A/N: A slight shift in the rules. Hope you enjoy and please review :)

Hesitating with her hand on the door to the Tipping Cup, Cameron bites her lip as she prepares herself to enter. Following House's invitation, they'd not said much more to each other, save for a blunt 'see you there' before taking their leave. After that, she'd simply followed him out of the women's locker room, down the hall and into the elevator; final destination - the hospital car park.

House had still appeared to be favouring four wheels over two, and she'd turned the key in her outdated Ford to let hot air billow out from the vents before tailing him through the barriers and out onto the street. As soon as they'd been clear of the hospital grounds, he'd revved the engine and sped off. She'd rolled her eyes but had refused to give chase. She supposes the fact that she'd once been fairly big on burning some rubber herself would be one of those little titbits of information House would go nuts for. As such, she has kept this - along with so many other things - close to her chest in the hope of saving them for a rainy day. It's a pathetic practice, and she's told herself this numerous times, but it's one she adheres to all the same; partly on purpose, and partly out of the simple habit of being extremely reserved when it comes to her private life.

She's still a little astounded that she'd let House in on the base facts of her family set-up.

Come to think of it, I'm pretty astounded by most of the stuff that's happened lately.

Running a finger over the soft curve of her bottom lip, she holds her breath and pushes open the door of the dimly lit bar.

The late hour means that while several of the women hovering around the bar are clad in very little - exposing model-thin frames and delicate bone structure - a couple more are dressed similarly to how she is herself and have clearly come to join the late-night drinkers following senseless hours of a work shift. She spies House perched up on one of the stools in the very darkest corner surrounding the expensive copper counter, talking to one of the pretty barflies wrapped in a skimpy swatch of scarlet. Walking over, she waits a couple of feet away hesitantly; unsure whether to interrupt for fear of earning herself a snide remark she could do without.

As it is, House cuts his conversation with the leggy brunette short and beckons her over.

"Unclench, Cameron. You look like you're worried you're going to get into trouble for being out past your curfew."

"Well, it is late."

She offers lamely, taking up a seat next to his and flashing the woman in the red dress a shy smile as the latter assesses her openly. House watches this exchange curiously; looking from the blonde to the intoxicated woman recently trying to bum a smoke. Waiting for the brunette to leave, he smirks as he shakes his head and mutters gruffly

"I told her I was waiting for my hooker to show up."

"Nice."

"Relax, I don't think she bought it."

"If that's your way of complimenting me-"

"-Complimenting you? No. I'm telling you that you're not believable as a hooker. If that constitutes a compliment in your eyes then you have some serious problems."

House advises solemnly and Cameron glowers at him as she wiggles to get a little more comfortable in her seat, replying cooly

"I think the vast majority of my problems are staring me right in the face."

"I never forced you to come out with me."

"No. I know... I'm glad you asked me."

She shrugs, and House rolls his eyes to draw attention away from the tic to his jaw as the blonde goes about making things awkward as she so often does. Looking from Cameron to the girls chattering away to each other animatedly - lipstick flickering over whitened teeth, and collarbones rippling beneath expensive fabric - he enquires curiously

"Have you ever come here? Like that?"

"Underfed and drunk? No. Sorry."

She sighs, and House ponders slender features and hollow cheeks but says nothing. He's not in the mood to pick at her too much; a faint smudge of mascara shadowing her left eye, tracked there by salt.

"I guess I don't get out much under any guise."

Cameron continues as she waits for House to herald over one of the immaculately groomed barmen.

"I've only come here once before."

"Who with?"

"Amelia."

"Amelia? That sounds like a girl's name."

"There's no getting anything past you, is there?"

The blonde sighs, and House leans over the bar to order two double shots of Jim Beam before turning back to the young doctor with a smirk.

"I live in hope, Cameron. Now, are you going to make all of my dreams come true and tell me about the sordid escapades you and Amelie g-"

"-Amelia. She went to my school and found me on one of those Alumni things. She had a thing for my brother when we were kids. We met up, she asked after him, I told her it wasn't going to happen, and we endured a painfully awkward glass of wine and parted ways."

"...You really need to work on your storytelling technique. At least one, if not both of you should have been donning the Princess Leia slave girl outfit in this scenario. And-"

"-House."

She warns, and he gives up with a shrug, sliding her one of the generous tumblers of bourbon.

"To certain death."

He toasts, and she sighs deeply but touches her glass to his and adds

"To brief mortality."

Raising an eyebrow and watching as the blonde drinks, House eventually knocks back his own and signals for another.

"Aren't you driving?"

Cameron asks, and he growls at her to leave him be; telling her he's glad to be shot of her infuriating ways before he can stop himself. She merely looks at him, realising her own head is a little fuzzy and belatedly recalling the wine consumed earlier. She considers asking him why he's invited her here with him if he finds her company so abhorrent and decides against it. She contemplates smoothing over the lull in their already stilted conversation with the reminder that her apartment is close by and that they can leave their cars in the lot where they are.

Instead, she goes with what she knows.

She talks business.

While inwardly wondering how many more snide comments she's going to have to suffer before she can get rid of the small and earnest flutter of hope that sits low in her stomach when dealing with House.

"When I looked over the patient files again, I still couldn't see where we went wrong."

She confides, and House glances at her from the side of his eye before contemplating his glass moodily.

"Leave it, Cameron. We didn't go wrong anywhere. This isn't your fault. If you want me to apologise for pinning things on you then-"

"-No."

"No?"

"Well, I mean, that's not why I brought it up... An apology would be nice though, I guess."

"Too late. The moment's gone."

"Mmm."

She sighs, but not without a mild hint of amusement as she can read between the lines, and his mentioning that she shouldn't count herself in with his team in terms of their unfortunate failure speaks volumes.

I guess the thing with House is I've just always known what to listen out for.

"It was just bad luck."

He finishes gruffly, and she touches the tip of her tongue to her top lip - tasting bourbon - and challenges boldly

"Sure. Except you don't really think that. Your patient died and you need to know why."

"Yes."

He agrees

"But for me, it's my job."

"It's an obsession."

"So what does that make it for you? You miss the thrill, yet you can't even admit it."

He muses, and Cameron regards him morosely, feeling the effect of the liquor beginning to kick in as well as the old familiar turbulence of their unhealthy back and forth. She studies the pull of his lips and thins her own, wishing that tonight could have gone differently and hating herself for it.

"I don't miss you."

She advises quietly, and House locks her in his gaze mercilessly and stares her down.

"I know... I pushed too hard."

He replies finally. Raising a brow in surprise, Cameron knocks back the last of her bourbon before shaking her head; long curls tumbling prettily and snatching the attention of narrowed blue eyes.

"I've moved on."

She informs him, holding her breath as the barman shouts for last orders and House raises his hand with all four fingers raised. She looks over at the barflies - pretty and free; demanding attention and not caring one bit - and back at her long-ago mentor. Watches as the barman pours them their shots and House divvies them in half and slides her two potentially dangerous fingers of the strong stuff. Watches his throat work as he shoots back first one then the other, before his gaze fixes on her intently as he waits for her to follow suit.

Saying a brief prayer to no deity in particular, she knocks back her two shots before pushing herself up from her stool and stalking for the door.

She doesn't need to look back to know that House follows her.

Doesn't need to point out that she lives only a block away.

He knows.

I've moved on.

She just hopes she's right.

Slipping through the door into the night air, she watches as House throws a final glance at the girls by the bar and grits her teeth as she's suddenly not so sure about any of this.

It will be fine. You have a pull-out bed. He's slept at yours before, and you've shared a few drinks with him before. You're fine. He said it himself; he's the beast. You know this. Damn it, Allie, you know this, and you're not goddamn stupid enough to keep playing with fire.

Troubled eyes flickering up to glance over at him, she locks in with House's own.

"Do you have anything for a nightcap?"

He asks, looking over at the all-night stop-n-shop as they pass before imprisoning her once more.

"I have stuff."

She confirms quietly, and she has the brief and strangest urge to murmur 'don't crush me, House', but instead she simply turns left onto her street and leads them up to her apartment without a word.