A/N: Ah, another short while I work on procrastinating in updating In The Still Of The Night. Wo0t! Anyways, I've had this one under my belt for a while now, adding and deleting as I saw fit. I'm currently on the fence as to whether or not I should add another chapter or two. The ending just sort of leaves you hanging; I have to decide if I want to be that evil. Let me know in a REVIEW if you think I should continue. I'm annoying like that. Anyways, enjoy, and as always, I don't own nothin'. ::le sigh::

Final Wish

It was a Monday. How fitting, House thought. No one likes Mondays. It would make sense that this was happening on a Monday. Thursday? Well, the effect would be less depressing.

It was finally happening. His little ducklings were leaving the nest. Their fellowships were finished, their paperwork was completed and their new jobs and shiny new offices were waiting patiently for their new occupants. It was enough to make him gag.

Cuddy and Wilson had thrown them a party. A party! He'd never gotten a party. And then there was the fact that basically the entire staff had shown up to wish them well; two cakes, numerous bags of Tostitos and a copious amount of alcohol later and the shindig was still going strong. Cameron was dancing up a storm, accompanied by an extremely tipsy Foreman and his even tipsier girlfriend. Chase had been banished to the crowd forming a circle around the "dance floor" after unsuccessfully trying to teach the nurses the Australian Macarena and failing miserably.

The hours ticked on. The clock struck one. Smirking, House hummed 'Hickory Dickory Doc' to himself as he pictured Cuddy's reaction to a mouse scampering unchecked throughout the halls of the hospital. He knocked back another scotch and ran his eyes over his drunken underlings once more.

Foreman was still his serious, ethical self. He'd been offered a job in the neurology department at Princeton General; House had even reluctantly agreed to write a letter of recommendation. As it turned out, the gesture hadn't been needed. Barely a day after House had managed to type out "Eric Foreman is," the aforementioned had been propositioned by John Hopkins Hospital. Secretly, House had been pissed that Foreman wasn't staying at Princeton, close enough to ensure intelligent input when his new duckies turned out to be complete morons.

He'd never admit that, though.

Chase let out a whoop of laughter as Cameron "went as low as she could go." Other males just drooled. House looked at his glass, his cane, away. Seeing her dance like that made him…made him uncomfortable. He didn't like it.

Robert Chase was going back to Australia at the end of the month. His father's estate had yet to be claimed, and the name Chase had much more clout in the medicine world Down Under than the States. House remembered an exchange between the two of them where Chase had insisted that he was not rich. Secretly, he hoped Father Chase hadn't cut his son out of his will. The kid was a good doctor; he cut corners and held grudges for too long, but he honed his craft.

He'd never admit that, though.

"You are absolutely no fun, man," Wilson exclaimed, sliding into the seat beside House and sloshing his drink over the lip of his glass.

"You are absolutely hammered."

"Point taken."

The diagnostician observed his friend silently. Wilson had long ago ditched his green tie, instead opting for an open collar, revealing a cotton Hanes undershirt. The alcohol had already formed a glaze over his dark eyes, but House could still see some semblance of rational thought twinkling in his irises.

"You're going to miss 'em, aren't you?"

House sighed darkly and choked back the last of his bitter drink. "What makes you say that?"

"The facts that you've yet to insult Chase's shoes once today, and God knows they're ugly. And I know you too well."

"Probably," House agreed, but didn't acknowledge the original statement. Wilson nodded slowly before rising and ambling back to the dance floor.

His eye's fell once more on his female employee. Former employee, he had to remind himself. Her hair was casually swept into a messy ponytail, and occasionally, she would swipe at pieces that fell in her eyes. She was beautiful.

House hated it.

Allison Cameron had already cleared off her desk, and would have been gone that afternoon had Cuddy not stopped her in the hall and informed her of the impromptu party. Never one to turn down an invitation, she'd agreed to stay for the night and drive down to New York the next morning. She'd accepted a position at the New York Presbyterian Hospital's immunology department, though she'd needed some encouraging prods from Foreman and Wilson before she finally gave in and announced that it was time for her to leave Princeton. House had been taken totally off guard.

He'd never admit that, though.

If he were a normal human being, he would have asked her to stay because she was a damn good doctor and he wanted her near by. If he was a normal human being, he would have asked her privately why she was really leaving since he'd known her long enough to have recognized that change was hard for her, and she actually liked the home she'd built for herself in the Garden State. If he were a normal human being, he would have asked her if she was leaving because of him.

But of course, he was not normal.

He had yelled at Wilson for not telling him of Cameron's intents earlier.

House grimaced at the memory and poured himself another tumbler-full of scotch. Damn. The bottle was almost empty. He supposed he'd have to leave when he'd consumed the last drop; nothing else to do here. He knocked back a third of the drink and groaned as another hip-hop beat came blasting through the stereo.

Bah. Humbug.

Two things happened then, with the pounding bass and the misogynist lyrics coursing through the veins of the bodies packed together on the floor. Looking back on it, House reasoned that it was probably the negative effect of rap music on the body politic that caused the occurrences, but he knew that it could be more realistically attributed to too much alcohol and too little "action," if you will.

Firstly, three men closed in on Cameron, who was still writhing to the sounds and completely oblivious to the world around her. One by one, the men tried to grab her hips and pull her to his own, effectively grinding, though onlookers described it as more of a sex-like motion. As such, Cameron was pinned between three thrashing pelvises, each trying to squeeze her closer to himself. People around her were too caught up in their own drunken dancing to notice her blink and frown before fearfully pushing against the men when they would not let her out.

Secondly, House's scotch ran out.

It was this reason alone that House figured he'd get up and help.

Really.

Even as he was convincing himself that the tightening of his fist around his glass was due to a loss of motor functions from way too much liquor in his system and the deepening of his frown was caused only from lack of sleep those past few days, House still rose quickly from his place in the corner and gripped his cane forcefully before striding to her side amidst the pulsating bodies and muffled whoops of laughter.

He coughed and tried to nudge his way to Cameron, but was pushed away by some dick from oncology. He'd have Wilson get the ass fired. As it was, he dealt a hard whack to the back of the knee, enjoying the loud howl as the man sank to the ground, screaming obscenities. The other two didn't seem to notice, instead moving even closer to his former employee and rubbing their crotches against her hips. Cameron was watching him curiously, though she was still smacking the chests that blocked her way out.

Rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath about the lack of respect in subordinates, House jammed his cane three times on one man's toes and kneed the other in the 'nads. He'd probably feel that last one in his thigh tomorrow, but for now, he was content in watching the bastards writhe in pain on the floor.

Well.

That was fun.

Cameron smiled at him gratefully and beckoned him to follow her into the hallway, away from the deafening music and the stifling heat.

"Thanks," she said as soon as the door closed behind him.

House shrugged and leaned against the wall to observe her. Besides her flushed cheeks and heaving chest, she looked fine.

"I didn't really think they'd hurt me or anything," she explained, and House wondered for a moment why she thought she had to justify their actions to him. "They were just drunk and…yeah." She trailed off and gestured aimlessly towards the party.

"I don't know if you missed that class in kindergarten, but generally, smacking one's penis against a woman without her consent is regarded as a big no-no in most civilized cultures."

Cameron winced at his choice of words, but nodded in agreement and stared at her shoes.

"Anyway," House declared, "you looked uncomfortable enough to warrant rescuing. Damsel in distress and all that."

She chuckled. "If you're my knight in shining armor, I'd be hard-pressed to identify your noble steed or the sunset you're supposed to carry me off into."

He pointed to his cane. "Steed." He pointed to the exit of the hospital. "Sunset."

And then he mentally smacked himself in the forehead for basically inviting her "out."

Cameron caught the thinly veiled invitation but chose to ignore it. No sense making things more uncomfortable than they already were. And anyway, the only place she would be going in the next few minutes would be to her car and then to her bed. She was beat.

"I should get going."

House nodded sharply. Still, neither made a move to leave. He couldn't speak for Cameron, but he was too interested in examining her eyes. They looked…confused, for one, but more importantly, they looked angry. He wondered why. Finally, he shook his head softly and turned away.

A sharp tug on his arm stopped his retreat.

A sharp slap on his cheek stopped his questioning glare.

Cameron grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling flush against her body. House noticed the anger was now dancing in her eyes. She wrenched his ear down next to her mouth. She was a little surprised that he wasn't resisting.

"How dare you," she whispered.

He pulled away sharply.

"How dare I what?" he growled. "I just fuckin' saved you from some horny douche bags!"

"How dare you play with me. How dare you tease me everyday, playing hot and cold. How dare you use me with your little games. How dare you insult me. How dare you."

His mouth dropped open but she wasn't finished.

"And finally," she whispered again, "how dare you make me fall in love with you."

With the grace of a queen she pulled his lips to hers, somehow managing to kiss him deeply and yet barely touch him. The resentment of a thousand sarcastic jabs, the rage of spending nights dreaming of his fingers dancing across her skin, and the pain of loving him from a far was all passed from her lips to his.

Cameron hoped he understood now.

He did.

She drew her head back, gazing at her ex-boss from underneath heavy lidded eyes, a small smirk playing on her swollen mouth.

"Just wanted to know what that felt like," she said cheekily before heading off into the sunset.

House just watched her go.