Fic: Masquerade (Part 2/?)
Title: Masquerade (Part 2/?)
Author: kaitmaree77
Rating: M (To be safe, nothing really at that rating yet!)
Warnings: Angst; miscarriage; overall darkness
Summary: Cuddy turns to leave, but then finds herself pausing. “If you keep on pretending you don’t care you’ll eventually find yourself even more lost.”
Notes: With thanks to Sami for her beta and support on this chapter, and also to Michelle and Mae for their feedback - I’m always incredible grateful for my support in this faction. Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, they mean more than you know. Hope you enjoy.
Previous: Part One
-
losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine; beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears - ee cummings
-
Cameron is absorbed in work in the ER when Cuddy comes in, so focused that she startles her and Cameron hears herself gasp.
“Doctor Cameron...” Cuddy starts, trying to find her words. “Allison.”
She turns towards her boss, suddenly interested by what has caused this rare moment of unprofessionalism.
“Yes, Doctor Cuddy?”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh. I...how did you...know?” Cameron swallows hard, wondering who else knows.
Cuddy shakes her head. “House found out and told me.”
“How did he...?”
“Sometimes I think it’s best not to ask.” Cuddy sighs, and places her hand on Cameron’s in a moment of sympathy. “I’m here if you need to talk, I know how difficult this is.”
Cameron turns back to her paperwork, shaking her head. It is so hard to avoid all of the hurt as she has been since her miscarriage, and it is made so much more difficult with the constant need for words of console. The only thing worse are the complete silences with Chase, who feels this loss as deeply as her and therefore recognises mere words will never be enough.
“I have to work.” Cameron says, scribbling down her signature on the hundredth or so file of the day. She shifts away from Cuddy, implying the conversation is finished.
Cuddy turns to leave, but then finds herself pausing. “If you keep on pretending you don’t care you’ll eventually find yourself even more lost.”
She refuses to believe she’s right, and again consumes herself in her career.
-
“I was thinking, I mean, I know you said that you don’t want to try again, but...”
“But what?”
Chase moves to face her. “What if - I mean - what if one day we adopt?”
Cameron looks back at her food and finishes the last mouthfuls on her plate. She sips her wine and stays silent for a very long time - so long that he’s sure she’s choosing to ignore this. It should hurt more than it does, but the silences have become so familiar they have found themselves more haunted by noise.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not, Allison? I mean, there’s no real risk there, is there? At least, not of another miscarriage. The kid will already be alive...” Chase is suddenly aware of the desperation in his tone, and surprises himself with how much he wants this.
“Because.”
“Allison.”
She sighs loudly and stirs her fork around her plate. “Because, Robert, there’s a lot more to this than the act of giving birth.” She looks at him. “If I can’t look after a child for nine months inside me, how am I going to manage to look after one running around outside for years?”
“We’ve discussed this. What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s!” Chase is disgusted by how frustrated he sounds, but he can’t help but be honest with her this time.
Cameron shakes her head. “That doesn’t mean I can’t avoid it happening again.”
“By making us miserable?”
“We don’t need kids!”
“We want kids, Allison. Stop being so selfish.”
“Excuse me!?”
Chase lowers his head. “I only meant, I didn’t mean...”
Suddenly Cameron is crying, and Chase rushes over to hold her. At first she tries to fight him away, but the sobs rack her body unstoppably and she folds herself into his arms. Time feels unmeasurable and surreal; by the time they pull back neither can be sure if minutes or hours have passed.
It is not until she pulls away that Cameron realises Chase has been crying, too.
-
It is not long before the silence becomes too much.
Chase begins working late again, allowing his conscious mind to be consumed by the chaotic frenzy of life in the surgical ward. The patients before him that he can fix more than he ever could his wife at home a comfort - a reminder that as a carer he is not entirely worthless.
One day, he operates on a child who cannot be more than three or four. The curls of his hair angelic, and the paled sickly skin makes Chase think of something divine and beyond the physical world that confines them. He has always been torn between his belief and resentment towards God, but today he is certain that this child is something more.
The rush of the procedure pulls him back towards reality, and he feels overwhelmed by it all. This happens more often than he’s willing to admit to any senior advisor or even himself, but he quickly falls back into the motions. Veins and arteries, organs in colours he’ll never familiarise himself in with regard to fascination. It is intense, it is haunting, and yet this is where he feels the most at home since his own loss.
He wonders about the family right outside the waiting room door, pacing as anxiously as adrenalin will allow. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, the life so fragile and filled with potential beneath his mere two hands.
The monitors flat-line.
There is a rapid race of codes he’s learned off by heart thrown about, surgical instruments passed between hands. It is much too quick, and the notion of attempting to save this boy quickly fades into the admission of loss and yet another failed pursuit towards restoring life.
All Chase wants to do once leaving the death tainted operating room is scrub his skin raw, so he heads to the showers. Before he can so much as draw together a thought, he spots the parents and is reminded of his responsibility.
Stoically, he walks towards them.
The mother wears an expression of grief most only ever broadcast in old age, though she must be only in her thirties at the very latest. Her husband is clasping her hand, and beneath their hands are the ragged remnants of a teddy bear well-loved.
Chase tells them, and watches the familiarity of lives falling apart. It is haunting how well this parallels between his and Cameron’s own notification of their loss, and yet somehow this pushes him deeper into grief.
There is an almost dying expression in the eyes of Julian’s mother, and Chase realises that this is the same light he’s observed fading too from his own wife’s eyes.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.” He says one last time, and rushes towards the solace of the hospital chapel.
It is here that Chase finds the sense of belonging he craves so deeply from within himself, and he kneels at the front of the small room. He clasps his hands together, and utters the words he’s memorised from childhood, begging for forgiveness from the life he never knew he truly wanted until it was gone.
Author: kaitmaree77
Rating: M (To be safe, nothing really at that rating yet!)
Warnings: Angst; miscarriage; overall darkness
Summary: Cuddy turns to leave, but then finds herself pausing. “If you keep on pretending you don’t care you’ll eventually find yourself even more lost.”
Notes: With thanks to Sami for her beta and support on this chapter, and also to Michelle and Mae for their feedback - I’m always incredible grateful for my support in this faction. Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, they mean more than you know. Hope you enjoy.
Previous: Part One
-
losing through you what seemed myself,i find
selves unimaginably mine; beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears - ee cummings
-
Cameron is absorbed in work in the ER when Cuddy comes in, so focused that she startles her and Cameron hears herself gasp.
“Doctor Cameron...” Cuddy starts, trying to find her words. “Allison.”
She turns towards her boss, suddenly interested by what has caused this rare moment of unprofessionalism.
“Yes, Doctor Cuddy?”
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh. I...how did you...know?” Cameron swallows hard, wondering who else knows.
Cuddy shakes her head. “House found out and told me.”
“How did he...?”
“Sometimes I think it’s best not to ask.” Cuddy sighs, and places her hand on Cameron’s in a moment of sympathy. “I’m here if you need to talk, I know how difficult this is.”
Cameron turns back to her paperwork, shaking her head. It is so hard to avoid all of the hurt as she has been since her miscarriage, and it is made so much more difficult with the constant need for words of console. The only thing worse are the complete silences with Chase, who feels this loss as deeply as her and therefore recognises mere words will never be enough.
“I have to work.” Cameron says, scribbling down her signature on the hundredth or so file of the day. She shifts away from Cuddy, implying the conversation is finished.
Cuddy turns to leave, but then finds herself pausing. “If you keep on pretending you don’t care you’ll eventually find yourself even more lost.”
She refuses to believe she’s right, and again consumes herself in her career.
-
“I was thinking, I mean, I know you said that you don’t want to try again, but...”
“But what?”
Chase moves to face her. “What if - I mean - what if one day we adopt?”
Cameron looks back at her food and finishes the last mouthfuls on her plate. She sips her wine and stays silent for a very long time - so long that he’s sure she’s choosing to ignore this. It should hurt more than it does, but the silences have become so familiar they have found themselves more haunted by noise.
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not, Allison? I mean, there’s no real risk there, is there? At least, not of another miscarriage. The kid will already be alive...” Chase is suddenly aware of the desperation in his tone, and surprises himself with how much he wants this.
“Because.”
“Allison.”
She sighs loudly and stirs her fork around her plate. “Because, Robert, there’s a lot more to this than the act of giving birth.” She looks at him. “If I can’t look after a child for nine months inside me, how am I going to manage to look after one running around outside for years?”
“We’ve discussed this. What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s!” Chase is disgusted by how frustrated he sounds, but he can’t help but be honest with her this time.
Cameron shakes her head. “That doesn’t mean I can’t avoid it happening again.”
“By making us miserable?”
“We don’t need kids!”
“We want kids, Allison. Stop being so selfish.”
“Excuse me!?”
Chase lowers his head. “I only meant, I didn’t mean...”
Suddenly Cameron is crying, and Chase rushes over to hold her. At first she tries to fight him away, but the sobs rack her body unstoppably and she folds herself into his arms. Time feels unmeasurable and surreal; by the time they pull back neither can be sure if minutes or hours have passed.
It is not until she pulls away that Cameron realises Chase has been crying, too.
-
It is not long before the silence becomes too much.
Chase begins working late again, allowing his conscious mind to be consumed by the chaotic frenzy of life in the surgical ward. The patients before him that he can fix more than he ever could his wife at home a comfort - a reminder that as a carer he is not entirely worthless.
One day, he operates on a child who cannot be more than three or four. The curls of his hair angelic, and the paled sickly skin makes Chase think of something divine and beyond the physical world that confines them. He has always been torn between his belief and resentment towards God, but today he is certain that this child is something more.
The rush of the procedure pulls him back towards reality, and he feels overwhelmed by it all. This happens more often than he’s willing to admit to any senior advisor or even himself, but he quickly falls back into the motions. Veins and arteries, organs in colours he’ll never familiarise himself in with regard to fascination. It is intense, it is haunting, and yet this is where he feels the most at home since his own loss.
He wonders about the family right outside the waiting room door, pacing as anxiously as adrenalin will allow. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, the life so fragile and filled with potential beneath his mere two hands.
The monitors flat-line.
There is a rapid race of codes he’s learned off by heart thrown about, surgical instruments passed between hands. It is much too quick, and the notion of attempting to save this boy quickly fades into the admission of loss and yet another failed pursuit towards restoring life.
All Chase wants to do once leaving the death tainted operating room is scrub his skin raw, so he heads to the showers. Before he can so much as draw together a thought, he spots the parents and is reminded of his responsibility.
Stoically, he walks towards them.
The mother wears an expression of grief most only ever broadcast in old age, though she must be only in her thirties at the very latest. Her husband is clasping her hand, and beneath their hands are the ragged remnants of a teddy bear well-loved.
Chase tells them, and watches the familiarity of lives falling apart. It is haunting how well this parallels between his and Cameron’s own notification of their loss, and yet somehow this pushes him deeper into grief.
There is an almost dying expression in the eyes of Julian’s mother, and Chase realises that this is the same light he’s observed fading too from his own wife’s eyes.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.” He says one last time, and rushes towards the solace of the hospital chapel.
It is here that Chase finds the sense of belonging he craves so deeply from within himself, and he kneels at the front of the small room. He clasps his hands together, and utters the words he’s memorised from childhood, begging for forgiveness from the life he never knew he truly wanted until it was gone.