001

[worksmart]

[Accidental Voice;]

I don't know what the problem is with the carpet, it's got a blood stain trapped in it not a fragment of his soul. Cuddy should tell him she incinerated it, see what he does then. In fact, why wasn't it incinerated?

Foreman? Foreman.Great. I shouldn't have switched my damn service. Can you hear me now? No, obviously not,

Comments

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

And the vulnerability is gone as he turns toward the movement, caught in the corner of his eye. The facade goes up like the flick of a switch, and if he can't quite pull off confident right now, he can at least give stable the old college try. He's already let the mask drop too far for comfort in front of House, and House can see through him anyway.

Cameron. Again, that jolt of the familiar is warming and jarring all at once. Seeing her reminds him of where he should be; it's like looking at a daisy in the desert, ordinary but out of place. Everything about this is impossible. She's wearing monochrome shades that suit her but aren't quite right.

He pushes his hands back through his hair and nods, walking over and keeping an awkward distance as he passes into the lobby. He'd like to ask to touch her, the way he rubbed brick dust between his fingers a minute ago. He'd like to take her pulse. The only human contact since he got here has been the sharp end of a cane, and short of skin to skin it's so easy to believe all these sensations could be fake. Whether his mind could create the image of life in the warmth of another person's touch is a totally different question, not to mention one that would go down like a lead balloon if he actually asked her.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, out of sight and mind. For the moment, there's nothing glib to say. "Hey. Thank you."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

There was (or, there will be,) a time when she would let him; but not today, and at least he has the good grace to know that. He does win a rare smile, though-- an I've been in your position kind of expression-- as he passes by.

"It's no problem," she assures him, letting the door close behind them and taking the lead, walking towards the elevator. At least the City is as close to normal as it gets, today; no one spouting obscene pick-up lines, no ravenous monsters slithering through the drains and streets. She gestures him into the car when it comes, and slips in, pressing the button.

"Have you read the guide, at all?" She's willing to bet he hasn't, but one never knows. And that's what passes for small talk, with new arrivals; a safer topic than anything else that comes to mind. You can't be mad at people for things they have yet to do, after all-- a conclusion she came to some time ago, after thoroughly bewildering Wilson.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

She's much prettier when she smiles than wearing the tight, pinched expression that the stress of the job means he's more used to. House has mentioned before now that she could have been a model, and Chase disagrees. He's dated women who could have been models and Cameron is self possessed in all the wrong ways, wound up tight enough to snap.

He's seen her unravel, too, and knows well enough that he shouldn't have taken advantage of it. He's pretty sure that she called him to come over knowing he was the only one who would. It's the closest to abuse he's ever come, and there were reasons he made a point of nipping the bud from the stem as fast as he could the next day. Whether she'd have asked him again is moot - he needed to say no before he forgot the word all over again.

It still didn't suck, and he lets himself watch her as they both board the elevator. Technically it's the first time in her apartment since. It's almost distracting enough to keep him from analysing the situation for meaning. This isn't real, Chase.

"I looked at the map." he offers, still bemused by how many people expected him to sit down with a file of paperwork immediately after arriving in cloud cuckooland. Way too much like work for comfort. "And I heard enough about the guides from the people telling me to look at them. You never get a full history from the casefile, you know that."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

"They'll give you a decent idea of what to expect, though." Not a thorough preparation; no one understands until their first curse... or perhaps the day after. She saw several before being afflicted, and somehow the experience isn't the same-- watching other people making fools of themselves is one thing, but waking up to realize you gave someone you like and respect a black eye...

This place is real enough to bruise, real enough that she is already hating herself, a little, for offering him somewhere to stay. Which she knows is silly; because Chase will behave himself, and she will behave herself, and it's not as though this is an unusual arrangement in general. Strange for her, yes; she's lived alone for some time, in spite of the disadvantages that come with doing so.

But she doesn't have many secrets, here; House knows more than Chase knows of his future, and others have heard bits and pieces thanks to curses, and she has to wonder whether anyone will make Assumptions. Which she resents-- not because (as she has sometimes claimed) she dislikes Chase, but because she doesn't. Their arrangement had meant that she could have everything she wanted without owing anything, without needing to say anything she didn't want to. There are aspects of it she misses, but she doesn't need anyone imagining that she's fallen into his arms, or anyone's.

She steps out first when the elevator stops, shoulder brushing his lightly as she reaches for her keys. "I have a cat, I hope that doesn't bother you."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

They both live alone, at home. Them and House, and Foreman, and just about everybody Chase knows on last name, no prefix terms. Work is ridiculous, and the number of hours of free time they get for a social life versus the number of people willing to be understanding about 3am call outs and full nights spent running lab tests that only ever seem to prove what someone's not dying from don't even out to such great odds. None of them even have family in the area - always a blessing to him, but stranger in other cases, and it's left them, particularly the three of them with this odd, frustratingly incestuous bond.

He hates not being able to breathe without somebody else knowing about it, and he doesn't like either of them at least seventy percent of the time, but shared experience is better than being completely alone.

And that, if questioned, is the reason he'll give for looking so pathetically grateful as she nudges against him. He leans in slightly to stay with her as she moves. "I like cats." This doesn't stop his eyebrows raising closer to his hairline, "I didn't know you did. Doesn't it shed on your things? Or shred them?"

He's always suspected a compulsion for cleanliness about her, to match the neatness she tries to apply to an increasingly chaotic life. Whether this glimpse into her living space is going to give him any clues, or simply reflect his own opinions about her, is the matter for debate.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

She takes a breath as she unlocks her door, uneasy about sharing space. She hasn't lived with anyone in a long time; has spent the night with people-- with Chase, in fact-- but that isn't the same thing, because someone always leaves in the morning and the quiet sanctity of a one-person apartment returns. She likes having her distance; doesn't expect that she will ever be comfortable enough with anyone, again, to change that fact.

"She's pretty well trained. I don't have a roommate, and having a pet around helps with the ticking." Has he noticed that, yet? Probably, unless he's been lucky enough to stick to a crowd. She hates talking about it, because although she knows it's real, it still sounds like the product of a deranged mind. Cameron had considered finding someone to split the rent for that very reason-- in fact, her apartment has a second bedroom, though it's unfurnished, which is why Chase will be relegated to the couch anyway. But the possibilities of curses, combined with the inherent awkwardness of finding a stranger to move in with her, had caused her to abandon the idea.

The apartment is, in fact, surprisingly clean, though not to the point of sterility. It's perhaps more comfortable, more welcoming than he'd have expected from her living space. There is a little cat hair, here and there (and perhaps under the edges of the furniture traces of another kind of hair, missed in her cleaning, though that's a horror story for another day. The same goes for the bathroom door, which looks as though it's been recently replaced.)

She steps further in to the room, putting some space between them. "Here we are." Being on familiar ground doesn't do much to calm her nerves.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

Wheras Chase relaxes with the click of the latch. It's just an apartment, like any Princeton apartment, with nothing to scream at him that somewhere his proper senses have been mislaid. Sure, ignoring his problems isn't going to mean they're not still waiting outside the door, but he's damned if he's not glad to put all immediate reminders aside.

Though, he looks back over his shoulder at her as she mentions the clock. The ticking is almost imperceptible now, but still things are reminding him. "What do you think it's counting down to?"

He heads for the couch, making a cursory examination of the apartment's main room. True to form, it's near enough what he'd have imagined she'd pick, with enough echoes of the old place to suggest he could be embellishing on a memory. "Nice place. Does your cat have a name?"

He's caught a furry blur skitting between table legs, and crouches to call to it with that odd squeaking noise animals seem to like. "Here puss. Puss."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

It's nice to have some familiarity in this insanity-- she was just thinking of that, the other day. The layout is different, but the style is in fact quite similar-- warm, subdued colors; pretty but somewhat abstract photos scattered on the walls, although there's one unobtrusive and unlikely old wedding photograph nestled on a shelf.

"She answers to Gray," replies Cameron with a wry little shrug. It's a rather uncreative choice, she knows; but the cat doesn't seem to mind. The white and gray animal slips out from beneath the furniture, walking slowly over to Chase with calculated feline arrogance to sniff his shoes and perhaps deign to be petted. Cameron has to admit it's hard not to be amused at her colleague right now, his careful airs forgotten as he bends to make friends. He can be unintentionally charming, when he's not being an intentional jackass.

"I think the clock is... there to scare us, honestly. To keep us guessing, and force us to be sociable."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

"You're obviously taking the sociability to heart. No time to clear up after the last wild party?" Sarcasm; why yes, he is starting to feel a little more like himself.

A softer tone is reserved for the little animal, scooped up easily and flipped onto her back in the crook of one of Chase's arms. He buries his fingers in the white fluff of her stomach and smiles to himself as the purr rises to a crescendo. Under his fingertips is warm, vibrant life. "Aren't you beautiful? Sorry, sweetheart, I think I've shown up to steal your sleeping space."

They let pets visit the pediatrics ward sometimes, for strict supervised play with the kids. Medical science hasn't gotten around to the whys and wherefores just yet, but there's clinical evidence that petting something cute and fluffy is better than beating the crap out of a stress ball to help the average person relax.

Chase exhales some of the tension from his shoulders and settles onto the couch, still cradling Cameron's unexpected pet.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

"You have no idea," she replies with a smirk, though it's clearly at her own expense. So she's been a bit of a hermit; pleasing the Deities is hardly her number one priority. She has friends, even if she's not always out and about with them; she's as content with her situation as one can be, trapped in another universe.

Cameron settles in a chair, legs crossed at the ankles, watching Chase and the cat. She's surprised herself at how much she likes having a cat, really, in spite of the litterbox and the occasional claw-marks on the sofa. Even though her coworker is holding the cat, she feels more relaxed as well; whatever tension she might have anticipated is absent, at least for the moment. And it's nice to see Chase's softer side, even if he's being a smartass vocally.

"You two seem to be getting along well."

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

Chase likes cats, likes animals in general. He's thought about getting one, except his schedule means he'd get to feed the thing maybe three days out of seven, and while felines have a reputation for independence he somehow doubts it extends to opening their own tins.

This one, almost on cue, picks the moment of Cameron's comment to wriggle out of his arms and claw its way up the arm of his suit jacket, stalking assertively along the back of the couch behind where they're sitting. He turns enough to narrow one eye at it. "We haven't had to fight each other for the best spot, yet."

There's a grin reserved for Cameron, and for once it's not smart, or smug, or knowing. He curls his hand against his chin, edging the tip of his little finger into the corner of his mouth and biting down thoughtfully.

"What do you wish someone would have told you, the day you got here?"

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

"I'm sure you'll come to some agreement."

She pauses to consider his question; it's a good one, and there's no simple answer. There's a certain amount of 'standard' advice one is given upon arriving; not that it isn't helpful, but there is no teacher like experience. And of course, the City thrives on subverting any sense of normality. Which is why it's so frustrating; becoming accustomed to something nearly guarantees a change.

"Not to form any expectations, maybe." She tilts her head a little, remembering her first days here. The misleading sense that she understood, based only on observation and hearsay, and how mortified she was to be proven wrong.

"I would have liked some proof that it was all real, but of course that's impossible." Since if it wasn't, if it was all in her head, she'd only be supplying her own evidence. Offhandedly she wonders whether he believes it, yet. It hardly seems real to her-- their conversation is far too comfortable.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

Of course he doesn't believe it. He doesn't believe anything about this place is what it claims to be, but he's picked up enough tricks from House over his four year fellowship. He's conversing with the problem and, at some point, he's going to catch it in a lie. For now, there's no harm in lulling it into a false sense of security.

"There's never any proof something is real. I don't mean to sound like something out of a Keanu Reeves movie, but there isn't. We all see colours, but our retinas perceive the spectrum slightly differently in every case. Blue through your eyes might not seem like real blue to me." He leans forward, hands on his knees, arguing the point as though it was competing for space on the whiteboard.

"We build our own reality based on our expectations. The trouble being that our subconscious knows that, too." Which is why, in an apparently random collection of the flotsam and jetsam from multiple universes, somehow he's sharing space with a work colleague. It's all about incorporating the familiar.

He's on his feet in a sudden burst of nervous energy, heading for what he expects to be her kitchen. "You've got coffee?"

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

"Exactly," she replies with a slight nod. When the City's suspect reality conforms to your expectations, it validates the theory that it doesn't exist; when it defies them, it's a manifestation of the deviance from expectation that you'd expect from a hallucination trying to convince you of its reality.

Cameron watches him leave, stands after a moment to trail after him. The kitchen is where he thinks it should be, but that's less a matter of dream logic than building logic-- there aren't that many reasonable ways to lay out an apartment, after all. "I do." It's hazelnut-spice, but beggars can't be choosers, Chase. She reaches into a cabinet to get the grounds, and hands him the bag.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[worksmart]

Sooner or later it will occur to him that he is a beggar, here. Homeless, penniless, not even a change of clothes on hand. He's been working on not resenting having to downsize the skiing holidays since his inheritance was summarily severed, but this is something else entirely. He's never had to start from scratch.

So he takes the bag, heats the kettle, rifles her cupboards without asking and sets out two mugs. So far, so mechanical.

As he waits for the water to boil, though, he finds himself stealing backward glances. It's not subtle, and so eventually he turns, leaning back against the counter to watch her. "Cameron-"

He's cut himself off almost before starting, because there isn't a way to phrase this. There's just movement, unexpectedly quick, and he's resting one hand on her shoulder, the other pressing two fingers firmly to the pulse at her throat. He doesn't drop his gaze as he times it, thinking how warm her skin is. Wondering if his hand will come away with fragments of her scent.

And then he's satisfied, or the urge is, and he turns away again. Pours two cups of something mingling bitter aroma with sweetness and spice. If he's lucky, maybe neither of them have to say a word.

[days go by, still i think of you]

[as_damaged]

Well, watched pots never boil. She's aware of his eyes and tries not to react, watching his hands, his actions, instead of meeting his gaze. This isn't so bad. It's just common City courtesy, generosity; Cameron knows she doesn't have to feel strange, that her motives are only suspect if she lets them seem that way. She stayed with House, and no one thought it odd.

She freezes as he touches her, spine straight and chin lifted slightly, surprised by the unexpected contact. For a second she's expecting something else; and in a way this is almost worse, because she's certain her body is betraying her, the beat of blood beneath his fingers no doubt faster than it ought to be, standing there with his hand on her shoulder.

Chase turns away. She places her hand on the counter, palm flat-- not steadying, but grounding herself. This is her kitchen, her home; she's on her own turf. The air is cool against her skin where his fingers lay, and Cameron resists the urge to raise her own hand to the spot. As though he'd left some mark she might brush away. Mere product of an overactive imagination.

But she understands; or at least, she can guess, and slides the sugar bowl across the counter without a word. No smile for him this time, but no reproach, either.