Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Sorry for taking a bit longer in updating this chapter. My muse was a little short in coming. Thanks again to the wonderful people the site calls reviewers, but whom I call day-makers (I made that word up - it's a bit late here, forgive me!). So make my day and review. I'd love to know what you think.

Consciousness returned to him gradually, the slow progress torturing him as he struggled to make sense of what had happened. He could feel himself on the floor and his bad leg was paining him worse than it ever had. The pain was almost unreal…it felt like he had been shot. He tried to open his eyes, but squeezed them shut almost as quickly: the pain in his head was unlike anything else. Tentatively, he raised a hand to his head and brushed his fingers against his temple. He opened his eyes and examined the result. He wasn't surprised to see blood.

What had happened? The last thing he could remember seeing was Chase at his apartment door…and the last thing he could remember hearing was the gun shot. He groaned; had he been shot? Was that why his leg hurt so badly? He tried to move, but was forced to stop immediately for the pain. He chanced a glance at his leg and his eyes widened in shock. His leg had crumpled beneath him, but that wasn't the surprising part.

There was no blood.

There was no blood…so he hadn't been shot in his leg. He hadn't been shot anywhere: he couldn't have been shot in the head. A bullet hole in the wall confirmed his suspicions; the bullet had ricocheted and missed him. But how then had he ended up unconscious? And where was Chase?

The pieces came to him quickly, although he wasn't sure if they fit together or if he was forcing them. Chase had fired, he, House, had been knocked backward onto his leg, Chase had hit him on the head with the butt of the gun, causing him to pass out…but then where had Chase gone? Would he have left?

No…no, his soon-to-be former employer couldn't have left…He had come for Cameron, not for House. Dread filled his stomach. Cold dread, cold, hard dread that didn't just fill his stomach, but flooded it, consuming him from the inside out. Hollow hope filled him that maybe Chase had left, maybe Chase had run before the neighbors could call the cops. But House knew that wasn't true…the neighbors were never around (not that he had bothered to meet any of them). He hoped beyond hope – and it scared him beyond belief he could ever invest even a moment believing in something as futile as hope – that Chase had left, had just given up hope that Cameron was there. Maybe he hadn't gone looking for her.

But then, maybe Chase hadn't had to go looking for her. Chase had fired a shot…surely Cameron had heard it? And if she had heard it…he groaned nervously. It would have been all too easy. Fear gripped him. He knew.

"HOUSE!"

A high-pitched, prolonged, anguished scream that resounded throughout the apartment. He knew where it came from and he knew who had screamed and he sure as hell knew why. He struggled to move, but the pain was too agonizing. He couldn't risk calling out and having Chase come back for more. He stopped, panting, leaning his bleeding head against the wall as his entire body shook.

"Shut up!" The unmistakable sound of a hand making contact with soft flesh followed by another scream.

"No! No – please!" Cameron was sobbing now. He could just imagine what the scene looked like. Chase leaning over Cameron, sweet, innocent, vulnerable Cameron. He pictured her eyes, wide and scared, pleading with him, pleading with him, though he would not relent. His face would be filled with hatred, anger, contempt. And determination. Raw determination.

She cried out in pain again and he gritted his teeth as another wave of pain washed over him. Her screams cut deep through his skin, sharpening the pain he was already feeling, yet still hardened his determination. He wasn't going to let him touch her again. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled himself into a sitting position, panting as he stopped to rest.

"You killed our baby!"

House frowned. That was Chase. Chase's angry yell, Chase's furious accusation. He growled low in his throat. How dare he accuse her. How dare he. Like Cameron would do anything, anything ever to harm her baby. Anger flared inside of him, like a fire burning its way up to his chest. He bit hard on his lower lip as he pushed all of his weight onto his good leg.

"What?"

Her voice was brittle, broken; he had barely made out her words. He could just imagine the look of disbelief, of shock, hurt, and hidden anger on her face.

"Oh, stop crying!" Chase said angrily. The slap cracked like a whip in the tense air.

"No!" she screamed. "No, don't hurt me! Don't hurt me, please!" House shut his eyes, trying to block out all sound, not wanting to hear her beg any longer…

"House!" she cried out again. "House, please, help me! Please help me!"

He couldn't listen to her any more. His face set, he pushed with all of his weight on his good leg, and managed to regain his footing. His cane was lying a few feet away from him, but his leg was too painful for him to bend down again and pick it up. He limped as quickly as he could towards his bedroom.

"Shut up, Cameron!" The sound of a fist making contact with bare skin. "I said SHUT UP!"

Cameron sobbing, she was sobbing so loudly…

House steeled himself forward, using all of his willpower to just keep moving. He couldn't put any weight on his bad leg, he soon found, and was reduced to dragging it along behind him.

""NO!" A long, drawn out, high pitched scream. "No, Chase, please!"

He paused as he passed the kitchen. That was his only phone between here and the bedroom. He didn't want to take any more time, but he knew something should be done; what if he and Cameron couldn't make it out of there? As quickly as he could, he hobbled to the phone and picked up the receiver.

Another slap. "HOUSE!"

"911, what is your emergency?"

The sounds of a struggle were ringing in his ears. He tried to force images of what could be happening from his mind's eye as he tried to concentrate, but he was failing, failing miserably. He saw Cameron beaten again and again…her head flopping limply to one side…her blood flowing over his sheets…

"Hello? Is there anyone there? Can you hear me?"

And then there was silence. He was drawing out the gun again…he was standing over her unconscious form…he had his hand on the trigger…bang…bang…

"CAMERON!"

The receiver slipped from his hand as all thoughts of calling the police were forgotten. He couldn't think, couldn't rationalize, could do nothing else but race blindly to the bedroom. His mind was playing tricks on him, maybe, but last time he thought his mind had been playing tricks on him, he had ended up nearly getting shot. He tried to push the mental image of her lying dead on his bed from his mind, but he couldn't do it, couldn't get rid of it, not until he saw for himself what had happened…

"Cameron – no!"