A/N: I'm not overly happy with this chapter and sorry that it's significantly shorter but, to counter both those points, this is more a bridge between one part of the story and another and I'm my worst critic. To know how this chapter fits, I need to hear from you. Whilst I'm on the subject, reviewer "dapper"(you were unsigned) - I wanted to thank you for your precise and wonderful review. Thanks to all my reviewers : )

Harrowing Questions

House let himself sit down heavily on the chair beside the sleeping girl he stared at. So this is Cameron's torment. The noise he made when he sat had stirred her but she refused to roll over to see what the fuss was. He noisily opened the bag of crisps he'd bought on his way there and started to crunch, open-mouthed, so every single squish and gargle could be heard throughout the room.

"That is really gross." The girl said, still rolled over towards the window. She brought her hand up to her face and rubbed her chin as she heard her visitor hum.

"Not as gross as that time someone vomited on their-"

"Okay," she slowly rolled over and her bright blue eyes rested gracefully on the man sitting before her, before they widened in alarm. She pulled her sheets up closer to her neck and curled into a defensive ball.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Dr. House," he said calmly and she didn't move, knowing that this was the crazy man Dr. Cameron had spoken of.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you," he folded his fingers together and laid back in the chair, stretching out. "I want to know all about you."

"Does my dad know about this?" Her face contorted into an angry or scared look, House couldn't really tell which, and he looked up in mock thought.

"He doesn't really need to know about me talking to you, does he?"

"I…" She closed her eyes and moved back on the mattress. "I suppose not."

"I'm Dr. Cameron's boss and I just need to talk to you to clear some things up."

"Like what?"

"Where you come from, what your parents are like, what kind of things you like, that sort of thing."

"She knows all of that."

"I don't," he stated plainly and she rolled her eyes.

"I was born in Chicago, then moved to New York for a few years before moving down here when my parents divorced. My dad is generally a nice guy, screwed up moral compass, and my mom is a bitch. I like music and my guitar. Is that okay?"

"Why did your parents divorce?"

"God knows why," she snapped, "they never used to tell me anything. When we moved from Chicago to Manhattan, I had just come home from school and all my things were packed up to leave. I never got to say goodbye to my friends."

"What are your friends like?"

"I don't know – he's a nice, cool person."

"He?"

"I only really have one friend after my boyfriend…moved away."

"Where did he move to?"

"Uh…" She had to think and came up with the quickest and farthest place away she could think of. "Quebec. Why so many questions?"

"I need to know answers."

"Well, I'm done answering," she rolled over, rightly irritated with this man coming in and bombarding her with questions. House gave a long sigh and audibly picked up his bag of chips, ready to make the sounds again. "And don't even start." She warned and he smirked, feeling happy that he'd found a small part of what made her crack. He also noted to himself to tell Cameron that she was irritable but willing to answer questions, something to be noted in the chart. As he went to grab his cane, something pushed the door and let it clatter to the ground with the vibrations passed through the glass.

"Hey-" He started to say in mock annoyance but was stopped as a pair of blue eyes identical to his own stared into his. A shiver was sent down his spine as he realised who was giving him this cold stare. The woman had come inside the room had come in with a sympathetic smile on her face but this particular visitor had shocked her so sharply that her default setting turned on – bitter disdain towards whoever caused this. Typical. She threw her black coat down onto the chair sitting next to the offending man and folded her arms, ready for a fight.

"What the hell are you doing here?" House kept on his signature glare to this woman who let out a derisive laugh.

"Same could be asked about you."

"You didn't answer my question." He leant over; grabbing his cane and feeling the cold tile brush his fingertips. He stood up and leant heavily on his cane, waiting for his brain to make the choice – fight or flight. She narrowed her eyes and the tension inside the small infirmary room could have been not only sliced with a knife, but also thrown off the Sears Tower(1) and still be intact when it hit the streets.

"I'm looking for my daughter."

(1) I needed a high tower and couldn't really use the Empire State Building, for obvious reasons. I don't live in the US and so I have no idea what would be recognisable. If anyone has some better suggestions, I'm more than open to them.