At least the day's curse sorts out whether or not flowers are appropriate. The local flower stand looks like the set of Little Shop Of Horrors, and Chase gives it a wide berth. By the time he reaches Cameron's place, the rations he's accrued include sushi and an expensive looking bottle of something red. Not much to tide them over for a lengthy seige but, if anyone asks, that's what he brought the chocolates for.

She's blindsiding him, lately. While acknowledging the exceptions that prove the rule, the prettiest member of the diagnostics team has always had one easy work around. She's reliable. Which means she's predictable, which means she's reliably predictable. Given any patient, illness or ethical dilemma, it's not hard to guess what Cameron will diagnose, prescribe or find to disapprove of. It's useful at work, slightly disheartening in more personal situations.

Now she's veered from the pattern. Inviting him over, first, and what happened between his couch and bedroom the other night, more significantly. Now he's hopeful, guilty, mixed up as all hell and not sure whether she's asked him round for a repeat performance or to tell him it was all some terrible mistake.

He's not even sure which reason makes his life easier. Still, he didn't even think about saying no. Sushi trays balanced on one arm, he shifts the bags around enough to knock.