A/N: Hughville and I hope you like this. It's a little dark/angsty but sometimes you just gotta go there, so we did. So sit back, chill, and let us tell you a story...

Chapter One: This Can't Be Real

After five days of heavy rain, the sun shone down from a clear blue sky. The air felt clean and cool. Everyone seemed to be outside, including anyone on a break at Chicago Memorial Hospital. A dirty, disheveled man leaned heavily on a cane and approached the entrance to the ER. A group of nurses sitting on the curb looked at him with a mix of curiosity and pity. He pulled the brim of his tattered newsboy cap further down and avoided their gaze. As he passed, the nurses recoiled covering their noses. He turned to look at them with contempt.

"I'm homeless," he sneered. "Homeless people stink. Get over it."

He walked into the waiting room of the ER and passed the nurses at the desk. When he continued past them, they called out to him.

"Hey! You can't go in there!"

He ignored them and entered the trauma center where patients lay on beds being treated. Stopping, he looked around. He sighed when he saw her. He slammed his cane down on the hard floor.

"Cameron!" he shouted.

Slowly, Allison Cameron turned from the patient she was examining. She gaped in shock at the homeless man standing in the middle of the room. She stared hard at him and then recognition flooded over her. Blinking several times, she continued to stare at him. It couldn't be him but it was. Her face went white as a sheet and she braced herself on the edge of the bed as she stared wide-eyed at him. She felt numb and began to shake.

"Are you alright?" her patient asked looking concerned for her, and then glanced at House. "Do you know that...man?"

When Cameron finally managed to control herself, emotions flooded her all at once like a tidal wave and her eyes misted over.

She rushed up to him and then recoiled slightly.

He put out his hand to stop her from coming closer. "Sorry, not exactly minty fresh here. Happens when you're homeless."

Her stomach clenched at that word. How could House be homeless? Everyone stared at them and she knew she needed to get him away from all the prying eyes.

"Come with me," she told him taking his arm which felt thin and fragile beneath her hand. His clothes were damp. "You got caught in the rain," she commented as she led him out of the ER and down a hallway.

"Tends to happen when you don't have a roof over your head. Where are we going?"

"Shower. And those clothes are done. I'll get you some scrubs in the meantime and then we'll check the Goodwill bin and find you something clean. Jesus, House. I...I don't know what to say, or what to think. I'm staring at a dead man. I went to your funeral! I even got up and spoke about you. Am I dreaming this right now? Because none of this feels real."

They entered the large shower room the nurses used to wash down patients. He watched as she sat on the bench with her face in her hands while she got herself together. He didn't dare touch her or go near her. In hindsight, it was probably a horrible idea to come see her. What was he thinking? How could she possibly help him?

Finally, she sat up and wiped her eyes. "Wait here," she told him shakily. Then she disappeared down the hallway.

House stood debating his options. He could just leave. Cameron would search for a while and then give up. Rolling his eyes, he sighed. Daddy's little co-dependent would never stop searching now she knew he was alive. He could get a few hot meals, hot showers and some clean clothes from her along with money and Vicodin. He sank down on the bench and put his head in his hands. Those were things he could do to anyone else but not Cameron. Suddenly the pain in his leg flared up from hot-poker to raging inferno. Bending over, he frantically rubbed his leg. He stood, grabbed his cane and began to pace around the room. Where the hell was she? He leaned against the wall trying to catch his breath but the pain was excruciating. Looking up, he saw Cameron jogging toward him carrying a bulging plastic bag.

"I hope you have some Vicodin in there," he panted.

She put the bag on the bench and pulled a syringe out of her pocket. Guiding him to the bench, she removed his coat, hoodie, and three shirts. Reaching into her pocket again, she pulled out an alcohol packet and tore it open. She swabbed his right arm, pulled the top off the syringe and injected him. Taking another syringe out of her pocket, she repeated the process on his left arm. As he sat, he began to relax as the pain receded.

"Morphine?" he asked looking up at her.

"And a tetanus shot. When you're ready you can go in and shower. I brought you some scrubs and slippers. There's also shampoo, body wash, deodorant and some other things in there. It's what the hospital uses so they're pretty strong."

He nodded and pushed himself up slowly. The pain in his leg was gone for the time being.

"Just toss your clothes out here. I'll take them down to the incinerator in the basement," she told him.

He looked at his backpack where he dropped it on the floor when they came in. "Not the backpack," he told her.

She nodded and he leaned his cane against the wall before entering the shower area. Cameron pulled the shower curtain closed and he stripped down tossing out his filthy clothes as he did. The hot shower felt heavenly, and he stayed in there for a good hour letting weeks of dirt and grime wash down the drain. He used every drop of the body wash and shampoo. He scrubbed his skin, hair and beard over and over. The last time he showered was at some shelter in Missouri. The water was lukewarm at best and he only had a small bar of soap. When he came out, he saw a set of blue scrubs, slippers, a comb, a pile of towels, deodorant, a toothbrush and some toothpaste on the bench but Cameron was nowhere to be seen. He dried off with one of the towels and wrapped it around his waist. He used every bit of toothpaste to thoroughly brush his teeth. He smirked when he saw the flavor was mint. Now he really was minty fresh. Next he put on a generous amount of deodorant. Then he put it in his backpack. At least he'd have deodorant when he left. He grabbed a clean towel and dried his hair before combing it. That's when he saw it. Somehow, Cameron found electric clippers. He plugged it in, pulled the trash can close and went to work making sure as much hair as possible ended up in the garbage. Normally he wouldn't care but for some reason, he just couldn't leave a mess after all Cameron did for him. Soon, his hair was cropped short and so was his beard. For the first time in months, he actually felt like himself again. Then he got dressed and returned to the trauma center to find Cameron back at work, giving a patient with a nail in his foot a much needed tetanus shot.

The nurses looked at him much differently now. Some were even smiling as they stood at the desk and watched him.

"May we help you, sir?" one of them inquired.

"I'm just waiting for Dr. Cameron," he said, his voice softer. Part of him still wanted to just take off and let her be. It was a stupid idea to expect she'd be able to help him. Nobody could help him. With Wilson gone, he had nobody. He spent the last of his money paying for Wilson's care and then to have him cremated. He ran out of Vicodin rather quickly and went through withdrawal under an overpass in Kansas. He got used to the stabbing pain in his leg. He could ignore it most of the time since his very soul felt numb now that Wilson was gone.

"I'll be right there," Cameron called to him as she finished up with her patient and sent him on his way. As she approached, she took a long look at him. He was so thin. When she gave him the injections she could count his ribs and he looked ten years older. A slight smile curved her lips when she saw his cropped hair and beard. This was the House she knew. Then she looked into his eyes. She swallowed hard when she saw the lost, empty look in them. He leaned heavily on his cane, shoulders bowed and head drooping. All she wanted to do was wrap in him in her arms and never let go.

"You must be hungry," she said. "We can…"

"Look," he said, "I shouldn't have come here. It was a bad idea. I'm just gonna go..." he said and turned around to leave.

She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't know why I came here. I have nobody. Nothing. Not even my name. Everything that ever mattered died in that fire. Wilson's gone and…"

"I said I'd help you and I'm going to. Bad idea or not, you're here now. And besides, you can't go out in that," she said with a smirk as she gestured to his blue scrubs.

"You said something about Goodwill…"

"I did. We'll get you some clothes and then you're getting lunch. No arguments."

He followed her to the Goodwill store in the building next to the hospital and they found him a couple of pairs of jeans, shirts, socks, a pair of shoes and undergarments. She even bought him a new backpack. "That should do you for a few days. Get changed and we'll go have lunch. Where are you staying?"

He gave her a harsh look. "You know damn well where I'm staying. The biggest cardboard box I can find."

Cameron frowned. "That came out wrong. I'm sorry."

He sighed. "I arrived here a couple days ago and all the shelters were full because of the rain."

"Oh, House," she sighed, closing her eyes. It was all so sad. Everything was sad. She couldn't even imagine the pain of going through withdrawal without any help. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. You're going to change, then we're going to have lunch, and you're going to tell me everything."

He winced. "Everything?"

She nodded, looking firm. "Everything."

"Fine. But it's not pretty."

Once he changed and the new clothes along with the rest of his belongings were in his new backpack, she took him to a cafe down the street for lunch where they sat outside.

"Well? Are you going to tell me how you managed to pull it off? Make everyone believe that you died?"

"It was easier than you might think. Didn't you ever see Eraser?"

"No."

"Oh, well I basically just switched records with some dead guy."

"So what happened?"

"Wilson and I rode off into the sunset together," he said with a smirk.

"No, I mean why did you do it? You had to know the consequences."

"Believe me, Wilson let me know on a regular basis. I don't need it from you, too," he snapped.

That didn't seem to bother her. "Why did you do it?" she asked again.

"I was going back to prison for six months because of a stupid prank, and Wilson was only given an average of five months to live. He would've died alone. I couldn't stand to let that happen."

"Getting high in an abandoned building that was on fire seemed like a good idea?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

He looked down at the table. So, she knew about that. "I saw you."

"What?"

"It was just a hallucination but...you were like the devil and you told me to just give up. But something inside me clicked, and suddenly I didn't want to die in that fire anymore, so I got the hell out of there." He glanced back up at her with sad eyes. "You saved my life. And now you're doing it again. The question is why you want to, and the answer is simple. You shouldn't. Just let me go. I'll leave you be and you'll never be bothered by me again."

"I wish I could. I'm glad you came to me because I can and want to help you."

Then she leaned forward. "Does anyone else know you're alive?"

"I think Foreman probably suspects. I left him a small clue. Other than him, and you, I don't think there's anyone else."

"What about your mother?"

He shook his head. "It's better if she believes I'm gone. I think she'd probably have a fit if I turned up at her door saying 'Hi Mom, it's me. I'm not really dead.'"

Cameron resisted the urge to giggle at the cheerful way he said it.

"Do you have any money?"

"Nope. I spent it all taking care of Wilson and then paying for his cremation."

He reached down into his bag and took out a black and gold urn.

Cameron's eyes went wide. "You umm...keep him in there?"

"Yeah. It's weird but...even in death I don't know what to do with him."

Not knowing what else to say to that, she sat back as the waiter brought their lunches to them and they began eating.

He ate slowly, savoring every bite until he cleared his plate. She watched him while her head swam with ideas and possibilities. She was going to help him, of that she was certain. She just didn't know how, and whether or not he'd even accept her help. But she had to try. She felt like she'd been given one last chance and she wasn't going to let it out of her grasp.