AN: I suck at writing fanfic, but I'm a huge House/Cameron fan and have apparently seen "The Deep End of the Ocean" one too many times. It's a WiP, and I totally just write as I go (which is a horrid idea when starting a story), but it's just for fun, so whatever. I love constructive criticism (I don't have time to find a beta, so I'm sure there will be some inconsistancies and grammar errors - though I will spell check and give it a once over) so don't hesitate to review!
The Road Home: Reflections
I may have been pretty young when it happened, but I certainly wasn't young enough to forget. I can't ever let myself forget.
Each week in our house always began the same way. Mom would get up and come tell me to start getting ready. She'd then proceed to the bedroom, where she'd have to beat my dad out of bed with a pillow from the couch to cries of "Can't you call Cuddy and tell her I broke my other leg? Tell her you broke it during a rough night of sex and I had to be shot!" He never did win one of these morning battles.
I always loved going to work with my parents. When I stop and think about it, at the age of five I should have been more concerned with stuffed toys and blocks, but I never was. Each Monday we'd arrive in their office and I'd sit down in the conference room with everyone and listen, always fascinated, as my mom and dad discussed whatever case they were working on with my Uncle Chase and Uncle Eric. At the time I wasn't quite sure of all the big words they were using, but I clearly remember my dad telling me that being a doctor meant I'd get paid a lot of money for playing video games all day long, I should totally become one when I grew up! I wouldn't get to listen for long though, my Uncle Jimmy would usually arrive to escort me upstairs to the hospital's daycare center, where I would be subject to an endless array of arts and crafts and an idiotic lady who'd force us to sing songs with her all day long.
My dad would always remind me to "give them hell" before Uncle Jimmy could drag me away from the room. The daycare lady never did like me too much. I think the time I sang my dad's version of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" during sing-a-long time was what really put her off from thinking I was an innocent little child.
It was the day before my sixth birthday when it happened. It was a Friday morning and we were running late. I wasn't feeling well, so my dad decided to just let me sleep next door to the conference room, in his office, while everyone worked. Mom, Dad and the team were going on and on about some new patient that had just been transferred to their department - quite loudly at that, I remember wishing they'd keep their arguing down so I could actually fall asleep. A security guard ran into the conference room before I could actually do so. I was getting pretty agitated at this point, so I decided to go shut the door that joined the two rooms. The last thing I heard before I finally drifted off was my Uncle Eric telling the security guard to place his people at all the exits, before they could transfer the patient to the psych ward, he'd escaped. My mom stuck her head into the office and told me to stay exactly where I was and not to move, she'd be back in a minute.
Have you ever been startled out of a sound sleep? It's not pleasant, especially when there's a strange man crouched next to you, telling you to keep quiet or he'lll kill your mommy and daddy. Eight years later, as I think about that day, I wonder why I didn't scream. I could have screamed, or said something. All I remember is being so terrified that he really WOULD hurt my parents. Maybe I was too sick to think properly? I'm 14 years old now, and technically a genius...you would have thought even at that early age I would have done SOMETHING.
The man looked at me and said I was going to be his daughter now, that I would never see my old parents ever again. He picked me up and started walking towards the stairwell, eventually breaking into a run. When we got to the first floor, I think it finally hit me what was going on. I saw my dad standing near the elevators, and I saw him glance up with a look of horror on his face. I cried out to him, but it was too late. The last image I have of my dad was of him yelling at the top of his lungs, attempting to run after me (despite his handicap) and save me from this strange man.
He wasn't fast enough.