Er... I don't think I have too much to say in my defense... perhaps a promise: that I'll never ever start publishing a long story again until it's sitting on my computer fully finished!!!
Thank you all for your patience! I hope that this chappy, you'll consider something worth waiting for... :")
Only one more to go!!!...

Chapter 12
In My Arms

"There is a silent pact of trust
that I never could admit…"
______________________________

"No, it's not about… I just… I couldn't sleep all night, and now you're calling with this… No, I'm not making any drama, I… Julie, please, I just… Ju-…"

He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment longer, then shook his head. He really didn't want to overdramatize anything. Things couldn't be any more tragic anyway. Except maybe if he would have had to leave and stay with House, for one; but fortunately (nice kind of fortune…),Julie had willingly chosen a small flat to rent and now just called him to agree in an appointment between their lawyers. Great way to start a day.

The desired distraction finally arrived, in this case limping, signaling his entry with a loud strike of his cane against the glass door. Wilson quickly maneuvered around the nurses' station and did his best to corner his friend up, instantly examining his face for any news. But this was one of the rare occasions he couldn't read House's expression at all.

After a few seconds of zero reaction to his urging gaze, Wilson started the interrogation.

"Care to share anything about the dinner?"

"I didn't plan to!" – came the bold answer, as House started casually limping towards the elevators.

"Plans don't work; tell me anyway."

"She had the ravioli. I had the puttanesca."

"Yes, I really wanna know about the quality of the food." – He could have punched House in the nose. – "Either something very good happened or something very bad. Which is that?"

"Well, I did have a little indigestion afterwards. Maybe it was the garlic bread."

The closing elevator doors covered both his nonchalant and Wilson's irate faces.

*

Late again; maybe she'd have to get used to her new weakness. Maybe someone was actually rubbing off on her. Unfortunately, her sneaking in didn't remain unnoticed.

"You're in late." – Foreman commented – "Good time last night?"

"How the…" – she gasped – "Word spreads faster here than in a high school classroom!"

"Only good news." – Chase grinned – "So how'd the night go?"

"It was fine." – she snapped – "How was your evening?"

The boys exchanged a meaningful look. Cameron knew they wouldn't leave her alone until she spilled some beans, or at least pretended doing so.

"Fine, really. Maybe but the wine. Something made my eyes puffy."

Foreman, the ever pessimistic one, already had his theory set.

"Yeah. Crying in your pillow can do that."

Yeah. And lying awake all night, guarding his scent in a stupid scarf like a teenage girl can do that, too.

"It was the wine." – she stated. Then she took pity on them. It actually felt good they were so eager to know, after all. She continued slowly, carefully choosing her words.

"We had a nice, candid conversation."

The hardness of the doorframe against her back, a hand under her skirt. A hot palm over her thigh. Squeeze. Kiss. Grab. Hold. Sigh. Moan. Kiss. Cold; and he's gone, leaving her panting and searching for her keys with trembling fingers.

"No snide comments?" – Foreman asked in disbelief.

"I guess – when we talked about you guys!" – She spun on her heel to begin with her daily tasks, turning her back to her two gaping colleagues.

*

She decided to start with the most agreeable one of said tasks of her morning routine.

She soundlessly slipped through the blinds-covered door, warming her hands (a little cold from nervousness) on the steaming red mug.

She couldn't suppress a grin when she saw him. Baba O'Riley was blaring through premium iPod speakers, and she felt the music fill and stir her tired body up instantly. A perfect morning song, she thought contentedly. Maybe she'd get to know more of them if they…

He had his back to her, not having noticed her enter, too busy with enthusiastically air-playing the keyboard intro, the two right-angled parts of his desk imaginary synthesizers. Until some sixth sense made him peek over his shoulder, at her. He cracked a small smile, never stopping playing, and he shouted over the loud music.

"I love this part!" – and he wasn't late grabbing the invisible sticks as drums came in.

Then he let his arms fall lazily, and accepted the coffee from Cameron, making sure his hand held hers in place. The previous smile crew back into the corners of his mouth, but stayed definitely present in his eyes.

"House…" – came her breathy whisper.

"Don't." – his voice wasn't much louder either.

"House… I'm burning my palm."

Shit. He quickly took the hot mug from her, and she sneaked her relieved hand up his arm, past his shoulder that currently felt as if it never had hurt (damn smartass Wilson), to the side of his neck. Her other hand was shortly to follow, and she caressed his face gently down to hers.

"What you're doing?" – he only managed to say weakly before her lips reached his.

He fought for his eyes to stay open – he literally couldn't take them off of her; but they slipped shut without him even noticing as their tongues met.

She pulled back just a breath away, only to let a wide grin take over her lips. She was somewhat ashamed; but this whole undeclaredness thrilled her to the bone.

No declarations? That wasn't entirely true. His passion the night before, then the way he'd literally run away, avoiding her glance, told her everything his words didn't. A hell of an encrypted language, but she thought she began mastering it. …Even though she'd cursed him a little for his self-control, in her bed alone, biting on the corner of her comforter, a small fist guarding the warmth of his kiss in her palm.

That palm now slipped onto his chest before pulling away. Time to get professional. She granted House a last bright smile, and left towards the corridor. He only woke up from his stupor when another track started playing; and only then he realized his fingers were idly playing on the still warm trace of her lips on his.

*

He couldn't suppress an appreciative smirk when peering back at her from his position at the white board, looking rather black by that time from the cobweb of symptoms and possible causes scribbled all over it. She didn't return his glance; she was sitting at the glass topped table with her back straight, black rimmed glasses on, and that incredibly kissable pout of her lips. Her cheeks were just a shade darker rose than usual; otherwise she was the statue of solemn professionalism.

Foreman was still dazed by the spectacular duel of words he'd just witnessed, but spotted House's expression anyway. He knew he was being juvenile, but the half-jealous, quarter-serious witticism was out before he could have reconsidered it.

"So that's the new rule, eh? Favoritism?"

House turned around, but the grin seemed plastered on his face. Just for a brief second, a thought of an hour or two on the clinic had crossed his mind, to help him find his way back to the good old path of misery. He indeed had a reputation to maintain, after all. But for now, nothing seemed to be able to spoil his mood.

"Oh c'mon. I know you've spent hours in the gym to sculpt your backside half as pleasurable to look at as hers, but I have to disillusion you: it's my intellect that's aroused to rock hard for the moment."

Cameron's cheeks flushed yet another grade pinker, and her shoulders were pulled up an inch or two, but she still didn't look up. Foreman dropped his gaze to the file, too, and grinned in disbelief. He had seen a couple of virtuosic solutions in House's team, but the way these two had practically finished each other's sentences, inspiring each other to new approaches each second or so for fifteen minutes, left him feel like a useless assistant (despite his own slowly but surely evolving position as the diagnostician's right hand man). But he couldn't deny their powerful synergy had charged him with professional enthusiasm as well.

Cameron finally shut the patient's file, and stood up.

"I go check our theory myself; Chase must have the samples ready by now."

She slightly blushed at the pronoun, but held her chin high when leaving for the lab. She felt confident, strong and oddly complete.

*

The almost euphoric feeling of success only grew after a few seconds of scanning over the tiny tissue sample under the microscope lenses. She had just raised her head to go and affirm the diagnosis when she heard the lab door open. She smiled at House brightly.

"Bingo?" – he smiled back.

"Bingo."

He nodded, flicked his mobile open and ordered Foreman to start with the treatment. He returned his gaze to Cameron, and narrowed his eyes in an amused grimace.

"Lemme see it."

Cameron moved to make way for him, but his arms blocked her path on both sides, palms on the table. She held her breath as he took a peek into the microscope over her shoulder. Their bodies weren't touching, yet his closeness made the hair on the back of her neck stand.

Just like her a minute before, he felt glory flood his body and soul, too. He pulled back just enough to linger over her shoulder and inhale her scent. He still didn't touch her, but his lips were so close to her neck that his breath tickled her skin when he whispered.

"You owe me a visit."

*

Movements were sweet like drops of honey this time, as he backed her across the bedroom gently, until he laid her down on the bed, a hand on the small of her back. He buried his face in her scent on her naked belly; eyes squeezed shut, his fingertips exploring her hesitantly. This shouldn't go like this. This shouldn't mean this much. Hell, he's not 17 anymore!

She opened her eyes in surprise at the huge sigh that escaped his lips, hot breath burning her skin. He answered her questioning look with an apologetic grimace and another sigh. Then he shook his head and pushed himself up next to her, grabbed her around the waist and turned them around, until she was on top of him, hip to hip, a knee between his legs, chin on his chest, and a confused look on her face.

He opened his mouth to start once or twice, but changed his mind every time, until he finally brought himself to stick to a version of what he wanted to say. He looked her in the eyes, brushed away a strand of hair from her face (only because it was tickling him), and if already there, he continued caressing her cheek and temple.

"Attention, fragile." – he said gently, in a very low voice. – "And also mind broken pieces with sharp edges."

She pushed herself some higher with a palm on his chest. She still couldn't get bored with the thrilling feeling of his warmth. She smiled at him.

"I know; Wilson's already got me warned."

"What?! The son of a…"

"House… please." – she hushed him, nuzzling her nose under his chin.

"…Sorry. I just really wish to keep Jimmy out of my bedroom."

"Okay" – she whispered, and quickly distracted him with a sensual kiss. His hand slowly slipped in the crook of her knee, and he pulled her leg over his hip. His breath caught in his throat when he felt her heat.

He put his palm flat on the small of her back again, a bit under the waist of her panties, and pressed her against himself even more. He felt even his cheeks flush, along with his whole body, when she moaned into his mouth. He couldn't take it anymore: he slipped his hand between them, pushed their undergarments aside in a blink, and slid into her.

She let out a small cry of surprise, but pushed her hips almost immediately back down on him that she'd jerked away a bit from the tiny pain of the unexpected penetration. When she lifted herself up again, intending to start an instinctive rhythm, he pushed her back with both hands.

"Easy. We've got all night."

If anything, this sentence alone made it even harder for her, staying still, but just then, she felt his hips buck up a bit, him moving just millimeters inside her. She closed her eyes and let the breath out she'd been holding.

He started a torturously slow rhythm of tiny thrusts, but he filled her so much that they felt every twitch and pulsing of each other.

She was completely lost: all she could do was cling to him, hold herself up somehow. He felt so amazing that she hardly could remember being so turned on in her life.

"So, Dr. Cameron…" – House's slow, husky voice sent goosebumps all over her back. – "I suppose… after a period of…" – He thrust deeper into her, pulling a moan from both of them. – "…very effectual professional relationship… perhaps we'll have to get to know each other… from a different angle."

He grabbed her butt to keep her in place, then pushed on her right knee, urging both of them downwards, until she lay on top of him with her legs stretched.

Said angle was a little uncomfortable for him, especially the pressure on his partially insensitive scar, but not painful after all… Not at all…

"So… where did you grow up?"

Cameron couldn't suppress a chuckle, and House closed his eyes and breathed out sharply as he felt her tighten around him. He rewarded her with a forceful thrust, and her knees slipped up to his hips again.

"No answer?" – he managed to squeeze out between gritted teeth. He couldn't help but increase speed a bit.

"House…" – Her breathy voice almost made him lose it. – "For once in your life… will you shut up?!"

*

Some time into the night, when only their bodies were gleaming faintly in the dark room, still unable to get enough of each other, tangled together, sitting straight for the most contact possible, House opened his hazy eyes, so that Cameron saw them shine, too, and gradually slowed their rhythm down to a halt. Only their synchronized breathing could be heard, and both of them felt shivers run up and down their spines.

"Cameron."

"Yes" – she breathed.

"I think I-…"

"Shhhhh."