[She'd considered bringing out a bottle of wine, but decided against it. For the moment, at least; not certain what impression she wants to give, not certain why they were having dinner at all. Cameron thought herself fairly well accustomed to Chase's patterns of behavior, and somehow his call last night hadn't quite fit-- not quite business, not quite pleasure. Friendly, and not necessarily looking for anything more.]
[They were friends, of course-- sometimes less and sometimes more than that-- but Cameron isn't used to things being so simple. Maybe it's just that it's only the two of them-- maybe if Foreman were here they'd all have gone out and had a drink and chatted, and things wouldn't seem off balance. As it is, she's waiting for Chase to arrive, toying absently with a spoon in a glass of iced tea.]
[If Foreman were here, Chase's quest for someone to talk to wouldn't have gone so horribly awry. Wilson has been his option of choice, the guy had a PHD in screwing up his own relationships - who better to advise on the dos and don't of screwing up someone else's? House was a no-go unless he wanted his personal life broadcast in neon across the network. Friends here were friends here, not established enough, or part of the problem in their own way
( ... )
[Sharing any other slip wouldn't be such a problem. She likes him when he's human, likes the lapse in his cultivated confidence. Given her recent glimpse into Chase's less than perfect past, she's inclined towards compassion anyway. But certain things are sacrosanct, even to the faithless. This, she might not forgive him for. At least, not for some time.]
[But Cameron is oblivious to the reason behind his visit, setting her glass down, heading to answer the knock. She kicks a rolled up towel out of the way and opens the door, greeting him with a small smile and a nod of her head towards the room behind her.]
Come in.
[She's only hurrying him to minimize the amount of time the door's open; shut windows and closed doors help to keep the worst of the reek out. Her apartment is stuffy, but the stink is minimal, at least.]
[He holds up the bag like an offering, stepping past with with more than enough understanding of the need to hurry. If walking past the crash site wasn't enough, the smell seems to linger on his clothes, in his hair. He shrugs off his jacket and feels cleaner for that, at least.
The rolled up towel isn't a bad idea. There are people talking about duct taping their airways, something he finds less adviseable.]
It's improving out there. [Maybe an overstatement. Chase shrugs and sets the bags down on the table.] It's not as nauseating as it was. If you're not up to the food though...
[He'll go. She can keep it for the morning. He looks slightly hopeless as he says it, knowing people are ice skating in hell right now just to secure his invitation over here. He also looks exhausted.]
[She shuts the door behind him with a little cough, and crouches to replace the towel. Hardly airtight, but it's better than nothing. Satisfied, Cameron stands and turns to face him.]
It's fine,
[she assures him, concerned. The man looks halfway haunted. She isn't really that cruel, is she, that he expects to be tossed into the rancid fog after bringing her dinner? Chase is a balancing act. When she's closest to him, she also keeps the most distance-- but not because she dislikes him. Even he must be aware of that, to some extent. She catches herself on the cusp of asking what's wrong, and doesn't-- uncertain as to whether she wants to know, whether he wants her to. Small steps. Let him stay for dinner, say whatever he might need to-- or not.]
Something to drink?
[The scope of that invitation is left to his interpretation. She takes a few steps toward the kitchen.]
[Looking exhausted isn't unusual for any of them during a case, or wasn't before the slower pace of the city provided them with more regular hours and more boring clinic work. Still, Chase often hides his weariness the best of the three, and tonight he's lacklustre in the effort to try.
He doesn't expect her to be cruel, there's just an understanding that when she doesn't want him around it's better not to push. They have, if anything, a sibling relationship. United in raised eyebrows and sidelong looks when House's tangents veer into the unethical or simply insane, but with all the rivalry that goes along with it. He'll step over her to get his ideas heard and, increasingly, she seems willing to do likewise. The jury remains out on whether he preferred her docile, but he suspects the verdict will return in the negative.
She's annoying when she's pushy, but there's a spark he likes. One that probably pushes the sibling metaphor off the table.
On Cameron's table, he unpacks the food with more care than he'd bother with at home,
( ... )
[She's amused even as she makes the declaration. She managed to keep House from commenting on her coffee choice; but Chase will not be cowed. Truth be told, she likes that, too.
She comes back with a glass of iced tea for him, sugarbowl in the other hand, in case he prefers it sweetened. These she sets on the table (glass on a coaster, of course,) and moves to help him unpack their meal, pulling steam-clouded lids off and setting them aside. It smells good-- especially in comparison to the tainted air.]
[Green curry does have a way of permeating the atmosphere, and before long the spice has near completely overpowered the stink. Even Gray has ventured out from wherever she's been burying her delicate nose to sniff first at the plates and then at her former mattress, come back to visit.]
Me, or Eden?
[There had been a bet on to establish who would run the most productive tests in the least time. His had come back just in time to match hers exactly, twenty minutes later.]
Fairydust trumps hard work and technological advances, apparently. Seven am.
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Somehow you seem like you need it.
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Ten minutes?
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I'll be waiting here.
[ooc; i'm up for action if you like but i miiight not be able to get back to ya 'til tomorrow~ >< not sure. crai <33]
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[ooc; action sounds good whenever you're up for it <3 no hurry at all.]
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[They were friends, of course-- sometimes less and sometimes more than that-- but Cameron isn't used to things being so simple. Maybe it's just that it's only the two of them-- maybe if Foreman were here they'd all have gone out and had a drink and chatted, and things wouldn't seem off balance. As it is, she's waiting for Chase to arrive, toying absently with a spoon in a glass of iced tea.]
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[But Cameron is oblivious to the reason behind his visit, setting her glass down, heading to answer the knock. She kicks a rolled up towel out of the way and opens the door, greeting him with a small smile and a nod of her head towards the room behind her.]
Come in.
[She's only hurrying him to minimize the amount of time the door's open; shut windows and closed doors help to keep the worst of the reek out. Her apartment is stuffy, but the stink is minimal, at least.]
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The rolled up towel isn't a bad idea. There are people talking about duct taping their airways, something he finds less adviseable.]
It's improving out there. [Maybe an overstatement. Chase shrugs and sets the bags down on the table.] It's not as nauseating as it was. If you're not up to the food though...
[He'll go. She can keep it for the morning. He looks slightly hopeless as he says it, knowing people are ice skating in hell right now just to secure his invitation over here. He also looks exhausted.]
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It's fine,
[she assures him, concerned. The man looks halfway haunted. She isn't really that cruel, is she, that he expects to be tossed into the rancid fog after bringing her dinner? Chase is a balancing act. When she's closest to him, she also keeps the most distance-- but not because she dislikes him. Even he must be aware of that, to some extent. She catches herself on the cusp of asking what's wrong, and doesn't-- uncertain as to whether she wants to know, whether he wants her to. Small steps. Let him stay for dinner, say whatever he might need to-- or not.]
Something to drink?
[The scope of that invitation is left to his interpretation. She takes a few steps toward the kitchen.]
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He doesn't expect her to be cruel, there's just an understanding that when she doesn't want him around it's better not to push. They have, if anything, a sibling relationship. United in raised eyebrows and sidelong looks when House's tangents veer into the unethical or simply insane, but with all the rivalry that goes along with it. He'll step over her to get his ideas heard and, increasingly, she seems willing to do likewise. The jury remains out on whether he preferred her docile, but he suspects the verdict will return in the negative.
She's annoying when she's pushy, but there's a spark he likes. One that probably pushes the sibling metaphor off the table.
On Cameron's table, he unpacks the food with more care than he'd bother with at home, ( ... )
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[She's amused even as she makes the declaration. She managed to keep House from commenting on her coffee choice; but Chase will not be cowed. Truth be told, she likes that, too.
She comes back with a glass of iced tea for him, sugarbowl in the other hand, in case he prefers it sweetened. These she sets on the table (glass on a coaster, of course,) and moves to help him unpack their meal, pulling steam-clouded lids off and setting them aside. It smells good-- especially in comparison to the tainted air.]
So when did you finish all the bloodwork?
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Me, or Eden?
[There had been a bet on to establish who would run the most productive tests in the least time. His had come back just in time to match hers exactly, twenty minutes later.]
Fairydust trumps hard work and technological advances, apparently. Seven am.
Reply
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