A/N: Sorry for the wait. I had planned on finishing another fic before adding to this one, but I felt bad for leaving things as they were, so decided to check in on these guys! Let me know what you think :)

(PS- I will put a warning on this chapter that there are a couple of references to trafficking as I don't want to upset anyone :)


Mick...

Cameron frowns; the name rings a bell, but right now she's unable to process that thought further. She's unable to do anything but bite her bottom lip to keep from making an involuntary noise in her panic. An odd fear in a way, as this has never been a problem she's had before; she has seen and heard enough to know the darkness that inhabits some foul corners of the world- in spite of House accusing her otherwise- and possesses an admiral talent for self-control.

Not now. Oh, shit, not now.

No, now she drives her teeth hard into her lip, breaking the skin and squeezing her eyes shut as blood coats her tongue and escapes in a narrow freshet down her chin.

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

Her lashes are wet with salt, and her cheeks sting as tears roll down icy flesh, and she lowers her forehead against cold steel as she wills herself to somehow become smaller.

There's a scuffling sound up in the control room, followed by a choked shriek, culminating in a crescendo of unspeakable, meaty thuds.

The silence that follows is excruciating, but the comparably soft tread of boots down the stairs is even worse.

An unhealthy wheezing sound, accompanied by a grunt as rustling fabric leads Cameron to presume that one of the men she'd heard upstairs leans over or crouches, before a hoarse voice that reminds her a little of a bullfrog announces

"She's fine."

The blonde's brows knit together as she finds this to be rather unlikely given that she's fairly certain the female in question just suffered an unintended trip down the stairs, and a voice from above seconds her doubt.

"No damage? We've taken a downpayment on her, so you better be fucking right!"

"I take issue with you if another one we have to leave at hospital! You no want my issue!"

A second voice warns angrily, and Mr Wheezy clears his nose loudly of snot, before replying irritably

"Just a couple of scuff marks and half of those were there when you brought her in! The parts that have been paid for will still work, so there ain't no issues here."

Laughter at this from up and below, and Cameron grits her teeth as an uncharacteristic wish for violence crawls dangerously in her gut. Still, she finds herself relieved that she'd declined to tell the others to call the police- very optimistic of you to imagine they'll receive your message...- not because the situation doesn't cry out for law involvement, but because the ugly hostage situation she had previously considered a rather fantastical concern now seems only too likely. She's not all that clued up on crime beyond what she encounters on the job, but she'd bet a great deal that the sentence her depraved friends might receive as punishment for the despicable trade they're running would be considerable, if not infinite.

There's no way this is going to end quietly.

This realisation hits her like a tonne of bricks, and she wonders if House would have teased her so mercilessly for appearing helpless if he'd known what it truly feels like.

No, he wouldn't. Of course he wouldn't. Not if this is what it really is to feel that way. I've thought I felt it in the past. I might have even confided those feelings in Chase or Dom, but I was wrong. I've never truly felt helpless until right now, and I have no fucking clue what to do...

Her panic worsens as this realisation takes hold, and she silently pleads with herself to focus on her breathing and keep a handle on her sanity as her chest feels uncomfortably tight and she's terrified she's close to hyperventilating.

Stop. Be still.

... Why? It's only a matter of time until they find you. Who's to say which is preferable; sooner or later? Who's to-

-Stop!

What good would it do?

You're not the only one in trouble here, but the odds are high that you're the only one with medical training. If you can't stop for yourself, then stop for her. Stop for the girl lying at the bottom of the stairs. Stop for the girl they put a fucking downpayment on...

This last thought breaks through her mounting panic, turning it to anger.

That's good. That's better.

Not by much, but she'll take it, and she swallows- tasting copper- as footsteps once more sound on the stairs; this time becoming softer in their ascent.

"Lock it."

Comes a muffled command, followed by a remark made in the language she has yet to place, and laughter fills the control room as everything below is once more shrouded in shadow.


"House?"

Cuddy frowns as she steps out onto the roof with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture is not one of annoyance, but rather a failing defence against the brutal cold, and she walks up behind the greying doctor uncertainly as he stands in just his thin sportcoat and t-shirt.

"What are you doing up here?"

She asks, and House replies without looking around, informing her irritably

"Our case turned out to be less interesting than we'd been led to believe. Patient cooked himself up a buzz before deciding to test out the strength of his belt and his curtain-pole. Taub called suicide attempt, Kutner thinks erotic-asphyxiation, and you get no points for guessing whose side I'm on. Either way, we were done in twenty. He's the psych ward's problem now. Well... and his insurance company's."

"I heard."

"Then why are you here? I've pulled more than my share of shifts over the last week, go bark up someone else's tree if you're a body short down in the clinic."

"I did. Dr Horshall in neurology ruined the end of the series I'm watching. He's covering for Dr Richmond until eight."

"Rookie mistake."

"Perhaps... Of course, the more likely scenario is that he didn't pay my presence in the queue for coffee any notice, and was merely gushing his insights to Rhonda from the help desk, but, as the saying goes, someone had to do it."

"Agreed... Why are you here?"

"Because, it's just gone half three in the morning and you have no reason to be here, especially stood up on the roof beckoning pneumonia."

"Says you. Why are you up here if you're not jonesing for a good dose of frostbite?"

"Hadley said I'd find you up here... I asked her why, and she had no answer. I asked her why you were still here, and she was two for two, so I'm asking you; why are you here?"

"I'm waiting on the pretty redhead from administration to meet me up here. It's a regular thing we have going."

"No, it's not."

Cuddy sighs, not bothering to scold him as she has simply grown to expect House's forever vexing answers, and as long as no one else is around to take offence, she's learned it's easiest to let them slide. Waiting for a better response with her breath casting ghostly ribbons carried off by the breeze, she frowns when House's expression becomes contemplative.

"What is it?"

She asks, suspecting it might have something to do with the girls brought in recently, and in a way she's right, but she'd never have expected the answer he provides; gruff, but devoid of sarcasm, and she knows instantly that what he says is serious.

"Cameron's gone AWOL. She's not answering her phone, and she's not home. Chase hasn't been able to reach her either."

"I don't-"

"-She's the one who figured out who the last girl was."

"... I know. Foreman said."

"She figured out where she was last seen; on seventh. She, Foreman and Wilson discussed going to take a look, and she volunteered after Foreman threw a tantrum."

"I-"

"-Well, that's how I imagine it happened. She said she'd take Chase with her after the others pointed out that seventh is a shithole and whoever's doing all this seems to have a penchant for the fairer sex, but the moron was in surgery and never got the memo."

"You're concerned that Cameron went to investigate alone?"

Cuddy asks, and she feels that her confusion is justified as she would never have guessed such a thing would lend her friend the frown currently cutting grooves across his brow. That the blonde has made a rather foolish decision, she'll agree, but foolish decisions are House's preferred variety, and she'd expect mockery or disdain from him in light of discovering Cameron has decided to take matters into her own hands, not the uneasy tension palpable between them.

"I'm concerned that no one's heard from her since the idiot took off in a flurry of snow hours ago."

House growls, and Cuddy raises an eyebrow as he makes no attempt to scoff at her implication that he might be worried about the blonde.

"I'm sure there's an explanation."

"Of course there will be... I'm just unsure whether it's going to be a palatable one."

"I'm sure she's okay, House."

"And I'm sure that's what Mr and Mrs Matrinez kept telling each other before an ID was made."

Silence follows as Cuddy tries to discern whether any ill-taste or sarcasm laces House's unlikely statement, but she sees nothing but trouble in his rigid stance, and she supposes she should know better. After all, she had been present when Cameron had received the wound to her side, and she'd seen House's concern as he'd come to her aid. Not just concern for what had happened, but concern for who it had happened to, and she sighs as she asks uneasily

"What do you want to do?"

"Be proven wrong."

He replies warily, and she offers him a strained smile when he glances at her and reminds him softly

"You hate that."

"Well, I owe Cameron a couple of swipes at my ego."

"Really?"

"You sound as surprised as I am."

"Oh, I'm not surprised in the slightest that you owe Allison the opportunity to take you down a few pegs, I'm just surprised you'd admit it."

"Yes, well, she'd better show up before the offer runs out and I come to my senses."

"... She will, House."

"She better.


Waiting for the sound of voices to die down as the control room is once more plunged into darkness, Cameron counts to a hundred before pushing herself tentatively up onto her hands and knees. The pain that accompanies doing so is sharper this time; a curious juxtaposition to the absolute numbness of her hands and feet. Something which proves problematic when she attempts to work her way down from on top of the locker, as she has no feeling left in her fingers and she slips down with no grace or control to land on hard concrete with a yelp. Her knees threaten to give out beneath her as she stands for a moment trying to catch both breath and bearings, while her head swims and her stomach aches and her jaw itches beneath its crack-glaze of blood.

Making her way carefully through the shadows- listening closely for any sounds from above- she crouches down over the girl lying at the bottom of the stairs with a grimace.

"Hey... Can you hear me? What's your name?"

Inside her jacket, her phone lights up with first one bar, then two of service for just a moment, before going dead.