Disclaimer: I do not own House M.D. Likewise, I do not own Once Upon A Time. Fox/ ABC owns these shows. If I did own them, Cameron would still be there on House (if only it did not compromise Once).

A/N: So, this is technically my first story for Once, but not for House. I do have a one-shot for Once, but that's it. Since these are two of my favorite shows, I wanted to step up to the challenge of combining them, if only for fun. I repeat: fun.

Okay, so here's how it is: Emma is in fact the one and only Allison Cameron (Emma of course being her birth name…duh). When Mary Margaret falls ill, there is only one person Cameron (Emma) is willing to turn to for help. Will House take the case? Will he figure out what's wrong with Mary Margaret in time?

By the way, I plan to have as much fun combining these two shows as possible—just a warning. Wilson will make a brief appearance and (I haven't really been watching the 8th season so…) I will be using Thirteen/Taub/Chase for his team. Another warning: I am a Hameron fan. There might be some hinting of this…and maybe some slight Gemma as well (hehe).

Takes place right after the 8th episode (actually, before the last scene in the episode) and may contain spoilers. This first chapter, however, takes place some time in the past. Sorry for the long note; I just figured I should clear some things up now. Enjoy reading!

"Rescue Me"

Chapter One

Midnight. Bar. Drink.

Numbness. Being numb meant not feeling pain. It was her only wish tonight as she swallowed back the burning alcohol. Pain. Tears. Longing. Alone.

To be loved and happy—it was not in the cards for her. Oh, how she wanted to be loved. More tears. Third drink.

Aching. Cut. Dying inside. Breathe in.

"Keep crying and you can probably refill your own glass instead of paying their lousy prices." That voice. In her mind? No, beside her. A man. Not her husband. Confusion. Anger.

"Excuse me?" Blue eyes, not brown. Cane. No ring.

"Oh, sorry. Don't mind me. I'm here for the women and alcohol just like everyone else." Sarcasm. Cold. "Funny thing, alcohol. One of the easiest ways to relieve pain." Orange bottle. Pills. Swallowed, no drink. No alcohol.

"Why else would anyone decide to drink?" Her words slurred, eyes bloodshot. World spinning. All a blur. Tired.

"Oh, there's plenty of reasons, including stupidity. Pain is just the predominate one."

"Who are you?" Simple question. Guarded eyes. Reluctance.

"You know, two people can easily find comfort without names. Happens all the time." A Stranger. Nobody. No meaning.

A drink. Tempting. Intelligent blue eyes. Snap, snap.

"Another drink for the attractive crying woman." Attractive. Crying. Woman. Interesting.

"Sir, I just cut her off. No more drinks." Annoying bartender. Bald, muscles, deep voice. Pain returning. Need to forget.

"Yeah, yeah. Haven't we all? Another. Now." Snap, snap. Bartender gone. Fourth drink. Relief. No pain.

"Thank you." Mumble. Did Stranger hear? Fourth drink gone. Numbness.

"Don't thank me yet. You're still in pain." Pain. Longing. "What's your problem? Boyfriend dump you 'cause you wouldn't give him the goods? Divorce?" Wrong, wrong. Sadness. Memory. Death.

"My husband died tonight." Husband, no more. Tears. Comfort from Stranger? Unlikely.

"Pity. And when I say 'pity', I mean pity for you. Dying's easy. Pain is hard." Orange bottle. Shaking, pills rattling. Pity?

"Pity for me…but not for you, right?" Stranger, there. Available. Broken, cut. Just like her.

"Absolutely. Dying changes everything. You don't want to feel pain yet you're unwilling to substitute your husband's love for—" Cut off. Kiss. Surprise. Stranger kissing back. No pain. Longing. Intensity. Pulling away…

"See what I mean? We'll take the check. Now." White slip. Money. Stumbling. Door. Car. Stranger driving.

Motel. Room 312. Elevator. Kissing. No more memories.

Room 312. Darkness. Together. No stopping. Kissing. Touching. Caressing. Intensity. Falling, bed.

Two becoming one. Not alone. Not a Stranger. She was his. Not afraid.

No regret. No pain.

Passionate. Bliss.

And yet I have missed some details in my author's note…typical. (=

Before anyone tells me that many of the phrases in this chapter were disjointed and fragmented…that is the point. I'm trying to make it seem as if she is (more than a little bit) drunk, so her thought process follows accordingly.

On a side note, most of this chapter was inspired by the song "Cut" by Plumb. I actually used pieces of the lyrics in there or similar wording.

Thank you for those who have taken the time to read this—I greatly appreciate it.