A/N: Slowly but surely getting somewhere (well, that's the plan, anyway!) Hope you guys enjoy, and reviews would be lovely! :)
"Anything else?"
Connor asks as he glances over his shoulder at Cameron, and she shakes her head without offering him a verbal response. He throws her a tightlipped smile before he turns back to the girl he helps to support with his gloved hand gripping her beneath her armpit, while the other steadies her at the waist. They'd had to do a quick double-check for spinal injuries before moving the diagnostic team's patient from her bed to the cleanroom, despite her charts stating that her spine remained one of the few things intact. Cameron had ordered it done regardless, and Connor and his team had complied without question; most of them spending the majority of their time down in the ER as nurses and doctor's aides, and having come to know the blonde well and think of her as an authority figure. He knows she doesn't enjoy this same respect from House, with whom he has also had countless interactions over the years- most of which he could have done without- and so when she'd come to him asking for help, he'd complied immediately and without comment when she'd asked for a repeat of several checks already carried out.
"Okay, we're all set then."
He gives a nod to his coworker who helps support the girl, before turning back to Cameron who stands between the glass doors to the decontamination chamber with her hand outstretched, ready to push the relevant buttons on the key code.
"You two go through with her, I'll get Marlene to put me through after."
The blonde dictates, offering a small smile to the young aide standing in the corner watching on obediently.
"Alright, go ahead."
Connor confirms, waiting for the doors to slide shut at Cameron's request and closing his eyes as a potent burst of powder emits from twin nozzles set into the wall. Lowering the girl down carefully so that he and Rylan each have a hand free, he runs his fingers carefully through her hair which hangs in thick, greasy tangles; unwashed and drenched with the sweat of her fever. He feels the disposable scrubs he wears ripple as though caught in a breeze, and waits for the red light above the set of doors leading to the cleanroom to turn green. When it does, he motions for Rylan to help him lift their ward once again and take her through onto the gurney that stands just beside the door. With the girl safely positioned, he wheels her over towards the far wall where a replica of the equipment she'd been on up on the third floor stands ready to be reattached.
"Are you ready to go through?"
Marlene asks as she steps up beside Cameron. She is both very young, and extraordinarily petite, and even in heels, she stands quite a bit shorter than the blonde. She has tried to make up for what is presumably a self-certified problem by piling the heavy black waves of her hair high up on her head in a queer sort of bouffant. Cameron glances at her and nods- imagining House would have a field day with the way her eyebrows have been drawn alarmingly high up her forehead to perhaps add to her failed attempt at eluding to height- and reciprocates the smile Marlene offers as she points to the blonde's pen snapped against her clipboard.
"I've put something to write with in there for you."
"Thanks. We don't think her immune system's compromised, just-"
"-I know, I read your notes... I hope that's okay..."
"Sure."
Cameron nods, not altogether surprised. She'd found when she'd first taken up her position in the ER that once she'd proven herself to her new staff, her previous position of investigating mystery ailments under House's guardianship- her old mentor infamous, yet silently revered- had made her an object of keen interest amongst the others, most of whom had seemed openly impressed by her career history in a way that had made her feel a little awkward at first. She has since come to accept the unsubtle curiosity of others, and appreciates the opportunity to discuss past cases without being ridiculed- jokingly or snidely- for any mistakes made on her part.
"It's just protocol."
Marlene continues as she holds her hand out for the blonde's pen, and she looks slightly apologetic as she does so.
"I know."
Cameron smiles wider than she really feels is warranted given the unfortunate circumstances under which they're having this discussion, but it's in her nature to try and put others at ease; something she has always meant well with, but knows she's little more than mediocre at achieving successfully. She imagines this would be a topic House would just love to discuss, and so dismisses the thought irritably while scolding herself for her unwarranted musing about her ex-employer in the first place.
"Do you really think it could be ricin? I've never seen that before in real life."
Marlene asks as she watches the blonde slip protective covers over her shoes.
"I don't know, it could be... But it probably isn't. Given we don't know what else might be causing her symptoms, I'm going off the premise that it sort of fits, and that there's not going to be any harm in bringing her in here, whereas there might be some in keeping her upstairs."
Cameron reasons, neglecting to mention the fact that she's not so sure there's less harm to herself in moving the girl down here. So far, she has kept her attention surreptitiously on her paperwork; nodding and instructing as needed when Connor and Rylan had delicately undressed the patient with audible gasps of horror, while taking care to keep her gaze lowered to the notes in her hand. She'd dared to look once the others were in the decontamination unit, but she'd done so with her glasses holding her hair back rather than perched on her nose. She berates herself inwardly for her actions, knowing that a lot of her current turmoil is the direct result of House- and Foreman- putting it in her mind that she might somehow break down when faced with the trauma inflicted onto the girl.
Get a grip, you've been doing this for years, you've seen a lot of horrible things in that time, and you've handled them fine. Why? Because it's your fucking job. Let the others think what they want, you know they're wrong and that they're just winding you up, so why are you rising to the bait?!
She frowns, aware that the irritable voice in her head has taken on a curious resemblance to her father's and bristling slightly. It is a harsher, less patient tone than she usually applies during her inner pep talks, and she strives to remember to be a little kinder to herself. It's not something that comes naturally- her abundant sympathy for others quite often in short supply when turned inwards- but she reminds herself in the strict but firm voice of her mother that a touch of patience will do her a hell of a lot more good than becoming completely overwhelmed.
"Okay."
She pulls herself together and gives Connor a thumbs up as he glances back at her through the glass, before asking Marlene to enter the necessary code in order to send the glass doors sliding open, allowing her to step into the decontamination chamber before they close behind her.
"Ready?"
Marlene taps on the glass and mouths, and the blonde nods and grimaces as the whir of air being allowed through the pipes is accompanied by pressure and a tingling sensation. Watching the light and waiting for it to go green- the little glowing circle more of a hazy oval with her glasses still resting on her head- she breathes in sterile air as the doors open and she enters the cleanroom.
"Almost done."
Connor greets her as he busies himself connecting the relative drips to the cannulas inserted in the patient's hand and inner elbow.
"It's ok, I can sort that out."
She advises as she watches Rylan set up the monitoring equipment to show the data most susceptible to change large at the top of the screen, while cueing audio alerts should anything change. He steps back immediately; fully capable of doing it himself, but understanding that the girl lying lifeless in the bed isn't like the patients he ordinarily deals with when working alongside Cameron. This is her patient. House's patient. And the usual camaraderie and teamwork he has grown accustomed to when overseen by the blonde are nowhere to be seen.
"You sure?"
Connor asks as he steps back, and she offers him a curt nod while keeping her gaze averted from the bed.
"I'm sure. Go down and check with Mathilde which one of you she wants working triage and who she wants on the ward... Take Marlene with you."
"Will do. You remember the code to get out?"
Connor smirks, and she rolls her eyes dutifully as this is an old joke she's heard about a hundred times before.
"It's not like it's a combination lock..."
Rylan frowns, causing his two colleagues to look at him and shake their heads.
"You don't come down here much, do you?"
Connor grins, and Cameron motions for them to leave as she laments
"You just don't get all the inside jokes we have down here. It's a major loss on your part."
"I thought jokes were supposed to be funny?"
Rylan counteracts silkily, causing Connor to chuckle as he mutters none too quietly
"They are, but don't say that in front of Allie. She clearly hasn't cottoned on."
"Clearly."
Cameron sighs as she allows this dig at her expense; refusing to allow for what had been meant as a barb in jest to sting as it threatens to, her ego still a little sore.
She's almost successful.
Watching the others leave with a small wave, she turns back to the patient and swallows. Taking in a sharp breath through her nose, she pads over- her footsteps making a curious, slippery noise thanks to the booties covering her shoes- and she gives herself a moment, before lowering her glasses onto her nose to bring the world back into focus.
"Okay."
She murmurs, although she's not sure to who, or why, or if it is okay. Tubes snake in and out of the girl's mouth and nose, allowing her to breathe and supplying her with nutrients. Beneath this web of medical equipment, her face is battered and bloodless. Waxy. One eye remains mostly swollen shut- an ugly purple knot protruding from its socket- while the other has been taped closed to retain moisture. Her hair is dark and looks as though it's naturally wavy, but a large chunk has been ripped out over her left temple, leaving raw scalp and uneven tufts not entirely yanked free.
"Okay."
Cameron repeats, thinning her lips as she glances momentarily down at her clipboard to see that her fingers have turned white where she's gripping it unreasonably hard, before taking a step closer and pulling down the sheet Rylan had placed over the girl's slight frame. She greets bruises and sutures expressionlessly; simply blinking a couple of times when her eyes start to sting. They remain dry, however, as does her throat which seems to have narrowed to the size of a pinhead.
"Okay."
She concludes, aware that she feels uncharacteristically warm in spite of the fact that the papery scrubs she'd donned before entering only cover the scrap of the camisole she'd been wearing beneath her sweater, and that the room is a temperate sixty-eight degrees. She feels hot, though- clammy- as she slowly pulls the sheet back up to cover the girl from the neck down. She'll need to examine her more thoroughly, she knows. Just as she knows that if she doesn't lower the sheet completely, Foreman will question her about incomplete analysis, and that just won't do.
It's fine. The others said they were finding it hard dealing with these cases, too...
She reminds herself, but it does little to quell the anger she can feel knotting in her stomach. Laying a hand over the girl's chest and feeling the faint fluttering of her heart, she strives to pull herself back together so that she can begin taking notes and looking for clues the others might have missed.
Come on now.
She gives herself a mental shake, touching the back of her hand to her forehead where the skin feels cold but damp. Glancing up while maintaining this curious stance, she stills; her eyes meeting House's as he studies her through the glass.
Slowly, she lowers her hand, allowing it to fall limply by her side as she keeps her face carefully expressionless. Receiving no response other than his pensive observation, she finally drops her attention warily to the clipboard in her hand; keeping her gaze purposefully lowered to the notes she'd scribbled back in the DDX room.
She doesn't need to look back up to know when he leaves.
She can just tell.
She can always just tell.