A/N: Going to be a short one tonight! I meant to have this up on Thursday night, but upon finishing school I found I needed about two days to catch up on sleep from all the all-nighters I'd pulled this semester. I passed all of my classes, and walked out of this semester with a 3.8 GPA, something I wasn't counting on as I had the biology class from hell. The good news is, I'm all caught up on sleep and severely doped up on Vicodin (I feel like House, only it's my bad back, not my leg) so the creative thoughts are flowing! I'll have another chapter up early in the week! Thank you to everyone who reviewed my last chapter, and all 100+ of you who have this story on alert. Keep the reviews coming! Enjoy!

Chapter 10 (House)

"Detox"

Your Vicodin lasts you until day number six on the island.

You had been cutting the remaining pills in half at first, then quarters, but the inevitable you were dreading had arrived. It wasn't so bad at first, since you had a hefty enough dosage from the past week roaring through your system. You began to hope your rescue would come in time, and that you could avoid the misery sure to come. Cameron however, told you to prepare yourself.

You know she's right. You know it's going to be bad, and no amount of positive thought is going to make it any better. There's not going to be a magic orderly to bribe, and no pills to ease your sorrows. You'll have nothing to do by face your demons, and that thought alone scares the hell out of you.

You wake up on day seven thinking the rain from outside has saturated your shelter, and that's why your clothes are completely soaked, and you're freezing your ass off. You wish it were that easy of a situation though, as you realize the tent is completely dry, and it was YOU that sweat so much you soaked your clothes completely through. Your hands are shaking as you push yourself up into sitting position, but you immediately lie back down as vertigo overtakes your body, and your world spins in circles.

You look around for Cameron, and realize she must be off collecting breakfast, or water – it was suppose to be her turn, you think – and sigh heavily, hoping long deep breaths will help your stomach, which is currently churning in anger. You walk as quickly as you can to the nearest bush, drop to your knees (as painful as it was) and moan.

Seven days … seven fucking days – one entire week has gone by and you're still in the same situation. The same situation that you assured Cameron would pass quickly, as you tried to calm her down from hysterical wreck to hopeful individual.

"It's going to take them awhile to search the general area Cameron. Don't lose hope!"

"It's okay Cameron, it's only been two days, they'll still be looking for us, they have to be!"

"They're probably just taking a break to regroup and draw out new search plans Cameron. Even search teams need to rest – they'll be here soon."

"They'll be here Allison. It's been five days – they should be narrowing in on our area as I speak. They'll see the fire and come rescue us."

But truth be told?

You too were finding it harder and harder to hold out on hope. You had rested for the first two days, letting the wound in your leg heal some, but neither of you had let the fire die down in hopes that the rescue team would spy the trail of smoke drifting into the sky. You knew once they realized your bodies were missing, they'd search. They must have known the plane had been off course, and that they needed to search in a certain hundred mile radius from the crash site, right?

You keep telling yourself that up until day six, when it is Cameron that snaps herself out of the haze she'd been in (delayed shock, you guessed) – crying and staring into space the entire time – and quickly adopted the realist behavior that was responsible for the two of you being alive right now and not dead from hypothermia, shock or dehydration.

The two of you had ventured into the jungle that sixth day, intrigued by the sound of running water, and pure curiosity. You'd both been delighted to find a pool of fresh water, with a small waterfall cascading down a set of brown rocks. The two of you had briefly forgotten your situation, and waded into the blue pool, taking solace in the salt-free water and chance to relax. When you were finished, you'd also realized you were surrounded by hundreds of trees growing enough fruit to last a small village a decade. The two of you had loaded up the bag you'd brought with fruit, filled a large container with water, and set off to your makeshift camp, somewhat happier than when you'd left.

You'd both sat down around the fire, had some of your meager supplies for dinner, then sat in comfortable silence as you watched the sun sink into the horizon, the birds singing happily in the jungle behind you.

That night when you'd gone to bed, you didn't think twice about taking Cameron into your arms, as you settled down to sleep. It was an unspoken gesture - one that neither of you talked about, but took comfort in.

"How charming House. Is the steady diet of coconuts, bananas and power bars getting to you? I'm sure that plant appreciates the added nutrients."

You just moan again as you keep your head inside the confines of a very nice fern, showing the pathetic looking plant what you had for dinner last night.

"House?"

You feel Cameron's hand on your shoulder, and notice her voice has taken on a tone of worry. You pull yourself up from your position over the plant, and the look on Cameron's face as you turn to her lets you know you probably look as bad as you currently feel.

"Oh God, House …"

You just nod and pull yourself into a standing position, leaning into Cameron as she puts her arm around your shoulder. She helps you walk back to the shelter on the beach. You sit down next to her once inside, and she turns from regular old Cameron, into Dr. Cameron. You meekly watch as she grabs your wrist, checking your pulse. The shaking, cold sweats and vertigo returns with a vengeance and you put yourself back into a supine position, and close your eyes to avoid Cameron's concerned stare. You hear her say something about you being as pale as a sheet, but you don't care. You aren't sure if you have the courage to withstand this.

"There didn't happen to be any methadone in those bags we found, right? An island methadone clinic would be a change over the confines of large Marge at the detox clinic back home!" You laugh to yourself, your voice vibrating with the shaking of your body. Your weak attempt at sarcasm to hide the pain in your voice falls on deaf ears, however.

Cameron just looks at you, and shakes her head. She moves a bit closer to you, and brushes the hair off your forehead with her hand. You're about to ask her what the hell she thinks she is doing, but stop yourself. Any other time you'd be highly embarrassed to have somebody you know see you go through this ordeal, but you think of the alternative, and you're once again glad you've got her here with you. You know this is your chance.

Your shaking hand finds hers.

"Thank you Cameron." Three simple words, but you're proud of yourself (though you're not going to let her know it). You roll onto your stomach and close your eyes – you know you probably won't be able to sleep much once the muscle spasms and pain begin, so you're going to try now.

When you wake hours later, Cameron is still sitting by your side, her hand entwined with yours.