Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

A/N: You reviewed, and now you shall receive! Thanks to everyone who submitted that happy button at the bottom of the page. This chapter gives a lot of answers; actually, it is possible to reconstruct the entire story based on everything you know up to this point. Scary thought, I know. Enjoy!

A/N: Melissa, thanks for all the love you showed this chapter. I appreciate it mucho. Brains!

This wasn't heaven.

A high-pitched mechanical shriek began emitting and suddenly the space above her was flooded with people. Gloves were snapped on and sleeves pushed back. A plastic mask was slipped onto her face, and she found herself shifting in and out of consciousness, hovering somewhere between light and dark, perhaps even the eternal kind. Was this purgatory?

But no, it couldn't be. Though she could no longer see anything but darkness, she could still hear voices. The voices shouted to each other, they shouted to no one, and sometimes they even shouted to her, or so it seemed. Something was being wheeled toward her; footsteps were scurrying out of the way to make room for whatever it was. Plastic scraped plastic and then she felt the sensation of something pressed on her chest. It moved, sliding along something too slippery to be her skin, until it touched whatever its operator was waiting for.

"There!" shouted a female voice that she vaguely recognized. "It's there. Embolism, in her right lung."

A new sound entered the fray: the distinctive thunk! sound of wood hitting title. Someone else was moving toward her, though this person's pace was much slower, much less frantic.

"Pulmonary embolism," he drawled, sounding almost bored by the words coming from his mouth. "That wasn't caused by the accident."

"Never mind what caused it!" snapped the first voice, as someone else yelled violently, "What the hell are you doing in here?"

Hell. The word stirred in her brain. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, and she couldn't comprehend what was happening to her. Pain seared in her chest, choking her from the inside out. Someone leaned close to her and said something, but their words were indiscernible; she had already lost the ability to hear properly.

The realization dawned on her. This could only be hell.

The pitch of the mechanical shriek increased in frequency and volume. "We need to get her to surgery immediately!"

"Wait!" said another voice.

"House, what are you doing?"

"I told you she sent those flowers to herself."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look at this."

"It's a syringe, so what?"

"It's been depressed, like air was forced through it. Air that might have entered one's bloodstream, causing a potentially fatal embolism, something every other half-brained doctor would know."

"What are you saying?"

"House, we don't have time for this!"

"I'm saying that she did this to herself."

Silence filled the room – and then a single shrill beep cut through the air.

"She's in v-fib! Paddles, let's go!"

A machine charged.

"Clear!"

A man brushed past her as she hurried down the stairs to the E.R. The charts she had been carrying flew from her hands and scattered on the ground. She immediately dropped down to pick them up and was surprised to find him on the ground helping her.

"I'm sorry," he said as he handed a stack of charts back to her. It sounded sincere, which surprised her; most people in this hospital weren't as friendly as the ones she had left behind. "I hope I didn't cause you too much trouble." He looked directly at her. She couldn't help but notice that he was rather good-looking.

"No, no, it's fine," she answered, feeling her breath catch in her throat. He was smiling at her, which made him seem only more attractive. He had an easy-going nature about him that seemed to exude confidence. He straightened up first, and then offered his hand to her. She took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

"George Harmon," he introduced himself, shaking her hand. "I work in radiology."

"Allison Cameron," she responded. "I just started in the E.R."

"Well, then, welcome!" Though he had stopped shaking her hand, he had not dropped it. Even when his pager went off a moment later, he grabbed it with only one hand. He looked at it and frowned. "I'm sorry, I have to go. 911 page, you know how it is." He released her hand at last. "I expect I'll be seeing you around, Allison." He gave her one last, lingering smile as he turned to go.

"No change, charge again!"

She was standing in the shower, furiously scrubbing at her skin. Though it was already rubbed raw, she continued to drag the washcloth across it forcefully. No matter how much she washed, she could not get rid of the sensation that she was somehow dirty. As she moved the washcloth up and down her leg, she suddenly cried out in pain. The top of her right leg was covered in bruises. She glanced quickly at her left leg, which looked just as bad. She could not understand this. She had no memory of being hurt whatsoever.

As she leaned over to wash further down her leg, she became more aware of the aching pain in her back, as though she had slept in an uncomfortable position for a long time. She moved one hand to the small of her back and straightened up slowly, uncurling her spine in an attempt to stretch it out. It felt a little better, but still stiff. She frowned.

She stood in the shower for a long time, until the hot water had run out and she was standing under a spray of ice-cold liquid. She finally switched off the water and stood dripping on the bathmat. Wrapping a towel around herself, she began to dry her body with fervor, as though whatever lingering filth remained could be wiped away by terrycloth. Though she didn't realize it at the time, the tainted feeling that she felt would never truly leave her.

"It's been fifteen minutes."

"That's nothing, charge it again. Come on, clear!"

"Allison!"

Halfway to her car, she whirled around to see who had called her name. She was filled with dread when she saw who was standing opposite her, ten feet away. Harmon was leaning on his car nonchalantly. It looked like he had been waiting for her.

"You've been avoiding me." Though his tone was light, there was something undeniably sinister about it. "I haven't seen you since our first date."

"I…" She found herself at a loss for words. It was true: She had been avoiding him, though she couldn't bring herself to admit it.

"Didn't you like the flowers I sent?"

"Oh…um, yes, they were nice," she stammered. The note that had come with the bouquet was in her pocket. She had already memorized the three words that he had written: No hard feelings.

"Just nice?" he asked. He took a step closer to her as she unconsciously took a few steps back. "You have to do better than that."

"I –I don't…" For some reason, she found herself utterly incapable of forming a coherent sentence. She could not understand her sudden inability to speak, or why she was filled with what was unmistakably fear.

He was close enough to her now to touch her. He didn't, though, instead keeping his hands at his sides. His eyes raked the roots of her hair. "You should really get that re-dyed, you know."

"Still no change, let's go again!"

"Allison, are you coming? We're going to be late!"

"No, you go ahead!" she called from upstairs. "I can't find my wallet." She heard the door open and then slam shut. Her eyes searched the room swiftly; it was a mess. She finally found her wallet on the ground underneath a pile of shirts. She carefully grabbed a card from her dresser and stuffed it into her jacket pocket.

The bus was pulling up just as she reached the stop. She boarded hurriedly and found a seat by the window so she could see when to get off. After ten minutes, she spotted the familiar sign. When she entered, the shop was the same as she had always remembered it. Colorful displays lined the windows and walls; the shop prided itself on displaying the most varieties in Princeton.

She selected one of the objects on display and brought it to the counter to pay. The cashier nodded approvingly. "This is a beautiful arrangement," she gushed. "Is it for someone special?"

"You could say that," she replied.

"Is there a note to go with it?"

She pulled the card out of her pocket and handed it to the cashier, who immediately found an envelope to seal it in. The cashier then set the envelope among the petals of the bouquet.

"You're going to make someone really happy with this one, I promise you that."

"Don't you think we should-"

"No, we're not calling it! She's not – she can't be-"

"Chase, it's been half an hour. Her brain can't take much more of this."

"Please, just try again. Try it one more time. Please!"

"Charging…Clear!"

As soon as she saw the car approaching her, she knew what she had to do. She released the hand she was holding, though she was unaware of having done so. When the car came into view, she looked determinately into the eyes of the driver and then ran straight into the oncoming vehicle. There was a sensation of pain before everything she felt herself falling into the impending darkness.

"Time of death…"

The needle hit her leg and she quickly depressed the syringe. The trapped air shot into her bloodstream. She felt herself losing consciousness and the syringe slipped from her hand. She fell back against the pillow as the embolism traveled to her lung. There was a high-pitched mechanical shriek.

"…12:39 a.m."

A/N: And...cue anger. Outrage? Confusion? Give me a review (pretty please) and tell me how you're feeling! Next chapter is the last one, and it will be an epilogue. It has already been written and beta'd - I just have to make changes based on Melissa's comments. I can guarantee the chapter will be posted sometime in the next week, though. Thanks!