A/N: Not sure about this one. Please let me know what you think :)

Nodding farewell to Foreman and Thirteen as they slip from the restaurant, Chase turns back to the blonde and motions towards the empty tables surrounding them.

"Guess we should let these lovely people go home, Allie."

Cameron frowns - reminded of House saying much the same thing back in McDonald's - and nods indifferently; pulling a couple of notes from her pocket to cover what the surgeon's coupon does not. Smiling his thanks, Chase cocks his head pensively as he studies the blonde checking her phone and tugging on her jacket.

"Why the sudden descent into apathy?"

"Huh?"

"You've been almost silent for the last half an hour... Are you-"

"-I'm fine. It just sucks about the patient, I guess."

"The patient?... Wait, House's patient?! Shit, Cam, at least save your depression for your own unit! You-"

"-We could have looked over her bloodwork again."

"Allison. Stop... It wasn't our case. You quit, remember?"

"But I-"

"-You didn't find anything in her bloodwork, and yes, okay, you didn't spend very long looking, but the others didn't find anything either, and they've spent the best part of the week dealing with that case. House's new team may not have much experience in our niche yet, but Foreman does. Perhaps the reason nobody found anything is because there was nothing there to find."

He shrugs and pushes himself up from the table, waiting for the blonde to do the same and lead the way out; nodding at the waiters as they pass.

"Did you drive?"

He asks as they slip through the door, and she shakes her head.

"My car's still at the hospital. With traffic the way it was when I left, it seemed quicker just to walk."

Once outside and rudely affronted by a cold wind, they stroll down the street until they reach an intersection and go their separate ways. Stalking quickly through the hazy pools of light cast by the iron hooks of blackened lampposts towering up above, Cameron comes to a halt as she nears her apartment. She's tired and can think of no better way to end the evening than with a scaldingly hot shower and finishing off the chapter she currently reads in the comfort of her bed, but she knows full well that she'll neither be able to sleep nor concentrate.

Sighing, she detours left and trudges on through the polluted darkness - fractured occasionally by the lights and commotion emanating from the odd bar or gathering - until the dull brick of the hospital looms up ahead.

The blonde shucks her coat but keeps it draped over the crook of her arm as she leans against the metal wall of the elevator. Walking the harshly lit halls at this hour is nothing new to her, but she feels slightly out of place with the soft tang of wine lingering on her tongue and her slacks having been vetoed for jeans. Still, she has her ID in her bag should she need it, and to any passers-by, she clearly knows where she's going.

Why she's going there, she has less of a clue...

She just knows she won't be able to sleep until she goes over the results in the lab one more time.

House frowns as he limps down the hallway that leads to the labs. He had told himself that he would make the short journey home after looking through the notes accompanying his late patient's fluids one final time; food for thought to ruminate over while staring up at the ceiling plagued by insomnia.

But, it seems he's been beaten to it.

Pushing open the glass door with a heavy prod of his cane, he steps into the lab and stands just over the threshold, frowning.

"Young ER meat stand you up?"

Cameron sighs and glances up at him over her glasses before shaking her head and lowering her attention back down to the papers in her hand. He doesn't miss the fact that her eyes make no movement over the page. She appears simply to be avoiding his gaze.

He notes the windswept fall of her hair.

Notes the way her legs are clad in tight denim rather than soft wool; her left leg lowered onto the ground and holding some of her weight so as to avoid perching up on the stool and putting pressure on her hip.

He surmises her side must still be tender.

He doesn't ask.

"Poring over all that 'pretty blue cursive' won't do anyone any good now. The patient kicked the bucket at six forty-seven."

"I know. Foreman and Hadley told me."

"Thirteen went running to my ex, disgraced protégé?"

"Actually, she was sitting down... Disgraced?"

"The woman rapidly cooling three floors below us would suggest so."

"It wasn't my case."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because... Because I needed to remind myself that you're an asshole. There's nothing here, House... For me to feel bad because I may have missed something after five minutes spent glancing over a series of notes and a vial of blood is one thing - pathetic; not my preferred term, but the one you would use for the situation, I'm sure - but for you to come here and suggest that your patient's passing is somehow my fault... That's-... That's-..."

"That's what? Go on. What is it, Dr Cameron?"

"It's-... I-..."

"Yes?"

"... Why do you do this to me?"

She sighs as she finally looks up from the paper in her hands; her expression weary and defeated. Her eyes remain dry, however, House notes, and her exhaustion seems to be born more out of agitation than hurt.

"Call you out on your flaws?"

"My flaws?... Well, you do excel at it, I agree, but that's not what this is. I have plenty of them, and I'm sure you could reel off several more I've foolishly forgotten about, but your patient dying on you has nothing to do with me."

She snaps, shoving the papers across the counter and pushing herself up onto her feet to regard him irritably.

"You know, you had four doctors working this case, as well as your own brilliant mind... Your team must really suck if none of them are worth your time to argue with."

"None of them are currently here, semi-tipsy, and pretending they're not about to roll over and expose their belly for a beating like the naughty little puppy they are. You missed something, Cameron-"

"-No! You did!"

"It was a reaction. It's not my speciality."

"And it's not my problem!... I left you to go take temperatures and put on band-aids, remember?"

And she's close now, having made her way slowly over to the door during their altercation. She stands in front of him; green eyes cast up at him to hold his gaze with heated anger, and he has only ever seen her like this several times before. On each of those occasions, he had let her take the reins - let her have her way - because she is smart beneath her tendency to submit to empathy and the dominance of others, and the passion that drives her infrequent anger has proven justified in the past. This is different though; this has nothing to do with a patient - at least it doesn't as far as she's concerned - and he supposes that she's right... He has found himself lacking in someone to berate in quite the same way as he has always done to her.

Her teeth flash in a dangerous shock of sharp white, and he muses that whoever proposed the notion of blonde locks lending their owner an angelic sense of innocent naivety couldn't have been more wrong... Her anger is raw, and the tempestuous darkness in her eyes is only enhanced by the icy tumbling of her hair, and he wonders if she has any idea how beautiful she is to him right now.

Not that it matters.

Beauty is something he can't accept from her.

But the electric heat of her anger is, and he catches first a small glimmer of disquiet, then confusion, then - finally - realisation as he holds her gaze silently, before leaning in with clear intent.