I can't get over the fabulous feedback you have all given me! I think I was grinning like an idiot while reading some of the latest! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations!

NOTE: I just changed a bit of the ending of this chapter… in my head Cameron was strong but it wasn't coming across that way…

Chapter 10

Det. Hughes gave a brusque nod and stood up. "I'll call down and make sure everything is set. Then we'll just have to wait for the attorneys." He stepped away from the desk and Cameron watched him go until he was out of sight around a corner.

"Let's hope the bastard doesn't have a tragic accident walking up the stairs," House muttered.

Cameron glanced over at him. "That would solve some problems," she said quietly.

"You doing all right?" He knew that she'd just had some sort of flashback and was grateful that it hadn't been as bad as the one at her apartment.

"I'll be better when this is over," and although she was referring specifically to the lineup they both knew that 'this' covered a lot more than that, and neither one was sure how long it would take before it was over, or if it ever really could be.

They were saved from further conversation by the reappearance of Det. Hughes, along with a somewhat short, but very powerful looking man whom they assumed to be the ADA assigned to the case. They were correct, and after another round of introductions ADA Paul Atherton told them that the suspect was being brought up and they were ready to proceed.

Cameron felt a sudden wave of dread pass over her body and her skin felt electrified from head to toe. She stood up with some effort and hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself by immediately toppling over. Next to her, House pushed himself up with the aid of his cane, and one hand instinctively hovered at the base of Cameron's spine. She didn't even know it was there, but he was ready to catch her if she fell.

"Actually, Dr. House, you can just wait here at my desk while we take Dr. Cameron in."

"What? I'm going in with her." House's eyes had hardened to stones and his voice made it clear that he didn't consider the matter up for debate.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't permitted." Atherton was sympathetic, but he wasn't about to let a technicality interfere with his case. "Only the victim or witness is allowed in to the line-up."

"Well what kind of fucked up--" House was cut off by Cameron turning pleading eyes towards him.

"It's okay," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "Just let me do this and get it over with."

House was ready to continue his protest but the look on her face silenced him. The last thing she needed at the moment was more stress and disruption. "Fine." He turned to the other two men. "I'll be a good little boy and wait right here." He turned back to Cameron and looked her right in the eyes. "Right here," he repeated, dropping the snide tone and making those two words into a promise.

She tried to give him a tight-lipped grin, but her mouth wouldn't cooperate. She had to settle for the tiniest nod of her head before moving away from his side and following the men who were going to lead her to the man who had tried to kill her. House remained standing as he watched her go, looking remarkably small even in comparison to the ADA. He didn't take his eyes from her until she passed through a door which was then shut tightly behind her.

Hand tightening on his cane, he kept his eyes on that door even as he lowered himself back to his chair. He felt completely impotent, with a furious anger churning in his stomach and unable to escape. He set his cane between his legs and grasped it with both hands. So much for making short work of the glass barrier and beating the son of a bitch to death.


The door closed with a metallic echo and a chill ran up Cameron's spine sending a violent tremor through her body. Damn, she hadn't realized how much she'd been depending on House's presence beside her. No he wasn't draping his arm around her shoulders or even holding her hand, but he was There. Quietly, steadily, comfortingly, There. She squared her jaw and tried to center herself. She was a strong, independent woman… a doctor, for crying out loud… she could do this without anyone's help. She moved to the center of the narrow room and violently pinched her own leg to distract it from its shaking.

The room was dimly lit, and through the half-glass wall in front of her she could see the stark white room on the other side, black lines on the far wall to measure height, a single door on the right hand side. A noise from behind her almost threatened to undo her, but she clenched and unclenched her hands and watched another man, thin and tall, enter the room. The three men were talking in low voices but she wasn't paying attention. She had her eyes fixed on the far wall again, reading the numbers next to the lines and then counting them.

Detective Hughes moved to her side and spoke to her, his voice low and tempered to calm her. "They'll be coming in now, and you just have to take your time, look at them all and tell us which one shot you, okay?"

She nodded, not trusting words at the moment. 'Tell us which one shot you…' So easily spoken, as if being shot were an every day occurrence. The absurdity of such a phrase being directed at her nearly forced a burst of hysterical laughter from her chest.

Det. Hughes stepped away from her again and pressed the button for an intercom set into the wall. "Send 'em in."

Again, Cameron kept her eyes focused on the back wall as the door into the other room opened and a line of men shuffled in. They were all dressed in jeans and black leather jackets, just as she'd described, and now her eyes were focused on their feet. She didn't want to look up. She knew if she looked up she'd see him. See his face in the bright light, not half-hidden in the dark. She'd see him straight on, agonizingly close, and not just for a terrifying split-second. She didn't want that face burned into her memory and she stifled an inarticulate cry when she realized that it already was.

"Do you see him in there?" A calm voice at her ear.

She looked up; past shoes and knees and belt-buckles and chests. He was there. He looked almost bored, with a sneer on a face that might have been handsome if it hadn't belonged to the man who had almost killed her. Her heart raced and she had to keep convincing herself that he couldn't see her.

"Number five," she said it without hesitation.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Cameron turned to face him and if her words hadn't been strong enough, the look on her face was. "It's number five."

The detective looked over at the two lawyers and nodded, then hit the button for the intercom again. "Okay, you can take them down."

The door opened and the men filed out again while Cameron watched, her eyes now pinned to the man she now knew only as Number Five. When they were gone she turned to the detective and the ADA as her would-be killer's attorney left the room. "What now?"

"Now he's arraigned and a court date is set. You'll be asked to testify at the trial but it probably won't be for at least two to three months," Atherton told her. "He already has a record. Getting him held without bail won't be a problem."

The idea that he could make bail and be out walking the streets hadn't even occurred to her so the attorney's words came as both a shock and a relief.

"I just need you to sign a few papers at my desk and then you can leave," Det. Hughes said, his voice still pitched to make her feel more at ease. He reached behind her back and Cameron allowed herself to be led out of the room.

House's eyes hadn't left the door since the moment Cameron disappeared behind it. Each time it opened he tensed, in preparation for seeing her again. How the hell long did these things take? It felt like she'd been in there for an hour but it had been closer to ten minutes. The door opened once more, and this time Cameron reappeared, Det. Hughes right behind her, hand solicitously placed on her arm. House had the insane urge to break that hand. His eyes scanned up and down Cameron's body. She looked pale and drawn, but otherwise fine. He didn't notice the slight tremor in her hand until she was closer.

He didn't know if he was supposed to say something, or not. What was there to say? Did you have a good time pointing out your attacker? She looked at him with something that might have been relief, but didn't speak, and he remained silent as well.

Paperwork was quickly signed, hands shaken, thanks given and then House was opening the door for her again and they were stepping out into a beautiful spring day.

"So." He glanced at her as they walked to the car. "Back to your place for game shows and soaps? We can make bets on who's going to win 'The Price is Right'."

Cameron swallowed hard and took several deep breaths before answering, "Actually, I think I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Alone? I don't think that's-"

"Please." She cut him off for the second time in one day.

He unlocked the car and opened her door for her. "Fine," he said as he slammed it shut an instant after she was inside.

Her apartment was almost fifteen minutes away and they spent the ride in silence once again. House was concentrating on not saying something bitter and mean to cover the fact that he was actually hurt. He channeled his feelings into his driving instead of his words, cutting people off and speeding far above the limit. He raced down her street and almost hit the curb when he turned into her driveway. He had a sarcastic goodbye on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it the instant he turned and looked at her.

Every muscle in her body seemed to be focused on holding her upright in the seat beside him, and her eyes were staring straight ahead at nothing. Her hands were clenched around the edge of the seat and he was fairly certain that her nails were gouging the leather. She hadn't looked quite so pale since the night of her surgery.

An uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling of guilt twisted House's gut. Damn, he could be a bastard sometimes. Here she was barely holding herself together and he'd had the audacity to get pissed at her. He reached out and laid a hand on her knee, causing her to look up at him sharply.

"I'll call you later."

She nodded and put her hand over his, squeezing it slightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Pain made her slow as she got out of the car, and walked to her front door, but House didn't take her eyes off her until she was safely inside. Then he threw the car into gear and sped out of the drive way and down the street twice as fast as before. His hand twitched on the wheel and all he could think about was how much he regretted the fact that he hadn't had a chance to kill the man who was currently sitting safe in jail.


House drove around for almost an hour before ending up at the hospital. It was either the hospital or home and as usual the hospital won out. No one was around when he entered his department and he was extremely grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was make small talk. He limped down the hall to his office, went inside and closed the door and the blinds. If he couldn't watch game shows and soaps with Cameron then he'd just have to watch them alone. He slumped down in his chair and popped two vicodin before turning on the t.v. and attempting to turn off his mind.

Two hours later and he was still sitting there, slightly more slumped and definitely more bleary-eyed. He heard footsteps outside the office and willed them to keep walking. No such luck.

Wilson was almost past House's office when the fact that the blinds were closed registered in his brain. He halted, took two steps backward and listened. Yes, the television was definitely on. He opened the door without bothering to knock.

"House?"

"No. I'm just a figment of your imagination. Close the door on your way out," House replied, knowing full well that Wilson was going to ignore him. He did.

"I thought you were taking Cameron to the police station," he said as he walked over and sat down on the comfortable lounge chair across from House's desk and swung his feet up on the footstool.

"Been there, done that," House didn't bother looking up from the television.

Wilson's eyebrows drew together as a perplexed expression settled over his features. "All right, I'll bite," he said after a moment's pause, "What happened? Did you see the bastard? And why are you sitting here watching television with the blinds closed instead of over at her place? Don't tell me she's sick of you already." He was only teasing with that last remark, but the glare House directed at him made him regret it.

"I didn't see the fucker. Apparently I need to watch more cop shows. They don't just let random brilliant doctors in o the special rooms down at HQ," House made his words sound like any other sarcastic jibe, but the true anger was just below the surface and Wilson was well-adept at hearing it.

"But she ID'ed him, right?"

"Yeah, she was a real trooper," and again the snideness was there but this time Wilson wasn't sure if it was mixed with pride or bitterness or both.

"So let me ask again. What are you doing here?"

"She wants to be alone," House answered, separating each word into its own little breath. He dropped his glare from Wilson's face and turned back to the television.

Wilson took a breath, wincing in sympathy for what he knew House was feeling. "Greg, it's not you. She's probably still in shock. She's upset."

House rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am aware that I am not the center of the universe. Thank you, Dr. Phil."

"If you know that then why are you in here sulking?" Wilson shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking one eyebrow.

"It's been a few days. I was due for a good long sulk," House answered, and then, before Wilson could form another plan of attack, he spun in his chair and slammed both hands down on the top of his desk. "I couldn't fucking DO anything!" he spat out. "I had to sit there like some stupid prick while they took her in to face the goddamned son of a bitch who shot her. He was trying to rape her? Did they include that on the news? Yeah, that was his plan. Rape her and then kill her. And I had to just fucking sit there. I couldn't even go in with her. Not that I could have helped her anyway, since I'm an emotional as well as physical cripple. I saw myself bashing his skull in but I couldn't even fucking hold her hand when she started to lose it. And I wonder why being alone is preferable to being with me. Fuck! Just fuck it all!"

The words spewed forth, accented by the sound of him pounding his hands on the desk, and then his cane against the floor. With his last sentence he hurled the polished wood across the room to land clattering in the corner. He was as out of breath as if he'd just run a marathon and he curled his hands around the arms of his chair.

Wilson, ever the stalwart rock, stood up and slowly went to retrieve the now-battered cane. "Well," he said deliberately, "I'd say it's a good thing you got all that out."

House looked like he was about to launch into another tirade but then his face fell and his shoulders slumped. His eyes were begging for Wilson to give him some kind of relief from feeling like a useless waste of flesh and bone.

"You did what you could, Greg," he said as he walked over and placed the cane on top of the desk. "You're not Sylvester Stallone and this is not some Rambo revenge movie. In real life we don't always get to beat the crap out of the people who deserve it. She doesn't expect that from you."

House was shaking his head, unsatisfied. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Okay, how about this. You saved her life."

That stopped the movement of his head but it didn't quite wipe the look of self-disgust from his face. "I wish that felt like enough."

Wilson shrugged slightly. "Well I can't help you there. Some things you just have to work out for yourself." He sat back down and propped his feet up again. "Are you stopping by her place later?"

"I told her I'd call."

"Well when you talk to her, you might try a little thing we like to call 'sharing our feelings'. Just try not to throw your cane at her."

House put on a snide little smirk. "No, I save that for you," he said, not really feeling better but at least feeling slightly more in control.

He looked down and glanced at his watch. It was just past three. He'd give her one more hour before he called.


How had her apartment suddenly become so small? Two bedrooms, living room, dining room, kitchen, bath. She'd always found it more than roomy enough, but now as she wandered from one end to the other she felt trapped. Watching television had proven useless; she couldn't stop switching channels. She'd tried reading but hadn't been able to concentrate. The only thing she'd been able to do for more than ten minutes was cry, and an hour of that had left her red-eyed and feeling disgusted with herself. Being alone was making her crazy but she didn't feel like fit company for anyone, especially House.

She bit her lip every time she thought of him, which was often. He'd been mad at her and she knew it. Hell, he'd practically slammed the car door in her face. She knew she shouldn't be taking it personally. He was angry at the whole damn situation. He'd told her she didn't have to be sorry for needing to be alone. That didn't change the fact that she was and it didn't change the fact that he was most assuredly upset. He had every right to be. She'd spent two days getting him to open up, and now she was the one shutting him out.

Tea. Maybe tea would help. She wandered into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on to boil. Nervous energy wouldn't let her stop moving, and she paced back and forth in front of the stove, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Her chest hurt like hell but she didn't want to take any more pain medication. She'd already taken two after her crying jag left her in throbbing agony.

Maybe she should just call him. But she didn't know what to say. She wasn't any better. She still couldn't stop the random images from flashing through her mind. She still couldn't shake off the feeling of his hands on her arms. She couldn't stop remembering the instant of hot pain and the cold, hard ground. Damnit, what a wimp she was! Women were attacked every damn day and plenty of them ended up injured far worse than her, and here she was holding herself and crying like a damn baby.

She moved the kettle off the burner and turned the knob for the burner so hard she nearly ripped it off. She wasn't in the mood for tea anymore.


He'd told her he'd call. He'd never said how far away he'd be when he did. He looked up through the windshield towards her living room windows. He couldn't see any lights on, but it was still early, and the sun hadn't completely set. Her number was on speed dial on his cell phone and he hit the button and waited.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Cameron, it's House."

Silence, and then, "Are you coming over?"

"Do you want me to come over?"

More silence. "Please."

"I'm sitting in your parking lot. I'll be right up."

"The door's unlocked."

House snapped his phone closed and quickly got out of the car and headed for the front door. He hadn't been able to do anything for her earlier, but maybe now he could. The stairs seemed less daunting every time he climbed them. Maybe he was getting used to them, or maybe the destination was making the pain worth it. He was surprised that she'd left the door unlocked. The idea that she'd done it in anticipation of him visiting was one he didn't allow himself to dwell on.

She wasn't in the living room and he closed the door and started down the hallway to her bedroom. The door was ajar and he pushed it the rest of the way open, jaw clenching involuntarily when he saw her sitting on the edge of her bed facing the door, bare feet just touching the floor.

"Cameron?"

She looked up at him, eyes clear and strong looking but apprehensive as she took a breath before saying, "Please get in bed."

He shook his head, certain he had misheard her. "What?"

"You don't even have to get undressed," she continued speaking as if he hadn't asked her to repeat herself. "I know that I said last night that I'm not usually like this, but I guess I lied or I changed or something, because right now I need you to hold me. You held me yesterday even though I didn't ask you to, and I'll never asked you to again, but if you're going to stay, I need your arms around me because I can't talk anymore and I can't stand you looking at me. I'll understand if you can't, but you'll have to leave and let me sort this out on my own. I'm not making any sense, and I know I sound like an idiot-"

House held up his hand. "Shut up," was all he said and he limped to the other side of the bed while Cameron closed her eyes and tried to keep breathing.

He toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, letting it land on the floor. His button-down shirt was next, revealing a black t-shirt underneath. Then he took off his belt, afraid that the buckle would jab into her back, but kept the rest of his clothes on. She had moved under the covers and he looked at the waving curve of her back, shoulder to waist to hip, then flowing down the length of her legs. Her sheets were soft, much softer than his, and he slipped between them feeling awkward and clumsy but not allowing himself to think.

"Is this all right?" he asked, voice low and gravely. He draped an arm around her waist and pulled her gently into the curve of his body.

"Yes. Perfect."

"Good."

Another man would have kissed her, or stroked her skin, or whispered to her while she lay there, eyes staring at the reflection of the sunset in the mirror above her vanity. He didn't do any of those things. He just held her, breathing in time with her breath, and counting her heartbeats until they both fell asleep, long after the sun vanished and the night stole into the room.