She gingerly emerges from the car and does her best to keep a precarious hold on her umbrella, a Tupperware container, and her coffee. It's another shitty day, replete with shitty weather, and she struggles to remember the last time she woke up to blue skies and sunshine. She bops her hip against the car door to slam it shut and makes her way across the slick parking lot, the persistent drizzle dampening her clothes and her spirits. Her foot slaps into a rain puddle, drenching the bottom of her pants and mottling the expensive leather of her brand new boots. She sighs, grateful at least that the cargo she holds in her hands is still intact.

Two dozen buttery, homemade chocolate chip cookies have been lovingly wrapped in waxed paper and sealed inside the airtight container. Cameron is no baker, and she has two failed batches of scorched cookies sitting her kitchen garbage can to prove it. Her apartment reeked all last night with the smell of burnt chocolate, and she had taste-tested so many cookies that she nearly vomited. But the batch she carries now is a complete success, and she looks forward to treating her coworkers as they sip coffee and tackle the latest case. Anything to make this day feel at least a little special.

Suddenly, cruelly, she is thrown off balance. The thin heel of her left boot has snapped, and she struggles for footing to no avail. She hits the pavement hard and her hands shoot out instinctively to catch herself, her palms stinging upon impact. The coffee is upended from it's wobbly perch on top of the Tupperware, and the dark liquid sloshes onto her open coat and soaks through to the lavender sweater underneath. The container has toppled onto the ground as well--the lid has flown off and the carefully wrapped cookies are now strewn upon the ground, broken and filthy. Cameron's eyes well up, and the hot tears threaten to spill over. She remains on the ground for a moment, trying to compose herself and survey the damage. Suddenly, two running shoes and a wooden cane appear before her. She takes a breath and glances upward and into the eyes of her boss.

"Tossed your cookies, huh?" House says. His clear blue eyes hold a glimmer of amusement, but perhaps also a hint of sympathy for the dark-haired, coffee-stained, soaking wet young doctor on the ground.

"Yeah, well…" Cameron sighs, trying to keep her shaking voice from betraying her frustration. "They weren't very good anyway."

House leans forward and picks a broken piece from the top of the pile. He pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Actually, these aren't bad. Wouldn't mind having you around my kitchen. How do you feel about French maid uniforms? You know, aprons, stilettos…"

Cameron rolls her eyes and turns her head to hide the hint of a smile spreading across her face. House extends a hand to help her to her feet, and the smile can no longer be hidden as she puts her hand in his and lets him pull her upward. She wobbles on uneven heels, and he puts a hand on her back to help her regain her balance. He doesn't hurry to move his hand, even after she has found her footing. They share a poignant gaze, Cameron's breath catching in her throat. House leans in, and his stubbled cheek grazes her skin as he murmurs softly in her ear.

"Happy birthday, Cameron."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then widen even more so as he presses a soft kiss into the smooth apple of her cheek and brushes a lock of damp hair away from her forehead.

"Thanks," she whispers, and stares after him for a moment as he crosses the parking lot and enters the hospital.