She opened her eyes and sat up blearily, listening to the repetitive beep of a heart monitor. Had she fallen asleep in a patient's room? She looked around, rubbing her eyes, wondering where the patient was, before realizing.

Her. She was the patient. As if on cue, blinding pain shot through her head, almost causing her to faint on the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, reaching up to feel her head. Did her hair usually feel so... cloth-y?

Bandages, Allison. Bandages. A head injury.

What had even happened? Did she trip over something? Fall? Do something exceedingly stupid? She didn't know. She didn't know at all. It was common with head injuries to forget the incident when it happened. But that fact didn't stop her heart from beating faster, her breath catching in her throat.

"Oh. Hey. I guess you're awake."

Her head snapped up to see Dr. Foreman, walking in with a clipboard.

"I was just about to update your chart. How are you feeling?"

The throbbing pain in her head had not subsided in any measurable way. "Fine, I guess. My head's killing me."

Foreman nodded. "That would be the head trauma. You've been out two days." He wrote some notes down before continuing. "Do you know what your name is?"

She frowned. "Yeah." Two days? This was serious, then. How could she have gotten tangled up in something like this? "Do... you know what happened?"

"Gotta tell me your name," he repeated, a hint of concern bleeding through his stony facade.

"Allison Cameron," she muttered, blinking in the disorientingly bright lights. "What happened to me?"

"You were in an accident, that's all I know. You don't remember?"

She tried to think back, to recall a moment where she might've hit her head. It was if there was a blind spot in her memory, something she couldn't see, or had no feel for. "No."

He gave a curt nod, writing it down. "I'm not surprised. It was quite a nasty hit." He looked away in thought a moment, seeming bothered by something. "You know who I am?"

She nodded. "Foreman. We work together."

"In what?" he asked, rubbing his goatee.

"Diagnostics."

He nodded along, writing as she spoke. "And... how long?"

"A few years? I don't know, exactly." She winced, the questions making her head throb painfully. "Need anything else?"

The neurologist shook his head. "No, I think that's it for now. By the way, when you feel well enough to get up, Chase is in the next room." He got up to leave, tucking her chart under an arm.

Chase? He was hurt too, then. From what? The same thing? "Wait-"

Foreman stopped in his tracks. "Hm?"

"You said Chase was in the next room."

Foreman nodded. "You guys were out together when it happened."

She put a hand up to her head again. Out together... doing what? Pain shot through her head, making her wince. Okay. Too much thinking.

Foreman smirked. "Here. Catch."

A small pill bottle soared through the air, and she barely snagged it, the contents rattling inside. She read the label, squinting.

"...Vicodin?"

"Yeah," Foreman said, grinning. "Bet House will get a kick out of that."

House. Even thinking of the caustic man gave her a rush of adrenaline. It was stupid, she knew, but she couldn't help wondering. "Is he... around?"

He chuckled. "It's 8:30. You tell me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. No. He wasn't around.

Foreman leaned over, moving his body slightly closer. "Two every four hours, by the way. Probably shouldn't be trying to read small print."

"Yeah... thanks." She popped two of the painkillers in her mouth and rinsed them down, then rolled back over in the bed. She'd sleep it off. It should help. She could figure everything out later. She sighed, waiting for the world to melt away.

Opening her eyes the second time was worse. It was like someone had been kicking her in the stomach. She was nauseous. Really, really nauseous. She ran out of her room and down the hallway, pushing into the bathroom as fast as she could.

It came out in a torrent, the remnants of a meal she couldn't recognize pouring out as she held on to the toilet seat for dear life. She sat, shaking, on the bathroom floor, emotions rushing in at once.

She's hurt, doesn't know how badly, doesn't know how it happened, doesn't know if anything is permanent, she can't think straight, everything hurts...

She didn't know how and when the tears started, but she sat, crying, back pressed up against the toilet, arms wrapped around her knees. It was utterly pathetic and she knew it, yet, she couldn't stop.

A knock at the door. She looked up, wiping tears away hastily.

"Are you alright, dearie?" An older woman, frosted blonde hair, thick Southern accent.

"Y-yeah, sorry." Cameron pulled herself up, letting the stall door swing open. "I've just been having kinda a trash day."

"Oh don't worry, honey, me too." The woman smiled at her fondly. "I'm here for my husband. They can't figure out what's wrong with him. He's under the care of a Doctor House."

House, huh? "Oh, I work with House."

"Oh?" The woman raised her eyebrows, giving her a disbelieving once-over.

"Yeah, I... I'm a doctor here." Cameron put a hand to her head, wincing as another jolt of pain shot through. "I should probably go. Nice meeting you though, Mrs..."

"Stevens. Amy Stevens."

She stuck out her hand, and Cameron took it. "Allison Cameron."

She walked down the hall, not really knowing where she was trying to go. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere where it wouldn't feel like her entire world had been turned on its head. She pushed open the door to the diagnostics room, basically falling into the nearest chair.

"The mummy walks," House remarked, tapping his cane on the ground. "Think you can help us with this case?"

"House, she has a concussion," Foreman retorted, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, right of course," he said, throwing up his hands in mock realization. "I couldn't tell since her head isn't wrapped up." He tapped a marker on the whiteboard. "Roger Stevens. Showed up with stomach pain, rash on the arms, and..." His voice faded off into the distance as Cameron found herself zoning out. The words didn't sound like words, the situation didn't feel... real. It was like living in an alternate reality, where everything was shifted, just a bit. She had been coming to this very room almost daily for years... how could it feel so strange?

"Cameron?" A hand on her shoulder. Like a fog being lifted, the real world seemed to snap back into place.

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think- I think I should go." What was she even doing? Where was she even going? She just needed to leave, needed to get out, get away.

She didn't know how she ended up in his room, but walking through the doorway was like a slap to the face. His face was bruised, an eye swollen shut. His torso was completely wrapped up with gauze, dark spots indicating dried blood. There were remnants of blood on his face and arms, and she found herself drawn closer, wishing she knew what had happened. She pulled up a chair and sat at his side, wondering.

What had they been doing out together? How would they end up in a situation like... this? She looked at his face, wondering what he knew that she didn't. Hang on. He was... His eyes slowly fluttered open, meeting hers. He blinked a few times in shock, staring at her as if she couldn't be real. Hesitantly, he reached his arms out, wrapping around her, pulling her closer to him. Their lips were only an inch away from meeting when she pulled back, terrified.

"What are you doing?"

He looked stunned, as if someone had just poked him with a cattle prod. "Kissing you."

"What?" She stepped back, head throbbing. It was so... out of the blue. Her breath quickened, heart thumping. Why would he kiss her? Why now? It's not like they were anything but coworkers, maybe friends at most. Why would that be his first priority?

Something seemed to click behind his gaze as he sat up on the bed, taking everything in. "Cameron, do you remember the incident?" he said, frowning.

She shook her head, slowly. "No..." Was there something she was supposed to know?

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She shrugged, trying to think back to beyond the insanity. Brief flashes of things she remembered, nothing solid enough to hang on to. "...Eating breakfast?"

Chase shifted slightly on the bed, wincing in pain. "Okay... what date do you think it is? Don't look at anything."

"November 9, 2005..?" She was guessing, really, but it seemed about right.

A sudden seriousness set into his features, a storm of emotions churning within the eye that was still open. "Cameron, that was six months ago."