"Harding. God, is she listening?" Wilson grabs a piece of paper off the table and throws it at the woman.
"Hm?" she pulls out her earbuds and glances up. "Sorry. How can I help you?"
"I need a consult."
"Um," she clicks her tongue. "Not a doctor."
"It's not strictly medical. I'll explain on the way. Come on."
She shrugs at Foreman who's been watching and follows Wilson from the room.
"This girl came into the clinic with a cold, but - do you have any experience with eating disorders? I mean, I want to ask her, but I want to be sure first."
"Shouldn't you call a psychiatrist?"
"She's young, sixteen. I don't want to scare her off. I thought maybe you could talk to her, scope it out."
Harding sighs. "Yeah, I'll do it. No problem."
"Great. Exam room two. Alice Miller." He gestures at the doors of the clinic. "I'll be out here."
"She has a kid." Cameron and Foreman are alone in the office, talking softly.
He considers this. "Chase's?"
"I dunno, didn't ask."
"Why not?"
"Because it's none of my business."
"If it's none of your business, why are you telling me?"
"Do you think it's why they broke up?"
Foreman turns away, returning to his charts. "I think it's none of my business."
"Well I think it's nice that they're back together."
He looks up, amused. "How do you figure?"
"Chase dropped her kid off at daycare. He was obviously already over at her place."
"Two people don't just pick up where they left off; especially after whatever shit they went through."
"Maybe they're over it."
He scoffs. "Doubtful. Most likely, Chase just wanted some and took the opportunity."
"Wow, is he that much of a slut now?" Harding's just walked in the door, and threw herself into a chair. Red has angrily pooled in her cheeks. "I just had to threaten to call child services before some bitch would let me admit her daughter to psych."
"It can be hard to accept that your kid is sick," Foreman suggests, grateful for the subject change.
"Hard to accept, my ass. Cunt just didn't want her to 'get chubby' on hospital food. Her words, not mine. Ugh!" she swings herself up and goes to pour coffee. "That's why your kid is fucked up. So," she says, ripping open a sugar packet. "You think Robert's just using me?"
"I never said-"
"Please, I can read him like a book. It's guilt sex." she winks saucily, fingers wrapped around her mug. Anxiety is clawing its way up her spine, progressing no matter how many times she tried to swallow it back. Words have to keep circulating through her mind, the amused look has to stay on her face; if you fake it, you can eventually feel it, or it will go away before you need to.
Foreman can't help himself. "So the kid's his then?"
Raising an eyebrow, Harding settles on the edge of the table. "Kid's mine."
"Obviously, but-"
"There is no but. She's mine."
"So it was immaculate?"
"The Amazons used to kill men after shagging them, raising children alone." She takes a drink. "I sacrificed him during a full moon on the top of Uluru."
"Weird fucking part of the conversation to join in on." Chase comes in, and grabs her coffee mug. "Ugh, I'd forgotten how you take this. Use some milk."
"What do I look like, a savage? Now," she takes it back. "I was just hearing about what a slut you are."
"I'm not-" he laughs disbelievingly.
"Foreman says otherwise."
The man nods. "You're kind of a slut, Chase."
"Ha!" Harding throws her head back gleefully.
"This is unfair!" he says over his shoulder, pouring his own coffee. "This is unfairly stacked. Cameron, defend me."
"Don't do it, Cameron."
"Yeah, Cameron, let him suffer."
Foreman looks at Harding in mock confusion. "Twenty-two down, 'a deadly sin,' four letters."
"Nice one, mate." they slap hands.
"You are such a cunt."
"Apparently you like those."
Cameron can't help herself; she chokes on her water in laughter.
The days stretch on, each cooler than the next. Harding stretches her dollar to get Winnie some more appropriate clothes at the charity shop, even if it means eating more ramen than she'd like. She and Chase hover somewhere on the horizon of happy and confused; she doesn't know where he stands on Winnie, or whether or not they're back together, but the way he touches her makes her feel weak in the knees, and she remembers how perfectly vulnerable he makes her feel. They see each other outside of work maybe three times a week, and one of these times he just lays her down on the couch and kisses her slowly, kisses her until their lips go numb, until every bit of sand and sun that she had swept out of their old flat finds its way back into her skin and reminds her how to feel. She remembers, in these long nights, how much she likes to make him groan against her skin and feel his hands in her hair. She hasn't worn it down longer than to wash it in years, but now he gathers it in handfuls and tugs her head back to bite her neck.
They don't know, lying side by side on the bed, what they are, or if they're just standing on a pier, staring futilely at a green light far away. Somedays all she can think about is Gatsby, and how useless it all is.
Still, he surprises her one night by asking if she's ever going to tell Winnie who he is.
"I mean…if you want me too. I didn't know how you felt, so-"
"No, you - you should tell her." he's been staring at the lines on her palm, and now looks up. She knows the look in his eyes, it's one she's seen often on herself: a strange mixture of uncertainty and determination.
"Well, I figure she'll start wondering why everyone else has a dad soon enough and ask. I'll tell her then."
"Cause you don't trust me?"
'Cause I don't trust fathers. "Cause I don't see any reason to confuse her."
They don't talk about it anymore than that. Chase doesn't want to hurt her pride by offering her help: he knows that comes slowly. So instead he steps back, occasionally offering rides or dinner. Mainly he makes sure that Wally always has something to read, that her prescription remains filled, and that she smiles.
He could deal with anything as long as she smiles enough.