a slighty longer chapter.

DISCLAIMER: i didn't create these characters, i merely borrowed them and manipulated them into my own stories for my own personal benefit.

SPOILERS: a leeedle one for 'Role Model"

WARNINGS: a smidgeon of gore in this chapter, with a hint of violence.

NOTE: i dont know anything about ambulances or first aid. however, the beetroot thing mentioned at the beginning of the chapter was based on my little brother.

House wasn't feeling nearly as triumphant or generous after the clinic, however. Hypochondriacs had flocked to it like parrots, complaining of non-existent symptoms that they thought were related to the epidemic the hospital had dealt with the last few days. There was one exception, but for House, telling a mother that the 'blood' in her son's stool was in fact beetroot didn't quite make up for it.

The whole frustrating ordeal that was clinic duty had lasted a lot longer than one and a half hours. Four hours, actually. So it was dark by the time House finally made it out to his car. He wondered whether or not to go to Cameron's, but in the end he figured he might as well, just in case she was planning on applying somewhere else in the morning.

Driving to her apartment, he reflected on his afternoon's discussion with Cuddy. What had come over him? If Cameron had this sort of effect on him, maybe he should back away before he really started caring about other people's feelings. It was like his exchange with Wilson the other week:

"Dr Cameron's getting to you. Well, I guess you can't be around that much 'niceness' and not get any on you." Wilson had said to him.

House had turned the spotlight to the oncologist. "Is that why you haven't put the moves on her?"

But Wilson was just as quick. "What makes you think I HAVEN'T put the moves on her?"

House had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at Wilson. Of course, it was a joke, but the idea of Wilson… corrupting Cameron with his womanising ways grinded him. He did not like the thought of any one else having her. Sure, it was the kind of possessiveness typical of children, but House didn't care.

Unfortunately, Wilson had noticed House's face at his last remark. And being the terribly observant idiot that he is, he had thought he was onto something. Well, he was. House just didn't know it at the time.

He parked and got out of his car. Heaving a deep sigh as he approached Cameron's apartment, the breath caught in his throat.

Her door was ajar, exposing the dark living room beyond. He carefully limped closer, and pushed the door open with a creak. The place was in total darkness, save the moonlight that filtered in through the windows, casting an eerie glow. Something wasn't right - he felt it. Suddenly he heard a faint noise coming from what looked like the kitchen. As he turned the corner, the sight that floated up to meet him sent a jolt through his spine.

Cameron lay slumped against the kitchen cupboards, her legsstretched out in front, and her arms limp at her sides. In the moonlight House could see dark stains down her front. Blood.

House's cane fell to the floor with a clatter he didn't hear, and he lunged to her side, causing his leg to cry with pain he didn't feel. Her usually pale face practically glowed in the semi-darkness, and her eyes were closed. He put his hand to her neck, afraid of what he might find – or what he might not find. Bittersweet relief swamped him as he felt a tiny flutter beneath his fingertips. He twisted to reach his coat pocket, still ignoring the screams from his thigh, and dialled 911 on his cell phone, giving them Cameron's address urging them to hurry. When he hung up he became painfully aware that he was kneeling in her blood.

He gently laid her down, using his bundled-up coat to support her head, and lifted her shirt. In the pale light he saw at least two wounds on her stomach, slowly oozing blood. Temporarily abandoning all personal attachments, he set to work trying to help. He pulled the shirt away, and reached into a drawer. Pulling out the first cloth he could find, he shook it out and gently pressed it to her stomach. Removing his own shirt, he wrapped that around her abdomen, applying pressure.

Was he dreaming again? Or was she being taken from him for real this time, slowly and painfully? Surely he wasn't that bad a person? Why should she be tortured so, for something he did?

The wait was agonising as he sat by her, checking regularly for a pulse, and keeping constant pressure on her wounds to reduce the bleeding. She had lost a dangerous amount of blood.

It took about four minutes for the ambulance to arrive, and by that time House could feel his shirt becoming damp under his palms. He was about to scream in helpless frustration when the paramedics rushed in, taking control of the situation. House backed out of the way, almost tripping over an object on the floor. He looked down. Glinting in the moonlight was a knife.

----------------------------------

The ride to the hospital was a blur of light and colour. In the uncomfortably bright ambulance Cameron was assessed and aided further. She had to be revived twice. House felt his own heart stop with hers, and the blood rush to his head when it was awoken again.

Looking outside the lights whipped past and made him dizzy, looking inside, the young woman's desperate struggle to hold on to life made him nauseous.

In the end he hung his head in his hands.

please review!