JB: Glad you liked the Rebecca/Remy moment. I was kinda nervous about it. Here's the Cam part...and a brief flashback of the night before!
Melissa: Aw! Don't limit yourself! Long reviews make me happy! Remy isn't allowed to physically harm Chase. I'm forbidding her from touching him. Cameron would not be happy if she beat him up. Rebecca doesn't really...interfere. Even without her, things would still be the same...only replace her with a dozen random girls from the bar. Yes, Foreman does exist. I just have no use for him. Lol. I don't like Foreman. He can stay in the background. Glad you liked Thirteen and Kutner checking out Cuddy. Lol. I randomly had that scene in my head for a long time but had nowhere to place it in my last fic. I tend to update in the evening, btw, if that limits how much you check. It's very rare I update in the late morning or midday. It's usually between evening and the middle of the night.
Lessthan13: Poor ticked off bunny. He reminds me of Happy Bunny. "Your anger makes me happy." xP The apple line isn't mine. Every Nov, I memorize lines from the adopt a line NaNo boards and add them where I see fit. Scalpels...Razors...both get the job done. -fail-
Twampy: Yay for confrontation...and Kutner! Kutner makes me happy to write. Got on the slut and robin thing in this chapt. Hopefully it clears things up a bit for you.
Ilive: I'm glad you like Thirteen/Kutner friendship. They're fun to write. House? Serious? Ahaha. Glad you liked the Rebecca bit. I was preparing myself to be attacked since no one likes her. Bahahaha.
YDPP: She's the landlord. She can't go away or Remy will have to find somewhere else to live. Lol. I never even thought of Robin. Sure...Kutner can be Robin! The robin was just a coincidence, I guess. I chose it bc it always seems cheery and is a sign of warm weather and stuff coming...and so he killed it. I'm glad you're moving past the elevator thing. But I'm still contemplating crashing it. But...I'm not telling you when. Aha. Yay for long reviews!
Wonderous: It'll lead somewhere...eventually. If I keep going with it.
Eva: Someone has to call her out. And glad you like Kutner!
WrongObsession: Glad you like Rebecca. And happy you can feel the emotions of my characters and know why Thirteen is reacting how she is.
Destroyer: Glad you're liking it! I never really thought of it as suspenseful and a mystery until you said something...but I guess it is! Thank you.
Shan: Thanks! Well...when you're anti-social, being witty is the key to making people go away. Ha. Glad you like that I'm using Kutner. Remy needed a friend. Rebecca didn't seem like a good choice for that. xP Even if she does call Remy out on things. The meth incident was...really hot. -shiftyeyes-
Ilessthree: You enjoy Kutner's distraction and not his presence? Aw. You make Kutner sad. xP And, of course you're important!
Greeen: Poor Rebecca...(not really). Kutner is definitely harmless...which is a bit pathetic and sad. Heh.
Ina: Rhetorical questions are killer. I always feel the need to answer. But...I'll keep quiet!
Over halfway to 500 reviews. Wooow. o_o
Cameron's POV:
"How did you get this number?" you whisper into Chase's house phone, your hands shaking so hard you can barely keep it to your ear. Breathing heavily, you glance toward the door and pray Chase comes back faster from picking up your food even though you're no longer hungry. Your stalker's voice is like a punch to the stomach and you're afraid you might be sick.
"I don't think that's any of your business, Allison," the voice responds. It's raspy and almost robotic like a device to change it is being held between his mouth and the phone. "I have to say I'm surprised at how well you're handling things. I expected you crying in some dark corner."
"I'm going to call the police," you warn, narrowing your eyes. Your voice cracks against your will and betrays your terror. "What do you want from me?" The walls feel like they're closing in and the room spins in circles. You're forced to brace yourself against the couch in order to stay upright.
"You won't call the police. You're too much of a coward. I want you to get what you deserve," the man responds. "I want to give you back all the misery you made me feel, you little bitch."
"Were you one of my patients?" you whisper in the phone, rubbing nervously at the back of your neck. "Listen, whatever treatment you were prescribed, I-"
"Try again," he responds. "I'm sure you treat all of your patients with the best intentions. Your pathetic sweetness is probably sickening. It usually is."
"Please, if you would just tell me what I ever did to you," you plead, tears welling up in your eyes. You grip the phone cord and twist it tightly around your fingers. "I can make it up to you."
"You can never make it up to me," he hisses. "What you did is unforgivable. Just know that I know where you are and you better watch your back. And if you tell your pretty-boy boyfriend, I won't hesitate to hurt him. Maybe I'll suture his lips up so he can't tell anyone what happened. Suture is the right word, isn't it, Doctor?"
"Stay away from my friends," you warn him protectively. Instead of immediately worrying for Chase, the first person you think of is Remy. "If you want to hurt someone, take it out on me. Don't touch them."
"You're afraid I'm going to hurt your girlfriend?" he asks and you can almost sense him smirking by the way his voice lifts up. "Well, as beautiful as she is, I think she'd put up quite a fight if I went after her. It wouldn't be worth it. She doesn't seem affected by me writing slut on the wall or leaving you dead robins either."
You freeze up. So he had been the one to write on the wall. "A dead-"
"The thing on the wall really was directed toward you, by the way," he cuts you off. "Speaking of being a slut, I haven't seen you since you had brown hair. I like the blond."
The phone clicks and his voice is replaced by the dial tone. Swallowing, you stop twisting the cord and twirl a blond lock of hair around your finger then stare at it. The door swings open and you slam the phone down, backing up into the end table. You nearly knock the table over and Chase stops to stare at you with raised eyebrows.
"Are you okay?" he asks slowly, almost hesitantly like he doesn't know what to do if you're not.
"Yeah," you croak, nodding quickly. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and it feels like your airways have closed up, but he doesn't have to know that. You glance at the strands of hair in front of one of your eyes then look at Chase again. "Do you, um, wanna take a ride to Wal-Mart?" you ask quietly.
Splashing another handful of cold water against your face, you mentally beg the memories of last night to go away. You're exhausted mentally and physically and unsure how you're going to make it through the day. Coffee didn't help and when it dawned on you the man must have been watching Chase's apartment to know when he was coming home, you became too afraid to stay home. The amount of sleep you got last night had to be less than two hours. It wasn't that you were afraid of nightmares. You were afraid you'd cry for Remy and offend Chase. So you curled up on the couch and refused to close your eyes until nearly 4 A.M. when you couldn't be awake any longer. Chase had sat up with you for awhile but he fell asleep around 2.
With a heavy sigh, you turn off the water then lift your head and stare at yourself in the mirror. Brown hair now frames your pallid face, contrasting against your face and making you look sick. Your appearance appalls you and you're almost ashamed to leave the bathroom. If Cuddy saw you, she'd send you home for sure.
"Dr. Cameron, are you alright?" A nurse pokes her head in the bathroom and tilts her head to the side. "You've been gone for a few minutes now."
"Yeah," you answer quickly as you're snapped out of your thoughts. "I'm fine. I'll be there in a moment." You grab a paper towel and dry off a few water droplets on your face. The nurse leaves and you toss the paper towel in the trash before glancing at yourself one last time in the mirror. House is going to comment on your hair and you try to prepare yourself for the insults.
The ER is in mass panic with patients when you return. You think a train must have wrecked and all the passengers were sent straight to Princeton-Plainsboro. The distraction puts you at ease. Everything felt in slow motion until you got to work. Now you need to pretend you're fine and do you're job.
"Doctor Cameron, I think you might be needed over there," another ER doctor comments, pointing toward the door.
Expecting to see a patient, it would be a bit of an understatement to say you're stunned to see Remy. She looks at a loss with all the patients and no one she's specifically assigned to. The way she's trying to look confident but at the same time is nervously fiddling with her suspenders under her lab jacket is a bit pathetic. A doctor nearly runs into her with a stretcher and you realize she's just going to get in the way if you let her stand there. It's not fair that you have to deal with her even in your own department, but you remind yourself things could be worse. Working up your courage, you walk over to her and cross your arms. "Did House send you down here?"
"What?" Remy takes a step back and stares at you, looking startled. She bites down on her lower lip and glances out the door. "You colored you hair." She looks at you again with a barely noticeable smile.
"Did House send you here?" you ask a bit more slowly. Her smile is like a compliment and it makes your cheeks feel like they're burning when you don't want to feel anything at all. She shouldn't be here. She should be diagnosing a patient or being harassed by House. One of the last things you need right now is the reminder you screwed everything up with her.
"Cuddy sent me." She stops tugging at her suspenders and crosses her arms. "How can I help?"
Something about the tone of her voice tells her she wants to be here as much as you want her to be here. It's not annoyed, but more apprehensive. "You can't," you answer. "The ER requires the use of both hands," you explain, motioning toward her sprained wrist. Glancing up at her face, you study her for a millisecond. "And you're hung over." It's hard to feign disgust by her being hung over when you feel bad for her. Knowing it's probably your fault makes you chest hurt.
"Well, Cuddy apparently thinks there's something here for me to do," she snaps irritably. "Don't worry, because I asked to go to the clinic with House instead. She said she wanted me here, but if you want to talk to her, I'm perfectly fine with that."
It's a fact the ER can always use all the help it can get, even on days not as busy as this. "You can probably be of use over there," you state, pointing to a close curtain where the sound of a sobbing child can be heard. "Four year old girl; car accident. She has a broken leg and multiple lacerations. Dr. Reynolds was requesting a nurse to go hold her hand but all the nurses were busy."
"Are the parents okay?" she asks, staring over at the curtain. "Don't you have something medical for me to do?"
"The mother is in critical condition and we haven't been able to contact the father," you answer. "Go keep her calm so Dr. Reynolds can stitch up her cuts. When you're finished, find me and I'll get you something else to do." You bite down on the corner of your lip. "Do you want to have lunch together?" It seems like there's nothing you can do or say to show how sorry you are, but it's worth a try.
"I'm having lunch with Kutner," she answers, stripping her voice and expression of anything that could be considered emotion. "Chase probably wants to eat with you."
"I want to talk to you," you reply, tilting your head to the side. It's impossible to read her and tell what exactly she's feeling.
"I have a patient. Sorry." She stands there for a moment, staring past you before spinning around and walking away.
"I think being bitter about things is healthier than expressing yourself," House comments, walking up beside you. "Bitterness leads to spite, and spite leads to great accomplishments. Presumably. Or it leads to sprees. You know. Whichever works. Changing your hair color doesn't make it harder for me to find you, by the way."
For a moment, you freeze up over his comment about your hair, thinking he sounds unintentionally like the guy who hurt you. You quickly compose yourself and try to just shaking it off. Placing your hands on your hips, you turn to face him. "Aren't you supposed to be in the clinic?" you ask. "Because this looks a lot like the ER."
"You and Thirteen should go storm something," he replies. "Burn some things down. Or, you know, you could just be bitter."
"What do you want, House? Did it get boring annoying Wilson and Cuddy?" You pretend to sound sympathetic. "Did you get tired of them?"
"I could never get tired of annoying Wilson and Cuddy," House answers, sounding shocked you even suggested such a thing. "Kutner and Taub are doing my clinic duty. Bothering you seemed better than watching them deal with mad cow flu."
"You mean swine flu?" you question slowly.
"Whatever." He limps forward and glances around the ER. "This place is a mess! Shouldn't you be working?"
"I was trying to." Exasperated with him already, you shake your head. "You should try working sometime. The day goes faster when you actually do your job."
"It takes skill to know I can be productive and choose not to do so. The day goes the same speed no matter what," he argues, glancing over at you. "There's no less than sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, and twenty-four hours in a day no matter what it is you're doing." He pauses for a moment before nodding at you. "You look like crap."
"Thanks," you mutter sarcastically.
"I went to Thirteen's house last night," he says, glancing toward the curtain she's behind. "I think she misses you." He smirks.
"Are you being serious or are you just being a sarcastic ass?" you ask, looking up at him. "Because now really isn't the time."
He exaggerates a sigh. "Why do people always tell me it's difficult to tell whether or not I'm being sarcastic?" he asks, throwing a hand in the air. "It shocks me. As a rule of thumb, I'm probably being sarcastic." He smirks and winks at you. "Unless I'm being one-hundred percent serious."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Adjusting your headband, you frown as he turns and starts walking away. "House?" you call after him in an irritated voice, "Did you really go to her apartment last night?" He doesn't answer you and you look around then huff and walk over to a patient.
"Dr. Cameron!" Eric, the boy who tried to fly, rushes up to you. "Archie got a new bike! He says it's a fire-truck, gay piece of crap!"
"Eric!" His mom rushes forward and grabs him by the back of the shirt. "Dr. Cameron, I am so sorry."
"It's alright," you reply with a smile, getting over the shock of seeing them back in the ER so soon after treating Eric once. "Is everything okay?"
"Archie needs stitches this time," the woman replies with a sigh. "He got a new bike and Eric loosened the handle bars."
"That's what he gets," Eric says proudly. "He got me hurt so I got him hurt. He even cried. It was funnier than the time my dad hit his thumb with a hammer!"
"Never have boys," the woman warns you. "Could you please stitch Archie's arm? He won't let the other doctor touch him. I hope it's not too much to ask."
"It's no problem." Placing your hand on Eric's head, you follow them to his brother.
-----
Lunch time approaches quickly. Working with Remy wasn't as hard as you thought it would be. All you had to do was repeatedly find things for her to do. It was obvious the ER was wearing her down and once you saw her sneaking a few aspirin, but you didn't say anything about it. As soon as the clock strikes 12:15, you sigh in relief and make sure no one needs your immediate attention.
Remy catches your eye as you're about to walk out the door. She's sitting on a chair over in the corner, looking irritated as she stares down at a chart in her hand. Her head is rested against her injured arm and she's tapping a pen against the papers. Half way out the door, you get worried about her and walk back in. "What's wrong?" you ask. You approach her then kneel down beside her, glancing at the chart she's staring at. There's barely anything written down.
"No one wrote anything," she mutters. "Then I got handed the papers. I was standing right there listening, but…" Her voice trails off and she drops the pen then pinches the bridge of her nose as she stares at the blank spaces.
"It's not you're problem," you assure her. She tenses as you pat her leg and you stand up again. "You're tired. Take a break and don't worry about it." You take the chart from her. "Go get something to eat with Kutner." Even as much as you want to avoid her, it's hard not to care about her. Letting her just sit there would have been unfair, especially since this whole mess is your fault. "Come on." You hold your hand down for her to take.
"I'll get something later." She ignores your hand and grabs the chart back then turns so she's sitting sideways on the chair and can rest her head against the wall.
"Okay." You turn to walk away then glance back at her. "I'm sorry." It feels like you can't express that enough to her. The only thing that lets you know she even pays attention to your words is that she tenses and clenches her jaw. Feeling guilty, you drag yourself out of the ER and toward the cafeteria.
-----
"Have you seen Thirteen?" Kutner asks, standing behind you as you're in line to pay for your food. "I mean, of course you've seen her since she's in the ER. Do you know where she is though?"
"She was working on a chart," you answer, glancing back at him. Placing your things on the counter in front of the cash register, you pull your money out of your pocket and pay for the sandwich and bottle of sprite. "You probably shouldn't wait for her."
"Wait for her?" Kutner asks, raising his eyebrows. "House just wanted me to ask her if she's supposed to be in the ER all day because we got a case."
"Oh." You take your change and put it in your pocket then grab your food and take a step back so Kutner can pay. "I thought the two of you were eating together."
"She wanted to eat with me?" he asks with a grin, clearly oblivious to what you're talking about.
Forcing a smile, you nod your head. "You know what, take this to her in the ER," you say, offering him the food you got for yourself. "Just tell her you bought it."
"Why?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. He pays for his food then moves out of line so the next person can pay. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," you assure him. You hope that she'll not only decide to eat lunch but will enjoy Kutner's company. "It'll just be a nice gesture. I'll get myself something else."
"Are you sure?" he asks, slowly taking your sandwich and soda. "I can always-"
"Go convince Thirteen to take a break and eat something." You see Chase out of the corner of your eye and quickly make your escape before he can see you too.
-----
"You wouldn't happen to have anymore celery, would you?" you ask, walking into Wilson's office. His office suddenly feels like your sanctuary. It's not busy and distracting like the ER, but it still manages to radiate a feeling of safety. "Or maybe a dollar for the vending machine?" You force a smile. You realize you need to eat something but you have twenty-two cents in your pocket.
"I had a feeling you'd be back," Wilson replies. He picks up two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and two bottles of apple juice from beside his desk. "I brought for two today."
"That was nice." Your smile isn't forced anymore. "Thanks." You shut the door behind you then walk over to his desk and take a seat on one of the two empty chairs.
"Your hair is brown again," he points out, opening his bottle of juice.
"Mhm," you answer with a small smile and pick up one of the sandwiches. Lunch with him might become a regular thing, you decide. "How is your day going?" You glance at him questioningly before taking a bite of your sandwich.
"House has been in and out of here trying to avoid the clinic," Wilson replies, shrugging. "He has a case now though."
"So I've heard." You nod. "I ran into Kutner in the cafeteria." You hesitate and stare at your sandwich. "He was looking for Thirteen."
"House said they went on a date," he says, not taking his eyes off of you. "Cuddy was in here lecturing House earlier. She mentioned she thinks they were staring at her in the elevator this morning because they were talking about aspirating or something. I think House is making her paranoid."
"That doesn't even make sense. What does aspirating have to do with Cuddy?" It makes you a bit jealous to realize Kutner gets to spend time with Remy and you don't. You had your chance in the ER but didn't do anything with it. Maybe you're more than a little jealous. Putting your sandwich down, you grab your drink and sigh.
"Are you okay?" he asks, leaning back against his chair.
It takes a moment to work up the courage before speaking. "I like her," you admit quietly. It feels real now that you admit it out loud. "Really like her." Swirling the juice around in the bottle, you pretend to be interested in it instead of looking at him.
"Thirteen?" he asks in a shocked voice. "You like Thirteen?"
"Yeah," you mutter with a nod and suddenly feel extremely small. You put the bottle back down on the desk then lean back against the chair and cross your arms tightly across your chest. "A lot," you admit, glancing toward the door. "I thought…" You pause. "I thought she might like me too, but I messed it all up by moving in with Chase. I hurt her."
"Why did you move in with Chase?" he asks, getting to his feet. He walks around his desk and sits down on the chair next to you.
Exhausted, you place your elbow on the arm of the chair and rest your head against your hand. "He didn't give me much of a choice. I got afraid he'd leave me." Chase makes you feel trapped and uncomfortable, but he's the safe choice.
"But if you like Thir-"
"But why would she really like me back?" you ask, hitting your hands down on your lap. Tears well up in your eyes and you know it's mainly because you're so tired you can barely keep your eyes open. "What if she just feels bad for me? I'm dirty. I-I convinced some guy to hurt me. I can't even remember it, you know? I have dreams but I forget them as soon as I wake up. I just know that-that I'm crying her name and she's always there. But what if she doesn't really want to be there?"
"Cameron." He puts a hand on your back. "You're not dirty. Whatever happened with that guy isn't your fault, do you understand that? Even if she does reject you, which I somehow doubt she will, it won't be because of that. House says he thinks she's just as upset as you are."
Leaning forward, you press the palms of your hands to your eyes. "It is my fault," you whisper, almost forgetting about Remy for the moment. "I did something awful to him."
"I want to give you back all the misery you made me feel, you little bitch," the man spits through the phone.
"Do you want me to page Thirteen?" Wilson asks. "This is not your fault." He grips your wrist and presses two of his fingers against your racing pulse.
"It is my fault." You wipe at your eyes, shaking slightly. Breathing through your mouth, you attempt to lean back. "I'm getting lightheaded." Your voice wavers and the room begins to spin.
"Lean forward." Wilson moves his hand from your back to the back of your neck to stop you from sitting up. "Have you talked to anyone about all of this, Cameron?"
"No." You try to swallow but your saliva feels too thick to go down your constricting throat. "I want- I want t-to talk to Thirteen, but I don't- I don't want her to know it's my fault," you choke, squeezing your eyes shut to keep your tears at bay. "I want her to like me. I already screwed things up. I think- I think I might be falling in love with her, and it hurts. It hurts."
He helps you to your feet and walks you across the room. Tears blurring your vision, you're not sure where you're being led until you're at his couch. You slowly sink down against the cushions and hug your knees up to your chest. "Who are you paging?" you whisper, watching him pull out his pager.
He stares at you a moment then glances down at the pager. "Thirteen." The way he says her name makes everything seem so simple. It's like all he has to do is page her number and it'll all be okay. Only, you know it won't be.