There Lay An Invincible Summer

molamola

Disclaimer: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Chase, Foreman and Cameron do not belong to me. Wendy, Jude and Karen do, and enjoyed their outing.

Author's Notes: This was a Special Project that I wrote for one of my closest friends. I'm currently stuck in the middle of another I'm writing for her, and this one suddenly needed to be written. It's my first fic in a long while that I've allowed out for public consumption, and it's also a bit of a departure for me style-wise, but I really enjoyed writing this. Thanks, Heather, for letting me be Sam for a while...you did a wonderful Toby.

The evening of Allison Cameron's second resignation from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, Chase welcomes her into his townhouse with careful neutrality. He just as carefully slides an arm across her before he falls asleep against her back later that night, and she cannot help but feel another arm under her fingertips. She tucks her hand under her cheek, instead, and falls asleep dreaming of musical canes.

The long days of summer stretch out before her, and she fills the first few days with a late spring cleaning and vigorous walks along the river. If she stays busy enough she won't be caught waiting for her phone to ring, or looking for canes tucked onto passing motorcycles.

She allows him to call her Allie, but never Allison, and needs to make excuses about her dead husband only once. She calls him Rob, and they take turns at each other's place but never mention moving in together. In her head, he is still 'Chase', and she is still 'Cameron', and 'Allison' will be reserved, indefinitely, for someone she won't likely see again.

Hospitals in Chicago, Atlanta, and Galveston have openings at the end of August for her; she has July to make her decision and is glad that it is only mid-June.

Cameron watches the rowers practice late one evening, in the last half-hour of sunlight, and tries to figure out what would keep her in Princeton, in New Jersey even. She makes a mental list that is as methodical and purposeful as the oars stroking through the water. She finds the rhythm calming, the rowers' youthful exuberance uplifting, and starts out her list with the perks of living in a university town. There are pubs galore, plenty of concerts, and an educational atmosphere that is a balm to nerves frazzled with the idea of starting all over again.

Second on her list are her friends. She met them at the gym and actually worked with two of them at the hospital. Wendy got married as young as Cameron did, has two kids under five, and welcomes nearly any excuse to get out of the house for a bit. Jude is a lab tech in histology, single, in her early thirties, and while she loves kids and will occasionally take Wendy's for a bit, she isn't nearly ready to settle down. Karen is in charge of PPTH's library collection; Cameron often sought her out as a resource while doing arcane research for her boss, but it wasn't until they met at adjacent treadmills that they struck up a friendship. The four of them meet for monthly poker nights, with beer, brownies, and the divulgence of secrets that never leave the room. They know about Cameron's husband, her HIV scare, her fear of spiders, her job offers, that Chase graces her bed on a non-regular basis, but only Jude might suspect about her greatest mistake, one she'd willingly make all over again.

The last Saturday in June they are at Cameron's apartment, taking a break between rounds to make turtle sundaes and discuss plans for a week at the shore next month. Someone asks her when they'll get to meet 'him'. It takes her too long to figure out that Jude means Chase, holding out a picture of him and Cameron at Foreman's farewell party. As she cleans up the dregs of the party, Cameron puts her deck of cards in the drawer of the desk and sees the letters from the hospitals waiting patiently on top. Galveston is furthest away and currently her top choice, but not for that reason, of course.

She volunteers at an inner-city clinic in Trenton to keep up her practice and because there might be something besides runny noses, gunshot wounds or overdoses that would require special expertise. Cameron maintains meticulous records and works hard to disguise her girly 'G's.

Chase hovers while she packs for her week at the shore. He has a few interviews about which he is very vague, and would rather shuffle through her own offers. He remarks that Galveston is hosting a nephrology conference this fall, and didn't she sign up House to go? Galveston drops to the bottom of the list, Chase doesn't spend the night, and she's okay with this.

An e-mail from Wilson arrives just before she heads out the following morning. Cameron almost doesn't open it, is leaving her laptop and cell behind on this vacation, and is ready to leave all the trappings of her world behind as well. Wilson keeps her updated on all hospital gossip, gripes about the cafeteria food, gives details about Cuddy's latest tirade, and always finishes with a job offer. This e-mail is no different; she chuckles as she skims through, a smile on her lips, the seashore calling to her. The smile dies when she catches his P.S. just as she's about to close off and hit the road. Three words later and she knows that she'll have to work hard at staying focussed on the drive over to Karen's. "He misses you," the postscript says, innocently.

The oceanfront cabin the four women share is close enough to Atlantic City for a drive to the Boardwalk one evening. Cameron pleads fatigue and too much sun, and stays home to sit on the bottom step with her toes curled in the warm sand, her fingers around her coffee cup. She doesn't want to be a part of the crowd, or smell the cotton candy and remember what it was like to laugh with him and dare to hope.

Cameron lies on a towel next to a sleeping Wendy, listening to the sound of the gulls overhead, the waves crashing upon the shore beyond her feet, and the gentle breaths of her friend. Her mind keeps replaying the postscript of Wilson's e-mail over and over behind her closed eyelids. She wonders why he would write this; they are barely friends and she has no illusions that he cares enough about her to be mentioning this for her sake. She knows who is most important in his life; their common bond is an irrational but abiding love for the same man with whom they cannot help but maintain a mostly one-sided relationship. Wilson's concern is for his friend, and while she could analyze his e-mail forever, she will not allow herself to delve any deeper into this; after all, she's supposed to be on vacation. Cameron turns over to lie face-down on her arms, letting the waves, the cries of the gulls, and the comforting presence of Wendy nearby drown out the thoughts in her head.

Cameron does not have to be too far off of sober during an impromptu game of Truth or Dare late one night to admit that she doesn't love Chase. It takes three shots of tequila, two beers, a vodka cooler, and sly planning on Jude's part to get her to admit who she does; she is still sober enough to know that she'll regret this next week.

Hung-over and forced into souvenir shopping, Cameron finds a postcard depicting a gimpy gull hoarding an over-sized french fry. She buys it, along with some candy-coated peanuts for Chase, and spends the rest of the morning in her darkened room writing a message that she has no intention of ever sending. Cameron doesn't know that Karen finds the postcard fallen beside the trash can, its intended destination, passes it to Jude, who mails it that afternoon on her way to get more buns for dinner.

It is twilight when Cameron finally gets home from dropping off Karen, who had been smiling a little too broadly as she hugged Cameron good-bye and made her promise to call later as though they hadn't just spent a week together. Cameron slings her leather pack over her shoulder and manages to get the tote of dirty laundry and her bags of groceries all in one go. She misses the ocean already, and can feel the stillness of the city's heat close around her. Struggling with her load, she doesn't notice her visitor until she is nearly upon him at the front steps. He sits with a pile of folders perched precariously on his lap, idly tapping with his cane at passing ants.

"Wonderful evening," he comments, smirking up at her and making no move to help her with her armful.

"What are you doing here?" Her brain is replaying Wilson's e-mail, her final words to this man the day she resigned, their kiss, and she can't articulate anything else.

He opens a folder, holds up the postcard, and asks, "Drunk?" His tone is devoid of ridicule or rancor, holds a slight hint of curiosity.

"Does it matter?" Cameron deposits her bags on the sidewalk and finds herself crossing her arms defensively across her chest. She belatedly realizes why Karen was smiling, remembers Jude's piercing Truth question, and while she reminds herself that her friends had the best of intentions, she cannot help but be annoyed at the situation she now finds herself in because of them. Her first interaction with him in over a month and she is back to flustered and floundering like her first day, the calm that finally befell her while on vacation lost.

"Maybe." He rises awkwardly, still managing to tower over her while leaning on his cane and juggling folders. "Does it mean you'll take a look at these for me?" He waves the folders at her.

"I don't work for you anymore, remember?" Cameron grabs her bags indignantly and starts up the stairs, avoiding any contact as she goes around him.

"I'd like..." he pauses, tries again. "You could work with me." He has her arrested at the door, once more setting down her gear. "My new staff couldn't do a proper differential if they were being held over a vat of boiling oil."

"They'll learn, just like we did." She refuses to let her resolve wear down even as she itches to step down again.

"I have a patient that needs help now." He is getting frustrated, which is quite interesting to her; she knows this frustration is not entirely on the patient's behalf, not even remotely, in fact. She's getting to him and he won't admit it.

"Pester Cuddy for better help. I'm not on payroll anymore." She's becoming intrigued now by this whole situation, and feeling her usual concern for a needy patient kick in; Cameron takes a step down despite herself, putting them at eye level.

"You have something better to be doing right now? Juggling job offers with one hand while waiting on Blondie with the other?" He stops abruptly and almost looks contrite, but that's too much of a stretch for him; he'll never apologize and will resort to any tactic to get his way. She will not work under him again, but the concept of working for him does appeal to her enough to make the hurt from his comment that much more painful.

"Go home, House." Cameron doesn't wait for him to leave before heading inside and struggling up to her apartment. She refuses to cry, but the ache in her ribs from holding in the sobs keeps her from sleeping that night. She finds the folders in her mailbox the following morning, but the postcard is conspicuously absent.

She goes over the files in between patients that day, comes up with ideas based on clinic cases. Cameron thinks about texting him but knows the poor patient deserves better, so calls instead. He speaks to her as if the preceding night had never happened and grudgingly admits that one of her ideas might be somewhat useful before asking for the files back. Cameron has them couriered, bill to receiver, and thinks that this will be the end; she's helped another patient and can move on again. Cameron is composing her acceptance letter to Chicago when the doorbell interrupts, heralding another batch of folders. The letter gets set aside for later.

Chase takes her out to dinner mid-week and he is as excited as she's ever seen him. Over egg rolls and mushroom-fried rice, he tells her of his offer from one of Melbourne's major medical centre's intensive care unit. He talks like he's already accepted, looking forward to seeing his mom again and staying in better touch with her. He extols the many virtues of the facility and finally Cameron realizes that he means for her to accompany him. Over jasmine tea and fortune cookies, she tells him about her unofficial consultations for their former boss. They part at their respective vehicles.

July ends in a few days and between volunteering, collecting what few items she had left at Chase's abode, hitting the gym with the girls and 'working' for PPTH, Cameron nearly forgets to send her acceptance. Chicago has become her first choice, both for location and what they are offering, but actually accepting seems like such a difficult endeavor. Cameron tries not to think about her Princeton list, especially the latest addition, which is the closest to her heart, as she prepares to fax in her acceptance at the clinic. A teenager comes in, holding a struggling toddler with a slight nosebleed, and it is not until she sinks wearily onto her couch that night, Lean Cuisine in hand, that Cameron remembers the letter left by the fax machine. She doesn't know if it's supposed to be a sign (she doesn't believe in God, but thinks signs just might exist), and decides to sleep on it.

Wilson has sent exactly two e-mails since the fateful one, and not mentioned his friend once. Cameron wonders if Wilson has been shown the postcard. She reads his latest message while drinking her morning coffee, planning to head out for groceries before stopping by the clinic this afternoon to fax her letter. The content of the e-mail causes her to set her coffee down, however, commanding her full attention. Wilson ran into an old friend yesterday, who is expanding her practice in Newark, and would be very interested in meeting Cameron. Was she at all interested, or should Wilson send his friend on her way? Cameron grabs her phone even as she is stripping off her pajamas and heading for the shower, the fax at the clinic forgotten once more.

She drives Chase to the airport, and sees him off, for they have enough history to still be civil. Cameron knows it is a much greater effort on his part and has to commend him his fortitude. She tells him about her position as a partner with Dr. Ridley, and he invites her to come see him should she fancy a vacation off the continent. They both know that it is unlikely they will meet again, but Cameron kisses him on the cheek one final time and mentally promises to send e-mails and maybe a few postcards. After all, she's good with those, and it is Tuesday.

Cameron finalizes her start date with Dr. Ridley for September 4th and heads in to PPTH to thank Wilson once again. He has an appointment soon, but takes the time to give her a bit of an inside scoop on Ridley, assuring her that the two women will work well together. As they part in his doorway he comments on how close Newark is to Princeton, really, and Cameron ponders this as she enters the elevator. She plans to sublet her apartment, for she loves it and this town too much to give it up entirely, and has promised to spend as many weekends as she can with her girlfriends so they won't lose touch.

Deep in thought, Cameron is startled when the elevator doors open, and experiences an interesting combination of resignation and elation as House limps inside to stand next to her, the edge of his jacket just brushing her arm. He uses his cane to punch 'L', even though it is already lit, but it does mean that he has to lean across her just a little bit to do so. While she knows he's most likely only doing this to push her own buttons, she merely enjoys the sensation instead, the summer suddenly seeming that much shorter.

"Heading out early, or paying penance to Cuddy by actually putting in some clinic hours?" Cameron no longer works for him, is leaving in just a month, and while Chase was never an excuse, he is no longer even on the same continent, so she indulges herself a tiny bit and shifts closer.

"It's a slow week, but you already know that." He means the lack of couriered files, and she can feel his blue gaze on the top of her head, then sliding down her face. "The peons are placating Cuddy for the time being."

He uses his cane to hit the 'stop' button at the second floor, but still doesn't face her. "I hear Ridley's poached you."

"Poached? That would imply that I belonged to someone." Cameron doesn't turn either, but does tilt her head enough to steal a glance at him from beneath bangs that desperately need trimming. She expects him to back down or make another cutting remark, either tactic designed to keep her at a distance.

He ducks his head and she waits for him to resume their descent, but he remains still and silent for a moment before finally glancing sidelong at her.

"You never did, but it's taken you too long to figure that out." Cameron's not expecting a statement like this, not expecting an actual conversation with him either, and on an elevator no less.

"Too long?" She wants clarification, hoping he'll allow them to move towards the deep end of the pool.

"You could've gone to work with Ridley two years ago." Another glance at her, and they are still barely touching.

"You got me to come back, or else I'd be working with someone else, maybe not Ridley or Yule, but someone."

"You were a sure bet then, it didn't take much to get you back." He grabs her elbow to swing her towards him so that they now face each other fully. "You didn't want to believe that you could stand on your own petite feet."

Cameron's not sure whether to be insulted by his 'sure bet' comment, or pleased at the buried compliment. "I wanted to come back." She lifts her chin defiantly.

"I know." His mouth tightens and he turns away, pushes the 'stop' button to resume their descent. "That's why you won't do it again this time." He limps out ahead of her and doesn't look back.

August passes quickly, filled with packing up her apartment, finding a place to rent in Newark, and putting in a few extra poker games with the girls. The clinic throws her a small going-away party, and she promises to come visit when she can. It's not until mid August that Cameron first realizes that she hasn't received any more patient files from PPTH. She tells herself that Cuddy found out and put a stop to the situation, but deep down she knows better and tries not to dwell on this issue any further. After all, she's starting a new chapter in her life soon, and it's time to finish off with the old one.

Cameron finds herself listening for the doorbell around eleven each morning and tries to be out on errands or at the gym most mornings thereafter, wishing for August to end soon.

She's all packed up, ready to leave in the morning, and the girls have just left with the last of the beer in the fridge. Cameron takes a slow walk-through of her apartment, visiting each room carefully, taking in her bare shelves, the empty walls, and can't bring herself to sleep in her echoing room one last time. She is making a nest on her couch, is tucking in the sheet when she feels something lodged behind the cushions. It's a key, and it takes her almost a full minute to figure out that it doesn't belong here. It's late, and they haven't spoken in almost a month, which is the second longest she's gone without speaking to him since she moved here (the longest being just last month), and she's better off stuffing the key into an envelope to be mailed from Newark tomorrow. Insomnia, heightened by the knowledge that she'll regret this last chance to see him before she leaves, has Cameron getting dressed and heading across town, key clenched in her right hand.

She's not surprised to see a light still on in his front window, and can hear the faint notes of the piano, warring with late-night television, through his door. Cameron knocks quietly, mindful of the late hour and his neighbours; part of her hopes that he doesn't hear her so she can just slip the key under the door and be done with it now that she's here. The door is pulled open just as she's crouched down, and Cameron's left staring up at him scowling down at her.

He doesn't offer her a hand up, but doesn't close the door in her face, either. He stumps back to his piano, turning off the television along the way, and idly picks out a few notes, ignoring her for the time being. Cameron lets herself in, twists the key in her hands as she watches him, scans the messy living room, watches him some more.

"If you want something to drink, you're going to have to get it yourself as my butler ran off with my maid this morning. You know where the kitchen is." He starts playing a slow, beautiful, melancholic tune, and it follows her into the kitchen. He's not kicking her out, and while he's not saying much, if this is how she's going to spend her final night in Princeton, with him, then she's okay with that.

Glass filled, Cameron deposits the Brita back into the fridge, the objects on the front catching her eye as she closes the door. Next to a dumb blonde joke, e-mailed to him from Wilson, is the gimpy gull postcard, the edges a little worn and dog eared; she doesn't remember the card looking so worn. It looks like it has been handled often; when she takes it off the fridge and turns it over, she sees that the ink is worn in spots. Maybe it's been sitting at the bottom of his pack too long; maybe he and Wilson have passed it back and forth like a note in school, laughing; maybe he's had it here all along and stops to read it occasionally.

Cameron leans against the kitchen doorframe, drinking the cold water, watching him caress music from the instrument. She waits until the song is finished before approaching. He moves stiffly to his right, allowing just space enough for her on his left. He doesn't turn from his scrutiny of the scotch he has perched (on a coaster) on top of the piano, so she sits with her back to the keyboard, where she can see his face out of the corner of her eyes.

"I found your key tonight; I'd forgotten I still had it." Cameron offers the key, palm up, to him, careful not to touch him this time. Condensation drips off of her glass onto her leg, bare below her hastily pulled-on shorts, while she waits, each drop taking an eternity to fall. She finally feels fingers slide around her wrist, then a thumb closes her own fingers over the key on her palm.

"You'd better keep it. Wouldn't want you to have to resort to breaking and entering to wake me up unnecessarily in the middle of the night." He guides her hand back to her lap, just barely grazes his knuckles across her thigh and hip as he retreats.

"Right." Cameron tries to keep the smile from her lips, turns her head to see him gazing back at her, expressionless. However, she does see the look in his eyes that gives him away, the look that she's glimpsed only a handful of times these past three and a half years. It's a look that gives her the courage to do what she's about to do once more, one final time. Cameron waits for one more drop upon the knee, keeps her hands clenched around glass and key, and leans into him, eyes never leaving his.

He lets her approach until they are mere inches apart, then pauses her with a hand at her chin, fingers just touching her lips. "Did my bouncer frisk you for needles at the door?"

"What?" Cameron cannot help her smile, a little startled, confused, and exhilarated all at once. He slides his hand under her jaw to tug her to him after that.

A break to breathe and he rests his cheek against hers, stubble rough on her smooth skin.

"Don't..." is all he can manage before capturing her lips once more. His thumb absently soothes her cheek while his other hand tangles in her hair to keep her close. Cameron wants desperately to free her hand, but that would involve moving, and she doesn't want this to end, so stays still under his hands and mouth.

His lips begin to travel down her throat, which is suddenly too much, and she's leaving in a few hours; why did it have to happen like this? Her breath catches in a half-sob and she pulls back a little, not out of his embrace, but just enough to catch her breath and gain some semblance of control.

He looks almost sad now, slightly out of breath himself, then he tightens his mouth into a grim line.

"You have to leave." He doesn't mean right now; it's a statement of fact, not a command, but she knows she has to or else she never will.

"I do." Cameron resolutely stands, pocketing the key, then heads on unsteady legs to deposit the glass in the kitchen. He's still sitting on the bench when she returns, and now that her hands are free she is able to cross to him and kiss him properly. She memorizes the feel of the bristles along his jaw, the slide of his lips and tongue against hers, and the hair that just barely curls around her fingers at the back of his head.

She tries to keep the tears at bay until she's out the door, but they slide down her face anyway, and she knows that she won't change overnight.

"Goodnight." He doesn't say goodbye, and neither does she, and she finds little solace in the key that she clutches to her chest for the remaining hours of the night.

Newark is busier and noisier than Princeton; her first few weeks pass by in a flurry of activity as she sets up her new apartment and settles in with Dr. Ridley. Cameron's too tired to dream at night, but she doesn't want to anyway, afraid of what she'll see. The girls want to go leaf-peeping in New England soon, and she circles the weekend on her calendar, looking forward to catching up. Wilson continues with semi-regular e-mails; they are devoid of any mention of his friend, and she won't ask, but laughs at his jokes instead.

She gets home late the Thursday before the New England weekend, tosses the mail on the couch, more eager to check her machine for updates from the girls. Jude has found a quaint place to stay in Portsmouth, and leaves plenty of details to get Cameron excited.

She's finished packing, has her lunch ready in the fridge, and her clothing laid out for work when she finally collapses onto her couch for some Grey's and a mug of cider. She idly sorts through her mail during commercials, setting aside bills, and tossing ads in the general direction of the recycling bin. Near the bottom of the pile lies a postcard, and Cameron drops the rest of the mail onto her coffee table, no longer interested.

The picture on the front is of a group of racing shells at first light, some of the campus buildings visible in the background through the mist. The message begins, "Allison," and ends in a postscript that is identical to the one on the gimpy gull card: "Wish you were here." Grinning broadly, Cameron reads the postcard a few more times before taking it to the kitchen to be displayed prominently on her fridge. She looks at the nearby calendar, sees that she's not busy next weekend (she loves her steady work hours), and suddenly the autumn is full of the promise of which the summer only hinted.

On the way to bed that night, Cameron touches the key where it hangs on a hook by her door. She's smiling as she settles into bed, checking her alarm once more before turning off the light. She settles onto her side and adjusts her blankets just so, looking forward to dreaming of a future that she can grasp from where she stands on her own two feet.

In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.

- Albert Camus