Chapter One

Cameron had been living in Philadelphia for around three months, and she loved it. Sure, she missed Princeton and her old job, but there was nothing like walking down the quaint, historic avenues of this city. Now that the beginnings of fall had begun to grace the weather about two weeks ago, she had taken to getting a nice, piping hot cappuccino and a good book and going to the park; she loved watching the leaves change ever so softly from green to gorgeous, rich shades of orange and red, and something about the air seemed cozier as well; it felt like home.

It had been just about five months since she stood in House's office and handed over, with as much courage as she could muster, her resignation letter. At home later that evening she felt tired and drained; something in her heart ached. She needed to leave, but she didn't want to venture too far. The day after her last time as a doctor at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital she wanted to go for a drive, and on her way she saw the bright green sign with white lettering "Philadelphia Next Right" and something in her read it like poetry; she needed to go there.

Five months later she lived in a snug 19th century Victorian home on the corner of a quiet street about ten minutes from Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, where she was currently employed in the Immunology department. The home breathed new life into her with the breakfast nooks and reading benches under the bay windows out into the garden. Sunlight danced off the pale green walls of her bedroom in the morning and she couldn't be more content.

She still kept in touch with Foreman and Chase, and received a few friendly e-mails from Wilson every few weeks, but she was surprised how friendly of terms House and her were currently on; and he initiated it. It all started about three months after she left when she received and e-mail with no subject line and all it said was, "The new lobby art makes better coffee than you."

She smiled and let out a chuckle at House's unconventional ways of conversation; she really felt that this was some sort of 'I forgive you' even though she had nothing to apologize for, but decided to stroke his already large ego and not correct him, and replied, "When she's a better kisser than me I'll begin to worry; until then enjoy."

"Touchy," was his reply.

For a few weeks they sent friendly correspondence back and forth, until one Saturday morning he showed up at her door. To say she was surprised would be an understatement and she couldn't contain the huge smile or hug she gave him. They went to a local Mom & Pop café and ate breakfast while he listed all of the pros and cons of his new team. The new "lobby art" made better coffee, wasn't a member moral police, and had a better rack-even gave Cuddy a run for her money. Cameron did, however, in his words, "have the superior booty."

These little visits occurred through the end of summer, on a purely platonic level, and she couldn't decided if she was happy or disappointed with that fact. It had been about three weeks since they saw each other, e-mails and phone calls occurred, because he had case after case and she was working weekends to earn some extra cash with the holidays approaching.

She was now sitting on her reading bench with a glass of wine and a copy Jane Eyre as twilight blanketed the sky. She was enthralled in the ending, and willed herself not to cry, again, when she heard her cell phone vibrating on the coffee table; she placed her bookmark on her page and made her way over to the phone. It was a voicemail from one of her colleagues, Dr. Simon Jacobs a cardiologist. She didn't want to call him creepy or a pervert because that wasn't nice, but there really weren't any other words for him. The text read, "Would you like to get drinks?" She really didn't understand this man; she's kindly declined offers in the past, said she had a boyfriend, and once even said she wasn't into men, but he never took the hint. He was a good doctor, and she admired him for that, but he was just too…something; it didn't sit right with her; from the first day they met there was something off. He was sly and you could never hear when he would walk up behind you. Late night in a darkened conference room, lab, even at your car a few times he would prowl up to you like you were his prey. You told House about him once, and he wasn't happy telling you to stay away and muttering, "I'm only allowed to sneak up to you in darkened rooms."

After she was unable to come up with another pithy decline, she deleted it and walked back over to her book. Taking out the bookmark she said out loud, "I'll just tell him I didn't get it Monday morning," and returned to her favorite literary couple of all-time.

Around one in the morning she awoke with a start, "What was that noise?" she said in a whisper; her face set on her alarm clock in deep concentration waiting for it to happen again. When she didn't hear it again after a few moments she sighed and chastised herself, "It's an old house, Allison, of course it's going to make creaks and moans; grow up!"

Cameron slowly began to drift off to sleep again when she felt her comforter slipping away from her and a definite dip on the other side of the bed. She only got out the beginnings of a scream when a large hand gripped over her mouth. Her heart rate skyrocketed and she began to struggle with the stronger intruder; he straddled her hips and yelled at her to shut up; she thought she recognized his voice.

He told her to be quiet, and just to make sure she knew he was serious glided the sharp blade of a knife down her tear-stained cheek. The night ended up cloudy and there wasn't enough moonlight to illuminate her room, but the thought of seeing his face soon disappeared as he moved to unbutton her pajama top. She went to struggle but he quickly silenced her with a slap across the face and another reminder from the blade. With her shirt now open he moved towards her pants; she couldn't allow this to happen.

Without thinking, and praying for the first time in over thirteen years, she reached for the alarm clock on her nightstand, the only object who's location was lit up, and hit him with it; missing the top of his head but hitting his jaw, he fell over on the bed in pain, but quickly sitting up. As he made his way over to her she began moving over to where her treadmill resided, bending down and picking up one of the five pound weights next to it. When she heard him approaching grunting in pain she brought her arms back, and with all her power, struck the weight against the side of his head; he fell, hitting the other side on the corner of her nightstand; he didn't make a sound.

Dropping the weight with a loud clang she ran over to the light switch. Adjusting both her eyes and breathing she looked over to her bed. The bed and her nightstand were a mess, a leg sticking out from the end of the bed. Slowly making her over to the body she realized she hadn't heard him breathing. Reaching the side of his body she couldn't see whom the man was through to the amount of blood that covered his face. Reaching down, slowly, she found the pulse point on his neck, finding nothing she moved to his wrist, nothing there either.

"Shit."

Standing up she slowly made her way out of her bedroom and down the stairs into the living room; flicking on the light she calmly made her way over to the phone. If you asked her later why she dialed House's number and not the police she probably wouldn't be able to formulate a reasonable answer; she can barely even remember what she said to him; all she remembers hearing is, "I'll be right there."

Sitting against the back of her couch waiting for House to get there she realized her blouse was still unbuttoned.