Title: Tragic - PT 14
Pairing: House/Cameron
Rating: PG
Summary: Cameron's life (Cam's POV) - PT. 14 - Spring Changes - "You survive the slow melt and the mud of the city - you hate to admit it, even to yourself, but you miss him..."
Disclaimer: Don't own any of it, just playing...

FINALLY! An Update! I know it's been quite a while! I hope you like it! I'm a bit rushing to get it out, so please excuse any typos, etc. (Slap my hand, I didn't have time for a beta, and I almost always need one...I'm horrible!) I also can't keep reading this!

RL has been really crazy so I haven't had much time to work on 'Tragic' until recently. I hope that I was able to get back into the groove of it (is very worried) and would really love to hear your thoughts and commentary... will be working on next part very shortly. Also, for those of you who have been asking, I will be working on 'Cooking' as soon as I can - I've been swamped... and I have some other pieces in the works. Also, I know I'm behind on responding to comments, but I will soon - promise! Thanks as always! And many thanks for your patience!
S.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You survive the slow melt and mud of the city. The cold air freezes your mind and emotions in a time warp. During this melting period, you traipse around the city and wonder if your igloo walls to your inner being will dissipate as the sun grows longer and stronger with each given day into spring and just with the sun that is Pearl in your life. And because you hear nothing from him, you allow this spring heat to enter to your stratosphere.

The last contact had with House was the phone call the day of the early spring blizzard. The last communication you initiated with him was a birthday card from you and Pearl for his birthday. You sent a card with a painted palm imprint of Pearl's baby hand as her signature, her curled baby fingers smearing the blue paint on the card. You inserted some pictures of the two of them and their ridiculous ice cream cake; you thought he would like them.

You hate to admit it, even to yourself, but you miss him. You miss the comfort you feel around him. You miss the banter you share, the way he makes you laugh, the way he makes you angry, the way he frustrates the hell out of you, the way he is with your daughter. Just the way he is life, looking at everything with such curiosity, but sadly so afraid to come out and play. You just want to reach out and touch him all the time. Every breath you exhale hurts for him and your want and need for him. It hurts because you keep this entirely buried deep inside you, a deep knot in a locked box, a dark and beautiful creature that lives secretly within you, enlivening you and killing you at the same time. You have pride. And you must keep up appearances. You were never good at letting go. You still aren't. But somehow, somehow, you decide you must move along . . . and just try . . . try to forget, let things fade, like the snow melting into water and draining off into the city sewers.

You let the spring air start to renew you, the mixture of warm and cool breezes and early blooms washing over your body as you push Pearl in her stroller through the park. The ground is freshly green, new grass brightening the cityscape, tulips and daffodils starting to sprout underneath large bushes. The park is alive with people - walking, running, and rollerblading, sitting on blankets - with papers, dogs, and guitars. You want to breathe it all in, feel all this life, but you know it would overcome you; you would overdose on it all. You feel so overwhelmed with emotions and life right now.

You sit on the green bench in your jeans and favorite brown suede jacket; large sunglasses perched on your nose. You feel more city-chic than you have felt before, like you fit in a bit more. You think you are starting to adjust a bit to the city finally, though outside of John, you still don't really have any friends here. You guess everything takes time.

You watch Pearl napping in her stroller facing you. You have had the mostly lovely day with her, playing and strolling. She brings such joy to your life . . . you think of this morning and playing with her. You had baby cereal in your hair, and you were teasing her pretending to eat her precious little foot. She was smiling, with her finger in her mouth, reaching out to touch your face, a gleam in her eyes as she touched your cheek with her damp hand. You mocked that you were going to eat her hand and she giggled like mad. You love your little moments together like this, each day a gives you a little blessing, lesson and treasure. She makes you not mind so much when you get splattered with mud from the snow melt and soft ground. She is your gift.

You lean back in the bench, close your eyes and inhale the clean spring air. You try to clear your mind and relax. It's Sunday, and you're always running a mental to-do list for the week, all the things you need to get ready in the evening for Monday. You wish you had more help . . . and you don't mean hired help. You just feel alone.

You open your eyes to the downing sun, and though you are wearing sunglasses, the sun suddenly feels too strong for your eyes. You have flashes in your eyes that you haven't had in a while. You recognize the feeling and head home.

Sunday evening is always for phone calls. Your head is starting to throb, so you try to keep your calls short. You have your weekly phone chat with Emily and Charles, updating them on every little thing that Pearl had done over the week. You enjoy your relationship with them now; they have become parents to you that you do not have, and hearing their familiar voices have become a comfort. You make plans for next weekend; it will be your first Mother's Day. They will come into the city to see you and Pearl on Saturday (less Mother's Day fuss in all the restaurants) and so you don't have to drag Pearl and all her baby stuff all the way to their house for a day or two. You're looking forward to their visit.

It is late and the evening is now your own. The baby is sleeping. The kitchen is dark and clean. You are lying on the couch with an ice pack in a dish towel deciding if you want to watch Dr. McDreamy or a rerun episode of Law & Order on TNT. The phone rings again disrupting your dark peacefulness. You debate whether to pick it up or not, but you've never been the kind of girl to screen her calls. The dull thud in the base of your skull and up the right side of your head is starting to make your decisions. You can't take the incessant ringing so you answer.

Hello.

"Allison?" Foreman's familiar voice is clear over the phone.

Eric! How are you?

"I'm great. More importantly, how are you? And Pearl? I'm not calling too late, am I?"

No, no, you tell him you were just flicking through the television. He teases you that he never imagined you as a couch potato. You two laugh. You tell him motherhood can be exhausting at times.

You chat for a bit about everything that's been going on, though neither of you mention House. He tells you he's been thinking about you and has been meaning to call for some time, but it always seems so late when he has a chance.

You understand, but you're glad to hear the voice of a friend tonight.

And in all honesty, that is true. The warmth of friend on the phone, though you're not talking about the stone in your stomach, does make you feel better. Well, minus the growing headache. That reminds you . . .

You ask Eric if he can call in a prescription for you, since he was your last prescribing neurologist and you just haven't found a new one yet. You don't feel friendly enough with the rest of the staff to ask for favors yet.

"Sure, what's wrong?"

Oh, you're getting a migraine. It's been a while, but you know the signs. You're sure it's because of the change in the seasons and the weather, which used to get you all the time.

"Are you sure?" He hesitates. "Maybe we should do a checkup first."

Foreman, it's just a little migraine. You tell him you just need some sumatriptan. An Imitrex prescription will do.

"Do you think you need to go back on the Topamax?" he questions you, remembering a period when you were getting really bad migraines and you asked him to be your doctor on the DL.

You don't think that's necessary.

"Do you want to try some new meds I have?"

You tell him you're not interested in whatever it is his girlfriend is selling him now. Last time you tried her latest miracle headache drug it was crap, and you suffered much longer. You just need the Imitrex. He won't make you beg, will he?

He takes the info for your pharmacy and makes you promise that you'll check in with him if it gets any worse and that you'll schedule a checkup with him or another neurologist soon.

You tell him you're making a note of it in your day planner as you speak, you are smiling over the phone.

He bids you goodnight and will call again soon to make some plans. Give Pearl a kiss and feel better.

You are happy for his phone call. You turn off the television, take your ice pack and head to bed. You open your door to your tornado ridden land that you still haven't touched yet . . . you just keep it hidden behind closed doors. The dirty sheets from when House was there lie crumpled up on the corner of your bedroom floor. There's something about your bedroom that you just can't deal with, and you try to spend as little time as possible there. It is no longer your retreat. The memories of intimacy haunt you, and you have great difficulty sleeping. If you didn't have Pearl you would have asked Foreman for a prescription of Valium also. Who knew that you would ever want or need these pills?

You fall into bed with a sigh. A deep exhaustion is taking over you. You hold the cool towel to your head and pray that the pain will be gone in the morning, especially after sleep. You wonder if you will dream of Imitrex tablets dancing in your sleep. The dull thud is bringing a pain that you dread. The rhythm of your own pulse is echoing in your skull. The pain just brings exhaustion, an exhaustion where you sleep in black with no dreams. No dreams are good thing for you right now.

Your week goes by quickly. You are feeling exhausted, but you know it is the consequences of a busy work week, lingering headaches and just not enough time with your lovely daughter who refreshes your soul. You are looking forward to your Saturday brunch, yet you feel funny about being honored for Mother's Day. You have mixed emotions about deserving such an honor. Although you think you're a good mother now, you still worry. You just have no backup, no support, no one to talk to at night in the dark about your worries and fears. Sometimes you shake and cry at night when you are lying in bed, reaching out to an imaginary body next to you, wishing you could vocalize to someone, just to get it out of you. Therapy sometimes just isn't enough. Your life is too complicated.

Emily and Charles arrive Saturday, bright and sunny just like the spring air. You enjoy popovers and French toast and many other goodies you wouldn't normally indulge in at brunch. The three of you stroll around Manhattan, Emily's arm slung into yours like that of an old girlfriend. You actually enjoy her warmth, and the proximity of her perfume. Pearl's grandparents love to spoil her rotten and give her new toys and clothes. What she loves the most is their attention: their warm hands lifting her out of the carriage and toward their faces for kisses. Arms lift her body up into the air for a shake with baby coos where she giggles and drools. She seems to be recognizing them, loving to touch Charles' shiny head when he's holding her above him, and reaching for Emily's blond fluffy hair when she's giving her a bottle. And even though you hate what you went through, what they put you through, and it pains you to think about it, you are glad that you have this little extra bit of sunshine in your lives now - for you and for Pearl. You are starting to learn that sometimes the difficult things turn out to be wonderful gifts.

You are sad to see them leave. It has been a long day, which you spent enjoying the city, walking every where you could. When the sun began to set and cool the air, you all retreated to your apartment for tea and snacks. It is necessary they leave before it gets too late. They need to get back to the dogs. You enjoyed their visit immensely. They brought the traditional mother's day gift of chocolates and a plant, your apartment does need some greenery, so you're very appreciative of the gift. You make plans to go visit them in a few weeks. You reluctantly close the door behind them. Your apartment becomes colder and empty, and so do you.

You awake Sunday morning and decide to spend the day in your pajamas hanging out with Pearl. You have a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee and spread the paper out before you, reading whatever sections you can in between playtime and naps with your daughter. Your day is eerily quiet. You keep looking at the phone, urging it to ring, hoping, praying that maybe, just maybe, House might call you and wish you a Happy Mother's Day. You try to pretend that you don't really think this. But you do. You know he won't; he would never do something like that, so sappy, so out of character. But the stillness is calling out for your phone to ring. You turn the TV up louder to cover the still feeling.

Around three o'clock you have a surprise visitor from Princeton, Dr. Wilson. And though you're still in your pajamas, you admit him to your apartment with surprise. You are happy to see his familiar handsome face.

You ask him what he's doing here.

"Yearly tradition," he looks at you sheepishly. "I take Julie and her sister to Manhattan for a ridiculously expensive brunch and then they go shopping at Barney's on my AMEX card."

You look at him quizzically.

"Don't ask," He tells you, "It's my penance for my sins and that we don't have children."

What is he doing here?

"Oh yeah, I told Jules I had a consult at Sloan-Kettering."

That's not what you meant, but thanks for sharing. (More lies for Wilson.)

"Oh," he pulls a packet out of his pocket, "Foreman wanted me to bring you these, he said to just give them a try."

You smirk at him and reluctantly take the package of samples from his hands. Ah, the latest drugs from his lovely drug rep. The ones you weren't interested in taking. You smile anyway.

"Is everything okay?"

You tell him you're just having a few headaches, just from the seasonal weather changes. It's nothing unusual; you usually get some bad migraines when the seasons change. You just don't have a new neurologist yet, and you needed some prescription renewals. You assure him not to worry.

As he makes himself at home in your living room and starts to play with Pearl, you throw on a sweatshirt and put on a pot of coffee. You settle Pearl into her ExerSaucer (her new favorite toy), and curl into the couch with your coffee, preparing yourself for whatever is the real reason Jimmy Wilson, best friend of Dr. Grumpy, is here. You know he's taking a little side trip to see you for some reason, not just out of the goodness of his kind, yet often lying, heart.

You tell him it's good to see him. The two you make small chitchat about your new life in the city, your new job under the tutelage of Dr. Silver, the growth and changes in Pearl. You talk about the changes of PPTH and some of the minor goings-on. You know he's avoiding the elephant in the room, the reason he's really here, which you both know is House.

So, you ask him, why is he really here? Not that you're not happy to see his charming face, but you just feel like it's under false pretenses.

He tells you that you've aged and become wiser than you sometimes let on, a smile curling through his lips as he speaks.

You wait patiently for him to make his move in this new chess game.

He sighs. "Honestly, I really wanted to see how you were doing." He looks up at you; his eyes are dark and perplexed.

Why? You ask him. You're doing fine. And he could have picked up the phone. What is he not telling you?

He hesitates, so you know you're on target. "It's just that . . . not that this shouldn't surprise you . . . but it's just that House has been, well, different since you left - more difficult, no surprise there, more cranky, more daring, more introverted. In the last few weeks, he's been especially despondent, almost angry, and quiet. He barely talks to anyone, even me."

You look at him with some surprise, but mostly out of concern. You're not sure how to respond to Wilson. You ask him what does this have to do with you.

"Allison, don't play stupid with me, I know he came to see you and Pearl. He tried to pretend like he didn't go away for the weekend, but it was obvious, there is not a lot he can hide from me, I've known him for too long."

You sigh and look out the window, your eyes floating over the rows of buildings and streets. You try to focus your mind on counting streets and avenues, then windows and lights, trying to maintain some sort of analytical process, because you don't know if this – this thing with House - is something that you can figure out the equation to.

"What happened?"

You tell him that you think he should talk to House about that.

"If I was able to get an answer from him, do you think I would be here trying to talk to you right now? And if I wasn't worried about his well being, I wouldn't be trying to pry answers out of you either. Trust me, to an extent, whatever happens between you two is between you two."

You look at him sheepishly, at a total loss of words.

"Allison, you two have always had some kind of special bond, some odd friendship, let's be frank. And the last year or so, you both have shared a lot in your own ways. He needs your help right now. Whatever happened, I need you to reach out to him and let it go."

Jimmy, it's not that simple and it just doesn't work that way, it's not about forgiveness.

"I'm not talking about forgiveness. He needs you in his life more than he'll ever be willing to admit, even to himself. He covers it by loving Pearl with a new found vigor in children; he loves this tiny extension of you right now because it's just easier for him to deal with. Do you think you can just try reaching out to him? Just be there, even if you don't talk? I think he would accept that from you. I think, in an odd way that would be a comfort to him. It might balance him out a bit, put him back to his regular snarky self."

You want to cry, because you're just not sure what to do, and everything that House encompasses to you now just screams emotional. And he can barely deal with anything emotional. A logical part of you thinks you should run screaming in the other direction. The other part of you wants to go immediately to him with your daughter in your arms to be with him. What are you thinking? You feel mad. Drugged. Illogical.

Wilson looks at his watch and says he must be going. "One more thing, I found this, I thought you might like it."

Out of his breast pocket he pulls out a card. It is crumpled and has been taped back together. You look at him as you tentatively accept it.

"I had a feeling I knew what he was doing, or trying to do. I thought it was worth salvaging." Jim looks as you seriously. "Think about calling him or even going to see him, I think he would appreciate more than he would ever say, though I'm sure he'll berate you for it." He smirks.

He gives you a hug, and kisses you on the forehead. You are stunned and glued to the couch. He ruffles up Pearls happy head and lets himself out the door.

You examine the card in your hand, turning it over before you open the fold. You ignore the preprinted statement and go directly to the written words. Dear Cameron, Happy First Mother's Day. You're a great mom, don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise, even me. Always, G.H .You drop the card in your lap.

You decide to clean your room tonight. It's time to deal with the aftermath of the storm. You are not the only one who deserves it. It's time.

END PT 14