AN: This was supposed to be part one of a series that I was writing.. However, as the seasons progressed, and as my health got worse, that just seemed like that wasn't going to happen. BUT, I am very happy with this part of the story and wanted to post it.
In the Gloaming
The sun sits low on the horizon, painting the ground with an eerie glow of twilight. But time holds no meaning inside, where the lights are harsh in the unforgiving walls of the hospital's ER, and the day has worn thin on Cameron's bones like a cloth rubbed raw by the constant strain of work. The heavy set of her shoulders signifies that the end of her shift is near. The long hours and harsh lighting do nothing for her eyes, as she pinches the bridge of her nose before looking over the lab results of her last patient for the day.
She's glad to see that it is just another cut and dry case, despite House's insistence from earlier. The ER might have been busy, but she has no desire to feed into House's demands, especially when his motivations are based on boredom and irritation. If she found something in the results, she would have passed it onto House, but she wasn't going to subject any patient to pointless tests and House's brand of bedside manner unless she felt it was absolutely necessary.
The high pitched wailing of a belligerent drunk pierces sharply through her thoughts, reminding her that there are some patients she wouldn't mind subjecting to House. Walking over to one of the few secluded rooms off to the side, the screaming only grows louder and strums tight against Cameron's nerves. She nods thankfully to the charge nurse on rotation, Shelly, who is already on the way to deal with the situation. She is sure Shelly feels just as run down as Cameron, herself, feels. The days and nights blur in the ER, creating a grueling weight and pressure on the staff which always begs for relief, come end of shift. But Cameron is grateful to have the staff she does. She doesn't think she would have been able to handle the day if she didn't already have a well functioning team.
Looking back down at the chart in her hand, Cameron enters the room ready to deliver the good news. But her head snaps up as the door shuts behind her; the click of the latch sounds like lightning in her ears, deafening the screams that echo through the hall.
In front of her, there is nothing but an empty bed in the secluded room. Her heart is pounding and her blood is rushing so loudly she can hear the buzzing in her ears. She takes a step back from the bed before turning around just in time to see nothing but a bright flash of light.
Cameron opens her eyes and gasps for breath. Her chest is burning, and the sheets are tangled around her and her body is soaked with sweat. She can feel herself trembling as she rolls over to look at her alarm clock to see the red blazing numbers of 4:55 glaring back at her as a ball of nausea twists in her stomach.
It's not the first time she has dreamt of work, nor does she think it will be the last, but it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. And though the dream is fading, and the details are just on the edge where she can no longer grasp them, she doesn't like the feeling they leave behind. Her chest feels as if someone is pressing down on it, trying to crush and scare her. She curls up into a ball and simply stares as the numbers of her clock bleed from one time to the next, until it screams at her to let her know that she needs to get ready for work.
The disquieting sensation from her dream lingers and crawls through her skin so deeply that she must have progressed through her morning ritual in a daze. She only hopes that she didn't break any traffic laws as she finds herself striding through the front doors of PPTH.
She shakes her head rigorously as she tries to snap herself out of it. She knows that there is no way she can let a stupid dream affect her work. Working in the ER is stressful enough, and having your mind elsewhere can be costly. As she passes through the clinic, the smell of antiseptic reaches her nostrils and a brief flash of light reflecting off of... something, she can't quite tell what, makes her falter by the clinic's desk. She feels a stab of pain in her gut like a cramp that cuts so deep and hard, it blinds her for just a moment before she hears her name being called through the dense haze that she is under.
"Cameron. Cameron. Earth to Dr. Cameron."
Cameron snaps her head over to stare into the ice blue eyes of House. She could have sworn for just a second that she heard concern and worry in his voice, as if they were echoing currents undercutting his normal sarcastic tone. She can tell her dream is already playing tricks on her subconscious.
"What?" she asks, trying to clear her head from the cacophonous fog that rings in her ears. It's as distracting and displeasing as the aches and pains in her body. She still feels as if she can't regain her breath. But then again, she's always been a bit breathless around House, no matter how many times she's tried to deny it. But it's hard to decipher whether it's House of the aftermath of the dream. But it doesn't matter, because her guard is down and her gut cramps, and her chest tightens. She doesn't have time to expound between reality and her psyche.
He tosses a file in front of her and it skids to a halt with a few papers going askew about the desk. She picks it up, straightening the papers, and opens it, but not before throwing an inquisitive look towards House. His face is impassive. He's wearing his Nike shox along with a pair of jeans, a wrinkled blue-gray button down, and his black blazer. He looks good, she reasons. But when hasn't he looked good in her eyes.
"What's this?" she asks, wondering if she'll get any kind of real answer from him.
"My new case," he says, as he limps a few steps closer, closing the gap to lean against the clinic station next to her.
"And why exactly, am I looking at it?" she questions, flipping through the file, though she's not really taking note of anything at all. House already has four other pairs of eyes to look over the case, so she doesn't feel too bad for doing a half-ass job of skimming through another doctor's notes. She needs to concentrate her work on the ER if she's going to get through the day.
House shrugs the shoulder closest to her, as if he's mocking her for the unusual slack in her work ethic.
"You tell me," he says, as if it's supposed to be the most obvious thing in the world.
She huffs in annoyance. Her head is already spinning and the day has barely begun. She shuts the file in indignation, and smacks it into House's chest.
"You have your own team now, House. I have an ER to run." She ran the logic in her head once already, and doesn't see any flaws with voicing it now as her excuse. She's tired. Plain and simple. And now, looking at the clock behind House, she realizes she's also running late.
"You know you miss it," House says with a smirk. But she ignores him.
"I've got to go. I'm already late," she informs him, as she walks away.
House pushes himself from the desk to follow after her. Suddenly, the air about him has shifted. The bite of seriousness is dry and business-like coming from his lips. "No, really. I need a consult. 32 year old female..."
"I don't work for you anymore, House. If you need a consult, immunology is on the 4th floor," she cuts him off.
She doesn't wait to hear what else he has to say, as she picks up her pace and makes her way to the locker room to drop her things off and change into her scrubs. She is a bit surprised that he doesn't follow her. He's usually not one to give up so easily. His methods tend to mimic that of a soulless gnat than anything else. It irks her. Something about it is just... off. She has a feeling the case is important, like she should help. Like there's a familiarity there she should know and is just out of her reach, but her time is now occupied by the ER, and she has a shift to cover. At least she can find comfort in the knowledge that House is there, for the case if for nothing else.
When she finally reaches the locker room and her locker, her chest twinges and she gets that cramp in her side again. That rolling sense of nausea returns as she blindly reaches for the Midol she keeps on the top shelf. Her thoughts are so muddled, she barely remembers changing from her clothes to scrubs.
Before she knows it, half of the day has gone by. Cases and patients blur together lost within the day. She can swear that she's worked all of these same cases before, in the same day, just with different names and different faces. The niggling feeling of de je vous make her hairs stand on end. There is something about the ER, where you see much of the same thing over and over and over again that makes one think you were living out the movie Groundhog Day.
She feels weary, the noises of the machines are muddling her thoughts, and the pressure on her chest doesn't seem to be going away, her cramps only seem to be getting worse. Perhaps lack of sleep, and that dream have gotten to her more than she originally thought. Plus she's due to start her period any day now, and she's always had problems with cramps.
She needs to get away from the clashing symphony of the machines in the ER: the bustling, beeping, whirring. So, she makes her way out, only to be met by two of House's lackeys, Drs. Hadley and Kutner.
"Let me guess, House sent you," Cameron cuts them off as she makes her way out the ER doors, heading into the lounge. She should have known that she got off light earlier. Though earlier doesn't seem all that long ago. That's the funny thing about time, especially when you're busy or in pain. It always tends to mess with your mind.
"Well... yeah," Kutner says, not bothering to deny it.
"We need your opinion on our patient," Hadley adds, straight to the point. "House is refusing to do anything."
Cameron looks back at Hadley to see her arm outstretched with the patient file in her hand, daring Cameron not to take it.
Not losing a step, she takes the file, and makes her way into the lounge collapsing onto the sofa.
"So, why are you coming to me?" she asks as she opens the folder, the two doctors hovering over her.
"House said, you would know," Kutner supplies. His unwavering confidence in House makes her wonder about the strength of her own backbone.
"Of course, he did," Cameron mumbles under her breath as she looks through the same file that House handed her that morning, hoping that her mind can concentrate enough to obtain at least a bit of the patient's information.
"32 year old female..." Hadley begins, only to be cut off by Cameron.
"Yeah, I can read that, thanks."
Cameron continues to squint and read the rest of the file. The words seem to blur together like a thread woven within the intricacies of a loom. Again, that sensation creeps under her skin, the one that tells her that something is off. Like she knows this case. Like she should have the answer.
"Why do I know this case?" she asks herself, not realizing she spoke aloud. Her cramps are getting worse, and she longs to throw Kutner and Hadley out, so she can go back to her locker, chug the contents of her bottle of Midol, and just end her shift.
Looking up at the two doctors, she asks, "Why is House refusing to do anything?"
She watches as they give each other confused looks before turning back to her.
"He said that... you would know," Kutner says again.
Cameron cocks her head to the side and regards the doctors in front of her. She knows House better than most, better than either one of them would like to admit. "No, he didn't. House doesn't refuse when it's an interesting case. Play games, yes. This is something else. What's he playing at?"
She doesn't like that House is playing a game, especially when the life of a patient is on the line. She just knows that this case is more than what is on the surface. She can see it in each of their eyes. Concern. Worry. Distress. It is there for only an instant, that it almost has her second guessing herself, but it isn't tangible now.
Her anger is getting to her. She snaps the file shut and thrusts it back at Hadley, as another wave of intense and painful cramps wash over her, and the heaviness on her chest increases. She's thankful that Hadley and Kutner's beepers go off at that exact moment, because she isn't sure if she could be able to hold her ire in, misdirected as it is.
"We have go, it's our patient," Kutner says, as they both rush out of the lounge.
Cameron bends over, one hand clutching her side, and one clutching her chest as she tries to catch her breath.
"Shit," she gasps, her heart thumping against her breast. She takes a minute to try and clear her head, and then makes her way painfully towards the cabinets. She knows another doctor stores her Midol there. Scavenging through the cabinets, she finds the bottle and clutches it, shakily trying to twist the top. She doesn't bother to take note of the exact number she tosses back; but feels soothed by the chalky texture of the pills as they slide down her throat. She knows she took more than she normally would have; but she's a doctor, and she knows exactly how much is a safe amount and what's not. Besides, with the amount of pain she's in, and with the amount of time she still has left on her shift, she figures she can handle it.
She grasps the bottle more tightly, screwing the lid back on, and makes her way back over to the sofa.
She closes her eyes for only a second to let the drugs take effect; but as soon as they are closed, she hears a door close and sees that same flash of light glinting off of what looks like... it is just on the surface and she can't quite reach it... she opens her eyes to see one of the nurses making their way to the table. Pocketing the Midol in her lab coat, she makes her way back to the ER. The throbbing in her chest and side are now slightly dulled but still ever constant, along with that foreboding feeling that's still nibbling away at the back of her mind.
The Midol she took must have messed with her head more than she anticipated, because she's muddled through more of her shift, and is able to do it without thinking and without making a single mistake. That notion that she's had these cases before is making diagnosing and treating a breeze, which seems to make time fly by. She makes her way back over to the nurse's station to collect another chart when she sees House, leaning casually, with the exact chart she needs in his hand.
She sighs, already exasperated by his presence. She doesn't want him to see her as she slowly falls apart, even if it's only in her mind. "You already have a case that you don't seem to want, one that's apparently circling the drain. So..." she starts.
House rolls his eyes. "It's not that I don't want the case. I just can't do anything," he says, as if that explains everything.
Cameron puts her hands on her hips and just stares at him. The pain in her chest seems to lessen whenever he's around, and as much as his presence seems to aggravate her, she's thankful for the distraction.
"What do you want, House?"
House turns to look at her straight on and she sees a small smirk grace his lips. Her stomach flips, and though the nausea is still there, it is more of a welcome feeling. She hates herself for all the mixed signals she's giving herself. How far she wants to run from him and yet how she can't seem to draw herself away. She's confused, like she's in a labyrinth that leads to nowhere.
"I think the question you wanted to ask was what do you want from me, wasn't it?" he asks.
"Only you would think there was a difference between the two with your ego being the size that it is, and I kind of need that chart."
House takes another step closer and holds the chart behind his back. His game of keep-a-way, this close, makes her head spin.
"No you don't," he says, looking down at her. She can feel her small hands slipping against her even smaller waist as sweat begins to form on the palms, but she refuses to let him see it. "You don't need the chart. And, there is a difference," he continues.
They stand there staring at each other and the longer Cameron looks into the deep blue of House's eyes the more lost and addled she finds herself. Why would she see caring and concern in his eyes for such a stupid little conversation?
She steps closer, just barely brushing against him, and stretches on her toes to reach his ear. "Yes, I do," she whispers, as she reaches behind his back and plucks the chart from his hands. She ignores the way his fingers brush against hers. How his calloused and worn fingers feel like warm liquid silk against hers isn't something she wants to delve into. So instead, she quickly turns and makes her way to one of the few private rooms in the ER where her patient is waiting.
But before she reaches the door, she hears House's voice over the crowd.
"When was the last time you saw Chase?" he asks.
She turns around to look at him, and their eyes meet across the way. It is amazing how fast he can throw her world off kilter. She tries to focus on the ground beneath her feet and remember. When was the last time she saw Chase? It wasn't that long ago, she's sure of that. They have alternating shifts on certain days. But is today one of those days? She tries to connect the hours like a fine string of pearls, but the more she tries, the more the string seems to fall apart. She can't connect the pieces, and she knows that should worry her, but the more she reaches for answers, the further away her mind seems to stray. She glances back up to meet House's eyes, and wonders why that is so important. But the patient file weighs heavily in her hand, garnering her attention, and she breaks their gaze. Shaking her head, she tries to ignore that fleeting sensation that passes through her skin. She's determined to finish her shift. She can deconstruct and decipher the gaps in her life later.
She quickly glances at the chart and stops just outside the room, looking in. She's had this patient before, she's sure of it. She whips her head back around to see if House is still there, only to see the bustle of the ER. It could just be that the patient needed to come back, but there is something different, a feeling deep within her bones that makes her heart pound and her head swim. But, this is something else. There is a familiarity with this patient that she hasn't had with the others that almost frightens her.
How is it that House knew before her? Were they both stuck in this weird circle of Groundhog Day? Doomed to repeat the same day over and over til the cosmos righted again? And as she feels another twist of pain ripple through her stomach, the nausea punching her unexpectedly, she wonders if these are just some kind of bitter after effects. If so, she wants out of this cycle before she has to run through it again, because even in this fog it's too much.
Looking back down at the chart, she runs through it again, a mirror image of herself mentally repeating questions she already knows she will be asking and tests she will be running. She wonders if it will go the same way as the echoes in her head. Taking a shaky breath, she enters the room, and tries her best not to show her growing discomfort.
She goes through the same motions that she is sure that she has gone through before. Her heart pounds so hard against her breast, she's sure the patient can hear it, as each result comes out like before as if like a ghost of an echo remembered.
'History of high blood pressure,' the voice echoes in her head, so real that she swears it is her own from a long forgotten memory hammering away an imprint into her skull.
"Do you have a history of high blood pressure, Mr. Samuals?" she asks aloud, trying to remain professional.
"Yeah, but my doctor has me on medication for that now..."
'Cozaar,' Cameron's mind supplies a split second before the words come out of Mr. Samuals' own mouth.
"Cozaar, I believe."
Cameron simply nods, no longer trusting her voice. She has a feeling the color is draining from her face, as House's words reverberate in her head, 'You don't need the chart.'
What the hell is going on? She needs to get out of there. That room was making her head spin, and the patient, the only one that's felt real to her all day, was making her heart race and her chest constrict. She can't breathe. The air is thick within the room like tar inside her lungs. She quickly excuses herself and makes her way to the hallway right outside of the ER. Taking a deep breath and pulling out the Midol from her pocket, she stares at the bottle as both a curse and a savior. How many pills did she take?
She hears a familiar voice to her left say, "It's not your time of the month." She looks up to see House standing at the end of the hall looking at her. She drops the pills back into her pocket startled by his presence.
He makes his way closer to her. "I told you, you didn't need the chart."
Cameron looks away, her vision blurring. This is all too much. Maybe she should just go to Cuddy and ask for the rest of the day off, but then she'd have to pass off her patients and...
"Cameron, Cameron, Allison!"
Cameron's head snaps up and meets House's piercing stare. When did he get so close? Things between the two of them are always so complex, like painting pictures on rose petals.
They keep their gazes locked as House steadies his hands on her shoulders to ground her.
Cameron feels a tear slip past her eye, "What's happening to me, House?" she whispers.
"You need to focus, Cameron. I need you to help me solve my case."
Cameron gives a small bitter laugh, another tear falling without her knowledge or consent. "How am I supposed to do that? I can't even..."
House lifts a hand from her shoulder and gently cups her cheek, wiping away the tear with his thumb. "You're smart, you'll figure it out," he says softly.
She closes her eyes; everything is spinning out of control. She can't breathe. She can't breathe, and she doesn't know why. Every breath feels labored, and the warmth of House's hand against her cheek is only making her emotions spin further into oblivion. When did she start losing control? Where was Chase? Why did she keep seeing House? Who's the patient House needs help with? Who's the patient in the ER? Her skin is crawling, and House must feel it too, because it is in that instant he takes a step back. She opens her eyes to look at him; only it isn't the House from moments before, the House that wiped away her tears with the gentle press of his thumb against her cheek. No, it is the House that she's used to, snarky and sarcastic and always playing some sort of game.
"Crying, again?" he asks. "I thought that was reserved for chapels and centrifuges?"
Cameron lifts her hands and viciously wipes at her eyes to try and dry her face and clear her head. She can't tell left from right anymore. She feels like Alice in Wonderland, only she fears she will never wake up.
"Go away, House. Please," she begs him softly.
"Can't."
Cameron closes her eyes, biting her bottom lip. She can practically feel House's eyes boring holes into her. She can't say anything, ask anything. She's afraid she'll go around in circles, scared there really might be something wrong. She is terrified of how she feels, even if it is only her over active sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on her.
"Why won't you look at my patient?" House finally asks.
"Because you annoy me," she says, letting her head fall back against the wall, her arms drop, and her eyes linger on the ceiling.
"That's not a very good reason to let a patient suffer."
Cameron snorts, "And yet, if you said it, it would be."
"Well, yeah, but now it's just annoying that you aren't being your usual helpful self."
"Well, you haven't exactly been acting like yourself either," she says, finally letting her gaze drift back down to his, her emotions finally getting somewhat back in check. Sparring with House tends to focus her in a way that nothing else ever can. It helps to distract her from the chaos that is running rampant inside her.
"I'm practicing. The hospital is putting on a play in August, auditions on Monday, and I just really want the part..." House starts, "... unfortunately, I can only make it if I figure this case out in time, and well gosh darn it, you just gotta help me out."
Cameron can't help the small laugh at the faces House makes during his little diatribe.
"Yeah, well, I don't think I'll be much help today," she says. She can feel her resolve slipping. She doesn't know why House is playing games with this patient. But she does know, he's right, and she isn't acting herself, and maybe this case is exactly what she needs…
"I say you play ding dong ditch with the ER and kick it old school with the kiddies in my department for the rest of the day."
Cameron smiles a bit, glad to have this House anchor her, bring back some of that stability to her world, but she still has responsibilities she has to take care of. She thinks about the patient she left in the ER, and her chest heaves a bit and the all too familiar aches return briefly, making her body sag with the weight of it all.
"Let me just finish up with a few patients and then I'll meet you up there," Cameron finally responds.
House nods. "Fine. Sounds good, but if my patient dies while you're messin' about, I'm blaming you."
"I'm sure you will," she says, as she turns back to head to the ER.
"Oh, and Cameron?"
She stops to turn back.
"Yeah?"
"No more of this crying business, okay?"
Cameron just gives him a weak smile and a nod, before pushing through the doors and heading back to the pandemonium within.
She orders tests that she knows should have been put in way sooner for her patients: CNCs, blood gases, x-rays, tox-screens, orders for meds. It doesn't take long. She also has to pass on her patients to the other doctors on shift before she can sweep out of the ER. She really does hate to do it, and she can tell that they aren't pleased with her either; but whether or not she ends up helping House, it's safer if she isn't in the ER. But in all of her running about to pass on her work, she keeps passing that room. There is just something about that patient. Her chest tightens, and her stomach churns. She can hear the pounding of her blood in her ears. Did she somehow make a mistake with this man? Is that why she feels so off-kilter? Is this pain her guilt? Or a warning? Or something else? She knows she is missing something, but the feeling soon leaves as she finds herself strolling down the hall towards House's office, and subsequently, the adjoining conference room.
If she's to keep a mental list of symptoms, just in case, she should remember to add black outs, because she can't recall the journey up. Did she take the stairs or the elevator? It's nothing she tells herself, willing herself to believe it. She's tired, and if they persist, she'll make an appointment for tomorrow with her own doctor. She doesn't want anyone around here thinking she's going crazy. There's already enough paranoia in a hospital, she doesn't need to confound the problem by adding her own into the mix.
"32 year old female, I know," Cameron starts, opening the door to reveal only House sitting at the conference room table, his feet propped up, lazily spinning his cane, and staring at a blank white board.
"Ah, 'bout time. You should have just come straight here. You're not going to figure it out by yourself down there."
"Yes, because you gave me oh so much information. And why don't you have anything up on the white board?" she asks suspiciously.
"I'm writing with my new white markers," he deadpans.
Striding over towards the table, she reaches for the file sitting in front of House. Just because he is being uncooperative on the case doesn't mean she has to be. Opening the file, she skims over the information again, this time noting small things, and noticing one very important thing missing.
"House..."
"Yup," he says, taking his feet off the table and bringing his cane in front of him to lean his chin on the handle.
"What brought the patient in originally?"
"Look in the file."
Cameron looks in the file again, flipping pages, and still not seeing anything, though she gets that feeling, the one she had before, like she should know this case. Like she already knows it, but it's just on the outskirts of her mind. It's there, just out of her reach. She shakes her head as she flips to the next page.
"It's not here. And why isn't your team here. If you're not going to work on this case..."
"Who said I wasn't working on this case? I asked you here, cause you're the instrument through which the puzzle will be solved," he says, as if this whole situation amuses him.
"If you were anymore cryptic, you'd be a fortune cookie," she replies, closing her eyes, and massaging her temples. She feels lightheaded, and House's Zen diagnostic skills aren't helping.
"The wise monkey is only in your head," he adds with a grin, tapping his temple as if that's the most brilliant knowledge he has to impart.
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" she asks.
"I don't know. But if you want, I can lend you Wilson's decoder ring," he says, jamming his thumb towards Wilson's office, "I think he keeps it in his desk drawer. I could be wrong..."
"Not helping..." she says, sitting down, the room starting to spin about.
"Of course I'm helping," he says with a grin.
She hears him, but there is an echo, the overlap ringing in her ears just over the pounding of the blood in her veins. One voice tinged with cheeky amusement and one with desperation. She is caught in a tunnel of finely spun webs. Sitting there, she feels as if she is falling through a void, and she's sure if she doesn't find the ground, she'll crumble. She tries to focus, the voice of a little girl wanting to be a ballerina primly telling her to find her spot. She can feel tears prickling at the back of her eyes as the blank whiteboard conjure words, the symptoms as black and ominous as the ones she is sure she is now experiencing.
"The patient is going down fast and if..." Kutner starts. When did he arrive? She tries to breathe, her vision tunnels, and her chest feels like it's in a vise. She needs to get out.
She pushes her way past Kutner and Dr. Hadley, and stumbles her way toward the bathroom. Rationality was never a question mark in her life until fear came into play. She stares at herself in the mirror, her face damp with tears and water from the sink in front of her. She keeps the faucet running, the acoustics in the room make for an abysmal soundtrack for her psychosis, but it helps to drown out her thoughts.
She knows she can't hide out here forever, but she's not ready to face anyone. The air in the room feels dense and is hard to swallow, leaving her struggling for a breath. And even while she's gasping for air, she can't stand to look at her reflection, ashamed of what she might be becoming.
As soon as she turns around, she is startled to find House right in front of her. Her eyes are wide with fear, and she doesn't know whether she is glad that he found her when he did, or incredibly scared that he knew where to find her and that he might know what she's been trying to deny herself all day. Her vision is blurring and she has no idea where the next breath might come from. And then suddenly, he is kissing her and she's allowing it. His arms are wrapped around her, hugging her body firmly to his; and his lips are warm and pliant. It's so fiercely intimate, how he is clinging to her, and she to him; and how languidly his tongue breathes across hers that she loses herself in the moment, and forgets about everything and everyone.
She feels dizzy and doesn't want to open her eyes when they finally break apart, as his arms slowly drop away from her. But she feels his breath tickle across her open mouth and caress her cheek. She thinks of romanticized versions of fairy tales where princes wake princesses with a kiss. The idea has always seemed ludicrous, but she understands the concept, because she can finally breathe after kissing House.
It takes her a moment to collect herself, but when she does finally open her eyes, she finds herself still facing the mirror, the reflection of herself and Dr. Hadley at the bathroom door, staring back at her.
"House sent me to check on you," Hadley's reflection informs her.
Cameron leans heavily on the counter in front of her. She can't help the soft bubble of hysterical laughter that escapes. Of course, it wasn't real. She's lost track of what is, and what isn't long ago, but she's not sure if this just started today, or if she only started to take notice today. She wants to cry, but her face is still damp from the tap, so differentiating between the two is just as complex as asking her to find the truth between the lines of the worlds she finds herself trapped inside.
"You're not going crazy," Hadley says, her voice laced with an unshakeable confidence.
"Says the doctor who's in my head," Cameron mutters to the sink, turning off the tap, mesmerized by the swirling of the water as it sinks down the drain. She looks up again to see Hadley standing uncomfortably a few feet away, a paper towel outstretched in her hand.
"I'm fine," she says finally, accepting the towel and dabbing her face. She's suddenly struck with how much she hates herself. Learning that she can hate to admit her flaws is one thing, but suddenly learning more about herself, and knowing at what lengths she would go to hide them is another. No wonder she can't stand to look at her own reflection. She's found her very own jabberwocky, a distortion of herself, and it's truly grotesque. It cuts so deep and so sharp, she can still feel it throbbing within her heart.
"House wanted me to take you to the patient's room. Said it would help you piece everything together," Hadley adds, as they make their way out of the restroom.
"I don't know what he wants," Cameron says, her aggravation with herself coating her stomach with razor-like burdens.
"You'll figure it out when you get there," Hadley replies, plainly. Her vagueness is as annoying as the weatherman who's always foreseeing partially cloudy with a slight chance of rain.
Cameron is so distracted by the allusiveness that is surrounding this case that it takes her a second to realize they are heading toward the elevators.
"Why are we taking the elevator?" Cameron asks, looking behind her where all the other patients were currently residing.
"The patient's not on this floor."
"I got that from the elevators," she says, looking at Hadley, who just remains staring at the numbers above the elevator doors. "But why isn't the patient on this floor? What else aren't you telling me?"
"Did you read the file?" Hadley asks, glancing over at Cameron as if she doubts she actually looked at the file.
"Of course I did. But, there wasn't much there. Things would probably go much faster if someone actually answered my questions. Like, why was the patient even admitted in the first place?" Cameron asks, only to be met by silence. Her frustration is thick between her lips like lemons, making her squeeze her eyes shut tightly, trying to not let it overcome her.
The ping of the elevator reverberates in the air between them, breaking the silence, as the metal doors slide open. They both step in, and Dr. Hadley pushes the button for the first floor. It is only a few seconds before the silence is broken once again.
"I'm sorry," Hadley says, her voice echoes within the small confines of the elevator's cold walls. The echoes wavering between professional indifference and another tinged with deep sorrow, until the tones slowly dissipate like smoke from a funeral pyre. It throws Cameron completely off that it takes her a second to catch up with the rest of what Dr. Hadley is saying. "You'll figure it out. I was only there because of House."
The doors open, and Cameron stands there in the empty elevator for a moment. An image of Hadley and Kutner arguing with her by the nurse's station pass beneath her lids like a flash of lightning, a memory so clear and stark, and yet only leaving darkness in its wake. She quickly shakes her head to regain her bearings and steps out of the elevator just before the doors can shut her in again.
She has to jog to catch up with Hadley, and with just those few steps she feels like she just ran a marathon, her heart is beating fast against her chest and her lungs are desperate for air.
"What does House have to do with all of this? And what does this have to do with the patient?" Cameron asks, her voice as tight as her chest. An irrational sense of fear wells within the pit of her stomach as soon as she realizes they are heading right back to the place she left earlier. The ER.
"You won't like the answers we give you," Kutner answers, suddenly appearing behind her.
"I'm not liking the answers you're giving me now," she says, stopping just outside of the ER. She knows somehow that if she steps through those doors, she won't like what she finds. So, she stubbornly waits outside for Hadley and Kutner to either answer her questions or simply tell her what the hell is going on; because it's easier for her to wait for answers than it is for her to ignore the rapid loss of her own grasp on reality.
"Well?" She prompts, when she is met by silence.
"You know how it works. You used to work for him," Kutner supplies, suddenly willing to speak up.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her hands propping themselves upon her hips.
"It means you should have been here ten minutes ago," House's voice booms from her side, his arm holding open the door to the ER.
Cameron glares at him, as if this whole day is somehow his fault. She's sick. And after all, his specialty is infectious diseases and he has somehow wormed his way inside her world. So, it's his fault that her skin is crawling, and her blood is surging through her veins so fast that it feels as if her heart might pump right out of her chest. He should know. He should know what's wrong with her, and he's not saying a thing. He should have butted in by now, felt her forehead, given her strange looks. He should be asking her inappropriate personal questions like what her favorite sexual position is, and saying it might be medically relevant. But instead, he's leading her back to Mr. Michael's room like they are taking a Sunday stroll. This isn't right. This isn't right at all.
"House, this isn't funny," she replies. He's supposed to be a genius. He's supposed to pick up on these things.
"No, it's not meant to be. But we need you to go in there and fight for the patient," House says, his back to the door.
"But Mr. Samuals is..."
"No, not Samuals."
"Then what? Who?" Cameron asks, confused, her eyes darting anywhere and everywhere for answers. It's the first time she takes notice of how quiet the ER actually is since she entered with House. Darting her eyes to the nurse's station, she blinks. Her head feels full, as images swirl like a merry go round, fast and bright beneath her lids, making her dizzy and her stomach burn. At the nurse's station, her and House talking and arguing then later Hadley and Kutner arguing with her. Then over near curtain one, the two of them arguing with one of her nurses, Shelly, back outside of Mr. Samuals' room, her and Shelly discussing Mr. Samuals' case. Then her going into Mr. Samuals' room, the door closing, the flash, the pain, 32 year old female her mind supplies...
"No," she whispers, stumbling back from the weight of it all, turning her gaze once again to House. The lacrimation of her fears are clearly written in the prose across her tear stained cheeks.
"No," she whispers again, as if it will make the reality stay forever locked in a box of her own design. The trickery they must have used on Pandora must have been just as cruel, she thinks fleetingly, as House reaches his hand up and cups her cheek, wiping her tears away with a weathered thumb.
"You have to go back," he says softly, his eyes begging her to fight.
"I... I can't," She chokes out, leaning into his touch. Her eyelids feel heavy, and time seems to slow as she sees an eternity in his eyes. A blink seems to take a lifetime, and in that infinitesimal moment before lid meets lid, she hears his soft whisper of, "I'm sorry." Flashes of moments of before and now collide together: the pain in her side and chest, the rolling nausea and trouble breathing, the looks and echoes of worry and concern, House's lips on hers, and it's over an instant later as light floods her vision, and pain sears through her.
She blinks, and tries not to cry out in pain, but it hurts to breathe. She tries to focus and look around, but it's hard, and the only color she can focus on is red. She can feel her blood pooled on the floor beneath her, and she's trying not to panic over how much she has already lost. She tries to turn her head to find help, but pain scorches through her gut and chest, and she shuts her eyes tight and cries out softly. She feels a hand still pressed against her cheek, and she opens her eyes to find House looking down at her. He is speaking to her and it takes her a while til she can really focus on him, her eyes refusing to stay open, as the pain seems to intensify.
"Hey, look at me," he demands, his eyes piercing hers, begging. "Everything's going to be alright." But his voice seems to lack its normal confidence when his hands are stained with her blood.
"You.. don't know that," she replies. She doesn't have the time to find the irony in her words as her world then turns to black.
THE END