Lover of Weeping
T.V. Show: House M.D
Pairing: Chase/Cameron
Author's Name: Foxes' Dreams
Summary: The balm of solitary musing is always a poisonous weapon. The oscillations of an influenced human mind still haunted Chase, making him to question the pristine future. Along with Cameron, he can find the piquancy of a pageant life even in the odds of a new location. Follow-up for 6x08 "Teamwork".
7:49 A.M.
October 24, 2012
Princeton, NJ
This little independent thread of inquiry ran through the texture of Cameron's mind and suddenly died away, the desire of knowing paling by second. A shadowy and chilling sentiment unaccountably crept over her, his ultimate confession slightly disassembling her everlasting trust. Thoughts came thronging in panic haste, the mindless game only amplifying her anxiety. Time had passed unseen, only a night separated them from bliss and happiness. Tired with a dull, listless fatigue, Cameron couldn't help the avalanche of questions that wrecked her momentary decisions.
She still had another proposal to make, one that would change their trajectory, one that would be tossed disdainfully off from her ardent and young lips. Trouble gathered on her brow, building wrinkles at the sensation of him denying this ultimate request.
"We're gonna be late for work," Chase admitted quietly as he stepped in the majestic kitchen, clearly searching to see her sea-blue eyes that hid a hint of secrecy.
"Then we'll be late for work," she replied sternly, a vastly irritation escaping from her baffled eye. The very silence of the place appeared as a source of peril that could make Chase's heart swell with anticipation. Her hint of frustration only increased the tightness in his throat and he painfully forced himself to shallow the lump of uncertainty. "You took a patient's life, you lied about it for a couple of weeks, you broke who knows how many laws and oaths to cover it up, but I can live with it. We can get through it together," she said, the subtle emanation of her influence seemed to arrest and chill him in an odd manner. The sudden rush of an awakened mind bolted him, the stillness of a forced composure calming his trembling body only for a few, brief moments. Her admission utterly was the smiling incarnation of devotion, a prospect he craved for in the loneliness.
The conversation was far from being desultory or meaningless, it was actually a renewal of the promises Cameron had elaborated months prior. The days when he retreated in paperwork and any distant activity passed in a stately procession, the first recoil of her infinite care, managed to drag Chase away from disillusionment, conferring him an ultimate luxury of forgiveness.
"You have no idea what I've been living with, and what it means to hear you say that," he confessed quietly, the grotesque nightmare of a haunting memory starting to crumble in ashes. The hot humiliation of his act overwhelmed him, a slight sense of letdown creeping in the pit of his stomach. The indefinable yearning days of looking for any sign of forgiveness looked entirely ignorable, the assurance her words have unleashed totally healing his wounds. Intrusive questions faded, the leaves of time dropping stealthily on her floor and promptly dying. Chase was sure he would have retributions, only little incidents to throb with significance in order to remind him that the past is real.
"But we need to get away from Princeton-Plainsboro. You can barely walk by the rooms where Dibala was treated," Cameron proposed, the naked fact of death still shaking behind the mask of impassivity. The effects slowly drifted out of her thoughts, leaving her simply objective. The pendulous eyelids of the middle aged remained motionless, holding the composure. "Why should we live with that hanging over our heads? If there was a time to turn the page," she justified continually, the pulse of a rebounding chance motivating her to press the issue further. The request irresistibly emerged, the restlessness of this decision making their blood boil.
The silence grew stolid, the ridicule shafts turning anxiously into a fathomless pit of courage. On the wall, the swing of the pendulum through an arc of centimeters was only increasing the tension of decision that rested atop Chase's shoulders. The tumult in his mind found sudden speech; the very quiet of the room seemed to be a source of calmness, the answer now dancing across his lips. The wide whirl of nameless regret and passionate sorrow made his head spin, and the decision to sound impractical. With a stony nod, he accepted that risky idea only to save his sanity.
Their eyes met only glancing, there was a mournful and dim haze around the condo, no glint of coming back anywhere. Leaving Princeton looked like a massing and curving of their future, maybe an extreme change that would bring them only compassion.
Thrill with a sense of strange adventure, Chase was finally ready to rebuild his life in a new place.
8:14 A.M.
October 24, 2012
Princeton, NJ
The interior of the diagnostics department was darkened swiftly, the affluent splendor of the late-autumn day obscured by the thick curtains. The pulse of the awaiting news sent shivers down Chase's spine, pangs of insecurity clouding his mind. The chivalrous homage of respect crept again in his tone, the whole announcement starting to sound oddly formal. The current of words whizzed on with cumulative determination, flowing full and strong. Foreman, House and Cuddy's stern faces were placated by an immense anticipation.
"We are leaving the team and the hospital, effectively immediately," Chase blurted out nonchalantly, the deep tranquility of the shaded solitude finally bringing him on the edge of admitting. He was beyond relieved and refreshed to put an end to an unworthy alliance, saving himself from the depths of regret.
Deep down inside his mind, he was aware of the fact that he would have to live with the easy-going indolence of a sedentary life that lacked the mysteries which no one can resolve. Chase would have to forget the excitement of different rival issues between patients and staff, and the flawless triumph of the truth. In exchange, he would receive love and a general effect of extraordinary lavish profusion. He wasn't scared by the idea of devotion or runaway only because he would get to spend his life bathed in a fragrance of a dear and honored name.
"We are just starting to think about new jobs, where we want to live," Cameron continued, supporting gently his opinion of view, deliciously giving and taking hints of seriousness. The hand of time swept her into oblivion, the contradictory reactions actually making her question the viability of her plan. The occupants of the room mutually syllable her name in cautious whispers as a slight and powerless advice to stay.
"Are you sure?" Cuddy inquired, the maximum of attainable and communicable truth already found in her words. She was sympathetic, offering a glint of a smile to the couple, even though her mind was filled with formless dread. The meticulous observations of the facts that had been floating around her for several days reminded her that this decision might be caused by the gravity of the appraising past misunderstandings.
House's mocking comments were just murmurs in the echo of the conversation, the long-departed moments of confession marking an epoch of turnovers. He was expecting this strategically move, the old ruddy conviction deserting him in front of this major and onrush change. The oscillations of that human genius were impressive, the fact that he might be involved in this last labyrinthine puzzle creeping in his thoughts. And for once, the panorama of life was unrolled in front of him, the chance of analyzing slipping through his fingers.
"Yes," the married couple answered in unison, the partying crimson of glory and unification escaping from their lips. The pristine freshness of recreation was mostly exhilarating; both of their faces were lit by clearness, obviously signaling that this ultimate decision was a mutual consent.
"We'll miss you," Foreman said absently, the obligate politeness sounding pitched and desolate on his lips. Questions still drummed in his head and heart as he processed the revelation, knowing that Chase wouldn't give up a sparkling career easily. Even though, the romantic ardor came as a priority for Chase in this frantic moment.
"We'll miss all of you, too. We'll start clearing out our things," Cameron replied, the sadness of leaving deepening inexplicably. She was still reluctant to disappear, but it truly was the only possible escape route. The secret and subduing charm of her presence faded after delivering the news. She shook her head in Chase's direction, implying him to make the first step in leaving. Wavering courage cursed through both of their bodies as they left the department quietly, for one last time if fate was positive.
The room caught a solemn and awful quiet, pits and even spaces spreading at a gallop along the length of the chamber, the dissolution of human attachment running wildly.
Two keen doctors were moving on, growing stronger and more devoted in a mutual agreement of salvation.
People do change.
1:47 P.M.
October 31, 2012
Evansville, Indiana
Taking the larger sweeps in the march of the mind, Chase and Cameron procured a small and exquisite penthouse in a quiet town, miles away from Princeton, and the epicenter of disaster. The moving process took place at an accelerated pace, piles of boxes already standing in the middle of entryway, occupying most of the available space. A few braches of terror filled the most remote chambers of Chase's brain with riot, which determined him to question the solidity of this anew start.
The air between them was full of fugitive strains of unspoken thoughts, almost impossible to shift in the increased tension. The atmosphere was raw and pointed, balancing between acceptance and hesitation.
Cameron knelt in front of an open box, retrieving different items and placing them securely on the wooden floor that was yet to be cleaned and polished with lacy wax.
Chase, placed near the narrow window, just stared blankly at the empty surroundings, the babble of brooks growing slightly audible. The benign look was piercing enough to be noticed, the contagion of luxuriant anxiety crawling underneath his skin. The chaotic and oddly low noise of a medium-sized city ringing with resolution in Chase's ears, quietly signaling that the crowning touch of pathos was close to an ultimate climax.
The chill of the dark night crept in the cozy and welcoming home, the constant iteration of an urban wail startling Chase back into utter terror and devastation. Sensing his buzz of idolizing guilt, Cameron approached his silent self and tenderly touched his forearm, Chase flinching horrifically at the sudden contact.
In fact, he was still enslaved to mourn and rot in peace, the deepening twilight he witnessed filled with shadowy, mortifying visions. Their distressful bodies are intimately proximate, the delicatest reproof of imagined distrust solemnly marching ahead of them.
"I know it's hard for you to make this move. But it's the only way to keep this relationship healthy," Cameron started gently, the dreamy solicitations of indescribable afterthoughts he must have experienced sending shivers down her spine, electrifying even her loose ponytail. "And when I say I'm into this, I really mean it," she continued, the easy grace of an unpremeditated agreeable talker creeping up in her words. She was beyond honest, the purity of her statement standing up solemn and sharp.
"Allison, starting everything all over again might take years. I can't force you to give up stability for such a long time," Chase stated, the obvious truth from his words making the situation look even more bitter and labyrinthine. The eternal questioning of inscrutable fate was still present around them, thickening the atmosphere.
Outside, the Earth itself looked despoiled, the dying day laying beautifully in the tender glow of the evening. A slight trace of musk came into contact with their nostrils, reducing somehow the bitterness.
"It will be getting better, I assure you. All we have to do now is focus on each other's needs. As long as we both want to be happy, the whole situation will dissolve naturally," Cameron insisted, the extraordinary wistful look of innocence and simplicity crossing her face again. She vowed to herself that fate won't repeat.
"How can you not to be mad at me? I took a patient's life and you don't seem to even take into consideration the enormity of this," Chase pressed the note, the vigil of questioning sorrow not leaving his body. "It might be the worst thing I've ever done and you got infuriated at House who only played his usual stupid game," he said, the eye of a scrutinizing observer watching intently her lack of emotions, only pure determination and toughness pouring out of her pores.
"The difference between you two is the fact that you feel shame, guilt. You tried to drink away your problems, you went to confess, that means you are trying to repair your sin," Cameron replied, a deep grimace and capering cladding the bridge of her cheeks.
"You know I'm glad, actually grateful of what you are doing. All I need right now is time," Chase said slowly, the haunting phrase leaping to his brain.
"And you will have it. All you're feeling is remorse and it will get away if you let someone discuss with you. You are hurting and I can help, no matter of what you say," Cameron replied easily, the ghostly melody of some familiar line of verse loudly alarming her being.
"I wasn't even judging clearly. That gunman came into clinic and just started rumbling about the practices they use as torture, I was honestly blinded by rage," Chase implied, the headlong vigor of sheer improvisation fading in front of his wife's support.
"You cared. It's humanly to care about the others. You weren't influenced by what he confessed," Cameron admitted, the idle, peculiar chatter of the past events chilling her even in this late aftermath.
"He just told everything, with all the gruesome details how Dibala planned to destroy physically and mentally all the Sitibi women. For a moment, I thought he was lying or just exaggerating, but this is actually the harsh truth," Chase continued, the incoherent legacy of a nervous state still lacing the spontaneous sentences.
"You're a doctor, you tend to mend all the living sakes, it's one part of everyone involved in this field," Cameron assured gently, the indefinable air of good intentions radiating from her body.
"I imagined all of them, innocent and drawing in their last breath. I-I just saw you there, buried in a pile of corpses," Chase finally confessed the irresistible and careless inflow of justifications dropping stealthily, the loud and urgent haste making his heart race.
Cameron was silent for moments, the irrevocable past and the uncertain future mixing in her head simultaneously. The majestic solemnity of the moment was yielding upon her, the needy melancholy of actually being loved and protected sinking in her ribcage. She was beyond teary, the nascent spirit of chivalry and protectiveness grinding her on the edge of breaking down.
"If he lived, he could become not only an addictive president, but a worldwide dictator, maybe he would made a precedent of women slavery here, too," Chase said, the presage of disaster still utterly uncontrollable in his own trembling hands.
"I know I saved precious lives, but that won't ever clear my crime. I just want you to understand that you are doing an incredible act by still standing here," he muttered finally, pleading guilty and desperately remorseful. The pressure of accumulated misgivings was weighing on his soul once more.
Cameron was still hearing, the restlessness of offended laws clearing out of her head.
"You won't lose me and neither your chance to be happy," she said tenderly, as she rested her head on his aching chest, the pulse of the rebounding sorrow still leaping unsteadily underneath her healing touch.
The purple vaulted night passed unnoticed, the serenity of the midnight was brooded over the stainless windows, the perfume of autumn saturating the oddly assailed memories.
Another day passed, and the ride toward tolerance and forgotten repression shortening visibly.
6:58 P.M.
November 30, 2012
Evansville, Indiana
The rosy-hued sky went winding off into the distance; the rising impeding storm came in the horizon, darkening even the narrow paths around the hospital. The blood-soaked twilight saddened the population inexplicably as though it was abruptly carrying scars of rancor and remorse.
Chase was still adapting at the new surrounding, honestly measuring with his observing eyes the entryways and procedure rooms. He was lonesome and sometimes reluctant to speak or interact, anxiously counting down the remaining minutes until he could visit Cameron in the ER, the only room filled with panicky energy and sterile odors.
He was still getting adjusted to the plain of change; a sense of wavering courage secretly enfolded him, deliberately ignoring the sentimental intruder that would tempt him to tarry.
Chase learned steps and distances, but he was still walking with a terminal velocity every time he would be forced to witness a critical condition, the patient thoroughly balancing between life and death. Another stunning crash of a secured monitor saluted him, the subtle emanation of adrenaline cursing through his veins. He was a certified intensive care specialist and still the swollen tide of the engrossing memory guided him to stay away, to pry his hands from the sake of the willpower.
The ER was oddly quiet and deserted, as though fate chose to swing the pendulum in the side of good and utter health. A supple silhouette was standing in sharp contrast to the calmness and quiet of the traumatic and sometimes catastrophic background. She had lost weight, the gravity of his previous actions eating her alive, the veneer of repulsion blankly irresponsive. Her fingertips were glued to her drained forehead, the agonizing pulsation and throbbing of her intellect dulling even her strong will. Cameron was beyond exhausted, but she plastered a sheepish grin at the sight of her awaiting husband, the vivifying touch of adoration fleeing her visions.
She was marching quickly towards him, the whole foliage shaken and broken up with little momentary shivering and shadows. "Hey!" Cameron exclaimed adorably pitched, leaning in to give him a sweet and encouraging peck on his left cheek. "How was your day?" She asked, hoping to unwind the situation, the wheel of her thought turned into the same desolate groove. She knew the web of lies was rent in pieces, but she never contested his honesty, even when it was obviously inaccurate and unattainable.
"Slow, not as vivid as in Princeton," Chase replied coolly, the wild whirl of nameless regret and passionate regret pulsing within him. He was aware of the dissertation from his words, as though a barrier was constricted between them overnight.
"Takes time to accommodate, you know that," Cameron replied cautious, the wind of fragility piping drearily around her tousled ponytail. The reassuring words flew round, silently sobbing in their dismay.
Chase regarded her appealing integrity tickling a cord within his grasp. "Yeah, if you say so," he said, prolonging the winnowed tastes of coldness.
Cameron was profoundly taken aback by his sudden and piercing dash of denial. "Robert, you can't do that. You can't hide things from me. Whatever happened, it consuming you again," she implied, constantly lowering her voice so that this disturbing and confidential conversation in their perimeter.
"I see him everywhere. Every patient in cardiac arrest and hemorrhage looks like Dibala. His ghost is just still around me. It's just impossible to bear, in extreme cases," Chase admitted, the ephemeral beauty of mystery expiring forever. There was no menace in his lines, only pure torture of confessing.
Cameron scanned his albino face intently; all his bright qualities were raised to the white heat of nothingness.
"Babe, you just have to be patient. Traumas like this don't pass in a blink. You need to find recovery and you will be able to take part in one," She replied, thoughts shocking her in poignant pictures. The exquisite conjunction and balance was slipping from her grip, uselessly disappearing into oblivion. They became increasingly turbid and phantasmagorical, swinging in the unknown.
"I know, I didn't mean to accuse you. God, I don't know why I keep hurting you, especially when you turned your entire life upside down for me," Chase apologized, the little independent thread of inquiry ran through the apex of his skull, but died away, in the sea of platitude.
Cameron's eyes were full of compassion; the sentiment of regret was thrown disdainfully from his ardent lips, but calculated, built to establish an effect. "You are actually hurting, so I take all those as a recurrence. Don't worry, just externalize if you feel the need to," She clarified, her entire being transformed with an overmastered care. It would take time, devotion and perseverance to put him on the path of resolution, but she was willing to try, to eliminate the slight insecurity from his defining imagination.
Chase was silent for a long moment, a tottering consistency keeping him on the verge of actually hesitating to ask a question that would put in jeopardy the stability she transcendently presented. "How long will you be able to put up with all this grief?" He inquired nervously, the question he submitted with good grace scourging the foundation of his feet. He was ready to collapse, to fall out from a tranquil equilibrium, his mind overtaking the power invested in the damaged heart.
"Forever," Cameron answered, the reply resolute and decisive, still touched by a bewildering and elusive beauty. She was more than committed; she was speaking and paying attention to any significant detail with unconditional candor.
She was never tired or even exhausted with a dull, lightheaded fatigue, all proposes and intents solemnly conducting her everlasting support. Cameron was thrilled to the depths of her being, seeing that progress was made, tinsel glitter of full titles sparking powerfully in her heart.
Time had passed unseen before they went back to their stylish penthouse, an easy familiarity kindly drifting upon their heights. Chase and Cameron were sleeping again in the same bed, a ritual habit that broke in the past weeks, replaced by an empty and deserted solitude.
Twilight crept upon his darkness, the slivery calmness of the night lulling him to sleep, his hand unconsciously dripped over Cameron's waist, holding dearly to this ultimate enchanting chance.
1:48 A.M.
May 13, 2013
Evansville, Indiana
The night should theoretically be a place of relaxation, a quiet of grand splendor, a true escape from the surreal harshness.
Even though he was trapped in a haze of unconsciousness, Chase was yielding to a wave of pity, flashing images of Dibala's completely inoperable throat wrapped in a sudden intensity of the reflection. His mind was enthroned in the seventh circle of fear, wrought out of an emotion infectious and splendidly dangerous.
Words and acts were easily wrenched from their true significance, drenched of gravity, and still pulsing inside his tight chest. Aware of the bitter taunt, Chase shifted his sleeping position, hoping that the movement would hopelessly bring relief. He was unearthly stuck in a malignant glee, immobilized to suffer and endure.
A cold and clammy hand grabbed his, stiffening his limbs almost immediately, the inhuman coldness striking his fingers. His eyes snapped open, the vividness and truth of the situation was forced and studied in the depths of feeling. Dibala's face was grotesquely disgusted, as though he was motivated to draw any last drop of elation and actual forgiveness from Chase's limbs, leaving him jointly flushed and immobilized. Unfathomed depths and impossibilities crushed Chase's mind, the breathless panic and the lack of escapes depriving him of any pang of courage.
He was not even touching the ghostly presence, the concrete materialization of his body not existing, only a blur of white standing before his eyes. It was an outspoken message from some vaster world; the young intensivist was utterly intoxicated and spoiled by praise or blame. Chase was on the unstable moral equilibrium of guilt, staring blankly at the form levitating in front of his surveying eyesight.
You'll pay for it.
Untouched by the ruthless spirit of improvement, he was still trying to shake himself from that oblivion. Upon the mountain-tops of meditation, the room still looked filled with anxiety. He was oddly powerless, his hands seemingly bound to the headboard. Everything was urbanely plastic and versatile, Dibala's appearance fading and becoming vertiginously. Cameron's body was long gone, the cold sheet replacing the long strides of golden hair.
Her absence was just the trigger of unhandled pressure, a soft whimper of hyperventilating escaping his burning lips.
Sleep wasn't able anymore to overtake him at a stride, the violent shake of the master bed disturbing even his shallowest attempt. Uttering grandiose puerilities of a nightmare rushed in his system, the harsh clenching of his throat bolting him in a sitting position. The mortifying sound of strangling awoke Cameron with a bolt, too, which was already starting to mend his sudden attack of the relapse.
"Babe, just breathe!" She advised alarming, her request vibrant with the surge of human attachment. His ragged breathing sounds made her skin crawl, the profane voice of panic still not hushed, but terribly loud. "Everything's okay. I'm right here," Cameron assured repeatedly, her gentle expression wholly alien to his targeted spirit. With a vanquished and weary sigh, his seizing stopped, disorientation claiming his reflexes.
"He-he was here. How did he leave?" Chase asked incuriously, obviously worn to shreds by anxiety. Humanly fickleness and caprice of belief was still in his mind, reality struggling to piece his body together.
Cameron looked puzzled; she was unconditionally wrapped in an inaccessible mood. "Nobody was here, it was just a nightmare," She clarified easily, images of Chase intentionally killing the patient wantonly and detestably unkind. A sorry and pitiful quibbling escaped her lips, deep down inside knowing that the issue she pressed brought him on the verge of crime. She acted hopelessly naive, praying that the case would prove to be too labyrinthine, answers lacking their investigation.
"What? No, you left. You-you weren't here, he swept you, too!" He almost shrieked, vain allurements of folly creeping in his features. Her being abducted by the dead was just the darkest nightmare conceited; the vast sweep of mellow distances would bring him only sorrow and desperation. He needed her.
"Babe, Dibala is dead, buried on another continent, he couldn't have been here," Cameron insisted, variously ramified and delicately minute channels of worry forming within her. She thought, for a moment that all the scars had vanished, but they left bitterness and poison behind them, striking even the serenity of a night.
"He wasn't, but his ghost could have been. He won't let me alone, I murdered him, I took a life and now he wants mine," He mumbled under his breath, visible and palpable pains and penalties oddly lacing his words. Dibala had absolution on him, a strange power, controlling his switching attitudes even from the afterlife.
"He got what he deserved. He killed thousands of innocent people with no remorse. You don't owe him anything, not compassion, and neither your life," She promised, her trembling voice vanished over with a cold, repellent cynicism. His guilt got extreme, disturbing him even from the mundanities of every-day life, affecting and damaging Cameron in the process.
"But, Allison, he is here. He is always here, wouldn't leave me no matter what I did," Chase shouted, the struggling idea of renouncing bouncing up his reflexes, his palms forming tensed knots on the silk sheets. Volcanic upbringings of imprisoned visions returned the rosiness of his cheeks, the pure pallor fading back to the normal vitality.
"What you did was indeed traumatic, but not judgmental. Time can heal all those wounds," Cameron said, vigor and richness of her mental resources straining back in her blood flow. She rested her head against the upper side of his muscular back, the need of touching oddly prominent, especially when the frame and the mind alike seemed unstrung and listless. "But you need to be completely honest with me," She insisted, the past mistakes beset by disagreeable hallucinations. "He didn't just show up in the middle of the night. He tried to threaten you, right?" She continued, after a brief pause, beguiles by the weary soul of the man bent on the lofty ends of destiny.
"What I did might cost me my life," Chase said, the words coming uncomfortably loud from his mouth, betokening a new impulsive character.
Cameron was taken aback by the bookish precision and professional peculiarity. "Those aren't your words, he made you believe this. Your life is worth it, even in this situation, you proved enough times that you have heart and rationality. Maybe this would have been his fate, after all. He deserves a final punishment more than any other tyrant," She concluded, borne with the faculty of willing compromise. Chase's words were blown about every wind of doctrine, unnaturally blurted out in the outside, tensed air.
"I had no right to sacrifice his life, I could have easily pleaded a testimony and ask for a trial," He insisted, the pressed issue buried in the quicksand of ignorance, a crass indifference toward her last speech lacing the conversation.
"Legislation doesn't work in a blink and his federal power would have got him rid of a life sentence," Cameron said gently, the measure of steadiness still in a medium and stable measure. "You made a mistake, but it's humanly to make mistakes," She added, her cheeks furrowed by strong purpose and feeling. The childlike contour of her body was still glistening in the pre-dawn atmosphere, almost unified with his, a collapse into a dreary and hysterical depression disappeared in front of their unconditional support.
"Everyone else punishes me, slams me to the ground, they are blaming me," Chase said, innocently. Not even haughtiness or arrogance were largely attributed to him, his soul was completely empty and disorientated. He was haunted by the recess of the memory, he couldn't do anything, not even judging or realizing what is reality and what is phantom.
"They weren't in your situation, in first place. It's hard to judge without being in the place of acting," Cameron replied, she was condensed to intimate speech with her spouse, both desperately looking for self-redemption.
Chase was still shaking from time to time; he was drawn near to a desperate resolve. His rational mind, the one compulsory for his active domain was entirely faded, only ashes of long lost goodness remaining around him. Cameron's head was placed upon his back, and she ruled autocratically the conversation, knowing that depression was destroying the best in her husband, a heartless and dimly mistrustful creature replacing the ordinary and normal person.
"Look at me," Cameron pleaded gently. "This is just an obstacle and we can easily get over it," She continued, submitting the last and powerful idea in brooding silence. "Hold onto me and just let the reality take its course, ignoring all the past actions," She promised, surrendering herself to gloomy thought. She was entangled in a paradox, the desire of restoring her loved spouse leading her in the lightest paths of companionship.
Silence overcame both their senses, Chase's irregular heartbeat slowing majorly, the idea of being haunted and begirt by sudden presences disappearing slowly in the pitch-black night. Cameron dragged her spouse back on the silk sheets, fluctuations of prosperity and adversity running furiously through her head as she declared the war of emotions long evicted.
Chase kept his eyes pried open, admiring in silence the angelic figure that was laying motionless in the nest of his arms after a stage when generosity was pushed to prudence. He looked at her, as though he was holding a bodily fragment of the most touching melody, one that would restore his heart, goaded on by her sense of passionate importance.
"Thank you!" Chase whispered simply, finally realizing that vows are made to be kept.
Gleams of sunlight, bewildered by them, struggled, but surprised, finally appeared through the mist.
9:25 P.M.
October 24, 2013
Evansville, Indiana
Time seemed to be flying, weeks turning in months and months into years. The atmosphere of the condo was teased with impertinent questions, only amplifying the need for celebration, which would be entirely inappropriate for a raw and pointed reminder. A time spent regenerating, healing old bleeding wounds just to get to a routine that would show its peculiarities only after a tormenting silence which lasted a year.
Chase was sitting on the couch, feeling heavy with need to be actually determined to show his deepest wants and aspirations for a day, flushed with anxiety of moving. The dance of insecurity whizzed on with cumulative fury, the tempting concept of surprising his long wedded wife motivating him to progress to a full resolution of elation.
He had never been the definition of a party planner, usually limiting himself to a mundane night-out, a gesture of attention which wouldn't overexert himself. There was a little area of time for Chase to present and develop his raw skills of pampering. He submersed any trace of doubt or self-intolerance, and set off quietly to the kitchen, stroding childishly.
The sun laid golden-soft over the huddles hills, and the excitingly chattering coming from the minuscule kitchen waking a sense of eagerness even in the outside. The tumult in his heart effectively subsided; Chase knew inside him that the timely effusion of tearful sentiment long disappeared. Even the scattered impulses of darkness had been removed and replaced only by the sense of familiarity.
Hours later, after any sufficient dose of energy had been consumed, Chase was beyond satisfied by the result, he found himself trapped in the courtesy of triumph. Cameron could appear any minute, a prospection which put him on the verge of exploding especially after finding out that the fruit of his heroic and vast labors was more than surprising.
Time passed rapidly, and the sudden click of the entrance door seemed to sound like salvage, the glow of the ambitious fire sparkling within him. Chase transformed, developed from an unlovable person to the lofty grace of a normal married man, ready to sense life even with its necessary peculiarities and perks.
A quiet dinner with his wife at home had progressed into a mundane action, even though the intimacy of this moment seemed to be drawn to melancholy and memories.
The majestic solemnity of the moment yielded to the persuasive warmth of the day was floating on every surface, making its presence known. Cameron's steps were oddly arranged and rhythmic, stopping dead in her tracks at the loving sight in front of her.
Those meticulous observations of love had been dearly missed, so the old ruddy conviction deserted her completely. She was beyond flabbergasted, staring blankly at the vapors drifting away from the dish. Chase reacted measurably, lacing her digits with his own, knowing that outpourings of a reawakened tenderness would melt her frigid doubts.
"You did all of this?" It's the only sentence Cameron could muster, the enchanting and shifting beauty catching metaphorically bare and undefended. She was speaking with entire candor, only glancing meeting his pointed view.
"Who else?" Chase answered jokingly, the delicatest reproof of love flushing through his body.
Cameron was speechless, the flawless triumph of goodness finally touching her usually restless mind. Even if she spoke, her voice was broken in melodic ashes, the welling tears becoming more and more consistent. She had missed this, for sure, and still the hand of time swept them into oblivion, back to basics where such a feast was mundane, even remarkably ritualistic.
"Everything okay?" Chase inquired desperately as though he had crossed a line of ethics, one that desperately separated them from genuine affection.
The headlong vigor of sheer improvisation had just died, when Cameron enveloped his husband in a bone crushing hug, the incarnation of all loveliness transcending within her.
"You're back," she whispered quietly, only to herself, realizing after a year of torment that his human oscillations stopped.
He was back to his old self, the pulse of his rebounding person shocking through his system, and with Cameron in his arms; the panorama of a blissful life was unrolled before him. He got ridden of the redundant darkness, clearing his body of any intrusive elusion.
The pressure of accumulated misgivings disappeared only because love is immortal and time heals even the deepest wounds.
Author's Note: I'd have been happier to see them both leaving as a pair then splitting up so brutally. Anyway, this is another attempt at healing my shipper heart. :)
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