Author's Note: All right, here it is...the final chapter of "The Nervous Game." It's been a long and twisting road, and there have been bumps in the road (coughcoughWriter'sBlockcoughcough), but I finally managed to end it. But, I need your help...I'm debating whether or not to put up an epilogue. When you review, let me know what you think about that, and, of course, this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own House, MD, I do not write these fanfics for monetary gain, and I am clearly stating that, so...you can't sue. Nah nah nah nah nah nah!

game (n)- an organized athletic program or contest

The next time I saw Cameron, it was a beautiful spring day, about three weeks after the end of the first trial, and a week since the sentencing hearing. I entered the New Jersey Women's Correctional Facility at about one o'clock in the afternoon, and was led to a long row of chairs, each separated from another row of chairs opposite them by a thick plate of glass. Each seating area was separated by a stone wall, upon which hung a telephone.

"She'll be brought out in a moment," the guard told me as I sat down where he'd directed me to. I nodded and thanked him as he walked off, and sat back to wait. A few minutes later, Cameron was led out by another guard on the other side of the glass, and led to the seat opposite me. She wore an orange jumpsuit, a loose, bulky garment that hung off her skin-and-bones frame, and had her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her eyes were sunken in and glassy, there was a yellowing bruise on the side of her head, and she moved slowly, rubbing her forehead wearily and picking up the phone. I did the same, and she greeted me without enthusiasm. "Hey, Foreman."

"Hey," I replied quietly. We sat in silence a moment while I looked her over once more and she just sat and stared off into space. "Um, so...how are you?"

Cameron gave a bitter, biting laugh at that. "Just peachy," she replied, her voice full of contempt. "Prison is great. Crappy food, getting the shit beaten out of you your first day, crying yourself to sleep at night. I don't know why I didn't kill Chase sooner."

"Hey, hey...come on, don't talk like that," I said, narrowing my eyes and attempting a soothing tone. She glared at me in response, so I tried humor next. "Would a conjugal visit help?"

She looked up in surprise, and I wiggled my eyebrows at her, finally extracting a laugh from her sullen lips. "Thanks, but no thanks."

I shrugged. "Well, I tried."

She put a hand up against the glass, and said softly, "Really, thank you."

I smiled and, though it seemed utterly cliche, put my hand up to the glass, too, the closest I could get to a comforting touch. "No problem."

She smiled and dropped her hand a few moments later. "Have I missed anything important?"

I thought this over, deciding what to tell her. House had recently begun interviewing, having to now fill two positions with the best of the best, the tops of the medical school classes, the most talented young doctors he could find. He had been quieter lately, too, and the hospital seemed like a place of mourning nowadays. And there was the little fact that I was considering leaving my job for another. I ws beginning to feel suffocated at Princeton-Plainsboro, drowning in the torrent of memories and emotions. I hadn't been offered anything at that point, but felt confident I could find something, anything, better than what I had. "Uh, not too much."

Cameron gave me a knowing look, and asked, "House find anyone yet?"

I sighed and shook my head. "He's gone through a few dozen doctors, but..." I paused, then continued slowly, "It seems like he's not just trying to find new employees; he's trying to find replacements for you and Chase. I mean, it's like he wants exact clones of you guys."

"And he'll never find them," she added, a small smile on her face. "Because there's only one me. And there was only one Chase." She looked down, and suddenly said, "Damn...I miss him, Foreman."

In a moment of stupidity, I asked, "Who? House?" I realized the mistake as soon as the words left my lips.

She shook her head vehemently. "Not him...Chase. I really loved him." She looked up and into my eyes, her own pleading for someone to believe in her. "You believe me, don't you?"

I nodded resolutely. "Of course. I could see it when you two were together...and he loved you, too. Probably still does."

"Oh, God, please don't hit me with that now." She held her head in her free hand.

"Hit you with what?"

"The religious stuff. How can you believe in all that? What kind of God would allow all this shit to happen? Would let me kill the man I loved, and have the judicial system of New Jersey lock me up and throw away the key?" She glared at me, furious, and added, "Thanks for coming, Foreman, but you can go now." She moved to hang up the phone and stand up to go.

"Cameron, wait! Just hold on a minute..." I pleaded, and she stood frozen, hesitant and undecided, and finally sunk back into the seat and put the receiver back to her ear. I sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you...I wanted to help." She nodded weakly, silently, so I added, "I'm sorry. Really."

"Maybe it would be easier if I believed in God and heaven, and all of that," she said in reply. "It would give me hope, maybe. It would probably give me some kind of peace, being able to think of Chase in a 'better place.' And I've tried, Foreman, I really have...I've tried to believe all that. But I just keep thinking, 'What better place is there for him but with me?' Why can't we be together, here, on Earth? Why the hell did God take him away from me?" She glared at her hands, then finally added, "And besides, Chase was no Mother Theresa. How can we even be sure he went to heaven? He's probably doing shots with the devil right now, watching a game of rugby, if anything."

I sputtered with laughter, muttering an apology. "Sorry...I know you're having some kind of epiphany moment, or something, but that was funny."

She looked at me, and chuckled quietly, too. "It's all right. Now that I think of what I said...it was pretty good, huh?"

I grinned at her. "Yeah. It was." I glanced at my watch, and cursed quietly. "I'm sorry, Cameron, but I've got to head back to the hospital."

She shook her head and waved a hand. "No problem...go ahead. I don't want you getting fired on account of me."

"Thanks." I smiled and we said our farewells, and I stood to go. A guard came over to walk Cameron back to her cell, and I turned back once. Cameron's eyes caught mine, and we grinned at each other. I could still see the humorous, kind, caring Cameron somewhere in the orange-clad prisoner, and I allowed myself the flitting thought that I had brought that side of her out once more. I raised my hand in a small wave, then turned to leave.

That was the last time I ever saw her.

Later in the day, Cameron was outside with the rest of her fellow inmates, sitting alone at a table, away from the others. Despite what the other prisoners had said, had taunted her with, she was not one of them, and she never would be. She had heard the others talk about their crimes, grisly murders and senseless robberies. Not one of them was innocent, as far as she could gather, and they were more like animals than anything. She sighed and turned her heard, staring wistfully out the high fence of the prison. What she wouldn't give to get the hell out of there!

In her few short weeks at the jail, she had, at least, made one friend: the prison doctor, a woman named Dr. Taylor. She had been the one that had fixed Cameron up after her initiation fight on her first day. Ever since then, Cameron had faked an illness or two, just to go and talk the only other normal person there. And today, she needed to talk. Clasping her stomach with one hand, she wandered over to the guard on duty. "I need to go to the infirmary."

He eyed her warily, then asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"My stomach's killing me, and my head's pounding...it might be serious."

"And what are you...a doctor?" The guard smirked at her unkindly.

Cameron nodded. "I was." He sighed and looked away, so she took his shirt sleeve and begged, "Please. I feel like I'm dying."

He looked her up and down, then beckoned over another guard. "All right. Here, she'll take you."

Cameron smiled weakly and nodded. "Thank you." She allowed the second guard to place handcuffs on her wrists and take her arm, leading her through the prison to the infirmary.

"Got another one for you, Dr. Taylor," the guard announced, leading Cameron into the room. She removed the handcuffs, then moved off silently.

"Allison. Fancy meeting you here." Dr. Taylor smiled and led Cameron to the examination room, and shut the door behind them. She leaned against the door as Cameron took a seat on the table. "So. What's wrong today?"

"My head hurt," Cameron said unconvincingly.

Dr. Taylor nodded knowingly, and handed her two aspirin. "All right. Take these, and hang out here for awhile." She watched Cameron down the pills, then asked gently, "Need to talk?"

Cameron shrugged. "I...I guess not. Not today. But thank you."

"What are friends for?" Dr. Taylor smiled, and then excused herself at a knock on the door. She returned a moment later, hurriedly grabbing a syringe and filling it with a liquid. "New inmate...she's a feisty one," she told Cameron, smiling slightly. She tapped the needle and turned to go as a guard outside called, "Where the hell is that tranquilizer, Taylor?" Dr. Taylor rushed out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Cameron sighed. "Alone again," she muttered to herself. She could here the sounds of a fight outside; this new woman was giving the guards hell. She lay back on the examination table, shutting her eyes a moment, then opening them again, letting tears roll down her cheeks. She sat up again, wiping the tears off her face, and glanced around the room. Dr. Taylor must really trust her, leaving her alone with all this stuff. It would be easy to steal some pills, maybe use them to barter with other inmates. But no, Cameron wouldn't do that.

She stood and wandered to a drawer, the drawer Dr. Taylor had pulled the syringe from. She fingered them almost lovingly, then took another from the drawer, one among many, and soon found a tourniquet. She sat on the table once more, and fastened the long strip of rubber around her arm. She examined the syringe in her hand, and looked around again. What to fill it with? Did she want a high, or did she want to bring herself down, to wallow in her self pity? Or...maybe she didn't have to fill it with anything at all.

She pulled back the plunger, and filled the syringe with air. Yes, this would do nicely. Instant heart attack. It would hurt, but only for a few short moments, and then it would all be over. She would go wherever people went when they died, maybe up into eternal happiness, maybe into an infinite darkness, or down into the fiery pits of Hell. Who knew? Well, she would soon.

She eyed the filled syringe a moment more. She had wanted to die. She knew she deserved to die. She was no use to anyone here. She was just another lonely prison inmate, wasting oxygen for all the good people out there, beyond the fence. She'd be locked up in here for what, fifteen to twenty years? She'd eat the same crappy food everyday, get the shit beaten out of her by the same people, turn into a cold, callous, hollow shell of herself. When she was finally released, she'd have to find a place to live, a new job, a new career, for God's sake. And she'd still have to deal with the fact that she had caused the death of Robert Chase.

No, it was better to leave now. Don't think...just do. You're doing the right thing. No one needs you, no one will miss you. The world is better off without you in it. She took a long, shuddering breath, preparing for the pain she'd feel as air rushed through her veins, popping blood vessels, all the way to her heart, where it would finally give one last beat and, if all went as she hoped, would stop forever. She plunged the syringe into her arm, pulled the tourniquet off, and waited. Her arm ached, then hurt like hell, pain rushing up her arm from she'd injected the oxygen, all the way to her heart. Her heart made one last, pitiful attempt to make her live, one final beat, then stopped, and she fell back onto the table, a last breath leaving her lips.

Allison Cameron at last got what she had wanted and felt she deserved for so long. She had left the world that had only given her pain and suffering, for the unknown beyond. She had died.

"I think I'm cursed."

I raised an eyebrow, looking up slowly from a medical file, and eyed House warily. "What?"

"I managed to lose two employees in, what? Four months?" He stared out the window. "Seems strange, doesn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself," I shot back, not in the best of moods after my visit with Cameron. "None of this had anything to do with you."

House turned to me, and studied my face a long moment. "You don't look so good...you gonna die on me, too?"

I glared at him, deciding whether to reply, keep quiet, or just quit right then and there.

"House." Wilson's voice was short and sharp, cutting through the tension in the diagnostics office like a knife. House glanced up, and I turned. Wilson's eyes were reddened, and he seemed upset about something. "Cuddy wants to talk to you. You, too, Foreman." He backed out of the office and left, and I turned to House.

"Wonder what that's about."

House pushed himself to his feet. "Only one way to find out." He limped out of the office, and I followed. We rode the elevator down to the lobby in silence, then walked through the clinic to Cuddy's office. She was on the phone with someone as we walked up, and hung up slowly as we entered. When she looked up at us, I realized she was crying.

"What's up?" I asked quietly.

Cuddy stood slowly from her seat, taking a deep, steadying breath, and began, "Camer..." She wiped tears from her cheeks, then said softly, head bowed, "Allison Cameron took her life this afternoon."

House, who had been studying the carpet, looked up in shock at that, while my mouth dropped open. "She wouldn't do that..."

"She was depressed," House argued. "She had killed someone, for Christ's sake." He looked at Cuddy. "How?"

"She injected oxygen into her blood stream..."

"...which caused a heart attack," House finished, while I shook my head, muttering that there must be a mistake, that she couldn't be dead, that she would never do something like that.

"It was her," Cuddy said gently. "She went to the infirmary, the doctor left her alone not more then ten minutes, she found a syringe and..." Cuddy's voice trailed off as she hung her head again, and murmured, "I'm sorry."

"Does her family know?" I asked suddenly.

"The prison informed them first, then me." She sighed. "They're sending her body home so she can be buried closer to those who loved her."

"We loved her," I interjected. "We were her family. When the hell did she ever talk about parents, siblings, friends? She had us...her life was here."

Cuddy's shoulders sunk wearily, and she slid slowly back into her chair. " I know, but that was her family's wish. We'll just have to deal with it." As I opened my mouth to argue more, Cuddy raised a hand for silence, and said gently, "But we'll be holding a memorial service here at the hospital in a few days."

The three of us remained in shocked, mournful, grieving silence a few moments, when House finally said quietly, "She was a wonderful person, someone I really could have learned something from. She was a hell of a doctor, and had a heart the size of this country. She won't be forgotten."

Cuddy nodded mutely, while I stared at House. Had he really just said that? Was it possible he cared for her, maybe even for all of us? I forced a half-smile, and, with only a second's hesitation, leaned over and hugged my boss. He drew back, then leaned into the embrace, and wrapped an arm across my back. I remember thinking, Nothing like a funeral to bring people together.

Or a good game.