WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence
NOTES: Totally unrelated to fic, but I wanted to tell you all that I have an original short story published in my school's writers' festival magazine this year. If you want to read it, it's posted on my LJ, and there's a link in my profile.
Chapter Forty-Six
Elizabeth Speck's mother doesn't want her daughter put on life support. Chase feels entirely drained by the time he finishes speaking to her, trying to break through her armor of despair. He has spent years working with critically ill patients, even in NICU, yet speaking with the parents of dying children never gets any easier. This time he feels as though he might be looking backward through the years, seeing in this woman's tear-reddened eyes his own mother's hopelessness. He tells himself he needs to remain in the present moment, focus on doing all that they can to help this family, but he cannot help feeling a twinge of resentment he knows is actually for his own parents. She is giving up on her baby, no matter the rationale. As he makes his way back to the Diagnostics office, Chase cannot help thinking about his own child, and the lengths he already knows he would go to for the protection of his family.
"What are we doing?" asks Foreman, when Chase gets back to the office. He is alone, seated at the conference table and reading a file Chase can't quite make out.
"Nothing," says Chase, shrugging out of his labcoat and going over to the coffee pot. He doesn't really want the caffeine, is on edge enough as is, but he feels the need to have something to do, something mindless to focus on.
Foreman frowns. "No treatment?"
"That's what I said," Chase answers flatly, setting a filter in the coffee pot.
"We could try surgery," says Foreman, looking up. "Remove the worst areas of infection. It's not a great option, particularly in such a young infant, but it might give the antibiotics a better shot of having an effect."
"And you think I didn't tell her that?" asks Chase, frustrated. He knows that Foreman still views him as largely incompetent, despite the fact that he has never had a problem performing at work, in fact has been better at his job in recent years than ever before, shocked to find referrals for himself rather than House.
Foreman shrugs. "Surgery is very high risk, so I guess that's understandable. We could also try a ventilator. Help the baby breathe and see if her immune system can rally on its own. Did you tell her that?"
"Yes!" Chase snaps, accidentally spilling some of the water he's been trying to pour into the coffee pot. "I told her both of those options. I told her everything we could try. She doesn't want surgery. She doesn't want life support. It was all I could do to convince her to continue the antibiotics. She's convinced that her baby is going to die, and all she wants is for us to help that happen as peacefully as possible. I spent an hour arguing with her. If you think you can do better, be my guest!"
"No," says Foreman after a moment, sounding almost maddeningly calm. Chase cannot imagine being unaffected by this case, is having difficulty remembering how he was ever able to treat children without feeling everything so deeply. "If she said no treatment, and you were thorough, I'm not going to waste my time."
Chase sucks in a breath, forcing himself not to react to that. The idea that attempting to convince this mother to continue fighting to save her baby's life would be anything resembling a waste of time stirs a wave of anger in the pit of his stomach. And yet he reminds himself that he has given up as well, has declared defeat in the face of this woman's despair. This is not his child, he tells himself, attempting to swallow the flood of emotions and focus on the gentle gurgling of the coffee pot. It is not his place to play God. And the odds of saving this baby even with a last desperate attempt at surgery or life support are miniscule. In his heart Chase knows her mother is being realistic, yet he himself feels unable to give up, even on someone else's baby.
"Where's Cameron?" he asks finally, bothered by her absence and memories of the morning's fight. He's distracted himself with his last-ditch effort to save their patient, barely even thought about what's happened since Foreman returned with the MRSA diagnosis. Now he wonders whether he was wrong in volunteering to talk to the mother, whether he should have stayed and tried to immediately make things right with Cameron instead.
"Don't know," says Foreman, as he flips a page in the chart he's been reading since Chase walked in. "Said she had to go check on something. And I don't want to hear about it. I'm not your marriage counselor."
"We're not married," Chase snaps sharply. It's just one more thing that scares him about the future; he can't imagine ever being happy or hopeful or certain enough to marry Cameron again, and yet any other end to their relationship seems unthinkable. Willing himself to focus again, he turns back to Foreman, trying to keep his anxiety at bay. "What is that? Another case?"
"No," says Foreman, not elaborating further.
Irritated, Chase makes his way over to stand behind Foreman's chair, trying to see what he's reading. The chart includes several sets of test results, and a brainMRI image showing a large tumor. Then his eye is drawn to the identifying label at the top, and the patient's name, in smudged permanent marker: Hadley.
"That's—Thirteen's file?" Chase stammers, feeling as though he's been punched in the gut. Foreman has obviously intended him to see, reading it in the office, not even trying to hide, and yet he feels blindsided. This revelation makes so many things over the past few months fall into place: Foreman's unusual irritability, his readiness to work late.
"She has a name," says Foreman tightly, handing the MRI over to Chase in one quick motion. "And yes, she has a brain tumor. Inoperable. As if she wasn't dying fast enough."
"I'm—sorry," Chase manages after a moment, still feeling winded. This is the last thing he's been expecting, though now he wonders whether he ought to have noticed. "When did this—"
"A few weeks after House's funeral," Foreman answers curtly, not giving Chase time to finish his question. "Remember the drug trial I was running four years ago?"
Chase nods, biting his lip as he looks over the MRI. The tumor is already large, undoubtedly complicating Thirteen's worsening Huntington's symptoms. Without treatment, she will unquestionably die, and soon.
"Brain tumors were one of the complications then." Foreman slams the file shut with a snap. "Looks like we weren't out of the woods like we thought."
"I'm sorry," Chase repeats, at a loss. Years ago he thinks he might have known how to offer support to Foreman, but now he simply feels blank, confused, bewildered. It occurs to him that he can't even suggest they go out for a drink, though that ironically seems the most appropriate option.
"I'm not talking about this any more," says Foreman abruptly, getting to his feet. "I brought this to ask Wilson for a consult. Go find Cameron. Save your own relationship while you still can."
–
It takes Chase nearly three hours to work up the courage to take Foreman's advice. He spends the time waiting outside the NICU observation area, watching their patient's vitals fall and trying not to imagine himself in her mother's position. In truth he's surprised by his outburst at Cameron; all he knows for certain is that he's been on edge since waking up alone, his anxiety only worsening with the revelations of their case. He knows it is his own failure that's landed him here, that it is his responsibility to take heed of all Cameron's warnings to be open with her. And yet he finds himself too afraid more often than not, certain he doesn't deserve to ask for anything she hasn't offered, and terrified of losing his relationship again should he push her too far. But now he knows he's made the biggest mistake of all, the one she's warned him against at least a dozen times, not to mention acting unprofessionally at work.
As he makes his way to the locker room, knowing instinctively that is where she must have gone, he's half certain that it's only to face the end of this miraculous second chance, take responsibility for the wreckage he's made yet again. Sometimes it seems to him as though all the most important things in his life have begun and ended in this room, and he stops outside for a moment, trying to collect himself and shake off the memories. Images of the past threaten to overwhelm him: the look on Cameron's face as she'd confessed to finding her engagement ring, her tears of relief as he'd asked her to picture their future together, the horrible hollow weight of long-coming ruin he'd seen in her eyes when he'd told her his plans to rejoin House's team.
Taking a breath, Chase forces those thoughts away and pulls open the door. Cameron is sitting on the bench at the far end of the room with her back to him, staring at the wall. She doesn't turn as he makes his way over, sliding onto the bench beside her and watching her sideways, in silence.
"I'm sorry," he manages after a moment, swallowing. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. Especially not at work."
"No, you shouldn't have," Cameron answers, still not looking at him. Tension practically seems to radiate off her body, hurt and anger evident in the sound of her breathing.
"I was scared," Chase manages after a moment. It takes all of his strength to be honest with her, especially now, when he's certain he deserves nothing but rejection and hurt. But he knows he has no choice, no hope but this, if any at all.
"You actually thought I was going to go rushing in there to examine a patient with a contagious illness without taking any precautions at all?" She turns to face him at last, the lines of her face hardened into a bitter mask of betrayal. "I'm not an idiot."
"I know that!" Chase answers quickly, horrified by her interpretation of his concern, though he knows he hasn't exactly delivered it in the best way. "I know you would never intentionally do anything to put our baby at risk. But this—this baby is dying. And I'd never even considered that possibility."
"I hadn't either," says Cameron tightly, looking at her hands, which are clasped white-knuckled in her lap. "Let me guess. You think I should resign. Stay at home to make sure I don't get too stressed again, or exposed to some horrible illness."
"I didn't say that," Chase interrupts, dismayed at her assumption. He can't picture her without her career, cannot imagine her being happy without it, and though he is now terrified of the possibility for harm, he already knows it would be too much to ask of her. "You know infections like this are extremely rare. The baby could've picked it up at her daycare just as easily."
"Great." Cameron snorts softly, glancing at him, then away again. "So as long as we never use a daycare and put ourselves through a decontamination shower before we go home, we should be fine."
"Allison." Chase takes a breath, cautiously laying a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off. "We'll figure this out."
"Will we?" Cameron gets to her feet, finally turning to face him completely. "Because I don't know if we will. Right now, I'd say we're sure as hell not ready to be parents."
"Why?" asks Chase sharply, unable to stay completely calm in the face of her obvious anger. He knows that he deserves it, but it's hurtful all the same. "Because I made a mistake? Got angry?"
"Yes!" Cameron practically spits, finally exploding. "Because you made the same mistake you always make! Because this is exactly what ruined our marriage! Because it doesn't matter how many times I tell you we need to talk about things, you never change! I'm starting to think that maybe you actually can't! God, it's only been a month and we're already back here."
"Allison--" Chase tries again, getting to his feet. She is exactly right, he knows, and there's nothing he can say in this moment to prove her wrong.
"Don't," Cameron interrupts, surprising him by starting to cry in earnest. "Don't apologize. I'm tired of you apologizing when nothing ever changes."
"I'm trying," Chase manages, feeling completely helpless. He thinks suddenly of Elizabeth Speck's mother and her despair, standing by as she watches her baby die. Of Foreman reading endlessly the file that spells out Thirteen's death sentence, as though he might find some hidden answer. Of his own hopeless grief just before Cameron walked out of his life.
"Just go," she says darkly, hurling the words like a weapon.
"No," Chase answers firmly, surprising himself. Swallowing, he gets to his feet, taking a few steps toward her. "Keep yelling at me if you want to. But I'm not giving up on this."
Instead she simply looks at him, as though she isn't sure what to make of this moment, breathing hard through her tears.
"I'm not ready for us to live together either," Chase admits quietly, taking her hands. "I just—really don't like it when you leave without telling me what you're doing. I should have made that clear."
"You should have," Cameron says quietly, though her anger seems to have lost its fire. She doesn't pull her hands away.
"I need you," Chase breathes, feeling as though he's at the edge of a cliff, her hands the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. "I know you're scared too."
Wordlessly, Cameron starts to cry again, harder this time. Sucking in a breath, Chase takes the final step, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding on hard as she sobs into his shoulder, her entire body shaking. Chase feels dizzy with relief, surprised that he's faced the beast of this fight and everything has not ended. He wonders for a moment if this is what it might have been like had he found the strength to be honest with her three years ago, to ask for the help he's so desperately needed. But then he pushes those thoughts away, forcing himself to focus again on the present moment, and the faint unfamiliar beginnings of hope.
Feedback is always appreciated! (I will seriously fall over and die of shocked joy if I break 700 reviews with this chapter. And then I'll have to be a ghost writer. ^_~)
