we'll never sleep (god knows, we'll try) 3/3
we'll never sleep (god knows we'll try)
Cameron/Wilson; Cameron/House; Cameron/Chase; Wilson/Amber
He’s not sure how long they stay like this, her hand on his shoulder, the curve of her hip obstructing his vision. He just knows the weight that’s missing when she’s gone.
Takes place in seasons five and six. Part 3 of 3, in three acts, with an epilogue. Rated R.
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##
And how long will it last
Before we go insane?
##
Act One.
Six weeks blur into one long day. Work, Wilson, fight with Chase. Repeat. Eventually Chase gives in, because he can see how worn down she is, and he’s worried that she’s reliving her own grief.
She stares up at him, anger bubbling. She’s been trapped in a bubble of grief for years. Can’t he see that?
But she takes a deep breath, because none of this is his fault and no one else would be this patient with her.
She kisses him lightly on the way out.
“I’ll try to be back for dinner,” she says, but they both know she won’t be.
“You lied to me.”
House corners her in the cafeteria late one night, as the harsh fluorescent lights flicker and she sips her badly burnt coffee.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” She’s monotone and robotic. She’s exhausted.
She swears he softens, but it might have just been a trick of the light.
He feigns a smile, probably for her benefit. “You said you hadn’t been to visit Wilson,” he tells her.
“Oh,” she says flatly. “That.”
He tilts his head.
She holds his gaze. “If you want to know something, you’ll have to ask.” Her voice is firm, but not unkind.
He sighs. “You know what I want.”
She shrugs. “I could rattle off a list,” she quips.
He leans back and considers. “Not that. The other thing.”
It’s a poor joke at the wrong time, but she lets it slide. She’s too tired and he’s trying. He’s just doing a bad job of it.
“You could go see him,” she says lightly. “He won’t throw you out.”
House opens his mouth to object, but stops. They both know that’s not why he hasn’t shown up.
Cameron sighs. “He’ll be fine,” she insists, rubbing her eyes. “He’s not going to be back to normal any time soon, but he’ll be okay in time.”
House tilts his head. She’s not wearing makeup and she knows the bags under her eyes aren’t doing her any favors.
He frowns. “Well, how could he not be with you doting on him around the clock.”
She freezes, not sure if this is the fight she wants to have. She decides against it and glares at him. “Cuddy’s there, too,” she reminds him.
“I don’t think Cuddy’s the doting type,” he remarks.
Cameron shrugs. “Then maybe you don’t know her that well.”
“And you do?”
Cameron sighs, tossing the bad coffee in the trash. She crosses her arms. “I’m too tired to play. Go find Kutner or Taub and take your bad mood out on them.”
“Not as fun to look at,” House jokes. “Though if you keep letting yourself go, I might need to resort to tormenting your other half.”
“You already do that,” she glares.
“Right,” he says slowly, then shrugs. “I could do it more.”
Cameron exhales slowly. “Look, I’m not going to have an honest conversation with you, because that’s not what you want. So, just please go away. I’m having a really hard time staying awake, and I have to call and wake up Chase to take me to Wilson’s, which will probably start another fight, but…”
She pauses, realizing she’s said too much. She sighs, waiting for his retort.
Instead, he spins his cane and motions to her with his head.
“I can take you,” he offers.
She climbs on behind him, pushing her hair behind her ears as she adjusts her helmet.
Her arms reach around him, and like clockwork, he lowers them, and she can feel the grin on his face.
Old habits, she thinks, but she’s smiling, too, and something about the wind in her face and the city lights makes her feel weightless, for just a little while.
There’s no traffic this time of night, and they arrive quickly, Cameron flushed from the cool air, and House looking smaller than she remembers him.
She hands him her helmet while he stares up at the building. She shifts her weight, cocking her hip lightly and offers him a small smile. “You’ll go when you’re ready,” she says simply, shrugging lightly.
He nods in appreciation, then takes off without looking back.
She settles onto the couch, where Wilson’s taken up residency, and runs her hand protectively through his dark hair.
He falls asleep on her lap as she strokes his hair.
She falls asleep sitting up, white noise from the TV playing lightly in the background.
It’s nearly two months of this (three?) when he wakes her up, his hands running through her hair.
She blinks up at him, trying to register where she is. Before she can, his mouth is on hers, and she gives in tiredly, before shaking herself out of it and pushing back.
“James, stop,” she tells him.
Big brown eyes look back at her, more lucid than she’s seen him in weeks, and she remembers craving physical touch after losing her husband.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” she tells him.
“I do,” he whispers, kissing her neck, and she gasps, but pulls back.
“James.” She’s pleading because she knows he’s hurting, but her body’s responding without her approval, hips sliding under him as he crawls on top of her.
“We can’t,” she says quickly, but her breath quickens and he notices.
“I need you, Alison,” he whispers in her ear, and she exhales loudly, letting him unbutton her blouse and peel off her pants.
She’s trying to remember all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this as he kisses her clavicle, and presses inside of her.
She moans into his mouth, his lips never leaving hers, and she comes quickly, gasping in surprise. He grins, his teeth grazing over her breast as she trembles, and he bites down hard. She winces, but presses her hips even tighter against his, inviting him deeper inside.
He presses roughly into her thighs, and she arches her back as she feels him stiffen, her muscles clamping down tightly around him.
“Not yet,” he whispers, pulling himself out of her and watching as she presses her body back against his. Her breathing is jagged and he smooths her hair, slowing down the pace, kissing her deeply and longingly.
Her hands are frantic as she reaches for him, and he laughs slightly, pulling her arms up over her head. “Not yet,” he repeats, kissing the side of her neck. ‘You’ve been so good to me,” he says, nuzzling her skin. “Let me be good to you.”
Just as her breathing starts to slow, he’s back inside of her, making slow circles with his hips. Her eyes widen and he watches her, brushing her hair out of her face.
She can feel the warmth inside of her growing and she hisses as pushes deeper inside of her, her hips grinding achingly against him. Her orgasm is slow and intense, her hips pulsing as she comes. Her walls tighten sharply as she finishes and he moans, coiling around her, his hands in her hair and under her neck, and somehow everywhere at once.
He stays wrapped around her for several minutes, waiting until her pulse returns to normal to lift himself off of her, and taking the opportunity to kiss her one more time.
Her eyes flitter around, and he knows she’s coming back down, crashing back into reality.
“This is fucked,” she whispers slowly, and he half expects her to scramble to her feet, but she doesn’t. She stays there, her legs still entwined around his.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he nods, and he looks normal for a moment, but she nods back, desperate to believe him.
“You’re gonna be okay,” she says slowly, watching his eyes.
He smiles lightly, kissing her forehead. “I am,” he promises.
As they get dressed, she thinks of Amber, and then her husband. Then Joe. It takes her exactly this many people to think of Chase, and she inhales sharply, remembering.
“I’m so sorry,” Wilson says quickly, and she shakes her head, keeping him at bay with her hand.
“It’s okay,” she says robotically.
But they both know it isn’t.
He’s back at work the next week.
She opts for the night shift.
They leave it at that.
##
And how long will you stare
Before I look away?
And I don’t wanna go
##
Act Two.
Her mind is unraveling. It’s starting to affect her work.
She swallows. It’s just a drawer, she tells herself. It’s just a drawer.
But it’s not the drawer. It’s not the toothbrush on her counter, staining the white marble blue or his ugly yellow coffee cup in her cabinet.
It’s the closeness he wants. The lack of space. The steps.
It makes sense. It’s been over a year.
But she’s distant. And antagonistic. And she doesn’t even care enough to argue. She just shuts down and he apologizes and nothing changes.
But none of it’s working. He keeps coming back, taking an inch, then a foot, and she’s suffocating.
The real mystery is that he feels close to her. She can’t get to the bottom of that one.
“If it acts like a duck,” Foreman says, after correctly guessing the cause of his patient’s illness (lupus, go figure).
Cameron sighs. She can be a duck, she thinks.
It works, for a while. They go for brunch on Sundays and Chase learns to make the whipped lattes she likes, and for a few weeks, they joke about getting a dog.
But when he presses his palm to her stomach, she knows what he really wants from her, and the expectation leaves her uneasy.
When Kutner takes his life, something inside of her shifts.
Chase clings to her at the funeral, unsure of what this triggers. He’s never learned to read her and she can’t fault him for that. She’s never learned to tell him how she’s feeling, after all.
She’s spent most of her day checking on House, wary of what he might do next, and now, as she turns away from the coffin, it’s Wilson’s eyes she meets.
Death makes you do terrible things, she tells herself, not for the first time that year.
But she doesn’t feel terrible. And she knows she should.
And she knows that means something.
“Hi.”
Her knock is light, and it’s clear she hasn’t slept.
Wilson softens, opening his mouth to say something kind, no doubt, but he hesitates, motioning over his shoulder.
Cameron nods slowly.
“I can make him leave,” he insists, and Cameron shakes her head.
“No um, can we…can we just talk in your office?” she suggests.
He nods. “Of course. Um, he might…”
“I don’t care about him,” she rolls her eyes. “Really.”
Wilson nods, opening the door wider to let her in.
“That better be my hooker.”
Cameron and Wilson exchange a look.
“I figured the new address would confuse her. Not much for directions, but she knows her way around a…”
He pauses as Cameron comes into focus.
“Well,” he pauses, looking quickly at Cameron, then back to Wilson. “Not as trashy as I like them, but my previous point still stands.”
Cameron frowns as Wilson shuts the door.
“Just through here,” Wilson remarks, leading her through the hallway and shooting House a look.
“Oh she knows where she’s going,” House mutters, eyes locking with Cameron’s as she brushes by him. “You know, you can just put a sock on the door when you want me gone.”
Wilson sighs. “Stop it,” he insists, waving House away. “Sorry,” he offers to Cameron as she leans down on the edge of his desk.
She shrugs. “House is House,” she says simply.
They hear him yelling something about keeping quiet from the other room and a minute later, Zeppelin’s blasting.
Cameron rolls her eyes and Wilson shakes his head. He sits down in front of her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a beach somewhere?” It’s a poor attempt at a joke and they both let it lie. His gaze falls to the ring on her finger.
She sighs. “I feel like I’m two different people, all the time,” she tells him honestly.
He leans forward in his chair, giving her time to process.
“Do you think I’m running away?” she asks, her thumb twisting the diamond of the ring downward, until it’s hidden on the underside of her fingers.
Wilson hesitates. “I don’t…think I’m the best person to ask,” he says plainly.
Cameron nods, digging her palms into the corners of the desk. “Right,” she says slowly, nodding. “I just…”
She pauses, eyes flickering up to Wilson’s. She holds his gaze for a moment, until a small flush dances over her cheeks.
She sighs. “I guess I’m here to explain,” she says firmly.
Wilson shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he insists.
She tilts her head. “Of course I do,” she whispers.
He smiles slightly and shakes his head again. “You don’t.”
“Okay.” She nods, eyes wandering around the room instead. She takes in the leather bound collection around her. The warm smell of leather. The faint tinge of tobacco. Her eyes fall back to his warm gaze, and she forces a smile. “You think I’m making the safe choice.”
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t say that,” he tells her.
She nods again. “Well, I am,” she concludes, as if she’s just working it out for herself. “When Eric died…” She trails off, shaking the memory from her thoughts. “I don’t know if I want to love somebody like that again,” she decides.
Wilson frowns. “Well, that’s…sad,” he settles on. “You…you deserve that, Allison.”
She shakes her head, fighting back tears. “No, I don’t,” she insists firmly. “Not after…”
Wilson sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not going to let you just hold up one mistake as some cross you have to bear for the rest of your life, Allison. You can’t just…”
“No, I’m not…” She pauses, struggling to find the right words. She leans closer to him. “I don’t think it was a mistake,” she tells him.
At that, he looks wounded. “Then what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m okay with this,” she nods, as if trying to convince herself. “And Chase…he knows I’m not fully in it. He knows that and he still keeps fighting for me. That’s….that’s not nothing,” she tells him.
Wilson nods. “So you’re just going to marry him because he can’t ever hurt you?”
“I…” She breaks off, looking away from him. She climbs to her feet and leans down, kissing Wilson lightly on the forehead. She turns toward the wall that leads to the living room, where House is still carrying on. “I just want to move forward. And House…I retreat to a bad state when I’m around him. And with you…” she pauses, smiling quickly. “He’s everywhere. And I…I can’t go through that again.”
He’s not sure how long they stay like this, her hand on his shoulder, the curve of her hip obstructing his vision. He just knows the weight that’s missing when she’s gone.
She catches his eye through the glass wall the next evening. She steps inside, settling in across from his desk, like she’s done hundreds of times. Everything about it feels natural.
He looks down at her slowly, first at her face, and then the shiny stone on her ring. She pulls her hand away instinctively.
“Congratulations,” he says sarcastically, holding her gaze.
She ignores him. “I didn’t…know you were going to be there last night,” she tells him, and she’s not sure why she says it, because it feels like admitting something that they’re supposed to dance around instead. She exhales lightly. She can’t keep the rules straight.
“I didn’t know you were going to be there,” he says curiously, and the implication hangs there, but they both know she won’t bite.
“I thought you wanted back on the team,” he says slowly, looking around the room. “Back here. With me.”
She waits. They’ve had this conversation already.
“But you don’t,” he says, nodding. “It was right there in front of me, and I didn’t even see it.”
She’s not sure how far the accusation goes, and she’s not about to ask him to clarify.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of the seat and she sighs lightly. “Well,” she says softly. “Now you don’t have to worry about it at all.”
He blinks up at her and she can feel him getting sucked back in. She’s not making sense anymore and that’s always when he wants her most.
She exhales. “Anyway,” she says, getting up.
“You slept with him.” There’s a sadness in his voice and she doesn’t dare linger on it.
She stares back at him.
“Oh, not then. I mean now. Recently.” And then, as if she needs to hear it. “While you were otherwise engaged.”
She keeps her breathing still and tilts her head, smiling up at him slightly. He digs his cane into the carpet as he watches her, waiting for a sign.
“Now that doesn’t sound like me.”
It’s not a denial.
##
Sailing away just isn't right
Just because you're angry
##
Act three.
Of course he doesn’t go to the wedding.
And of course he drives House to the hospital.
Two things can both be true.
It unravels quickly. She wants it to. He watches her put up poor excuse after poor excuse, until eventually she has nothing left to hide behind.
It’s not that Chase kills his patient. Well, it is.
But it’s the House of it all. He seeps into everything, and he understands what it does to her. He knows she can’t keep living like this.
None of that makes it any easier.
He drives her to the airport. Neither of them say much. He carries her bags and helps her out of her jacket, and smiles stiffly as they approach security.
You’re running again, he wants to tell her, but doesn’t. He wants her to have a fresh start. He knows she’s barely making it out as it is.
“I’ll miss you,” she says softly, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she presses her cheek against his chest.
He tries not to give in to her, not this time, but he sees her wipe a stray tear as they pull away and he can’t help himself. He kisses her roughly, hungrily, and then, not at all.
She’s walking and not looking back, and he’ll be damned if he turns to see if she ever does.
When she returns to Princeton-Plainsboro, a few weeks later, he makes himself scarce. She lets him keep his dignity.
##
If you go, I think I might
Lose it all together
##
Epilogue
The snow is biting as he rounds the corner, pushing his way into the hotel conference center. There’s an ID badge waiting for him, and a quick stop at the bar, and he’s chatting with a few former colleagues from college.
There’s a light tap on his elbow, the sweet smell of cinnamon, and a slight twinge in his pulse. He turns and finds her in all black, a dark brown clip holding up her golden hair, and a broad smile across her face.
She looks lighter. Happy, even.
Her lips graze his softly, a professional greeting, though the lines of propriety always seem to blur around her.
There are several more, “how are you doings?” and pleasantries to get through, and then they’re in his hotel room, and she’s drinking gin and tonics now, and it’s easy, falling back into his old self with her.
He kisses her gently, pressing her up against the wall, and they’ve both been waiting for this. He can feel it in her sigh. They both take their time, no worries about exes or grief, or the elephant that’s always been in the room with them.
She’s different here. Her old self, even, although he’s not sure how he can know that. He pictures her growing up in Michigan near a lake, dancing around the water and bossing her brother around. The wind keeps her dirty blonde hair messy and wild, and her laugh is deep and easy - as it always is before the deep cut of loss.
“It could always be like this,” he tells her, afterward, and she smiles, because she’s used to the way he romanticizes everything. She kisses his shoulder, and burrows closely.
Then there’s the sudden buzz of the phone, laughter as they both try to find it, and then the sudden silence when their eyes both fall on the text message on the screen.
Say hi to Allison for me.
It hangs heavy between them and he remembers quickly why his words are so hollow, why this only works in moments and memories.
“Maybe,” he says solemnly, sobering up as the dark creeps in through the windows. “Maybe if we met sooner.”
“Hmm,” she nods, her eyes far away. Her arm still rests on his chest and he’s struggling to hold on to the little piece of her he still has (had?). “Maybe.” She shoots him a soft smile. “Maybe if we were somewhere else. Maybe if you could leave him.” She pauses, the accusation hanging in the air. In her purse, her phone buzzes briefly.
She catches his eye, guilty.
“Maybe if I could.”
fin.