as_damaged | ☤ forty-five

That's true.

[She lets his arm slip through her fingers, wishing she didn't look at it as just that-- every moment symbolic of an inevitable loss she feels without understanding. But he does keep coming back; and Cameron finds it hard to believe that she wouldn't go back on her own, given time, no matter what. It's hard to judge a situation without having all the information. Without any information, really; just a few scattered facts without context.

She doesn't consider him selfish for that reticence, though; what little she's come to know has always been a weight on her, even when it was a pleasant one, if only because the City hates secrets. Logic suggests nothing she knows here can make a difference to how reality progresses (or else she wouldn't know,) which means there's nothing to be gained but peace of mind. And peace of mind is hard to come by, under the circumstances.]

Don't do that. [He nudges her foot with his and slouches enough to put himself back in her line of sight as she looks down. Nothing if not persistent. ] I've had enough of leaving you sad. You've had a rough spring; don't let me add to that.

[This time he's tempted to reach out for her hands, tangle them with his and hold on, somehow. She's not the only one to feel like this is letting go all over again. He'd stay if he could just usurp his younger self, a bundle of defences and desires he still has but is at least better aware of now.]

Want to hear something about Foreman? His brother got out of jail. House hired him.

I'm not sad.

[It's true, and she manages to meet his eyes, though not for long; her gaze drops and she reaches up to make some slight and unnecessary adjustment to the way his tie sits. He's solid and warm beneath her fingers, and she finds that an immense comfort; not that she doubts he's here, though the City's played ugly tricks on people before. No.

She halfway wants to ask him what she should do for him, here and now, for the man he used to be; whether he thinks they're capable of being happy under other circumstances. After last time she'd suspected they might have been doomed from the start. It feels too much like cheating, though; and Cameron's honest to a fault. Her hand lingers a little longer than it needs to before falling, folded easily across her chest. It's just a comfortable pose, not the barrier she sometimes makes it.]

Hired him to do what?

General manservant.

[Chase shrugs and grins, carefully furnishing her with only the details that will amuse. He can catch her up with his world through the rose tint of selective information. Nothing about Foreman's mother. Not even his interesting choice to fall in love with a dying woman, or his even more interesting, and ridiculous, break-up.]

Had the guy follow him around everywhere so he could pick up any inane observation and turn it into the basis for an epiphany. Drove Foreman crazy.

[There were days when it would have driven him insane too, but that relentless need to prove himself has long ago ebbed.]

Not everything changes. He's still painfully easy to rile.

It sounds like something he'd do.

[Perplexing, though; it seems like a surprising length to go to for Foreman, more personal attention than House is wont to lavish on any of them. It's not unusual enough to make her question the story, just an odd little reminder that things change. Whether precipitously or in slow and subtle ways makes no difference, regarding it from a vantage like hers.]

And Foreman's brother is okay with this? I mean, he must realize House is using him...

It lasted a couple of days. Foreman snapped, House got what he wanted.

[And got Foreman and his brother acknowledging each other again. Chase has always picked up a few of the nuances behind House's games, but reading what might be a softer side into them is usually her domain. He wonders if she'd care that he's picked it up, even a little.

Of course, there are still enough times when his motives lack anything Chase can make out as reason, let alone compassion.]

The rest of us got a laugh.

[Of course he doesn't say she's not under that umbrella anymore. He looks around, still parts of the layout here that have slipped from his mind.]

Where do you keep your music? Can I put something on?

[That potential ulterior motive hasn't escaped her, even from the incomplete story he's told. But Cameron is inclined to look for those silent, surreptitious benefits. She wouldn't necessarily be surprised if Chase notice, though she might be surprised that he chose to acknowledge it.]

On the shelf, over by the television. The stereo's there too. I could put on tea or something, if you'd like..?

That's right, [As if he should have known, her answer a prompt in some kind of test in which he proves to himself that this was real, not a dream he falls into from time to time and forgets on waking. Each time he finds himself back here again he softly questions if he ever really wakes at all.

He starts towards the television, kneeling next to the stereo shelf and running his thumb along the pile of her CDs. Missing the names with the turn of his head back toward her.]

Too warm for tea. How about a glass of something...?

[The lilt at the end turning statement to question isn't that he doubts she'd have wine in the house. He's just not sure, after last time, she'd give it to him.]

[Cameron doesn't answer right away. After last time, she's not sure she ought to; which is why she didn't offer that off the bat. But... well, she may as well give him the benefit of the doubt; and so after a moment of silence broken only by the faint clink of dishes, she joins him in the living room with two glasses and a bottle of wine, light and probably rather too sweet.]

I wasn't sure you'd want...

[She trails off, with a wry little curl of her lip.]

I got drunk a few times. I don't have a drinking problem. [He looks back at her as he says it, a patient explanation if maybe one that edges on the verge of a lie. He doesn't have a problem with alcohol, but, not for the first time in his life he's seen the possibilities of using it as a crutch. Right now it isn't an issue, and he reaffirms that, murmuring softly.] Believe me, I'd know.

[There's a CD he must have left here, an Australian band, and he slips it into the CD cradle, pressing play and standing as the first few bars (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g9j71ulwSDk) start to play.]

I'd get found out soon enough. The department can't run with two doctors with shaky hands.

[It's half a joke, and as he sits and takes the glass he's forgotten she won't get it.]

Thank you, for worrying about it.

[She shoots him a perplexed glance at the shaky hands comment, trying to figure out where that fits in. Too much she doesn't know; though he says it casually enough that it doesn't send her into a spiral of worry. She uncorks the bottle and pours, his glass first.]

It isn't that I don't trust you, you know.

[He doesn't know that, and her words pause the glass at his lips. After a moment he drops his hand to hold it in his lap, still untouched.]

Wouldn't blame you if you didn't.

[He's certain at least that trust is hard for her. That things won't slip away or otherwise let her down. And he's fairly certain, now, that for all the times she's tried to trust him she never quite made it past the belief something would eventually break down. All he's done is the last thing he ever wanted: proved her right.

Even here, where he could assume she just means the drink, he wouldn't blame her for adding up the one plus one of his last visits and letting them equal two.]

[Really, she just means the drink, at the moment; but the truth is, though he's let her down in big and small ways more than once, she keeps coming back. She trusts him more than she does herself, sometimes; and she trusts this other him more than the present, largely because she doesn't feel she has much choice. Perhaps it's natural to assume that, someday, she'll run out of second and third and thousandth chances.

She can infer certain things. They still make very little sense. Funny, that she worries about him and them more than she worries about herself, on her own as she suspects she must be; not because she's strong, but because she's intimately familiar with her own weakness, whereas Chase's is... foreign, unsettling. She's never known what to make of him wanting her without needing her.]

Hey. No leaving me sad this time, remember?

Was I doing that? [He looks up, guilty for a moment, lower lip bitten down with thought. It feels like reality could fold in around them just to contain the paradox of his being here with her, the very concept of them being for the moment unformed, and as such also unbroken. He'd like to tell her about the good times. Holidays where her family almost made him feel like he had a new one of his own. Condo hunting, and christening. A spectacular honeymoon. For all the mistakes made, there's enough to make it seem worth it.

He smiles, as suddenly and brightly as sunlight cracking stormclouds, and clinks his glass with her.] Sorry. I could go back to the office gossip, if you like.

If it's easier for you.

[She tilts her head, an odd note of sympathy in her voice. As hard as these visits have been on her, they can't be easy for Chase, either. She doesn't want him to lie and put on a brave face-- he's not as good at it as he used to be, or maybe he's just not used to doing it for her anymore-- but... if he's doing better, she can feel a little less awful about what awaits her when the City finally sends her home. She doesn't want to think she's broken him.]

I'd gossip about what goes on here but... most of it's unpleasant, as usual.

[Thinking she's broken him would, to Chase, be the only thing worse than her idea that House did. He's not broken. Damaged, but they all of them were damaged before. And they might all be unfixable, but there can be ways of learning to live with the cracks.]

I've lived it, Allison. That's not gossip, it's nostalgia. [He teases her, sets down his glass and half turns to better face her.] What would you prefer?

I'm not sure.

[She laughs a little, sipping her wine and meeting his eyes.] Gossip's likelier to be pleasant conversation, but sometimes I feel like I know too much. That I'm going to let something slip-- to you, to House and Wilson. [Cameron tilts her head and sets her glass aside too, going a bit quieter.] You don't remember while you're at home, do you?-- you can't, it would create a paradox.

Edited 2010-07-14 22:01 (UTC)

I can't because if I did, I'd have checked myself into Mayfield. [Chase reasons this with paced tones, not quite answering her question. No, he doesn't have the weight of this place hanging over him all the time, it would make ordinary life impossible, but at the same time, there's something in the back of his mind...

He rests his hands, clasped, in his lap, sighing softly.]

I don't remember everything right now, either. I don't... remember leaving. I can remember being pretty sure I never would.

[It's not that the comment doesn't make sense without context; but there's something about the way he says it that makes her wonder. But peace of mind is difficult to come by and she's starting to learn not to ask questions if she's not sure she wants the answer.]

Would I sound completely paranoid if I guessed that it's because the City doesn't want you to be able to tell me?

[He snorts and ducks his head, blinking down at the worn indigo denim of his jeans before looking up again, lips quirked into a lopsided smile.]

While you're here, I'd say it's smart to be paranoid. There I was thinking it probably had something to do with me.

It can't be healthy, though. Attributing motives and measures to a place.

[Still, she smiles back.]

A place that screws with you on a daily basis. Or whatever's running it. It might be pushing it to attribute malevolence to the bricks and mortar.

[Teasing her means he doesn't have to tell her about his own paranoiac leanings. The memory-fogged suspicion that he never left at all. But who'd dream up such a god-awful future for themselves, really? Assume they deserve it?

...Well, point made and taken.]

Blame the so-called deities, I guess? [The word and the thought always leaves a sour taste in her mouth.] It's as likely an explanation as anything else.

[She can vouch for his presence, twice over; but as for his eventual absence... Time means so little here, there's no way to prove he isn't just coming back from the City's future. What an unpleasant thought; but Cameron doesn't entertain it for long, if only because she's convinced that here, forewarned would be forearmed.]

Rudy Miller-- if you remember him? Claims to know when he'll leave, but he won't tell.

Rudy Miller's not quite as bright as he'd like people to give him credit for.

[There's someone else that could apply to, at least as he was three years ago. Chase nods.]

If he knows when he's leaving, he won't need to try again before he's sure to succeed. Watch for failed attempts before you believe anything he feeds you.

He said he's concerned it would compromise his free will. [She looks aside a moment, considering, her chin lifted. This is something Cameron spends a lot of time working out-- the finer points of the time-travel paradox. As though she doesn't have enough to occupy her time here.] I tend to agree with you; and even if he does remember, there's no guarantee it's correct. It wouldn't be the first time a curse has manufactured memories.

[A grin breaks out, sudden and unexpected, and she casts a sly glance at him.] Since I'm pretty sure I've never studied undersea medicine.

☤ forty-five

it seems that all my bridges have been burned, you say that's just how this grace thing works

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