The ocean waves roll in, again and again, each time leaving the earth a little bit wetter than the time before. They coil at his feet, stinging his toes with their biting cold, just so he can hardly bare it, and then are sucked back into the vast, grey abyss. The clouds are darkening up above, the tide is rising, and he sees the storm gathering on the horizon.

He watches the people in his life come and go, so that after a while it's like watching the tide. They roll in, sometimes just brushing his toes, other times immersing him in icy water, but always rush out again, trying to pull him out with them. Some have only known him for minutes before he's sees the judgment harden in their eyes; others, it takes years before they finally grow weary of carrying the burden that is Gregory House. He knows that even when the tide reaches it's height, it will always blunder down until it is low and shallow, only bathing his toes with it's foamy fingers.

He kisses her now, roughly, pressing his body against hers. It isn't sweet or romantic or gentle, nothing like he knows she deserves, but he tells himself he doesn't care. He rips the buttons on her shirt, fumbles with the strap of her bra, and yanks down her pants in one fluid motion. Now she is standing, bare and naked before him. He grabs her hips and pulls her on top of him, velvety skin rubbing against him. She kisses his jaw, his neck, his cheek, and he laughs, it's bitter, cruel sound.

"Don't you get it, Cameron? Won't you ever get it?" He snarls, then shoves her back against his bed and flips her over.

"Let me see your face, this time." She asks, almost begging, and he grunts and shakes his head even though he knows she can't see him.

"Remember the agreement. Sex or nothing. No strings attached—no kissing or cuddling or other shit like that." He growls, his voice hard and cold as the icy ocean water.

When he reaches his climax, he starts to say her name, but chokes himself off, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and instead saying the name that he knows will sting her deepest, just to see how cold he can be before she freezes.

"Stacy," He moans, and feels her stiffen beneath him, and not in pleasure.

When he's finished, which doesn't take long, he rolls onto his back, chest heaving. She rolls over too, but hides her face. He stares at her for a minute, then sees she's crying, and rolls his eyes. A worm of guilt in his stomach drives him to reach over and nudge her shoulder with his hand, just to get a reaction. She coils back, and he feels a flare of rage.

"Sleep well." He says, his voice flat and cold and angry. She grabs the sheets and snuggles up, letting her lids fall shut. He knows sleep is still many long, lonely hours away for him.

The next morning, it's the burn of the sun on his eyelids that wake him. He raises his hand to shield himself from the light, and then looks over to his side.

He feels as cold as the salty sea when he sees his bed is empty, and can't help but envision the huge, rolling waves now coiling back into the ocean, leaving him wet and alone.

He stumbles to his bedroom window, goose pimples rising on his skin from the morning chill, and looks outside. The waves roll in steadily, crashing and sinking and sucking, and he muses that the salty tears running down his face are just like ocean water.

It gets so cold, sometimes, he thinks she'll freeze, but as he watches the vast sea thrashing outside his window, he reconsiders.

The ocean never freezes.

He watches the people in his life, coming and going, so that it's like watching the tide. But sometimes, when he lets himself be immersed in water, it's not the cool burn of icy ocean that kills him, but raw sting of being left bare and alone when the tide is sucked back in.