A collection of snippets revolving around "Camteen/Cadley" from both women's perspectives. Not all are romantic, and some only feature one of the two.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything or anyone
A is for Angels
She's beautiful, you think as you stare, your lips slightly parted and your cheeks flushed, at the Angel across the room. Her golden hair and sapphire eyes glow as the evening sun come streaming in through the window, she looks just like the angels on the stained glass windows in your Mother's church. You haven't attended church in years, and you've long since stopped believing in God. She sees you staring at her and smiles and suddenly you'd believe in anything.
L is for Lethargic
There is kind of laziness that only comes with the intense heat of a summer afternoon. It spreads itself in languid waves across the community, enveloping the skin of its people in a soothing warmth of spirit. It is this feeling, and not the intensity of their passion or the fear of her demise, that Cameron most associates with Thirteen.
It started one summer's afternoon, long before knowing glances and passionate kisses that taste like cinnamon and oranges, when they were little more than colleagues. The hospital, as a collective body, had been almost disconcertingly absent of patients, and the ducklings, both old and new, had resorted to lying on the soft grassy verges near the main entrance.
"It's a beautiful day," Chase announces "we should do something." His announcement had been met with a lengthy silence, but, eventually, it was Thirteen who replied.
"The beauty of the day lies in the fact that we don't have to do anything." She had breathed, her voice soft and her body radiating infectious lethargy. Cameron had settled down into the grass next to her, revelling in the tranquillity of her presence. Chase was rainstorms, but Remy is summer afternoons.
L is for Lovers
It is House, of course, who realises first. The only surprise to either of them is that it is in Cameron that the notices the difference, not in Thirteen.
"You smell like her," he had leered "you use her shower gel, her perfume, you wear her clothes and" he grins, reaching a delicate finger under her shirt to reveal the crimson lace of her bra strap "you even wear her underwear. So, Cameron, is it as much fun putting it on as taking it off?"
To this day neither woman is sure what House was expecting when he said that, but Allison's soft purr of "You have no idea" as she grazed her lips along her lover's throat was better than he could have ever dreamed of.
I is for Insanity
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if it was all an illusion. When House, and Cuddy, and Taub and Foreman and everyone else that knew and loved her (though not as much as I did) have gone I find myself prowling about my house, her house, our house, for signs, an old T-shirt, a CD, or simply a lingering scent or photograph that will verify her existence. I need something to prove that my mind isn't playing tricks on me, that my lover, dead and six feet under, wasn't something that I imagined. Every trace of her is fading now, the belongings have been tidied away, the fragile scents are replaced by coffee in the mornings and two months worth of cooking and cleaning. Even the love bites, so bold and vibrant against my pale skin, have long since faded away, and I need something, anything, to prove to myself that my sanity isn't as fractured as my heart.
S is for Stolen
Chase was beyond livid the day House, dancing from foot to foot in eager anticipation, had told him about Thirteen and Cameron. Sure, he and Allison had been officially divorced for a little over 6 months now, but really, who did the brunette think she was kidding? It wasn't that he was jealous, everyone knew Allison still loved him, it was simply that Remy Hadley wasn't anywhere near good enough for Cameron. The woman was cold, selfish, drug addicted and promiscuous. And, if that weren't enough, she was as good as dead anyway, all he had to do was wait it out.
But, his anger flares for an entirely different reason as, in a secluded corner, he sees Allison, his Allison, push his co-worker against the wall, their lips sealed together. It is then that Chase disregards all previous sources of hatred for the younger brunette in favour of only one fact. Against all odds, Remy Hadley has managed to steal a treasure that was never his to keep.
O is for Omnipresent
On her day off from the hospital Allison Cameron wakes up at thirteen minutes past one in the afternoon to the sound of an empty home. Her therapist warned her there would be days like these, but Cameron has yet to take a break from the sensual assault and the constant reappearance of that fucking number.
The bus that takes her to work is the 113, and every number plate, phone number and Id card has thirteen plastered all over it. Her scent still lingers in the halls, in their bed, and in the empty corners of the hospital. House's barbs hold a touch of sadness, and his last lesbian joke had resulted in a swift backhand from a red eyed Foreman. Even their apartment is number thirteen; it had been a joke at the time.
It's hard to distract yourself when, in mind, body and number, the spirit of your lover is omnipresent.
N is for No (more)
Gregory house, in his infinite knowledge, has only ever heard Allison Cameron say no five times during the entire length of her relationship with Remy Hadley. The first came shortly after their first kiss, and was not directed at Thirteen but at Robert Chase as he begged her to stay.
The second and third were some months later when Remy was suffering from a rather severe bout of Flu. This time they were both directed at her, first in response to her feeble attempt to clamber out of bed, and then in assurance that she wasn't going to leave her.
The fourth, and by far the least convincing, was when Remy had sneaked up behind her, pressing her front against Allison's back and her lips against her neck as she asked if Allison could possibly leave her paperwork until later. Cameron's answer had been shaky and unconvincing, and Thirteen had led her away anyway, her smile a mixture of triumph and mystery as she passed House on her way into the on call room. It is this "no" that House remembers most fondly.
It almost breaks his heart that Remy never got to hear the fifth "no", a breathy scream that burst from the blonde's lips as her lover's heart monitor flat lined. Then again, he muses, maybe it was for the best. After all, there's no sense in breaking two hearts.
C is for Catastrophe
Life never cuts you a break, it's a fact, much like the fact that your eyes are blue or your hair is brown (usually). The funny thing about all of these factors is that they are all a result of your DNA, thousands of tiny little strands that compose, what Allison describes as, the most beautifully tragic catastrophe to ever walk the Earth. Allison alone is almost enough to make you retract your previous statement. Almost. After all, you're still dying.
A is for Abaction
Abaction. At the end of the day it didn't actually mean anything. Well, not anything useful anyway, although Remy had reliably informed you that it is, in fact a noun referring to the act of stealing large quantities of Cattle. You never quite figured out why she saw fit to inform you of this, and in all honesty you're not too sure she knew either, and so it simply became one of those funny words you say in awkward silences. You never thought you would actually use it contextually.
Then, approximately seven months after her death, while helping House's team treat a young Texan man, Chase and Foreman return from his apartment cheerfully informing you that the patient is a runner for a notorious Texan cattle rustling gang. You simply fall apart, your hysterical laughter only convincing your colleagues that you've finally cracked. You manage to choke out "abaction" before descending into further hysterics. It doesn't matter that no one else is laughing, that it means nothing to anyone but you, because Remy can't laugh anymore, so you'll laugh hard enough for the both of you. She always said these things would be useful someday.
M is for Marriage
Allison Cameron has been married twice in thirty years. Her Grandmother would be appalled. Admittedly not as appalled as she would be had she lived to see her granddaughter dating another woman, but pretty appalled none the less.
But the extent of her Grandmother's disdain is irrelevant, partly because the woman's long dead, but mainly because Allison is happier in Remy's arms than in those of either of her previous spouses. She's had enough of marriage anyway, she thinks, which is fine, because Remy wouldn't marry her anyway. She says it's because she doesn't want Allison to develop a habit, "Your first husband was dying on the outside, House was dying on the inside" she had half teased.
"And Chase?" Allison had responded. Remy had simply grinned at her.
Chase was the fairytale prince, and the fairytale prince never dies. But Allison has never been one for fairytales, or big, grand weddings. She does, however, believe in love, and maybe, in her Grandmother's eternal gaze, that might redeem her a little bit.
E is for Enchantment
She's stunning; really, she's just so incredibly beautiful that, if you swung that way, you'd jump her in an instant. People have, if you listen to the rumour mill that is. But the fact of the matter is you don't swing that way, you never have either in spite of what House's lewd comments may imply, and so Remy Hadley isn't sexy, or hot, or, as a teenager in the ER so eloquently put it, "Fit as absolute fuck man!" she's just incredibly beautiful. If Chase is the handsome Prince, and you are the beautiful Princess, then she is your fairy, your saving grace, the enchantress. Only when it is too late do you realise that she has enchanted you too.
R is for Roses
Allison bought you roses for the first fifteen fights; or rather she bought them following these fights. They were beautiful, not as beautiful as her, but certainly something to look at. The petals were a brilliant crimson, and as soft as silk to your trembling fingertips. They were the obvious choice too, roses do mean love after all, and the fact that she loves you has never been subject to doubt. It was because of this that you never had the heart to tell her you preferred Orchids.
O is for orchid
I've never really liked Orchids. Oh, they're beautiful, almost as beautiful as her in fact, but they always seemed so, well, funereal, so laden with death. Ironic really, given my current location.
The Orchids lying on her coffin are particularly stunning, a mixture of snow white petals and fiery orange blooms that almost tease a smile from my quivering lips; it took her two years to tell me she preferred Orchids. It doesn't matter how I feel about them, the flowers aren't for me anyway. An old lady at the back whispers that orange shouldn't be in a funeral which is funny, because neither should Remy.
N is for Nocturnal
You were practically nocturnal for the first twelve months of your relationship, surviving solely on mid day power naps and the urgency of her kisses when you both got home. She's your addiction, of that you're convinced, and you've spent all hours of the night revelling in her touch, her smell, the sight of her face and body, and the feel of her lips, well, everywhere. It's interfering with your work though, and that's a problem. Cuddy thinks you're ill, the nurses think you're crazy and you think (fear, maybe?) that House knows the truth. Not that the truth isn't obvious, not if Remy's acting anything like you. You confided your fears in Remy and she laughed, cupping your face in her hands and whispering that she'd give up every day she had left for a night with you. When she kissed you, her lips tasted lips cinnamon and sunshine.