Author's Note: I am a House/Cameron fan...and a House/Wilson fan...and a House/Cuddy fan...you know, basically, if it involves House and one of the more interesting, complicated characters, I'm good. However, I believe that the general tone of the show, when it comes to the personal stuff, is angsty and drama-ridden, and so my stories tend to reflect this tone. So, while this is a H/Cam story, it is not full of love and pink bunnies. Just thought I'd put that out there. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: These lovely talented people are all mine. Except in reality, which has yet to reshape itself to my liking.

Cameron stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, inches away from her reflection. It had been years since she had gone to a good club—med school had a tendency to keep one buried in the books, to put it mildly, and she had relinquished all hope of a social life to make sure her grades elevated her to the attention of some of the finest hospitals in the country.

Now, however, she was at the level—if not precisely in the place—for which she had worked and fought for so many years, and she occasionally had an evening free to occupy herself however she liked. Normally, she curled up with a book, went out to see an interesting film, or even resorted to television. But her nerves were on fire tonight, and she had hailed a cab in a near-delirium, finding herself in one of the darkest, loudest clubs in Princeton.

As she stared at her face, taking in the near-blackness of her eyes, pupils dilated until the thin rim of blue-green was practically invisible, she tried to hold back the trembles writhing along her skin. She had tried meth for the first time after an HIV-infected patient had splattered her face with his blood, and had wound up dragging Chase into bed with her. Shaken and exhausted the next day, she had vowed never to try the drug again. House's obvious disdain and quick deduction of her intimate moments with Chase had played their own role in the decision.

But the past few weeks had taken their toll on her sanity. House was practically panting after his ex, and Chase and Foreman seemed convinced that the two had become involved again. The very thought made her queasy and furious. But when Stacy had vanished from the hospital, and Wilson had taken to stomping the halls and casting scornful looks in House's direction, and House himself had withdrawn to the point of ignoring any of the cases she slid across his desk…something had snapped inside her. She needed the mindlessness, the deliciousness, the forgetfulness. And she had found it, in just one more night. One more dose. One more time.

Now she was gazing at her reflection in the mirror of the club bathroom, her brain assaulted with drug-induced haze, her blood throbbing in time with the deafening dance music separated from her by a thin metal door. She raked her gaze down her body—thin black silk tank top with tiny straps that kept sliding from her shoulders, tight jeans she could barely move her hips in, pale skin faintly bruised under her eyes—and shoved a hand through her wavy dark hair. Fuck House, fuck PPTH, fuck everything and everyone. She was going to dance.

Cameron shoved the door open and lost herself in the mass of hot, writhing bodies, stopping when she had no desire to push through anymore and letting herself move. The music was beautiful, rhythmic, enticing, and she flowed with it and against it, hips and arms and neck and hair. She felt arms encircle her waist and leaned back into the body behind her: solid, warm, masculine. She did not even bother meeting the eyes of her new partner, just pressed her ass back into his hips and moved, laughing when his hands became bold and slipped up over her breasts, pushing him away with a soft sound and careless eyes when he spun her around and tried to kiss her. He was bulky, too muscular, and his eyes were a little wild, and she moved away into the crowd, losing him easily.

Minutes swam by like hours, and hours like minutes, as she writhed against strangers and allowed her body to drive away her mind. Hands slid, clutched, caressed, and her hips were uncontrollable, and her hair obscured her vision. She had a vague sense of being out of control, out of herself, and she delighted in it even as it terrified her. When she could no longer move for lack of breath and a parched mouth, she fought her way over to the bar and signaled for water, not trusting the mix of the drugs surging through her system and any kind of alcohol. She gulped down the glass given to her gratefully and slid along the length of the bar, until she slumped with her back to the wall. She closed her eyes.

A body pressed itself to hers, hips to shoulders, and she felt the rough scratch of stubble against her cheek and neck. She was about to open her eyes to tell off the man accosting her when an inhalation brought a familiar scent to her. She twitched a little, dragging her hands up along the back of the man leaning against her body.

"House?" she asked, touching her lips to the shell of his ear. Lips brushed against her cheek and an exhalation stirred her slightly damp hair.

"You're high again." No hello, nice to see you, enjoying your dancing. Just you're high again. She groaned and pushed him back until their eyes met.

"What's your point?" she demanded, her eyes too shifty and fluttering to focus calmly on his face. House curled his strong fingers around her elbows and shook her once, until she dragged her eyes back to his by force of will.

"I thought it was a one time thing."

"What, you're the only one who can abuse drugs on a regular basis?" she retorted, forced into raising her voice now that they were no longer pressed together. House's lip arched in a sneer.

"At least my drugs are legal."

"Your use isn't," she snapped, and jerked away from him. She just wanted to be free, to move, to feel and forget how to feel. House standing in front of her was not conducive to any of those things.

"Where are you going, Cameron?" He yanked her back into his body, right side flush against his chest. Her hip was digging into him slightly, and he winced.

"I want to dance," she said hotly. Her face was flushed, and she licked her lips as her eyes flicked wildly over his face, his arms, his mouth. House pushed her away a little and lifted his cane.

"Not my deal," he shouted, and started to limp away. At the last moment, Cameron caught his wrist.

"You can stand still," she said loudly, as the music and lights pulsed over and around them. "I'll dance for you."

House swept his gaze down her body, and she knew he was tempted. Knew that the baser side of himself that he rarely kept hidden was slipping to the surface again. But he gave her a little push. "No, thanks. I like my strippers less naïve-looking."

"Whatever." Cameron slipped in-between bodies until she was nearly lost in the crowd. She settled near a girl with brilliant magenta hair who was clearly under the influence of something herself—most likely ecstasy, House mused, watching as the girl wound herself around Cameron and began kissing down her neck. Cameron looked startled and mildly horrified, but House was both amused and a little aroused. He might not dance, but he might…watch.

TBC