"Lockdown" post-ep ficlet.
Title: ...And a Time to Dance
Author: dominus_trinus (lit_luminary)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Chase, Cameron; past Chase/Cameron.
Summary: In the past, dance lessons; in the present, forgiveness.
They separate and dress silently, because the slow rocking of bodies together had just said everything that has to be-and in addition to speaking, rather than instead of.
(They should have talked more, talked sooner. It’s one of the things Chase regrets.)
She straightens her blouse and puts on her coat, then slips the signed papers into their protective envelope. Turns toward him, and this time, he returns her hug goodbye, because he has his answer now: there’s nothing unspoken crowded into the space between them and forcing them apart.
They’re in step, he realizes, probably for the first time; and it’s ironic because it’s also the last.
-
“And one-two-three and one-two-three, and one-two-three and one…”
Their instructor, Lori-a too-thin, too-perky brunette in spandex and heels that mean her feet will need surgical repair in a few years if she’s not careful-counts time over the music. Three beats to a bar for a waltz, which apparently is one less than with most dances.
They’re learning this for the wedding reception. He has his doubts it’s really necessary-if they just hold each other and sway to the music, no one will care-but Allison had suggested it, and since, if he admits it, part of him is grateful there’s going to be a wedding at all…
How hard could it be?
Harder than he’d bargained for, it turns out. The sweeping motion expected on the dance floor is nothing like he normally moves, or like the brisk efficiency of his steps in the hospital. And while he’s never thought of himself as graceful-
Well, he’s really not. And the fact he’s supposed to do a lot of this basically on tiptoe is no help; it puts him off balance.
“Ow! Robert!” Allison winces, gives him a look. “That’s the second time you’ve stepped on my foot.”
“Sorry,” he says. “But that brings us even.”
-
Back at his apartment, he microwaves a frozen entrée-takeaway would be better, if not necessarily any healthier, but it’s late and he can’t be bothered-and eats it with a glass of red wine.
He’d made a rule for himself after Mum died: never drink when depressed, or angry or anything else alcohol would be the worst kind of escape from. And besides that once, after the disaster at the confessional, he’s been careful not to break it: he’s not sure whether the same trap that caught her is in his genes or not, and it’s safer not to take the chance.
But for the first time since Allison (Cameron? Allison) left, a little wine with dinner doesn’t feel like tempting fate.
-
He and Allison, along with all the other couples, have just split up to review their steps alone: one set for the men, another for the women. He misses the companionable press of Allison’s body, which is the sole redeeming feature of this whole thing; but on the other hand, it’s a help not to worry about stepping on her toes.
Left foot forward, bring the other into line. Sidestep, feet together. Right foot back, left into line, together. Some of it’s done with his heels flat and some on his toes (that starts getting uncomfortable after a while), but although his steps aren't as fluid as they're meant to be, he can mostly keep time now. He takes that as an improvement.
“All right, everyone back together!” Lori orders, pausing the music.
Allison moves toward him and reaches with her left hand for his shoulder; he rests his right hand on her shoulder and takes her right hand with his left; takes one step forward so his hips are against hers.
The music goes back on. Her left foot bumps into his.
“You start with the right,” he says. “I lead, remember?”
“Sorry.” They wait two beats; this time she starts correctly. Except sometimes she still ends up leading with her left foot, and he has to compensate by losing step; and sometimes he starts out on the right in anticipation of her starting on the left-which is wrong, but whatever works-and she actually does start on the right.
Dancing alone is easier.
“When we do this at the wedding, do we care who leads?” she asks.
“We’ll take turns,” he says. “We are anyway, and if I lead and you follow or vice-versa, you know House will end up telling us how it’s symbolic of skewed power dynamics.”
“You just don’t want him to call you a girl if I lead,” she says.
He grins wryly. “That too.”
As it’d turned out, House had been checking into Mayfield when they’d married, and no one else cared who led or didn’t. They’d managed to keep up the waltz without mistakes for about two minutes, and then ended up just swaying together to the music.
Chase hadn’t said ‘I told you so.’
(Although he’d wanted to, just a bit.)
-
He and Allison had had a cracked foundation to start with, and if his killing Dibala hadn’t shattered it, some other, comparatively inconsequential thing would have.
So whatever else he’d done, he hadn’t been a failure as a husband.
Maybe he should have known that, since he’d seen the issues Allison was bringing into their marriage; how she’d trusted him with her body but never fully with anything else. Still, lying alone in bed, the question of whether he’d done something (or whether there’d been anything he could have done) had been hard to silence.
Now he knows they couldn’t have lasted together, and that that isn’t his fault.
It’s not the absolution he’d been seeking at the confessional that night, but it’s enough.
END.
Notes:
The title is from the King James Bible, Ecclesiastes 3:1 and 3:4: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: […] a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."
Anyone interested can refer to these helpful online videos to learn the waltz. They were invaluable to me in writing this piece.
Author: dominus_trinus (lit_luminary)
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Chase, Cameron; past Chase/Cameron.
Summary: In the past, dance lessons; in the present, forgiveness.
They separate and dress silently, because the slow rocking of bodies together had just said everything that has to be-and in addition to speaking, rather than instead of.
(They should have talked more, talked sooner. It’s one of the things Chase regrets.)
She straightens her blouse and puts on her coat, then slips the signed papers into their protective envelope. Turns toward him, and this time, he returns her hug goodbye, because he has his answer now: there’s nothing unspoken crowded into the space between them and forcing them apart.
They’re in step, he realizes, probably for the first time; and it’s ironic because it’s also the last.
-
“And one-two-three and one-two-three, and one-two-three and one…”
Their instructor, Lori-a too-thin, too-perky brunette in spandex and heels that mean her feet will need surgical repair in a few years if she’s not careful-counts time over the music. Three beats to a bar for a waltz, which apparently is one less than with most dances.
They’re learning this for the wedding reception. He has his doubts it’s really necessary-if they just hold each other and sway to the music, no one will care-but Allison had suggested it, and since, if he admits it, part of him is grateful there’s going to be a wedding at all…
How hard could it be?
Harder than he’d bargained for, it turns out. The sweeping motion expected on the dance floor is nothing like he normally moves, or like the brisk efficiency of his steps in the hospital. And while he’s never thought of himself as graceful-
Well, he’s really not. And the fact he’s supposed to do a lot of this basically on tiptoe is no help; it puts him off balance.
“Ow! Robert!” Allison winces, gives him a look. “That’s the second time you’ve stepped on my foot.”
“Sorry,” he says. “But that brings us even.”
-
Back at his apartment, he microwaves a frozen entrée-takeaway would be better, if not necessarily any healthier, but it’s late and he can’t be bothered-and eats it with a glass of red wine.
He’d made a rule for himself after Mum died: never drink when depressed, or angry or anything else alcohol would be the worst kind of escape from. And besides that once, after the disaster at the confessional, he’s been careful not to break it: he’s not sure whether the same trap that caught her is in his genes or not, and it’s safer not to take the chance.
But for the first time since Allison (Cameron? Allison) left, a little wine with dinner doesn’t feel like tempting fate.
-
He and Allison, along with all the other couples, have just split up to review their steps alone: one set for the men, another for the women. He misses the companionable press of Allison’s body, which is the sole redeeming feature of this whole thing; but on the other hand, it’s a help not to worry about stepping on her toes.
Left foot forward, bring the other into line. Sidestep, feet together. Right foot back, left into line, together. Some of it’s done with his heels flat and some on his toes (that starts getting uncomfortable after a while), but although his steps aren't as fluid as they're meant to be, he can mostly keep time now. He takes that as an improvement.
“All right, everyone back together!” Lori orders, pausing the music.
Allison moves toward him and reaches with her left hand for his shoulder; he rests his right hand on her shoulder and takes her right hand with his left; takes one step forward so his hips are against hers.
The music goes back on. Her left foot bumps into his.
“You start with the right,” he says. “I lead, remember?”
“Sorry.” They wait two beats; this time she starts correctly. Except sometimes she still ends up leading with her left foot, and he has to compensate by losing step; and sometimes he starts out on the right in anticipation of her starting on the left-which is wrong, but whatever works-and she actually does start on the right.
Dancing alone is easier.
“When we do this at the wedding, do we care who leads?” she asks.
“We’ll take turns,” he says. “We are anyway, and if I lead and you follow or vice-versa, you know House will end up telling us how it’s symbolic of skewed power dynamics.”
“You just don’t want him to call you a girl if I lead,” she says.
He grins wryly. “That too.”
As it’d turned out, House had been checking into Mayfield when they’d married, and no one else cared who led or didn’t. They’d managed to keep up the waltz without mistakes for about two minutes, and then ended up just swaying together to the music.
Chase hadn’t said ‘I told you so.’
(Although he’d wanted to, just a bit.)
-
He and Allison had had a cracked foundation to start with, and if his killing Dibala hadn’t shattered it, some other, comparatively inconsequential thing would have.
So whatever else he’d done, he hadn’t been a failure as a husband.
Maybe he should have known that, since he’d seen the issues Allison was bringing into their marriage; how she’d trusted him with her body but never fully with anything else. Still, lying alone in bed, the question of whether he’d done something (or whether there’d been anything he could have done) had been hard to silence.
Now he knows they couldn’t have lasted together, and that that isn’t his fault.
It’s not the absolution he’d been seeking at the confessional that night, but it’s enough.
END.
Notes:
The title is from the King James Bible, Ecclesiastes 3:1 and 3:4: "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: […] a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."
Anyone interested can refer to these helpful online videos to learn the waltz. They were invaluable to me in writing this piece.