Let them crash. He forced himself to look away. It was her car anyway.

"So, how long has it been going on?"

"Has what been going on?" She was distracted, sure. But there was something very firm in her undertone, something he couldn't quite...

"You're pissed!" He was delightfully surprised at his discovery. She bit her bottom lip, gently slowing the car for a red light, and said nothing. "Wilson's banging Cuddy behind my back-"

"Behind your back?" She turned to him, her eyes squinted in distaste. "I didn't know you and Cuddy were so close, that she was off limits to everyone except-"

"So they are." House grinned in triumph. Her face fell a little, that sadness that had been inexplicably haunting him of late returning to her gaze.

"I don't know what they are." She turned her attention back to the road as the light changed. House too fixed his gaze on the road, pursing his lips in annoyance. So why the hell was she pissed? His head snapped up suddenly as he had a thought. He eyed her sideways. Was she - could she - be pissed at him?

Their silence for the duration of the ride threatened to burst the car with its fullness. As she finally pulled in front of his apartment, the sound of the sleet gave way to the emergence of a silent layer of snow. Putting the car in park, she stared straight ahead, presumably waiting for him to get out.

"You're...mad at me." His statement was drawn out languidly and she snorted in reply. "Is it because I-"

"House." Her tone was sharp, biting. So now she didn't want to discuss it.

"Hey! You sat at my piano. Dressed like that." He nodded his head toward her. Her mouth opened a little then closed as she shook her head.

"Goodbye House." His hand was on the door when he thoughtfully cocked his head to the side, her figure just out of his peripheral vision.

"Come in." He dipped his head, wincing as he said it. Even he was a little surprised by his sudden change of tone. His words were softer, gentler.

"What?"

"You have no place to stay," he shrugged, "Except the hospital. And it's too dangerous to drive back there now, especially if you've been drinking-"

"I haven't been." She was clearly annoyed.

"Still..."

"Your concern for my welfare is duly noted Dr. House." Her words were wrapping them in an igloo of sarcasm. He kind of liked it. "Now will you get out?" Shrugging, he stepped out of the car into the chilly near-stillness of the evening. The lone streetlamp at the end of the block caused a glow in the snow falling around them, illuminating their standoff. He stood next to the car for a few moments, waiting for her to restart it and pull away. When she didn't, he slowly walked over to her door and rapped on the window, motioning for her to roll it down.

She slowly did, then sat there looking at him expectantly. He said nothing, instead locking his eyes on her own. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to her, still knew a few ways to earn a guaranteed `yes' from her in an emergency. The trick was to make her think she was getting free admission without having to give even an inch.

He held on this time for a bit longer than he'd have liked. It was the panicked feeling of being pulled in by her that finally forced him to break the gaze. There was something he was still missing. The anger, yes. He didn't know what it was for, but really, there could easily be a dozen probable causes. There were other elements of her gaze, though, some he hadn't even deciphered yet. He was beginning to sense a desperation in her. Desperate for what though, and why?

It was dangerous, inviting her in. The roads were probably risky, but they were mostly empty by now. He couldn't stop, though. He needed to know. He needed to figure this out to stop himself from thinking about Wilson, to stop himself from thinking about their almost-maybe-moment before. He needed-

She rolled up the window suddenly, and he wondered if his old trick had lost its power. But then slowly she opened her door. Still saying nothing, he turned around, leading the way inside. This time he didn't have to turn around to know that she was following him; he felt it.

"What are you doing?" she mouthed to herself in the mirror. Sad, frightened, needy eyes looked back at her. She ran a hand through her hair. She would think in small steps, that's what she'd do. Small steps.

She was wearing an old shirt of House's. And a pair of sweatpants (much too big for her) that she'd folded at the waist several times. And she was in House's bathroom. And House was outside. And-

"You're insane." The face - the mouth - in the mirror mocked her. She gripped the counter tightly for a moment. House could walk and Wilson and Cuddy and he'd kissed her and he wasn't in pain anymore and - wasn't in pain. Wasn't in pain? That was something, at least, that she could solve.

Unnecessarily looking over her shoulder at the locked door, she carefully, noiselessly opened the mirror to reveal the medicine cabinet behind. Various pill bottles, mostly vicodin, were haphazardly lined up on the shelves. She shook a few, all full. She bit her bottom lip, unsure what to think. She'd seen him taking pills - he'd taken one that very first day in the cemetery.

Sighing, she closed the cabinet and was once again confronted with her own weary expression. It was one night. One. Sure, she'd thought of this scenario a dozen times (a month) at a certain point in her life. But that was behind her. Besides - in her dreams, nights like this had never ended well. Never.

Before she could stop herself, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She slowly shuffled to the kitchen, where House was sipping a beer in front of a small television tuned to the weather channel. She suppressed a smile.

"Idiots," he muttered, nodding towards the television but not looking at her. "A chimp with a map of the United States and darts labeled `snow,' `rain,' and `sunny' could do their job." Cameron said nothing, absently rubbing her arm.

"Cold?" She earned a sideways glance with this inquiry.

"No," she shook her head a little too vigorously. "Just...tired." Great. She was lying to the human lie detector. "If you have some extra sheets or a blanket I'll just-"

"Cameron," House scoffed, finally looking at her with an `are you stupid?' wince. "Do you remember what happened last time you fell asleep on my couch? I bought that couch for a reason, you know. In case Wilson ever-"

She looked down at her bare feet, head spinning. He took another swig from his bottle, placing it neatly on the counter afterward. "Unless you have a guest bedroom that I'm just not seeing, I-"

"You take the bed," he muttered. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Well what's going to happen to your back?" she reasoned. He rolled his eyes, switching off the television set. She hated it most when he ignored her, when he dismissed her. She narrowed her eyes, planting her hands on her hips. "You're old."

He turned slowly, mouth agape. "You know, I'm still not sure if I like this new Cameron."

"Most days I'm not sure if I like you and you haven't changed a bit since the day we met." But she felt her eyes sparkling, felt a smile tugging at her lips, turning the corners of her mouth upward even as she resisted. He surprised her - floored her really - by smiling first. It was brief, yes. Gone nearly as soon as it appeared, it looked impulsive and uncontrolled. But that was what made it so deliciously satisfying to watch. She had solicited it from him. She.

He cleared his throat, looking annoyed with himself. "Don't be an idiot," she said. "We're adults. Or at least I am." He cocked his eyebrow at her, silently asking a question. "I get the left side." She was careful to keep her face passive and serious now.

"Would that be left when you're facing the-"

"Shut up." She walked past him toward the bedroom, willing her heart to stop pounding in her chest, willing her breath to return to normal. It was House. He'd lied to her yet again, had uprooted her place in the world yet again. He didn't deserve her coming back, didn't deserve her willingness to reenter this endless cycle of non-being that was them. And yet. Here she was again. Here they were. On the brink of beginning, ending, stasis. Hating to care, needing to care, clawing at the chance to not care, to walk away.

She was being sucked back in, had been gravitating toward this moment since the beginning. And the only thing that made it bearable was knowing that he hated it as much as she did.