Title: Panic (WIP)

Rating: T for violence, blood, mild swearing--all that stuff.

Pairing(s): None so far...

Timeframe: None in particular.

Spoilers: None.

Summary: Who knew leaving keys in your car could cause so much trouble?

Disclaimer: I don't own House, and if I did... well, that'd never happen.

Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long to update! I couldn't think of much to write (blame my very creative mind).

And once again, I am not a doctor. I'm just a 14-year-old kid with nothing to do that knows nothing about medicine--please don't kill me for my medical inaccuracies. P

"I'm fine, really..." Cameron insisted while talking to the paramedic in the ambulance. She was lying down on a stretcher--surely she didn't need this...

"You'll have surgery to remove the bullet from your arm as soon as we get to the ER. And you've also lost a lot of blood. You'll need a blood transfusion. What blood type are you ma'am?"

"Type O" she said, and the paramedics continued bustling around her.

House was in a different ambulance, being rushed a bit more urgently to PPTH than her.

God, she was worried. She was worried sick. The event kept replaying itself in her head--images of House being shot, screaming in pain kept assaulting her memory. She cursed herself for just lying there in a state of shock, helpless.

She would never forgive herself--this whole event was at her fault it seemed...

"Ow," was all House could think as he slowly regained consciousness. "Wait... what the hell?" House thought. Where was he?

He opened his eyes and looked around. Bright, annoying lights, a bunch of paramedics looking down on him... He noticed he was still in his regular and... bloody clothes. He must of just got there.

Shit. He was being wheeled around in a gurney in the ER. Oh joy.

"Sir?" he heard someone say. And the rest rest he couldn't understand. All he heard was babbling. It was something about being... shot? Oh yeah. The stupid (and now dead) robber with the gun. Wow. He was suprised he was still alive... Cameron! Where was she?

House tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. He heard himself yell and he rolled over onto his left side and clutched his stomach as sharp pains assaulted his abdomen.

"Sir, I need you to stay calm," he heard the same person that was talking to him earlier say.

"Why don't you give me something for the pain, dumbass?" House wanted to yell.

Along with his abdomen, his left leg was also radiating with pain, and not to mention the usual pain in his right leg which now felt all to painful to be usual. He closed his eyes tightly and squirmed around, groaning, as he tried to keep his mind off all the pain.

"Greg?"

"Wait, who was that?" House thought. His eyes opened and he opened his mouth to respond, but nothing coherent seemed to come out of his mouth. The pain was growing in intensity along with his screams of pain. Darkness was starting to engulf his vision. All he could do was scream.

"I need 50mg of Demerol, stat!" he heard someone yell. Was that... Cuddy?

In a few moments, he felt the drug enter his system and felt immediate relief.

The sharp pains quickly turned into dull aches, and he let himself slip back into merciful unconsciousness...

Wilson groaned as he got of the couch to answer is pager. "Oh c'mon... I just got home..." he whined. His pager was still on his belt, which was still attached to his pants, which were on the floor along with an assortment of other clothing items. "Wow, I really need to clean up in here," he mused as he picked his pager nonchalantly--clueless of the shock that was about to come.

"House and Cameron in ER--come here NOW!

L. Cuddy"

Wilson just stared at his pager, thoughts racing through his mind.

'What happened? How bad were they hurt? What the hell...?'

For all he knew, Cameron and House could just be hanging out in the ER, drunk or something. Damn Cuddy and her short messages. But if Cuddy had to stick to that short of a message, something serious had to have happened, right?

He expected the worse--the thing was he didn't exactly know what the 'worst' was. He quickly put his work pants back on and a button up shirt over his white tee. He bolted out of the house and into his car and drove over to the PPTH Emergency Room.

Sorry that took a while--I'll try to update this a bit more often.

Please review. :)