The room was dark, car lights filtering through the blinds on her window every so often. Camille sighed unhappily, rolling over in bed and pulling the blankets tighter around her body. It seemed that they deeper they went into the current case, the more horrifying things got. Three dead teenagers already (kids on the streets and in shitty one room apartments, kids like her), and it seemed like the killer was out for more blood. It made her chest tighten and throat constrict with tears that she'd had to bite back all day.
It was times like these she really wished she was on better terms with her roommate.
Sure, they were friends. She and Kirsten talked a lot more and often they'd share dinner after work, sometimes alone and sometimes with Cameron and Linus. They carpooled, they worked together, and Camille was always there with advice for the blonde. Newly-emotional Kirsten was far more receptive to kindness now – she smiled back so brightly at compliments and gestures of kindness that sometimes it made Camille's chest ache.
Still, it felt a little distant. Camille knew it was probably partially her own fault; she kept all her own pain, fear, and grief buried deep down, so it wasn't like anyone would actually notice. Kirsten was too emotionally raw most days to really take note of other people's pain unless it was obvious.
That, and she was wrapped up in a game of never-ending sexual tension with Cameron.
Camille liked him, she did. He was one of the few in the lab that she thought felt things as much and as deeply as she did. They were both fiercely protective and incredibly affectionate if there was need for it, which drew her to him. Often he'd reach out to comfort her when no one else did, whether it was a quick squeeze of her hands or a thoughtful text at two in the morning.
As far as friendship went the two of them were great. Of course every now and then other thoughts would cross her mind. Sometimes in the mornings when Camille made coffee Kirsten would come in kitchen and the soft light would hit her face in a way that drew Camille to her. Sometimes on assignments for work when it was just her and Cameron she'd be tempted to snuggle up against him and loop her arm through his as they walked. Sometimes she'd see the two of them, awkward as ever, and just want to hug them both.
Sometimes she thought about kissing them.
It was totally normal, she told herself. She was a young, open-minded, affectionate woman and the world was hers, so what was wrong with a daydream here and there? Hell, she'd thought about being with more people in the lab than just Kirsten or Cameron. It wasn't even necessarily something sexual she was looking for, just some sort of understanding or shared life experience. Linus, sheltered and naïve (despite being so endlessly sweet), couldn't ever grasp exactly what she'd been through. She knew Kirsten knew how it felt to be abandoned, and while Cameron didn't he'd still gone through all sorts of pain. Camille just wanted that understanding between herself and someone else, the understanding that she wouldn't always be okay and couldn't necessarily explain why.
She wanted someone who she could open up to on late nights when cases at work got to her.
It was a moot point by then, she figured, because she could hear Kirsten and Cameron chattering away as they went through records in search of Daniel Stinger's second wife. They were too wrapped up in investigation (and awkward flirting) for her to want to bother them. She knew Linus would probably join her if she called, but she didn't want to drag him into anything he might not fully understand. For a few minutes she considered Fisher, knowing he'd seen cases like this hundreds of times before, but it felt as if they'd only just become friends. She was too embarrassed to admit to him that yet another case had shaken her, especially when he and everyone else seemed to see her as an unbreakable sass machine.
Camille bit back a miserable sob, pulling her knees closer to her chest. It was going to be a painfully long night.
She really hadn't meant to start crying. There'd just been one thought after the other, more miserable sniffles and gulps, and then suddenly the waterworks appeared exactly on cue. Camille had long since mastered the art of crying as quietly as possible, but trying to muffle her crying in her pillow turned out to be impossible. Instead it felt like something inside just snapped and any calm, collected façade melted as her body shook with loud, grief-stricken sobs.
She was too caught up in her own immediate sorrow (it felt like howling instead of crying, too instinctual to really stop) to hear two pairs of feet come running down the hallway. The door way thrown open, the light flipped on, and Camille just barely heard Kirsten ask, "What happened, are you okay?"
There was a huge amount of panic and concern in the question, but Camille couldn't answer. She tried to collect herself somewhat, pushing herself up while struggling to control her stilted, quick breathing. Kirsten and Cameron were both glancing about the room like they were waiting for some horrible thing to pop up and Camille briefly thought of how sad it was that that was the reality of their lives.
Kirsten seemed satisfied enough that there was no actual danger and moved to crawl onto Camille bed, reaching out hesitantly to place a hand on Camille's arm. "What's wrong?" she asked, so soft and sincere in a way Camille never thought she'd hear.
"Nothing."
"Yeah, completely believable," Cameron teased, but it didn't hold the usual edge of sarcasm when they joked around. Kirsten kept glancing at him, lost and confused even with her new-found empathy, and so he added, "Really, just tell us what's wrong. That's what friends are for, right?"
Camille stared at them for a moment, lip trembling, and a million thoughts about the new case or her past or anything flew through her head, but she didn't say any of them. Instead she just stared and stared until she burst into tears again.
There was a gentle movement that she barely registered and suddenly arms were around her, and her head had been tucked against someone's shoulder. She only knew it was Kirsten by the smell of strawberries (the only shampoo the blonde was ever willing to use) and how thin Kirsten was. Lips pressed to her forehead, then her ear, murmuring, "Shhhh, it's okay. You're okay." The bed shifted again and then a much larger hand was pressed to her back, tracing soothing circles. She could barely hear anything else over her own sobs.
They all sat there, Camille curled up against Kirsten while Cameron gently rubbed her back, then settled for stroking her hair instead. It was almost too much in the best and worst ways – it was so much love, all at once, something she still didn't feel familiar with yet.
Eventually the world settled back into place around her and Camille opened her eyes and titled her head to glance over at Cameron. "Sorry, that was, uh… kind of pathetic." it was meant to be a joke, but came out sounding much more sad than she'd intended.
He shook his head. "No, it wasn't."
Camille could feel the muscle in Kirsten's neck and shoulder move as she nodded in agreement. "You should've come and gotten us, we could've…" She seemed to lose the words then, and when Camille pulled away she saw the frown on Kirsten's face.
"Helped?" Cameron offered, nudging Kirsten's arm. "That's usually what people do in these situations, cupcake."
Kirsten nodded again. "Or we could have fixed it."
"Guys, it's okay, there's nothing to fix." Camille insisted, wiping at her now very red, puffy eyes. "I'm good. Really, it was just a one-time thing, and it'll pass."
"These one-time things don't have to be things you do alone." Cameron said, reaching for her hands, and it made her remember the hospital when she'd been so relieved to see him again (even if he'd been deathly pale). Of course he was right – no one in that lab had to go through anything alone.
"Yeah, yeah, Goodkin, don't get sappy on me now." she joked, and for once that night she actually managed a smile. "Don't you two have a mysterious father to find?"
It almost looked like Kirsten was about to agree and run back to all the books, maps, and records stack in the living room, but last minute she shook her head. "No, I think maybe we can be done tonight." The relief on Cameron's face was so obvious that Camille had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
What she didn't expect was for Kirsten to proceed to pull back the comforter and sheets on the bed and then slide under them, looking expectantly at Camille. Kirsten rolled her eyes at Camille's skeptical expression, saying, "What? You already know I don't snore."
"Yeah, but you don't have to – "
"I don't like sleeping alone anyways." Kirsten insisted. "Come on, please?"
Camille sighed, making a show of it like this was the worst thing to happen, but she felt incredibly relieved as she got under the covers on the other side of the bed. She'd always slept better with someone next to her.
Cameron regarded them both fondly for a moment before standing to go. "I'll head out now, so text me if you need me for anything."
Camille felt a twinge of guilt as he headed for the door – she knew Kirsten had wanted to spend time with him tonight, and she didn't mind his company either. "It's really late." she began, unsure of how to ask him to stay. "This is when people get out of all the clubs and start driving everywhere while they're completely drunk."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's pretty dangerous."
He relented sooner than she thought, with a sigh and a drawn-out, "Fiiine, I'll stay." She'd almost expected him to head for Kirsten's room, but he simply kicked his shoes off and then settled in a chair tucked in the corner of the room.
Maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was enough. It was enough at two-thirty when she could hear everyone's breathing evening out as they drifted to sleep. It was even better, in her opinion, when Cameron fell out of the tiny chair around three fifteen in the morning, and when he joined the two of them after lots of laughter at his expense.
When she finally woke, Kirsten had curled up against her on one side, and on the other Cameron was dead to the world, one hand thrown lightly over her stomach. Camille wasn't sure what it could mean, but as they all woke and wandered into the kitchen (arguing over who would cook the whole time), she knew it was something she wanted.