Thank you Liz! For violacoye, who is just so sweet.
The plush brown softness spilled around the gaps between her fingers. She squeezed a few times, watching as the stubby little arms moved just a bit. It was adorable as stuffed toys went.
Cameron sat back in her seat, the limited light from the desk lamp skating out to encompass the treasure in her hands. Mere hours before, it had been in the clutches of a tiny, tiny five year old girl. A five year old who understood enough about life to know that she was going to die.
That, in itself, had shaken Doctor Allison Cameron to the core. A five year old with a comprehension of what lay ahead for her: pain, pain, and finally nothing. She'd be nothing. Her mother had told her, as she cradled the small thing in her arms, that the angels in the clouds would keep her safe, that her nanna and grampy would help her watch over mommy and Joshie (her brother) and daddy.
Aiah, the brunette who was shaking so uncontrollably in her mother's arms had held out her little bear and squeaked, "But I want to stay here, I don't like watching television, I won't like watching you. I want to stay with Mr. Thomas." And with that she'd brought the bear back to her chest and sobbed out a huff of impatience with her mother.
She'd looked up at her mother as if she could save her from the disease eating away at her nerve endings.
And then, in a moment of pure helplessness, tears coursing down her cheeks, she'd looked up to Cameron and mouthed a soundless 'please' as if the doctor in her could save the woman's doctor.
They stared at each other for such a long time until the other woman finally let her gaze fall back to her daughter.
Cameron walked off, feeling as if she wanted to weep but finding it equally as impossible to do so. Legs leaden as she trailed down the long halls back to diagnostics where she pretended to go through files until code blue was called on Aiah Cordaro. Even then, she didn't leave the office, just sat and waited, allowed the precious tears to course down over her cheeks.
Doctors weren't supposed to act like she was, they were supposed to move on, ask what's next. Empathy should have been her enemy but it was her companion, clinging about her mind at all hours of the day, even when she asked it to please, please, please just go away.
She wondered it was all simply hopeless, if everything she wanted to do was in vain. Could she really save any of them, any of them at all?
It wasn't fair, but then again, was there ever a time where it was? Was there ever a time when someone so young had ever deserved the hand that was dealt to them? She doubted it.
So she sat in the shared office, in the light of afternoon, staring into the wall, through the wall, wondering what could possibly be next.
It was there that Georgia Cordaro found her three hours later, both of them tattered and broken. The mother hovered around the door until Cameron glanced up to find her there, back going straight in the seat, palms brushing away the last salty vestiges of her never-ending grief.
No words were exchanged as the woman walked up to the doctor and held out the small bear to her. With that, she offered Cameron a sad smile and trudged out the door, holding herself as if against biting cold. And it was cold, her whole world had frozen, Cameron was sure.
And so she sat with the bear, staring into the beady black eyes, attempting to divine some answer.
That's where he found her, wanting answers from a toy.
"You couldn't have saved her you know," he too hovered about the doorway, as if he were not welcome. Something had changed around him, something had shifted. He didn't budge in and force his opinion on her, no. His voice was soft, as were his eyes and she found herself sighing at his declaration. "She was dying before she was born," and with that he moved over to the front of the desk, leaning his free palm against the cool surface.
"I know," came her indignant and hushed reply.
He leaned more fully on the desk until he overcame his hesitation and sank down into the chair across from her.
They sat in silence for a few moments.
"Can you imagine knowing that your child was going to die?" she whispered, eyes still on Mr. Thomas, "Being able to do nothing about it?" Her eyes flitted to his. "Nothing at all?"
House actually thought for a moment. "No, I can't," he reasoned, "That's why I don't want kids."
She sat back, startled at the revelation. She knew that he must think of things like that, that he was as normal as the rest of them, but for him to come forward with such a thing was almost frightening. "Never?"
Thump, thump went his cane as he attempted to divert her attention from the meaning of his words. That would never happen, she was too attentive, too invested in what he had to say.
"Not unless it was with the absolute, absolute..." His voice trailed off, "Absolute..." He didn't love her, but he knew he could; he knew he eventually would. It tortured him, but nothing had yet to make it go away.
He knew he'd given up too much in that one fragmented sentence and allowed his gaze to fall.
And he stopped and she stopped breathing and they looked at each other, acknowledging humanity in a few short seconds.
He eventually got up, walked around the desk and plucked the bear from her grasp. She didn't object and didn't hold on, just watched until he disappeared from her line of vision. Then, she got up and trailed to the heavy glass door of his office to watch...
…as he placed the bear at the head of his desk, turning out his lamp.