Authors Note: I finally got the inspiration & time to finish this mini-chapter which I started about 10 weeks ago. Happy Birthday Jennifer.

As she wakes, it becomes apparent he is not in bed, partially because of the cooling sheets but mostly because the screaming of an electric guitar coming through the wall. Trying to ignore it doesn't work, especially when he toes the fx peddle and the wail turns into a riotous cacophony of noise.

Tossing duvet and sheets aside, she strides angrily out, staring at him, half-dressed and rocking out, eyes screwed up tight against the discordant symphony.


He pauses, peering at her irritation, pushing his chin out a little trying to slice past her disapproval. It doesn't work.

"Too loud. Sorry." He's not sincere, but it's his own brand of insincerity that softens her anger. Besides, her ire was drawn by his absence, not his taste in prog rock. Padding across the rug she nudges him down into his chair, settling in his lap, displacing the Gibson.

Leaning back, her smiling visage inspects his face before sighing into his neck, "I don't know if I want to go back."

House smirks, twitching an eyebrow up, questioning, "How else were you planning on paying for our life of simian excess?"

The smile and pat of her hand on his chest is the expected response, "Don't bring your reality into my fantasies." Her fingers trail about, tracing the edges of his open shirt, "I just don't want to go back to being," she stumbles for the words, "work us. At work." It made more sense in her head, but he understands.

"We don't have to. I only agreed to go back because you said you wanted to."

"I do! Can't I have both?"

His nod is curt, "Sure."

It's an impossible promise, but it still makes her smile.

Perhaps it's rose tinted glasses, but things do seem different. Nobody else notices; another little secret they can share. But his new-found professionalism is beginning to grate. His penetrating gaze across the conference room tells her all she needs to know; he's teasing, testing, torturing her.

Cornering him in his office after the others fled from this new, disturbing House, she "Are you having fun?" Her smile is dry, peering through thin glasses.

"Of course. Are you?" He peers up from the latest Metroid.

Stepping closer, she slides a letter across the desk, more fan-mail from the terminally incurable.

"I'd be having more fun if we were at home."

He snorts a little, eyes returning to his game, "So would I. But Cuddy bashing the door down looking for us might be a little distracting."

Smiling, Cameron leans closer so that her words are the only thing he hears.

"Fine. Come find me when you get bored with your game." As soon as she turns his eyes are devouring her sway, feasting on every element. He manages to resist until he finishes the level.

The sleep lab is locked, his illicit key allowing access just long enough to slip through. The monitors are dark, she's killed them, and the door to one of the labs is closed. Pushing it open he smiles at the sight of lace, rich and red as her lips. Her silence follows him as he nudges the door shut, leaning heavily on his cane. The thin folds of cotton draped around her arms are more reminiscent of a statue than of a living, breathing, loving soul. He taps over, sitting down, hip pressed to her side.

A quaver in her breath is all the weakness he needs, his hands spreading wide across her stomach, feeling the cool skin that he has been denying himself all day. She sticks to his fingers; if her muscles were any tighter she would squeak like a whiteboard as he drags fingerprints across her form to paw at her bra momentarily.

They're too far apart. Too far. He falls, lips pressed tight, pulling clothes away, desperate to feel her naked again, needy in his arms. The taste of her sweat dances over his tongue as her head rolls aside, neck vulnerable, tender. It seems like only seconds and he's in her, frantically fucking, 7 hours at work a lifetime too long. Then the moment completes itself, she bites him, his back arches, tensing and relaxing in harmony.

Holding him still, she sighs, work won't wait forever.

His kiss to her ear silences the sadness, "Still want to go home?"