Beyond the Cocoon
Summary: Cameron's thoughts on her marriage from "The Tyrant" (6x04) up through "Brave Heart" (6x06).
Rating: PG
Word Count: 728 ficlet (one shot).
Disclaimer: I'm weird, not crazy.
A/N: I wrote this because I can't get the image of Cameron waking up to find Chase not there out of my head.
Lately, trying to talk to Chase is like trying to crack a government code.
She knows he’s hiding something from her, that much is certain, and it’s ruining the intimacy that should be between them. They’re recently married, they have their own apartment, and for all reasonable prospects this should bring them closer; instead, it feels as though they’re further apart.
On more than one occasion, she’s woken up alone in what should be a bed made for two. When she walks through the house searching for Chase it seems as though she’s intruding on someone else’s private life instead of her own. She’s searching for someone who isn’t there---or someone that she thought she knew, but really doesn’t, and perhaps never did.
She’s caught him more than once looking at her when he thinks she’s not looking, with eyes wide and round as acorns, looking as though he’s yearning to bare his soul but doesn’t have the nerve to. This nonverbal interaction has become routine, as he’s been lying to her almost constantly, for days on end now---it’s been weeks even. She knows enough to realize that it’s somehow connected to the Dibala case, and that whatever it is has been eating away at him---but it seems as though it’s more than the usual amount of guilt he should be feeling, that comes naturally from losing a patient. He’s withdrawing from her more and more and she feels as though everything’s slipping away.
Then one night he comes home drunk---it’s not just the swagger of his walk or the slur in his voice, she can smell the alcohol on his breath and his clothes, and it makes her want to burst into tears---instead, she retreats to her bedroom, and simply closes the door. She sits on the bed, feeling numb, because they’ve come so far together and now he’s ruining it, and she doesn’t know why…it’s almost as though he believes this is what marriage is. How can that be? she asks herself, more desperate than she’s ever been for an answer. They were the happiest newlyweds she’s ever known; they went to Cancun for their honeymoon, and made sweet love every day in the bungalow on the beach. They even made love in the sand, as the waves tickled their feet. She misses that now.
She can hear him in the shower, washing the stink off himself as though it will make a difference; and then the water’s shut off too soon---and before she can protest he snuggles up next to her, trying to kiss her. He’s still drunk and will probably have quite a hangover in the morning. She wonders if he remembers at all what it was like living with a drunk, as his mother was, and died from it. She doesn’t want that to be his fate…and it terrifies her to think he’s oblivious to the fact that it can happen to anyone; that he isn’t as invincible as he seems to believe.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her ear when she pulls abruptly away. “What can I do?”
She wants to say: Just tell me what’s wrong. I know there’s something going on with you and I know that you’re keeping it from me. Whatever it is, is it important enough to spoil all that we’ve worked for? To ruin a marriage; to sabotage a great thing? You’re like a stranger to me…a stranger…I don’t even know who you are anymore.
She doesn’t say this, however; instead, she can’t stand the silence any longer that seems to engulf them like a vacuum and before she can stop herself she starts to cry. He holds her tenderly in the dark but his skin feels like slime. “I’m sorry, love, please, talk to me,” he says, and she hates that he thinks it’s she who should be talking, when he’s the one who’s been mercilessly pulling away. She wants to hate him, but she doesn’t have the nerve. He’s her husband now and she doesn’t want to let go.
So instead of talking she just cries. He winds up falling asleep listening to her quiet sobs, and soon she cries herself to sleep. This doesn’t feel like love anymore, is her last thought as she slips off into grateful oblivion. It doesn’t feel like a marriage. It feels like death.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 728 ficlet (one shot).
Disclaimer: I'm weird, not crazy.
A/N: I wrote this because I can't get the image of Cameron waking up to find Chase not there out of my head.
Lately, trying to talk to Chase is like trying to crack a government code.
She knows he’s hiding something from her, that much is certain, and it’s ruining the intimacy that should be between them. They’re recently married, they have their own apartment, and for all reasonable prospects this should bring them closer; instead, it feels as though they’re further apart.
On more than one occasion, she’s woken up alone in what should be a bed made for two. When she walks through the house searching for Chase it seems as though she’s intruding on someone else’s private life instead of her own. She’s searching for someone who isn’t there---or someone that she thought she knew, but really doesn’t, and perhaps never did.
She’s caught him more than once looking at her when he thinks she’s not looking, with eyes wide and round as acorns, looking as though he’s yearning to bare his soul but doesn’t have the nerve to. This nonverbal interaction has become routine, as he’s been lying to her almost constantly, for days on end now---it’s been weeks even. She knows enough to realize that it’s somehow connected to the Dibala case, and that whatever it is has been eating away at him---but it seems as though it’s more than the usual amount of guilt he should be feeling, that comes naturally from losing a patient. He’s withdrawing from her more and more and she feels as though everything’s slipping away.
Then one night he comes home drunk---it’s not just the swagger of his walk or the slur in his voice, she can smell the alcohol on his breath and his clothes, and it makes her want to burst into tears---instead, she retreats to her bedroom, and simply closes the door. She sits on the bed, feeling numb, because they’ve come so far together and now he’s ruining it, and she doesn’t know why…it’s almost as though he believes this is what marriage is. How can that be? she asks herself, more desperate than she’s ever been for an answer. They were the happiest newlyweds she’s ever known; they went to Cancun for their honeymoon, and made sweet love every day in the bungalow on the beach. They even made love in the sand, as the waves tickled their feet. She misses that now.
She can hear him in the shower, washing the stink off himself as though it will make a difference; and then the water’s shut off too soon---and before she can protest he snuggles up next to her, trying to kiss her. He’s still drunk and will probably have quite a hangover in the morning. She wonders if he remembers at all what it was like living with a drunk, as his mother was, and died from it. She doesn’t want that to be his fate…and it terrifies her to think he’s oblivious to the fact that it can happen to anyone; that he isn’t as invincible as he seems to believe.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her ear when she pulls abruptly away. “What can I do?”
She wants to say: Just tell me what’s wrong. I know there’s something going on with you and I know that you’re keeping it from me. Whatever it is, is it important enough to spoil all that we’ve worked for? To ruin a marriage; to sabotage a great thing? You’re like a stranger to me…a stranger…I don’t even know who you are anymore.
She doesn’t say this, however; instead, she can’t stand the silence any longer that seems to engulf them like a vacuum and before she can stop herself she starts to cry. He holds her tenderly in the dark but his skin feels like slime. “I’m sorry, love, please, talk to me,” he says, and she hates that he thinks it’s she who should be talking, when he’s the one who’s been mercilessly pulling away. She wants to hate him, but she doesn’t have the nerve. He’s her husband now and she doesn’t want to let go.
So instead of talking she just cries. He winds up falling asleep listening to her quiet sobs, and soon she cries herself to sleep. This doesn’t feel like love anymore, is her last thought as she slips off into grateful oblivion. It doesn’t feel like a marriage. It feels like death.