Disclaimer: I do not own House MD; it is affiliated to FOX Broadcasting Network, Heel and Toe Prods., Some Bad Hat Harry Prods., and Shore Prods., etc.

Parings: House/Cameron (yep, you guess it)

Rating: T (I will have to change the rating to M later, due to this one scene I have planned . . .)

A/N: This idea popped inside my head so I had to abandon 'Not Without Flaws' for now and put this down in ink. (I think the med research for 'NWF' backfired, haha. I have to get away from the medical world for a while) I'm not sure about the popularity of Alternate Universe with House fics. There sure doesn't seem to be too many . . . this is my first AU fic too; let's see what you guys think.

(No spoilers? I don't think there are . . . well, the whole point of an AU is keeping the character' personalities but giving them a different life.)

-revised one word- haha, i had to get Cam's eye color right. ;) thanks reviewers.

The Line Between Truth and Deception

Prologue

The wind howled as if there were no tomorrow.

Breaching the thick blur of the whirling snowstorm, the lone silhouette of a woman was vaguely visible. Her dark auburn locks were windswept loosely around her neck, and past her set shoulders. Draped in a charcoal black winter coat, she held a matching dark folder between her delicate yet steady fingers protectively against herself. Through the cleargreen of her eyes, she saw the bleak, white canvas before her. Waiting—no, pleading to be splashed with color and filled with life. . . .But it is not for me to paint . . . She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, savoring the peacefulness that she would soon be forced to leave behind.

Cutting the silence was the obnoxiously annoying ring of a cell phone. An agitated frown found its way across her brows as she realized it was hers. It's not even 4am yet, who in the world could be calling…? She reached inside her coat pocket and retrieved the silver flip screen. "Allison Cameron speaking." Her voice rivaled the clarity of her eyes, and there was an instantaneous likeability attached. But something was definitely amiss . . . hope . . ?

"Ms. Cameron." A deep, rough voice rasped somewhere from the other side of the line. Its coldness immediately put Cameron on alert. She opened her mouth to respond and hesitated. With the situation at hand, it was best to be cautious.

"Ms. Cameron." The hostile tone repeated itself. "Set the documents down on the ground."

Cameron clutched the folder a little tighter. "Who are you?" She demanded, not at the least about to give in.

"I repeat. Set the documents down on the ground and step away. Or I assure you, someone will get hurt."

"Not until you reveal your identity." Cameron brewed up her courage, though the slight tremble in her voice gave away her fears.

A slow mocking laugh rang out. "Do you think this is a game, little girl? If you do not hand it over, I'm afraid there will be no choice then to buy you a ticket to join your husband . . . And bullets," He paused for emphasize, "ain't cheap."

As these last few words sounded, Cameron saw her world crashing down before her. Her knees buckled beneath her and she sank into the feet high snow all around her. Cameron did not feel its ruthless coldness; instead, she felt the rubble remains of her life collapsing. . . No . . . no . . . I refuse to believe this . . . Warm tears streamed down her cheeks, finding their way to the corner of her lips. Cameron tasted its bitter saltiness, she tasted loss.

For how long she crouched there Cameron did not know. Time was not of essence any more, all she knew was that you can't undo the past—the only thing she thought she ever wanted to do again. I should never have come to Alaska . . . The article should never have been published, let alone written! We—For a fleeting second, Cameron just wanted to die. She was sick and tired of all the lies. But then His words echoed inside her head. Running away is not an option, Allison . . . This life, the next, there will always be complications to face . . . some tougher than others . . . "No . . ." She managed to whisper, "Not now . . ." Cameron told herself. Then she brought her phone up against her wet cheek. "I refuse . . . I refuse! You Goddamned bastard!" Rage was uncontrollably taking over Cameron, and she knew it.

"Why you—wretched bitch! You'll regret this!"

Cameron opened her mouth to yell, but several gunshots pierced through the air, causing her to drop on her stomach instinctively. Over in the distance, shrouded by the snow adrift, she could make out the figures of three men. They were headed this way.

"Shit." Cameron cursed. She shoved her cell phone back where it came from and stood up shakily. She had to get away fast. With the dark folder still tightly clutched, Cameron started to break into a running step. The snow is too thick! And damn these high heels! She exhaled in frustration, keeping her speed. If she took off her shoes now, her feet would most likely freeze. At least they should be having trouble too . . .

Cameron took a quick glance back, the men were closing in. Damn it. A few more shots punctured the air and she picked up her pace, heading toward the nearest street.

"Taxi!" Cameron waved frantically at a yellow cab zooming in. A small wave of relief donned her as it stopped next to the curb. Hurriedly, she climbed in, nearly bumping her head on the car roof on her way in. "Quick, to the International Airport of Nome!" Cameron fumbled out her purse and flashed a few hundred bills. Without a word, the driver took off. Stinking greedy asshol—just be grateful he even stopped Allison . . .

Cameron turned her head to the back window. There was no one in sight. With that, she allowed herself to sink back into the leather seats. Cameron leaned her head back and took several deep breaths, her pounding heart was slowly returning to its normal rate. Realizing that two ice streams had formed on her now pale cheeks, Cameron secured her quivering hands and swept underneath her eyes. Instead of clearing her tears, more flowed out. Cameron let it be. It was something out of her command.

Looking into the rear view mirror, the driver noticed the state his passenger was in. "Ay. You alright?" he asked quietly. Cameron nodded silently and closed her eyes; she shed another swell of tears.

By the time she had paid the driver very generously and walked through the grand automatic doors of the airport, Cameron had gotten herself together. Apart from the slight redness of her eyes, she looked unperturbed. A plan had somehow formulated itself inside her head and now she was searching wildly with her eyes, Cameron hoped to spot the— Ah! There it is! She walked briskly over to the ticketing counter, where she was greeted with a friendly smile.

"Good morning ma'am." The young man said, "May I help you?"

"When is the next flight to Russia?" Cameron calmed herself.

"Which city specifically?" the man inquired patiently.

"Uh . . ." Shoot. Didn't think of that yet . . . ". . . Sorry, you see . . . I'm visiting a friend and you know . . . Russian names." Cameron let out an awkward laugh.

The man hid his confusion and gave an encouraging smile. "Take your time, ma'am. There aren't so many travelers this early in the morning, or we would certainly ask you to step out of the line." He paused when he saw a flicker of urgency in the woman's eyes. " . . . Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Umm . . . you know what. I just need to get on the next flight to Russia. I don't care where." A pleading tone was starting to emerge. ". . . Anywhere."

The young man appeared even more puzzled now, but experience taught him not to question his customer's reason. That was left to the custom officials. Yeah . . . those guys with the real jobs . . . "Alright then. Hold on one moment." He turned his attention to the computer screen and inputted something on the keyboard with great efficiency. "Here we go. Boarding at 6:30am, around 2 hours away from now, Boeing 747 will be leaving for the coastal city of Magadan. The duration of the flight is approximately 3 hours. A short trip."

"Oh yes! I remember, that's where . . . Thomas said he lived." Cameron forced a smile, hoping it would cover up her pathetic attempt at a lie. She was never good at them. Even and especially as a journalist, she believed in providing people with accurate information. In other words: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Evidently, this has gotten her into a lot of distressing situations.

"That's great." The ticket attendant played along. "May I please see your passport?"

As Cameron rummaged through her handbag, hidden in the shadows nearby, a pair of ice crystals traced her every move. With a steady hand, the owner of the eyes pressed and held a button on his walky-talky. He brought it against his pale lips and spoke with a heavy Australian accent. "T-7 reporting. She's headed for Magadan on Boeing 747 at 6:30am. Over."

"Good work." The feed form the tiny sound transmitter in his ear was somewhat distracted by static. "Security is too tight in the airport. Finish her off once the plane touches down. She'll be helpless in Russia. The fool . . . Board the same plane and keep an eye on her. I'll send the others over in the jet."

The man tagged as T-7 re-held the button. "Understood. Over and out."

Moving out of the shadows, he took a position behind Cameron, making somewhat of a line. His cropped sandy straw hair fell across his eyes, shielding the tiny bit of warmth that was perhaps buried deep inside those icy blues. His gaze strayed ahead, locking in on The Target, who was apparently receiving her ticket from the man behind the counter.

"Thank you very much." Cameron accepted her ticket gratefully. The sooner I get away, the better. They must still be on my trail . . . Stepping back absent mindedly, she collided into the man behind her. "Oh excuse me." She said apologetically. Noticing the young man seemed slightly uncomfortable, Cameron quickly added a "Sorry." Had I bumped into him that hard?

It has been so long since T-7 had a real conversation, he couldn't remember the last time he did. "It's fine." Surprised that he even managed that, he swiftly advanced to the counter.

Resisting the urge to show her bemusement, Cameron went on to gate 56 instead. She found herself a seat and rested her eyes. There was finally peace for her reflect . . .

Back at the ticketing counter, T-7 handed his passport to the man. So long since I was the real me too . . . The attendant opened the black leathered identification. "So, where will you be headed, Mr. Chase?" he smiled and awaited an answer.

A/N: Why does every single person have to have blue eyes? It's driving me crazy, arg! Chase, Cameron, House . . . oh yeah, House will be in the first chapter, don't worry ;) this is a prologue after all.

I would love feedback :) Mostly curious on your take with AU.

ACMD