TITLE: What Everyone Knew…But He Forgot to Say
SPOILERS: Up to Top Secret (Season 3)
DISCLAIMER: Standard—House, Cameron & Co, not mine—but the laptop on which I typed this story is...if that counts for anything…

Author's Note: Just a quick one :-) Okay firstly, I know the title doesn't make sense, I honestly don't know for sure where I got it from…but I really like and to me it fits…and I haven't a clue why. Secondly, this story is actually pretty old, I started it about a week after Top Secret first aired, but only finished it at the beginning of July—just took me this long to getting around to typing it up…so even though it looks like I'm neglecting that other story I haven't updated in almost a month I'm not…not really…okay so maybe a little bit, but not on purpose I promise! I just needed something to get me back into a House mode… Thirdly, this story is a bit more…well more sensual than my usual fare, it doesn't have a plot—pretty much just an excuse to write a love scene (badly, I'm just not that good at it…but anyway) so I hope you won't judge it too harshly. And Lastly,ENJOY!

Chapter 1:

For once he's there before she is; a rare thing since he's usually last. She won't make eye contact, but that's okay—he's used to that.

It takes him a minute to see, but once he does it's hard to miss. She's wearing red today.

He always thought she looked good in red but she hardly ever wore it—just once—that dress…the first time he saw her that night for a moment he couldn't think.

Red was her color he decided then, which made him wonder why she seemed to only wear browns or shades of pink. Red, he thought, would make her look dangerous. That deep explicit shade so seductive and naughty, it made him think that if she could wear the color, really wear it—not subdued or hindered by a white lab coat, that it would unwind her—excite her.

But she seemed to refuse to wear it…just those damn neutrals and even more damned shades of baby pink. In that horrid pink she was innocent and soft—in pink she was sweet, oh but in red he was sure she would be enthralling and a bit wicked.

In pink she had him wanting, but in red he was sure she would have him begging.

He notices shocked, as she goes through the motions of making coffee that seemed to be second nature, that she's wearing bits of red. 'Did she wear it for me?' he wonders but at the moment she turns full towards him red coffee cup folding between both hands. He balks, it's wrong—it's all wrong! The red of her lips makes him think 'whore' and the candy apple red on her nails makes him think of blood, of bleeding hearts. The red in her eyes lets him now that last night she had been drunk—or maybe high? But mostly it just slaps him across the face with the truth, which was that last night she wasn't with him.

She connects her gaze with his; he pushes his chair back, recoiling from her.

He sees the red, he realizes it wasn't applied for the day—it was left over from the night. His face turns to detestation. Her red lips show the stain of the lip color, not the sheen…he sees the feathering of the line of her full mouth—it wasn't his that rubbed it skewed.

A silent invisible fist slams into his stomach as it becomes crystal clear that the chips in the tips of nail lacquer are there from when she tore her nails down another man's back… The red…she wore it for him, like she would never do for him.

Knowing flickers over her face, she knows that he knows, knows that it's all too obvious and she wishes it could have happened differently—but in an angry happy sort of way glad to have done with.


"Don't…okay—just don't," he holds up a hand toward her in disgust, the look turning over him was of soul twisting disbelief, anger and on the fringe—humiliation.

"I…" she wants to explain but instead nods her silence.

He can't stand to look at her. His breathing is labored, work seemingly not worth the effort. He silently wishes and prays to have her back—back in her shades of pink, when she was his… Why in the devil had he ever thought she'd look good in red?


Last Night

The rain poured violently, she truly understood the term 'raining in sheets' now. It was as thick and as unrelenting as it was enveloping. She struggled with the keys to her apartment building door; being unsuccessful she kicked it furiously.

She cursed then when the wet keys slipped from her hand into the mucky concrete slick with city mire. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so pissed if she wasn't shivering in her strapless dress soaked to the bone, if her four inch strappy heels weren't killing her feet, if her mascara wasn't running into her eyes and if she hadn't spent the last twenty minutes kicking herself for ever going out in the first place.

"Fuck," she let the curse blow through lips she had pressed together till a thin line as she rested her forehead against the door even as the rain pelted down on her. She was certifiable. What was wrong with her? She was spinning out of control and knew it. She was sleeping with Chase who really, she could hardly stand but wasn't the worst sex she'd had. She was two short steps from anorexia, her brain hammered; she knew it—but didn't care. She didn't give a damn about anything anymore it seemed.

She was teetering on a reckless edge and found she was getting almost euphoric thrill from almost falling. She wanted to be close to the ledge, wanted to stare it down and feel the rush…she didn't really want to fall…but almost falling? Well that was rush.

"It works better if you put the key in the lock."

Cameron jumped, whipped around pressing her back against the door heart pounding and to top it off, she had almost fallen on her ass.

"What are you doing here?" She wanted to believe her voice was calm, firm—controlled, but she really wasn't naive…not anymore anyway.

"You left before I could say hello."

She wanted to close her eyes in exasperation but refused, believing it would be a sign of weakness. Not that him standing there in the sheeting rain, clothes as drenched as her own, cane gripped firmly, decisively in his beautiful pianist hand would make her weak…

"I was just there to drink, not make nice House."

"In that get-up?" he gestured with his chin to her dress.

She folded her arms over her chest, she had no coat but she couldn't kid herself, she wasn't doing it because she was cold, the move was defensive and not just from his all-seeing gaze.

"It was a club…why were you even there?"

Apparently he was the only one who realized they were shouting as he was on the sidewalk and she on the uncovered building stoop a good few yards away. He moved forward, but not too much.

"It's around the corner from my house. Normally I drink at the bar next door—but they had a fire last week…"

His usual style was to evade questions or answer them with questions of his own—never, ever, answer them, so it caught her off guard.

She didn't comment or ask another question so he ventured a comment, "You're going to ruin that dress in the rain...then what would you wear to the next benefit?"

Her cheeks flushed, he remembered. "Can say the same thing about your jacket…leather is never good in the rain…" she straightened from her slumped position against the door trying to steel herself.

"Yeah, we should get out of the rain."

She jumped, startled when he was suddenly in front of her taking the keys out of her hand. She must have blinked, but she couldn't remember doing it, but she didn't blink now as he all but pressed up against her, taking the key she had segregated previously, putting it in the lock and turned. She could feel the warmth he radiated even through the cold wet that clung. She could smell his soap reinvigorated by the rain as well. She shivered.

"What are you doing House…why are you here?"

"You didn't give me the chance to say goodbye…" he looked down at her raccoon eyes and red painted mouth.

"We never said hello remember?" her voice was halting—rasping.

"Too true…" he tipped his head, "Hello Dr. Cameron."


This story is pretty short, should total 3 short-ish chapters. I hope you enjoy, thanks so much for reading! Lots of Love RA