"Cam, what the hell are you-... Shit."
Staring down at the blonde as she bites her lip with her hand pressed to her side - her glove streaked scarlet and her complexion pale - Chase freezes for a moment in sheer shock before snapping out of it and falling down to kneel beside the tub. He wrestles himself out of his jacket and folds one of the sleeves hurriedly; pulling Cameron's trembling fingers out of the way before pressing the fabric to the wound.
Hardly the most hygienic of compresses, but it will do for now.
"What the hell happened?!"
"I don't know... You knocked and I jumped, and I guess-... I think the scalpel slipped, and I-... I don't-"
"What were you doing with a scalpel in the first place?! Jesus, Cameron! Come on, come here-"
Grabbing the blonde's arm and draping it over his shoulders, Chase helps her clumsily from the bath; trying his best to ignore the splashes of crimson smeared up the enamel of the tub.
Doctor or not, when it's people you know... You're never immune to raw emotion.
He guides Cameron with some difficulty from the bathroom to her couch in the living room; imagining she will later have to replace the cream throw on which he places her, but deciding she can worry about that some other time.
Preferably at a time when she no longer bleeds quite so profusely.
Taking a seat next to her and keeping the drenched sleeve of his jacket pressed firmly to her hip, Chase digs his phone out of his jeans pocket - silently lamenting the way the evening has taken such an alarming turn; his original plan to share a drink or two with the blonde at their local bar now seeming a ludicrous impossibility - and dials for an ambulance.
He informs the faceless voice on the receiving end of Cameron's injury, instructing that she should be taken to Princeton Plainsboro. He frowns as the blonde shakes her head distractedly - muttering something about Jersey General - and hangs up after confirming an ambulance is on its way.
"No, I need to go to General, I don't want to-"
"-What? Why? Allie, what were you doing in there?!"
Chase's eyes are wide with shock, and Cameron comes to the slow realisation that he has unlikely been clued in on the events of the previous day. This notion is seconded by his protective grip around her shoulders and she sighs as she wonders when in the hell the boys - her boys - will quit treating her like their wretched broken princess.
Come on, Chase, give me a little credit. If I'd done this on purpose, I'd hardly have invited you in to relish the aftermath.
"A guy got me in the side yesterday with a scalpel in the ER, and-"
"-He what?! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"I haven't seen you, so why would I?"
"... A guy stabs you in the side and you didn't get it looked at?! Allison! He could have punctured something, or-"
"-Yes, thank you, I have a certificate with my name written all prettily across it just like you... House checked me out and patched me up."
"House 'patched you up'?"
"He was down in the ER at the time, so he took me into one of the exam rooms."
"But then, what-"
"-I was fine last night. Really. I mean, it hurt a little, but it seemed as though everything was okay. But, when I woke up this morning, the gauze was saturated and I saw the bruising, and-... When you knocked, I was just trying to check it out to see what-"
"-Cameron!-"
"-What!? I just didn't want to have to go back and sound like I was complaining, or-"
"-What, and tell House that he messed up? You'd rather dissect yourself in the fucking bathtub rather than rub the good doctor up the wrong way? You-"
"-He didn't mess up-"
"-Oh, for god's sake! You-"
"-In case you've forgotten; I'm a doctor, and I didn't think it was anything more than a flesh wound either... Whatever, okay, there's clearly some internal bleeding, and I'm pretty sure it's down to a nick in the artery, and-"
"-And you're an idiot for trying to sort this out by yourself."
Chase insists wearily, and Cameron scowls at him; the effect somewhat diminished by the thin sheen of perspiration that stands out on her forehead and the shallowness of her breath. Recognising his words as a statement rather than an attempt to argue with her further, she sighs and rests her head back against the sofa.
"I guess so."
Matching her sigh with a slightly more humorous one of his own, Chase gives skinny shoulders a squeeze before handing over the task of pressing sodden material to pale flesh and pushing himself up from the couch in order to find the blonde something to wear.
"What are you doing?"
Cameron demands, causing Chase to grin at the irritable tone of her voice, and he calls back over his shoulder
"Panty-raid!"
"Pretty sure you've seen my more interesting sets..."
Rolling his eyes at Cameron's attempt at a blasé response, he forgoes the top drawers of her dresser altogether, searching instead for a loose jersey or cardigan and some sweatpants; feeling a little odd going through her things despite their jocular back and forth.
Not that I have a clue what she usually pairs with what...
Settling for some dark grey yoga pants, he pulls out a large hoodie that zips up the front. He experiences an odd surge of emotion as he throws this latter item onto the bed; its size a pretty good indication that it will have once belonged to a member of the opposite sex. It's not that he hasn't accepted the idea that the blonde has moved on - not that, in her eyes, there had been all that much to move on from - it's just that he's rarely required to think about it; Cameron definitely not one to regale those around her with tales of what little sex-life she has.
And that's perfectly fine by me...
Giving up on his hunt for a matching pair of socks - a little surprised that she hasn't got them all paired together in their respective drawer - he finds two of a similar colour and carries his spoils out into the living room.
"You, uh... Need any help?"
He asks a little awkwardly, and the blonde frowns as she's reminded of House asking her the same question the previous evening. She supposes, in some ways, it's a good thing that it's Chase of all people to have found her; she has less of a wall up around him.
I guess once someone's already seen you naked, they might as well help you get your socks on if needs must...
The thought amuses her and she chuckles to herself while Chase regards her with a raised brow.
"Something funny?"
"No, I guess I'm just feeling a little lightheaded."
Shrugging, she dons the proffered outfit gingerly with Chase helping her here and there; the surgeon grinning as she lets out several frustrated sighs when unable to move with the agility she'd like.
"Ever the perfectionist."
"Shut up."
"I thought you said it wasn't bad?"
"I did, and I one hundred per cent stand by that statement... What are we talking about?"
House raises an eyebrow as Wilson takes a seat opposite him in one of the small booths in the lunch hall; stealing half of the meatball sub steaming on the oncologist's plate.
"Cameron. The cut to her side."
"It wasn't."
House shrugs disinterestedly, causing Wilson to frown.
"I guess she just needs time to get her head around it, then... Unless she actually is ill, of course."
"What are you muttering about?"
House asks with his mouth full.
"Nothing. I went down to the ER because I had some odd cell counts when we ran an allergy test on my patient, and I wanted to get Cameron to look at them for me. She wasn't around, and Nancy said she hadn't shown up yet. I wondered if she'd got cut worse than I thought, but-"
"-She's not at work?"
"She wasn't when I checked."
"... Well, as you said... She might be sick."
House shrugs, offering no further comment on the subject and simply looking down at his commandeered sandwich pensively. Recognising that they have reached the end of whatever discussion there is to be had about the blonde's health, Wilson adopts the fresh topic of just how likely it is that the new receptionist in Paeds was once in possession of male genitalia.
And perhaps still is.
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"
House shouts as he throws yet another piece of gravel against Cameron's kitchen window. He has already attempted the intercom next to the main door but had received no answer. Frowning as he spots her car in its designated space, and pairing this with the dusky glow of tungsten emanating from her apartment, he limps back over to the front entrance and presses all six of the resident buzzers at once.
"Yes?"
Drawing a momentary blank as an age-cracked voice hails him from the speaker, he continues cautiously
"I appear to have lost my front door key. I-"
Raising a brow when a telling buzz sounds loudly from the intercom, he wonders if he should inform Cameron of just how easily she might get broken into. He imagines he probably shouldn't; the blonde likely to adopt yet more anally-retentive habits than she already has.
Heading up to her apartment, House mutters irritably at his internal monologue that continues to demand an answer as to just what in the hell he thinks he's doing here.
I can barely stand her when she's healthy. Why on earth would I want to go and witness the unhealthy version?
Somehow, he finds the idea of Cameron clad in pyjamas and sporting a thermos of chicken soup to be both amusing and ludicrous.
I'd imagine her immune system would be too afraid of the wrath of her mind to fall so averagely below par.
That said, the idea of him - of Dr House - checking up on any of his protégés - hell, ex-protégés - is ludicrous also.
But what if you missed something...
Impossible. He's House.
Coming to a stop outside her door, he ponders the cream paint - just starting to peel around the handle - pensively, before raising a fist and knocking loudly.
"Open up, Cameron, I know you're home..."
He's surprised that she hasn't answered his attempts to contact her so far; not considering the blonde to be the sort to relish such a trivial game of hide and seek.
"Let me in, or I'm using your spare key..."
Receiving no response, he rolls his eyes and pulls his shirt sleeve over his hand. Reaching up to feel along the ledge of her door frame beneath the hallway light, he smiles as a glimmer of silver falls to land on the carpet.
Always predictable.
"I'm coming in! This better not be some weird sex thing! I swear, if I find you on all fours wearing nothing but a-"
But his teasing falters, as upon opening her apartment door, he is met with nothing but silence.
"Cameron?"
His frown deepens; clocking the blonde's black leather jacket hung neatly over one of her kitchen chairs, and her satchel resting on the floor beside it. Making his way over to her bedroom, he stands in the doorway suffering mounting confusion as he notes the way her dresser drawers have been pulled open and left in disarray; several socks and a white camisole littering the floor.
"... Allison?"
Her first name feels foreign on his tongue, but he has run out of ways in which to use her last name without yelling at her angrily to quit fucking around.
Limping irritably back into the living room, he uses his cane to smack open her bathroom door, despite now being certain he has the place to himself. Pausing as something strange catches his eye, he frowns, before crossing the threshold into the small, neatly tiled room and dropping his cane with a loud clatter.
"What...?"