Author's Note: Will update soon, possibly the end of this week.

"What was that all about?" Cameron asked.

House sat there staring at the door after Thirteen left. He had managed to ruin three lives in one night. Amber was dead, Wilson wanted to be dead, and Thirteen would never be able to function normally knowing she was going to die. It was enough guilt to make someone want to up the painkillers to lethal doses. But he somehow managed to refrain from doing so.

"Nothing," House said. Cameron glared at him, annoyed at his consistent secrecy. She pestered him again.

"Thirteen seemed pretty upset. You're not taunting her with the bisexual thing again are you?"

"Damn, I knew there was something I was supposed to do before she left."

"House" Cameron said, tilting her head to the side in what House had to admit was the most adorable pout ever.

"Cameron," he whined.

She crossed her arms angrily. "Why was Thirteen upset?" she asked.

"That time of the month?" he said.

"That's not why Thirteen was upset."

"No, I was actually asking you a question," he retorted. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not going to play your game, House. If you won't tell me, that's fine. I have to go back to the ER-"

"Cameron," he said, in a serious tone this time.

"You seem fine enough. Kutner is almost here to look after you."

As she walked out, House muttered something about how sensitive women were. He massaged his temples. The fluorescent light was irritating his eyes. He groaned, since Cameron's departure meant he had time to think about all the crap he had pulled, and Kutner's arrival meant House had to hear about fate and the ethics of forgiveness that he would probably swarm him with.

"There is such a thing as Karma," House muttered.

Thirteen almost reached the exit doors. She passed Kutner along the way, and she gave a brisk nod as they exchanged greetings while walking. Then she saw Cameron again, her face full of worry.

"Thirteen," she said, still a little uncomfortable that she didn't know or couldn't recall Dr. Hadley's real name.

"Hi," she said. Her tone implied that she obviously did not want to stay and chitchat.

"I know you're supposed to go home and rest but I was wondering if you could help me for a second with-"

"I can't," she said. Honestly she didn't think she could. She didn't mean to come across as rude, but she couldn't bear to be in that hospital another second. I'll probably kill someone by accident in my current state, she thought.

"Okay," Cameron said in a quiet voice, like a scolded child. She turned around to go back to her work.

"I'm sorry," Thirteen said as she turned to leave. Cameron recognized her sincerity, and turned around for a second to tell her it was okay, but she had already rushed away. Cameron felt uneasy.

It's not my job to care about everybody, she reminded herself. But she couldn't help but fall into that familiar trap. In the back of her mind, she kept thinking off and on about Thirteen. Then she started thinking about the funny way she had been acting around her.

Why did I ask her for help in the ER? That was stupid. She was tired, and I didn't really need the help that much.

Cameron's distracting thoughts of Thirteen were suppressed during her shift, but not during that night. She found her previous concerns about House diminishing, substituted by her newfound sympathy for Thirteen and whatever it was that was bothering her. She wanted to be so upfront as to just ask her. Interrogating House would be useless. He'd just use the information to torture her or tease her.

Eventually, Cameron tried to go to sleep and reminded herself that it's not my job to care about everybody, a new motto she was quickly failing.

Thirteen was not a drinker, but that night, she indulged. It wasn't that the alcohol made her feel loopy and good inside, nor was it that it had the mystifying power of making her forget everything that had happened that day, but the pointlessness and irony of life that made her drink and drink herself sick, even when she really didn't want any more.

Amber had one drink and gets on a bus and dies. House drinks himself into a stupor and he's sitting there alive. Amber took care of herself, had ambitions. House…

Her thoughts jumbled, but she did manage to make the connection that she saw herself in Amber. She was that young, ambitious doctor who was going to die before her time while drunk, pill-popping House would outlive them both.

It's not that she resented House. She may have even loved him a little, in a dysfunctional mentor/student relationship that mimicked the kind of relationship she would have liked to have with her father, minus the sex jokes. It's just that it wasn't fair that she was gone. And since Thirteen had placed herself in Amber's shoes, the realization came to abruptly that it was possible for her to die. In a way, a part of her had died with Amber. The part of her that still possessed hope.

She felt confused as she gripped the glass to pour more of the burning liquid into her system, hoping to dissipate all of her mixed feelings and find temporary peace for the night. She stared at her phone, waiting for a call from loved ones that were past away or never existed at all. It was a scary thought, probably induced by the alcohol, but she recalled an episode of the twilight zone where a woman received phone calls from her dead husband. It always haunted her, late at night, wondering what her mother would say to her if she could contact her, if there was somewhere else after this. Now she knew.

She probably would have warned me of what was to come. Warned me of the truth I stubbornly denied! Told me how foolish I was to dedicate what little time I have to others instead of actually living life. That's what she would have told me.

"But a simple I love you would suffice, "Thirteen said to her thoughts. That's what she wanted to hear. Deep inside she knew it, a desire long suppressed by denial. But the phone remained silent, hidden by silhouettes in her dark room. The silence and the alcohol combined drove her thoughts devoid of all sense as she cried into her pillow, thinking of so many faces, names, and memories that could fill a lifetime, and feeling such a sense of loss, because those things would be ripped from her forever, just when she was ready to start trying to branch out and focus on other aspects of her life besides work.

I was, she swore to herself, I was almost ready. But now, what's the point? What's the fucking point?