If ten people are faced with the same situation, the chances are they will have ten different responses. Imagine your train is late. You might sigh and look angrily at your watch. Someone else might start pacing, another person begins to shout at the nearest available guard. The same rule applies when a thousand people are faced with the same situation. This is because our behaviours are a result of the unique paths our lives have taken. The exact combination of experiences between individuals can never be replicated. So why then, do two completely different women defy all logic and reason and choose to confide in the same abrasive, rude, and insensitive individual?

As House sat next to this young woman, he wracked his brain for a reason why she might have put her trust in him. He hadn't treated her differently than any other patient. He had mocked her for catching an STD and had barely given her the time of day. These were not hallmarks of a character you want to share a secret with.

Unfortunately, this was not a situation that House was unfamiliar with. Not too long ago someone else had felt comfortable to share her own horrific experience with him. The difference is, he had known this woman. He had worked with her for years and she knew better than most how much of a jerk he could be.

Neither conversation had taken the direction he had expected, and that unnerved House.

Why was she asking him about the weather?

He wasn't good at this. He knew his strengths, and he had many of them, but he also knew his weaknesses. He needed to talk to someone else, anyone else. House needed help.

She could have gone to anyone in the whole hospital and they would be better equipped to help her.

Why did she choose him?

And how could this anomaly have occurred twice?

House found himself walking out of the girl's hospital room and heading for his office. Maybe someone on his team would have a startling insight? Or maybe someone would say something insignificant and the details would click into place.

"You help her." House ordered Cameron, after explaining what had happened to his employees.

"She wants you." Cameron argued back gently.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "God knows why."

"She doesn't know what she wants." House replied.

"She knows she wants you. You're the first person she spoke to about this." Cameron tried to reason. House could tell she was being sincere; she was probably the easiest member of his team to read. But Cameron believing her own words did not make them true.

"The fact that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time should be trumped by the fact that I'm useless at this."

Cameron tried her hardest to catch his eye. "No, you're not." She said with certainty. He met her gaze and it was as if for a second he was taken to another place, another time. Cameron truly believed he had the ability to help this girl. Surely that means he must have done something right?

The brief tangent his mind took was annoyingly interrupted by Chase's scoffing at Cameron's remark. "You romantically wanting to believe that is never going to make it true."

The team continued to debate how House should handle the situation, and House had to give himself credit for contributing. His mind was elsewhere. Cameron's comment had thrown him.

Truth be told, Cameron's affirmation that he was not, in fact, useless plagued his mind all afternoon and into the late hours of the evening as he sipped scotch in the dull light of his apartment. He swirled the deep amber liquid around in the glass, his thoughts completely elsewhere.

One might comment, actually Wilson had commented, that House had been more abrasive than usual the past few months. On a bad day, he would lash out at people for merely crossing his path. There was no idiocy to mock; yet he chose to mock it anyway. As much as they had tried, neither Wilson nor Cuddy, nor House's team, had not been able to pinpoint exactly what had changed. Save, perhaps, Alison Cameron. Not that anyone else was privy to this information. For his faults, House considered it the least he could do to stick to his word where Cameron was concerned. She wanted it kept a secret, so it was.

This might well have been House's only thoughtful move throughout the whole ordeal, at least as far as he was concerned. He couldn't see how his actions had helped the situation at all, or why she had taken this to him in the first place. What did she expect? If she wanted empathy she could have gone to any member of the team and had more success. If she wanted safety, she could have spoken to a friend or family member who would take her in and coddle her until things were more manageable. If she wanted undeniable altruism, she could have gone to Wilson. Instead, she chose him. And he was the last thing she needed. He wished he was different, but it just wasn't his personality. He had cursed himself for that fact every day since.

But Cameron hadn't?

Why not?

What, among the sea of mistakes he had made, had stuck out in her mind to make her truly believe that he had helped her? That he could deal with situations like this? That he was not useless?

He remembered that first night clearly: the knock on his door, the sound of sobbing from outside. He had shouted at whomever it was to go away. He didn't want his lonely, miserable night in to be disturbed by what appeared to be another lonely, miserable human being. There was another knock. House ignored it. Then silence. They had given up.

House had thought nothing of this occurrence until a few days later when it happened again. He had shouted again, his language vulgar and his tone as far from sympathetic as he believed it was possible to get. Silence fell once again.

The next night there was a third knock at his door. This time there were no sobs. Perhaps it was someone else? Or perhaps something had changed with this mysterious crying stranger. It was an anomaly. House liked anomalies. He liked to explain them, to solve the puzzle. So this time he didn't shout. He didn't swear. He didn't ignore them. Instead, he reached for his cane and slowly made his way to the door.

From everything that he had been expecting, the bloody and bruised young woman now standing in front of him was far from the top of his list.

House couldn't say anything. He was in shock.

It didn't seem like an invitation inside was needed, however, when the woman walked straight past House and sat herself down on his couch.

Questions raced through House's mind. So rarely was he lost for words that he could honestly say he didn't know what would come out of his mouth first. What happened? Who did this? Can I kill them? Was that you knocking at my door the other nights? Why are you here? Have you called the police? Where are you hurt?

"I thought you were visiting family?" Of all the possibilities, this was the question that his mind decided to prioritise. House cursed at himself.

"I lied." She replied, so quiet he almost missed it.

"Your boyfriend did this." House concluded. He had known she was seeing someone, but never brought the topic up.

She nodded.

"Why did you…" He trailed off. "How could you…" Again. "You let him get away with this?"

The woman was seething.

"Do you think it was my choice? Do you really think I would let someone do this to me? I tried. I tried to get help. I've been here coming all week, every night, to try and get you to help me. Some days, I even managed to make it to the front door and knock only to have you shout more abuse at me."

"Why me? You could have asked someone else to help you. You could have gone to the police." House probed.

"What does it matter? I'm scared, House. I'm scared and I'm hurting and you're acting like a jerk."

"So leave." He retorted. It wasn't what he wanted to happen. He wanted to help her, to protect her. He couldn't stand to see her in this much pain.

He also couldn't stand to know he could have prevented it.

The woman got up. "Fine." She said, walking towards the door.

"Don't." House said with a start.

"I don't know why I expected this to end any differently." She retorted.

"Cameron." She didn't turn her head. Even in her pained state, she figured she could outrun him. Not that he would follow her anyway. "Cameron." He repeated, his tone pleading. She told herself to keep walking. Just get out of this house. "Allison."

At this, she turned around.

"What changed?" She asked.

"Nothing. But I can't have you leaving in that state. I am a doctor, let me help."

"I'm also a doctor. Coming here was a mistake, I'll sort myself out."

"Being bratty doesn't suit you." He commented.

"And being nice doesn't suit you. Always go with your first instinct." Cameron retorted.

"Sit down." He kept his voice calm and as far from authoritative as he could make it. Clearly she wanted his help, and he would be damned if he didn't at least try.

Cameron hesitated. Could she really trust him? She sighed and headed back to the couch, figuring there was little point arguing further. She was in too much pain and was struggling to think straight.

"Let me see." House ordered, his voice soft but clearly intending to give him some control over the situation. He knew he should have asked her more sensitively as soon as the words left his mouth, and Cameron's rigid stance confirmed that. He needed a different approach. He needed to fight his instincts now for the sake of the woman in front of him. "Where do you want to start?" He asked.

Slowly, Cameron unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it off her shoulders. He could see the bruising on her arms, making him feel sick to his stomach. House was about to turn to get his first aid kit when he noticed Cameron was still undressing. She was tackling the buttons on her blouse, her shaking fingers making the task harder than it would normally be. For the first time that evening, he could see her guards had completely dropped. She was allowing herself to be vulnerable and it scared him. He didn't know how to act, how to respond. He was desperately afraid of accidentally making things worse for her.

Why had she even come to him?

In that moment, Cameron's mind reached a hesitant conclusion to that same question. It was a question she had been plagued by all week. Why House? Did she still like him? Did she think he would hold her in his arms and promise never to let anyone hurt her again? Was that what she wanted? Perhaps. But was it what she needed?

Cameron realised that in this moment she needed House to be House. She needed his lack of boundaries, his rudeness, and his stubbornness. She needed someone to force her kicking in screaming out of hiding from this reality. If she thought someone asking nicely would help, she would have gone to… well, anyone else. But she chose House because she knew him and she knew herself. She wouldn't open up without a fight and the self-preservation part of her brain told her that this fight was needed now. Things had gone too far. She couldn't back out.

Focussing on this had caused Cameron to let her guard down and she noticed her hands shaking as she undid the buttons on her blouse. She could feel House's eyes on her, burning their own distinct marks into her skin, just as the sight of her bruised body was burned into his memory.

She stopped as she reached the last button, allowing her top to fall freely and exposing her torso. She was covered in bruises, some older and turning to sickening shades of yellow and green, while others looked more recent. Every single mark made House's blood boil.

House couldn't look any more. He couldn't stand the sight of her in so much pain. He turned away and went to find his first aid kit, taking the brief respite to compose himself before he had to face her again. It took everything in his power not to break down and shout and scream at this unjust universe. House had taken on many fellows over the years – they were great assets to the department as they meant he could have minimal contact with his patients. Every single one of them was smart; he wouldn't have hired them if they weren't. Every single one was also ambitious; they had to be to put themselves through working under him. He had even found some of them tolerable. But rarely did he actually find someone he liked. But there was something about Cameron. Perhaps the way she cared for everyone whilst still meeting all his criteria for a half-decent fellow? Or perhaps it was because she had a backbone and wasn't afraid to fight for what she believed was right? He didn't know what it was, but he knew she was one he'd remember. She was one of the benchmarks upon which future fellows would be measured. House rationalised that was why he was so affected by seeing her hurt. He saw people hurting every day in the hospital and not a single one had got to him like she had tonight.

Or perhaps, it was because he did care?

By the time he returned with the first aid kit, Cameron was sat on his couch in nothing but her underwear. Of all scenarios where this moment could have occurred, House had never pictured it happening like this. Not that he had imagined this happening…. much…. or that's what anyone who asked would be told. Still, no one could deny she was attractive.

House also knew that Cameron was strong, but right now she looked anything but. She was so small, barely taking up half of a cushion on his couch. He raised an eyebrow at how little she was wearing, and it seemed Cameron had heard his silent question.

"If I stopped, I don't know if I would have been able to start again." She explained quietly, not meeting his gaze.

"Where should I start?" He asked her, and Cameron shrugged her shoulders. He'd have to treat all of her wounds eventually, what did it matter what order?

House made the decision to start with her arms. They seemed the most neutral body part. Carefully, he worked to clean her wounds, and dress those that needed it. Once the dried blood had been cleaned away from her skin, House braved another look at her whole body. It was somehow worse now, because he could see exactly where she was hurt, rather than giving his imagination the chance to minimise the harm done to her.

He continued to work in silence, and Cameron watched his every move like a hawk. She was scared; he could see it in her eyes and her posture. Alert, watching, assessing. Was she safe? But one thing House noticed more than what she was doing, was what she wasn't doing. She wasn't flinching. She didn't try to move away when he had to treat the skin around her breasts, nor did she try to pull away when he wiped alcohol on a particularly deep cut on her thigh. She may have been scared, but she was also so brave. This surprised House, and he allowed himself to feel a moment of pride.

This pride began to slip away, however, when the second he finished Cameron grabbed her clothes and her purse and headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.

"Home. Thank you for your help. I'll see you at work on Monday." She said quickly, tripping over her words slightly at the speed with which she had tried to get them out.

"You really think I'm letting you go back there?" House scoffed.

"I'm not asking for your permission." Cameron turned back to face him. "I appreciate you helping me. I really do. But please don't tell anyone what happened."

"Are you an idiot?"

Cameron turned on her heel and went to leave. House, cursing his leg, could physically do nothing to stop her. They both knew it.

"It's my life, House." She opened the door, not turning back.

"And you're my employee and so long as you're working for me I won't let you turn into a punching bag"

"Then hire another fellow."

"Cameron…."

"Goodbye House."