TITLE: The Long Count (29/34)
AUTHOR: enigma731
PAIRING: Chase/Cameron
RATING: M
WARNINGS: Very vague spoilers for Season 7.
SUMMARY: House's team is called upon by a CDC task force investigating a deadly viral outbreak. But pathogens are the least of Chase's concerns.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

9:07 P.M.

December 7, 2012

Oceanview Motel

Oceanview, OR

It is dark by the time they return to the motel, released at last from the holding room at the police department. It has taken eight hours for the CDC team to thoroughly test every piece of material in the lab, to determine twice-over that there is no trace of Nipah in the samples from the diner.

The negative tests ought to be a terrible disappointment, Chase knows, suggesting that the elusive lead of the previously positive diner samples was nothing more than a fluke. They are once more directionless, with no merit to show for the terrible risks they have taken. Still, he feels a guilty sense of relief to be free from the threat of extended quarantine, a comfort in returning to his room and being back in his own clothes.

Cameron has been kept back by Cohen, undoubtedly to be dealt yet more punishment. Concern for her sits heavily upon Chase's chest as he climbs into bed and switches on the television. Another mind-numbingly bad science fiction movie is playing, this one having something to do with a territory dispute between trolls. He wishes desperately that he could protect Cameron somehow, could be there to intervene. But he knows his presence would only serve to make things worse for her; he has already cost her enough through his own continued participation in the case.

Chase doesn't realize that he's fallen asleep until the hollow knock drags him from the depths of fitful dreaming. The clock reads 11:21 as he switches on the lamp, forces himself out of bed to answer the door. Cameron is standing in the hallway in a tanktop and sweatpants despite the cold, a grocery bag in her arms. Chase runs a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the lingering sense of unease from a dream he cannot remember. Cameron pushes past him as soon as he opens the door, moving to sit on the edge of the bed without a word.

"Are you okay?" asks Chase, following as the door swings shut behind him.

"Fine." Cameron pulls a bottle of vodka from the grocery bag and sets it on the night stand, instantly on her feet again, a flurry of motion as she circles the room. "Do you have cups in here?"

"Bathroom counter," Chase answers. He feels a fresh swell of concern for her, knowing that she could not possibly be so completely unaffected by the day's events. "What's going on?"

"I want to get drunk," she answers bluntly, setting the two hotel glasses down and pouring.

"Whoa." Chase catches her wrist as she fills the second glass a little over an inch. "You planning on mixing that with something? That's huge for a shot."

"I want to be efficient," says Cameron, not meeting his eyes as she caps the bottle.

"Efficient at getting drunk?" Chase asks incredulously. He is reminded suddenly of that night seven years ago, the first time she'd called him, of finding her wildly vulnerable with drugs and fear. He's never seen her drink anything but wine, and wonders whether she has any idea just how quickly vodka shots could send her into mindless oblivion. She has no experience losing her inhibitions, and a tendency to cross that line too far. "Allison. You're upset. This isn't a good idea."

Cameron snorts. "Because I'm upset? I want a distraction. Come on, Chase." She downs the contents of the first glass in a single gulp; her eyes water as she pushes the other into his hand.

"Drinking isn't a distraction," Chase insists, though he's painfully aware of just how little weight those words hold. Her cheeks are flushed now, eyes liquid black like the surface of the night sea in the dim lamplight. In this moment he sees the empty shards of broken empathy which drew him to her in the beginning, and feels the pull of the glass in his hand.

"You're full of shit," says Cameron, pouring again. "You actually expect me to believe that you haven't been doing the exact same thing lately? Or can you only drink with strangers at the bar?" She clinks her glass against his and takes another long swallow, smiling crookedly.

In the space of a breath, something breaks. Chase feels the sudden desperate need to be close to her, to push aside the fear which has continued to keep him more distant than in the past. It seems suddenly as though this might be a way to regain some piece of the lost time, to erase countless nights of anonymity at the bar, of stumbling home to pass out alone, the handful of failed relationships he'd tried to grant a better chance.

The vodka burns all the way down, and Chase coughs roughly. "Where the hell did you get this? You sure it's not actually paint thinner?" But he can already feel the warmth spreading through his chest; for this instant, things seem almost normal.

Cameron laughs, too loudly. "Not a lot of choice in the middle of the night." She sloshes a little over the rim of the glass as she pours him another and herself a third, movements already exaggerated and too loose.

They make it halfway through the bottle before Cameron abandons her glass, kissing him with such unexpected force that Chase loses his balance, falling back against the bed, which squeaks loudly. He can smell the alcohol on her breath as she straddles his lap, fumbling clumsily with the buttons on his shirt. He is struck by a fresh twinge of concern, the inevitable stirring of memories forever elicited by the mix of alcohol and despair. But he feels closer to her in this moment than he has since before their marriage, as though the torrent of emotions she has kept so carefully in check has finally been unleashed. He can see it in the fluidity of her movements, sense it in the hitch of her breathing as she presses him back into the bed.

Chase shrugs out of his shirt like shedding skin, rolls his head back against the pillows as she drags her lips along his neck. Slipping his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, he feels goosebumps rise along the warm expanse of her back. She lifts her arms as he pulls her tanktop over her head, undoes her bra after a momentary struggle. The alcohol lends an unfamiliar grace to her movements; she looks light as a dancer with the tension fallen away. Cameron grazes her teeth across his clavicle and Chase shudders, reminded again of that first time, how surprised he'd been to see the wildness consume her characteristic steadfast control.

She laughs huskily at his response, drawing his hand to her breast as she struggles to unbuckle his belt. Chase groans deeply as he circles the feather-soft skin of her nipple, lifting his hips so that she can dispose of his jeans. Breathing hard, Cameron moves off of him to wriggle out of her own sweatpants, kicking them off the foot of the bed, and giggling again when they knock over the empty trash can. Distractedly, she settles on her back along the other side of the bed, shivering as she runs her hand down her belly, rocking her hips as she begins to slowly stroke herself.

"Fuck," Chase whispers, grinding his erection into the mattress as he watches.

Cameron looks at him sideways, a devilish grin slowly spreading over her face. In his mind's eye, he imagines her this way on a thousand lonely nights around the world, wonders whether she would have been thinking of him then.

Unable to resist any longer, Chase rolls over, the room seeming to shift momentarily as he positions himself over her. Cameron looks up at him with an intensity of need that steals his breath. He sees written in her face the damage his decisions have wrought, the decades-old scars he'd only thought he'd managed to erase. Dropping his head, Chase kisses her very tenderly. Cameron makes a noise of impatience in response, taking hold of his hips. Letting her guide him, he slips inside of her, moving quickly. She wraps her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. Chase feels his head swim with the need for release, every sensation intensified by the alcohol. A few moments in, he is already having trouble maintaining a rhythm, knows that he will not be able to last long.

"Touch yourself," Chase whispers against her ear.

Cameron chuckles in response, a throaty, forceful sound which reminds him of how terribly long it has been since he has seen her truly happy. Clumsily, she slips her hand between them, fingertips brushing his cock as she finds her clit again, panting. She comes a moment later with a rough cry, the intensity of her orgasm sending him over the edge of his own climax. Chase collapses against her, gasping for breath, and she tangles her fingers in his hair, holding on hard.

He is uncertain how much time has passed when he gets up for a glass of water. Shutting the bathroom door behind himself, Chase splashes cold water on his face before filling the remaining two cups provided by the hotel. Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror he pauses again, studying his own features for any sign of the profound change he's been feeling, as though the past three years might somehow be manifested in a physical scar. But there is nothing, and he feels strangely empty as he switches off the light. Cameron is sitting up in bed when he returns, wearing her tanktop and his boxers, and playing with the television remote.

"Drink this," Chase instructs, sitting gingerly beside her and holding out one glass of water.

Cameron shrugs it away. "I'm fine." Her words are still slightly slurred, betraying her. The heady energy of the alcohol seems to have abated, but the looseness in her movements remains.

"Yeah, but you won't be fine tomorrow if you don't drink this," Chase insists.

This time she accepts the glass and takes a small sip before setting it on the nightstand and resting her head on his shoulder, evidently having decided that they are watching an infomercial for weight loss supplements. Chase thinks for a moment that he ought to make her drink more of the water, but her weight against his side is mesmerizing, the familiar scent of her shampoo filling him with the need to be close to her, and he decides that there will be time later. Kissing the top of her head, he wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She leans into him, simply quiet for the space of a few breaths.

"I was in love with House," she says at last, her voice slightly muffled against his neck.

Chase tenses, feeling an unexpected thrill of panic. This is a fear he has spent years fighting down, wonders why she would choose now to make the confession.

"I don't think I want to hear this," he answers quickly.

But Cameron ignores him again, shaking her head a little as she finds his hand, playing with his fingers as she speaks. "I was in love with him. Past tense. He was brilliant. Funny. Saved people's lives. And I—was afraid of falling in love again. Of getting hurt."

"So you fell in love with a manipulative ass who's practically got a monopoly on hurting people?" Chase asks, instantly regretting the bitterness of his tone. She is trying to tell him something, he reminds himself. He ought to be glad that she is talking at all, when all she's wanted this night was oblivion.

"Yes," she answers firmly, mindlessly stroking the pad of her thumb along the strip of skin where his wedding ring briefly rested. "That's the point. I knew he would never care about me. That he'd always be just backward enough to make me hate him a little too. It was—safe. Never going to go anywhere."

"Allison." Chase does not know what to say to this, cannot reconcile the idea that her conception of safety would also involve constant torment.

"I slept with you to make him jealous," says Cameron. She sits up a little to look him in the face, her pupils a gaping void in the dimness of the hotel room. "But I made a mistake. I thought you were safe, too. Not the kind of guy who'd ever want to settle down. Just in it for uncomplicated sex."

"Sex with you was always complicated," Chase answers, wanting the words to sting as much as her confession does. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I wanted to die." Cameron straightens, hugging her knees. "When I was in the Congo last summer. When I gave away those pills. All those people had so much hope, and I—I was going to bed hoping I wouldn't wake up in the morning."

"God," Chase whispers, suddenly breathless, every trace of the anger that's been rising in the back of his throat washed away. Shakily, he laces their fingers, squeezing her hand lightly.

"I fell in love with you by accident," she says quietly. "Worse than by accident. I fell in love with you kicking and screaming, and resisting every way I knew how. And now—I've been coasting ever since I left you."

"I haven't exactly done much better," Chase offers gently, wishing there was something more to say.

"I want to be with you," says Cameron, stretching out on the bed again, still holding his hand. "That's all I know right now. But—I don't want it to be an accident this time."

"I love you," Chase murmurs, kissing her again, softly.

He is about to reach over her to turn out the lamp when there is the sound of something heavy hitting the window. Chase jumps, sitting up straight again.

"Must be windy," says Cameron, frowning. "Another storm? There're trees in the parking lot. Debris could blow around."

"We're on the third floor." Chase winces as he gets up, head pounding now. Cameron follows gingerly, watching over his shoulder as he pulls back the curtains.

For a few moments, nothing happens. There is no wind or rain; the night is clear and the treetops outside the window are still. But then, as his eyes adjust, he recognizes the leathery black form of a bat, listing drunkenly toward the glass in the darkness. Chase catches his breath as the animal collides with a sick thump before falling away.

"There's dozens of them," Cameron says from behind him.

It is only then that Chase looks down, at the patch of parking lot illuminated by the security lights. The pavement there is darkened by a multitude of black forms, all unmistakably in the throes of death.


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