"Clockwatching" (4/6) - Hiatus Fic
TITLE: Clockwatching (4/6)
AUTHOR: mae_vaughan
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Chase/Cameron
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: "Time is too slow for those who wait; too swift for those who fear; too long for those who grieve; too short for those who rejoice. But for those who love, time is eternity." - Henry Van Dyke
NOTES: Thanks for the continued support. I hope to have another chapter up before the end of the week, but I make no promises :) Beta'd by enigma731.
PREVIOUS: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four
December 25th - Christmas Day
10:17AM
“Cameron, what are you doing?”
At the sound of Foreman’s concerned voice, she momentarily freezes in place before lowering the clipboard in her hands and turning to face him.
“Working,” she tells him, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world and he’s a complete idiot for asking.
“I can see that,” Foreman responds evenly, eyeing her with uncertainty as she turns again and continues along her path across the ER, forcing him to follow if he has any intention of getting some real answers. “But why? It’s Christmas Day. You’re not on the schedule. And you said you were going home to get some sleep.”
“I did,” Cameron replies distractedly, ducking into the supply closet where she begins to casually take an inventory. “And now I’m working.”
Foreman hesitates only briefly before saying what’s on his mind. “Because it’s easier than dealing with Chase?”
“Because we’re busy.” Cameron turns completely away from Foreman, giving the impression that she’s detailing the collection of spare scrubs on the shelves.
“Yeah,” Foreman replies dryly, glancing around the ghostly-quiet ER and taking note of the nurses happily gossiping behind the desk. “It’s a nightmare in here. I’m surprised you even have time for an inventory count.”
Cameron sighs heavily but still doesn’t look up from her notes. “We’ll be flooded soon. Holiday dinners are about to start. Turkey-carving fiascoes are inevitable.”
“Okay. So, then, what’s with the get-up?” he questions pointedly, eyes traveling up and down her well-dressed form.
The distraught and exhausted look of an anxious girlfriend that he saw less than twelve hours ago - clean scrubs, wet hair pulled back, no makeup - has now been replaced with one of Cameron’s classic pantsuits and a colorful blouse, her hair perfectly curled and pulled away from her face with two stylish, bejeweled clips. Her makeup looks as if she’s about attend a cocktail party as opposed to working an unscheduled shift in the ER, and the stiletto heels that adorn her feet are nothing if not completely impractical for a day in the pit. The oversized navy-blue fleece that she refused to part with all night has noticeably disappeared, now replaced by her crisp, white lab coat instead. Something is wrong here, Foreman knows. Something more than the news of Chase’s condition. He’s completely at a loss for what that something might be, though.
“What?” Cameron answers, digging through a stack of emesis basins and attempting to keep count as she talks. “I can’t wake up in the morning and decide that I actually want to look like a woman for a change?”
“Sure. But I still don’t understand what you’re doing down here.”
“There was nothing else to do, so I picked up a shift.” Cameron still hasn’t made eye contact since entering the supply closet, maintaining a deep focus on her inventory work to keep Foreman from getting a good look at what’s really going on beyond the façade.
“Right,” Foreman scoffs. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend lying comatose in the ICU. Makes perfect sense that you would spend the day working instead of upstairs making sure he’s okay.”
Cameron simply shrugs her shoulders, jotting down a notation on her clipboard. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Excuse me? It sure looked like it mattered a whole hell of a lot yesterday!”
“That was different,” Cameron calmly replies, turning her attention to the boxes of latex gloves.
“How was it different?” Foreman is digging for the answer now, certain she’s hiding the truth beneath this mask of denial.
“It just was, okay?”
“Then explain it me, because I’m having a hard time understanding how you can suddenly act so careless about the man you love when - ”
“No, I don’t!” Cameron interrupts forcefully, finally spinning to look Foreman dead in the face. “I don’t love him. He’s just… he’s Chase. He’s a friend, yeah, but - but it was never that serious.”
Foreman’s eyes widen in shock at her explanation, disbelieving his own ears. “You actually expect me to buy that? You two have been nearly inseparable for over a year.”
“So?” She’s staring him down now, challenging him to push her further and to question her resolve. “We had fun. It was a warm body to hold onto at night. You’re the one who told me that a relationship like that is better than being alone.”
“True,” Foreman jumps back in without hesitation, “but you’re full of shit if you think anyone who’s seen the two of you is ever going to believe that’s all it is. Was. Whatever you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“Look, Foreman, I get that you’re just doing your job, or looking out for me, or whatever, but - Chase is in a coma. The end. I did my part as the crying girlfriend all night, but now - now I really have work to do.”
She turns away from him again quickly, staring down at the clipboard and inhaling so slowly that Foreman almost doesn’t notice. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Allison Cameron is incapable of not caring, and that she is most certainly existing under an umbrella of complete denial in order to survive this tragedy, but he isn’t about to let it continue.
“Okay, then. Fine. If that’s really the way you feel, then I’ll go back upstairs and tell them to take him off life support. I mean, since it is officially your call, and all.”
“What?” Cameron spins again so forcefully that she almost trips over her own feet this time, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“HR pulled his living will. He listed you as his medical proxy. And if you’re saying this coma is the end, then,” Foreman slowly turns and takes a few steps away, “I guess that’s all there is to it. We’ll let him go.”
“Wait!” Cameron shouts, voice cracking in the process, and when Foreman turns to look at her once more he is met with the sight of the woman he saw the night before. Eyes already welling up with tears, Cameron pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and takes a few steps forward to reach Foreman again. “He - he really did that? Made me his proxy, I mean? He never told - when did he - is it legal?”
“Yeah, completely legit.” Foreman nods confidently. “I don’t blame him. You didn’t let me down when I gave you the responsibility, and we didn’t even like each other.” He pauses momentarily to give her the shadow of a smile, then answers her one lingering question. “The papers are dated November of 2007. Seems like he had a lot of faith in you from the start, even if you have only been using him for the companionship.”
Cameron’s eyes squeeze shut and she dips her head in shame, shaking it tightly back and forth. “I didn’t - I’m just - I couldn’t sleep. I kept having this nightmare and he - it was his funeral, and I was supposed to give the - the eulogy, but I couldn’t…” She stops, rubbing a hand over her face and tilting it up to look toward the ceiling. “I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think and - and then he was there, and my husband was there, but they were both still dead and… I just kept waking up screaming, crying so hard that I couldn’t - ”
“I get it,” Foreman assures her quietly, but the tense stance of his body tells her that she’s made him slightly uncomfortable with so many details of her psyche. “But Chase isn’t dead, Cameron. Not unless you decide that he is.”
“I know,” she whispers, a tear finally trickling from her eye, “but I just - I got so scared, and I didn’t want to feel that kind of pain again. It was bad enough when I lost my husband, and this is…” She can’t bring herself to tell Foreman that losing Chase would be even worse; that her love for her late husband doesn’t even compare, and therefore this current tragedy strikes a much deeper chord within her heart. “I just - I finally figured… maybe if I got back into my routine - focused on my looks and my work and any-anything other than the possibility of - but, don’t. Don’t give up on him.”
“Cameron, you’re the one who has to decide whether or not to give up on him. I know it’s hard, but his life is literally in your hands now.” Foreman gazes at her, awaiting any sign of a reaction, before turning again to walk away as he finishes. “We can’t do anything without your permission, so come back upstairs whenever you decide to act like his girlfriend again.”
“Foreman?” she calls out, voice still strained with pent-up tears. “What’s his status? I mean - how bad?”
Foreman turns to face her, sighing deeply. “He’s a GCS-3,” he says gently, knowing the news will break her heart even further. Cameron doesn’t have to be a well-trained neurologist to know that it’s the worst score a patient can receive on the Glasgow Coma Scale, and he had been hoping she wouldn’t even ask. Now he has to face the possibility of Cameron as an even more desperate emotional wreck, and Foreman’s spent years trying to avoid dealing with that very aspect of her personality.
To his surprise, though, she doesn’t fall apart. Instead, Cameron merely exhales raggedly and swipes two more tears away from her cheeks. “He’s still not responding at all?”
“No. We’re still testing him every half-hour, but there’s been no change.”
Cameron pulls her arms across her chest, gripping the clipboard and looking entirely helpless. No matter what kind of past they’ve had together, Foreman knows she is a genuine friend and he can’t help but empathize with her in this moment. Chase’s chances of waking up - of surviving - lessen more and more with each passing hour, and Foreman wishes there was something he could do to promise her a joyful outcome. In lieu of that option, though, he does the only thing he knows for sure will matter to a person like Cameron. Taking a few slow steps forward, Foreman opens himself to her and wraps the broken woman in his embrace.
Tears now flowing onto Foreman’s scrubs, Cameron allows herself a brief moment of comfort in being held before finally stepping back, wiping her eyes, and meeting Foreman’s again with a look of absolute determination.
“I want to see him.”
-------------------------
11:06AM
The hallways of the ICU are nearly silent, save for the constant chirping of machines from open doorways and the soft murmurs of hospital staff discussing patient care with family members who look just as desperate as Cameron feels. She barely notices any of her surroundings, though, as her gaze remains focused on the steady rise and fall of Chase’s chest on the other side of the glass. He looks peaceful, she thinks, as if he’s merely sleeping. And, in some ways, he is. Except that this is the kind of sleep he may never awake from, and the consistent breathing movements from his body are the effects of a machine-operated ventilator - not the strength of his severely weakened lungs.
“What’s the good word?” comes the unmistakable voice of House from several feet behind where Cameron stands beside Foreman outside of Chase’s room.
She sighs heavily at his sudden presence, and Foreman immediately turns to run interference. “No change, House,” he states firmly, a warning glare upon his face. “She just found out about the proxy duties, so this really isn’t a great time for you to - ”
“Relax,” House interjects calmly. “I promise I’ll play nice. Scouts honor,” he finishes, eyes wide with pseudo-innocence and hand raised in a perfect display of the Boy Scout pledge symbol.
A tight-lipped, barely-audible scoff escapes from Cameron, who still hasn’t looked away from the sight through the glass, but she makes no outright protest to House’s interest in Chase’s condition. She’s too preoccupied with the responsibility that now rests on her shoulders to care much at all about what House may think or say, and, in truth, she’s simply too far past the point of exhaustion to fight back.
Foreman’s shoulders drop slightly in resignation, deciding to give House what he wants. “Like I said, there’s no change. I just did another round of response tests a few minutes ago, and he’s at the bare minimum of involuntary reactions.”
“Still GCS-3, then,” House states in understanding, and Foreman is shocked but slightly relieved at the compassionate tone he hears.
“He gets any worse, he’ll be brain dead.” The comment rolls off of Cameron’s tongue with such professionalism and ease that both Foreman and House find themselves gawking at her briefly, but are reassured of her emotional attachment as soon as her eyes shut tightly and a tear escapes from behind the lids.
“Foreman, you know,” House suddenly starts again, slicing through the tension, “there was a note for you in the office that one of your trial patients called. You should probably go take care of that.”
“I didn’t get a page,” Foreman responds, clearly disbelieving, suspicious that House is merely attempting to get rid of him for a while. “And my trial patients don’t have the number for your office.”
House rolls his eyes dramatically and leans even more fully onto his cane. “Would you just get out of here? I’m not gonna piss her off!”
Foreman glances back at Cameron, but she doesn’t even blink, seemingly lost in a daze of overwhelming thoughts.
“Cameron?”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, proving that she actually has been paying attention.
“You gonna be okay if I leave you here with him?”
She nods silently, but Foreman still hesitates for several seconds before finally taking his leave once House begins to tap out an impatient rhythm with his cane. House waits until Foreman has rounded the corner and been out of sight for at least twenty full seconds before making a move, but eventually he sidles up shoulder-to-shoulder with Cameron at the glass.
“So,” he breathes out quietly, “what are you gonna do?”
Cameron gives a tiny, slow shrug in response, her lips pressed together in an exaggerated pout. “Nothing. Keep waiting, I guess.”
“Chase wouldn’t hate you if you decide to let him go. He’s always believed in euthanasia.” House watches her intently, extremely curious about the emotional connections taking place within her mind.
“Chase isn’t as one-dimensional and cold as he tried to make you believe back then, House. Don’t assume you know what he would or wouldn’t hate me for.” Cameron shakes her head in aggravated amusement, eyes momentarily looking down to the floor before she continues. “He would never - if I was the one lying in that bed right now, I have to believe that he would never do that to me when there’s still a chance.”
House turns his attention to Chase’s comatose, unresponsive form and releases a heavy sigh. “The odds on that chance are pretty slim.”
“I don’t care!” Cameron replies vehemently. “Unless he gets worse - unless he’s… legally brain dead - no one is touching him!”
“Not even you, apparently.” Cameron eyes him in confusion, her focus leaving Chase’s form for the first time, until House explains. “You’re still standing here. You’re not in there with him, nagging him incessantly to wake up.”
“They still won’t let anyone sit with him,” she whispers tiredly, gaze trailing back to the glass that separates her from where she truly wishes to be.
House nods slowly in understanding and shifts his weight from the cane to his good leg, leaning just a tiny bit further into Cameron’s personal space. “You know the protocol. Antibiotics should run the course within another day or two.”
“I know.” Cameron nods tersely, another tear dropping from her cheek. “And I know he’ll come out of it, no matter what the rest of you think. I just… I just want to go in there, hold his hand, close my eyes and make it so that none of this ever even happened. I just want to go back to yesterday and get the Christmas that Chase and I were so - ” Cameron stops mid-sentence and exhales heavily, remembering whom she’s talking to and realizing that he probably doesn’t care. “This just - this is so far from what I wanted to be doing today.”
Studying her profile in silence for nearly an entire minute, House turns to look at Chase again and finds himself honestly wishing there was something he could do to change the fate of his two former fellows.
“I suppose that’s why life’s such a total bitch,” he says at last, shifting his weight again and turning to walk away. “You can’t always get what you want.”
AUTHOR: mae_vaughan
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Chase/Cameron
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: "Time is too slow for those who wait; too swift for those who fear; too long for those who grieve; too short for those who rejoice. But for those who love, time is eternity." - Henry Van Dyke
NOTES: Thanks for the continued support. I hope to have another chapter up before the end of the week, but I make no promises :) Beta'd by enigma731.
PREVIOUS: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
Chapter Four
December 25th - Christmas Day
10:17AM
“Cameron, what are you doing?”
At the sound of Foreman’s concerned voice, she momentarily freezes in place before lowering the clipboard in her hands and turning to face him.
“Working,” she tells him, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world and he’s a complete idiot for asking.
“I can see that,” Foreman responds evenly, eyeing her with uncertainty as she turns again and continues along her path across the ER, forcing him to follow if he has any intention of getting some real answers. “But why? It’s Christmas Day. You’re not on the schedule. And you said you were going home to get some sleep.”
“I did,” Cameron replies distractedly, ducking into the supply closet where she begins to casually take an inventory. “And now I’m working.”
Foreman hesitates only briefly before saying what’s on his mind. “Because it’s easier than dealing with Chase?”
“Because we’re busy.” Cameron turns completely away from Foreman, giving the impression that she’s detailing the collection of spare scrubs on the shelves.
“Yeah,” Foreman replies dryly, glancing around the ghostly-quiet ER and taking note of the nurses happily gossiping behind the desk. “It’s a nightmare in here. I’m surprised you even have time for an inventory count.”
Cameron sighs heavily but still doesn’t look up from her notes. “We’ll be flooded soon. Holiday dinners are about to start. Turkey-carving fiascoes are inevitable.”
“Okay. So, then, what’s with the get-up?” he questions pointedly, eyes traveling up and down her well-dressed form.
The distraught and exhausted look of an anxious girlfriend that he saw less than twelve hours ago - clean scrubs, wet hair pulled back, no makeup - has now been replaced with one of Cameron’s classic pantsuits and a colorful blouse, her hair perfectly curled and pulled away from her face with two stylish, bejeweled clips. Her makeup looks as if she’s about attend a cocktail party as opposed to working an unscheduled shift in the ER, and the stiletto heels that adorn her feet are nothing if not completely impractical for a day in the pit. The oversized navy-blue fleece that she refused to part with all night has noticeably disappeared, now replaced by her crisp, white lab coat instead. Something is wrong here, Foreman knows. Something more than the news of Chase’s condition. He’s completely at a loss for what that something might be, though.
“What?” Cameron answers, digging through a stack of emesis basins and attempting to keep count as she talks. “I can’t wake up in the morning and decide that I actually want to look like a woman for a change?”
“Sure. But I still don’t understand what you’re doing down here.”
“There was nothing else to do, so I picked up a shift.” Cameron still hasn’t made eye contact since entering the supply closet, maintaining a deep focus on her inventory work to keep Foreman from getting a good look at what’s really going on beyond the façade.
“Right,” Foreman scoffs. “It’s not like you have a boyfriend lying comatose in the ICU. Makes perfect sense that you would spend the day working instead of upstairs making sure he’s okay.”
Cameron simply shrugs her shoulders, jotting down a notation on her clipboard. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Excuse me? It sure looked like it mattered a whole hell of a lot yesterday!”
“That was different,” Cameron calmly replies, turning her attention to the boxes of latex gloves.
“How was it different?” Foreman is digging for the answer now, certain she’s hiding the truth beneath this mask of denial.
“It just was, okay?”
“Then explain it me, because I’m having a hard time understanding how you can suddenly act so careless about the man you love when - ”
“No, I don’t!” Cameron interrupts forcefully, finally spinning to look Foreman dead in the face. “I don’t love him. He’s just… he’s Chase. He’s a friend, yeah, but - but it was never that serious.”
Foreman’s eyes widen in shock at her explanation, disbelieving his own ears. “You actually expect me to buy that? You two have been nearly inseparable for over a year.”
“So?” She’s staring him down now, challenging him to push her further and to question her resolve. “We had fun. It was a warm body to hold onto at night. You’re the one who told me that a relationship like that is better than being alone.”
“True,” Foreman jumps back in without hesitation, “but you’re full of shit if you think anyone who’s seen the two of you is ever going to believe that’s all it is. Was. Whatever you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“Look, Foreman, I get that you’re just doing your job, or looking out for me, or whatever, but - Chase is in a coma. The end. I did my part as the crying girlfriend all night, but now - now I really have work to do.”
She turns away from him again quickly, staring down at the clipboard and inhaling so slowly that Foreman almost doesn’t notice. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Allison Cameron is incapable of not caring, and that she is most certainly existing under an umbrella of complete denial in order to survive this tragedy, but he isn’t about to let it continue.
“Okay, then. Fine. If that’s really the way you feel, then I’ll go back upstairs and tell them to take him off life support. I mean, since it is officially your call, and all.”
“What?” Cameron spins again so forcefully that she almost trips over her own feet this time, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“HR pulled his living will. He listed you as his medical proxy. And if you’re saying this coma is the end, then,” Foreman slowly turns and takes a few steps away, “I guess that’s all there is to it. We’ll let him go.”
“Wait!” Cameron shouts, voice cracking in the process, and when Foreman turns to look at her once more he is met with the sight of the woman he saw the night before. Eyes already welling up with tears, Cameron pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and takes a few steps forward to reach Foreman again. “He - he really did that? Made me his proxy, I mean? He never told - when did he - is it legal?”
“Yeah, completely legit.” Foreman nods confidently. “I don’t blame him. You didn’t let me down when I gave you the responsibility, and we didn’t even like each other.” He pauses momentarily to give her the shadow of a smile, then answers her one lingering question. “The papers are dated November of 2007. Seems like he had a lot of faith in you from the start, even if you have only been using him for the companionship.”
Cameron’s eyes squeeze shut and she dips her head in shame, shaking it tightly back and forth. “I didn’t - I’m just - I couldn’t sleep. I kept having this nightmare and he - it was his funeral, and I was supposed to give the - the eulogy, but I couldn’t…” She stops, rubbing a hand over her face and tilting it up to look toward the ceiling. “I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think and - and then he was there, and my husband was there, but they were both still dead and… I just kept waking up screaming, crying so hard that I couldn’t - ”
“I get it,” Foreman assures her quietly, but the tense stance of his body tells her that she’s made him slightly uncomfortable with so many details of her psyche. “But Chase isn’t dead, Cameron. Not unless you decide that he is.”
“I know,” she whispers, a tear finally trickling from her eye, “but I just - I got so scared, and I didn’t want to feel that kind of pain again. It was bad enough when I lost my husband, and this is…” She can’t bring herself to tell Foreman that losing Chase would be even worse; that her love for her late husband doesn’t even compare, and therefore this current tragedy strikes a much deeper chord within her heart. “I just - I finally figured… maybe if I got back into my routine - focused on my looks and my work and any-anything other than the possibility of - but, don’t. Don’t give up on him.”
“Cameron, you’re the one who has to decide whether or not to give up on him. I know it’s hard, but his life is literally in your hands now.” Foreman gazes at her, awaiting any sign of a reaction, before turning again to walk away as he finishes. “We can’t do anything without your permission, so come back upstairs whenever you decide to act like his girlfriend again.”
“Foreman?” she calls out, voice still strained with pent-up tears. “What’s his status? I mean - how bad?”
Foreman turns to face her, sighing deeply. “He’s a GCS-3,” he says gently, knowing the news will break her heart even further. Cameron doesn’t have to be a well-trained neurologist to know that it’s the worst score a patient can receive on the Glasgow Coma Scale, and he had been hoping she wouldn’t even ask. Now he has to face the possibility of Cameron as an even more desperate emotional wreck, and Foreman’s spent years trying to avoid dealing with that very aspect of her personality.
To his surprise, though, she doesn’t fall apart. Instead, Cameron merely exhales raggedly and swipes two more tears away from her cheeks. “He’s still not responding at all?”
“No. We’re still testing him every half-hour, but there’s been no change.”
Cameron pulls her arms across her chest, gripping the clipboard and looking entirely helpless. No matter what kind of past they’ve had together, Foreman knows she is a genuine friend and he can’t help but empathize with her in this moment. Chase’s chances of waking up - of surviving - lessen more and more with each passing hour, and Foreman wishes there was something he could do to promise her a joyful outcome. In lieu of that option, though, he does the only thing he knows for sure will matter to a person like Cameron. Taking a few slow steps forward, Foreman opens himself to her and wraps the broken woman in his embrace.
Tears now flowing onto Foreman’s scrubs, Cameron allows herself a brief moment of comfort in being held before finally stepping back, wiping her eyes, and meeting Foreman’s again with a look of absolute determination.
“I want to see him.”
-------------------------
11:06AM
The hallways of the ICU are nearly silent, save for the constant chirping of machines from open doorways and the soft murmurs of hospital staff discussing patient care with family members who look just as desperate as Cameron feels. She barely notices any of her surroundings, though, as her gaze remains focused on the steady rise and fall of Chase’s chest on the other side of the glass. He looks peaceful, she thinks, as if he’s merely sleeping. And, in some ways, he is. Except that this is the kind of sleep he may never awake from, and the consistent breathing movements from his body are the effects of a machine-operated ventilator - not the strength of his severely weakened lungs.
“What’s the good word?” comes the unmistakable voice of House from several feet behind where Cameron stands beside Foreman outside of Chase’s room.
She sighs heavily at his sudden presence, and Foreman immediately turns to run interference. “No change, House,” he states firmly, a warning glare upon his face. “She just found out about the proxy duties, so this really isn’t a great time for you to - ”
“Relax,” House interjects calmly. “I promise I’ll play nice. Scouts honor,” he finishes, eyes wide with pseudo-innocence and hand raised in a perfect display of the Boy Scout pledge symbol.
A tight-lipped, barely-audible scoff escapes from Cameron, who still hasn’t looked away from the sight through the glass, but she makes no outright protest to House’s interest in Chase’s condition. She’s too preoccupied with the responsibility that now rests on her shoulders to care much at all about what House may think or say, and, in truth, she’s simply too far past the point of exhaustion to fight back.
Foreman’s shoulders drop slightly in resignation, deciding to give House what he wants. “Like I said, there’s no change. I just did another round of response tests a few minutes ago, and he’s at the bare minimum of involuntary reactions.”
“Still GCS-3, then,” House states in understanding, and Foreman is shocked but slightly relieved at the compassionate tone he hears.
“He gets any worse, he’ll be brain dead.” The comment rolls off of Cameron’s tongue with such professionalism and ease that both Foreman and House find themselves gawking at her briefly, but are reassured of her emotional attachment as soon as her eyes shut tightly and a tear escapes from behind the lids.
“Foreman, you know,” House suddenly starts again, slicing through the tension, “there was a note for you in the office that one of your trial patients called. You should probably go take care of that.”
“I didn’t get a page,” Foreman responds, clearly disbelieving, suspicious that House is merely attempting to get rid of him for a while. “And my trial patients don’t have the number for your office.”
House rolls his eyes dramatically and leans even more fully onto his cane. “Would you just get out of here? I’m not gonna piss her off!”
Foreman glances back at Cameron, but she doesn’t even blink, seemingly lost in a daze of overwhelming thoughts.
“Cameron?”
“It’s fine,” she whispers, proving that she actually has been paying attention.
“You gonna be okay if I leave you here with him?”
She nods silently, but Foreman still hesitates for several seconds before finally taking his leave once House begins to tap out an impatient rhythm with his cane. House waits until Foreman has rounded the corner and been out of sight for at least twenty full seconds before making a move, but eventually he sidles up shoulder-to-shoulder with Cameron at the glass.
“So,” he breathes out quietly, “what are you gonna do?”
Cameron gives a tiny, slow shrug in response, her lips pressed together in an exaggerated pout. “Nothing. Keep waiting, I guess.”
“Chase wouldn’t hate you if you decide to let him go. He’s always believed in euthanasia.” House watches her intently, extremely curious about the emotional connections taking place within her mind.
“Chase isn’t as one-dimensional and cold as he tried to make you believe back then, House. Don’t assume you know what he would or wouldn’t hate me for.” Cameron shakes her head in aggravated amusement, eyes momentarily looking down to the floor before she continues. “He would never - if I was the one lying in that bed right now, I have to believe that he would never do that to me when there’s still a chance.”
House turns his attention to Chase’s comatose, unresponsive form and releases a heavy sigh. “The odds on that chance are pretty slim.”
“I don’t care!” Cameron replies vehemently. “Unless he gets worse - unless he’s… legally brain dead - no one is touching him!”
“Not even you, apparently.” Cameron eyes him in confusion, her focus leaving Chase’s form for the first time, until House explains. “You’re still standing here. You’re not in there with him, nagging him incessantly to wake up.”
“They still won’t let anyone sit with him,” she whispers tiredly, gaze trailing back to the glass that separates her from where she truly wishes to be.
House nods slowly in understanding and shifts his weight from the cane to his good leg, leaning just a tiny bit further into Cameron’s personal space. “You know the protocol. Antibiotics should run the course within another day or two.”
“I know.” Cameron nods tersely, another tear dropping from her cheek. “And I know he’ll come out of it, no matter what the rest of you think. I just… I just want to go in there, hold his hand, close my eyes and make it so that none of this ever even happened. I just want to go back to yesterday and get the Christmas that Chase and I were so - ” Cameron stops mid-sentence and exhales heavily, remembering whom she’s talking to and realizing that he probably doesn’t care. “This just - this is so far from what I wanted to be doing today.”
Studying her profile in silence for nearly an entire minute, House turns to look at Chase again and finds himself honestly wishing there was something he could do to change the fate of his two former fellows.
“I suppose that’s why life’s such a total bitch,” he says at last, shifting his weight again and turning to walk away. “You can’t always get what you want.”