Chapter Text
House entered the conference room, inhaling the scent of fresh brewed coffee. Why couldn't he get coffee to turn out smelling that good? As he dropped his bag, he overheard Foreman asking Cameron whether she'd closed on the new house yet, and Cameron's affirmative reply, and a request to help her move boxes this weekend. He dropped his file on the table, and, unsurprisingly, a mug of the aforementioned coffee appeared near his right hand as Cameron took her seat. As she sat, his eyes not so subtly slid down the front of her shirt. "Emulating Dr. Cuddy today, Dr. Cameron?"
Cameron blushed, quickly looked down and adjusted her red silk blouse to cover a bit more of her cleavage, pulling her lab coat more tightly around her, as if it would protect her somehow from House's eyes.
House snorted. "Well, don't change it on my account." After all, he certainly wasn't the type to turn down a glance at a nice pair of tits, and Cameron did have particularly nice tits, if a bit small. Her face turned a slightly deeper shade of pink, and she squirmed in her chair. He didn't miss the glare Foreman sent his way, nor Chase's slightly disgusted expression as he picked up the file, avoiding House's gaze.
"Okay, people, back to our patient." House turned toward the white board. "We've got a new symptom." He added "Retinal Detachment" to the list.
Chase sighed. "Okay. So we've got a sunken chest, which may or may not have anything to do with anything, a heart murmur, spontaneous pneumothorax, and radiating leg pain."
Cameron chewed her lip, looking away. "He's taller than his dad. Do we know what his mom's height was?"
Foreman looked at her, curious. "What's height got to do with it?"
House sighed. "Put it together, people. Symptoms. We've got a retinal detachment, collapsed lung, a heart murmur, a sunken chest, and now, probably height."
"I think he might have Marfan's." Cameron blurted.
"Thank you, Doctor Cameron, for finally stating the obvious." House snapped. "Cameron, get an echo, Foreman, find out about mom." He glanced over at Chase. "You. Clinic. Go be me."
Chase dropped the file and sulked his way out of the room, and Foreman followed, scooping up the file on his way. House turned toward his office, and looked back a moment later when he realized Cameron hadn't moved. She was resting her elbow on the table, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Cameron?"
She shook her head. "Sorry. Headache. Going now." She made for the door.
"Cameron!" She turned at his sharp tone. "This is a hospital. Find some ibuprofen."
She smiled, nodded, and ducked out the door.
Hours later, Cameron poked her head into his office. "I have the results of the echo."
House looked up at her expectantly. "And…"
"Abdominal aortic aneurysm." She stepped all the way in and sat down, shoulders slightly slumped.
"Okay. So the kid's got a time bomb in his chest." He gave her a sharp look. "Don't tell me you still have a headache. Didn't you get that ibuprofen?"
She nodded.
"Yes, you got the ibuprofen, or yes, you still have a headache?"
"Both."
"Fine. Go tell the kid he's got Marfan's, schedule him for surgery on the aorta for first thing tomorrow morning, and go home."
She looked up at him in surprise. "But it's only three o'clock."
He glared back. "You heard me. Scram."
She didn't wait for him to tell her a third time.
Hours later, House limped painfully out the doors of the hospital. Leg aching, his eyes closed tightly for a moment, teeth digging into his lower lip, shoulders taught. All he could think of was the bottle of vicodin he'd left on his kitchen counter this morning. He meant to pocket it on the way out the door, but it had slipped his mind, and despite begging both Cuddy and Wilson, neither would write him a new script. It was dark, almost six o'clock, and that would make it around ten hours since he last had a pill.
He had brought the 'Vette today. Even House wasn't crazy enough to be riding a motorcycle in ice and snow and bone-chilling temperatures. The cold made his leg throb, and someone had used the handicapped space today, forcing him to park at the far end of the lot. It was probably better that way, though. Less of a chance of door dings in his precious Corvette.
He slowly gimped his way through the snow, watching the ground carefully for any hidden patches of ice. The last thing he needed was to land on his ass out here.
As he made his way toward the end of the lot, he caught sight of something bright red on the ground between the cars. Probably some kid dropped his jacket. He shrugged and walked on, turning sharply when he saw the red thing move.
Sighing, he made his way over to the object. As he got closer, he saw bits of black and white, along with the bright red. He shaded his eyes against the glare of the snow, and saw a human form. It's surprising how fast a man with a cane can move with the proper incentive.
Long brown hair fanned out over the snow. He bent down next to the form, gently touching the shoulder. "Cameron?"
She blinked, directing an unfocused gaze his way. Purple bruises marred her cheek and temple.
He grabbed her hand, finding it cold as ice. "Cameron. What happened? How long have you been out here?"
She blinked again and shook her head slightly. "H-House?"
He held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"
Her brow furrowed as she tried to focus. "Dunno. Stop moving."
He waived his keychain light in her eyes, relieved to find her pupils reactive. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, cursing when he found it empty and belatedly realizing that in his hurry to get home to his vicodin, he'd left it on his desk.
"Cameron."
"Wha? Sleepy. Hurts." She responded slowly.
"What hurts? Where?" He snapped.
The sharp tone prompted a response, albeit a not very helpful one of "'vrywhere."
"Cameron, we have to go inside. It's cold and you're hurt." He felt stupid stating the obvious, but maybe it would get her to react.
"Cold." She repeated.
"Yes, I know it's cold. Can you walk?"
She looked at him blankly. "Took shoes."
"Took shoes?" He looked around, seeing no one there. "Who took your shoes?"
"He did." She replied, focusing a little better.
"Who's he?" House grabbed both her shoulders.
"The man who took my shoes." She pressed her hand against the snow, trying to push herself to a sitting position.
"Cameron. You're not making any sense. We need to get you inside. I need you to stand up. Can you do that if I help you?" He was trying to be gentle, but panic undercut his tone, sharpening it. She cringed. "Cameron." He took a breath, trying to calm himself. Panic wouldn't help her. "Allison." He touched her chin, turning her head to look at him, and inwardly, yet again, cursing his leg. "We need to get you inside, right now. I'd carry you, but I can't. You need to help me help you." He stripped off his coat and held out his left hand. "Take my hand. I'm right here. Grab my hand. Hold on."
She slowly extended her hand to him, and he closed his hand tightly around her wrist. He inched back, resting his weight on a car bumper, and braced his cane securely on an iceless patch of asphalt. "Okay. Just hold on to me, and we'll stand up, okay?" Slowly, he helped her to her feet, wrapping the coat around her shoulders and an arm securely around her waist.
As they took a tentative step forward, his eyes landed on the spot where she had been lying. The snow beneath had been stained a deep crimson.
"Shit."
Step by step, they slowly made their way back to the hospital entrance and around the corner to emergency. Even though the ER was a few more steps, he knew they were more equipped to help her quickly. House, supporting both his own weight and a good part of Cameron's, took slow, measured steps, carefully bracing his cane so it wouldn't slip. Mentally, he cataloged her injuries. Head injury. Possible fractured cheekbone. Blood loss, probably from places he didn't want to think about right now. Frostbitten fingers. Probably frostbitten toes. He knew that walking on frostbitten feet wasn't a good idea, but neither was leaving her out in the cold longer while he went to get help. He just couldn't bring himself to walk away from her and leave her lying in the snow, even if it was to bring her help. He felt her leaning on him, and again cursed his leg, wishing he could just pick her up and carry her to safety. He tried not to look at the trail of bloody footprints she left behind them.
When they entered the warmth of the ER, the nurse behind the counter took one look at Cameron's bruises, bloody stockings, and the trail of blood left behind and quickly grabbed a wheelchair, passing her to the waiting medical assistant. House followed closely behind and the security guard tried to stop him at the door with a sharp "Sir, you can't go in there."
If looks could kill, the guy would be six feet under. "I'm Doctor House. Head of diagnostics at this hospital. If I want to go back there, I will, and I'd suggest you move. Now."
The guard stepped aside, eyes wide. "They took her to exam 6."
When House entered the exam room, he found that Cameron had been hooked up to a heart monitor and pulse ox. His coat was draped over a chair. He and glared at the nurse. "Get me four buckets of warm water. One hundred degrees."
"But Doctor," the nurse protested "Given the bleeding, we need to do a rape kit. We've got to check her fingernails for evidence."
"She's a doctor. What the hell is more important? The evidence or saving her fingers?" House snapped, looming over the nurse in his most intimidating posture.
"Fingers. I'll get the water." She hurried out the door.
He turned to the other nurse. "Get a rape kit and bring it back here. Then, get me an IV, a bag of warm saline, and morphine." He looked back to Cameron and began removing the torn nylons, noting that the bleeding had slowed considerably.
"Morphine?"
He whirled back around. "Morphine. Do you have any idea how incredibly painful it is to rewarm frostbitten tissue? She'll be screaming. She doesn't need to be awake for it, and she doesn't need to feel it."
The nurse dashed out the door and returned a moment later, handing him the rape kit and leaving again quickly.
He opened the box and removed an envelope and a scraper. He quickly scraped under each fingernail, noting the blood under her nails. Probably not hers.
As he finished, the second nurse returned with the requested IV and morphine. She efficiently set up the IV as he sealed and signed the envelope, dropping it back into the kit.
He suddenly found his hand gripped in ice cold fingers. "House? My head feels fuzzy."
He moved over to her shoulder, not releasing her hand. "We need to warm up your fingers and toes. It'll hurt, so there's morphine in your IV. That's why your head feels funny." He brushed her hair out of her eyes. "Close your eyes. You said you felt tired. Go to sleep, and this will all be over when you wake up. Okay?"
She nodded slowly. "Mmkay."
The first nurse returned, pushing a cart with four basins of water, slightly steaming. House stuck his hand in one, checking the temperature, then pulling his hand out and drying it on his pants.
He took her hand and gently set it in the basin, holding her wrist firmly as she tried weakly to pull her arm back. He felt her muscles relax as the morphine completely took over. Quickly, he placed her other hand and her feet into the remaining basins.
The door opened and a doctor about Chase's age stepped in. "Hello, I'm Doctor Casey-" His eyes widened as he recognized the tall man with the cane. "Um… Doctor House, it looks like you have everything under control. Can I assist with anything?"
"You can call a GYN." He looked over at Cameron. "Preferably female. And page Doctor Cuddy to my cell."
Suddenly, a monitor began to shriek. "Pressure's dropping!" Casey yanked up her shirt, and he and House both quickly saw the tight, hard abdomen. "Internal bleeding. Ruptured spleen, probably."
House nodded. "She needs an OR. Now." The doctor nodded and dashed out the door. House turned to the two nurses, his voice reflecting the urgency of the situation. "You, get me two bags of A positive blood. Move!" He motioned to the second nurse. "And you, page Doctor Cuddy, and call for the gyn consult." He paused for a moment. "And send someone to get my cell phone from my desk."
House examined her abdomen, his hand tightening on his cane, knuckles white, as he saw five small round bruises on each hip. Finger marks. He took a shaky breath, acknowledging his desire to kill the person responsible for her pain, provided the cops, or better yet, Foreman, didn't find him first.
The nurses left, and one quickly returned with the blood, which was rapidly hung. He let out a breath in relief as her blood pressure began to rise.
Doctor Casey entered, slightly breathless. "OR 4. Surgeon is Doctor Hill."
House grunted an approval. "He's competent. Usually."
The bags of blood and saline were transferred to poles attached to the gurney, and she was quickly wheeled out of the room. House looked to the nurse. "I want her hands and feet back in warm water as soon as she's settled in the OR."
The nurse nodded and left. House followed her out the door, and turned when the desk nurse called his name. She held out a set of scrubs. "We thought you might want to change your clothes." He looked down at himself and saw that the left side of his shirt and jeans were smeared and spotted with blood. He could go back to his office and change, but that was the other side of the hospital.
Wordlessly, he took the scrubs and limped off to the closest locker room. Inside, he peeled off the cold, bloody clothes and noted that the blood had soaked through to his skin. He stripped off his boxers and stepped into a warm shower, watching the blood turn from red to pale pink as it mixed with the water and slipped down the drain. Confident he was as clean as he was going to get, he turned off the water and snatched a towel from the cabinet. He quickly toweled the moisture off and got into the scrubs, pleased to note that they were warm and soft, instead of the thin, itchy kind that often was found in hospitals.
He looked at his socks and noted the blood splatter marring the white fabric, and bent down, wiped the drops off of his shoes, and put the shoes on sans socks, tossing the bloody clothes into one of the giant Ziplocs kept around for that purpose.
When he left the locker room, the nurse was waiting for him outside. She held out her hand for the bag and handed him his cell phone. "I'll send this up to your office. Coffee?" He nodded, and found a steaming cup in his hand a moment later. "They've just started the surgery on your friend." He nodded again, and turned away to head down the hall.
Nurses' voices followed after him.
"Was that Doctor House?"
"Yeah. He was like a mama bear in there, growling and barking orders. Who's the girl?"
"Doctor Cameron. One of his fellows… or cubs, I guess you could say."
"How'd he know her blood type?"
"He's House."
Normally, House would've turned around and snapped, snarked, or otherwise terrorized people daring to speak of him that way. But, for now, there were more important things to attend to.
His cell phone rang in the elevator. "House." He answered sharply. "Cuddy... Look, something's happened… Just get down here." He hung up and headed to the observation room above the OR.
When he arrived, he looked down and saw that the surgeon had completed the incision and was exploring to locate the rupture. He was pleased to note that the nurse had followed his instructions, and Cameron's hands and feet were once again immersed in warm water.
Through the glass, he could hear the faint, regular beep of the heart monitor and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and closed his eyes, resting his weight on the cane and his forehead on the glass, the cup of coffee forgotten on the table behind him.
House wasn't sure how long he had been standing there. "House?" Cuddy's concerned voice entered the room a half second before she did.
"What?" He didn't move.
"I read the file. How's she doing?" Cuddy moved to stand next to him, gazing down into the OR.
"Breathing. Heart beating. Vitals now within acceptable parameters." He straightened up and turned toward her, noting the worry evident on her face.
"How are you doing?"
"Aren't you asking the wrong person?" He leaned back in surprise. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"
"Because, from what I heard, you found your colleague, your friend, lying bleeding in a snow bank and watched her come close to coding in the ER." Cuddy crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously.
He turned away from her, his forearm on the glass, unable to meet her gaze, and furious with himself for it. He clenched his hands into fists, hoping she wouldn't notice their slight tremor.
"Why did you page me?" She took a step closer as she spoke.
He shrugged. "Worker's comp?"
"Since when do you follow procedure?" She replied, glancing down into the OR.
House's eyes followed hers. "Looks like he's found the bleed."
"So what happened?"
He continued to avoid meeting her eyes. "You read the file."
"Yes. The file that told me her medical condition. It didn't tell me what happened to her, how, and why she was out there for so long in the first place." Cuddy snapped.
House whirled to look at her, eyes burning with fury. Cuddy's eyes widened, and she took a few steps back, breath catching in her throat. He stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them, his eyes locked with hers. His voice was a low growl. "She was out there because I sent her out there."
"What?!" Confusion flashed across Cuddy's face.
"You heard me." He turned back to the window. "Get out."
"House, this wasn't -" She started.
He didn't look at her. "Get. Out. Now." He was relieved when he heard her heels tapping toward the door.
He watched as the surgeon corrected the bleed, and was relieved to note that it was relatively minor. The issue hadn't been a major bleed out, just a minor one that was left untreated far too long.
He watched the doctor close the wound, noting that the stitches were very neat. The scar wouldn't be any worse than necessary. The man moved away, and a woman stepped into his place. He realized this must be the GYN he'd had the nurse send for. Absently, House noted that he wouldn't have even known she was female, except she was wearing purple glasses. A surgical nurse began to adjust the drape, and another began to gently move Cameron's legs apart. A table was brought up containing speculums, small items he couldn't see from this distance, and the rape kit box he'd opened earlier.
The doctor adjusted the camera and monitor while the nurse adjusted Cameron's position on the table. The surgical drape concealed her face from the doctor, but House could see her clearly, and watched while the nurse shifted Cameron over slightly, causing her long hair to tumble over the edge of the table. He glanced back at the monitor and got his first good look at the extent of her injuries. Her thighs were caked with blood, both dried and fresh, and there was a white, flaky substance streaked across her skin. Semen.
House felt his stomach turn and his fist clenched in frustration. He was a doctor, damn it. He'd seen injuries like this before. This wasn't new, wasn't different. There was no reason for him to react like this. The rolling in his stomach wouldn't settle, and he looked away from the monitor and back to her face, and saw the difference. This time, it was personal. This time it was Cameron. He felt his gut churn a final time, turned away and emptied the contents of his stomach into the trashcan.
When the retching finally stopped after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes in reality, he sat weakly on the bench, resisting the urge to look back down into the OR. What was happening in there was deeply personal, and he knew she probably wouldn't want him watching, and he would respect that. Enough violation had taken place today.
His hands were shaking again, and he clinically assessed that the adrenaline rush from the situation was beginning to wear off. He rested his hands on the handle of his cane in front of him, fatigue slamming into him like a runaway train. His leg was aching again, the familiar throbbing comforting in a strange way, providing him with something to focus on besides what was happening in the room below. His forehead slowly lowered to rest on his hands as he took a shaky breath, listening to the faint beeping of the heart monitor downstairs.