Cameron shrugged off her coat and hung it on the slender rack next to the door, gesturing for House to do the same. As he rested his cane against the wall and removed his coat, she asked, "Would you like some coffee?"

"Scotch, if you have it," he replied, recovering his cane.

She seemed somewhat surprised that he wanted another drink--perhaps a tacit admittance that he was going to stay for the remainder of the year?--but recovered quickly, answering, "I don't. I think I have some Jack Daniels, though." She walked into the kitchen.

House, preempting an invitation, limped over towards the armchair. "What kind of person doesn't have scotch?" he mumbled, then sat, leaning his cane against the chair's arm. "On the rocks," he added, louder, unsure if she'd heard him.

As House listened to her clink around in the kitchen, his fingers tapped a nervous staccato on his thighs. Once again, there was an undeniable voice in his head insisting that this was a Bad Idea. Like sticking a fork into an electrical outlet.

House bit back a groan. Bad imagery, given his present company. Too many implications.

His thoughts were spared--somewhat--by Cameron's re-entry into the room, two ice-laden glasses, a can of Coke, a half-bottle of Jack Daniels and a--shot glass? Interesting--precariously balanced on a small tray, which she set before him.

"I didn't know how you drank it," she admitted, "so I covered all the bases."

As he poured himself a glass, thankful for something to do, he said, "I didn't realize that you of all people would be in the habit of lying to me."

Cameron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I came up here because you promised me a stripper," he replied, wincing as the first sip of whiskey burned down his throat.

Cameron chuckled. "Oh, right. Your present." She rose and crossed into what he assumed was her bedroom, returning quickly, clearly nervous and unsure as she clutched a flat box wrapped in dark green with no ribbon.

House raised an eyebrow at her as he lowered his drink from his mouth. "Interesting. Hide that in your lingerie drawer?" he quipped, and waggled his fingers at her. "Gimme."

She responded with a particularly unladylike snort and relaxed. "You'll never know," she threw back at him, trading the present for his drink. "I'm sorry about the delay…they didn't get here in time for Christmas," she added.

House shook the present. "So…no stripper?" he asked, his voice disheartened. Completely disregarding social etiquette, House tore into his present with all the excitement and enthusiasm of an eight-year-old on…well, Christmas. His eyes widened as he soon found himself to be the proud new owner of--

--a blank manila envelope.

Extracting it from the box and tossing the leftovers on the table, he glared at Cameron, who was too preoccupied with watching the envelope he held in his hands. "There had better be a large sum of cash in here," he murmured dangerously, before sliding his finger under the top, ripping the envelope open and tipping the contents into his free hand.

They were better than cash.

They were two all-access passes to March's Monster Truck Madness extravaganza.

House's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead as his eyes sought out Cameron's. "How the hell did you get these?" he demanded in awe, shaking the passes.

Cameron looked relieved as she replaced the empty envelope with his drink. "I called in a few favors," she admitted, idly picking at the torn edge of the envelope.

"Must have been one hell of a favor," he breathed. He closed his eyes and took a healthy sip of his drink before looking at the tickets again, as though they had been an illusion. Delusion. Mirage. Impossibility.

Cameron shrugged nonchalantly. "Not really," she answered, sitting in the chair across from him, the table an island of clutter between them. She mixed Coke into her own whiskey and took a sip.

"There's two," he said, running a finger along the jagged edge of the laminate. "Why did you get two?"

"Last time, I only went because Wilson cancelled," she answered. "I wanted to make sure that this time, you could take him."

House nodded, placing the tickets on the table in front of him, making sure they were still in his direct line of sight. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled," he replied. "In the meantime, I just have to make sure that he doesn't meet anyone that he wants to wine and dine."

Cameron chuckled and took a drink of her own. "You might want to ask him soon, then," she noted. "I've heard rumors going around the hospital about him lately."

House sipped from his drink. "There's always rumors about Wilson at that hospital. That's half the fun," he replied, and Cameron thought she could see a teasing twinkle in his eyes. She took the bait.

"Half the fun?" she asked. "What's the other half?"

House refreshed his glass as he replied, "The fact that I start a lot of the rumors myself."

Cameron laughed into her glass. "And does he know this?"

House shrugged and waved the bottle of Jack Daniels at her. She shook her head. "I've never told him," he replied. "But Jimmy has a way of making my rumors come true."

Cameron's took another drink, swallowed, and furrowed her brow. "You mean he really--"

"I will reveal nothing," he interrupted. Then, "At least, not without proper compensation."

"I'm already working three days' worth of your clinic hours," she replied, putting her glass down on the table. "I don't have time to do more."

House frowned as he contemplated her barely-touched whiskey. Finally, the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk, and he looked back up at her.

"Take a shot of whiskey."

Cameron was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

If she had any sort of protest in her, she was much too late; House was already shifting forward in his seat, pulling the bottle of Jack Daniels back towards him. After pouring a healthy amount of whiskey into the shot glass, he held it away from his body, looking at her expectantly.

"Come on. One shot. I want to see if sweet, innocent little Allison Cameron knows how to properly drink her liquor. None of this mixing shit."

"House--"

"It's not going to hurt you," he pressed, carefully leaning back in the arm chair, arm still proffering the drink, giving it the slightest shake. Cameron watched as the liquid sloshed in the mostly-full glass. "Come on. All the big girls are doing it."

The smirk on his lips was her undoing. She pushed herself out of her chair and crossed to him, plucking the shot glass from his hand.

"I suppose the pressing question," she began, "is whether I should lick the back of my hand or the side of your neck."

House nearly choked on his whiskey. The passing of five seconds allowed him to compose himself. "That's tequila, Cameron," he replied smoothly, leaning forward to place his glass back on the table. "You use salt before tequila."

Cameron raised a slim eyebrow as her lips quirked into a tiny grin. "I know that. You're too quick to jump to assumptions." With those words, she raised the shot glass in a tiny salute and tipped the entire glass' worth into her mouth. The whiskey burned down her throat and settled heavily in her stomach. She could feel the remnants surrounding her tongue and the inside of her cheeks. Quickly, she spun around and grabbed the can of Coke, taking two large gulps in attempt to counteract the pure alcohol.

House's smirk re-emerged. "Poor little Allison Cameron needed a chaser." He had the upper hand back. He could pretend the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. If she'd let him.

"I'm not used to it," she replied lamely. She took a moment, put the Coke down, and added, "You could have distracted me."

"I think the sight of you not being able to handle your liquor is distraction enough," he replied. "What could I have done?"

"You could have kissed me."

And that was it. She wasn't letting him get away with his regained upper hand. Her statement had thrown him off-kilter, something he only allowed alcohol and painkillers to do. It took him a moment, but he finally found his voice once again, grasping for normalcy.

"Could I have?" His tone was somehow both demeaning and inquisitive.

Cameron shrugged a shoulder, unsure why she was pursuing this line of conversation. No, she knew why; she just wasn't sure why she'd picked this particular moment. Especially when she still didn't have all her thoughts completely sorted out.

"There were a lot of things tonight that you could've blamed it on. New Year's tradition. You were excited over those tickets. You'd been drinking. Am I missing any?"

House grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet. "Nope. I think you covered them all," he replied pithily, and moved to grab his coat from the rack near the door.

Cameron's uncertain hand on his shoulder stopped him from walking out the door.

"I was just kidding around," she said quietly, and her eyes--while glazed somewhat by the quick shot of whiskey--were apologetic.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock began chiming softly. House's eyes fixed on the armchair he'd recently occupied, and he took a deep breath, letting it out quickly while squaring his shoulders. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against hers, using her tiny gasp of surprise as an opportunity to briefly trace the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.

Drawing back, he stared at her flushed face. "Pity," he murmured, and limped out of the apartment.