Title: The Underground
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Sometimes you have to go far, far away to find the place where you belong.
Author's Note: Written for the Secret Santa exchange on livejournal. The person requested to see House and Cameron go abroad and to meet up with Sebastian.
i London calling, yes, I was there too
And you know what they said? Well, some of it was true
London calling at the top of the dial
And after all this, won't you give me a smile?
London calling… /i
"London Calling", The Clash
;';
You're standing in the middle of Covent Garden in London in December. The stalls are lined up and overflowing with Christmas goods and Christmas cheer. You move past each booth and each vendor and you stop to gaze at a stand that contains glass heart necklaces. You've only been to London once before and these remind you of that time (when your life was as smooth as the rounded pieces of glass before you.)
You're looking at one in particular—bright green and fake, fake, fake. You let it rest on the palm of your hand. It's heavier than it looks and there are some flaws noticeable to you now that you're looking. It's only fifteen pounds and you think it's a good deal (but you're still operating in dollars.)
"Allison. Good to see you."
The words are whispered in your ear and you freeze, but the voice is familiar and as you turn around and see Sebastian Charles standing in front of you the necklace drops from your hand and hits the ground.
It shatters.
;';
So close your eyes and take a deep breath and the plane achieves liftoff (a million times a day this happens, but your feet should be on the ground and not floating, floating, floating.) The clouds are white mountains sculpted for your amusement and you're thinking of him and him and him and how he's been in Europe for years now and how you've been bouncing around from free clinic to free clinic doling out your compassion until you reached your current point. Empty. You lost him years ago, but he's pulling you still, pulling you, pulling you…across oceans, across continents.
;';
"Sebastian Charles. I never thought I'd see you again," you say as you sit across from the dashing doctor who charmed you ten years ago. For a man who's been all over the world in terrible conditions, his face looks remarkably unmarked.
"I know. What a great coincidence, though. What have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know. I've been bouncing around. Hospital to hospital. I feel like I'm sixteen again," you say and take a sip of your tea.
"I know what you mean. I had been doing it for years. And then I found Africa. And I saw all of those people. And I knew that it was what I was supposed to be doing."
"Good for you," you murmur. Ten years make things much clearer. "So," you begin, "why are you in London?"
"I'm here to meet with one of the pharmaceuticals about a new product. And the BBC wants to do an interview with me," he explains.
You can see it now. Some overblown feature on Dr. Charles and how he eradicated TB from Africa and how he's currently working on having the same success with AIDS.
"Why are you here? London's far from Princeton."
"So are a lot of places. I'm visiting a few people. Seeing the sights," you tell him.
"Cool. So, what are you doing the rest of the day?"
;';
You feel like you are sixteen again and restless. Running and walking away from things that should keep you happy, keep you entertained. You just can't be bothered with helping people and filling out forms and dealing with insurance companies. Truth be told, you aren't much of a doctor at all. So you stop practicing and look up an oncologist you used to work with because you can't find his best friend. But you can find James Wilson and you always were adept at getting men to buy you lunch.
;';
Sebastian tries to grab your hand and your ass on multiple occasions on your walk back towards his hotel (because he's promised that once he's gotten some extra cash he'll take you to the best restaurant in town.) You gently shrug him off.
You've been with many men in the past few years. A few you've regretted, a few you've called again. But you're in London now and you're a different person and it's almost like getting your virginity back.
You can pretend at least.
;';
You meet Wilson at the Italian place where you and House went for that ill-fated dinner. He's older now. Wrinkles on his face and gray in his hair, but he's dashing and funny and he's still single. You smile and smirk and bat your eyelashes because this man has information that you want. You inquire about Cuddy and find out that he's in an off-again, on-again relationship with her and that they're currently not talking. He obviously appreciates your listening skills even if you get bored.
"How about Foreman and Chase?" You ask.
"Foreman's back in LA and Chase went to New York. Both doing well," he tells you.
"What about House? I haven't heard anything about him in a long time."
"Wouldn't expect you to. He lost his license a few years ago. Killed two kids," Wilson says and takes a sip of wine. "It was all very hush-hush. Cuddy didn't want to have him leave disgraced."
"Where is he now?"
"London, last time I heard. He calls, occasionally, when he's not drunk. He doesn't say much. Just rants and raves. You know how he is."
You do know.
"London, huh?"
"Yeah, as of two weeks ago."
;';
Sebastian and you walk around Piccadilly Circus for a little bit. You wind down Regent Street and you admire the curved buildings and smile as you see Gap and McDonald's and wonder if you ever really left America.
"London's one of my favorite cities," Sebastian says.
"Mine, too."
"I mean, anything you touch is old. Really old. It's amazing," he muses aloud.
You look around and know that that's true. But you miss America sometimes. You do. For all of her flaws, she's a brilliant place filled with idealism and hope and you wish you had her spirit at a time like this.
"Let's go down here. This is Carnaby Street and there's a great little pizza place a couple of minutes away," he tells you.
"Okay. I love pizza," you say shyly.
"Yeah, this place is fabulous. And it's got live entertainment, too."
Pizza and music in London with a normal man. You dreamt of this once, you know.
;';
You buy a plane ticket for the trip across the Atlantic, but don't buy one to get back yet. You'll decide if you're coming home after you find him. You tell Wilson your plans and he thinks you're foolish, but you don't care. You don't even know why you tell him, but your fear of flying always haunts you and you tell him because if you die someone needs to know why.
You land at Heathrow and it's late at night and even this busy place seems quieter than normal. You're exhausted by the flight and jet lag and everything else involved with travel, so when you try to pull your heavy suitcase off of the moving belt, you almost fall over, and it's a hand on your back that steadies you.
"Wilson said that you and your misguided idealism would wind up here. Save your money. The exchange rate sucks. You can stay at my place," House whispers in your ear.
You don't say anything; you just turn around and hug him.
;';
You eat your pizza in silence and try not to blush and/or punch Sebastian. You think about House and how you've only been with him for two days and his ways are already rubbing off on you. You fought with him this morning because he wouldn't tell you anything about his new life here and that's why you're with Sebastian now. To spite House, even if he never knows it.
"Tonight's entertainment will be from a group called Foreign Intervention. Composed of an American, a German, and a Frank, the band plays mostly jazz and R & B. So, give a rousing round of applause to Foreign Intervention!" The man at the bar with the microphone says.
Your head goes to the stage and you see House sitting at the keyboard, wearing sunglasses, stubbing a cigarette out in an ashtray. The set starts and you don't know if he sees you, but you see him and you know what he's been doing in Europe for the past two years.
Sebastian recognizes House, too.
"Isn't that House?" He asks you.
"Yeah. Yes, it is," you reply.
"What the hell is he doing in England? I thought for sure he'd never leave the States."
"I don't know. Maybe he's on vacation, too."
Both of you sit in silence and listen to the band. It's thirty minutes before they take a break and that's when House limps off of the stage and straight towards you.
"Cameron, what are you doing in my gin joint?" He asks and his voice is gravelly from too many smoked cigarettes and too many emptied bottles.
"Sebastian took me to dinner," you say and gesture towards your companion.
"Oh, right. Sebastian Charles. Savior of the third world. Hero of the masses. A bloody inspiration who refused to take his medication," he remarks.
You cringe a little bit because you still haven't adjusted to House's increased sharpness and bitter edge. He lost everything; you only lost him.
"And what do you go by now, House? It can't be doctor ever since you lost your license. I might help the poor, but I'm not completely uninformed," Sebastian tells him.
It's a hurtful remark and it's worse than anything House could say, so House just grabs your hand and pulls you out of your seat and wraps his arms around you and kisses you. His unshaven face rubs against your smooth one and in between wrinkles there are now red marks. He keeps you pressed against him and it's the first physical contact you've had with him.
"Well, Jesus, at least I got the girl," House says and smirks. You have no choice but to follow him as he leads you onstage and pulls a stool over.
"Sit there," he says and you comply. "Don't let him make you into his latest charity case. You are much better than that."
You don't say anything and the band comes on the stage and they start to play again. You watch House's fingers skip across the keyboard and your eyes drift up to see Sebastian staring at the two of you and the look on his face tells you that he knows what you haven't figured out yet.
You're home.