Fic: Phantom
Title: Phantom
Author: kaitmaree77
Rating: M (Probably not this high, but to be safe.)
Warnings: Post-teamwork spoilers; swearing; suicidal themes
Summary: "What grief is there in death for he who dies?"
Notes: For enigma731. For giving us the Rest Is Silence, for constantly inspiring me both as a writer and as a friend. I hope this is what you wanted. <3
-
my selves go with you,only i remain;
a shadow phantom effigy or seeming
(an almost someone always who’s no one) - EE Cummings.
The moment is surreal. The clock is taunting. This hospital she used to know so well is foreign - the corners of the building she’d memorised map-like in her mind forgotten in the anxious day.
She thinks she might just fall apart.
Cameron is swept up in the rush, doctors murmuring status and where he is and what his chances are. All she hears is numbers. The date they met. The day they married. The number of times she’d checked her watch the day she left - wondering what he was doing, hoping he hadn’t given up (even if it would have hurt less if he had.)
The wait is torturous. It physically aches. The bright lights make her skin feel like it’s burning and the conditioned, disinfected air turns her stomach.
At some point, she thinks, Wilson sits beside her. His hand pressed into hers, uttering words of reassurance. She wonders if this is how he treats them all, if her own imminent tragedy differs from those he witnesses every day. She wonders if she’s allowed to call this her tragedy, or if she gave away that chance the day she ran away.
Finally, she’s not sure if it’s been hours or days, they call her name. Cameron is suddenly all too aware of the fragility of her limbs, of the uncontrollable shaking resonating throughout her being.
She sees him suffocated and made small by the wires and tubing, consumed by medical miracle. She is reminded of the term out of body experience, a cliché, though she can’t remember the last time this life felt her own.
Cameron presses her hand on the door, turns, and is traumatised with images of him lying there, consumed in a pool of blood - of himself. It’s too much, too soon.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, lump in throat, before she walks away.
-
It flickers like television static, the lightning sheets pooling the cloud covered sky.
Chase can’t be sure it’s real, her hand pressed against his cheek, her lips against his forehead. His senses feel overwhelmed, everything amplified. It’s her voice that pulls him forward, trembling insecurely, threatening to come undone.
“Chase,” he hears her murmur, weak, “Can you hear me?”
He resolves to stay silent.
-
Neither speaks for days. He awakens finally, fully aware, but says nothing.
Just eye expressions of acknowledgement, hands pulled back quickly as they graze each other’s momentarily. It’s less than ideal, but the expected awkwardness of the situation cannot be found.
“You tried to kill yourself,” Cameron says on the fourth day, matter-of-factly.
Chase turns to face her, expression relatively unreadable. He clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry you made it all the way out here for nothing.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed.” He turns away again.
Cameron grabs his arm, shaking. “I thought you were going to die!”
“I tried.” Dry.
She looks away when tears threaten her eyes, swallowing her hurt. “Fuck it,” she snaps, “who am I to keep you alive?”
And then she goes.
-
Chase has never felt quite so lonely. More lonely than the days after she left, the weeks that slipped by slowly, painfully.
The kind of loneliness that is only experienced in history repeating itself.
He feels guilty of course. Having her here for days, though neither exchanged so much as a cautious glance for the majority of her visit, was comforting. A reminder of the fact he still scaled somewhere high in her life, though the ever-present-paranoia tells him her motives meant otherwise.
The stories he’d convinced his mind true from the moment she left, if not before that. That she’d never loved him, that she’d find someone as quickly as she could muster - someone with morals far more intact than his own. Though he supposes it was his morality that doomed him to death.
Or rather, lack thereof.
Chase still feels the harshness of the blades against his skin, the hot darkness consuming his vision. He is haunted by his consciousness, his failure to even destroy the pathetic remnants of his own life.
He shakes these thoughts away, not again, and reaches for the phone on his bedside table - calling the one person he knows can’t give up.
-
“You called.”
Chase turns to see her in the doorway, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, arms pulling a too-small cardigan around her tight. “Allison...”
“What do you want?”
And then it happens. Curling himself tight, Chase presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if he might be able to erase everything he’s seen, and felt, experienced. They are both shocked by the harshness of his sobs, and Cameron’s quickness to wrap her arms around him.
He shakes, hard, and Cameron finds herself rocking him comfortingly. Every resentment slips away in emotion, in near death, in almost-grief. She cannot blame him for wanting to die, only hold him close enough that he might never feel the loneliness that pushes him so far again.
“Please,” she whispers, “please just breathe. I’m here, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
Chase suddenly pulls away harshly, flipping onto his side and hugging himself. “I can’t, please, I can’t.”
She wraps her arms around him again, her face pressed against his skin, feeling his breathing in contrast with her own. “Can’t what? What can’t you do?”
He practically thrashes, groaning with every frustration he’s ever felt. Emotion thick in every word, every breath, ever beat of heart. “I can’t lose anyone again.”
“I’m not going--”
“Everyone leaves!” He shouts, shaking, “my parents, my friends, but I could take all that! Because I had you, and I had us! I had life - I had a future! And then you left...and God, the grief.”
She is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but hold him tight.
“What grief is there in death for he who dies?” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to stop missing people. Stop missing you.”
Cameron pulls him backwards so she can see his face, his tears. She wraps her arms around him again, and strokes his back. This is them, in all moments of emotion. This is what they were meant to be from the start, no matter what. “I will never leave,” she vows, to herself and to her husband.
Author: kaitmaree77
Rating: M (Probably not this high, but to be safe.)
Warnings: Post-teamwork spoilers; swearing; suicidal themes
Summary: "What grief is there in death for he who dies?"
Notes: For enigma731. For giving us the Rest Is Silence, for constantly inspiring me both as a writer and as a friend. I hope this is what you wanted. <3
-
my selves go with you,only i remain;
a shadow phantom effigy or seeming
(an almost someone always who’s no one) - EE Cummings.
The moment is surreal. The clock is taunting. This hospital she used to know so well is foreign - the corners of the building she’d memorised map-like in her mind forgotten in the anxious day.
She thinks she might just fall apart.
Cameron is swept up in the rush, doctors murmuring status and where he is and what his chances are. All she hears is numbers. The date they met. The day they married. The number of times she’d checked her watch the day she left - wondering what he was doing, hoping he hadn’t given up (even if it would have hurt less if he had.)
The wait is torturous. It physically aches. The bright lights make her skin feel like it’s burning and the conditioned, disinfected air turns her stomach.
At some point, she thinks, Wilson sits beside her. His hand pressed into hers, uttering words of reassurance. She wonders if this is how he treats them all, if her own imminent tragedy differs from those he witnesses every day. She wonders if she’s allowed to call this her tragedy, or if she gave away that chance the day she ran away.
Finally, she’s not sure if it’s been hours or days, they call her name. Cameron is suddenly all too aware of the fragility of her limbs, of the uncontrollable shaking resonating throughout her being.
She sees him suffocated and made small by the wires and tubing, consumed by medical miracle. She is reminded of the term out of body experience, a cliché, though she can’t remember the last time this life felt her own.
Cameron presses her hand on the door, turns, and is traumatised with images of him lying there, consumed in a pool of blood - of himself. It’s too much, too soon.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, lump in throat, before she walks away.
-
It flickers like television static, the lightning sheets pooling the cloud covered sky.
Chase can’t be sure it’s real, her hand pressed against his cheek, her lips against his forehead. His senses feel overwhelmed, everything amplified. It’s her voice that pulls him forward, trembling insecurely, threatening to come undone.
“Chase,” he hears her murmur, weak, “Can you hear me?”
He resolves to stay silent.
-
Neither speaks for days. He awakens finally, fully aware, but says nothing.
Just eye expressions of acknowledgement, hands pulled back quickly as they graze each other’s momentarily. It’s less than ideal, but the expected awkwardness of the situation cannot be found.
“You tried to kill yourself,” Cameron says on the fourth day, matter-of-factly.
Chase turns to face her, expression relatively unreadable. He clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry you made it all the way out here for nothing.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed.” He turns away again.
Cameron grabs his arm, shaking. “I thought you were going to die!”
“I tried.” Dry.
She looks away when tears threaten her eyes, swallowing her hurt. “Fuck it,” she snaps, “who am I to keep you alive?”
And then she goes.
-
Chase has never felt quite so lonely. More lonely than the days after she left, the weeks that slipped by slowly, painfully.
The kind of loneliness that is only experienced in history repeating itself.
He feels guilty of course. Having her here for days, though neither exchanged so much as a cautious glance for the majority of her visit, was comforting. A reminder of the fact he still scaled somewhere high in her life, though the ever-present-paranoia tells him her motives meant otherwise.
The stories he’d convinced his mind true from the moment she left, if not before that. That she’d never loved him, that she’d find someone as quickly as she could muster - someone with morals far more intact than his own. Though he supposes it was his morality that doomed him to death.
Or rather, lack thereof.
Chase still feels the harshness of the blades against his skin, the hot darkness consuming his vision. He is haunted by his consciousness, his failure to even destroy the pathetic remnants of his own life.
He shakes these thoughts away, not again, and reaches for the phone on his bedside table - calling the one person he knows can’t give up.
-
“You called.”
Chase turns to see her in the doorway, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, arms pulling a too-small cardigan around her tight. “Allison...”
“What do you want?”
And then it happens. Curling himself tight, Chase presses his knuckles into his eyes, as if he might be able to erase everything he’s seen, and felt, experienced. They are both shocked by the harshness of his sobs, and Cameron’s quickness to wrap her arms around him.
He shakes, hard, and Cameron finds herself rocking him comfortingly. Every resentment slips away in emotion, in near death, in almost-grief. She cannot blame him for wanting to die, only hold him close enough that he might never feel the loneliness that pushes him so far again.
“Please,” she whispers, “please just breathe. I’m here, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
Chase suddenly pulls away harshly, flipping onto his side and hugging himself. “I can’t, please, I can’t.”
She wraps her arms around him again, her face pressed against his skin, feeling his breathing in contrast with her own. “Can’t what? What can’t you do?”
He practically thrashes, groaning with every frustration he’s ever felt. Emotion thick in every word, every breath, ever beat of heart. “I can’t lose anyone again.”
“I’m not going--”
“Everyone leaves!” He shouts, shaking, “my parents, my friends, but I could take all that! Because I had you, and I had us! I had life - I had a future! And then you left...and God, the grief.”
She is stunned into silence, unable to do anything but hold him tight.
“What grief is there in death for he who dies?” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to stop missing people. Stop missing you.”
Cameron pulls him backwards so she can see his face, his tears. She wraps her arms around him again, and strokes his back. This is them, in all moments of emotion. This is what they were meant to be from the start, no matter what. “I will never leave,” she vows, to herself and to her husband.