Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own House.

A/N: It's really funny to see all the influences that you guys see in this. I've never seen Ghost Whisperer, but more than one person mentioned it, which is interesting. My favorite mention, though, was Constantine. I never thought about that, but I've certainly seen that movie enough times… I tried to do a little medical research for this chapter, but I am nothing even remotely resembling a doctor. I'm splitting this into two parts, so the next part will be up either later today or tomorrow.

Cameron approached the entrance to the hospital, clutching her mug of coffee. A wave of relief washed over her as the scalding brew managed to warm her freezing fingers. She took a moment to attempt to rub the tiredness from her eyes, but noted rather despondently that it was a futile gesture. Sleep had, for the most part, eluded her. Cuddy had given her time off, but there wasn't much Cameron could do just sitting at home. Eva's funeral wasn't going to be anything extravagant, so there wasn't too much planning to do. If anything, Cameron needed to work more now than any other time in her life. The more time she spent thinking about Eva, the more depressed and frustrated she became.

And then there was House. She couldn't stop thinking about him, however hard she tried not to. She thought about his eyes most of the time—she'd never been struck by a pair of eyes like she had been by House's. Last night, she'd dreamed about him. Cameron had taken her dreams very seriously ever since she was seven and dreamt that her father ran over her beloved cat, Pickles. When she'd told her mother and father about her dream, they smiled and told her everything would be okay, but when her father came home the next day, Cameron's dream became a reality, much to her horror.

Her dream about House was puzzling at best. What she remembered most clearly was that he'd thrown open the door to a room—a room that she was trapped in, she knew—clutching a book to his chest. His limp had been more pronounced than usual as he tried to rush towards her. At that moment, she noticed a shadow, a figure, over his shoulder, and she opened her mouth to scream. It was at that moment that she woke up, covered in sweat and with tears in her eyes. But sometimes her dreams were symbolic instead of realistic, so what she saw wasn't necessarily going to happen in the way she saw it. At least, she was desperately hoping it wouldn't. The sick feeling in her stomach when she saw that shadow told her that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy was standing at the nurse's station, thoroughly confused to see the younger immunologist at work two days after her sister died. "I thought I gave you time off."

"I know, Dr. Cuddy, but I found that sitting at home wasn't really helping. I'd be really grateful if I could just do some work here and there, just to get my mind off of things." She took a sip of coffee and winced as it burned her tongue. Cuddy studied Cameron for a long moment, clearly unsure. On the one hand, Cameron was a good doctor and it was almost never beneficial to have a good doctor not be working. On the other hand, if she was distracted by her sister's death, she could make a mistake, which might end up in a lawsuit. But the doctor who stood before her seemed thoroughly professional, if somewhat tired. Cuddy sighed, and reached for a pile of files. She didn't want Cameron in the clinic until she could be sure she could handle the constant stream of people.

"Here you go. This just came in, and it looks like a pretty clear-cut case—most likely Guillan-Barré. Go tell Solomon that it's your case, and then confirm the diagnosis, set up a treatment plan, etcetera." Cameron smiled at her boss. "And if for one split second you are distracted and do anything to affect patient care, I'm going to kick you out of the hospital and not let you come back for at least a week. Am I perfectly clear?'

"Crystal clear. I really appreciate this, Dr. Cuddy."

"Well, don't make me regret it."

Cameron looked over the file on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor.

"No one ruled out MS," she mused aloud.

"They usually don't." Cameron jumped at the sound of another voice, and looked behind her and to the left. Standing next to her was a doctor she'd never seen before. She was sure she'd have remembered him—he had a strong presence; a presence that told her all she needed to know about this man: he was calm, collected, and completely assured of his intelligence and talent.

"I'm Allison Cameron, Immunology." She held out her hand. The man looked suspicious for a moment, but then reached out and shook her hand.

"Eric Foreman, Neurology."

"Nice to meet you. Want to take a look?" When she offered him the file, he gave her a look that clearly expressed his incredulity. But she seemed surprisingly sincere, so he took the file from her and began to read. "I mean, there does seem to be ascending paralysis, but it's taking too long, isn't it? And the gastrointestinal problems would more likely occur with MS than it would with Guillan-Barré, which is what the patient was admitted for."

"Or else she could have just had some bad chicken last night," Foreman offered, still skeptical of the woman standing next to him. The elevator door opened for Cameron's floor, and the two stood awkwardly for a moment.

"Well, do you want to help, or not?" Cameron asked, holding the door open. Foreman blinked once or twice before responding.

"Why do you want me to help?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. She looked down at the floor for a moment, hesitant. Honestly, Cameron wasn't sure why she was asking Foreman if he wanted to help, but something about this case didn't feel right to her.

"Are you busy, then? Or just suspicious?" She waited for another moment, while Foreman attempted to stare her down. When she made no move to leave, he sighed. The truth was, for Foreman, the Neurology Department was proving to be boring at best. At least if he helped out in Immunology it might be something new.

"All right, I'll help." Foreman wasn't exactly sure why he said yes, other than the fact that at this point his curiosity seemed to be getting the best of him.

"Great. I'm just going to talk to Solomon for a minute. Will you wait outside the office?"

"No problem."

Cameron knocked on Solomon's door, and waited until she heard him yell, "Come in!" before she entered.

"Dr. Solomon, good morning," she greeted. As usual, he was dressed in his perfectly starched shirts, meticulously ironed trousers, and matching ties; his thinning, graying hair had enough gel in it to fill a bathtub.

"Dr. Cameron, I'm surprised to see you. It was my understanding that you would be absent for a few more days." Solomon barely looked up from his paperwork. She smirked when she remember House's reaction when he heard that she worked for such a pretentious, pompous, overbearing, sexist… "What can I do for you, then?"

"Well, Dr. Cuddy said I could take on this case here, but that I should let you know." Solomon took the offered file and briefly glanced it over. When he handed it back to Cameron, she noticed that his eyes seemed to be fixed on her chest, rather than her face. Cameron had given up on wearing anything even remotely low-cut during her second week on the job.

"Looks like Guillan-Barré. Confirm the diagnosis and treat." Cameron knew better than to argue with him, so she murmured her agreement and left the room quietly. The moment she closed the door, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, I've heard that about Solomon," Foreman remarked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I'm going to put my things in my locker, and then how about we get a patient history?" Cameron suggested. Foreman nodded his agreement as she handed him the file. He perused the history, surprised that their eight-year old patient had been in and out of the hospital so many times. But then something caught his attention: the patient's father had died three years ago, and he'd died of what was thought to be primary progressive MS.

"Did you see here that the father died of MS?" Foreman asked when Cameron emerged from the locker room.

"No, I didn't get that far. I was only looking at the symptoms. But a family history of MS would increase her chances of having the same." The two were quickly walking down the hallway towards their patient's room.

"Yeah, but it would only mean she would have about a one percent chance of having MS rather than a point one chance. That the odds are so outrageously not in her favor…Something's off." Cameron turned to Foreman and smiled. He gave her a look. "What?"

"Something is off. I'm just glad you agree with me." They'd finally reached their patient's room, and both doctors took a deep breath before Foreman opened the door and they stepped in.

"Mrs. Harris? I'm Dr. Cameron and this is Dr. Foreman. We're going to be working on Emily's case." They looked at the harried mother and the sickly, scared little girl in the hospital bed. Cameron walked towards the bed, and gave the little girl a warm smile. "Hi Emily, you can call me Allison." Emily gave Cameron a frightened look before offering her a tentative smile. She turned back to talk to the mother, but then her breath left her in a rush. Standing behind the mother was, she assumed, the dead husband, and he did not look happy to be there. A wave of hatred and anger hit Cameron like a ton of bricks, and she had to take a few deep breaths before she could continue. Foreman took a step forwards when he noticed the color drain from Cameron's face, but stepped back once she stared to speak again. "We need to ask both of you a few questions about Emily's health, okay?"

"Anything, of course," the mother agreed, dramatically waving a handkerchief.

"When did Emily's muscle weakness first start?" Foreman asked.

"Oh, about two weeks ago, I think."

"And it started in her feet?" Cameron asked.

"Yes, I believe so. Last week it was up to her knees."

"Why did you wait to bring her in?" That was Foreman again, and though most wouldn't pick up on the hint of accusation, Cameron did and she sent him a warning look.

"Well, I couldn't be sure that anything was wrong, but then she started vomiting. Didn't you, baby? She told me that her muscles hurt, and you know, Emily plays soccer, so I just thought that maybe she had overexerted herself." Mrs. Harris had moved to sit on her daughter's bed, and she patted Emily's hand.

"Do you know if there are any pesticides being used in the area around your home, or maybe at Emily's school?" Foreman asked.

"Not that I know of, no," Mrs. Harris answered, her eyes widening slightly.

"Has Emily had any issues with her balance? Any blurry vision?" Cameron was taking notes in the file.

"No, I… Well, I'm not sure. Emily?"

"My tummy hurts," Emily complained in the most pitiful voice that Cameron had ever heard. She frowned, and started to walk to Emily, but was stopped by another wave of emotions from the ghost of the father. He was very protective of Emily, Cameron figured, though she couldn't be sure why quite yet.

"We'll get you some soup, how about that, Emily? Right now, I need to do a test, but I'm going to need your help. You see this?" Foreman pulled out a needle, and Emily nodded, her face contorting slightly in pain. "Now, I'm going to poke you with it, and I need to tell me if you feel it, okay?" Emily nodded again. Foreman slowly moved the blanket away from her feet, and then poked both of her big toes. She shook her head both times. He tried her shins. Again she shook her head. Her knees. No. Thighs. No. "Okay, Can you show me your arms?" He tried both hands, and both doctors breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded.

"I don't feel good. I think I'm going to be sick again," Emily announced, starting to pant. Cameron watched helplessly as Emily's eyes watered; she was held in place by the constant pounding of the father's emotions against her mind. Foreman rushed into action, though, rolling Emily onto her side, and holding out a bucket. A split second later, Emily started to throw up. When Cameron saw a dark look pass Foreman's face, she raised an eyebrow. He waited until Emily finished, though, until he spoke.

"Mrs. Harris, we're going to need to run a few tests on Emily. Dr. Cameron and I will be back soon." He took Cameron's arm and led her outside the room, completely ignoring the questions from Mrs. Harris. Quickly, he ordered a nurse to help clean up Emily's room, and he waited until she left before speaking to Cameron. "There's blood in her vomit."

"Well, she's been sick—it could be esophageal bleeding."

"Yeah, but why has she been sick?"

"If she has MS, then even something like the flu could trigger…"

"Do you really believe that?" Foreman crossed his arms over his chest. Cameron sighed, and ran a hand over her face.

"Not really, no." She paused, uncertain of what to say. "I think there's something suspicious about the father's death."

"Why do you say that?" Foreman asked.

"Call it a gut feeling, but I'd like to get my hands on his medical records."

"Good idea." Cameron and Foreman stood together, both lost in their thoughts. An idea came to Cameron, and her eyes widened.

"Can you talk to the mother, and see if you can figure out more about the father? I…I need to make a quick phone call." She reached into her pocket, and felt for her cell phone.

"Seriously?" Foreman didn't seem happy about the idea.

"Seriously. I'm sorry, Foreman, my sister died two days ago, and I just realized that I…"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'll finish up the history." Cameron felt somewhat guilty about lying to Foreman—though he wasn't very warm and friendly, she could tell he was a good guy—but she couldn't let anyone know who she was going to call.

Cameron wandered out onto the roof, certain that no one would look for her up here. She took out her cell phone and quickly found the number she was looking for. Her heart pounded as the phone rang.

"House." The sound of his voice made her knees weak, and she had to clear her throat before she could say anything.

"House, hi. It's me. It's uh, Allison Cameron. We met…"

"I remember who you are, Cameron," he interrupted, though he sounded amused. His tone put her somewhat at ease.

"I need your help." No need to beat around the bush, right?

"I thought I was already giving you my help." She heard voices from House's side of the call.

"Are you busy?"

"Well, I'm in the middle of a crime scene, if that's what you're asking."

"I'm sorry, but it's somewhat serious."

"What is it?" He sighed, but still sounded interested.

"I have a patient…"

"Whoa, whoa. Stop right there. You're calling me for a consult?" He sounded angry, though his voice was still low. Presumably he'd moved away from the police officers so that they could speak privately, but not far enough away so that he wouldn't be heard.

"Please, House, it's…it's a little girl." She held her breath as she waited for him to respond. He sighed loudly.

"Symptoms!" he barked. Quickly, Cameron gave him a rundown of the symptoms, the patient history that she knew, and told him about the discovery of blood in the vomit. "Did you ask about pesticides in the area?"

"Well, Foreman did, and the mother said she wasn't sure."

"Who's Foreman? Never mind. Cameron, the first thing you need to know is: Everybody lies. You and Foreman—whoever the Hell he is—need to get in a car and go down to the house. You need to check for anything that could have caused this symptoms."

"So, you're thinking pesticides?" Cameron pulled her white coat tightly around her body as the wind whipped around her.

"Something like that. You say that the father died with similar symptoms? If that's the case, then I'd bet on something environmental. I don't think that both father and daughter have MS. How's the mother?" She waited for a moment as he spoke to someone.

"Well, I mean, she's upset. Her daughter is sick, and she's a widow…"

"No, Cameron. That's not what I meant. I mean, how is she?"

"You mean…? You can't possibly think…" Even as she tried to deny the possibility that Mrs. Harris could be responsible for Emily's sickness, her mind quickly picked up on a number of things that could very well damn her.

"Cameron, one day I will tell you stories about all the things I've seen, both as a diagnostician and as a medical examiner, and then, maybe, you'll understand. But right now, I need you to answer that question as seriously as possible."

"The father is still around."

"You mean, you see him." House sounded slightly amused, which annoyed Cameron, but she continued on as if he'd been perfectly serious.

"Yes. And he's not happy to be here. He's very protective of Emily; every time we go near her, he sends off these waves of anger and frustration. I can't explain it. But, maybe…Maybe he knows what's happening. Maybe he knows because…Oh God."

"I'd get in that car as soon as possible."

"But, I can't just break into her house. Can I?" She couldn't help but smile as she heard House chuckle.

"Are you asking my permission? You certainly have my permission, though I wouldn't necessarily tell Cuddy about it. Cameron, trust me, just go."

"Thanks House. I-I'll call you later."

"I'll talk to you later then." He hung up without saying another word. At that moment, her beeper went off. Her eyes widened as she recognized a code, and she ran down the stairs as fast as she could.

"What happened?" she yelled as she ran into Emily's room. Thankfully, the crisis seemed to have passed, and she heard the steady beep of the heart monitor, letting her know that for the moment everything was okay.

"Heart stopped!" Foreman responded. "She needs to be on a ventilator—I think the paralysis is ascending. She's having trouble swallowing. We're going to move her to intensive care." Cameron nodded, and reached for the other side of the bed as Foreman started to roll the bed out of the room. Foreman gave her an annoyed look.

"How'd your phone call go?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Cameron answered without thinking. When Foreman's eyes narrowed, Cameron realized that she was going to have to explain a thing or two. Thankfully, though, he seemed willing to drop it. In silence they both moved Emily to the ICU, thankful that the hysterical mother had been forced to leave during the code. When they got to the ICU, they were greeted by a blonde, handsome doctor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Chase. I'm the intensivist on duty today."

"I'm Dr. Cameron and this is Dr. Foreman. This is Emily Harris." Though Foreman barely looked at Dr. Chase, Cameron flashed him a smile and handed him Emily's chart. Chase looked it over, his frown deepening as time passed.

"Huh," he said.

"Brilliant observation," Foreman mumbled. Chase pretended that he hadn't heard him. "We're going to need to run tests, but…"

"Actually, Dr. Foreman, can I speak to you for a moment?" Cameron nodded her head toward the other side of the room, where there were no patients or doctors. Foreman rolled his eyes, but followed her.

"I think we need to go to the patient's house," Cameron announced.

"What?"

"We need to check for any possible environmental factors."

"Like pesticides?"

"Sure, or maybe something else." Cameron paused as she debated something. "I think the mother is poisoning Emily, and I think that she already poisoned her husband. I think we're dealing with Munchausen's by proxy." To Foreman's credit, he didn't look surprised or shocked when she confessed her suspicions. Instead he sighed.

"I was afraid of that. Do you have the address? I'll drive." Cameron blinked, somewhat surprised that Foreman so readily agreed to illegally break into someone's home.

"Wait, you guys are going to break into that kid's house?" Both Foreman and Cameron turned to Chase with a guilty look, each expecting him to tattle on them. "Can I come?"