New Moon
It was a gorgeous spring evening; unseasonably warm and humid. In the garden, buds promised full open flowers as the days warmed. A low hum of bees and cicadas blocked out the usual city noise. Twilight stretched out pink in the cloudy sky. Cameron sat on a bench with the fat envelope bulging in her small hands.
She meditated upon it for a moment. She breathed in the fresh green smell and closed her eyes; the weight of her new future. She mourned the passing of this life, just as she had mourned the passing of so many lives before. It seemed that she was forever giving things up, forever forced to accept situations, just once she wanted her share of happiness.
At first she thought it was House, his issues, his problems, but she realized that her job was the pawn in a game between Vogler and her boss, and she was the loser. It wasn't about what House wanted, it was never about what she wanted; so she did the adult thing and applied for a new job.
In her hands she held the official offer, along with the standard paperwork needed to secure a government position. Once she opened it she was gone. Away from the first really great job she had ever had. Away from a team, that although imperfect, had a place for her and her talents. Away from a man whom she could love and who could love her.
She cast aside that sentimental vision. She realized that the idyllic situation existed only in her mind. In reality she worked with three selfish men who would never appreciate her. As daylight dimmed, she summoned the courage to open the envelope.
She found the plastic cord and pulled it slowly as if frightened by the contents of the Mylar pouch. She peered in, then licked her finger and slid the cover letter out first, leaving the remainder for further study at home.
Dear Dr. Cameron;
The Transplantation Immunobiology Branch of the Division of Allergy, Immunology and Transplantation of the National Institutes of Health are pleased to inform you that you have been selected…
She stopped reading. It was enough. The job was hers. She had already verbally accepted their offer, but here it was in black and white. Binding. Final. She had been drafting her resignation letter for two weeks, longer if she were honest. Now it would have to typed into her laptop. She sighed and stared at the letterhead. National Institutes of Health. Public service. A new future.
She would pack up her belongings and start over again in a new place. It was unutterably depressing. She had hoped that here at Princeton that she might rest for a while, that she might be planted and bloom. Just like this garden. Here her tightly sealed buds had been coaxed to blossom, but too soon. Transplantation. It was apt.
The past few years she found herself uprooted, just as she began to sprout. Her life was a series of events marred by bad timing. Her marriage, her fellowship, her chance at new love, all aborted. All hope of fresh starts and new beginnings…terminated. How is it that the girl who strove for perfection, the top of her class, the highest scores, the prettiest, nicest girl, had absolutely nothing to show for any of her hard work. Maybe House had it right, maybe the way to survive all of this tragedy was to stop trying so hard. Succumb to the whims of providence; accept that she was alone in the world.
She smiled ruefully; she put it all on the line for House. She would walk away with no regrets, only disappointment.
She slid the letter back into the pouch and set it next to her on the bench. As dusk grew darker, small lights blinked on overhead and on the pathways around the garden. Although she was alone, she felt the peace of her decision wash over her. She glanced around, drinking in the perfection of this moment. The warmth of the day gave way to the cool of the evening.
A scent of sandalwood mingled with night blooming jasmine and she instinctively waited for him to appear. He had barged in on her moment. She closed her eyes and willed him to go away. She prayed that if she just stayed still that he might not see her there. Their last meetings alone had not gone well. She, full of recrimination, he, full of…well it didn't pay to revisit that. Whatever he wanted her to believe, she had to believe it.
The breeze shifted and brought the smell of freshly mown grass. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she felt him behind her. How is it that she could feel him on her shadow? She smiled, remembering some small, forgotten chapter from Peter Pan. Was she Wendy, a sober young woman, helping a frightened, eternal boy by sewing his shadow to his foot?
"You know, it's rare to see one of these so early in the season. She must be flying north, looking for a nice milkweed to lay her eggs on. Come here, have a look." His voice was low and absent of his usual sarcasm. It was one of his rare and unguarded moments.
Cameron rose and walked over to see a monarch butterfly perched on the branch of a dogwood. She was overwhelmed by a feeling of melancholy. This might be the last time they shared a private conversation.
"They go amazing distances. Some start up north in Canada and fly all the way to Mexico. I remember studying them as a kid, growing them from a cocoon, watching them hatch and then letting them fly off." The butterfly moved its wings slowly, but remained on the tree. "It was hard letting them go, but," he shrugged, "that's what they do."
"So you know." It was a statement, not a question.
"Funny thing, I called a former colleague in Bethesda to see if he had a place for a promising young doctor. Imagine my surprise when I found that he had already hired you." He sat down on her bench, gently nudging her package aside.
"I had a conversation with Vogler." She stated simply.
"Thank God, I thought it might be something I said." He said without humor.
"That too, or rather, things you haven't said." Even as the words left her lips, she felt that she was opening a door that had better stay bolted. "But it doesn't matter now. I'd like to leave on good terms."
He rested his chin on his cane, "but these aren't good terms. You're leaving. I don't want you to leave. You don't want to leave. Those are bad terms. Very bad terms."
Cameron picked up her package and rested it on her knees, sharing the bench with him. "You're right, as always. But some bad things end up being good."
"Sunny optimism? You surely aren't speaking from experience." His dour countenance was tinged with sadness.
Cameron thought about it and realized that she had been throwing herself a pity party. "Actually, I am. Every life has tragedy in it. Yours. Mine. We are all disappointed sometimes. But I'm not sorry I came here. I'm not sorry I met you. Even if things didn't turn out the way that I had hoped, I'm very happy to have met you." She meant it. Tennyson may have been onto something, "The seasons bring the flower again," she quoted.
"Apparently," House regarded the garden, verdant and swollen with promise. "But 'what other friends remain' for me?"
"Wilson, for one. Cuddy." She realized the list was very short. Lightening flashed across the sky, the dark, moonless night winked a streaky red. Cameron began counting, "One, two, three, four, five…" She got to ten before thunder rumbled its warning. "Ten minutes before the storm gets here."
"Stay a while. Sit with me. You know it wasn't my choice." He couldn't look at her.
Cameron was quiet, thoughts whirled and she tried to sort it all out, so many things to feel, "it was, in a way."
"Oh? Because I never said that I liked you? What is this need you have to be liked?"
Cameron sighed and looked around, "It doesn't matter anymore. What I meant was that Vogler was looking for a way to hurt you, that's why he picked me."
"So I have no secrets? How depressing, a Philistine like Vogler knows that things I refuse to admit myself." He moved his hand towards hers.
"He knows everyone's weakness, that's what makes him strong." She pondered for a moment, "I wonder if he knows our strengths too?"
"No. He'd be more frightened if that were the case. But let's stop talking about him." House fell silent with the edge of his hand resting near hers; the croaking of frogs from the reflecting pool replaced their conversation.
There were so many things she wanted to say, and so many reasons not to say them. On one hand, what did she have to lose? On the other, she'd lost it all anyway, so why bother.
"I start on the first of the month. I'll need a week off to settle my affairs and…."
"Hush," he admonished, "there's plenty of time for that. You don't get many perfect evenings like this one."
Again she allowed him to stymie her. The anger she felt towards him bubbled up. Even now, as everything crumbled around her, it was still about him. She rose with her packet clutched across her chest, as though it offered her protection. .
"No, don't go just yet." He patted the concrete bench, still warm from where she had been sitting. "sweet is the night air." He quoted.
She vaguely remembered the phrase and tried to place it. Her face questioned his.
"Matthew Arnold," he explained, "everything worth saying has already been said. I don't want to fight with you. Far from it. I wanted to shield you and instead, again, I'm helpless."
She placed the packet next to him on the bench and stood in front of him. "I don't need that from you. I'm not helpless. I have managed to live my life quite well without someone watching over me." She thought about all of the sadness in her life and how she triumphed over it, she would live to smile another day. Sadness and grief were temporary. Every dawn brought the prospect of happiness.
Cameron looked at him on the bench, lost in his dejection, and felt disgusted. "This is so like you! You don't have a right to be unhappy about this. What exactly are you going to miss? It's not like you ever expressed appreciation for me. It's not like you ever gave me any hope of having my feelings reciprocated. I know you feel something for me, but what good is it to me unexpressed? I need someone who can give me more." She gulped in air and felt the blood rush to her face. "I deserve more."
He nodded, "You're right. This is absolutely the best thing for you."
"Even now? You don't have anything to say? Then why are you here?" The breeze refreshed her flushed face and helped cool her temper.
"I can't let you go. Not like this. There has to be another way." He stood to face her, "Feelings aside, how can I get you to stay?"
"You can't. Not with feelings aside. Don't you understand?" She wanted to shove him. "I'm not going to stay to worship you."
"Stay for the work then." He countered.
"Vogler won't allow it, but more importantly I won't allow it. I can't just be your ornament. I won't stay here to become some parody of myself. I am more than just a good doctor, I am a woman, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I need more than just this job. I need more than that from you." She finished softly.
"Oh." He sat back down.
"So this isn't going to work. I probably should have left weeks ago." She again tried to leave.
"Wait. Don't go." House cast his eyes down as she stared at him expectantly.
"What would I stay for?" She touched his face, causing him to look up, "You've got to give me something."
"Stay for me." He said simply.
"Why? Can you give me what I need?" She licked her lips; suddenly she had an incredible thirst.
"I doubt it. Frankly, I don't know what I provide in the equation. All I know is that I am a better person when you are around. I need your softness, I need your light. Allison, please, just give me more time; I'm sure I can figure…"
"No. I think this is beyond your ability to cure." She couldn't hide the sadness she felt, "Let me go."
"Well, that's it then." He stood as another streak of lightening brightened the sky; thunder cracked and shook the ground as fat, warm raindrops pelted the earth. He looped his arm into hers and led her back into the building, "Although I do get you for the next two weeks. A lot can happen in a short space of time."
Author's Notes:
This story would not have been possible without the following (in no particular order.)
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (Chapter 23 inspired this story.)
Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold.
In Memoriam by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Peter Pan by J.M. Barry
The Travels of Monarch X by Ross E. Hutchins
The Long Hot Summer, (taken from a Faulkner story and starring JoAnne Woodward and Paul Newman.)