Fractures

Chapter Two:

Chase feels the consequences of what he has done, and he and Bree talk through the incident.

The atmosphere at dinner was disastrous. By this point, the news of the incident had spread to the rest of the family, and the silence was only broken with the scraping of forks against bowls. A saucepan of steaming spaghetti sat in the centre, each Davenport quietly chewing their own meal, each desperate to quickly escape the table. Adam had since been placated by Mr Davenport, at least enough not to kill Chase on sight, and he for now sat beside Bree, his expression distant as he tried to distract himself with other thoughts.

Mr Davenport shared glances with Tasha every time one of their four children so much as cleared their throat. Never in all his years of having Adam, Bree and Chase had he ever seen Chase's commando app glitch that badly. And on Bree of all people? Whatever they had done to trigger it, he had no idea, but he couldn't believe he had let Chase walk around with that time bomb inside his chip for that long. First thing in the morning he was disabling the app. It wasn't fair on anyone to have it pulsing inside of Chase, waiting to break out at the slightest trigger; these kids were meant to be a help to humanity, not a hindrance to each other.

Bree was exhausted. Her face was pale, her expression slumped in a tired neutral, as she robotically shoved spaghetti into her mouth. She was still a little groggy from the pain meds Davenport had given her, the dull ache in her now casted wrist ricocheting through her nerves with every new pulse of her heart. She blinked back exhaustion, desperate to just go to sleep in her capsule. She kept darting her eyes up to try and meet Chase's from where he sat opposite her; she was desperate for him to forgive himself. It was going to take her a long time to stop replaying his snarl, the way the air left her lungs, her vision fading as she felt her wrist snap, but that wasn't Chase. It was an app, a malfunction, and it wasn't his fault. But if she knew Chase, she knew he would be eating himself alive from the inside about this. As soon as the pain meds wore off, she would talk to him.

"Could someone pass the salt?" Leo leant forwards in his chair, desperate to fracture at least some of the tension that pressed over the group. Tasha leapt to life, smiling widely, glad of the subject change. She picked up the salt shaker and held it out to Chase, to pass it further down and save her reaching across the table.

"Chase," Tasha prompted, nudging her step-son out of a distant stare into nothing. His hand held his fork suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth; his brows creased and his eyes glassy. "Chase, sweetie."

"Hmm?" Chase blinked himself back to the present and looked vacantly at Tasha, who waved the salt. "Oh, sorry. Sure. Here, Leo."

"Thanks…" Leo took it gently, looking between Chase and Bree, who were both now staring at their own plates.

Chase had barely said a word since it happened. He just could not believe he did that. It felt like a bad dream, like he would wake up in his capsule at any moment; but it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare, sure, but it was real. He really broke Bree's arm, nearly suffocated her, and all because of a stupid argument about a stupid tablet.

He lifted his gaze to stare at Bree's cast, blinking his bionics into action as he scanned the bone. A fracture split itself across the wrist, held together by the flimsy plaster cast. Chase knew everything, he could understand the implications: a distal radius and ulnar fracture; weeks of rehabilitation and physical therapy; weeks that she can't go on missions, or superspeed safely without concern of further injury. Weeks that Bree will be in pain, all because of him. Chase knew everything, and right now he knew that he was a horrible brother, and he hated himself.

As if on cue, Bree hissed at a pang of pain, trying to stretch out her fingers as far as the dislocation brace would let her. Chase tensed.

"Are you in pain, honey?" Tasha asked, "I'll get you some more Aspirin from the cabinet."

"No, it's fine," Bree jumped in as Tasha made to stand, "It'll be okay, just getting used to it."

"I'll give you another dose of morphine after dinner," Davenport rubbed Bree's shoulder with his hand, squeezing it with reassurance, "It'll help you sleep -"

"Excuse me." Chase felt the sheet of tears wash over his eyes and bolted to his feet. He didn't know where he needed to be, but he knew he needed to be anywhere but here. "I'm not hungry."

He muttered his excuse and fled from the room, making a beeline towards the lab. He needed to be alone, just him, and figure this out and think. There had to be something he could do to fix this. He knew everything - he should be able to think of something to help Bree.

She was in pain, she was hurting because of him. How could he? How dare he do this to her? How was she ever supposed to trust him again? How was he ever supposed to trust himself?

The elevator doors to the lab stood in front of him, and Chase's hand hovered over the button. The three intertwined circles on the doors stared back at him; he had always liked that symbol. One was Adam, one was Bree, and one was him. They were a team, linked together to protect each other no matter what.

How was he ever supposed to trust himself?

The thought pulsed back in Chase's mind like a virus. How was he supposed to be part of this team if he could do unspeakable things without even knowing he did it?

Chase shook his head and drew his hand back from the button to open the elevator. He couldn't go down to the lab; the lab represented everything he was guilty of, every danger and every horrible thing he was capable of.

So, Chase stepped away. He turned and paced down the nearest corridor. He needed to be alone to think, that was for sure, but he couldn't be down there right now. He couldn't stand in the place where it happened. The house was big enough, he would surely be able to find a quiet room, far away enough from his family to think about how he could fix this. There had to be a way, he just had to find the conclusion.

"Perfect…" he muttered to himself, finding a door at the end of a quiet, dark corridor that he never went down. He didn't even know this was here.

Chase pushed the door open and blinked to adjust his eyes. Floor to ceiling windows spanned the entire length of wall; Chase padded along tiled floor, captured for a moment by the twinkling lights of Mission Creek, the rest of the city at the bottom of the hill sitting like a picturesque toy-town in the cloak of the night. The navy sky above was speckled with wisps of cloud, which hid and revealed the moon with every light breeze.

The room itself was cluttered with various old equipment cloaked in dust sheets, and when Chase peaked underneath he found an exercise bike, a rack of weights, a treadmill - an old home gym. No wonder it looked like Mr Davenport hadn't been here in years, he mused, because he probably hadn't. The shadows of the equipment spilled out onto the marble tiling in shades of black and blue, and Chase found a sliver of moonlight to lower himself onto the floor in front of the window.

The tiles were cold on his skin, but he settled with his legs crossed and used the blinking lights of the town below to ground him. He breathed in, slowly, and let the shaky breath out, settling himself alone with his thoughts as he confirmed that his own rhythmic beating heart was all he could hear.

"Okay…" he said to himself, "You have to do something, you have to fix this for Bree."

Now, where to start? He had downloaded orthopaedic textbooks onto his hard drive over dinner; he knew with his new knowledge that the best place to start would be to know how it happened. He knew how it happened, he knew he had done it, but he had blacked out for the whole attack, and he couldn't bring himself to ask how he did it.

But, if he knew the exact angle of the break, or the duration of strain, he would be able to understand more. So he would have to get that information.

He thought back to Adam's look of betrayal, the way the fire in his eyes burned straight into him, the way that Bree tried her best to look at Chase but couldn't bring herself to. He thought about Davenport's insistence he leave the room.

There was no way Chase couldn't ask any of them. They didn't deserve to be made to talk about it; this was Chase's problem, Chase had to find the solution.

And there was only one way to do that, he thought. If he wanted an objective recount of events, then he needed to watch it happen. His heart beat fast in his chest, his lungs trembling with anxiety, but Chase had to do this. For Bree.

So, staring off into nothing, the lights of Mission Creek below fading into the background, Chase pressed his fingers to his temple. He felt his bionic eye grind awake, tapping into his hard drive as a screen slid into life before him. He selected the security footage from the lab, and took a baited breath, tentatively playing the timestamp and watching as the argument came to life.

"Is baby gonna cry?"

"Bree - no I'm not going to -"

"Aw, baby's crying!"

"I am not crying!"

He remembered this part, the rage he felt. His heart sunk as he recalled spitting that he hated her.

"Or, I'll… I'll…"

"Uhuh?"

"I'll… um… I'll-"

And then it happened. Chase watched his entire body stiffen; his neck cracked to the side and he lunged - actuallylunged a fist at Bree. His heart was in his mouth, somehow hoping that this was fiction, that it would show a different ending, but Bree darted away from him and he leapt over the control desk.

"Oh my god…" the words slipped from Chase's mouth as he watched himself punch Adam away. He tensed, second-hand pain beating out of him as he watched Bree spin, fall, snap under his weight.

"Chase! Please don't hurt me…"

Chase felt sick.

"Please! You're scaring me."

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He begged his past self to hear her, begged himself to stop. Moisture fell onto his cheek and it took him a second to register that he was crying.

He swiped the footage away to nothing, dropping silence on himself as he gasped the shock through his lungs. The back of his fist scraped the tears from his cheeks.

"Bree…" he whispered, trying to steady his trembling hands. What had he done? He wouldn't be surprised if she never spoke to him again.

He lost count of how long he was sat on the tiled floor, staring out at the darkness; the moon tracked it's path further west, lights went on and off on the town below, cars zipped past and in the end he found himself listening to birdsong, grey dawn melting itself through the sky above the silhouetted peaks.

In fact, the birdsong was so busy, doubling and then tripling in chaos as more and more nests woke up, that Chase didn't hear anything else. And he certainly didn't hear the creaking of the opening door behind him.

"Chase?"

"Chase?" Bree peered round the door, searching through the half-dark of the dawn. Her eyes finally settled on Chase's ashy-blonde spikes and she sighed in triumph. She had been up for half an hour trailing the house to try and find him, but now she had tracked him down, he didn't look up at her at all.

"Chase?" Bree said again, watching his completely still form stare out into nothing. As she stepped closer, she caught more of his features, light hitting his furrowed brows and vacant eyes. His cheeks were red, as if he had been crying, and reflective streaks that fled down to his chin and pooled at his neck confirmed the theory.

"Chase…" this time she dropped her voice, her heart aching almost as much as her wrist at the sight of him. She knew he would be beating himself up like this. She put a hand on his shoulder and finally he jumped, acknowledging her presence as if he hadn't noticed before. "Hey," she said softly, lowering herself to his level to sit cross legged on the cold floor beside him. He stared at her good hand in its resting place on his shoulder, but he didn't open his mouth to speak. "You didn't come back to your capsule after dinner," she prompted, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" his eyes widened as he stared at her, shock spilling through his features as he shuffled to turn and face her fully. "You have a broken wrist and three dislocated fingers because of me and you're asking me what's wrong? I should be asking you that! I should -" he stopped himself, eyes falling to her cast and the brace on her wrist and fingers. He reached out to gently touch it, as if to check it was real. Fresh tears fell and a lump formed in his voice. "I'm so sorry," he wept, "I'm so, so sorry, I should never have… I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Bree said firmly, but Chase began to tremble. She watched in horror as his head slumped into his hands and his entire body shook with sobs. He mumbled something she couldn't hear. "Hey," she tried, but he didn't hear her. So she wrapped her good arm across his shoulders and pulled him towards her, holding him tightly against her. "I know you're sorry, it's okay. I forgive you," she tried, but her pyjamas dampened with his tears. "Chase," she said gently, whispering so she wouldn't hurt his hyper hearing. "Chase, this wasn't your fault. It was a glitch. You hear me? This is not your fault."

"But I nearly killed you." Bree felt his arms loop around her back, holding her with such ferocity as if he was scared she might disappear before his eyes. "I can't believe I…" he swallowed, "Bree, I'm so sorry."

Bree sighed, overwhelmed with emotion, with pain, but most of all with frustration at what had happened. She begged him to hear what she was saying, and struggled to fight back tears herself.

"Listen to me," she began, guiding him to sit upright so she could look him in the eye. "There is absolutely no way, on earth, that you are to blame for this. I was the one who pushed your buttons, and your commando app activated. I do not blame you," she said, holding his chin up with her good hand as his gaze fell to his knees. "I do not blame you," she said again for good measure, "And you shouldn't blame yourself either. Got it?"

Chase took a deep breath, watching her for a moment as he processed. His vice-like hug on Bree loosened a little and as he shuffled position on the floor, Bree took the opportunity to rest her head on his shoulder. She smiled softly when she felt his head complete the stack on top of hers.

"Adam…" Chase sighed.

"Adam," Bree cut him off, "Was in shock. He doesn't blame you either, Chase, I promise. No one does. Mr Davenport told me he's reprogrammed an update for your chip to get rid of the commando app completely. All you have to do is connect to it in your capsule, and then…"

"No more Spike?"

"No more Spike," Bree squeezed his arm, "I think it's best for everyone."

Chase sniffed, sitting upwards suddenly, and reached out to gently rest her broken wrist in his hands. He stared at it, concern creased in his features. She spotted the electric blue twinkle in his eye as he scanned something.

"How are you feeling?" Chase asked her, "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Some," she nodded, downplaying it for his sake. She didn't want to tell him that if it wasn't for the morphine she would be in absolute agony. "But," she continued quickly when she noticed his horrified features, "I'll heal. And you know what? These things happen."

"Attacking you? Those things just "happen" do they?" He scoffed.

"Accidents happen," she said firmly, "And glitches happen! Like when Adam dislocated his shoulder, or when I accidentally supersped to Honolulu. These things do happen, Chase, and they're no one's fault. I promise."

"I just…" he sighed, contemplated saying something, and shook his head, exhaustion taking him over as he pulled her back towards him. She obliged quickly into the hug, watching the world wake up before them in Mission Creek below. "I just…" he tried again, "Bree… the thought of losing you… of… of it being me that… I just can't…"

"You didn't lose me," she promised, squeezing his arm again to remind him she was real. "It was a close call, sure, and scary for everyone involved, but I am right here."

He hesitated for a moment, and then Bree felt him sigh, exhaling a long, deep, calming breath. He rested against her, eyes closed, and Bree wasn't sure if he was counting his blessings or falling asleep.

"You want to go get some breakfast?" She suggested, guessing he hadn't eaten anything after abandoning his earlier dinner. He smiled faintly, and opened his eyes a crack, and when she caught his eye again, a twinkle spread across his features.

"I'd love to," he said, stretching himself into standing; Bree let him help her to her feet.

"Come on," she took a head start, beckoning him out of the room, "I know where Davenport keeps his credit card."