She'd figure it all out

TITLE: Cling
AUTHOR: Danielle
PAIRING: Chase/Cameron (per Hunter only), Chase/Foreman, House/Wilson
RATING: PG - 13
WARNINGS: Injury to a main character, angst, slash, something resembling fluff
SUMMARY: A sight unlucky to behold, a car crash and the god-like powers of the comatose
DISCLAIMER: Not mine! If they were…. Dude, smex.
NOTES: This started out as a tiny little POV. It turned into a plotted monster. Thanks be to Rachel for her wonderful beta and constant begging for Cameron abuse.

She'd figure it all out. The drugs, the sex, the feel of his skin against hers. None of it meant anything, not really. Chase was hot-blooded, he didn't think. And she'd been high. So frightened for her life she'd become desperate. Listening to the advice of a drug addict who was slowly, slowly dying in the hospital. AIDS and parasites and an apology he had been so afraid to say. She'd understood it all, the tapestry that was a single act of sex.

But she found Foreman outside the hospital, cigarette in his mouth. He didn't look up, didn't even see her as she walked past. And there was something off about his stand, about the way his eyes focused on the dark gray clouds that hovered in the sky. She tried to talk to him, almost touched his shoulder until he turned her way. His eyes barely noticed her, staring to the ground beneath her. Her voice tumbled away, abandoning her as she struggled for words.

He looked away before she spoke, tossing the burning stub on the ground and walking away. She watched him leave, mouth open as he stalked into the mist. For a moment she wasn't sure she was still breathing, hand coming to rest on her chest. Cameron squeezed her eyes shut, bunching the top of her shirt into her tensed fist. He'd seen her, with the dark eyes of someone who knew they were seeing something for the first time. His eyes had never met hers and she was still shaking.

A gust of wind reminded her she was standing outside, the creak of the door catching her attention. House's cane tapped through her line of vision. It was closely followed by a glimmer of Wilson's shoes and one and House's sneakers. They didn't even notice her, arguing over Chinese food and baseball and Cameron didn't even dare to move when they mentioned condoms. The last words of their overeager conversation barely floated to her ears. Wilson's voice was low and House was barely grunting and Cameron knew exactly what they were saying.

Carefully she took a step towards her car, knowing she had to get home before someone else passed her by and noticed she was still standing there. The doors had swung shut behind House and Wilson, slamming just loud enough to force her to feet to move. Step by step and Foreman's eyes faded out of her mind, faded back to a little place where she could try and forget what she'd seen when he so unwillingly ignored her presence.

But the jealously played through her mind again and again, those dark eyes asking her without acknowledging her why it had been her and not him. Foreman's eyes, those eyes that had laughed when House had pointed it out, smoldered in her mind. She'd never seen them before, never imagined someone could pack that emotion into a single glance. Her hand brushed hair away from her cheek as she walked, surprised to find tears on her face.

There had been something in those eyes, something behind that look that spoke to her. Loneliness and hurt, hidden behind those dark lashes and a ferocious glare. Cameron wondered what Chase had said to him as she settled behind the wheel of her car, unconsciously latching her seatbelt. The key turned and she barely even noticed pulling out of the parking lot. Foreman was still in her thoughts, echoing. Eyes and jealously and hurt that she wanted to identify with, wanted to heal.

The crash offered no sound to her mind, a sudden crush and everything was blank. Foreman's eyes were her mind. Darkness covered all and the road faded to black, faded to nothingness. Just the sound of silence echoed as Cameron tried, desperately tried, to think. Voices called to her from inside, her husband begging for her at his side. She could feel him dying again. He was leaving her as sirens echoed, tears streaming down her bloodied face.

Chase couldn't be the doctor; Foreman couldn't treat her; House sat in her room and watched her TV. She lay silent. Doctor Wilson sat with House and they watched baseball as the sunset. Chase would wander in after dark, settling on a chair Foreman yanked from the hallway. They didn't talk to Cameron, barely spoke to each other. But Foreman sat a little too close to Chase, watching the blond watch Cameron's every breath. House would roll his eyes and mutter something about patience, stealing another chip from Wilson's bag.

And Cameron floated around their voices, heard and listened and tried to respond. They spoke around her, talked about patients. She saw the solutions right there, right in front of her eyes, like someone had handed her the cheat sheet for a quiz she'd already written. Nothing seemed impossible. She saw the tapestry, saw each string interwoven and watched them. Saw the way Foreman watched Chase and wanted to help. The jealousy glittered in dark eyes whenever he glanced at her still body. And Chase's hand would fist in her sheets whenever Foreman left.

Sometimes Cameron wept. Her body shook and everyone thought she would wake. But in the end she didn't respond, just wept as they watched. Helpless as doctors ever may be, Foreman watching Chase watch Cameron and Wilson sitting so close to House's they're very nearly touching. A touching scene no one saw, hidden by the darkness of the room and the silence of the hospital after hours. No code blues sounded from the beeping machines, nothing new that could change anything. Just steady sounds and a roomful of quiet breaths that echo.

She didn't want to talk to them. They're utterly oblivious in their own little worlds, so ignorant of what the others wanted. Hiding behind little shields she wants to crack, to heal up with happiness and seal with a kiss. All of them are so afraid, House and Wilson and Chase and even Foreman, who'd never admit there was anything behind those cold eyes. Even when his hand hovered over Chase's shoulder, never touching and just watching, denying nothing and admitting nothing all at the same time. They were so close and so far, watching and not seeing what Cameron simply knew. She didn't need to wonder, watching as they skirted her name.

Chase stopped coming after a month. Said it wasn't productive, there were too many people for such a small room, saying he felt crowded sitting with all of them as he backed out the door. Instead he sat in overcrowded bars and nursed a beer or two or sometimes even three. He'd call Foreman in the middle of the night and beg him to come and get him. Whisper on the cell phone about how dirty the bar was until Foreman was at the doorway, staring down at him with fathomless eyes. He reached out for the other man. The bar stool creaked beneath him as he almost tipped over, balancing on toes and wobbly wooden legs.

Their eyes met when Foreman grabbed his hand to hold him up, caught his elbow and didn't let him fall. Chase didn't move back, staring into those dark eyes and wondering why he felt so drunk. His body was loose, limp and rag doll-like as Foreman tugged him to his feet. They broke eye contact when Chase was upright, brightly-shined shoes meeting sneakers at the toe. The blonde's eyes closed slowly to block out the darker one's glance. He leaned forward and when their lips brushed, neither one knew who'd moved first. The dirt from the bar stuck under Chase's fingernails as he clung to Foreman with hand and tongue.

Cameron knew when they stepped back into the room, Foreman's hand on Chase's shoulder. She watched them sit beside her, too close together almost clinging. Their bodies shimmered, their eyes both watching her still body. Neither sighed, neither glanced up and stared at the back on the other's head. They simply sat and spoke to her, with her, quietly. It was a whispered litany of words, not even loud enough to echo in the silence of the room. Chase touched her forehead and brushed away a lock of hair. Foreman just tugged the sheet when they stood to go, skin brushing skin so lightly it didn't mean anything.

They left as Wilson entered, nodding polite smiles and ignoring Chase's hand lingering in Foreman's grasp. It was a silent agreement they made in a momentary meeting, eyes just brushing glances. But Wilson had secrets and everyone knew he understood. Sat beside her bed and gave her the quiet smile he normally reserved for House. He didn't whisper, just talked to her about this and that and smiled as he does. House'd come in after a few minutes, sit down next to Wilson and bump knees. Their eyes lingered for a moment before the younger man turned back to Cameron's soft breathing.

They already knew. That was something she should have always known. Their jokes and meaningless banter deeper than people ever wanted to guess. But Cameron saw as she watched, tiny brushes of hands and knees and smiles that replaced words. Their walls had been healing, their breaches mending together. And slowly her eyes fluttered open, the lights blinding bright. Wilson jerked away from House as she turned to him. The nurses came running as she tried to sit up, pushing off with weakened arms and whispering, almost inaudibly, to anyone who would listen. She whispered the secrets of the universe as she forgot them, begging the doctors to hear her words. But they leaked out incoherently and no one paid attention as they celebrated her voice and the glimmer in her eyes.

She fell asleep whispering to the filled room, listening to smiling voices and wondering what she needed to say so desperately. And when the morning came she woke unknowing, as she had been before. Chase visited; Foreman smiled; Wilson patted her arm; House looked at her with knowing eyes, asking without words if she remembered. And when her vapid gaze met his, he turned away again.