WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

Chapter Thirty-Four

Time seems to stretch out, coming to a standstill so that it might be seconds or hours passing. There's a clock on the wall which seems to be deafening in its ticking, but Cameron finds she can't focus on it, can't seem to make sense of the numbers though she knows she ought to be able without any effort. Her heart is pounding in her temples, and the room feels much too small, the walls pressing in as though there is not enough air here.

She can't say how much time has passed since she spoke with Foreman on the phone, whether it's been unreasonably long for her room still to be empty. She's grateful that he didn't choose to interrogate her on the spot, didn't say much of anything at all. But at the same time, she has no idea whether he'll comply with her request or what he might have already said to Chase.

Warring with those concerns is the fear that Chase has already been told and isn't coming. Her thoughts are racing, panic churning her stomach, and she can't shake the image of him receiving the news and heading straight for the nearest bar. The truth is that Cameron isn't sure how far he can be trusted yet. She's certain he isn't ready for this kind of emotional pressure, and the small part of her that's still able to feel anything aside from her own panic is filled with guilt for putting him in this position now. But ready or not, she needs him, and the thought that he might disappoint her in this lowest moment is unbearable.

Cameron has nearly resigned herself to the thought that he's taken off, isn't coming, is probably already back on the path to self destruction, when he finally appears in the doorway, flushed and breathing hard. His lab coat is draped over one arm, and his eyes are filled with panic.

"Hey," Chase manages after a moment, obviously trying to sound calmer than he is, though neither of them is convinced. "Came as quickly as I could. What happened?"

Cameron swallows, sitting up against the pillows and trying to stop the room from spinning. She's tried a thousand times to view her own case objectively, to list her symptoms as though she were simply reading a chart. Yet she still can barely find her voice; her throat feels too tight, her head filled with cotton.

"Allison?" Chase takes a few tentative steps closer, perching on the edge of the chair across from the bed.

"I was sore when I woke up this morning," Cameron manages finally, not recognizing the sound of her own voice, the meticulous sense of false calm she's cultivated working in emergency medicine. It seems out of place to her now, and for an instant her racing thoughts fixate on wondering whether this is how her patients have perceived her in the past. "I just—thought I'd slept wrong, twisted my back somehow. And I had a headache, which I assumed was just stress."

"But?" Chase prompts, obviously aware that those symptoms alone wouldn't constitute a problem, wouldn't even arouse enough concern for her to ask for an exam in the middle of a workday.

"Started feeling nauseous at work," she continues, feeling disconnected still, as though she's watching herself give a diagnostic interview. "Stopped in the bathroom before going to meet with Cuddy and realized I was bleeding. After that, everything just—"

"Turned into an emergency," Chase finishes quietly, surprising her. He looks remarkably collected, moreso than she feels, though she can still see well-concealed fear in the way his jaw is clenched, the muscle jumping in his temple. "What did the doctor say?" he prompts, when she doesn't continue.

"Did an exam and an ultrasound," Cameron manages, swallowing again. The nausea is still nearly overwhelming, though it's the least of her concerns now. "The baby—looked okay, but they're still waiting on bloodwork. And my blood pressure was high."

Chase's eyes widen slightly, yet another sign that he isn't as in control at this moment as he'd like to appear. "How high?"

"I don't remember," she admits, ashamed. It's unlike her to forget any details of any exam, much less one so important to herself and her unborn child. "Not—hugely. Enough for concern. They want to keep me overnight, at least. See if things go back to normal, or if I—" Cameron breaks off, unable to voice the possible reality of a miscarriage aloud. All she can think is that if they lose this baby, it will mean the end of everything. There will be no reason for a second try; she's certain their fragile friendship cannot survive such a devastating blow. It will be back to three months ago, to distance and resentment and loss. Worse, the fact that these are her greatest fears makes her feel like a monster, like it would be a just punishment for this miracle child to slip away from her.

"Okay," Chase says quietly, taking an audible breath. He clears his throat and gets to his feet again, as though he's too filled with nervous energy to stay still in the chair. "Okay." He pauses, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away from her in a gesture Cameron can't quite read. He seems uncertain suddenly. "Do you—want some company while you wait? I'd understand if you wanted to be alone."

"Please," Cameron breathes, at once relieved and surprised. "Please stay." It hasn't occurred to her that he might think he isn't wanted here, that she would want to go through this nightmare alone. And yet she appreciates the choice, the consideration he's showing her now when he could so easily just fall apart. Three years ago she would have taken all of these things for granted, would have assumed he would be supportive always. It's yet another realization of all the ways in which he has changed, and is changing still, making strides toward a kind of healing that has started to surprise her with its depth.

Chase nods slowly, then drapes his lab coat over the back of the chair and comes to the side of her bed. She's watching him slip off his shoes before she realizes what he's doing, and Cameron holds her breath as he gets into the small hospital bed beside her. There isn't enough room to keep any sort of distance, but for once Chase doesn't even try, sliding his arms around her from behind so that one hand rests over her heart, the other against her belly, as though he might be able to offer the baby some of his own strength.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

"Yes." Cameron turns, craning her neck to look at him over her shoulder, and her breath catches in her throat. Reflected in his face is the absolute tenderness she first fell in love with, the gentle adoration which finally broke through the walls she'd built up around herself all those years ago, and which she'd been so certain he'd lost.

"I'm here, Allison," Chase murmurs, leaning forward a little to rest his forehead against her temple. He's shaking, she notices, but there's a quiet sense of resolve about him. The grit of survival he's been developing since childhood. He is stronger than she will ever know, Cameron realizes, and suddenly her reservations at asking for his help crumble, in their place a desperate gratitude for his presence now.

"Just—try to relax," he continues after a moment, and Cameron lets her eyes slip closed as they fill with tears. Everything is overwhelming. "That's the best thing you can do right now. I know it's easy to panic, but that's not going to help get your BP down."

"We haven't seen the bloodwork yet," Cameron protests quietly, unable to listen to him though she knows he's right. There are still a thousand possibilities racing through her mind, worst case scenarios piling up one on top of another. "We can't know what might still be wrong. If my Rh factor is incompatible—"

"Don't go there yet," Chase interrupts. "We have no reason to think that. And this is your first pregnancy. Most likely not a concern."

"There's still a thousand other things that could go wrong," Cameron argues, suddenly feeling a fresh swell of fear at the prospect of relaxing. She has the irrational sense that if she allows herself to calm down, it might bring on the worst. It will hurt so much more if she allows herself to assume the best outcome and then be disappointed, she knows, has discovered so many times before in her life. Now she hardly recognizes the woman she was when she first moved to Princeton, so filled with hope and idealism. Now those thoughts terrify her.

"And most of those are extremely rare," says Chase gently. "Just because we see extreme cases all the time in our department doesn't make one more likely to happen to you. You have to remember that. Most likely this is nothing but stress. You'll rest for a few days and go on to have a normal pregnancy."

"I don't want to assume—" she begins once more, but Chase silences her with a hand on her cheek.

"Hey," he says softly, shifting slightly to make eye contact, but not letting go. "I get it. As long as you stay panicked, it feels safer. Miserable, but—safer. Less to lose. The moment you relax, you start to attach again, and then if something happens after that—So you're trying to stay afraid until you know it's safe." Very lightly, he traces her lips with the pad of his thumb. "Don't do it. You're trying to protect yourself, but you'll just end up hurting worse."

Something breaks then, as though his words alone—a silent admission in themselves—are enough to bring down the walls she's been trying desperately to build. Cameron turns over in a rush, hiding her face against his shoulder as she starts to cry. Chase adjusts immediately, as though it hasn't been years since they've been this close, hooking his chin over her shoulder and combing his fingers through her hair.

"It's okay," he breathes against her neck, though it's obvious from his tone that he isn't sure those words are really the truth. Still, in this moment it's enough that he's said them, that he's here and willing to try so hard. She recognizes his advice as a confession about himself, the way he's viewed everything since their marriage fell apart. That he's trusted her with this insight into himself means more than any outright reassurance ever could; he has just proven that he still has faith in the future of their child, and in her.

Sniffling, Cameron settles against him, starting to catch her breath. She can't quite capture the sense of calm yet, but her thoughts are beginning to slow. This situation seems manageable once more, though she still feels sick with anxiety.

"Are you okay?" she asks Chase at last, remembering again her initial concerns at asking him for so much so soon.

"Let me do this for you," he answers simply, and she nods, accepting that this is what he wants.

Cameron takes a shaky breath, searching for something else to focus on, at least until her own bloodwork comes back from the lab. "What about the case? I interrupted you in the middle of it. Did either of you find anything?"

Chase shakes his head and starts to say something, but is silenced by the sound of footsteps from the hallway outside. A moment later Cuddy appears in the doorway, looking flustered and angry, an expression previously reserved for House. Chase doesn't even try to move, instinctively tightening his arm around Cameron's waist instead, and she finds herself grateful for the gesture.

"So," says Cuddy after a long moment of tense silence. "Not a completely professional relationship, then."

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