Jacam. RP for [ not_a_savage ]
This is so totally AU. We haven't really decided where it fits. But, it's for the creative purposes of me and not_a_savage to create the most angsty AU ship ever. Cam is, of course, always available for canon RP and what not. This particular bit is one of those random AU things that happens when we're bored and when someone's muses want to get into my muses pants. :) Carry on...
It’s not often when a patient requests her by name. Every now and then, some relative of a patient that was saved courtesy of Dr. House will recognize her or ask for that nice, girl doctor who worked for House. That’s about as far as it goes. She doesn’t mind the lack of recognition; in fact, she finds something nice about the anonymity of the ER. But, today, she’s been requested by name - not just her surname, like her colleagues call her, but rather, her full name - Dr. Allison Cameron.
There isn’t a chart - there’s the beginning of one, courtesy of a nurse whose name has suddenly escaped her. The patient’s name is Jack Shepard, which doesn’t mean a thing to her as she stares at it, looking for some explanation. She reads through the scribbled notes on the chart. The only realization she’s come to is that he’s the guy they saw on the news - the one who jumped, attempted suicide. Her shift hadn’t started yet; she saw the majority of it on news clips at home - it interrupted her reading an email from Chase about how he still thinks of her, and really, she welcomed the interruption though it was a disturbing one. But, now he’s her patient, apparently. Per the notes, he’s sustained several broken bones, internal bleeding, at least one concussion. Somehow they’ve managed to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again through the marvels of modern medicine, yet he’s asking for her, which makes no sense.
She steps into the room in the ICU, and she thinks he might be asleep - understandable, given the drugs and trauma he’s been through today. She looks over the chart of vitals at the end of his bed, peering over it to catch the occasional glimpse. She still has no idea who this man is, but before she can attempt to piece anything else together, he’s staring back at her. She almost jumps, but somehow manages to remain relatively composed.
“Hello, Mr. Shepard,” she says politely. She steps a little closer, placing the chart back in its place at the end of the bed. “I was told by the previous attending that you had requested me to continue to monitor you. You have me for the next twelve hours - though, you will have to share me with the other patients.” She smiles; humor has never been her forte. “So, how is it that you know me?”
It’s not often when a patient requests her by name. Every now and then, some relative of a patient that was saved courtesy of Dr. House will recognize her or ask for that nice, girl doctor who worked for House. That’s about as far as it goes. She doesn’t mind the lack of recognition; in fact, she finds something nice about the anonymity of the ER. But, today, she’s been requested by name - not just her surname, like her colleagues call her, but rather, her full name - Dr. Allison Cameron.
There isn’t a chart - there’s the beginning of one, courtesy of a nurse whose name has suddenly escaped her. The patient’s name is Jack Shepard, which doesn’t mean a thing to her as she stares at it, looking for some explanation. She reads through the scribbled notes on the chart. The only realization she’s come to is that he’s the guy they saw on the news - the one who jumped, attempted suicide. Her shift hadn’t started yet; she saw the majority of it on news clips at home - it interrupted her reading an email from Chase about how he still thinks of her, and really, she welcomed the interruption though it was a disturbing one. But, now he’s her patient, apparently. Per the notes, he’s sustained several broken bones, internal bleeding, at least one concussion. Somehow they’ve managed to put Humpty-Dumpty back together again through the marvels of modern medicine, yet he’s asking for her, which makes no sense.
She steps into the room in the ICU, and she thinks he might be asleep - understandable, given the drugs and trauma he’s been through today. She looks over the chart of vitals at the end of his bed, peering over it to catch the occasional glimpse. She still has no idea who this man is, but before she can attempt to piece anything else together, he’s staring back at her. She almost jumps, but somehow manages to remain relatively composed.
“Hello, Mr. Shepard,” she says politely. She steps a little closer, placing the chart back in its place at the end of the bed. “I was told by the previous attending that you had requested me to continue to monitor you. You have me for the next twelve hours - though, you will have to share me with the other patients.” She smiles; humor has never been her forte. “So, how is it that you know me?”