Hey again, everyone! Obsessed and Essy here again, bringing you another angst ridden story! Now, this first chapter contains descriptions of rape, so sensitives should turn away now! Yeah, that's about it. On with the story!

Disclaimer: Not ours.


Allison Cameron sighed as she pulled her keys out of her pocket and slid the correct key into the lock. Opening the door, she slid her shoes and jacket off, then set her purse at the table.

Her bathtub was calling to her, and after another incredibly long day of dealing with House, she was looking forward to a long bubble bath, and maybe a glass of wine.

As she bent over to pull her socks off, a blinding pain in her head sent her spiraling into unconsciousness.


When she came to again, her head was pounding mercilessly, and she was laying in her bed. What the hell happened? she thought, moving her hand to touch her head. But she quickly realized that some kind of material was binding her wrists, and she groaned and struggled against the restraints.

"Don't even bother, my dear," a cool voice stated, and Cameron stopped moving. "That's it. Just relax."

The bed dipped down on the right side, and Cameron forced her eyes to open as a hand ran along her side. "G-get away from me," she managed as she began to struggle again.

"Not a chance, my love. You're all mine," the sandy haired, dark eyed man purred as his hands slid between her thighs, and it was then that she realized she was completely naked. A cold terror swept over her.

The intruder suddenly pinned her against the bed with his weight, running his wet tongue along her neck. She started to scream, but something was swiftly shoved into her mouth, and she had to concentrate on not getting sick and choking to death.

"Can't have you alerting the neighbors, sweetheart," the man purred, palming her breast with a rough hand.

She tried to scream again, but all that came out was a muffled squeak, and tears of desperation began to leak down her cheeks.

Her assailant leaned close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her skin, and he licked her tears away, then shoved himself into her.

The pain from his penetration made her scream, but no sound came out, and she shut her eyes tightly as the man rocked and moaned against her.

Desperation drove her actions, and she struggled hard enough against the bondage that she managed to slide her right hand out of the cloth that bound her wrist to the bedpost, and she slammed it against her attacker.

Her attacker grunted in pain, then slammed his fist against the left side of her head. And she knew nothing more.


He knocked on the door, once, twice, three times. No response. His frown deepened. They knew something was wrong when Cameron hadn't showed up for work that morning. Now she wasn't answering her door. Wilson had half a mind to call the cops right then and there.

He sighed and leaned his head against the door, dropping his hand to the knob. He was surprised to find the door wasn't actually locked. That seemed odd. Cameron would always lock her door.

He turned the knob slowly, unsure of what he'd find on the other side. He pushed the heavy door open quietly and poked his head inside her apartment. "Cameron?"

There was no response. He hesitated a moment, torn between calling the police or investigating himself. Unwillingly, he thought about what House would do. No doubt he would avoid the cops. Swallowing hard, Wilson closed the door. No need to alarm the cops if nothing was wrong.

He moved slowly throughout her apartment, calling her name softly in the beginning, but then realized that either no one was there, or Cameron was asleep, because he continued to be answered only by the tense silence. He walked through her living room and kitchen and finally found himself at her bedroom.

The door was slightly ajar. Wilson felt his heart pounding against his chest, and he had to assure himself there was nothing to be nervous about. True, House would kill to be him right now, but this wasn't really the time for such matters. He took a deep breath and pushed open her bedroom door.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw her lying on the bed. She must have just been sleeping, exhausted from the stress of her job and her boss. Perhaps she was ill? Wilson moved closer to her still form hesitantly. Her body was covered in blankets except for her face. Her expression was neutral, but her cheeks didn't appear flushed at all. He frowned. She didn't look as though she had a fever.

He brushed his fingers lightly against her forehead before setting the back of his hand against it. She didn't feel overly warm to him. He removed his hand slowly, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.

And then he saw it. He froze, unable to move, paralyzed by shock and gripped by fear, his hand halfway between his side and her forehead. There was blood, dried blood, caked in her hair on her left side. His heart leapt into his throat; what the hell had happened?

As gently as he could, he turned her head to the side. What he saw sickened him. The back of her head was covered in blood. His breath caught in his throat and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. With fumbling fingers, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. After giving the operator Cameron's address, he quickly proceeded to examine the rest of her for injury.

He drew back the sheets and gasped when he saw the damage. She was completely naked. Anger welled up inside of him; it was clear from the blood stains that she had been raped. Her wrists were bruised, as though they had been held down against her will. He couldn't think of who would have the nerve to violate her this way.

He felt bile rise in his throat, and though he tried to force it down, it was too strong and the desire was too great. Spinning around, he made a dash for her bathroom. He made it just in time. He gripped the porcelain tightly, trying to regain a hold of himself. It tore at him to see her this way. He couldn't believe any human was capable of this level of damage. He wished the damn ambulance would just hurry up.

As he turned his head to the side, his breath caught in his throat and his knuckles whitened around the porcelain bowl. He couldn't think; he couldn't speak. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Her tub was filled with ice. Ice, thick ice, some in chunks, and some melting ice. It took him one moment to realize what must have happened, and in the next moment, he was leaning over the toilet bowl again. He retched until he had nothing left to heave, and then he straightened up and rinsed out his mouth, shaking.

Slowly and unsteadily he made his way back to Cameron. She hadn't moved since he had left her. He dropped to his knees beside her bed and grasped her limp hand in his. "It will be okay," he whispered, his voice slightly choked. "It will be okay."


A/N: Well, uhm... not much to say here. Except that if ya'll kill us, this story will never get finished! (hides under sink)