as_damaged | ☎ voicemail

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[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]

[It's true, he'd have argued her down when it may have been the last thing she needed at the time. While he may not have reconciled this place as being real, the perceived experiences here certainly are. For him, and in his interaction with others. He'd be a lot more lax about his patients if he could really stand back and dismiss their pain. Speaking of.]

You hit Wilson. I can't remember which of you told me that. [The crooked smile he aims sideways as he catches her up implies that the thought hasn't stopped being entertaining.] Poor guy really has lousy luck. What do you make of all the doubles?

[She just laughs; poor Wilson indeed. Compared to everything else she's spilled lately that hardly seems like something to be embarrassed about. She considers his question for a moment; relieved that she's not forced to spill any secrets about her curse-fueled fancy for a man who wore his face.]

I'm not sure. [Easy to be cavalier about it when you don't have your own. Or, at least, none you've met. Being mistaken for a cheesy sci-fi hero's mother was a little strange, but (Cameron imagines) not nearly as bad as running into yourself out on the street.] I can buy having a lookalike, in another universe. Why they all end up in one place... [She trails off for a moment.] This place thrives on confusion.

I still can't figure out why the Pevensie kid isn't identical to me at that age. [Close, undeniably, but not the twin-like confusion he grows to. And, studiously avoiding elephants in the room, Chase should be counting his lucky stars not to be compelled to share Caspian's recent confusion of them. The only think worse than being involved would be being forced to share.

He rubs his mouth, in memoriam, and shrugs, stepping forward to hold the door for her as they emerge out into the night.] Maybe I should have given up trying to make sense of it when the other me turned out to have wings. Now that's weird.

That's harder to account for, [she agrees, remembering his regression. She can tell the difference between Peter and Chase now, but it's more a matter of mannerisms and expressions; their younger selves could be related, but it doesn't take a second glance to tell the difference.]

You should just feel glad that you don't molt. [More than a hint of her old teasing tone colors those words. It's a conscious choice; it's not entirely a joke, she found one of those long, impossible feathers once. Really, she appreciated it, somehow. Having the definite differences, in Chase's absence, eased the eeriness of resemblance.]

I'm thankful every day. [Impossible is right. Between the version of him that looks like a child, and the version that looks like an angel, Chase could take a few swings at what exactly his psyche is trying to dwell on. But, lets save that for when he's a little less sober.

Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he turns them in the direction of the little blue hole-in-the-wall that's been the scene of a few after work drinks before. It's close, it's cheap, as criteria go, those are the big ones. And There's a sign outside advertising pitchers of cocktails at lower prices still, just as planned.] So what are you going to have? Something fruity? Cherries?

[Yes, he's teasing. He took the lead from her tone and watches her now. Is this okay?]

[It's human nature to seek patterns in everything we see. Cameron's been mistaken for someone's mother and Chase's wife; really, isn't it better not to think about that sort of thing?

She glances away for a moment at his joke. It's a brief gesture, but telling. This isn't okay, not yet; but she wants it to be. Wants to be able to speak to him without that guarded edge of anger, which is as much show as anything at this point. Looking back she smiles, hefting the box on her hip for emphasis.] Nothing too sweet. I have half a bakery to eat, after all.

Suits me. [She's got room for half a bakery, he thinks but doesn't say, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Not that he doesn't appreciate the care she takes over herself -- he really appreciates it -- but there are days even he thinks she could use a meal that sticks to her ribs. Not regularly. Now and then.

He caught her uncertainty, but the fact it didn't come followed up with a rebuke bolsters him. He catches her elbow just to get them through the bar crows together to one on the booths at the edge and raises his voice above the noise.] You choose it, I'll drink it. Just nothing gin based, not my drink.

[His mother's.]

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