as_damaged | ☎ voicemail

[That earns him a slightly puzzled look, but she lets it lie. Some questions are better unanswered. Piecing her future together was one thing when it had promise; now it's like a bad diagnosis, a confirmation to be avoided as long as possible.]

Do you think we can work together?

[The question is carefully neutral.]

[He glances up at her, not having quite expected that, and again it's clear how much he doesn't know.]

I'm hesitant about working with House. Not you.

[They've worked together through the good and bad times in their relationship - from before it was a relationship. Alright, there have been time she's avoided him in the lounge for a couple of days, but it took a hell of a lot to make her decide she couldn't work with him.

As much as he left that to her decision.]

Can you... work with me?

[Chin lifted, she watches him a moment. Not knowing the details of the years between them, it seemed like a question worth asking, though she didn't expect him to say no.]

I just think we need to remember... that we don't know each other very well, really.

[She says it softly, letting her gaze fall a little so she's not meeting his eyes. Maybe it will be harder for her. Even admitting that stings.]

[He can't disagree, only because of what he isn't telling her. Part of him thinks it would be safer to warn her off, here and now. The other is all too aware of exactly where honesty has gotten him so far.

For all that, he can't agree with the sentiment, either. Six years, near enough for both of them, only split across two different dimensions (and that he can think that without blinking is perhaps testament to a mindset different to the one she knew before).]

Come on. We've got at least a couple of years in common.

[And if he sounds just a little too needy there it's because there has to be some kind of connection, surely? He can't have her back, of course, he shouldn't even think that (though he can't help wondering—) but to pretend she's unfamiliar is too much to ask.]

We know what might have happened. Not what will.

[It's better than nothing, though there's good and bad in that.]

Are you saying you can just put the last few years out of your mind?

[It's an unfair question and she knows it. She turns away, trying to cover her inexplicable embarrassment by taking down mugs for them. She has no right, really, to hold his actions against him, if he doesn't remember them; but it's hard to let go.]

No.

[He pushes his hands into his back pockets and wills himself not to crack here and just tell her. The drink that had seemed like a good idea earlier is less steadying now.]

But the next few don't have to go the same way. Cameron?

[She turns back to him, mugs in hand, expression carefully blank.]

[And he looks so tired.]

If I could go back, to where you are - were - [A faint frown, but working that out isn't what matters right now.] I would. I'd take that like a shot. But I can't get a do-over, even here. I know that. I'm not hoping for anything.

[And that, the lack of hope, has to be at least part of what has him feeling so lost.]

[It's unsettling, seeing him without that air of confidence she'd come to take for granted. Even at their worst, before he left, he was still angling for something, taking a mile for every grudging, cordial inch.]

That isn't what I--

[She breaks off, looking at him critically, lips a thin hard line. The mugs are set on the counter heavily. This is the repayment, no doubt, for every time she wished they could go back to before last Christmas. To a relationship without all the City's complications, for that matter. So much for that.]

I just meant, this will take some getting used to.

[A sharp intake of breath and a nod don't quite manage to stop him looking like a marionette with cut strings, but he straightens a little.]

Of course.

[It's taking him long enough to get used to the hair.]

That's why I had to put some space between me and - everyone else - for a while. Pissed as half the city is at me for it.

[She looks away, only to pour their coffee.]

If you can be patient, then we can work together.

[As she sees it, patience has always been the problem; every time she's started to trust him it's come too late.]

I can go back underground another month, if you like.

[Really, that is just teasing. He takes a couple of steps forward and stops, as if it might be pushing things to get close enough to take a cup.]

I've got a world of patience.

[On better terms she might glare at that. But she'll let him get away with teasing, for now. Rather than step back to give him space, she slides the mug a bit closer to him.]

All right then.

[On better terms he might—best not to think about it. Ever. He takes the cut and rests an elbow on the counter, a couple of feet shy of her shoulder.]

Thanks. [And as if the word reminds him.] It's Thanksgiving, tomorrow.

[It was Thanksgiving last month, too.]

So it is.

[Their track record on holidays hasn't been so good, has it? But of course there isn't-- might as well not be, anyway-- any track record to speak of, now.

She curls her fingers around her mug.]

Good chance there'll be a curse. They love holidays.

[He shrugs in a way that chiefly afflicts his face, squinting one eye closed and curling a corner of his lip.]

It's going to be my second turkey day this year. Might try not to go so hard on the wild variety this time round.

[And a sip of his coffee, to punctuate.]

[That is perhaps the most promising thing she's heard in months.]

I haven't made any plans, myself.

[He glances across at her, blinking slowly.

That might not be the invitation it sort-of sounded like, so he clears his throat before speaking and all but repeats act casual out loud to himself.]

Really? [AHEM.] I guess—Maybe we could get that lunch.

[She meant it as more of an I don't advocate celebrating holidays here, but that's an easy mistake to make. If she's staring, it's only because she's still not used to that tentativeness.]

Maybe. [Quietly. Not quite as dubiously as she feels.]

[He rucks up his shirt sleeve enough to glance at his watch.]

About sixteen hours to think about it, if you want to call and let me know.

[And that hand gets tucked into his back jean's pocket.]

I should hear the phone. I'm doing some work on a place down by the beach, gets noisy sometimes.

[Cameron tilts her head slightly, considering that.]

We'll see.

[Cagey as hell. Chase doesn't see a problem with allowing himself the smallest smile into his coffee.]

This is good.

[If she gave him a straight answer, wouldn't it seem more suspect? Besides, the last thing she wants is to commit to seeing him and then end up cursed, unable to shut her mouth or turned into a turkey or something.]

It was a gift,

[she says, with a trace of a smile, because she's not sure what to say, really.]

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sob I am sorry about my slooooow

no woooorries

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