Disclaimer – See chapter 1

Author's Note – As it was originally, this chapter is pretty short. It is necessary though to break into the next stage of the story. As always enjoy the chapter and please review!

Eric Foreman stared at his colleague. He could see that her eyes where desperately trying to read his thoughts, but right at that moment he didn't have any. Knowing that Allison would want a response he forced himself to consider what she had just revealed. This didn't add up. Cameron couldn't hide something that big from her fellow employees. Every Christmas she came to the staff parties alone, sometimes she even brought a boyfriend. She had spent a few months at least last year pursuing House. She wouldn't cheat; she wasn't that kind of person.

Foreman momentarily compared Cameron to Wilson. They were so different. Not only in their personalities, but in the way they acted around the opposite sex. With Wilson there was confidence on the outside but a lingering stench of betrayal and secretiveness gave him away. Cameron wasn't like that at all. No, he decided. Owen Miller, or Mark Holloway, or whoever, was not her husband.

"Don't lie to me Allison," he said. His voice was quiet and almost threatening. Cameron was stunned by his response.

"I…I'm not. Why would I?" she tried to reassure him.

"I have a good idea here and you know it. Wouldn't it be all too easy for you to throw me off the scent and present the theory as your own? Would get you into House's good books again, that's for sure. Not that you'd want that of course…" Foreman trailed off only too add to his sarcasm. Malice dripped from his every word. Cameron was hurt. She ignored his comment about her motives in an attempt to get him to believe her. Not only was she turning her friend against her, but Foreman may tell someone else about the "lies" that she had been telling.

"Eric I don't want that. Tell House if you want to. You'll only be proved wrong."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because he ISN'T MAD, Foreman," Allison was getting desperate now. "He is my husband. He is deliberately calling me by my married name to get at me."

Foreman looked at the woman standing in front of him. Her eyes pleaded with him to believe her. Part of him wanted to, but the other couldn't. The Cameron he knew still had the joys of marriage ahead of her. It was what he believed got her through the day. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short by the consecutive sounds of Cameron's and his pagers going off.

Drs Foreman and Cameron rushed into their only patient's room together, but only Foreman continued to his bedside. Allison had stopped; her heart beat drumming inside her head, and was slowly taking in the scene. Chase and Nurse Roberts were already tending to the patient. The nurse was attaching Mark to a heart rate monitor, while Chase was providing him with an oxygen mask.

"What happened?" Foreman questioned.

"I just came in to sort out that physical when he started to fight for breath. Within ten seconds he couldn't speak," Chase replied. The situation now under control he turned to look at his colleague. "Guess that knocks your theory on the head," he said triumphantly to Foreman and left the room.

Foreman looked over to Cameron, searching her for any sort of sign he could. In this job he came across hundreds of traumatised wives, many of whom had had the unfortunate opportunity to witness a similar problem. They were always panicked, often distraught, but rarely as calm as the woman in front of him. He didn't know whether it was the fact that she had seen just as many similar situations or the fact that she did not love the man lying in the bed next to him, but Cameron looked barely affected the incident. Surely she would allow something to show if it was her husband. Foreman left the room, leaving Cameron alone with only Mark for company.

The truth was Allison hid her feelings well. She had always tried her best to when it involved Mark. From when he was diagnosed to the day of his funeral, she had only allowed a select few see what she really felt. But years without practice had left their mark. Her bottom lip quivered as she looked across at the now sleeping man, the slow rhythmic beep that announced his heart rate cutting through her defences. He was suddenly so pale, and depending on the mask for air. It was as though she was being punished for not being there for him when he had died the first time. She knew she shouldn't care for him. She was aware of what he had done, and what he had put her through. She didn't love him, but she didn't want him to come to any harm. She bit her lip and exited the room quickly, before the wall she put up to hide her feelings for him was completely shattered.