A/N: Ah, my first H/C update on ff in soooo long. It's just a oneshot that's left very open ending. Thanks.
The summer is crushing down on her, the stifling heat causing her to stop mid-stride as she walks towards the ER entrance. She waves to Chase, his raised eyebrow telling her not to forget yet again, that they're having lunch together. It's nothing new and that's fine.
It happens somewhere between calling a T.O.D. and rubbing a soccer girl's shoulder as the girl tells her she's not sick. Again, it's the same old, same old. It's the feeling that she can't breathe. She's lost in the goodness, halfway between getting over it and needing more. Nothing new for her.
"I thought I could do it!"
The boy sighs, masking his pain with anger. Cameron catches the slight quiver of his lips as he tries not to cry.
The mother clicks her tongue. "Why would you think you could fly?"
Silent, the boy merely looks at the mother who's staring elsewhere, her hands on her hips. Cameron holds her tongue for the time being. Nothing new there.
"You'll need a cast for your wrist, okay? I'll call Ortho and they'll get you set up."
"Why can't I fly?"
She stops, one foot already moving back and the other stuck in its spot. That hadn't changed either. For some reason, the question is one she's not sure she's supposed to answer. The boy looks past her and she wonders if this is what he was like when he'd been seven.
"Wouldn't you?" he asks, his eyes finding hers, peering without realizing it, searching her without meaning to, scaring something in her that hadn't been spoken to in so long. "Wouldn't you fly?"
The smile comes easily since it's one she pulls out on occasions such as these. It's soft, kind, unrevealing in every way.
"I'm afraid of heights." A lie. It comes so easy these days.
His eyes narrow before he looks away as if he's so disappointed in her. When he looks her way again, she sees that part of him which still speaks at its loudest volume. A part of him that won't quit speaking to that one mute part of her she's hidden so well because she's not ready to move on yet. Change still hasn't come.
"What's wrong with wanting to fly?"
She should say, 'nothing,' except she knows the force of a fall from the sky. She knows it all too well.
Her reflection stares back at her, the lights of the hospital bathroom casting a blue glow over her features. The past 32 hours aren't anything new. The day should be nothing short of ordinary, but here she is, the child's words whispering to her once more. Closing her eyes, she rests against sink, not wanting to hear it, not wanting to speak to it. She's been silent so long to everything around her. Nothing had changed.
He'd spoken to what was waiting inside of her, afraid of what may happen if allowed to talk again. The kid had done it, hadn't he? Without even meaning to.
The bag slung over her shoulder still holds a few things she'd held on to when working for House. So much had stayed the same. The thought crosses her mind in a blur and it never occurs to her that she shouldn't do it.
Her hands reach for the black charcoal crayon with determination lighting her eyes. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, she brings the crayon close to her face, for one last second hesitating before marking herself.
There. It's done.
The two dark lines under her eyes make her look like some wannabe woman football player. She doesn't care. In fact, she draws a vertical line down her forehead before throwing the crayon on the counter with abandon.
Is this what it feels like? It's been so long since she's felt…this. She'd been waiting so long for this to happen, to be inspired, to be let loose from the depths of her safe haven.
Pulling her hair into an almost tight pony-tail, she fights the rush circulating through her veins making her jittery. Her reflection is ludicrous. It's different.
She smiles.
Standing here now, she hesitates. The glass walls are calling her home, but she knows full well that home is no longer here. The permanent marker is between her fingers, the cap in her mouth, just waiting for her to speak finally.
Catching her reflection, the warrior like lines and the smart hair, she takes a step forward to the walls that separate her from his conference room. Her heart pounds in her ears, the adrenaline pumping through her veins because she is finally letting go. It'd taken forever to get here, to find the voice after so long a slumber.
The marker makes contact with the glass. When she's done, she steps back, slipping the cap back on. It reminds her of the gap between high school and college, frenzied kids with clean faces wanting to see the world and so they begin with vandalism of private property. But she's sure he'll appreciate it since he's the one not moving and she finally has.
Footsteps register in her ears but she doesn't move, nor does she care that he gawks at the marks on her face, for once stunned into silence or even careful amusement.
How long had she been listening for someone to inspire her? And now she is. And now she's flown away. She stares at her handwriting a moment longer before walking away, not feeling the heaviness she'd borne this past year. This is new.
Allison Cameron, M.D., was here.