Thanks to miss_andromache, one of my favorites.
It's the air on her face that's biting, thousands of tiny pinpricks over her cheeks and forehead, glossing her eyes and chapping her lips. It's not too bad against her hand as she brings a cigarette to her lips and takes a drag that is longer than necessary. Another vice she's thrown right back in the mix, along with casually cussing and straightening her hair.
The nicotine rushes through her bloodstream like a bullet, floats her brain a bit. A bleat in her pocket and a buzzing against her hip, Cameron shoves her fist deep and retrieves her cell and lifts it to her ear without glancing at the id. "Hello?"
Nothing on the other end but breath, so she waits. There's been a few of these from Chase, but he always hangs up after a few moments and a few more whispered "Hello?"s on her part. This time is different, there's something in the static that carries between the lines. "Hello?" she asks, voice caustic, annoying because... how long can he keep this up?
"You're in Dallas." It's a statement of fact and not a question and his headstrong attitude just pisses her off.
Cameron drops the cigarette, snuffs it angrily beneath her foot. "Not even close, goodbye House."
"Wait!"
A roll of her eyes because that's what she's become good at; it's her new thing. If he were around to see, it would make him laugh, she's sure. "What?"
But there's nothing. The hospital is behind his breath, the beeps from an EKG, the loudspeaker asking Doctor Kardim to come to Radiology and it tears at her heart. "Stop feigning guilt," she demands before a sob can well up in her throat.
Cameron hits the end button and shoves her phone back into her pocket.
She crosses Whacker Drive; she lights up.
-
She never stopped being the girl who truly believed that things would always work out for the better. But it is what it is what it is, so now she just sucks it up and trudges on and wonders about the part of her that she left back in New Jersey. There's no part of her that wants to hate herself or hate him, but she wishes she had at least that much left, at least that much strength to summon some sort of emotion.
She thinks it funny, sometimes, how he managed to change her so and how she barely registered with him. Just another pretty face, just another naive young doctor to jade.
Cook County Children's Hospital is where she spends most of her time. Cameron knows nothing but the sick and the dying and for some reason, it does her good to be around grieving and struggling parents. It's a comfort to be able to comfort someone again and amongst all of the tears that are shed in a day, only a small fraction of them are hers.
At a vending machine on the third floor, she's deciding between the trail mix or a Snickers bar, rationalizing away the chocolate as caffeine when her phone buzzes. "Dr. Cameron," is spoken as she slides a dime into the slot, presses A, 7.
Just as the candy makes a loud 'thunk' as it drops, he questions, "San Diego?"
Cameron's eyes slide closed and she leans against the machine, hoping that it's not her knees that are going weak. She wouldn't be able to deal with that right now. "You're getting warmer," and her voice is a whisper and she chides herself for not being stronger.
His voice is possibly the most gruff she has ever heard, "Yeah?"
She crushes the candy in her hand, regains some of her pluck. "You should be getting colder," Cameron manages and hangs up, clutches her phone in her hand and tosses the candy bar into the waste basket.
She's lost her appetite.
-
He doesn't tell her anything during these phone calls, just questions. Boston, New York, Denver? No, no, stop calling, she asks of him but still, he makes it a point to try and contact her once a week.
Cameron doesn't change her number and doesn't block his calls and she picks up *every time* and so she's as complacent in this as he is, yes. There's no going back, no.
This changes things, maybe.
-
"Chicago," he says one evening, and she can hear the pull of liquor in his voice, The Smiths demanding in the background.
It's so easy to imagine him there, reclining on the stool by his piano, bottle of Glenlivet or something equally as smooth open before him.
'We can talk about Morrissey,' she thinks but before she knows it, Cameron is replying. "It's the windy city, you know."
(It's too easy to imagine what she would do if she was with him in this moment.)
"I don't know what that means," he replies and there's a smile in that voice, there's a smile that carries and reaches her ears and makes her feel worlds better. He knows what that means, he knows what everything means, maybe. The fact that he's playing this way has her thinking that perhaps... something has changed.
The odds are against her.
There are no 'I miss you's, but that was never him, and it's not her now and for a moment they just sit until the line goes dead.
She doesn't know which one of them cuts off but there's a very real chance that she's not going to sleep tonight.
-
Three months and winter sinks into deep winter and she's gone through more tubes of Chapstick than she's bought in her entire life. Her hair is longer and covers her face when she glances down at charts and she plays with the idea of cutting all of it off.
There's something inside of her that's pressing her to be more drastic with her decisions. She clips off all of her nails and paints them blue and notice how they contrast with the 'send' button on her phone when she goes to answer his call.
She doesn't believe him when he says, "The Aussie is a mess," but she wants to and so she says nothing back. There he is, all around her, in her ear and all over and she plays with the idea of cutting him off.
There's a strength in her but she's not that strong.
She wonders when she'll stop lying to herself as her phone beeps.
Low battery.