WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence
Chapter Forty-Four
Two weeks pass in an exhausting whirlwind of work and as many free evenings as possible spent at Cameron's apartment. The department is busier than ever before since her return to work. It seems to Chase that they are constantly improving in efficiency, but the referrals just keep piling up. Six months ago he would have bitterly resented Cameron's success as boss, hated her for it. Now he is proud of her, he realizes, though he still can't find words or strength to tell her.
He has been happier the past few weeks than he can remember feeling in years, and yet there still seems to be a hollowness at the core of their new relationship. For every moment of joy, a thousand painful memories are stirred, a mental tempest of what-if threatening his sanity. In the few free nights, in his times alone, he still is haunted by doubts, by fears, by the certainty that he doesn't deserve this. Cameron is still cautious with him, tentative, content to move slowly. In his rational moments, Chase knows it's for the best, that she is trying to protect them both from disaster. But when the nightmares come, he can't help thinking that she is ashamed of him, or perhaps even a little bit afraid.
It has just begun to get dark on Saturday night when Cameron shows up on his doorstep. Chase is contemplating takeout when her knock startles him. When he opens the door he has a breathless moment of deja vu, remembering the way she'd appeared at his old apartment the night he'd gotten fired by House. How that had been one of the first steps on the journey that ultimately landed him here in this place, with so much still uncertain. Tonight Cameron is wearing a black dress tight enough to hug every curve of her body, hair curling loose around her shoulders. Chase is speechless with the realization that for the first time, she is showing her pregnancy off to the rest of the world.
"Wow," he manages at last.
Cameron laughs, looking impossibly radiant in the streetlights which are just beginning to come on. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah," Chase says quickly, feeling disoriented as he steps back to let her pass him. "Thought you said you had things to do today."
"I did," she answers lightly. "Today. I wanted to surprise you."
"I'm surprised," he says lamely, still shocked that she would go to these lengths for him. "What are we doing?"
"I'm taking you on a date," Cameron answers simply. "You'd better change."
Chase feels as though maybe he ought to be blindfolded as Cameron drives, a mixture of anxiety and excitement fluttering in his stomach. Throughout the course of their relationship, they have very rarely gone on formal dates, save for a couple of anniversaries. On those occasions, Chase had always been the one in charge of making the plans, taking the initiative at all. After Cameron left, he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd always pursued her, had bitterly resented that she'd ultimately scorned his efforts as though they'd been entirely meaningless. Now, he realizes with a slight shock, Cameron is the one pursuing him, and has been for months. He isn't sure what to make of that – it seems hopeful, terrifyingly so, and yet he remains entirely convinced that he deserves nothing of the sort.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks quietly, as Cameron pulls into the parking lot of a beautiful hotel he's driven past on numerous occasions, but never investigated further.
Cameron parks, then turns to look at him, brow furrowed into a slight frown, as though his question has caught her off guard. "I told you, I want to take you on a date. Do I need a reason other than that?"
Chase shrugs, suspicion flaring in the pit of his stomach. He has no reason to doubt her, he tells himself, and yet he does. With every day that passes in the absence of some fresh tragedy, his fear grows greater, the sense of impending doom he hasn't been able to shake off entirely since first laying eyes on Dibala. A part of him is still waiting for some long-coming, unknown punishment. For every kind gesture of Cameron's, every action of affection, he feels as though the bottom is one step closer to dropping out from under him, as though the inevitable end will be that much more devastating when it comes.
"You never wanted to take me on dates before," he challenges, unable to help himself. There is still the insistent little voice at the back of his mind which tells him this will all hurt less if disaster happens on his terms, if he drives her away before she can decide to leave on her own. And though she's done nothing to validate his fears, he cannot completely silence them.
Cameron sighs, turning sideways as far as she can in the driver's seat. "Are we really going to do this now? I know you're scared. But this is just one date. One night. I wanted to do something nice with you, away from home or work for a change. I'm not trying to obligate you. I'm not—looking for any kind of commitment. Just dinner."
Chase takes a breath, swallowing hard. He tells himself it's a good thing that she's seen straight through his insecurities, though it shames him. But at least she's aware now, understands, and that is a great relief.
"Okay," he manages at last, trying to turn his attention back to the evening at hand. "I'm sorry."
Cameron shakes her head, smiling sadly. "Don't be. I get it."
"I'm still sorry," Chase insists, suddenly horribly guilty for doubting her intentions when she's being so thoughtful.
"I just want you to tell me when something's bothering you," Cameron says simply, then leans across the dashboard to kiss him lightly. "Come on. We have a reservation."
She takes his hand as they enter the lobby, leading him toward a candle-lit restaurant. He feels out of place suddenly among so many happy people dressed up for the evening. The suit he's changed into still fits a little too loosely, reminding him once more of just how much weight he's lost over the past three years, how much abuse he's put his body through. He grew up with expensive clothes and formal social functions, once felt most comfortable behind the shallowness of a flirtatious smile and a pretty lie. Yet now he feels as though he doesn't remember how to play the game, how to exist in a world whose biggest concern is being in fashion.
"It's okay," Cameron murmurs against his ear as they are led to their table, squeezing his arm lightly. Again he thinks it's as though she can sense his thoughts, his unconscious fears. He wonders whether she has always been this attuned, unbeknownst to him. And how, then, she could have been so wrong in her reasons for leaving, for ultimately ending their marriage.
Sitting across from her at the table, Chase feels as though they are at an unknown point in their relationship. The past two weeks have been filled with familiarity in spite of this fresh beginning; everything until now has seemed like an odd dream, filled with regrets and deja vu. But this is entirely new, paradoxically at once a blessing and a challenge.
"What are you thinking?" Cameron asks, when their food has come and still they're sitting in silence.
Chase bites his lip and twirls a forkful of pasta before putting it down again, watching his own hand shake slightly. There are still so many things he can't find words for, couldn't tell her even if he trusted the consequences. "Sort of feels like—re-entering the world."
Cameron pauses, looking slightly surprised. "Really? You've been back at work for two months."
Chase shrugs, glancing down at his plate again and trying to figure out how to articulate the peculiar sense that this is a trial by fire. "I know, but work is—work. Never really stopped doing that. Maybe it's backwards, but that's been one of the few places I still felt safe. But the rest of my life, I've just—wanted to hide as much as possible."
"Even now?" asks Cameron, taking another bite of her own food. She looks beautifully ethereal in the candle light, and again Chase is struck by the way her body is changing, showing the world the growth of their child.
"It's hard," he admits after a moment, remembering what she said in the car. "Feels like I don't remember what it was like to have a normal life. I don't remember how to be okay."
"Maybe 'okay' means something different to you now than it did before," Cameron suggests quietly.
"Maybe," Chase answers noncommittally. She is right, he thinks, in that he can't imagine ever again being the person that he was before the Dibala case. But he can't imagine ever again being truly happy either. Can't imagine deserving it.
"You don't think so?" asks Cameron, yet again surprising him with her perceptiveness. This time he wonders whether she has really changed, really understands him better now, or if he's been too jaded to see it all along.
"I don't want to just be okay," Chase answers after a moment, aware that he sounds petulant, and unable to meet her eyes. "I don't want us to just—get by. I still want everything that we were planning before. Everything you'd convinced me we could have. Only then I think about everything I've done, and I know that if I ever deserved those things, I sure as hell don't now." The sudden wave of bitterness accompanying that confession surprises him, and he takes a long drink of water to try to regain control. There's a bar at the far end of the room, and though Cameron has subtly positioned them so that she is the one facing it, Chase is very aware of its proximity. Now, as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him, he thinks of how easy it would be to simply walk over there, how badly he wants a drink.
Wordlessly Cameron covers his hand with her own, lacing their fingers on top of the table. The sudden contact breaks the spell of regret and craving, and Chase takes a deep breath, trying to re-center himself as he slowly meets her eyes.
"You want us to be disgustingly happy," she says quietly, squeezing his hand lightly. "Do you remember when you said that to me?"
"Of course," Chase whispers, swallowing down a rush of tears. Everything had seemed certain to him then, so filled with warmth and hope for the future. Now he can't imagine ever feeling that way again; there is a terrible sadness in the memory of such happiness.
At the front of the dining room is a small dance floor, and a silver-haired man playing a grand piano. A few couples are scattered around the floor, and Chase finds himself watching them, wondering whether their lives are what he once imagined for himself and Cameron.
"Do you want to dance?" she asks softly, surprising him.
"What?" Chase gapes at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It isn't the kind of thing they've ever done before, yet another first step. "I—don't dance."
But Cameron smiles warmly, getting to her feet and tugging gently at his hand. "Come on. I'm sure you're capable of swaying."
Swallowing, Chase lets her guide him out of his seat and onto the small dance floor. He doesn't recognize the piano music, but it's slow and bittersweet, stirring the myriad emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Cameron wraps her arms around his waist, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Returning her embrace, Chase rests his forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, and letting the music replace his thoughts as his eyes fall closed.
When the song changes, Cameron leans up to kiss him slowly. "I love you," she breathes against his ear. "We're going to be happy. I promise."
Chase chokes, feeling as though her words have cut through the last of his defenses. He is desperate for the sound of them, and yet they stir a thousand regrets, the weight of guilt which still threatens to crush him. He isn't ready to say them in return, doesn't feel worthy and is too afraid besides. Instead, he hugs her again, turning his face into her neck.
"I got us a room for tonight if you want it," Cameron says softly, tracing her fingers along his back. "I thought it might be good to just—get away for a little while."
Wordlessly, Chase nods, content for the moment to let her lead.
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