A/N I wanted to address Det. Shepherd's history regarding becoming a detective. Obviously, I shamelessly used my imagination and stretched the truth when I wrote that he was hired as a detective outright. In the read world, as a reviewer helpfully pointed out, you have to become a police officer, sit down for a test, and then you are eligible to become a detective.

This chapter is a little shorter, and I apologize. My mother was recently diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and I'm her primary caretaker. So you can imagine how little free time I have on my hands while I'm taking her to her treatments, working, and trying to have a regular social life a 24-year-old girl is supposed to have. So please be patient! I'm hoping to post the next chapter fairly soon, probably in the middle of next week.

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"Hello, Dr. Cameron. I'm Dr. Wasnick. We haven't personally met, but I'm sure we've heard of each other."

Allison smiled cautiously, and nodded her head. Dr. Katherine Wasnick was the hospital's head psychiatrist. She was a kindly looking woman in her 50s with short, gray hair and an ample figure. "Yes, I have heard of you. I think we've actually seen each other around the hospital a time or two." She made herself pause. She knew why Dr. Wasnick was here. It was pretty obvious. And while she didn't want to seem rude, she didn't particularly want to talk to her either. She considered herself a very private person. And, while she did believe in psychiatry, she did not feel it was something that she could benefit from at the moment.

Dr. Wasnick watched the emotions flit across the young woman's face. She knew exactly what was going through her head. She had been in this situation an untold amount of times, and knew the first reaction of rape victims was to clam up, not wanting to discuss what had happened.

Dr. Wasnick knew she needed to put Dr. Cameron at ease, or she would not be able to help her. She had to gain the young doctor's trust.

"I believe we both know why I'm here. It's very apparent." She waited until Allison nodded her head warily. "But we don't have to talk about anything you don't want to talk about." She paused, waiting to see if Allison would say anything, but she didn't.

She made her way to a chair and sat down, facing Allison. "I hear that you will be released tomorrow. How do you feel about that?"

Allison sighed, thinking that all psychiatrists were the same. They tried to veil their intentions of dissecting your thoughts by innocent questions. And when you least expected it, they turned your own words against you, and then would ask the inevitable question: 'How do you feel about that?'

"I would actually like to go home today. Contrary to what my profession is, I don't enjoy staying in hospitals, especially when I'm a patient."

Dr. Wasnick nodded and smiled. "I understand that. In fact, I believe most people would agree with you. Hospitals are certainly not enjoyable places to spend your time." She mulled over her next words. "What do you find enjoyable? I mean, what do you do in your pastime?"

Allison blinked. She was asking her what her hobbies were? "Well, it seems that I hardly ever have time to myself, but when I do happen to have some free time, I usually enjoy reading." She hoped this answer would suffice. She really did not want to be rude to the psychiatrist, but she also didn't want to get too personal. And she wasn't lying. She did read in her free time.

The psychiatrist smiled. "I enjoy reading as well. I believe it relieves stress from a long, hard day. It lets me alone with my thoughts. I usually refer to it as my 'decompressing time.' Can I ask what type of books you read?"

Allison thought for a moment. "Fiction. I enjoy fiction." She paused. "I also enjoy reading medical journals, but when I find myself needing to relax, I enjoy reading the classics. Austen, the Bronte sisters, Dickens." She felt herself slowly relaxing, the tension easing from her body. She knew that Dr. Wasnick was trying to make her feel comfortable, but she found herself not minding. It was actually nice to talk about something neutral; not about what had happened.

Katherine smiled and said, "I prefer reading the classics as well. I believe that Jane Austen is probably the most favored author among the female sex." She received an encouraging smile from Allison. "I believe it's because she so aptly wrote the female psyche, making it much easier for each of us to better understand ourselves. We are naturally drawn to her characters, because we all have a little bit of Elizabeth, Emma and Fanny in ourselves. Her characters are very relatable."

Allison nodded her head, softly smiling. "I agree with you. All of her characters knew what they wanted, and were not ashamed to say what it was, or to fight for it."

Katherine smiled. "And they all overcame adversity, both environmentally and from their own selves. They all had flaws; they all had weaknesses. And they all had people in their lives that were supposedly their friends, but were not. A wolf in a sheep's clothing, if you will." She paused, letting that sink in. "Yet, with all of their troubles, they were able to defeat these hurdles, and lived the rest of their lives in happiness and peace." She smiled. "At least that's what I always like to think."

Allison looked down at her hands in her lap. "Dr. Wasnick, I don't want to seem rude, but I really don't believe that I need therapy." She raised her head and met the psychiatrist's eyes. "Yes, I was raped. But I'm not going to let that govern my life. I'm going to continue living it, not letting it take over every aspect of the way I live."

Katherine smiled kindly. "It's good to hear that you're not letting this affect your way of life. But sometimes, it's nice to talk to someone. Someone who reserves judgment; a third party with no personal involvement in the situation." She met Allison's eyes levelly. "I'm here to help you, Allison. I'm not going to force you to talk to me about what happened. We can continue talking about Jane Austen until we're both blue in the face. I wouldn't mind, believe me. But if you decide to talk about what happened, that would be fine also. There is no pressure, whatsoever."

It finally dawned on Allison. "I have to meet with you in order to go back to work, don't I?"

Katherine slowly nodded her head. "Yes, you do. But it's not a death sentence. I'm here as an observer, making sure you're okay, and available to listen when you need to talk. Like I said, I'm not going to force you into anything."

Allison felt tears welling up in her eyes. She felt so helpless. Why couldn't everything go back to the way it was?

"For how long do I have to meet with you?" she asked quietly.

"For as long as I think necessary. Until I feel that you have benefited somehow from our discussions."

Allison nodded. "Okay. I understand." She looked at Dr. Wasnick. "I'll talk about it, but I want to go my own pace."

Dr. Wasnick nodded, knowing that she still had to gain a trust with Allison before she fully opened up. "Do you want to tell me how you feel? I read in your chart that you were given Ativan in the ER when you were first brought in, but have not required any other sedatives."

Allison looked out the window. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact when she talked about this. "I was a mess, obviously. I couldn't stop crying. But now…now I have come to terms with it. It's a fact. And it's in the past. I'm probably still in shock; in all probability, it hasn't sunk in all the way. But I feel somehow more in control. I feel that my recognizing that it happened is helping me get over it quickly."

Katherine nodded slowly. She agreed with Allison; it hadn't sunk in all the way. This happened often with rape victims. After the initial shock of it all, they go into denial. They act like it hadn't happened. Her suspicions were definitely solidified when Allison wouldn't make eye contact when she was talking about it.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Allison closed her eyes, sighing. "What do you want to know?"

"You were obviously scared. What went through your mind?"

Allison kept her eyes closed, answering softly, "I thought I was going to die. I thought that if he didn't kill me, then the shame of it would. When he…when he left, when I got away, my first thought was to get out of there as fast I could. But once I was in the hospital, once everybody was around me, hearing me cry, seeing my face, knowing what had happened…," she whispered, her voice wavering, "I wanted to die. I felt like I was naked, and I couldn't cover myself up." She paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I felt violated again. My private matters were open to all of those nurses and doctors; the nurses and doctors that I see everyday at work."

Dr. Wasnick listened intently. "Do you still feel the same way? Do you still feel violated when talking about it?"

Allison turned her head to the other doctor. "Yes," she answered simply. She shook her head. "I don't know how I cannot not feel that way."

Katherine contemplated this. "It's common to feel that way when discussing it at first. But it gets better with time." She let this sink in before going on. "Victims also sometimes feel it is their fault; that they somehow asked for this to happen to them. Do you feel this way at all?"

Allison was silent for a moment. "I know it wasn't my fault. But I still could have taken the necessary precautions. It would be naïve of me to ignore the fact that if I had waited for the security guard or if I had went up to see if Dr. Foreman could escort me to my car, then this wouldn't have happened." She looked out the window. "But I believe it's useless to play 'what if.' I made an awful decision, and I paid for it."

Katherine shook her head. "You didn't make the decision to be assaulted, Allison. When we make decisions about where we are going to live, or what we're going to do with our lives, we can think on them for years. But when we make a decision that we would rather have a chicken salad sandwich instead of a hamburger for lunch, it takes a split second to make up our minds. Different decisions vary in importance and the ability to change our lives. If I decided to have the chicken salad sandwich, and then I contracted salmonella, would you believe that I made the decision to get sick?"

Allison shook her head. "You don't understand. I knew about all of those other attacks. I had read the memo that Dr. Cuddy had sent to all the departments. And yet, I still decided to walk to my car by myself. In that way, I have to find myself liable to a degree, because I knew the risks. And yet I acted against my instincts and common sense."

"Well, I could argue that I knew the risks of eating chicken. All kinds of things could happen. I could get sick or I could choke on it. Or I could eat it, satisfy my hunger and move on with my life." She paused, hoping that Allison understood what she was saying. "You had no idea that this would have happened. After all, what were the chances? You had walked to your car by yourself innumerable times in the past and nothing had happened before. You did not make the decision to get hurt, Allison. He did. You need to realize that. And as soon as you recognize that fact, the better you will feel. It was not your decision. It was his," she repeated with feeling. She studied Allison's face. "And yes, you had read that memo, and you had just found out about those attacks. But what if the memo hadn't been sent out until tomorrow? I truly believe, Allison, that you would have still walked to your car alone."

Allison closed her eyes, feeling tears sliding down her cheeks. Dr. Wasnick was right. Allison had told Chase that nobody was to blame, but she realized now she hadn't fully believed that. Until now. "Thank you," she whispered to the doctor. They were simple words, but the emotion and meaning they carried was potent.

Katherine smiled and stood up. "I'm only stating fact, Allison." She walked up to the bed and handed Allison a tissue. "I think that's enough for today. I'll be back to see you tomorrow before you go home, okay?"

Allison smiled and nodded. She watched the psychiatrist walk out of her room, closing her door quietly. She turned to her left side, and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. She felt herself falling asleep, reveling in the peacefulness of it.

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House checked the clock. It was 7 in the evening. He stood up from his chair, and limped into the department where Chase remained. House had made him take over all of the paperwork, and it seemed that he was staying late tonight, finishing it up. He limped over to the coffee machine, feeling a perverse pleasure that he had found a way to silently punish Chase. He poured himself a cup of coffee, and made a face when he took a sip. It was awful. No doubt it had been there since that morning. He took another swig, forcing it down his throat.

Chase looked up from his chair and smiled. He knew that the coffee was hours old, and he felt a ridiculous amount of satisfaction knowing that House was going to have to force himself to drink it, since he himself didn't make coffee. His smile sobered, remembering who usually made the coffee, and he turned back to his work. "Staying late tonight, Dr. House?"

House eyed Chase as he placed his coffee cup in the sink. "Still doing paperwork, Prince Harry?"

Chase threw down his pen and rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated. "I'm Australian, okay? It's a whole different continent."

House smiled smugly at him. "Oh, but don't you still bow down to the queen?" and he was back in his office, packing his backpack for the ride home. As he walked out of the office and into the hallway, his heartbeat quickened. He was going to go see Allison before he went home. He went to the elevator and got on, pushing the appropriate button for Allison's floor. As he rode up, he wondered what he would say to her. Wondered how she was doing.

He exited the elevators once the doors opened, and made his way to Allison's room. He knocked on the closed door, walking in at her questioning, "Yes?"

He limped into the room slowly, taking in several details at once. Allison had been watching TV, but had turned it off once he had walked in. There were three vases of flowers on one bedside table, all three pink roses. Apparently the gift shop in the hospital had no idea what the word variety meant. And lastly, he took an assessment of Allison. She looked good, considering.

He paused for a moment. He felt incredibly uncomfortable, standing in there, with not a thought as to what he should say.

Allison took pity on him. "I'm surprised you're still here. You usually don't stay after 5, or 6 at the latest."

House slowly nodded, making his way to the chair at her bedside. "I had to finish up a few things." Sitting down, he continued, "Something about saving a patient's life, or some such nonsense. Apparently some hold that in high regard here." He shrugged. "I thought I'd see how you're doing before heading home. The L Word is on tonight, so you understand why I can't stay too late." He stopped, and mentally kicked himself. Why was he making careless jokes like this, while he should be asking how she was doing?

Allison smiled and nodded. "That I totally understand."

Suddenly, her smile wavered. She noted his body language, and realized he was beyond uncomfortable. He sat at the very edge of the chair, as if waiting for an excuse to jump up and run out of the room, limp be damned. He had his arms folded across his chest, his cane resting against his leg. She looked down at her hands in her lap, realizing what was wrong. He would never treat her the same after this. All he would do from now on is walk on eggshells, treating her like fine china, waiting for her to crack at any moment.

House noticed that she had suddenly become subdued, and willed himself to say something to break the silence. He nodded at the flowers. "Nice roses. I saw some earlier in the gift shop." She made no reply. He searched his mind frantically, trying to think of something else. "How did you like the menu for today? I didn't care for the ravioli; it reminded me far too well of school lunches. But the Caesar salad was tolerable if you put extra dressing on it."

Allison took a deep breath and met his eyes. "House, please stop." At his surprised look, she continued. "I know what you're trying to do. I understand that you're trying to put me at ease. I appreciate it. But I'm fine. You don't have to treat me any differently than you have before. It's important to me that you don't treat me any differently. Because I am fine," she repeated.

House let out a breath, not realizing he had been holding it. He nodded slowly. "I understand," he said. He looked down at his hands, twirling his cane. He looked back up at Allison and added, "But I really did want to know what you thought about the ravioli."

She smiled, appreciating his attempt at levity. "It was awful. The same kind of awful it has been for the past three years."

House smiled back, and settled into his chair. If she truly wanted him to treat her normally, then he was going to do just that. "Did you talk to the police?"

Allison nodded, smoothing the blanket over her legs. "Yes, I talked to them. I guess they caught what happened on a security camera, so that's good." She paused, wondering if she should tell him about the birthmark, and her worry that she wasn't remembering everything. "I had noticed a café au lait birthmark on his hand. I'm hoping that will help them narrow down any suspects."

House nodded. "I'm sure it will."

Allison looked up at him then, her brow furrowed with worry. "I'm afraid I'm not remembering everything. When I was talking to the detectives earlier, all of these details kept coming back to me; things I hadn't even realized happened until I was talking to the police." She brought up her hand, smoothing her hair back absently from her forehead. "I can't stop thinking that maybe I'm not remembering something significant, something that will help their investigation."

House's eyes followed her hand, noting her torn and ravaged nails. His eyes met hers once again. "That's normal. During trauma, the brain doesn't immediately register everything, but the subconscious does. It usually comes back after time."

She looked down at her lap again, biting her lip. House leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He finally asked the question he had wanted to ask since he came in here. "How are you, Allison?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Allison knew he wasn't only asking about how she felt physically. "I'm doing better than I was earlier," she said quietly. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, willing her fatigue to go away. "I've already said this a few times earlier, but I would rather be home, in my apartment, than here." She paused, and looked up at House. "When can I return to work?"

House met her eyes, caught off guard by the question, and then shook his head. "I don't know. I think it would be best to wait until your bruises fade." He paused, and then added with meaning, "All of your bruises."

Allison continued to meet his gaze. She wanted to return to work. She wanted life to go back to normal. There was no reason why she should have to sit at home, doing nothing, while she could be productive at work.

"I could perform all of the lab work. I wouldn't have to meet with any of the patients."

House rubbed his chin with his hand, considering his words carefully. "I can't let you return to work until I know you're better. What if you made a mistake?"

Allison shifted in the bed, frustrated. "I'd be in the lab. You can perform random QA tests if you want to double check my work." She looked at House. "I need for everything to be back to normal. I don't want to stay home, alone with my thoughts," she stated.

House knew that it must have taken a lot for her to confess this last part. Hell, he would feel the same way. Look at how he had dealt with his leg. He had been back at work ASAP. And even on bad days, he would rather be at work than at home, feeling sorry for himself.

"Let me talk to Cuddy," he conceded. "But I'm not making any promises."

Allison nodded, knowing this was as much as House would promise. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

House accepted her thanks with a nod of his head. "And when you do come back, you have coffee duty again. No excuses."

Allison smiled. "Deal."

House let his gaze linger on her face, noting how tired she looked. It was time for him to go so that she could sleep. He would prefer to stay with her, talking with her. But he had to remind himself that she was still recovering. He stood up. "Well, Bette is calling my name. Apparently she and Tina get in a big fight tonight." He bent over and retrieved his bag from the floor. "And I love it when they fight. Their making up makes it so worth it."

Allison smiled and rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't want you to miss that."

House limped over to the bed. He wanted to talk to her about the arrangements of staying with her the next night, but decided against it. Tomorrow would be a better time to discuss that. He dug his hand in his bag, and retrieved a little pink teddy bear from it, and placed it on Allison's lap. "I've already named it Paris Hilton, but I'm sure Paris wouldn't mind a different name as long as it wasn't sappy like Beary or Poo."

Allison picked up the bear. "Thank you," she said with genuine feeling. She looked at the bear for a moment, and smiled. "I think I'll name her Cherry."

House sighed dramatically. "Of course, go with something obvious and overly feminine."

Allison looked up at him, feigning hurt. "Well, what's up with Paris Hilton?"

House looked at her incredulously, and then explained to her in a voice he reserved for small children. "Isn't it obvious? Because it's a cheap plaything."

Allison stared up at him, and then shook her head. "You're a pig," she said, though she was smiling.

House swung his bag across his shoulder and nodded. "I know." He looked down at her. "I'll be back tomorrow morning before they release you. Do you need a ride home?"

Allison gave a rueful laugh. "I have no idea. I hope my car is still in the parking lot. I didn't think to ask the police if it was towed away."

"I'll look into it. I'll let you know tomorrow." He stood there for a minute, studying her, and then forced himself to make his way to the door. "Sleep well," he said, and he was gone.

Allison sat in silence for a moment. "You too," she whispered.