for Cameron

House wanted to prescribe the increase in the pain in his leg to a lot of things - the increased distance from Cameron's hut to the Compound, the missing endorphins that he'd been used to getting from regular sex, hell, even just any of the random physiological reasons. He didn't want to admit that it could be even partially psychosomatic... because in the end did it even matter? Whatever the cause, it still fucking hurt. Wasn't as if he could do an MRI, or even self-medicate. Honestly? The first thing he'd do if he decided it was psychological would be to hunt down some drugs. Because there's nothing like treating fake pain with fake pleasure.

In any case, right now he had no answers and no drugs and he'd just woken from another fucking dream about Jack. He couldn't even remember what the dream was about, he just woke up with his heart pounding, equal parts infuriated and aroused, with the image of Jack's face prominent in his mind.

That combined with the blinding pain in his leg was enough to make him sit up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and breathing heavily. He looked over his shoulder at Cameron. She was curled up on the other side of the bed, so close to the edge. It was still surreal to be sharing a bed with her, even if they hardly touched.

He turned back, dropping his head. Trying to think happy thoughts. Anything but pain or sex or Jack.