the daily differential

[number_unlucky]

I feel so alone, I'd said to Foreman in the locker room as he stood there with that same damn accusatory look on his face. I'm tired. I'm going to go home.

Comments

[beentodamascus]

There was a part of him that couldn't stop hanging around near the lab, even though he knew that Angie was never going to be there again and, if she was, she wouldn't be the woman he'd fallen for. Still, there he was. Coraline was in the building somewhere, probably. He'd round her up for lunch sooner or later.

When he heard somebody calling from the clinic, he padded in, cup of tea in hand.

"Not a nurse, but can I help?" he said, turning on the charming smile he wasn't really feeling, a smile that belonged to one of those other lives.

[number_unlucky]

Probably good for him that I wasn't feeling it either. "Not a nurse, okay, then who the hell are you?" I asked, figuring out that I really wasn't in any kind of hospital at all--House would have come up with something smartass, and any other doctor would introduce himself.

Either this was a really fucking bad trip or Occam's Razor was wrong--the simplest answer was not the truth. Kidnapped by the CDC for experiments on Huntington's patients or some kind of movie plot.

[beentodamascus]

He could see the hostility in her, and he let the act drop. She was obviously perceptive and he was just too tired to keep up the warmth in blue eyes.

"Adam Carter. Formerly British Secret Service, and now I teach Arabic at the school," he said, sipping his tea. "And I suppose it falls to me to play welcome wagon, so welcome to Tabula Rasa. You're lucky enough to have materialised inside because it's bloody hot today."

[number_unlucky]

Right, maybe a government project wasn't such a ludicrous idea. "James Bond?" I asked, not bothering to hide the skepticism as I pulled out my phone. "Look, Mr. Carter, you're going to have to spell it all out, or I call the cops. I don't exactly appreciate being kidnapped from my own bed for no apparent rea--"

No bars. No wireless. My iPhone was apparently now an expensive toy. Calling 911 was out.

[so_near_an_end]

Cecilia's shift was Saturday afternoons, not Sunday. However, she'd been in the compound for breakfast and thought she might pop by to see if Dr. Bashir or Dr. House might be in need of her assistance. Of course, Cecilia sincerely doubted Dr. House would care for her help; she'd gotten the impression he might feel her ever-expanding stomach was becoming a liability. Perhaps it was, but Cecilia was determined to carry on with her clinic duties until she was closer to the date of her delivery.

Standing at the counter, she began to scribble a note to Dr. House about the triage kits needing replenished when she heard someone calling out.

"Coming," Cecilia called, immediately assuming her ward sister tone.

Briskly, Cecilia headed toward the voice. The woman on the bed was not a patient, or rather hadn't been one during Cecilia's shift yesterday.

"Can I help you?"

[number_unlucky]

Okay, I was in med school when Pirates of the Caribbean came out, but that didn't mean I didn't have time to gawk at Keira Knightley. I could make time for that. But somehow I hadn't heard anything about her being pregnant, or showing up here in this not-hospital, looking for all rights and purposes like a nurse without scrubs.

"Uh," I said, and cleared my throat. "Hi." And I pulled my PPTH badge out of my pocket with shaking hands. "Dr. Remy Hadley--do you know when I was admitted?"

[so_near_an_end]

"Dr. Hadley," Cecilia repeated, looking over the information on her badge. The poor woman. Obviously she had just arrived.

At least she had arrived on a part of the island that would seem somewhat familiar, considering her given profession.

"I'm afraid you haven't been admitted." The smile that had curved Cecilia's mouth began to fade. "I quite realise how this is all going to sound but I assure you it is the truth. You've been brought to an island. It's called Tabula Rasa and I arrived here myself in the same fashion. One moment, I was in the tube station and in the next I found myself on the beach."

[number_unlucky]

She really was that good-looking in person, though I wasn't about to hit on a woman who was pregnant, especially not when she was telling me that--

"Excuse me," I said after a second, "but what do you mean by brought? Was I kidnapped? Are we all held for ransom?"

Like my father'd pay that, and he's the only person I know with money.

[misanthrope_md]

House would have been in a worse mood if he'd slept late that morning. As it was, he'd woken uncharacteristically early--early enough so that Cameron wasn't yet out of bed, which immediately prompted him to wake her up and spend the next hour keeping her in the bed. Not a bad way to start the day, all things considered.

But it also meant that he was already groggy, so as soon as he got to the Compound he headed straight to the kitchen, and straight to the coffee machine. He barely even registered the unfamiliar woman sitting at the table. Another thin brunette--the place was swimming with them.

[number_unlucky]

Cecilia had mentioned it, but it was hard to really fully believe that House was here until I saw him limp into the kitchen like he did it every day of the year. And not make any mention of my existence. Same shit, different place.

He looked like hell. Not that that was anything new.

"House," I said finally, after a moment, maybe a little too sharp.

[misanthrope_md]

House finished pouring his coffee before he looked over his shoulder, just confirming that he didn't know the woman who was calling his name. Of course, from the way she was looking at him, she knew him.

Finally, he turned, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of coffee. "See, that's what I like to see," he said casually. "I don't get nearly enough looks of casual disdain from strangers anymore. It seems to be a lot more work to really piss people off here."

[number_unlucky]

I opened my mouth, about to protest that I wasn't any kind of stranger, I'd been his fellow for a goddamned year, when Adam's words actually became practical information.

From all over the world, different times, different...worlds, sometimes.

Different times. Shit.

"You have no idea who I am." The 'casual disdain' hadn't gone anywhere.

[dr_girlscout]

The trouble with wanting coffee so often in a tropical climate was that it didn't feel right. There were times when Cameron would sometimes take her coffee into the basement, find the coolest spot of cement wall, and sit there in the morning.

It was actually an extension of her rule that she couldn't have certain tastes grouped together in the same meal.

But sometimes the desire was strong enough that she went anyway, poking around for the remains of the morning's batch, wondering when she would have the strength to drink it iced.

[number_unlucky]

Yes, I knew what House had said, about Cameron being here too, and I could guess that neither she nor Chase had any idea who I was. That didn't take a medical degree.

But maybe it was the whole familiar face in light of everything that had gone down--this morning, in the last few days, for months--that made me speak up. "Dr. Cameron?"

This time I'd have to try it differently.

[dr_girlscout]

Cameron didn't think she'd ever seen the woman before, but there was something strikingly familiar about her features.

"Hi," she answered, still rummaging around. A fresh pot would be nice, but more work than she was looking for at the moment. "Can I help you? If this is about Dr. House, then I'm sorry and you should probably see someone else. Dr. Chase over in psych can help with any lasting trauma."

[number_unlucky]

House hadn't said anything about Chase and psych. Physician, heal thyself. Fortunately, I didn't start laughing.

"Not really," I said, and frowned, finding the best way to put it. At least by now the coffee had started working wonders and I was able to think straight. "There's not any good way to put this, but...I'm from PPTH. Diagnostics. In your future."

So maybe that wasn't that good either. I tried a sheepish smile.