Thanks so much for reading and reviewing this you guys. I really love all your comments. This is the last chapter, and I'm probably not going to write anymore House/Cameron, but you never know. Glad you guys have been liking it, and hope this is up to your standards.  Thanks again.

House ambled—as best he could with a cane—into work the next morning like nothing had happened, like everything was normal. Foreman and Chase gave him the standard head nod hello. Cameron glanced at him, glanced at the clock, and scoffed.

"Just a little huff? What—not going to yell at me for being late?"

She gave him a glare telling him clearly that she was not going to be putting up with his jokes today. He said nothing but tried to keep his standard smirk. He was pretty sure it ended up making him look like a moron.

He didn't like her being angry with him. This was the first time in weeks that they didn't flirt as soon as they saw each other. It was the first time she didn't smile and blush and hide it from the rest of the team. It was not a change he enjoyed.

The rest of the day was much of the same. They had a patient with rollercoaster symptoms, a puzzle House would normally love. But Cameron's constant glare, scoffs and refusal to banter with him severely curtailed his happiness.

Wilson barged into his office at lunch. "What the hell did you do to Cameron?"

"Good to see you too, Wilson."

"Seriously, what did you do?"

He sighed heavily. "I told Cuddy we weren't having a relationship and Cameron went crazy on me. Why she wants or expects me to tell Cuddy is beyond me. I—"

"Did you just tell Cuddy you weren't in a relationship, or did you tell Cameron?"

"You never told me you were psychic."

"Why?"

"Because we're not. We're sleeping together."

"House, I have not seen you this happy the entire time I've known you. And you have spent every night with Cameron. Ever think the two might be related?"

"Yeah. All the time. I'm incredibly happy when I get a lot of sex."

"How many nights have you slept with her?"

"What are you talking—"

"How many nights?"

Though he immediately wanted to reply "All of them", when he thought about it, he realized that wasn't true. Four of the nights they had just sat around, ate dinner, talked, and then went to sleep. Maybe with a little kissing or touching, but no sex.

"How many nights?"

"Twelve."

"Okay, first, I can't help but say it: you are getting too much sex for your own good. But second, that means four nights you didn't sleep with her, but she slept at your place. Am I right?"

House nodded curtly.

"You are with a woman who is gorgeous, brilliant, great in bed, actually likes you for some reason, and you can enjoy her company without having sex with her. And you say this isn't a relationship?"

He didn't reply. He begged his mind to come up with a sarcastic remark, an inappropriate comment, but there was nothing. He just looked at Wilson.

"What are you doing?"

His shoulders went up in a noncommittal shrug. "I gave her a drawer."

Wilson looked at him. "You what?!"

"She had been sleeping over a lot, and she kept bringing a bag like a middle school girl going to a slumber party. I thought it was getting a little ridiculous."

"I can't believe you. I absolutely cannot believe you. This is more of a relationship than what you had with Stacy before your leg."

House bristled. "Well, Wilson, you sure are—"

"House, I honestly don't care how witty your reply is going to be," Wilson cut in. "Stop pushing her away. She's good for you."

House stopped him as he started to leave. "How'd you know I did something, anyway?"

"She's snapping at nurses, and then not apologizing. Rumors are flying about why she's suddenly gone from happy to bitchy. Your general unhappiness today is doing nothing to quell them either."

House just nodded and began throwing his ball against the wall. Wilson sighed and headed back to work.

She really was gorgeous. He watched her hand vials of blood to a nurse and write something on the patient's chart. It didn't matter what she was doing; she was gorgeous.

Her brow was furrowed over a chart when he walked. She heard the distinctive thunk of his cane and turned her back. He laughed, trying to be lighthearted.

"You think if you just turn your back to me, I'll go away?"

"I think that surely sometimes you take a hint."

"Not this time." He leaned over her, pretending to read the chart.

She snatched it away and glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Can we—" he looked around at all the nurses with their ears pricked up even though they seemed to be focusing on their work. "Let's walk."

"You mean hobble?" Cameron snapped.

House just smirked. "Been living with it for a while now, and don't give a shit what people think of me. Making fun of me doesn't have much of an effect."

She rolled her eyes and strode away, leaving him to follow in a rush.

"Yes?" she asked when he finally caught up, not slowing her pace.

"Dammit Cameron, you're not even going anywhere, you're just walking fast so I have to hobble fast."

"Your point?"

"It hurts."

"Good."

He huffed but kept step with her.

"You can't keep ignoring me forever."

"I'm not ignoring you," she said, but she hadn't so much as glanced at him.

"Fine. But you can't keep hating me either. I didn't do anything."

"That's the problem, House. You didn't do anything. You didn't even try to do anything. You stayed exactly the way you think you want to be. You pushed me away. Now you have to deal with that."

She turned up the stairs and took them two at a time. He didn't even attempt to follow. His leg was already throbbing, and there was no way he'd catch up to her anyway.

House sat on his couch looking at his TV, but not really watching. Thoughts were pounding inside his head, begging to get out, begging to get fixed.

He had to do something. He couldn't handle this: he had a horrible day, even with a good case, and now here he was lounging on his couch with bad food and a soccer game he didn't care about, but somehow couldn't bring himself to turn off.

He hated this. He hated wanting her, hated admitting it even more. But what he hated most was that it was a relationship. He knew it was a relationship. Before Cuddy asked him, the word was already lingering in the back of his mind, even bumping into long-term every once in a while. And besides completely ruining his reputation, the thought scared him.

Here he was, an old, bitter cripple, and suddenly he was in a relationship with a young, beautiful, vibrant woman? He hadn't had a relationship since Stacy, since before his leg. He didn't remember what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to handle it.

But he knew one thing: he had to get up off his couch and do something about it.

She heard his bike pull into her driveway, but she didn't bother getting up. Unless he was here to apologize, she wasn't interested. But her heart rate quickened as the thunk of his cane neared her door. Finally he knocked.

"What do you want?" she called, still on the couch.

"C'mon Cameron. Let me in."

She still didn't move. "What do you want?"

"Dammit Allison, open the door."

She didn't move. That surely hadn't happened. But the word rang in her ears. Allison. He had called her Allison. That was something, right? When she finally regained the ability to move, she jumped up and moved quickly to the door. Taking the time to smooth out the wrinkles in her clothes and take a breath, she finally opened the door.

And there he was, wearing a leather jacket and leaning heavily on his cane and looking at her almost pleadingly.

"Can I come in?"

She pulled the door opened wider. But even as he came in and she closed the door behind him, they simply stood. She made no move to invite him in further, he made no attempt to get in further.

"What do you want?"

"I'm—" That word was always hard for him to say. He swallowed it back. "I didn't like work today."

She chuckled—half-laugh, half-scoff. "What a shame for you."

"No, I mean—I mean I really didn't like that. I don't want it to be like that."

"Yeah, I know. I know how you want it to be, and I'm not doing that, House. Sorry, but I don't just sleep with guys."

He shook his head. "No, look. I mean…" God, women were hard to deal with. "Look, I just—I don't exactly do relationships. Especially not like this. I'm old enough to be your father for Christ's sake. And I'm not used to this."

"Don't blame it on your age," she snapped. She was still not getting the point.

"You don't understand," he sighed heavily. He felt like he was talking to a stubborn three-year-old. "I gave you a drawer." He paused, as though she should understand what that meant. When she just glared off in the distance he grumbled under his breath, "This is a relationship."

She turned to look at him, holding back her smile until she was sure. "What?"

"This is a relationship. We are in a relationship."

Now she beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was still smiling when she kissed him.

"But look," he said roughly, "don't expect things to change. I'm still going to be an ass and only care about interesting cases."

"You seem to keep telling me that."

"Yeah, well it's the truth. You're attracted to a bitter, sarcastic asshole."

She was still beaming, their arms wrapped around each other. "You've been less bitter recently. Everyone's noticed."

"Oh they have, have they?"

"Yeah, I told Foreman and Chase the other day that the reason you were so happy was that we were banging. I actually used that word: banging. They believed me and then I laughed at them."

"Tricky."

"Well, everyone lies."

"I hate you."

"Case and point."