House had never seen Cameron this pale. While it was true his Immunologist wasn't exactly known for her straight-from-the-beach tan, she certainly never looked this deathly ill.

Though, House figured, nearly getting raped and assaulted by a sociopath will do that to a person. Sitting in a chair at the side of her bed, House let his thoughts drift. It wasn't hard to see what Chase saw in her - what anyone could see in her. She was a genuinely nice, caring person.

Yes, often times she got too invested in the personal lives of her patients, and her moral code could defiantly use some reworking. There was that whole needing to fix everyone complex she had going, and her ability to stir up drama rivaled that of an eighth-grade girl's.

Still, House knew she was an intricate part of what made his team functional.

"...'ase..." the young woman in question turned her head towards him and shifted her right arm slightly. House lifted his chin from where it'd been resting on his cane to listen, choosing to say nothing. "Chase?" The word was still a whisper, but it was definitely audible.

"Nope," he answered, tone sarcastic despite the low level of his voice. "Good guess, though."

"House?" She was awake and coherent enough to identify his voice. That, at least, was a good sign.

"Present."

"Wha-" she opened her eyes, but shut them again almost immediately, groaning.

Wincing sympathetically at her pain, then for real at his own, he got up gingerly and crossed her private hospital room to switch off the overhead lights.

"See," the word came out as a hiss as he lowered himself back onto the chair, but she was far too out of it to notice. "Much cozier."

"Wha's goin' on?" She mumbled, opening her eyes again after a moment or two, but didn't try to sit up.

"What do you remember?" He inquired, slipping into his best doctor imitation, not letting any of his own emotions become readable.

There was a long pause in which, if her eyes weren't still open and fixed steadily on the ceiling, the shadows cast off from the moon outside, House would have thought she'd fallen back into unconsciousness.

"Our...our patient." She eventually answered, lowering her eyes to meet his. He nodded briefly, encouraging her to keep going. "Anna. Her...her father was abusing her. You diagnosed psychosomatic migraines and PTSD."

"Right." He kept his tone neutral.

"I went in to check on her. Her meds..." she trailed off, closing her eyes briefly, remembering. "The father came back." her eyes were wide. "He had a knife."

"Yes."

"He attacked me." Her eyes focused on his again. "He...he tried, he was going to..."

Up until this point, House had been fairly set on her recalling the events of tonight on her own. Be it because he believed it would be helpful for her, on a therapeutic level, or because he himself didn't want to speak them aloud. That was for the interpreter to decide.

Only now, with fear clearly her only overriding emotion, he stepped up and took control. "He didn't." House spoke firmly, hoping that the level calm of his tone would ease any panic attacks pushing to break free.

"Foreman came in. He attacked him, stopped him. Then…he…the guy…he attacked Foreman, there was blood." She sounded detached, caught up in remembering. "So much blood. Then I heard you. Then Chase…Chase was next me. You guys saved me."

"We distracted him." House amended. "You were already hurt pretty bad. You passed out with Chase. The ER set your arm, two breaks. Your ankle was one clean one, and you fractured your cheek bone. It'll be swollen for a while, but nothing the Wombat can't work around."

Her slight, and probably painful, smile was all he received for his dig at their relationship.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and eyed his bandaged arm critically when he nodded, but moved on. "And Foreman?"

"Foreman..." House trailed off. "Foreman's not so good."

Her desperately pleading eyes made him fold in an instant. "Multiple stab wounds. Internal bleeding. Perforated his lung and small intestine, at least. They're not sure if he'll make it through surgery. Chase is down there."

"Oh, God." Tears welled up in her eyes, and House didn't want to see any more grief.

"Look," he sighed, "You shouldn't even be awake right now. I told Chase you'd be out for another couple hours. So, I'm gonna give you a sedative-"

"No." Cameron responded at once. "No, No I wanna go see how Foreman's doing." She attempted to sit up at this point, only to be held firmly in place.

"Absolutely not." House commanded. "You're not going anywhere."

"But Foreman-"

"Is being taken care of."

"What about Anna's father?" Cameron sudden question led House to the conclusion that maybe his sole female employee wasn't doing as good as he'd suspected.

Still he answered, "He's dead."

"How-"

"In the fight, after you passed out." He dismissed her confusion. "I'm injecting the sedative now. You'll sleep for a while."

And then he did just that, relaxing a little himself with the knowledge that, for now at least, Cameron was safe.

o0oo0o

"Blunt force trauma." Wilson repeated, absorbing the words - their meaning - as he said them aloud. "With what?"

He saw Cuddy shaking her head slightly out of the corner of his eye, but did not agree with her silent refusal of acceptance - he needed to know.

"The details," the police officer sounded hesitant for the first time since sitting down with them, "Still aren't completely clear. Dr. House still needs to give his statement in full, like I said. Dr. Chase does, as well. If Dr. Foreman...well, if possible, we'll need to speak to him, too."

"Did House-"

"Wilson." Cuddy's tone was sharp, her words cutting. "Don't."

The Oncologist was not one for self-denial, though. He wanted all the facts. He didn't care what it cost him. Not yet.

"Did Greg House... Did he kill that guy?"

TBC…