House limped over to his car and got in, contemplating what he should do next as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and exhaled a puff of air. A hint of Cameron's perfume lingered in the confines of the small space, something that reminded him of almonds and jasmine and that he would forever after associate with her. It hovered like a ghost, and he turned toward the passenger seat half expecting to see her there. Instead he caught a glimpse of something white on the floorboard, peeking out from beneath the seat.

The corsage.

He plucked the delicate flower off the floor, wondering how it came to be there. Had she removed it and left it on purpose or had it fallen off without her notice? Discarding it so carelessly seemed cruel, even for the new version of Cameron he'd seen tonight. She had to have known that buying it had been a hugely uncomfortable thing for him to do. He'd anguished over the choices presented to him until concluding that the half opened white roses were the perfect choice. White, for Cameron's youth and innocence. Roses, not fully bloomed, because they symbolized romance and beginnings. Despite the fact that he'd screwed it all up, his intentions had been good.

One look at her hopeful face, the way she'd touched the flowers pinned to her dress and smiled at him, and he'd panicked, wondering what the hell she was doing there. With him. He was dressed up in a suit and a tie that he was certain was a distant relative of the boa constrictor. And they'd been seated right smack in the center of the restaurant, where he was sure everyone in the place was staring and wondering why this beautiful young thing was there with...him. In so many ways, the whole scenario was wrong. She was too young, too optimistic, too...nice, and all he wanted was to just get through the evening and be done with anything that had to do with, well, romance.

And then she'd asked him flat out about his feelings for her. Right. Like he was ever going to admit to feelings.

He figured she would take the corsage home and press it into a book or whatever it was that sentimental women like Cameron did with flowers. It looked so lonely on the floor of his car, a living symbol of rejection. Maybe she'd left it on purpose. Or maybe she didn't even know it was missing.

Bringing it to her suddenly seemed like the right thing to do. Her reaction would tell him whether or not she'd left it on purpose. And he had to know.

The drive back to her apartment was short. Before he knew it, he was rapping on her door with the handle of his cane, the corsage resting in the palm of his other hand.

She opened the door and peered out at him, eyes wide and tragic, face pale, and her mouth a thin, straight line; a far cry from the feisty, confident woman he'd seen a mere quarter of an hour before. With shaky hands she motioned for him to come in.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping in and laying the forgotten corsage on the lamp table.

She ignored him and paced the room in agitation.

"Cameron," he said firmly, reaching out and taking her by the arm, forcing her to face him.

"House," she said, as if she only just realized who was standing in her living room.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, keeping his hold on her.

"I...I got a message. It's...I have to go home. My dad collapsed. He's in the ICU, but they don't know what's wrong with him yet. I have to go home." She pulled away from him and ran her fingers through her hair as she started pacing again. "I'm gonna need some time off."

He nodded and watched as she seemed to lose herself in thoughts and plans, oblivious to his presence.

"I...I need to pack some things. Oh, I should probably book my flight first. Gotta ask Glenda to get my mail. It's late though, she's probably already in bed. I'll need to call for the shuttle. Maybe I can just..."

She was babbling almost nonsensically now. He'd never seen her like this, so completely unraveled. Somehow it made him feel unsettled, antsy, as if he was coming down from a high. Reaching out for her again, he took both her slender arms in his hands and waited for her to meet his eyes.

"Cameron, I'll book your flight. You go pack."

She nodded, fighting back tears and stepping away from him. She was halfway down the hall to her bedroom when she turned back to look at him, a sadness in her eyes that pierced through the hard veneer surrounding his heart.

"I...I can't lose him," she murmured.

He clenched, his right hand gripping his cane so tight he feared it might snap from the pressure, and lowered his head in a half nod. It was all he could do in the face of her fear.

As soon as she disappeared into her bedroom, he pulled out his cell phone and called the airline, jotting down information on a pad of paper he found lying on her kitchen counter. He booked her a first class round trip ticket with an open ended return date and paid for it with his own credit card.

Her flight was scheduled to leave in less than three hours, and it would take them an hour to get to the airport. He hobbled toward her bedroom to let her know.

She sat on the bed next to an open suitcase that was half filled with clothes, a forlorn and faraway look on her face.

"Cameron" He pushed her suitcase aside and sat beside her. When she barely took notice of him, he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. The vague realization that he'd touched her more tonight than in the entire year he'd known her floated through his mind like a cumulous cloud on a windy day. "You have to finish packing if we're gonna make it to the airport on time."

Swallowing hard and nodding, she stood again and began tossing more clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. After watching her throw in a pair of maroon stockings and a swimsuit, he figured he'd better step in or she'd have nothing appropriate to wear. In other circumstances, he'd mock her for her packing skills, but right now he had to figure out some way to bring her out of this worry induced stupor.

Plucking out the swimsuit, he held it up for inspection. "I'm sure your dad's doctors will appreciate this," he said with a suggestive leer. "Although I'd much prefer you in a two piece. Why don't our patients' loved ones ever show up in swim wear?"

She snatched it out of his grasp and stuffed it back into the open drawer, color rising up her face and over her cheekbones like morning sunlight. Then she slumped down onto the bed next to him again, weighed down by worry.

"House," she whispered, "my dad's always been the strong one. The one that held us all together. What am I gonna do if..."

"Don't," he interrupted. "You don't even know what's wrong yet. It could be any number of curable things. Being a doctor, you know that better than anyone." He wanted to touch her, comfort her, press her cheek into his neck, stroke her hair, and tell her everything would be okay. God, what a sap.

Abruptly, he stood up and made his way toward the hall before he could put his thoughts into actions. The last thing he needed was a vulnerable Allison Cameron suddenly thinking he was in love with her.

"Finish packing," he murmured, not meeting her eyes. "I'll drive you to the airport."

She emerged moments later, dragging her suitcase behind her and looking as if she had pulled herself together somewhat.

"Ready?" he asked.

Nodding, she grabbed her purse and shoved it into her carry on bag. As they headed out the door, she laid her hand gently on his arm and whispered, "Thanks, House."

He just nodded and took her bag from her shoulder and led her to his car.