as_damaged | ☤ twenty-three

[voice;]

[For a moment there is nothing but quiet panting, someone trying to catch their breath. When she speaks it's in a low tone, stumbling over words. She's clearly just this side of a full panic.]

I figured I'd be fine as long as I just stayed in today, but I guess someone figured out I was at home. Every now and then I can-- [She pauses, and if you listen closely you can hear a heavy pounding in the background.] Can hear them trying to get in. I keep hoping they'll get bored and give up on me but so far...

[Cameron laughs quietly, obviously on edge.]

Midnight can't come quick enough... and it's not even Halloween yet. Can't wait to see what that brings....

[ooc; IT'S A TRAP. come and save her, she will try to eat you, and given that she's been taking self-defense lessons she might have more of a shot than otherwise expected >D If you are okay with being bitten/eaten/killed and tossed in the fridge for later munching, please to let me know ♥ ALSO PLEASE FORGIVE LATE POSTING I HAD A TEST. SOB.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not great."

Though muffled by her hands, she's perfectly comprehensible. Her fingers curl into her palms, uncovering tired eyes. She stares at him briefly-- surveying the damage, maybe, or wishing she could forfeit consciousness again. Though she suspects the latter wouldn't make her feel any better; sedation itself is somehow exhausting.

She doesn't reach for the glass until he's leaned back in his seat, kept by pride or embarrassment from saying thank you.

There's no visible damage, only the faintest hint of Chase trying not to smile at her attempts to banish sleepiness. "You should get to bed. I only stayed to make sure you weren't in the mood for a midnight snack."

He should be allowed one little joke, right? It's not particularly dangerous territory, particularly as Cameron looks more in need of some hot cocoa and fluffy pillows than a mask and straitjacket right now. "Sedative will give you a bitch of a headache if you don't let your body sleep it off."

She feels a bit better, not being able to see her handiwork-- though he's not unmarked, she knows that. That's one part of living here Cameron hasn't adapted to-- waking up having done things you'd never do, living with actions you can neither deny nor take responsibility for.

Maybe she really is overtired, because she almost smiles back. Almost. She places the glass down a little too heavily, sparing a faint scowl at the thick clank.

"Yes, doctor," she sighs, with a minimal amount of venom in her tone. In fact, with a bit of fondness. She bit him; he'd have been well within his rights to leave her passed out on the kitchen floor. But of course, he never would. He didn't. She owes a little civility for that.

"How much did you give me, anyway?"

"Ten miligrams." He does grin at that, because he could have taken out Cameron and a horse that just ate her with the dose. "Better safe than sorry. You might want to sit leaning a little to your left for a while."

He pushes up from the chair, working out a crick in his neck and testing how much he can move his shoulder without feeling the bruise. Then he offers an arm to her. "Need a hand?"

She flinches a little, wide-eyed. No wonder she's been out this long. Though in his place she'd probably have gone the safe route, too-- adrenaline is a powerful thing, and once bitten is twice wary.

Steadying herself, she tries to stand on her own, lips quirking down a little when she can't. Her facade of helplessness seems ironic now, as she takes his hand to pull herself up. Cameron sways, but steadies herself, letting go and managing to stand alone. Damned if she'll lean on him.

"I'll see you to the door?"

Of course she can't stand to hold onto him. Catching back a sigh, he edges round the table to put his hand just under her elbow. Not quite supporting, just there.

"Why don't I see you to yours?", he indicates the bedroom, because he'd be happier knowing she hadn't cracked her skull on the furniture before he leaves her. "I wanted to ask you something, anyway."

She doesn't try to stop him, or shake him off. It's not a matter of contact-- she'd prefer to keep her distance, but not for the reasons he imagines. Needing support is different. So much for taking an active stance-- here she is, weak as a kitten.

Though she's fairly certain he's not making a pass at her, Chase gets a doubtful glance. But really, Cameron isn't sure she can make it to the door and back, and feels awful enough that she relents.

"Fine," she sighs, taking a tentative step in that direction.

He's not making a pass, although if she had the mental alacrity to be watching him, the swipe of tongue across teeth betrays the kind of nerves he might display before he does. But he's not. She's already taken them that way once tonight, and if he's lucky she'll be too drowsy to remember his response.

No, he just wants to ask her something, and as he gets her safely down the hallway, he does. "Um, do I... Do you think I look like Cary Elwes?"

She stops at that, and just stares at him. Of all the things he could have asked...

"Are you... growing a mustache?"

He laughs, and flushes, looking down as he shakes his head, "I'm thinking about a halloween costume."

Though, that's something to think about. Huh. "Would I suit a moustache?"

She shouldn't even dignify that with a response. Then again, if he didn't know she was physically attracted to him by now...

"Maybe." Head tilted, she considers it for a moment. "I think you could pull it off." A pause.

"...Cary Elwes?"

He's thought about it, but grooming has been part of the routine for too long now for him to really know what he'd look like fuzzy. Her option doesn't lack merit, though, so maybe he'll let it grow the next blue moon he gets time off on.

Smiling slightly at her question, he gestures to himself and explains, "The Dread Pirate Robert?"

Chase has always been so clean-cut, it's tricky to imagine anything different. If she's lucky, he'll try and she won't like it-- but that seems unlikely.

It could simply be that she's too tired to be guarded, but that gets a laugh, a genuine smile out of her. "I can see it."

Maybe it would be a good moment to play the hero, sweep her off her feet and lay her out on the bed, but he doesn't want to push anything after he's gotten a smile from her. It's not even a coy one. He leans against the frame of the bedroom door, willing to watch rather than escort her those last few steps.

"Come to the halloween party and you probably will see it," a slight wrinkle of his nose, "If I can find the black tights."

Her head's cleared a bit, and so she makes it from the door to the bed without so much as stumbling, though she sits as soon as she gets there. No reason to push her luck.

"House will have a field day," she teases, still smirking a bit. His suggestion isn't quite an invitation, and she doesn't turn it down. It could, after all, be fun.

"I was hoping he'd think it's too easy," he says, raising his eyebrows in hope of agreement with this near impossible prospect. House doesn't think candy canes are too easy, Chase isn't in for much luck with man-hose.

Maybe he should reconsider.

For now, though, he pushes himself up from the doorframe, considering the late hour and his shift schedule in the morning. "You're okay?"

"When has any shot been too cheap?" she counters, leaning back and crossing her ankles. Not that she means to discourage him. But the man deserves to know the risks inherent in his plans. "But he'd find something to say no matter what you wear."

All she wants to do right now is sleep. "I'll be fine. Really."

☤ twenty-three

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