well, here it is. sorry about the wait! many thanks to Belmont-Bellamy, my wonderful beta. the fic will be so much better with your guidance. okay, enough with the soppy crap. on with the story!

DISCLAIMER: not mine, not mine, not mine. shall i repeat? look, i underlined it!

Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. Cameron wished it would drown out the piercing scream that was sending chills down her spine. Isabelle was dead! As her stomach churned, she hurried from House's office.

Reaching the bathroom, Cameron threw up violently, doubling up as every muscle in her body seized. When she finished she slid to the floor in her stall, eyes closed and chest heaving. People died all the time; no one knew this better than her, so why was she feeling this way?

Because you noticed something was wrong, and you let her walk out. A cold voice reasoned in her head.

"She said she slipped." Cameron whispered hoarsely to herself.

Everybody lies.

"She didn't want my help."

Yes she did.

"She told me to stay out of it."

It's your job to help people, whether they like it or not.

"She told me not to."

It's your fault she's dead.

"No, it's not."

You could have helped her Allison.

"Cameron?" A muffled shout by Chase came from the corridor. He sounded concerned. Cameron groaned and pulled herself to her feet. She flushed the toilet and exited her stall. The bright light gleaming off the tiled walls burned her eyes, and it took a few moments for them to adjust.

"Cameron? Are you in there?" Chase called again.

"Yes." She croaked, her throat sore. Swallowing she tried again, but louder this time.

"Are you OK?" He yelled. Cameron sighed and splashed some cold water onto her face, muttering darkly about men and their immature fear of female toilets. Her head was aching, and all she wanted to do was go home, crawl under her blankets and never come out.

"Yes, I'm fine!" Drying her face, she took a few deep breaths to prepare herself for Chase, Foreman and maybe even House's questions. If House had decided to pull his head out of his ass long enough to be concerned about her, that is. 'No,' thought Cameron, 'screw that'. She couldn't handle their questions right now.

When she came out, Chase narrowed his eyes, noting Cameron's red-rimmed ones.

"Are you sure you're OK? What's wrong?" He added without waiting for a response.

"I'm fine; it must have been the coffee or something." Turning away so she didn't have to look at Chase, Cameron brushed him off. "I'm going to the clinic," She called over her shoulder hurrying off down the corridor.

Chase frowned in confusion. "But you didn't have a coffee!" He yelled after her, but she didn't appear to have heard him. Sighing, Chase turned on his heel and walked back to the conference room.

"Women…" he sighed as he pushed the glass door open.

"Where did she go?" Foreman asked, referring to Cameron. He too was concerned. The look on her face as she watched the newsflash was quite unnerving.

"To the toilets." Chase replied, pulling out a chair for himself. "When she came out she was really pale and her eyes were red. I think she's sick." He added.

"Maybe she's pregnant?" House offered as he limped animatedly into the room. Chase rolled his eyes while Foreman stared at House coldly through his eyelashes.

"What? I'm not allowed to offer an opinion?" House asked, pretending to be insulted.

"Not today you're not." Foreman snapped. "So… How do you plan on wasting our time now?"

House smirked and picked up a marker, positioning himself next to the whiteboard. "Well, seeing as our Dr Cameron is a bit under the weather, you two have a lot of testing to do to make up for her absence."

"But she's down in the clinic!" Chase protested. "Can't we just-"

House interrupted him. "Use your brains. She's going home, or at least she will be going home once she's finished hiding in exam room three."

House was right. Cameron was hiding in the clinic only she was in exam room two and she had every intention of going home once she felt she had calmed down. But, no matter how deep she breathed or how much cold water she splashed on her face, she couldn't wash away the burning guilt tearing her insides apart. 'Trust me to feel this way,' she thought, 'but why? Why am I feeling this way? I couldn't have helped Isabelle, could I? It could have been a robbery gone wrong or maybe a car hit her. The reporter wasn't specific.'

Deep down Cameron knew there was more to it. She felt it, hidden beneath the swirling pit of remorse.

'Who manages to step in a pile of glass?' Isabelle had about four reasonably sized shards in her foot, not counting all the little pieces and from what Cameron could see, the young woman had tried to remove them herself. They had been too deep. The skin had swollen and closed over them, so they weren't fresh wounds.

Sighing, Cameron slid herself off the exam table, and smoothed the creases out of her pants. Pulling her lab coat onto her shoulders, which seemed pointless seeing as she was about to leave, but her mind was elsewhere, she straightened her shoulders and exited the exam room.

"The world just isn't as safe as it used to be," a nurse at the station was saying.

"I know. Just look at that young woman who was murdered last night. I heard she was strangled outside her home. Twenty-three years old. Her whole life ahead of her." The other replied, shaking her head. Cameron turned her head sharply to look at them. They were talking about Isabelle. There was no escaping her. Again Cameron's stomach started to stir threateningly.

Not watching where she was going, she walked straight into a man who was headed into the clinic. Stumbling backwards, she landed hard on her backside.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." He was saying as he extended a hand to help her up.

"That's alright. It was my fault, I wasn't watching where I was going." Cameron replied, taking his hand and pulling herself up.

He chuckled. "Never mind. Just be more careful next time, Dr Cameron." He said kindly, before continuing his journey towards the clinic.

'How did he know my name?' Cameron thought unnerved. She stood frozen to the spot until realisation hit her, and she began to glow with embarrassment. She glanced awkwardly down at the ID pinned to her coat pocket, and stepped towards the elevator.

'I have to stop feeling like this. I have to accept the fact Isabelle is dead, and there was nothing I could do. There is nothing I can do now. It's over. She's dead.' Cameron scolded herself repeatedly, but her efforts were pointless. No matter how much she fooled herself into thinking otherwise, she could never forget Isabelle Watkins.

please review, i'm putting much more thought an effort into this fic than any other i've written so far! hope you're enjoying it. i cant make any guarantees concerning the next chapter, but i can say you wont be waiting too long.