Chapter II: Not going to be Another Statistic
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Face pale and throat tight, Cameron made a hesitant move towards her companion. The heart beating in her chest continued to deafen her to the outside world as she approached his side shakily.
Chase was laying, still as death, slumped over the dining room table, his cheek pressed roughly against the smooth Formica top, and sea green eyes closed to the world as though in the peace of sleep. Shimmering ominously in the kitchen light, dust-fine fragments of glass adorned the tabletop. Their trail of splintered shards lead from a broken glass, whose side was adorned with several vicious cracks, down the length of the table, and disappeared in a pool of congealed amber liquid, pooling around the contours of Chase's slumped figure. In the areas where flesh met the congregating liquid, it adhered to his flesh, turning his otherwise golden, free-falling tresses of hair into a painful, matted mess. Issuing from the corner of his slightly parted lips—the flesh bearing a pale blue tinge—was a slow trickle of blood; the cause of which was a rather profusely bleeding cut at the corner of his lip, and smaller, less prominent, lacerations etching crosshatched patterns into his cheek from splintered glass fragments his head rested upon.
"How could this have happened…?" She asked to the still air, her voice tapering off and mingling further with the silence as each passing syllable escaped her lips.
Even as she said it, she knew the answer to her question; as it was sitting plainly before her, looking back in the most mocking of tones—A largely empty bottle of Whiskey, the idle remains, perhaps a third of its entire contents, emanating an eerie golden sort of glow.
She had stopped abruptly at the sight, standing mere feet away. Her eyes lingered unblinkingly, almost in a trance-like state, upon the bottle. Painfully mirrored, her reflection stared back at her blankly; and through the amber fluid and translucent glass she could make out the unfocused shapes of empty bottles.
Suddenly, as though having been forced from her reprieve, and thrown headlong back into the present reality, she started. Slowly, her shocked disbelief began to evaporate, just as the stilled liquid had given itself away to the demanding air after some time, and she fell instinctively—though perhaps somewhat harder than usual—into her Doctor Mode.
Closing the remaining distance between herself and Chase, she was mindful to avoid stepping on the glass fragments already showering the pale linoleum floor.
Getting to his side, she kneeled carefully; feeling the bite of the glass fragments as they embedded themselves in the knees of her pants. Slowly, she pressed two fingers to the side of his throat—the left side—with a gentle, yet deliberate pressure, gauging his pulse. After a moment she felt the throb of his carotid artery beneath her fingers. He had a pulse—Slow and arrhythmic as it was, it was nonetheless present. She let out a breath of relief.
It was an extremely short-lived relief, however; as she realized that although he had an arterial pulse, it was weak and shallow, and his breathing was labored and irregular, with no more than perhaps six or seven breaths a minute that she had noted. With so few breaths, little oxygen could reach the brain and he wouldn't be much longer for this world.
Fumbling through the pocket of her lab coat with frantic fingers, she reached for her cell phone. She struggled to remove it from the protection of her pocket, and hastily flipped open the cover.
"Come on, Chase—Hang on." She mouthed breathlessly, fiddling with the phone dials, and the numerous buttons her eyes suddenly couldn't decipher with one hand; she struggled to shift Chase's head to the side in a hope to clear his airway and make his breathing easier.
Having punched in the first readily available number on her phone's speed dial—Cuddy's office number—she waited anxiously as the shrill tones of ringing on the other side enveloped her senses.
Waiting for the line to pick up, she searched the room with wide eyes looking for any sort of item that she could use to clean Chase up with, to perhaps assess any severe injuries. Seeing a small dishtowel hanging over the handle of the oven door, she stood up and went to fetch it, turning to the sink and dampening the fabric with a cool gush of water from the faucet.
The line picked up. "Hello? Princeton Plains-boro. Cuddy speaking."
"Cuddy? Cuddy, it's Allison—" her voice was cut across by that of the older woman's.
"Cameron? Why are you calling? Aren't you here at the hospital?"
"I-I don't have time to explain—Just, please—"
"What did House do now?" An exasperated sigh followed.
"Nothing! Nothing, I just—can I get an ambulance down to Princeton's in-residence housing?"
"What are you doing down there? Don't tell me you decided to pull a House."
Cameron shook her head tiredly, though she knew Cuddy couldn't see; and cast a worried look towards the still unresponsive Chase beside her. "Look," she began evenly, "I'll explain everything later." As she said this she had to wonder, would there be a later? This phone call was going nowhere soon and she knew she was wasting Chase's time—each minute she wasted was one he may never see. "Just get an ambulance down to Princeton's in-residence housing, apartment—" She stopped, mind reeling as she tried remembering the brass numbers screwed to the front of his door. "—23B"
"Wait…" there was a hint of curiosity in her voice as Cuddy replied. "Isn't that Chase's apartment?"
"Yes—It is." Cameron blurted in slight annoyance.
"Why do you need an ambu—"
"I don't have time to explain. Just tell me you'll send one." She cut across quickly, almost pleading with Cuddy, as her voice cracked slightly.
"Okay, I'll get one. But, you're going to explain yourself."
Cameron sighed relief. "Thanks." Then she clapped the cover back over her phone, pushing it back into her coat pocket forcibly. Then she turned back to Chase; he seemed unchanged. She checked his pulse again. No change.
Kneeling once more beside him, she took the damp cloth into one hand and carefully lifted his head with the other. Gently, she began to dab away at the congealed blood on his cheek and the trail issuing from between his lips, noting how cold he seemed to be. She worked slowly; carefully cleaning around the cuts and abrasions he had suffered. Her other hand wound its way into his hair, her fingers moving deftly to separate the painful clumps.
When she was satisfied that he had been cleaned up, she stood, feeling her legs resist to having to bear weight again. Then, to pass the minutes until the ambulance's fateful arrival, she began to clear the table.
Empty Whiskey bottles fell into the trash, the glass shattering in force as it hit the bottom of the trash bin. She furrowed her eyebrows, a sad—pitiful? —look crossing her features. "What were you thinking Chase?" she muttered tiredly, casting him and inquiring look as her hands swept over the tabletop and brushed glass fragments and empty bottles into the bin as well.
At last, when she had cleared the debris, she turned to the last object. It was the broken glass, and the stark-white radiance of the fractures coursing over its structure mocked her. Like there was something about. Something that she should know, but didn't. As if she were in the wrong line of thought…
"What if it wasn't an accident?" she mumbled, turning towards Chase. "Oh, Chase… did you really do this to your—"
Her voice was interrupted mid-word by Chase's sudden sputter. He jerked convulsively, limbs trembling and beginning to flail until the overexertion forced him from his respite on the table to laying on the cold, hard linoleum below, and remaining glass fragments.
"Oh God, he's seizing," she yelled panic-stricken, as she skirted the edge of the table, and fell to her knees beside his writhing form. He chocked and coughed violently, and she struggled to turn him onto his side as he began to choke and cough up copious amounts of dark liquid that spattered across the floor painting the white linoleum in unpleasant tones.
Without proper medical devices there was little she could to but stand there, keeping him on his side and pray that the ambulance hurried.
"Just a bit longer—Just a few more minutes… Hang on, Chase." She voiced, the mantra falling off her lips every few seconds as her companion, colleague and friend all at once continued to writhe in her hold.
After a few more minutes his flailing diminished into spasmodic jerks and he lie relatively still once more.
'Damn it, what's keeping the ambulance?' Cameron thought to herself as she bent over Chase's side to check for his pulse again. It was even more spastic than last time, and his breathing had become little more than a choked rasp since his seizure.
"Please hurry," she whispered quietly, her voice weak and tired. She closed her eyes, willing away the sights she had taken in since her arrival. How she wished it were all just some lucid nightmare. What she wouldn't give to not be here, standing helplessly by as her coworker, friend and colleague hung suspended from such a fine-spun thread. "Please get here…"
Her fingers had found their way to Chase's throat, where they lingered, forever gauging his pulse and bidding it not to falter into nothingness. He began to cough again; no seizing or thrashing—just a dry, winded cough that seemed to rip at his lungs as he gasped and sputtered for breath.
She lifted his head into her lap, holding back a sob and began to stroke her fingers deftly through the un-matted tresses of his hair. After a moment the coughs died down, as with the new, elevated position of his head, his airway was less clogged.
'It's going to be all right… don't worry.' She told herself mentally; also telling herself that she had to keep it together, even though knowing there was nothing she could do presently was killing her.
From outside the shrill blaring of sirens burst through the air and she let out a thankful breath that they had arrived. "Help's here Chase… you're going to be all right." Her voice faltered again, throat constricting painfully.
She just hoped they had been in time.
Author's Ramblings: Chapter 2 is up. What did you think? Please tell me if any of the characters (Cameron in this case) seem OOC so I can fix it. Also, I don't know if this is going to be Chase/Cameron or not. I just like touching on their friendship--It might become more.Well, please leave your honest opnions at the door, ne? Thanks
Blackrose