A/N: This fic was written before S1 finished airing. As such, this is AU for S2. Keep that in mind.

------------------

As House slouched over his forearms resting on the table, he wondered exactly how he'd been roped into this.

The evening had been spent--at least on his part--in silence, opting instead to eat greasy bar food and nurse a scotch on the rocks—or three. He wasn't completely withdrawn—he'd snark if spoken to—but the majority of his time had been spent watching his coworkers laugh and drink and converse around him.

Wilson and Foreman were currently facing each other, animatedly discussing…something. Given Foreman's enthusiastic hand movements and Wilson's livened, smiling responses, he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with medicine. Sports, maybe, or perhaps the latest fast-cars-fast-women-huge-explosion movie.

On his other side, Chase and Cameron were sitting knee to knee, heads bowed close together, holding a quiet, private conversation. Chase was grinning, and from what he could see of Cameron (admittedly not much beyond her back, given the way she'd turned in her chair) he was willing to bet that she had on some sort of bright smile designed solely to please her male companion—namely Chase.

He absolutely despised New Year's.

He knocked back the rest of his scotch in one go, placing it back down on the table with a healthy "clack." His mind wandered briefly before he felt a gentle touch on his forearm, and his gaze was met by exactly that, sending him into a brief, awkward moment wherein he wasn't entirely sure he was out of his thoughts--or, conversely, out of his mind.

"Any plans for tonight?" Cameron asked, her voice low and soothing.

"I thought I'd try my hand at internet porn," he responded dryly. "I hear there's good money in it…do you think Cuddy would agree to model?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "I think you'd have an easier time convincing Vogler to do it," she responded.

Even though the man had been gone for months, the thought of such a hulking giant still sent him down the road of one-extra-Vicodin. He put on an exaggerated grimace and reached for his empty drink, tilting an ice cube into his mouth—and instantly regretting it. Trying to suck scotch out of an ice cube? Greg, my boy…I'm disappointed.

She lifted her chin at his glass and asked, "How are you holding up?"

He crunched the ice between his teeth and let the melting pieces slide down his throat. "If you're inquiring about my shattered childhood dreams, about that mid-life period wherein I ask myself why the hell I'm a cane-bearing, despised doctor who lives alone rather than a famous, good looking, rich and popular astronaut surrounded by gorgeous supermodels, then my answer is that I'm holding up pretty well, all things considered. If you're asking me if I'm drunk, then no. I'm not."

Cameron shook her head in exasperation, chuckling softly at his sarcasm. "Good," she said. "Because I've got twenty bucks with your name on it if you give me a ride home."

He glared at her. "You must be joking."

"I'm not. I had to take my car into the shop a few days ago, and they still haven't finished the work. I've been getting rides with Chase and Foreman--"

"So go with one of them."

"--who plan on staying at this bar well into the New Year," she continued smoothly, unaffected by his interruption. "I don't particularly want to ring in the New Year here, and I'm pretty sure that you don't want to be here at all. Forget the twenty…I'll pay your tab. I think my place is in between here and yours, anyway."

He was losing, quickly, and he knew it. "Take a cab."

"A cab, in Jersey, on New Year's?" she asked, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. "I could walk home in the time it took to wait for the cab to show up."

"So walk."

Her eyes dimmed and her brow furrowed. "You don't mean that." Her tone was tentative.

"No. I don't mean that." He scrubbed a hand over his stubble and took a deep breath, expelling it as a resigned sigh. "Fine. Go pay my tab. And hurry up."

Her smile was bright and he hated her for it; he didn't like losing the upper hand in anything. He crunched another bit of ice between his teeth as she wandered off to pay for the drinks.

This was a bad idea. A Very Bad Idea. Love was love and lust was lust and the two had always been mutually exclusive in his mind…until recently. He had admitted long ago that Allison Cameron was attractive--it really wasn't that difficult to notice--and thus allowed himself to fantasize from time to time, but emotions were always conspicuous in their absence. He didn't know when things had started changing, but his thoughts regarding her were no longer easily sorted into the categories of "work" and "sex." He found himself feeling…something. Given this inner upset, would he really be able to handle a drive with her, alone, in cramped and intimate quarters?

Cameron took that moment to come back to the table and nod at him. "Whenever you're ready," she said, plucking her coat from the back of her chair and leisurely sliding into it, saying her polite goodbyes and passing on well-wishes. In the same time, he quickly shrugged into his coat and made his way to the exit, knowing she would quickly follow, and fairly certain that no one would notice that he'd left.

------------------

Cameron ran the back of her hand over the hood of the Corvette, taking quiet delight in the way the cold hard metal played with her flushed skin. If pressed, she would blame the alcohol she'd had at the bar; in reality, it was the quite simply the scene presented before her. She had always secretly found fast cars to be inherently sexy, and when combined with one Greg House--she shivered, and it had nothing to do with the late night December cold.

House pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked his door, easing himself into the seat, setting his cane on the floor before leaning over and unlocking the passenger side door. He waited, hand clenching into fists as they rested on his thighs, as Cameron climbed into the car, closing the door next to her.

"Lucky the streets are clear," she tried, feeling horribly awkward. "I can't imagine that this car would handle very well in snow."

He bristled at the threat to his baby. "Are you kidding?" he asked with an exasperated tone. "This beauty corners like it's on rails."

Cameron's eyes furrowed in slight confusion at the "Pretty Woman" reference--what was it with House and hookers?--but said nothing. Rather, she rebutted with, "Sports cars generally don't do well when the streets are covered in snow. They're built primarily for speed."

The keys halted midway to the ignition as House fixed her with an only-slightly-annoyed glare. "You know, you could still walk home," he said pointedly.

Cameron's face flickered briefly between nervousness and humor as she replied, "I already paid your tab. Besides, you made a deal. You wouldn't really go back on your word, would you?"

House slipped the key into the ignition and started the car, checking his rearview mirror and putting the Corvette into reverse, backing out of his parking space. "I might consider it if I feel that my choice of vehicle is being mocked."

"It's not."

He switched into drive. "That remains to be seen. You shouldn't have said anything; I now feel the need to defend my car's honor." He took a sharp turn into the street; at her surprised gasp, he added, "You might want to put your seatbelt on. State law and all of that."

------------------

Cameron shifted nervously in the seat, her eyes darting between the front door of her apartment complex and the Corvette's dashboard, unsure if she should voice her thoughts or simply thank him and leave. Liquid courage--at least that's what she attested her decision to--finally chose for her.

"Would you come upstairs for a minute?"

House raised an eyebrow and let his eyes wander over her face. "Why? Want to show me your etchings?" Stupid line. He covered it by giving a pointed look at his cane and adding, "Your place isn't exactly the most accessible." It was a half-flight of stairs, but it was the principle of the thing.

She shifted again. "I'm sorry—it's just that I have…well, a belated Christmas present for you," she admitted. "It's in my apartment."

"Unless you've hidden a stripper up there, then there's no reason you can't give me your present on Monday," he replied. When she didn't respond, he added, "It is a stripper, isn't it? You spoil me."

"No," she responded quickly, a touch embarrassed. "It's not a…it's not. It's just something I thought you'd like to start the New Year with--"

"--A bang?"

She ignored that one. "--And I guess I thought that if you came up, neither of us would have to ring in the New Year alone." Her voice became quiet by the end.

He was tempted. Sorely. Which was precisely why he threw up another defense mechanism. "It sounds like you're trying to barter with me," he stated simply. "If this present is my reward for spending the remainder of this year with you, then what's my reward for lugging myself up your stairs and into your apartment? You've already paid my tab, and I don't deal in cash."

He had expected her to become exasperated and leave. A small part of him expected her to get angry, to yell. He was not expecting her to make an offer.

"I'll cover one day of your clinic duty," she offered.

"But I love the clin--"

"Fine," she interrupted. "Three days."

Game, set, and match. House mumbled as he pulled the car into a legitimate parking space and cut the engine, following Cameron to the front door of her apartment complex.