Getting to Know You

Chapter 7: Fear of Abandonment

Cameron spotted Chase through the sliding glass doors leading to the back porch. He was sitting in a rocking chair, his breath making small white puffs in the air as he breathed in and out. She put her hand on the door, hesitating, knowing full well that Chase's first line of defense was anger. It was odd really, because in general he was such a sweet, laid back guy, usually slow to irritation, but when trying to defend himself against pain, especially the pain of his past, he often resorted either to feigned apathy, or more often, anger. It was a defense mechanism designed to push people away, and she saw past that. Almost five years of knowing someone tended to give such an insight. They'd had a couple of arguments in the past few months, mostly over Chase's jealous worry that she still had a crush on House, but they hadn't had a real fight, and she felt one coming on. They'd been in the wide-eyed and head over heels initial stage of the relationship, and now they needed to move deeper. She slid the door open, and he jumped from his position in the rocking chair. Her parent's house rested in a suburb just outside the Chicago city limits, so the sounds of the city echoed in the distance, the lights creating an orange haze across the inky blue horizon.

"Something wrong?" he questioned, a concerned frown on his face, yet thinly veiled irritation flooded his tone.

"No," she answered, sitting in the chair next to his and wrapping her arms around herself against the chilly night air. "Just wanted to come down here with you."

Chase turned to look at her, trying to figure out her strategy. "I said I'd be back up in a few minutes," he said, looking away again. "No need for you to freeze. You wear socks to bed even in the middle of July." He grinned a bit at her sheepish look, remembering the night of the fourth of July after they'd returned from a fireworks show. She'd been short on socks and found herself wearing a pair of fluffy red socks adorned with Christmas trees, causing him to descend into a fit of laughter. He was surprised at her next statement, although after years of knowing her, he supposed he shouldn't have been.

"I'm not letting you run away," she said abruptly, scooting her chair closer to him. "I'm won't."

He sat up straight, his posture rigid. "I'm not running from anything."

"You're running from the past," she argued. "You ran all the way across the world…"

"You ran after Michael died," he shot back, regretting his words almost as soon as they left his mouth.

"There's nothing wrong with starting over somewhere new like we did," she said. "But you keep running even though both your parents are gone and you live in a whole other country. Just let me in, Robert."

"What do you think I'm doing?" he said, voice rising a bit. "I've been telling you all this stuff…."

"And I can feel you shutting off the further we go!" she said, her own voice matching his.

"Like you don't do the same thing!" he said, shouting now as he rose from his chair, starting to pace back and forth. "You literally ran like hell the moment I asked for more! Left me standing in the snow."

"I know I do the same thing!" she said. "I know. Which is why I spilled my guts to you a few weeks ago! I was taking a step forward. You were making it, you were letting me in. I can see you're trying to resort back to your old tricks, which is why you retreated down here! What happened?" She sighed in frustration.

"Because I'll let you in farther, and we'll get even closer, and then eventually you'll just leave," he said, his voice stony, yet he was looking directly in her eyes, the green orbs as turbulent as the sea during a storm. "We might as well just get it over with! You didn't want me in the first place, so what made you come back? Because I was pathetic? Because I'd just been fired? Even before any of this started, back when we first started working together and became friends, you were always hot and cold! Always!"

"Dammit, Chase!" She was yelling now too. "I'm in love with you, do you get that? And you're also one of my best friends! I know I'm not an expert on relationships, but neither are you!"

"Are we just wasting our time then?" he questioned, voice lower now. "Why bother?" Bitterness dripped from his every word like water from a leaky faucet. He knew he didn't mean it, but the fear and irrational fury were poison in his veins, spitting out of his mouth at this woman he so loved. "Perhaps we're too screwed up to have a relationship at all!"

"Maybe we are!" she shouted, unable to help herself, her face reddening in rage. "Our lives messed us up so much that we can't move forward. Do you really want us to be over?"

"You said it yourself," he said, voice hoarse from the shouting. "Years ago. All that hate is toxic. Maybe it's made me toxic."

His words were a minefield, and she wasn't sure she dared cross. She breathed in, steeling herself.

"I was always afraid to get close to anyone after Mike died, because it hurt so much to lose him. It's why I avoided romantic relationships, it's why I hid things from my friends, my family," she said, goose bumps popping up on her skin that had nothing to do with the weather. "I tried as I went to get better at it. And I came back that night because I knew the moment I saw you with that box of stuff in your hands, telling us that you'd been fired, that I was terrified of losing you, and not just as a friend and colleague. I'd been falling for you for months. I knew I needed to take a leap, something you'd already realized. I'd never think you were pathetic," she continued. "It was right, what happened with the three of us and House. It was time for the baby birds to fly the nest."

He didn't respond, just rested his head in his hands in silence.

"You can't just take it back," she said, voice shaking. "Not now. Not after Tuesdays, not after we've been together for almost six months. Not after it's been such a long time coming, us." She looked up at him again, the half-moon casting slices of light and dark around where he stood.

"I'm…afraid," he said, sitting back down on the edge of the rocking chair. "I trust you, and trusting people is something I rarely do. I don't want to hurt you, and I'm afraid I will."

"I'm afraid too," she whispered, grasping at this change in his demeanor. "Because I'm so afraid of loss. Just like you." She felt the tears well up in her eyes as he finally returned her gaze, expression softening. Here it was, one of the things that connected them at the core, their scares laid bare.

"But you lost your husband," he said, his own voice a whisper now, still not looking at her although she could see his eyes widening. "That's…"

"You lost your Mom at such a young age," she said, cutting him off. "And you lost your Dad years before he ever died. You lost a part of your childhood taking care of an alcoholic parent. We've both let our fear of abandonment color our lives, we just deal with it in different ways. And you're not toxic…I didn't know the whole story back then. I just wanted to help, but I went about it in the wrong way, and you weren't ready. I can be an idiot sometimes."

Much to her relief, Chase smiled, the angry fire in his eyes blowing out. "That's funny," he said. "I can be an idiot too. Must be contagious." His smile widened. "You offer such words of wisdom, Allison Cameron," he said, leaning in closer to her. "About what you said before, not about you being an idiot," he clarified.

"I've grown up a bit more over the past few months," she said. "We both have. But let me tell you something." She took his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her. He'd always been the one to lead the way in their relationship, ever since the beginning, and now it was her turn. "I want this relationship to work. More than anything. And in my heart of hearts, I have a good feeling about it, really I do. But even if something went wrong between us, if we ended up on other sides of the planet, I'd still be there for you if you needed me."

Chase nodded, taking both of her hands in his. "The same goes for me. Absolutely," he replied. "I'm sorry I yelled, I just…"

"I get it," she said, squeezing his hands. "Now, are you going to tell me about your days as a holy boy?" she teased.

"Yes," he said, chuckling. "But first let's get back upstairs before you turn into Dr. Popsicle."

They both stood up, and before she could even make a move toward the door he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head.

"I'm sorry," he started, "I…"

"I know," she said, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

She felt safe, she realized, a feeling that hadn't been present for quite some time. She leaned up and kissed him, their tongues sliding together like a couple dancing the tango across a ballroom floor.

Five minutes later Chase and Cameron found themselves sitting in the kitchen, having discovered a box of Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate, of the dark chocolate variety. Chase sipped at it, appreciating the warmth it sent flooding through his body. A small laugh slipped from his lips while he watched Cameron throw a robe on over her sweatshirt, sticking her hands inside.

"What?" she asked, indignant.

"We live in Jersey, and you're cold here?"

"It's just as cold here as it is there," she protested.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But you don't usually pile on this much clothing."

"My parents don't believe in turning on the heat very high," she said, taking a large gulp of her own hot chocolate. "Dries up their sinuses. Anyway," she said, sliding her arms forward on the counter, her voice more tender now. "Tell me what happened at seminary."

Chase sighed, the memories swirling around in his mind like moving photographs. "All right, if you insist, my dear," he said, doing a mock half-bow in her direction.

She rolled her eyes, trying to prevent herself from smiling at his antics.

"There are two instances," he continued, "That are sharp in my memory." He suddenly felt cold, the warmth of the hot chocolate receding from his veins. He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the small Ativan pill there and swallowed it quickly while Cameron wasn't looking. He so often tried to fight through anxiety without his medication, but these two stories were almost more than he could handle. He hadn't thought about them in quite some time, and dragging them up again was less than pleasant.

Robert was sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed while he waited for the aspirin to kick in. Yesterday had been his 21st birthday, and several of his fellow seminarians had insisted on going out to the pub for some drinks. That's what he got, he supposed, for befriending several Irish seminarians. He was the youngest here, as he'd finished his undergraduate degree in just three years, but he fit in well nonetheless.

His last Guinness, he had decided, was one too many, and although he wasn't hung over, he did feel like there was a small man tap dancing across his forehead. He checked his watch, seeing that there were still two more hours until evening prayer. The rest of his weeks were always insanely busy, so he reveled in the down time Saturdays brought. Just as he closed his eyes again there was a knock at the door.

"Hey Rob," greeted his friend Ben, British accent strong as ever as he poked his head inside. "Father John asked me to come get you." He paused, looking a tad nervous. "Your stepmother is here."

Robert sat up as though in slow motion, feeling as though his muscles wouldn't quite cooperate with him.

"Melinda's here?" he asked, finally able to swing his legs over the side of the twin-sized bed and stand up.

"Yep," answered Ben, suddenly very interested in the framed poster of the Australian seaside on the far wall. The young Brit's eyes then flickered to the crystal blue rosary resting on the dresser next to the leather bound Liturgy of the Hours set, a gift from his Uncle Ira, Rowan's younger brother who still lived in the Czech Republic, a priest himself. Ben and Robert had gotten to be good friends over the past few months, some details about the young Aussie's family life having inevitably come up, so Ben knew that Melinda showing up was completely out of the blue. "She's in Father John's office right now, waiting for you."

Robert grabbed his black jacket, pulling it over his hunter green oxford. During classes and on Sundays, first and second year seminarians were required to wear black pants, black shoes, and either black or grey polos, but Saturdays and free time were fair game.

"Do you know what she's doing here?" Ben asked as they walked down the stairs together. "You don't look like you do." He brushed a stray auburn hair from his eyes, looking over at his friend.

"No clue," Robert answered, shivering a bit as they opened the dormitory door and headed across the raindrop covered lawn to the rector's office, a small rainbow making its way through the clouds. "I've talked to my Dad, like three times in six months. He's not exactly happy I'm here."

"I know," Ben answered, shaking his head. He stopped in his tracks once they reached the door to the administrative building. "But you said you liked your stepmother right?"

"Yeah," Robert answered, pushing open the door, "I've known her since I was a kid. But I'm betting she's here on his errand."

"Well come find me when you're done. I'll probably be watching the Chelsea football match," Ben said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Robert said, nodding and giving his friend a smile before heading inside.

He walked down the oak paneled floors, listening as they creaked a bit beneath his step. He glanced at some of the familiar paintings on the walls as he went; Jesus and the Sacred Heart, the Madonna with the Christ Child, and a replica of da Vinci's Last Supper among them. He knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and went in at Father John's answer. Melinda turned around in her chair to smile at him, dark brown hair pulled half up. He noticed she must have dyed the few grey streaks out sometime since he had last seen her. Her gold-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of her long nose, hazel eyes peering at him, and it reminded him of his father. It also struck him in that moment that her physical attributes, hair, eyes, height, everything, was the complete opposite of how his mother's had been.

"Hello, Robert," she said, rising to hug him, noting that her brown corduroy jacket smelled of his father's pipe tobacco even here in London, all the way across the world from home.

"Hi," he managed to utter, still shocked. He hugged her back, remembering how kind she'd always been to him as a child growing up, supposing that it wasn't her fault that she'd lost all her senses and married someone like his father.

"I was just suggesting to Melinda that the two-of you get something at that charming little tea-shop down the way, Robert," Father John said, dark brown eyes containing a worried gleam as he ran a hand over his silver hair. His expression gave away the fact that he at least had an inkling of why Melinda was here.

"Evening Prayer is…" Robert started to say, looking down at his watch.

"You're excused," the rector answered, shooting his student a half-smile. "Don't worry about it."

A few minutes later, Robert and Melinda were sitting at a table in the back of the tea shop, Robert with a cup of English Breakfast, and Melinda with Earl Grey. She'd also gotten a cinnamon scone, but Robert couldn't imagine eating anything at the moment, his insides were writhing with nerves. They'd made small talk on the way over, Melinda commenting on the beauty of the architecture and things like that, but they were running out of mindless things to speak of.

"You're doing well?" he asked, trying to smile at her. "The hospital is good, and everything? And Dad?" he added quickly, wishing he didn't care how his father was, but knowing there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

"Things are insane as usual," she said, pushing her fork down into the scone and spearing a piece onto it. "You know how it is. It was actually a bit of a relief to get to come here to London for the infectious disease conference. Almost like a vacation." She met his eye, looking uneasy. "Your Dad's doing fine. He's actually got a new clinical trial going, a new drug for Junior Rheumatoid Arthritis. You're doing all right? You like it here?"

Robert shifted, uncomfortable with the look in her eyes. "I love it here," he answered. "It's really even better than I thought it would be. There's a lot of adjustments, but I've made friends, and it's awesome that it all worked out for me to come here." He smiled, feeling a swell of happiness in his chest while talking about his life here. Finally, finally, he felt at peace.

"I know you've been thinking about this for years," she said, brushing a hand across her long khaki skirt. "I think you'd make an excellent priest. You're wise beyond your years, and so sweet. And your mom would be proud of you."

"Yeah," he said, a little shocked at the mention of Isabelle. He cleared his throat, hoping to change the topic. "Thank you for coming to visit me. It's nice to see someone from home. People here always tease me about getting the accent right." He grinned at her.

She laughed, her face lighting up, and Robert thought that his father had at least done something right in marrying Dr. Owens. After a few moments however, she became somber again.

"I hope you know that I'm not trying to replace your Mom," she said, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by the rest of the occupants of the tea-shop.

"I know." A montage of Isabelle's face flashed through his mind; her childish grin while she spun him around in circles when he was 6, her utterly defeated expression the day Rowan walked out, and the pain in her eyes when he'd found her on the bathroom floor, vomiting crimson.

"But I do care about you," she said, reaching to put hand over his, her skin warm with motherly affection. "Always have. You were such a dear little boy, running around the hospital with such curiosity in your eyes. But there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Dad," he said simply.

"He loves you," she said quickly, pulling out an envelope. "He always will. I need you to know that. But he…"

"Doesn't want me here?" Robert said, feeling his heart start to pound. "I know. He's made that exceedingly clear. Especially seeing as he's only called about three times since I've been here. But that's nothing new, really. I know you want to protect me, and I appreciate it but…"

"He's going to take a step that I am in complete disagreement with," she said. Tears started to fill her eyes, and he reached for the pack of tissues in his jacket pocket, handing her one. "He was just going to mail you this, but I took it, knowing I'd be in your area of the world." She slid it across the table to him.

He picked it up, ripping open the envelope and sliding out the single sheet of paper. He felt an awful sense of foreboding. If he hadn't so been used to his father's nearly illegible doctor's script, he wouldn't have been able to make it out.

Robert,

I hope you are doing well, and keeping warm in your new climate. England can get quite chilly, can it not? Although I do hope that you're happy, I have to tell you how displeased I am with your decision to go into seminary. You already know this however, so I will not go on about it. I'll be short about this, because it won't be pleasant. I am exceedingly disappointed, that, despite my best efforts to help you secure a bright future, you have turned them down. I know you believe you can help people in your chosen career path, and in a way you of course can. I have respect for all the priests I've ever known, but you were meant for bigger and better things, and your stubbornness is holding you back. I'm not insisting you go to medical school, but I'm insisting that you do something reasonable. You are ungrateful for my efforts to help you.

It is then that I must tell you that from this point forward, I will no longer initiate any contact with you. I will send you a small check each month to attend to your needs that the church doesn't cover. You are no longer a minor, so I am taking myself off as your medical proxy. You can make those decisions on your own, as you have been ever content to inform me. You are my son, so of course if there is some kind of emergency, or you are fatally ill, I will come see you, and will leave my number on any emergency contact forms. But that is all. Do not expect calls, visits, or letters. You may come collect your belongings from my house when you are on break. If you need to store anything, I will supply the funds for a unit. Melinda has leave to do as she likes, but unless you change your mind about your life choices, you and I will not have a relationship.

I will always love you, but you are throwing your life away, and I refuse to be a part of that.

~ Your Father

Robert clenched the paper in his hand, hardly even noticing he was shaking. The cheery fire crackling at the front of the tea-shop was somehow three times as loud as it should have been.

"Robert?" said Melinda, moving her chair closer to his, and pushing her tea cup out of the way. "Are you all right?"

"He's disowning me!" Robert practically shouted, causing a few stares from others in the shop. "I've decided to give my life over to God's service, to the Church's service, and he's disowning me?"

"He's not…" she tried to reassure him.

"He is," Robert argued. "Unless I'm dying of an illness, get into some kind of car or plane crash, or have a psychotic break, he wants no contact with me. At all." His heart rate was rising, he could feel it beating in his throat.

"I told you I didn't agree," she said, pulling him to her in a hug he barely had the strength to return. "I don't want you to worry. I tend to think he'll change his mind…"

"He won't," he said firmly. "I know him, and he won't. But I'm not changing my mind. I've been considering this for years, and I'm happy here. I can do good here and in this kind of life. I love the Church and I love the people in it. He doesn't want to talk to me? Fine. I'm not giving this up. He essentially wants to orphan me because he thinks he knows best."

She closed her eyes in defeat, knowing better than to try and argue the point.

"I want you to know that I'll be there if you need anything," she whispered.

"Thank you," he said, smiling in a desperate effort to convince her that he was okay. "I'll keep you posted on things. Thank you for the warning. And the tea," he said, picking up his mug and draining the rest. "I appreciate it. But I've really got to be going. Have a safe flight."

He rose so quickly he knocked the chair over. He set it upright, and gazed at her for a long moment. Tears were flowing down her face, dripping onto the collar of her jacket.

"I'm so, so sorry," she said.

She hugged him once more and he placed a kiss on her cheek before nodding in goodbye and exiting the shop. He made his way down the street and back to his room in a matter of mere minutes, the cold breeze biting at his hands like his father's words did at the core of his soul. Dammit, he wished he didn't care. But he did. He cared so much that his heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode inside his chest. How could any father, even his father, voluntarily cut off contact with his child because he made a different decision?

Once he locked the door behind him, he picked up the picture of him with his parents at the beach. He was on his Father's shoulders, his mother's arm looped through Rowan's as she smiled up at her son. He looked at it for a moment longer, an awful feeling of longing spreading through his veins like wildfire, then threw the frame across the room, the glass shattering against the wall. With that, he checked his watch, seeing he still had five minutes to make it to evening prayer. He knew he'd been excused, but right now, prayer seemed like the only logical answer to what had just happened to him. He grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him, running on autopilot to the small church on St. Michael's campus. He spotted Ben and slid into the pew next to him just as the strains of "Be Not Afraid" were heard on the piano. He folded his hands, closing his eyes against the harsh words of his father's letter, deciding to talk to the Father who hadn't abandoned him.

That night he crawled under the thick covers of his bed, and sobbed like he hadn't since the night his mother died, hoping to the heavens that no one on the hall heard him.

"Needless to say, I spent Christmas with Andrew's family," Chase said. "It was only a few weeks after this happened, and I'd already bought the ticket home."

Cameron stared at him, eyes so wide they looked like a cartoon character's. Chase felt numb.

"Can we finish this tomorrow night?" he asked, getting up and walking around the island to put his mug in the dishwasher. "I just…can't. And we've got a sledding date with Christine and Peter in the morning." His back was to Cameron, and he felt the salt stinging his eyes. He felt a warm, gentle hand pulling at his and he turned around. She was crying, and he hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Don't feel sorry for me," he said, having seen that look on her face so many times before as she looked at patients, and for a reason he couldn't explain, he couldn't stand having it directed at him. "Please, please don't."

"God Robert, just be quiet," she snapped, taking his other hand. "That's just so awful that I can't even quite comprehend it. That he would voluntarily… it explains… a lot about you."

"Ha," he said. "I suppose it does. But don't go thinking I'm miserable now because of it. I'm not," he continued. "I'm really, truly, not unhappy. What he did sucked, but I try not to think about it that often. It hurts just a little too much for me to handle. My mind almost shuts itself off from feeling anything when I talk about it. Which I usually don't."

"I know you're not miserable," she replied, arms encircling his waist, her head resting against his chest. "I don't know that you quite ever processed the story you just told me."

"I haven't," he agreed, resting his forehead against the top of her head. "I'm tired though. Really tired." He yawned, wishing his trembling hand wasn't giving away his emotions.

"Let's go to bed," she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. She looked at him, still not letting go, as though she needed to be touching him. Not that he minded. There was a question in her eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"You do know I love you right?" she asked.

"We could do a polygraph to confirm," he said, unable to help himself. "Just to be sure."

"Robert," she said, a familiar warning in her tone.

"Yes," he answered. "You don't have to convince me. And just for your information, I think I love you too. Maybe." He pulled back a bit, amused by the adorably infuriated expression on her face.

AN: Hi readers! I know this chapter is pretty emotionally charged, but I'm hoping you like it! The update will come soon. And reviews make my day!