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Unnecessary disclaimer: None of the characters, storylines, or dialogue appearing in the TV show "House, M. D." belong to me.

Abstract: Cameron returns home after a long absence. Takes place before "Bea's Heart".

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She ran her hand along the slatted wooden siding, an overwhelming feeling of familiarity assaulting her senses, though the white paint was not as chipped and crackling as she remembered in her childhood. It had been replaced during more prosperous times—the roadside flower stands and Christmas tree sales had gained popularity in the years since she'd left home. It had all ended when her father died, however, and soon it would revert to the same level of disrepair. Everything in cycles, she thought.

She followed the path of the porch, creaking in all the familiar places, as it wound around the side of the house to join with the wide deck in back. Her mind was filled with memories of races around the house and games of tag being played on these very planks.

As she reached the back of the house, a wide view of the woods opened up to her, and she breathed in deeply, drinking in its scent. It made her ache with the strong feeling of home.

It was the very smell of nature. A variety of trees (her father could have picked out each of them by sight or smell even though she couldn't) coupled with the scent of moist dirt and fresh grass.

She had arrived around at the back door, but she couldn't enter the house just yet. The woods—her woods—were calling to her.

She crunched the leaves beneath her trainers as she moved between the trees. Though she went deep enough to lose sight of the house, she never worried about losing her way. She could never be lost here, no matter how the woods changed with seasons and time. She followed the path subconsciously, her feet moving of their own accord towards their destination.

And soon it stood in front of her: the treehouse. She remembered the excitement of waiting for it to be finished; the weeks her grandfather spent on it had felt more like years to her young mind. The older kids got to help build, but she, being the youngest, was told that it was too dangerous for her. Eventually, after she had begged and begged, he allowed her to hammer in a single nail of the tree-trunk ladder.

Lost in memory, she ran her fingers carefully along the boards. This was her nail, she decided, or was it the one below it? She wasn't sure anymore, and there was no one left to ask. Grandfather had been gone for many years, and he was the only one who would remember.

She turned to head back to the house. It had been a long time since she had been here, and she berated herself for staying away so long. But places like this held many memories, not all of them good. Though she had successfully ignored them for many years, she now had no choice but to come home.

You can't escape your past, Allison. It's your past that dictates your future. Grandfather, who had lived and died here like his father before him, had told her that, and after so many years she was only now beginning to understand it.

Soon, she was out of the woods, the farmhouse looming large before her, a specter that had danced in her dreams and memories for so many years. This time it was real, and she had no choice but to enter. She had a responsibility now, to her only remaining family.

She moved slowly, experiencing a different memory with each step. She passed the porch swing, remembering sweet summer date nights under the stars, and secrets shared between cousins who promised to always be best friends. All her firsts were here—first confidences, first kiss, first breakup, even her first proposal. These bittersweet remembrances filled her heart as she came closer towards the door. When she reached it, the reality truly hit her; that her future as well as her past would be awaiting her inside.

She wasn't quite sure she was ready for it, but she knew there was no more time to waste. She had to enter and greet a future that she knew would hold great sadness, but also the possibility of joy, a possibility that kept her going when things were at their darkest. Hope was in her nature; she couldn't stifle her optimism any easier than she could stop breathing. The door creaked as she opened it slowly, the sudden sound causing her heartbeat to quicken.

"Allison?" came the call from another room.

"Yes, Mom," she responded. "I'm home." She was home—and in spite of everything, she was glad.

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