as_damaged | ☎ voicemail

[Cameron considered not coming. She's compromised by showing up a minute or two late, not wanting to be tardy enough to risk panicking him (since all the nastiness he can muster won't hide the fact that he's touchy about losing people, now more than usual.) This was a bad idea to begin with, worse if he's been up all night drinking; but though she's doing her best not to endear herself to Chase right now, wholeheartedly antagonizing him doesn't seem wise.

He doesn't look as bad as he did (will?) some weeks ago, but he doesn't look good, either. A small, guilty part of her-- neither good nor well-adjusted-- seethes, resenting this; having to see him through pining for another woman. But of course, it's irrational; she can't blame him for it, or even properly hate him for it.

So, she's here, with a semblance of civility. She does like to see him. If she didn't, this wouldn't be difficult. He doesn't get a smile, as she slips into the seat opposite.]

[He's got a few more years and a lot more guilt before a night's liquid oblivion will leave him crumpled. He hadn't gone out drinking to forget, but he'd allowed himself to be talked into it without much resistance, and in an underground bar with a sharp-toothed wolf girl it hadn't felt safe to leave before daylight.

He doesn't want to go back to the apartment anyway. Doesn't want to see Peter, because it isn't fair to hit a guy when he can't see it coming. Jealousy, always going to be an issue.

There are blonde hairs too long to be his bright against the dark jacket over one end of the table, as he pushes himself up while Cameron sits down.]

I'll get you a drink. Latte good?

Sure.

[She'll be magnanimous in her own jealousy, and try not to notice that. After all, she doesn't have any right to him. That's become a mantra here, particularly since her shattered anonymity. As useless as it's proven so far, trying to convince herself she's lost interest seems to be her only option.]

[Of course, not noticing means not explaining, and it was innocent. It probably did him more good than sitting in the same pool of milling panic and resentment, although his head might not be feeling the benefits yet.

If Angela's gone, and Cameron stays set on maintaining this distance, who does he have left? Feelings, to Chase, implies more than an attraction. It's something else he doesn't want to lose.

When he comes back he slides a pastry across to her side of the table along with the drink, one corner already bitten off the bacon sandwich he bought himself.]

I don't think Wilson's speaking to me.

[He always makes those quiet extra gestures, alternately maddening and endearing. Unasked for desserts. Unnecessary paperwork. At least in an odd way he's reliable, once every blue moon.

Putting all this behind them seems an unlikely goal, but it's a nice one. If it's a peace offering, she'll bite. And she does.]

I think he's just giving you space.

[It's not a special effort: he's aware of taking up her break, and she needs to eat. The thought is habitual rather than premeditated to achieve some result. There's chivalry in Chase, buried deeply but running through the grain.

In the approach he's taking now, she might hear the undercurrents of implied apology.]

Because he's usually impossible to get out of my hair.

[A sigh.]

I was annoyed. Might have pushed it too far.

You did.

[She may be prone to sugarcoating things, but not this, not right now. That being said, it's a only statement, in a soft voice, agreeing with what's been said; not an accusation. She doesn't need to tell him he owes Wilson an apology, and doesn't really want anything more overt for herself.]

But he'll get over it. [Or he'll still be there, once Chase is over it. He might be past the worst, at least.]

Is the caffeine helping?

[And that's appreciated, although not without the usual note that she never has sweetened the pill when it comes to him. If that's what makes him special, perhaps he'll take it. Wilson probably won't get his apology, even the sotto voce admission made here. Just as long as she knows he's aware yesterday's reaction went too far.

This fourth cup is not an espresso, just plain black and enough sugar to tamper the bitterness. Or almost enough. He takes a sip and winces, reaching for the half-eaten sandwich.]

Think the grease will help more. I'm on call another twelve hours.

[Special treatment or special torment; she's not sure where the distinction falls. Sugarcoating has never been Chase's thing, but sympathy has always been hers.]

I'm sure you could find someone to cover for you.

[It's not an offer, though she'd consider it if he asked. Honestly, getting to work is probably a better option for him than wallowing. And even if Peter is worried, it's better that Chase not ruin his relationships with everyone around him out of spite.]

I asked for the shift.

[Admittedly before he'd been talked into the evening underground, but he'll stay for it either way. He likes Peter, and if he goes home right now he'll do something to really screw that up. There's no validity to this jealousy, and he's certainly got no right to it, but professional or romantic, envy remains a great influencer in Chase's actions.]

Shouldn't be too much hassle, provided the city's not waiting until after lunch to try and kill each other today.

No more violent than usual, I think.

[She sips her coffee, watching him, trying to seem as though she isn't. This isn't unexpected; Chase burying his head in work, not talking about it. Asking her for coffee was unexpected, and Cameron hasn't decided whether it's a good sign or a bad one. Not that she wants to be pushed away; but at least it would feel normal.]

How's Eden?

Haven't really spoken to her. I imagine she's got a headache.

[That should, if things ever went as intended, have come out more lecturing than it did. Chase has spoken to her enough to be aware that she's still alive, and with the aid of retrospect the poor girl getting a door dropped on her seems ridiculous enough to raise a smile.]

Do you ever feel like we've wandered into a farce? You break my door down to get to me, House spends the night ironing panties for some nurse who clearly missed her nutrition rotation...

[Ridiculous or not the thought makes her wince a little. The only reason she didn't bust the door down is that Angela beat her to it. So she can't help but feel a little guilty about injuring Eden; even more so, since they didn't do much to help her. Not nearly what they should have, in her opinion; and even out of her control, she has the feeling that in some respect she's responsible for her behavior.]

I never realized what a strong violent side I have, [she answers, looking down at her drink. It's embarrassing, somehow. Breaking down doors, hitting people. Biting.]

I'll replace it for you. If you'll let me.

[That's the closest she'll manage to an apology; not because she doesn't want to make one, for any number of things-- chiefly for caring when it would be so much simpler if she didn't-- but because he so rarely accepts them.]

You didn't? [He questions her with dubious amusement. She's always been aggressive about getting what she wants, whether that means bumping up her manipulation skills with self-help books or going behind all their backs to tell a patient when their treatment is suspect. Of course, it never really translated into the physical before they got here, though he remembers nursing a bitten lip the first time they got close.]

It's just a door. I'll make sure the next one comes with a knocker.

[That gets a bit of a look, albeit somewhat amused. There are different kinds of violence, and there are different kinds of biting. Harming others isn't in her nature; at least, so she'd like to believe. It gets harder and harder to tell herself that, here; maybe she's just getting desensitized.]

I doubt it'd make a difference. I think the deities get a kickback, I had to have one of mine replaced months ago.

Oh, so you're planning to break mine down again.

[He folds his arms across the table, expression turning more serious.]

You told me what happened to yours. [Eventually. Eventually seems like it could be a subtitle to the whole place. You get used to it, eventually. Everyone eventually leaves. Eventually something's going to kill you, or you'll fuck or fuck with the wrong person. It's an edge-of-the-seat exercise in waiting for the worst, and that's not how he likes to live. Things don't go to hell without him putting up a fight. If he's dying and this is somehow the last gasp, he'd like to think he was fighting for just one more.

How to fight this place he hasn't figured out yet. Not the heroics other people talk about but pure, selfish struggle. He's got to get out.

In the meantime, there might be one fight he can win.]

I'll let you pay for the work on mine if you'll let me do something about that.

[She's planning nothing of the sort. Even if she felt certain Angela wasn't coming back-- which she doesn't; not sharing Chase's disappointment, she can't share his pessimism-- it wouldn't be right. Rebound relationships rarely last, and she wants more than that. A handful of awkward dinners after her husband passed away proved that point; and after that she'd moved away, and a good friend became a mere acquaintance. Given the options, it seems better not to pursue him. They can be friends. Somehow.

She rolls her eyes at his 'deal,' though honestly, it's almost funny. She gets to pay for his door and give in to his nagging? What a break. For the first time she wonders if finding her a roommate isn't an out for him, a way to pass the responsibility for her safety on to someone else so he doesn't have to think about it.

But it's no more than her own little exercise in self-pity. He'll still call. She's as certain of it as one can be of anything, here.]

Who do you have in mind?

Borrow Eden for a week.

[He takes a sip of his coffee and lays his cards on the table, metaphorically speaking.

Strictly speaking, Eden can be as much a threat as she is a reassurance. The girl is au-fait with more makes of weapon than he was aware existed, and that fact was slammed home by the other hole put in the door the other day. But she tried to kill him once, and he got past it. It'll be two people he'll have to keep an eye on, but at least they'll be in the same place.

Both of them, he thinks, could use the company.]

See how it goes. If you like the company, you could ask her to stay.

[Actually? It isn't a bad idea. Her protests die half-formed, and she pauses to consider it, taking a sip. Cameron tends to consider the girl part of the 'family,' so to speak, even if they aren't awfully close. Not only because they work together, but because she puts up with House's insanity; not many people do. She's inclined to sympathize with her fellow sufferers.]

Have you spoken to her about it?

[No.]

I've put out feelers. Is that a yes, so long as she's up for it?

[He thinks she will be, if he can broach the subject without it seeming like he's trying to be rid of her. He's sent Eden on Cameron-related reconnaissance missions before, the times he's wanted to get through to her but known he'd be the last person she'd open the door for. And she works for House. That makes her at the very least a comrade-in-arms.]

I'm willing to give it a try.

[She's not against having a roommate on principle, and it's not as though Eden has nothing to gain. They could both use the company, the space; and certainly given past events Cameron doesn't mind the idea of keeping an eye on her.]

[They can both think they're helping each other. The cards aren't so hard to play when Chase has both their aces. He nods, grips the table like he's on his way to get up.]

Then I'll run it by her, let you know. I should... really be getting back now.

[She can see it as helping Eden and doing Chase a favor, laying an old argument to rest. She leans back as he leans in to stand, nodding; honestly it's a bit of a relief. She won't avoid him, but right now, she'd like to.]

Sure. I'll... talk to you.

[She pauses, as though she's going to say something more, and doesn't.]

[And he hesitates, waiting for whatever fails to come. He's still got that headache, and a list of people to avoid, or avoid apologising too. Still got an apartment he's not really going to clear yet, and a dog to walk and feed. He looks over her head, where the clock on the wall confirms that he's going to be a couple of minutes late to sign back in, and sighs.

With a nod, he takes the second half of his sandwich for the road.]

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