Author's Note: By the heavens, this took way longer than I expected it to, partly because my entire freaking today, that is about 12 hours (hey, I'm sick, I have a lot of free time), consisted of me staring at Microsoft Word, trying to form coherent sentences. It's been a long time since I did anything related to the House fandom (does that show even exist anymore?), but lately I felt the need to embellish it with a story for two reasons: 1) Cadley always has and always will need much more love than it gets. 2) There are _WAY_ too little rape!fics involving the two and the potential is blatant. I have thus come to the conclusion that if you want fem!rape, you have to write it yourself. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Consider this fic... motivation.

Anywho, since writing this with the huge writer's block I seem to have got somewhere in the middle was more of a torture, it's probably not my best. But heck, it's Cadley.

Heavily inspired by Within Temptation's new song "Where Is the Edge". Go listen to it as you read this. The song screams Cadley.

As always, English is not my native language. Please excuse any mistakes you might (and will) find. I sincerely apologize, but I'm still not perfect (dear bloody phrasal verbs and my limited vocabulary, I hate you with a passion).


Some would say you plan shit like this. She thought it was ridiculous. Seriously, think about it – where do you even start? Pick a random girl and stalk her through the streets, or pick someone you know, study them and wait ages for the right moment? Bullshit, both strategies take too much effort she was not willing to sacrifice. Besides, if you spend too much time thinking it through, you might get too rational. Too moral. Reevaluate your needs and cancel them, like a vacation, and move on, only to find yourself in the same spot a few days later.

No, these things happen spontaneously. At one moment you're in a bar hunting for sexual diversions, having drunk an obscenely large amount of whatever alcohol was cheap and close, and it still isn't enough. The girls you drag to your bed every night are no different than dolls, all with the same blank smile, except for the fact that dolls remain where you left them the night before when you wake up.

She never liked dolls.

They are too easy to conquer and the challenge isn't much of a thrill anymore. It's the moment when you realize it's become just a routine obligation, a ritual, drink and fuck, fuck and drink. When the pain has successfully nestled in a safe spot and no matter what you do, it's still there, laughing at your misery, like an itch you can't scratch, and it's driving you insane.

And at the next moment, you find yourself walking down a hallway of the hospital towards the locker room, getting ready to leave work and go straight back to the bar to drink and fuck. This time, however, when you see a colleague, a blonde doctor, for example, opening their locker, a stupid, stupid idea crosses your mind.

And then you let it wander in your brain for a while, and due to some strange neuron blackout, you begin to like it, embrace it.

It all fits together; the drunkenness not making you as cheery as it used to, the girls being rough to touch and sour to taste, the convenient encounter. It's as if the world wanted you to come to this conclusion.

Well, you know what, world? She decided to play it your way. Spontaneously.

She walked to the door and locked it, as quiet as a mouse, then went to the row Cameron was in and leaned against the lockers on the opposite side. The older doctor was reading a text on her phone, the ever-charming smile decorating her pretty face. Like a doll's. But hers was honest. She gazed at the blonde with silent wonder.

"What's so funny?"

Cameron jumped a little and spun around. "Thirteen! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." She was still smiling, even though her heart probably just skipped a beat. "I was just, um, looking at the birthday wishes I received today."

The brunette raised an eyebrow. "It's your birthday?"

Cameron nodded cheerfully. "Yes." She looked as if she were about to get a freaking pony, which made Thirteen certain in what she was going to do. She despised that radiant smile of hers. Cameron was always smiling at her, even when Remy came to work hungover and looking like crap. She must have been doing it on purpose, Thirteen figured, mocking her for her suffering every time. Someone had to wipe it off her pretty face.

"Well, then it seems," she said, moving dangerously close to the other doctor and caressing a lock of her hair, "that it would be appropriate if I wished you all the best."

Cameron attempted to take a step back, but her back hit the locker door and she found herself cornered. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"I like to play a little game on my birthdays called 'So what have you accomplished this past year?'" Thirteen continued, subtly taking Cameron's wrists in her hands. "You dyed your hair, for the sake of symbolism, I presume. You started working where I don't get to see you much. That is unfortunate. We could have been friends, you know." She stared right through Cameron. Her solemnly monotone voice made shivers run up the blonde's spine.

"But- But what makes you think we're not? I-I mean, we don't really hang out, b-but you seem, you seem nice," she stuttered with a shaky voice, like a kid caught skipping school.

It was priceless to see her scared like that. She was fully aware that it wasn't an ordinary conversation, no, sir, but she didn't know what exactly was on Thirteen's mind, which might have even been worse than knowing. Was she going to hurt her? Kill her and bury her remains behind the hospital? Oh, God, Cameron, you're getting paranoid, she thought to herself. She is just a little socially awkward, that's all. Yes, yes, that had to be it.

It wasn't until Thirteen forced her lips on Cameron's hungrily that she realized. She tried to oppose her, but the pain of her back crashing into the locker violently and Thirteen tightening her grip on her made it all pointless.

Cameron wasn't like all the other pretty girls. She was new and fresh, Remy's first real oasis in the desert after ages of wandering, not a hallucination, not a phantom, and Remy couldn't get enough of her. It was like taking a drug – subconsciously, she knew that what she was doing was wrong, but she wouldn't stop even if she wanted to, because it just felt so good. Besides, she was already addicted. She needed this. Just one more dose…

Suddenly, the brunette pulled away, a tiny string of blood trickling down her lip from where Cameron bit her.

"What the hell are you doing?" the blonde asked, still pinned to the cold metal and breathing heavily. Her eyes burned with all the defiance she could gather, which seemed like surprisingly little, even for her. It wasn't enough to mask the anxiety that crept into her body and mind. Pitiful, to say the least.

Remy let her fingers trace spirals across Cameron's collarbone as she leaned in and whispered in her ear: "Giving you my present."
And then those naughty fingers danced away playfully to her chest and caressed the snow white fabric of her lab coat before Thirteen's hand cupped her breast and her rose red lips began exploring the blonde's neck.

Cameron's breathing hitched. "Thirteen, stop," she pleaded.

"Look at you. You can't even remember my name," the other doctor whispered disappointedly in between kisses, "Can't even remember my name." Her hand slipped underneath the coat and scrubs concealing pale, warm and unbelievably soft skin. Thirteen closed her eyes in bliss. It had been a long time.

Cameron just stood there, paralyzed. She couldn't even call out for help or push the other woman away. Remy knew that and took advantage of it. Cameron never had the strength nor will in her; she was weak and pathetic, unable to stand up for herself, and undeniably beautiful. Maybe thirteen is a lucky number after all, the brunette thought, having been blessed with such an ideal target. She pressed her thigh against her prey's core and let her hands roam the unexplored plains that were Cameron's body, never lingering in one place for too long. She watched as the blonde moaned and arched her back, her arms hovering in the air stretched out halfway but never quite meeting with any part of her violator, as if she were too scared to admit that Thirteen was truly there, that this wasn't some kind of a twisted nightmare caused by her lack of sleep. If she didn't touch Thirteen, she could still convince herself the devil in front of her was just a ghostly image.

"Please, stop it," she begged when Remy's fingers found the delicate tissue of her nipples.

"Why should I?" Thirteen wondered out loud and rose to meet Cameron's gaze with her own. "I thought you liked giving people what they need. Isn't that why you always act all goody-two-shoes, why you have a soft spot for House, why you married a dying man?"

Cameron couldn't answer. She actually couldn't answer. Remy stared at her, the corners of her mouth turned slightly upwards in amusement, as the blonde's eyes widened and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but no words came out and she was shivering from head to toe and just wanted to run, run and never look back for the love of the God she must have thought had abandoned her. Whether it was the fear or the possibility that Cameron indeed had no idea how to respond, Thirteen didn't know. However, she enjoyed the sight thoroughly.

"Leave my husband out of this… Please," she finally whispered on the verge of tears, her voice barely audible.

Thirteen smiled a comforting smile, and for a delightful little while, Cameron thought that that was it, that the younger doctor was just making innocent fun of her and and everything would be alright.

She'd always been unbelievably naïve.

"Just pretend I'm him for a moment. You would do this for him, wouldn't you, Allison?" Remy whispered and then, suddenly, without warning, she found her way down Cameron's pants and slammed two fingers into her victim's twisting body, clamping her other hand over Cameron's mouth to stop the imminent cries from escaping her throat. As much as she would love to hear the other doctor scream and beg for mercy, she couldn't afford to attract too much attention. Not today, not here. The surge of muffled sounds was more than enough.

She started moving her fingers in and out rhythmically, like a drumbeat, one, two, three, one, two, three, watching with silent pleasure as the blonde flushed and shut her eyes tightly. She could hear Cameron's heart pounding in hear ears, getting faster and louder with every thrust, which deafened her unspoken pleas entirely.

Hot tears sprung from Cameron's eyes as she neared release and cursed herself and Thirteen and House and Chase and her husband and the whole fucking world for letting this happen. It should never have gone this far. Yet it did, and there she was, utterly humiliated for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Finally, both the hunter and the hunted went completely still, for the hunt had come to an end. The prey stopped writhing and muffled screams were replaced by quiet sobs. It was time to sum up the score.

Without saying a word, Thirteen retreated, straightened her lab coat and turned to leave. Cameron's knees gave in and she collapsed to the floor, defeated.

"You're an animal," the broken figure growled huskily.

Remy turned around to take one last look at the tear-stained face of her doll. "Maybe, but I'm good at it. Oh, and happy birthday, Allison."


She took a deep breath of the chilly fresh air. As she walked down the snowy path to her car with a smile plastered on her face, Dr. Hadley knew that for the first time in months, her destination would not be a bar but the cozy interior of her home, because she had already entertained herself with the great new toy she had. She also knew that if this freedom were to last, she would have to do it again. She couldn't say she minded, really.


A/N2: Yes, it does have an open ending on purpose. Might get back to this one day... when the mood is right again.