Author's Note: Established Cadley. Dedicated to my classmate Linda, the one and only, who is so shamelessly dirty and I love it. It was her idea. All that you're about to read was her idea, I swear to god.

Minus the tiny mention of Hameron. I'm to blame for that, but I regret nothing. *runs*

And the "making all smut I write angsty as hell" part. I really don't know where that came from.

I am forced to mention this yet again; English is not my native language. Herpaderp.

May I recommend listening to SireniaSeven Sirens and a Silver Tear while reading? I must say, writing this while listening to it gave this piece so much more atmosphere. That's one brilliant piano right there.


Everyone needs a refuge; a portal, a gateway to a peaceful world free of all struggles of the day and worries of the night; be it a wooden bench in the avenue, rugged and scarred by years – decades – of ruthless winds deepening old wounds like scattering pieces of glass, or an amulet to hold onto when reality overcomes your senses, as a passage to lead you back to the path towards a shiny future. For Allison, what she called "the island" – though seldom out loud, for it was a silly metaphor – was her refuge.

The island was a room on the second floor of her house as plain and as calm as a real deserted island would have been. And much like waves ranging along the shore, danger lurked out in the open, though the wild mass of water could never put the island's residents in harm's way. But there was more to the analogy than that. The walls wore a dress of row after row of smooth wooden planks, even in height but varying in thickness. The floor, too, was bare linoleum where light had burnt yellow smears separating darker, even auburn roads, forming an outstretched mosaic; one which the blonde knew by heart, having counted, traced and partly formed the island's infrastructure. Only if you came here seeking shelter at night would the absence of any kind of chandelier surprise you; there was no need for one, as the chamber was complete without it. Instead you would find veins of light emerging from behind the walls' attire every now and then, transmitting green and blue and then cotton candy pink beams lighting your way for a few inches before getting lost in the forest.

But the créme de la créme and all in all the only object in the room was nothing less than a majestic Petrof grand piano, a treasure to the the tradition and over a hundred years old legacy of Czech manufacturers. Its surface was the color of obsidian and its pedals dyed gold as it captured the rays coming in through the windows.

Little did people know that Cameron played the piano. She had taken classes for several years during her college years, but had quit when she met her husband. Then there was that time when Tritter's case had made Cuddy take all House's vicodin pills away and Cameron was the one to break first and go check up on him, only to hear the man playing a soothing tune from behind the locked door. She listened, she memorized, comforted by the song that made a picture of a chilly winter in a 1950's America materialize in her mind down to every crack around every cobblestone in the pavement. Snowflakes would fall on the road and disappear under the wheels of a 1955 Pontiac Star Chief – and then the piano wailed as House struck all the wrong chords at once in anger, shattering the scenery to pieces. That was when Cameron knocked on the door.

She played the piano later that night.

The woman knew she could never reach her mentor's level of expertise – that was part of why she used to look up to him and everything he did. But she remembered, learned and even improved the pleasant melody that remained forever imprinted in her memory, and she would play it every time she needed to run away; such as today. Her fingers leapt nimbly from one key to another and once again, Allison found herself lost in the fifties with a beret and a cup of hot coffee; up until a somewhat bold pair of hands landed on her shoulders.

"Thought I'd find you here," a woman's voice slightly deeper than her own breathed out behind her.

"What are you doing here?" Cameron asked, slowing down her rhythm but never fully stopping concentrating on the song.

"I couldn't find you in the ER. I was worried," Thirteen stated simply, rubbing the blonde's back. She was familiar with her lover's habit to disappear in the middle of a lazy day for reasons unknown to her, and hide on the island where only Remy was allowed to visit, though she didn't make use of the option often. It was a boring way to deal with trouble, she'd say, though deep down she was too stubborn to admit it appealed to her; unfortunately, Remy couldn't play the piano. So the only thing she did was sneak in at night from time to time, while Cameron was lost in wonderland, and watch the tiny lightbulbs flicker from green to blue to red to green. "House or Chase or both?"

"Actually, neither." The blonde threw her head back, bumping into the familiar curve of Remy's belly. "I killed a man. Didn't want to be there when they found out."

The brunette raised an eyebrow, unfazed; she suspected she knew of the case. "The Lou Gehrig's car accident victim?"

Cameron barely nodded.

Thirteen sighed, the thumb of her right hand going over Allison's cheek. She knew the story of Ezra Powell from two years back – also a result of one of Cameron's visits to the island and her younger colleague being too mesmerized by the music not to enter and find her teary-eyed. At the time, Cameron's patient had been diagnosed with amyloidosis, the terminal AA type, begging Cameron to end his life. She did, cursing herself and going through the same process of self-loathing, the only difference being that back then, there was no piano; just House to pick up the pieces. Today, Thirteen knew better. "We knew there was no other way. It was the right thing to do," she whispered quietly, for the first time showing visible signs of emotion in the way her voice broke ever so slightly.

"I know. That's what makes it worse, because now there's no reason for me to hate myself like I do."

Realizing she'd probably made things worse, Thirteen kneeled and brought her arms around Cameron's waist, burying her forehead between the blonde doctor's shoulderblades. She stayed like this for what felt like hours, a part of her – represented by a pang of guilt – expecting the older woman to start crying, but she never did. Instead, she joined her hands with Thirteen's and sank into her embrace. This woman had come here in the middle of her shift, probably muttering a hardly believable excuse as she ran down the hallway to Cuddy's office, unlocked the door to the island and listened to the piano's tones crying just to comfort her.

"I am a minister of the Lord, and I dare not take a life without there be a proof so immaculate no slightest qualm of conscience may doubt it."

Thirteen raised her head, eyebrows furrowing in question, and followed up with a rather unintelligent response. "Huh?"

"Arthur Miller, the Crucible. I was rereading that a few days ago." Cameron chuckled at the irony. "We keep convincing ourselves the proof is true, but mine never seem to be immaculate enough, though I'd go through an ordeal to be sure."

"We all know you would," Remy said and tightened her grip around the other woman's waist. "And that's a part of why I love you." She adjusted herself so that she could brush a strand of hair off the blonde's shoulder and leave a gentle kiss in its place. "You hear me? I love you, so don't you go around forgetting that. You're the most unbelievable person I've ever met; however you treat others, you could never be wrong. I'm not putting you on a pedestal here; it's because you can feel their pain that you understand, except sometimes, the pain stays glued to you, drags you down even though it's passed for everyone else. In that case," Thirteen's hands crawled under the hem of Cameron's plain white shirt and tank top, meeting skin to skin with the blonde's stomach, "I'm here to ease the pain."

Allison tensed her muscles and her breathing hitched as she felt her lover tracing patterns across her body. "Remy, you should rea—"

"Shhhh…" whispered soothingly the woman in question.

"But, here—"

"Here, on the island, just the two of us," Remy said and couldn't help but imagine the picturesque scene, for the metaphor Allison had established began and ended with wood replacing sand. There was no mirror for Cameron to see herself in Remy's eyes, so the truth had to be spoken – and if the point doesn't get across, then shown. Thirteen had condemned herself to a life on an island without numbers, where everybody knew her name; the name that Allison would say whenever she was calling out to her or concerned, trying to talk some sense into her before the brunette lashes out at her boss for crossing that one delicate line, or when she was jokingly scolding Remy for pouring too much milk into her coffee, or not so jokingly scolding her for disappearing for hours on end. Allison was the only one to only ever call her by the name; a privilege they both cherished and one which gave Thirteen a justifiable excuse for why she would rather risk being suspended than leave Cameron on the island all by herself. After all, two survivors are better than one.

The taller woman retreated from Cameron's warmth and walked over to face her for the first time since they had found themselves stranded. She took Cameron's hand in hers, motioning for her to stand up. As soon as she did and their eyes locked, unforeseeably, Thirteen silenced Allison before she spoke with a fierce kiss and hands on her sides, slowly pushing forward, making the blonde stumble and slam the keys as she supported herself, which made the instrument cry and wail. Neither paid attention to it as Remy's wandering hands found the spot they had left earlier, making their way up the blonde's chest.

"I wonder what that makes you then," Cameron said through ragged breaths, contemplating Remy's words. "Some sort of mythological pain succubus?"

"A perfect symbiosis, don't you think?" the internist whispered seductively in Cameron's ear and decided to prove her point by commanding one of her hands to delve between Allison's legs and moved the other up her ribcage.

Although the sincerity was almost too painfully true, there was no time to reflect on it, since Allison's mind was all too clouded and distracted by Remy's movements. "It's kind of hard to say no when you put it like that there," she panted and arched into the touch.

Thirteen chuckled softly and smirked in all her smugness, painting a trail of kisses along the blonde's neck. She took pride in knowing Cameron's weaknesses and being able to use them to her advantage, so that she would remain in control. She was all too aware that those slow, light strokes through her jeans combined with a little pressure here and there were the way to drive Cameron insane.

But she wasn't here to do that, not today, she reminded herself. She stopped momentarily to pull Cameron's shirt over her head and discard it, exposing her skin to the cold air, and didn't hesitate a moment to unclip her bra as well, which earned her a pout from the half-naked blonde. "In what universe is this fair?" Allison grumbled, pointing at a very fully clothed Thirteen. She hadn't even bothered to take off her jacket when she came in.

"It's not like it's my fault," Remy replied with a raised eyebrow. "If you mind so much, then you'd better stop complaining and do something about it." She gave Cameron a meaningful look before forcing her knee in the blonde doctor's center and caressing her bare breasts, noting that Allison's lustful gasps were the most euphonic series of sounds she had ever heard.

It took Cameron a good deal of willpower to refuse to surrender that easily and take the plunge, but somehow she managed to give Thirteen a taste of her own medicine, stripping off individual articles of clothing as they lost themselves wrapped in a passionate kiss, and before Thirteen knew it, she found herself in the same position. "This is how you do it," the ER head smirked and placed her hands on her lover's hips.

"Oh you're gonna teach me, now?" Thirteen snorted and Cameron gasped in surprise when a rogue hand found its way between her legs once again. It always worked. "Let it be, Allie."

The blonde would have responded, but she was too busy holding onto her colleague's shoulders for dear life. Thirteen's progress was so torturously, excrutiatingly slow, and Cameron felt herself dripping for this labyrinth of a woman, craving her touch where she wanted, no, needed it the most.

It didn't take long, and when Allison's moans escalated both in volume and in frequency and she shook with excitement, Remy realized her legs wouldn't be able to support her much longer. At first, to the blonde's immense disappointment, she pulled away just to lead her to the side of the piano; then Cameron understood as the brunette gently lifted her on top of the instrument, unzipped her jeans and got rid of this penultimate, most annoying part of clothing; then she climbed on top of her and marveled at Cameron's pale skin contrasting with the piano's obsidian and her emerald eyes darkened with lust. A fleeting smile crossed her face as she took in the image, but stayed careful not to leave Cameron unattended for too long.

Her lips met with Cameron's, slowly, tentatively, as they were both trying to remember the taste forever and seduce the other into submissiveness, teasing. Finally, Thirteen gave in and slid her tongue inside Allison's mouth, and at the same time, her hand followed the example, crawling underneath Cameron's lingerie and finding her wet with arousal. Remy couldn't help but smirk at that, witnessing the wonders she could do to the woman lying under her. She straddled her lover with a leg to either side of her hips and used the element of surprise to guide a nail over Cameron's nipple and two fingers into her body. That alone was almost enough to drive Cameron over the edge – almost, just as Thirteen planned. She curled her fingers inside the blonde, creating a rhythm, and licked Allison's suddenly dry lips.

In response, Allison bucked her hips against her, desperately trying to make her pick up her pace. Her cheeks were flushed the color of a rose garden, her breaths coming shallow and quick, and Remy relished seeing her squirm for a minute before taking pity on the girl and speeding up, the palm of her moist hand pressed firmly onto Allison's bundle of nerves.

"Remy—" Cameron moaned breathlessly and pulled the brunette closer because she thought she would probably spontaneously combust at loss of contact.

Thirteen let her free hand roam the other woman's chest, pressing down on a hardened, rosy nipple every now and then, and she could sense how unbelievably close Cameron was, and digging her palm into her clit was all that had to be done in order to send Cameron into space, through millenia, all the way back to the Big Bang.

"I love you," she whispered simultaneously in the blonde's ear. It had been a long time – an eternity, a different dimension perhaps – since someone had ignited her heart the way Allison Cameron did, and she needed her to know. She wanted her to know and never ever forget for a single millisecond that Remy loved this woman from the depths of her heart since their first casual chat in the cafeteria, even if she sometimes poured too much milk in her coffee in the morning; and if it meant being forever stranded on an island with her, then that was what it would take.

Somehow, she thought Allison had always known.


A/N2: Man, I wouldn't mind being stranded on a deserted island with Thirteen. I mean—what was I saying? Oh, right. I've noticed my smut is also always one-sided. How much do I mind? Not even this much. For the record, Sirenia is officially awesome and symphonic metal is god's way of saying "like a boss". \m/! (Lyrics in the summary belong to Sirenia – Lithium and a Lover. I'm high on this song.)