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Chapter 3
Cameron felt as though the world had suddenly been made very small, and the floor had begun to shake. Staring in consternation at the woman before her, she attempted to keep a steady hold on reality as she was propelled backward in time sixteen years. Unfortunately, it was more of a struggle than she would have liked. The woman’s look of shock and disbelief was to be expected, but the way her lips had curled into a semi-sneer was entirely disconcerting. “Mrs. Aronson,” she said, and she was even more disconcerted to hear her voice wabble. “It’s . . . it’s been a long time.”
“We moved,” Mrs. Aronson said, her own voice tight and disapproving. “But you already knew that.”
She did, of course. The Aronsons had lived next door to her parents from the time she’d been born until she was fourteen-years old. She shivered involuntarily as she remembered the incident that had prompted their move from Sherman (her childhood home). The incident that she had shut out of her mind for so long, and which was suddenly coming back with utter clarity.
The baby can’t breathe. The baby can’t breathe. The baby . . .
She had to shake her head to focus so that she could comprehend the woman’s next words.
“So you’re a doctor,” Mrs. Aronson continued through tightened lips as she ran her slender hand through her graying blonde hair. “Here.”
“Yes,” Cameron said for lack of a better answer. “I’ve been working for Dr. House for the last three years.” She attempted to force her lips into a smile, but came up short. They formed a shaky grimace instead as the woman’s gray eyes continued to bore holes into Cameron’s own. Desperate to tear herself away from that chilling gaze, Cameron glanced at the child laying on the bed hooked up to several machines. Her blonde curls flowed loosely around her head, forming a type of halo on her pillow. “This is your –“
“Our daughter,” Mrs. Aronson interrupted, and for the first time Cameron noticed the burly man standing behind her. “Alexis. Our only child,” she emphasized this last, and Cameron was brought back to a time when she had been hired to baby-sit their first only child.
The baby can’t breathe . . .
Swallowing hard, Cameron took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. “I didn’t realize you’d had another child,” she stated, trying to keep her tone light yet failing miserably.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Mrs. Aronson replied, her words clipped. She didn’t waste a breath delving into the next issue. “Have you been assigned to Alexis’ case?” she demanded, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“I have,” Cameron replied, nodding feebly.
“How lovely,” Mrs. Aronson replied. But Cameron could tell by the look that she was receiving that the woman didn’t think it was lovely at all. A suspicion confirmed with the woman’s next words. “I’d like to speak with your supervisor,” she said, and Cameron knew that she would not be taking a patient history.
Her thoughts were interrupted, however, when the man beside Mrs. Aronson finally spoke up. “Elise,” he said, placing his burly hand on his wife’s slender arm. “Do you really think –“
But Mrs. Aronson would not be deterred. “Now,” she replied cooly, cutting her husband off before he could finish his statment. The chill behind the word caused another shiver to run up Cameron’s spine, and once again she had to keep herself from reeling backward in time.
It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.
“Of course,” Cameron said, forcing herself to remain rooted in the present. Her stomach knotting considerably, she finally pasted a smile onto her face and glanced quickly between Mr. and Mrs. Aronson (if looks were icicles). “I – I’ll go get him.” Anything to get out of this room.
Averting her gaze so that she was looking at the ground, she placed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and walked quickly from the room so that she could get House.
It was suddenly clear why the patient’s description had struck such a chord. Despite the abrupt clarity, however, she couldn’t help but notice how a dozen memories bumped in confusion within her mind, or how her knees shook with every step she took. She felt as if the walls were coming down.
Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly), he wasn’t in his office as he’d said he would be. He also wasn’t in the cafeteria, the maternity lounge, or the clinic (checked as a last resort). Finally, she found him hiding up on the hospital roof, his back against a cement pillar and his portable television set haphazardly atop his lap. He appeared to be trying to blend into the scenery.
Her stomach in knots, Cameron bit her lower lip and walked forward purposefully. If she was going to put up with House, she might as well get it over with. “The patient’s mother would like to speak with you,” she said, grateful when her words emerged in a clear tone. After being plunged backward in time sixteen years (her stomach knotted further still as the woman’s angry look flashed through her mind), she’d been afraid that she’d come to House like a scared school girl. The last thing she needed was to give him an opening for sarcastic references about her age. She’d get enough of them when he found out what was going on.
House glanced up at her words, and their gazes met for a brief moment during which she thought she may have seen a hint of apprehension reflected in his eyes. He quickly pushed it away, however, and looked back at his television set. “Sssh,” House replied, waving her off. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Cameron’s shoulders tightened and she shot him a mildly annoyed look. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said. “I didn’t realize that you could diagnose patients by watching soap operas.”
Narrowing his eyes in a faux attempt at annoyance, he glanced away from the television set and looked back up at her. “Did you want something?” he asked pointedly. “Or did you come up here just to annoy me?”
“Hmm,” Cameron pretended to consider. Despite herself, she was almost glad for his sarcastic barbs. It was getting her mind off of the Aronsons. (Even if it means an increase in my pulse rate, she thought with irritation “That’s a tough one. We’ve just taken on a new patient who hasn’t even been diagnosed yet, but I’d much rather annoy you than actually work.”
“You might want to consider therapy for that,” House said helpfully, still being annoyingly calm and not at all helpful. “It could get in the way of your work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cameron retorted, rolling her eyes. She paused for a moment (no, she wasn’t stalling) before furrowing her brow and running House’s current set-up through her mind. “Why are you up here, anyway?” she asked, although she had a pretty good idea what the answer would be.
Sure enough, House pretended to shudder at the thought. “And allow the Cleavage Queen to find me?” he asked, and once again Cameron rolled her eyes. “I’d rather expose myself to the elements. At least they’re less predictable.”
“Let me guess,” Cameron said, giving him a pointed look despite the shiver that run up her spine when he returned the same pointed glare. “She wants you to apologize to Princeton General?”
“Something like that,” House acknowledged, tearing himself away from her gaze and palming a nearby stone. “I got lost in the idiocy of the statement.”
“Uh-huh,” Cameron said, although it was clear that she felt he should apologize. Unfortunately, House did not (or chose not to) pick up on this fact. Instead, he continued to toss the stone into the air as Cameron pushed her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and an awkward silence fell between them. In the interim, she reflected on why she had come up to the roof in the first place and finally decided that she should probably say something about it. “The patient’s parents would like to speak with you,” she said, looking out over the edge of the roof.
“Of course,” House replied, arching a brow. “Tell them I’ll get to them after I’m done writing the acceptance speech for the Nobel Peace Prize.”
Sighing, she shoved her hands further into her pockets and directed an impatient expression his way. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said, as the knots in her stomach began to make themselves known once again.
“Not fans of world peace?” he asked innocently, looking at her yet past her at the same time. She sighed. Yup, it looked like they were back to the game of avoidance in their whirlwind of a relationship. She wasn’t quite sure why this bothered her.
“Not fans of mine, actually,” she said dryly, although a pang pierced her chest at the same time. The baby can’t breathe.
As expected, this news clearly intrigued her ass of a boss. “I sent you to take a patient history and you alienated the parents?” he asked, a note of humor in his tone. “That’s just cool.”
Pursing her lips, she attempted to keep herself from snapping her response. Leave it to House to change a hurtful situation into a joke. “Not quite,” she said. But she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she said: “I think they want you to take me off the case.”
Unfortunately, House was a master at sniffing out hidden information. Goosebumps broke out on her arms as he suddenly began studying her intently, his brow creasing in interest. “Why?” was his simple question, although she knew from the intense look he was giving her that it wasn’t as simple as it sounded.
She wasn’t going to let it be that simple. If he wanted a puzzle piece, he’d have to work for it. “Why don’t you ask them?” she said, causing him to frown at her response. He opened his mouth to deliver what she assumed would be a well-placed retort, but she didn’t give him a chance. Instead, she turned and quickly headed from the roof.
She needed to get out of here.
Unbidden, the crinkle of plastic pushes itself into her mind and her entire being tenses in an attempt to keep its owner from passing out on the lawn. Unfortunately, even the tension cannot keep the sobs from wracking her lithe frame and she wraps her arms tightly around herself as the desolation continues to flood through her chest. The sobs are so loud that she almost doesn’t hear the person approach from behind.
“Allison?” the person (a woman) broaches, and she feels a shaking hand grasp her shoulder.
She does not know where it comes from, but she does know that it is her voice – however distant, however obsolete – that answers the prod. “Mom?” she queries. The word catches at her throat, and causes the sobs to come even harder now. “Mom, I didn’t mean to . . . Mom, it’s all my fault.”
“Shh, sweetheart,” the woman says, kneeling on the lawn beside her daughter . . . wait, somehow she has moved from the lawn. No, she is now sitting on the sidewalk now, and a blanket covers her shoulders. No matter. Her mother kneels beside her and wraps her in a fierce hug. “It’s not your fault, Allie,” she soothes, running her fingers through her daughter’s hair. “The child was sick, you couldn’t have done any –“
“It is my fault!” the young girl cries, and her voice somehow has the power of piercing through her chest. “I couldn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”
“Sssh, Allie. Ssshh,” her mother is rubbing her back now, placing her head on her shoulder. It feels so good to have her mom here. So safe, so secure. And she realizes – he will never have his mother again. And it really is all her fault.
It’s the only way to explain why his mother looks at her like she murdered her son.
Sixteen years. It had been sixteen years. During that time, she’d buried the memory so deep in her mind that she’d almost forgotten it had ever happened. Now suddenly, the Aronsons were back in her life with a new child and she was expected to treat her. Well, had been expected to treat her. She had a feeling that after they had gotten done with House (well, after they’d gotten done with Cuddy, anyway), she would be told to stay as far away from them as possible. The hospital didn’t need another lawsuit, and she knew that the Aronsons would be out for blood.
And why shouldn’t they be? After what she had done . . .
But what had she done? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember everything about that night. She remembered that she had felt very far away, and everything had happened faster than she’d had time to register. The ambulance, the EMTs, her mother, Mrs. Aronson . . . the bundle. Shivering involuntarily, she took a deep breath and pushed that thought from her mind. Now wasn’t the time to start remembering. She was in the middle of Princeton on the side of the road, and cars were whizzing past and blaring horns. She needed to force herself to concentrate on driving.
With this in mind, she steeled herself and turned on the signal light, motioning herself back into traffic. She was only a few miles from her apartment, and suddenly all she wanted to do was get inside and take a nice warm bubble bath. Soothe away the troubles of the day. Forget that she’d ever seen the Aronsons.
Even if that proved too difficult to accomplish. She needed to try.
The trouble was, when she got home she discovered that she couldn’t get into her apartment. Someone was sitting against the door.