A/N: This fic might sound a little odd. It was originally a History report, and then I played around with the characters and the situations to make it House. Sorry it's so short. I've an awful tenancy to make short chapters. And, thank you Natalia Potter for helping me with the Spanish…I'm not exactly an expert in the language.
Note: Code Orange means…well, you'll find out. You don't need to know what it means to understand the fic, just know that's its bad.
Setting: Season 3, but no particular episode.
Disclaimer: No. As much as you probably thought I owned House, I don't. I was disappointed, too.
Disclaimer #2: My friend, the other Bloody Koala (Marie), co-authored this with me…helped me when I was stuck, encouraged me, listened to me rant throughout the odd hours of the night, all that jazz.
Cameron lazily slipped out of her car and walked up to the apartment. She was utterly exhausted, and all she wanted to do was go into a deep sleep and never wake up. It had been a hard day, with a tough case that never seemed to end, parents who forbade House's treatments, and as usual…House was House.
Her stomach growled. She ignored it. It was nearly 10 o'clock, and she was far too tired to shovel anything she might have handy down her throat. Except maybe some sleeping pills. But she decided against those, because being a doctor had taught her that she would always be 'operating heavy machinery'. Not to mention the whole thing about getting her 'normal' amount of sleep each night. What was normal? Her sleep varied with the case at hand. But Cameron was lucky, very lucky, if she got 6 nightly hours of sleep during a workweek.
Her mind darted to House, who had been in a particularly bad mood today. She thought of his leg. His limp had been especially heavy and pronounced, and for once in her fellowship she was glad to see him pop a vicodin. So he could be rid of the pain. And with that thought pulsing at the back of her memory, she slipped into bed.
Cuddy cringed as her latest legality applicant slid out the door. House again. Patient complained of 'being embarrassed in front of my family'. She had retorted him, saying that he'd had the opportunity to tell the truth to Foreman when he'd asked. But nooo, the patients just always had to wait until they were experiencing life-threatening symptoms. Because, of course, their little secrets were never actually important. Nope. Never.
The erotically dressed administrator brushed the file into the trash. It was history. Hopefully. The soft buzz in her pocket brought her back to reality. As she read the message, the color dripped of her face as if it were paint. Code Orange.
The cotton layers were cool against her cheek, but Cameron still felt warm and restless. After several minutes of staring idly at her ceiling, she slid out of her bedroom and clicked on the TV. Maybe her eyes would droop shut, and she would catch a couple peaceful hours.
"The 10 o'clock news!" the TV screamed. Cameron cringed at the heavy noise and turned the volume down…way down. She switched the channel to something less negative, less real. She got her daily fill of reality drama at the hospital.
Soon, a Spanish soap opera was playing happily. "¿Qué? ¿Dormiste con ella? Cómo te atreviste?" Cameron rolled her eyes at the sappy storyline. It was utterly ridiculous. And she had been trying to get away from the drama.
A blue and red banner flashed across the screen, blocking out the brokenhearted young woman and her husband. BREAKING NEWS: Princeton Plainsboro Hospital in Princeton, New Jersey is under the attack of bombers. Seven deaths have been recorded. Many more are said to occur. Several anonymous sources claim more bombs are on the way. Any and all policeman in the area are being asked to protect the safety of those still unharmed. This has been News Channel 10, bringing you the latest in New Jersey News.
Cameron's eyes were saucers, and her perfectionist heart dropped like a stone. Yet she hesitated only a second before grabbing her coat and her keys. She was out the door in 8 seconds flat, a new record.