Author's Note: I do not own the television show House or any of its characters.

I don't even know if people still like to read Chase and Cameron fanfictions anymore, but I'm going to give it a shot. Even though I have never personally liked Cameron and I thought she treated Chase horribly a lot of the time, I find myself in love with their dynamic and can't help but think they are a cute couple. So, here it is, a Chameron one-shot.

Falling Apart

Seven

The light knocking at the door is what forces Cameron awake. It's just past one in the morning, she notes, her heart racing in anticipation at who it could be, but then she realizes that there's only one person it could possibly be. She winces as her bare feet hit the hardwood floor, an awful side affect of the New Jersey winter, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. She opens the door to reveal her thoroughly exhausted husband, his entire body slumped as he leans against the frame. He has tiny snowflakes nestled in his newly-cut hair, his ears and nose red, his eyes bloodshot to a point where she's never seen them before. Her stomach drops and she gulps at the sight of him, taking a small step back so he can come inside.

He still hasn't said anything, but neither has she. She's almost afraid too. Cameron has seen him in this state before; tired, wanting to be left alone, regretful. But what does he have to be regretful about? His eyes are glassy, he looks like he's on the verge of tears and is about ready to breakdown any second. She follows him to the bedroom, watching with her arms crossed as he strips down into his boxers and pulls on a pair of pajama pants, his every movement stiff and rigid. As soon as he hops into bed, she's there beside him, wrapping her arms around his slender body, her worrying increasing when she feels him tense up at her touch. Most nights, Chase would be the one snuggling with her, not the other way around.

"What's wrong?" she finally asks, rubbing her hands down his back.

It takes him a while to respond, which is just him shaking his head. She knows he wants to go to bed, putting whatever happened tonight behind him, but she can't let him do that. She has to know what's bothering him this much because, obviously, there is something going on. Cameron waits a bit longer to give him some time to tell her himself, but she raises her head to find him staring blankly at the wall, eyes half-closed.

"Robert." She still finds it odd using his real name. "Please talk to me."

She feels him gulp, shrugging her away and wrapping frohimself up in their comforter, giving her the cold shoulder. Cameron's pulse begins to race, the oxygen in the room too thick with silence to bear. She can't believe he did that, pulled away from her when all she's trying to do is help. Like she's said, she's known him to be like this, but he will talk to her eventually. He always does. This thought makes her lays there awake for what feels like hours, thinking over what just happened with her husband, before her own exhaustion from a day of dealing with the death of a dictator, not that she minded, lulls her to sleep.

Little does she know, Chase is awake the whole time.

Six

It's been a full twenty-four hours and Chase has barely spoken. He's so far away, even though it has only been a day, and Cameron isn't sure she can withstand more silence than this. She already misses the husband who would come home from work and just want to be with her, but now it's like she has to force him to stay in the same room as her. Her parents are supposed to be coming over tonight, but she's hesitant about letting them see her new husband when his wall is up as high as it is right now. It's a recipe for disaster.

Chase is snuggled up underneath a thick mound of blankets on the leather couch, courtesy of Cameron. He only arrived home from the hospital an hour ago, almost too tired to stay upright. She knows he hasn't been sleeping, even though he claims he's fine, but when he started trembling in her arms, a different story immerged. He's so tense and unrelaxed that it's now making her pace around the kitchen, biting her finger nails, an old habit she has yet to kick. She looks over to find him rolled over, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

The doorbell ringing and the thump of a body hitting the floor make her jump. She rushes over to Chase, noticing the fresh blood dripping from a gash too close to his eye. He places his hand over the new wound, racing to the bathroom to wipe it off, but she can't go with him just yet. Cameron quickly opens the apartment door, giving her parents a weak smile of reassurance, and then darts toward the other room. She finds him sitting on the toilet with a wet rag covering the area, red stains all over his shirt from where his head hit the coffee table. She tries to take the rag from him and wipe it off herself, but he pulls away like a toddler. "I'm fine," he says, barely above a whisper. Right of the bat, she knows he will need stitches.

"We need to get you to a hospital."

Her husband shakes his head. "It'll be fine."

"Robert."

He looks her straight in the eyes, which takes her back a bit. He hasn't bother to even glance at her since work yesterday when everything was okay. "Please...just don't," is all he says before he stands up and brushes past her and her parents, whom she didn't even know were there next to them. She hears the bedroom door shut lightly, a piece of her heart shattering at this. Why won't he tell me what's wrong? I'm his wife.

"What's wrong with him?" her father inquires, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, clearly noting that something more than her husband being stubborn is making her this upset. The normal Chase would be on board with going to the hospital with a cut like that, but this new Chase is reluctant to do just about anything.

She has to force herself to shrug her shoulders. "I don't know."

Five

As soon as he opens the doctor's lounge door, he knows it's too late. Chase sees his wife sitting there, flipping through one of those fashion magazines, and mentally curses himself. He doesn't feel like talking. Hell, he hasn't felt like talking in days, the freshness of Dibala's blood covered face still imprinted in his mind. He's tired though, which is the only reason why he came in here in the first place, and collapses on to the same couch as Cameron, a few feet of separation between them. She looks up and frowns, making him gulp.

"Hey," she says lamely.

He starts twiddling his thumbs. "Hey."

They sit there for a while and all Chase wants to do is get up and leave. He can't take this anymore, he wishes he hadn't done what he did. This is all just too much. But, if he stormed out of here, then Cameron will definitely know that something is up, even though he's positive that she's already figured it out. There's no way Foreman would keep this kind of thing - murder - to himself. He's waiting for her to mention Dibala's name, but it's been two days since his execution and she still hasn't brought him up.

Cameron scoots closer and his heart starts racing as he grips on to his khakis as something to hold on to. "What's wrong?" It's the same question she's been asking him constantly, the same question he can't answer, the same question he hopes to God that he never has to answer.

He shakes his head. "Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong?"

"Robert, you haven't talked to me in days. Obviously there is something wrong."

"Well there isn't. Just been tired is all." Well, that's sort of true. He hasn't slept for real in days, his mind too pre-occupied with nightmares to even shut his eyes for more than a few moments. The exhaustion is rough, but not being able to talk to his wife is killing him. He always talks to Allison about everything, well except his family, and not doing it feels like a piece of him is missing. Talking to her helps him feel better and right now he isn't sure if it's possible for any man to feel worse than him.

She tries to take his hand, but he pulls it away, shoving it in his pocket. Her touch hurts him too much, he can't live with what he's done. He knows, oh believe him he knows, how much this is killing her, but the physical connection with her is tearing him apart. He places his head in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes with his thumbs.

His wife does something a bit different and leans her head on his shoulders, which are already hunched up. He wants to scoot away again, but he doesn't. He can't. She doesn't ask anymore questions, they just sit there. Together. They haven't really been together in a few days and it makes Chase's heart stop beating once she grabs his hand again. This time, he lets her keep holding him.

Four

Chase is visibly shaking by the time he arrives home from work, coughing spasms wracking his entire body. He plops down on the couch without removing his coat, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling, hoping to God that Cameron left their apartment for a while since it's her day off. He doesn't know why he started to feel so shitty during the day, but after being seen doubled over in pain, Cuddy decided he should go home early.

He grabs the blanket from behind the couch and sinks down, letting the coolness of the leather soak into his skin. More shivers go up his spine, followed by more coughing and rasping for air. Maybe he shouldn't have walked home in the snow a few days ago. "What're you doing home so early?" He jumps at the sound of his wife's voice, the motion of him turning his head alone hurts.

All he does is shrug, not wanting to say anything more. She sits down next to him and he turns away, staring at the wedding pictures on the wall. Cameron places a hand on his forehead, which makes him squirm all over the place, eyes still focused on the wall and not her. Another long, harsh cough escapes him, causing him to jerk away and pull the blanket up higher. He just wants to be left alone, why can't she see that? Why can't she stop with the constant questions? It's too much for him to handle when he feels like his brain and heart are both going to explode at any moment.

"Chase, please tell me what's wrong," she says, running a hand through his short hair.

He sighs. "How many times do I have to tell you that nothing's wrong?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't believe you?"

Cameron hasn't stopped asking what's bothering him ever since the night Dibala died. He must be really crappy at hiding his true emotions, even though he has yet to cry in front of her, which surprises him because he's been a walking time bomb of tears ever since it happened. What is he supposed to tell her? "Honey, I killed an evil dictator without thinking twice about it. What's for dinner?" Cameron would hate him, he knows she would. Even though she had previously joked about not yelling out that warning to the other doctors about the earlier assassination attempt, he knows she could never do what he did.

He's a murderer.

"Please let me in, Chase. You have to trust me. No matter what it is, you're still my husband. I still love you. Please just talk to me." He moves further away from his wife to where he's at the other end of the couch with his knees pulled up close to him. Why can't I just tell her? But, he knows he can't and won't ever be able to speak of what happened.

"Nothing's wrong," is the story he's sticking with.

Three

Cameron finds him curled in a ball on the couch, his arms wrapped protectively around his legs, his head buried in the middle. Soft whimpers fill the quiet room, a cough breaking the tension every now and then. Slowly, carefully, she sits down next to him and ends up wrapping herself around him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears for comfort.

He's scared.

She has never seen Chase scared like this before. Sure, House scared him by jumping out of the janitor's closet while wearing a clown mask on Halloween months before and he was nervous the night before the wedding, but she's never witnessed him in this state before. He's trembling uncontrollably as she rubs comforting circles on his back. She can't help but smile internely as he falls on to her, placing his head on her chest. This is the first time in days that he's actually let her touch him.

"Robert, honey, what's wrong?" she asks as soon as she hears the sobs begin to quiet down.

He doesn't say anything, he just looks up at her with glassy eyes. He's broken, vulnerable, and doesn't know what he's supposed to do anymore by her judgment. They've gone through a rough patch, but now that he's like this, there's nothing left to do than say whatever he needs to say. It's so obvious that he's been holding something in and it's been eating away at him, but tonight she's determined to figure out what.

"J-Just a night-nightmare," he stammers. Cameron places a blanket over him and lets him lay his head down on her already pillowed lap, stroking his hair gently, feeling the warmth of his fever against her. She figures he's going to say something else, but when he doesn't, they sit there in an awkward silence for a while.

"What was it about? The nightmare, I mean."

He shrugs against her.

She rolls her eyes. "Robert, you're scared to death. It has to be about something."

There's another long pause. "My dad," he whispers.

"What about your dad?" she inquires, still running her hand through his hair. She knows she's about ready to get the truth out of him and she can't help but be excited. Apparently, for Robert Chase, breaking down his wall and letting people know what he's thinking about is a heroing feat.

"Just about when he died. Seriously, Allison, it's no big deal. I promise."

"How can you make a promise like that? You haven't even talked to me for real in days and you want to tell me that you're fine? You're sick, you just had a night terror for the most part, you're far from fine, Robert."

He sighs. "I dreamed that he was alive and came back to kill me...and you...for what I did."

Cameron raises her eyebrows in shock, knowing full-well that his fever may be a little too high right now. Robert Chase is sweetest, nicest man in the world, he could never do something to make anyone kill him, especially not his dead father. She doesn't say anything, she just leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. "I love you."

He wishes, more than anything in the world, that he didn't have to lie to her anymore.

Two

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." He exhales immediately after that. It's been so long since he's been in a church, too long according to his standards. The tightness in his chest continues to grow as he looks at the man on the other side through the cracks from his periphreal vision. He shifts in his seat, unable to sit still.

"How long has it been since your last confession?"

Chase doesn't wait, he can't wait. He has to tell someone. "I killed a man."

"Oh?"

He nods, even though he's not sure if he can see him. "But it was the right thing to do." He knows he's just trying to reassure himself.

"Who lives and dies is not your decision to make."

"Sometimes in the operating room it feels like it," he says. He isn't sure if the priest has picked up on it or not, so he adds in "I'm a doctor."

Chase hears the other man clear his throat. "Well, then you should know more than anyone that every human life is sacred."

This doesn't make any sense to the younger man, his mind wrapped around what Dibala was going to do to his own people if he hadn't put a stop to it. "Why?" he inquires. "Tell me what's sacred about a dictator that kills hundreds of thousands of his own people?"

"What is sacred about a doctor who kills a patient?" Ouch, he didn't think about it that way. This causes Chase to stare down at his feet. He still doesn't understand why this priest is doing this. Every life is not sacred. He's not even sure if his own life is sacred anymore.

He looks back up. "Is this just the slippery slope you're worried about? Afraid that forgiving me for killing the worst person on earth sets a bad precedent? I promise...I won't tell anyone," he pauses for more of a dramatic effect. "Just forgive me."

Being forgiven is all Chase wants. He can't go on with this feeling leaving him in this state. He can't focus, he can't eat, he can't sleep, he can't even tell his wife that he loves her. He just needs to be forgiven. It's as simple as that.

"Saying ten Hail Mary's isn't going to do you any good." And he already knows it won't.

He can feel tears start to form, his hands trembling as he scrubs a hand over his tired face. "Then what do I have to do? What does God want me to do?"

"You can't have absolution without first taking responsibility. You have to turn yourself into the police."

His jaw drops. "What, and...and go to jail for the rest of my life? What's just about that? I did the right thing. There has to be another way." He knows there isn't. He's never going to feel whole again without telling someone of much higher authority than he is, even if that means being locked up and never seeing his wife again.

"You want absolution, I've told you how to get it."

One

His right fist colliding with the brick wall in the locker room sends an incredible, firey sense of pain surging throughout his whole arm. He doesn't scream, he isn't sure he can anymore, he just curses multiple times, clutching on to his wrist, tears swelling up in his eyes. He can't help but let a few drip on to his scrubs. His discomfort doesn't matter, the guilt is literally eating him alive. He can't stay in the same room with his wife anymore without being utterly ashamed, can't look his colleagues in the eye, hell, he can't even convince himself that he's okay. I just want all of this to be over with.

Chase grabs his coat and shrugs it on, ignoring the lightning that is racing up his arm. He knows he should get it looked at since he's sure it's broken, but he wants to go home and sleep. Of course, he hasn't actually slept in a week, plagued with nightmares and fevers riddling his body, and he knows that Cameron's noticed. In the end, he does get his wrist checked out, broken like he thought. They plaster it with a blue cast, give him some painkillers, and then send him on his way.

He isn't sure how he gets back to the apartment, he just knows that he's standing outside, knocking on the door with his left hand, the other one protectively hidden in his coat. Cameron answers and he clears his throat, giving her a glance as he pushes his way in. "What happened?" she asks.

Chase shakes his head. "Nothing happened."

She raises her eyebrows. "Really? Because Cuddy called to me that you broke your wrist today. Care to tell me how?"

Dammit.

"I slipped on some ice. No big deal." He wants to stop lying, but he might as well keep going.

"She said you would say that. Turns out she's smarter than you think. You broke all of your knuckles, your hand, and your wrist. That kind of break only happens when you have direct contact with something like, I dunno, a brick wall." Chase gulps, adverting his gaze away from her. "Look at me," she says, taking a step closer. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I really wish you would talk to me about it. Whatever it is, it's sucking the life out of you. Please just talk to me, Robert."

He fingers the material of his cast, his heart racing faster than ever. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. His brain keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. She can help you. He scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "S-Sometimes...we, um, we lose patients. And...as you know, sometimes it's not on accident..." He isn't sure why he started out with that, but oh well now. "I...I killed him...Dibala."

Zero

Chase arrives home to find Cameron's clothes scattered everywhere. They're in the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the complete opposite of how he and his wife keep their apartment. "Allison?" he calls out, his heart plummeting into his stomach with each step he takes. It's like he's on a death march.

His wife immerges from their bedroom with two suitcases trailing behind her. They stand there for a long time just looking at each other, seeming to stare into each other soul's. She knows what's wrong with him now, has been there for him while he's been sick enough to almost require hospitalization for not taking care of himself. He doesn't know what she's getting ready to tell him, but he knows it won't be good.

He sits down on the arm of the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets despite his broken wrist. Chase gulps, more tears in his eyes as Cameron moves closer. She doesn't saying anything, she just wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly, whispering something he can't even bother to listen to in his ear. "I love you," is about the only thing he can't bear to make out, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Chase wants to beg, plead, get down on his hands and knees to try to make her stay, to make her understand. She thinks he doesn't feel guilty about this, about killing Dibala, but it's killing him. The guilt is killing him. She claims that House has changed him, turned him into a murderer, but he knows she can't be stupid enough to actually believe that. But, Chase doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything to stop her.

He's made his choice and now he has to live with it.

Author's Note: In case you had trouble and/or didn't notice, the numbers at the top of each passage indicated the days before Cameron left Chase. I spanned it for a week, but I'm not sure of the time difference in the show. I have always thought about what happened between Chase and Cameron that we didn't see before he confessed, so I decided to write about it. The conversation with the priest in Two was taken from season six, episode six Brave Heart, so, no, I did not write that part. I changed up Chase's confession to his wife (or rather ex-wife now) a bit too. Hopefully, this was decent enough for you to leave a review. Thank you all so much for reading! I greatly appreciate it! Reviews are love!