OUTLINE
Cut to 4 years earlier.
Allison walks into their apartment after her Gross Anatomy class and not turning around, kicks the door behind her closed – her arms are full of books and she has no time for everyday niceties like turning a knob. After throwing her lap and her books on the desk, she untangles her purse and scarf from her neck and shoulders and calls for him.
"Brian?"
"Brrriiiiiiiian…."
She takes a moment to roll her head on her neck and take a deep breath; even seven weeks into the semester she still can't shake the queasiness she always feels after spending 3 hours in the cadaver lab. She sighs and walks down the hall, rubbing the back of her neck when she sees him, seated at their desk. She brushes her shoulder on the doorframe as she comes in.
"Bri-"
She stop short, stunned for a microsecond when she finds him unconscious in their spare bedroom (office) desk chair, his head tipped to the side and blood dripping out of his nose. She takes two long strides and slides to her knees next to him, immediately feeling for a pulse and pupil reaction. She doesn't sob or scream; this has happened before. Leukemia makes sure it happens again and again. But they don't happen nearly as often as they used to.
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Cut to 3 years earlier.
Two months before their wedding, and a mere six weeks before their graduation from medical school, the blood tests come back from the lab. The cancer is back; Brian is no longer in remission. They spend long nights talking, debating, crying over the future – should they postpone the wedding? Brian thinks it's the logical thing to do, but Allison is adamant. Nothing has changed for her, she wants to continue. They decide to ahead with the ceremony, but no honeymoon: they'll come straight back to Princeton for her to start her immunology residency, and Brian will put off his cardiology residency for 6 months to undergo yet another course of chemo at Princeton Plainsboro. He's had the same oncologist there for the past 4 years, all through medical school, and he trusts him. Wilson is a good guy, and he 's always gentle with Allison – Brian appreciates that.
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It is Fourth of July weekend, and Allison and Brian are home in Chicago. It's almost midnight on Friday night, and they are exhausted but for different reasons. Allison has been running around for last minute fittings and flower arrangements and catering meetings – nothing she wants to be doing. Brian is exhausted from the rigorous chemo and radiation therapy, and the effort of keeping up the façade of the happy groom. Nobody, including their families, knows the truth. They sit on the end of the dock at Allison's parents' house on the lake – the wedding will be here tomorrow at four - with cold beers and their feet in the water, looking at the moon. Neither says anything; the loons a quarter mile away on the lake provide the dialogue and soundtrack to their thoughts.
The day has been stiflingly humid and all the wedding guests fan themselves, foreheads shiny with sweat as they look on. The afternoon breeze is picking up the coolness of the lake and broadcasting it through the reception tent; Allison's hair moves across her bare shoulders as Brian cranes his neck to kiss her carotid artery as they dance their first dance as husband and wife. She allows herself a moment of sentimentality on this day of all days, and buries her face in his jacket. The placement of his kiss is intentional. The guests all fade away and Allison feels completely alone with Brian. The dance will be over too soon, and they both know it. He whispers in her ear a request to sing to him; he loves the sound of her voice. He holds her shoulders as they shake; she takes a tentative breath and begins, her small voice cracking.
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom but I don't have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Lets do some living after we die
Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, well ride them some day
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Need a paragraph about Allison starting her residency and Brian's galloping illness
The incessant hissing of Brian's CPAP line nearly puts Allison into a catatonic stupor; she feels like she's been here in the ICU of the Hospice ward for years. Much longer than the reality of two and a half weeks. As Brian's blood count got worse and worse and his pain level kept rising, Allison decided to take a leave of absence from her residency to be with him. And so she has, through all of it: the endless courses of chemo, soul destroying radiation, interrogation from her family and accusations from his, the downward spiral. What a ride.
The ICU nurse comes in for a quick vitals check and adjusts his morphine line. She looks at Allison sideways and asks how she's been. "Mostly comfortable, but I think there's a respiratory issue brewing – he's been coughing pretty strenuously and he said his back hurt." The nurse cocks her head to the side and replies, "Yeah, that's a hospital grade cold there. I'll have the attending stop by and look him over." Allison opened her mouth with "…but what if…" The nurse said kindly, "Of course. I'll widen the lock on his morphine and hand over the button to you." After weeks of seeing Allison on the night shift, she knew not only how bright Allison was but also how much she cared about Brian. The term 'visiting hours' didn't apply to people like her.
Allison is sitting up in her chair with her head on Brian's bed and her folded arms as a sad excuse for a pillow. It had been a rough night, what with his wracking cough making his pain all the worse. Allison didn't want to be any further away than she had to be in case he needed a push. But the sun was pouring through the open blinds directly onto her face, and there was no hiding from the morning. Chalking it up to her only partially conscious state, she didn't hear the man standing behind her in the doorway observing the scene.
House stood behind her, silently watching her wake. He noticed the first thing she looked for when she opened her eyes was him. Finding him asleep, she allowed her senses to widen across the room and became aware of the presence in the room. Turning she took him all in in one look, and then returned her attention to Brian. The rubber tip on his cane the rubber soles of his Nikes squeaked on the tile as he approached her; Allison winced at the sound knowing what a price sleep came at for Brian.
"The cold's the least of his problems. But it'll be his last."
Hearing it out loud made her chest tighten, but she nodded her head a fraction without facing him.
"I heard you're in residency over at Trenton General….why aren't you there?" House asked.
"Are you serious? Are you blind?" Allison spat.
"But you knew this was coming when you married him. I see he went out of remission before the wedding."
"Yeah, I knew. Doesn't mean I'd want to be anywhere else."
House nodded silently, although she didn't see it because she'd already turned her back to him. At least she was honest, he had to give her that.
"There's nothing I can do for his cold; his white count couldn't fight off a feather duster. But I'll authorize wide open for his morphine, and it won't matter. He won't have to fight."
Allison turned around, her eyes red and welling and looked up at him. He stared back at her with his steely blue eyes and found understanding in her face.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll be here."
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Late that night, long after the midnight shift change for the nurses, Brian rouses enough to open his eyes, but not enough to focus them. Doesn't matter. He knows she is there. She's been there all day, helping him through the coughing spells and giving him his meds.
"Ally….c'mere."
She shucks off her shoes and slides up in the bed next to him, careful not to jostle his IV lines.
Outside the door, House listens to their conversation. He knows there is nothing he can do for this patient, and this is usually his cue to leave. But something about this patient and this woman keep him rooted in his place; he is lost in a flood of memories from his own recent hospitalization and the woman who kept vigil by his side. He never remembers feeling the loyalty, the love that this woman, Allison Cameron wears like a suit of clothes. He wonders why she would ever commit herself to him, knowing what was coming. He wonders what kind of doctor she'll be.
Brian's breathing is shallowing out; Allison takes a quick look at the monitors to confirm the tank his vitals are taking. She slides her arm under his neck and cradles his head to her chest, deeply breathing in his hair and mentally separating it from the smell of hospital sheets and Ringers.
"Sing to me. Our song." Brian breathes.
Allison presses her lips into his forehead, and squeezes her eyes shut. She knows what he wants to hear. She's just not sure she can find her voice past the fact that her heart is in her throat. She kisses him once more to cover the tears that fall on his face.
"Sure. Go ahead and close your eyes." He complies, and as he does this she picks up his morphine line and opens the lock all the way.
I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you decided to show me the same
No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away
House listened, head lowered. Her voice pulled at somewhere deep inside his chest, rising up in his throat where it was hard to swallow back. Her voice wavered a bit, but her tone stayed true and she finished the last line. House heard the sheets whisper against each other as she slid out of bed, but didn't hear her feet touch the floor. Brian's monitors started sounding their brachycardia alarms. Allison walks to the door; House catches her arm on the threshold and looks at her questioningly. She waits a heartbeat, then finally raises her bloodshot eyes to his with a pained stare. "Just because I made it happen doesn't mean I can stand by and watch.". She raises her arm, House's hand still wrapped around her wrist and opens her hand to show him the plastic heplock from his morphine line. House swallows hard, nods.
She walks down the hallway, never looking back. House watches her the whole way, standing aside as the nurses come in to turn off the alarms. As the nurses call him in to declare time of death, he can feel the draft of fresh air from 50 feet away as Allison opens the double doors to the cold January night.
The next day, House finds a note in his inbox. From her, Allison. It simply reads, "Thanks for giving wide open. – Allison Cameron" He makes a mental note never to use her given name.