tampered | Log; Closed; Ongoing

Log; Closed; Ongoing

When; Night: Tuesday 20th July
Rating; PG
Characters; Robert Chase

worksmart, Allison Cameron

as_damaged, House

vicodincrutch, Claire Bennet

adamantined
Summary; Chase has been acting suspiciously and Cameron plays bait in the effort to find out why.
Log;

[The doctor has got his device with texted details from Cameron on where and when she's prepared to meet him clasped in the palm of his hand as he makes his way to the designated spot. No accidental transmissions this time, although he has to admit that Eden's furious repost - while perplexing - turned out to be a useful recruitment ground. Cameron's taken her time over this, but he's working with enough data to know she can't refuse a request for help.

And it's not like he doesn't look needy right now. Days of hacking into the side of the mountain have left him with a tide mark of filth on his face and clothes, skin torn where it's visible through the mud. He looks desperate, although the time of night she's chosen for this meeting means a little of the impact is faded along with the natural light. If Chase was at the wheel he'd wonder why she'd waited so long only to go along with his requests for a dark, secluded place of meeting. Then again, Chase wouldn't ask her to walk into danger for him at all. The creature using him as a personality template and warm-blooded limousine, however, is gleeful at its own cleverness, having to force the bounce from its step as it arrives at the fenced-off edges of the children's playground in Xanadu. Another odd choice, considering the better memories to have been had here.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[As decisive as she's been thus far, offering herself up as a lure, lashing out at people who won't help, setting the trap and stepping into it, Cameron is feeling far from confident right now. It's a stupid situation to put herself into-- the only consolation, really, is that she knows how stupid it is to be here, which means she stands a chance at being prepared for whatever he might try. As to what's actually wrong with Chase-- well, it's anyone's guess, which is why they're out here, isn't it?

The playground is deserted this late at night-- which she's gambled will appeal to Chase's strange secrecy-- but offers plenty of places to hide and watch, which appeals to her desire not to face this alone. Not that she's defenseless; and as she so often does these days she spares a grateful thought for Cindy, shifting her weight on her feet as she waits. For once she's not trying to look more confident than she is; the more vulnerable she seems, the more at ease she assumes Chase will be. Chase, or whatever it is in charge of him; the possibility of some sort of possession has crossed her mind more than once, loathe as she is to accept it. The City is the City, after all, no matter how much she dislikes that.

She doesn't greet him as he approaches, just nods a bit, wide-eyed. That isn't an act. He looks like hell.]

[The number hiding places should be a worry, if it weren't so smugly sure of itself, and Chase does spare a sideways look at the oversized apparatus crowding them in. But this is Cameron, she hates the idea of needing a white knight. Which means she's taking a stupid risk tonight in the name of proving herself capable. Humans are predictable. Still, he checks,]

You didn't tell anyone?

[and disguises his cautious glances as fear, gaining enough ground to have her in arms reach.]

Eden? House? Nobody knows I'm out here? It's important.

I told you you can trust me.

[It's a sidestep, because she doesn't trust herself to lie, especially not right to his face. Cameron steadies a little, not quite shifting away but setting herself up to step back if she needs. He seems desperate; and while she knows Chase can be selfish, she can't believe he'd ask her to do this if he were in control of his own actions.]

Now. Tell me what's going on.

That's what you told me, then you made me wait. You took your time.

[He turns his hands over, carefully, both proving they're empty save for his PDA and displaying the dark, scabbed and blistered lines chafed across each palm. It's just a side effect of digging, and the pain centres of the brain are easily retuned to overlook such minor annoyances, but the effect is impressively raw looking.]

Made me wait, to find out if you cared. But you get off on that, don't you?

Like people wouldn't have asked questions if I'd gone haring off after you? You're the one insisting on secrecy, Chase.

[He's overplaying his hand; she doesn't feel guilty, just more certain of herself. Calling him by his own name seems somehow inaccurate. He's like a parody of himself; his words and gestures a bitter exaggeration of what she'd expect from him. Jarring, but the dissonance serves as a reminder not to trust the familiarity of his face.

She looks at his empty palms, letting herself quaver a bit. It's a clever move on his part, trying to appeal to her sympathy, or at least her professional side. It's not quite enough.]

What happened to your hands?

Yesterday I could still bend my fingers.

[His voice cracks roughly on the exclamation (one of many tricks in the repertoire of emotion it's been testing) and he pulls his arms close in to his body again, shaking his head, expression slighted.]

I thought you could take a look at them. Forget it. I don't know why I came.

[Tipping his chin down against his chest he turns to retrace his steps. Maybe he can make her come to him: it's easier to take someone by surprise when you're not the aggressor.]

[She almost buys it. Well, she buys that he's in pain; and she softens a little, head cocked to one side and eyes on the ground as he turns.]

Don't-- here. Let me see.

[It's not trust, but it's a passable imitation of untarnished concern.]

[His shoulders lift and catch as if she'd physically reached out to stop him, but he doesn't turn or go back. Instead, with a hiss that's just audible in the still air, he pushes his PDA into a pocket and holds his hands out again, silently. She can see, but she has to make the effort. How can he be anything but trustworthy if he's letting her approach from behind?]

[All comments about roofies aside, somehow asking him out for a drink seemed a little too suspicious; so Cameron has a syringe in her pocket. It's not the best solution-- she doesn't doubt he could overpower her, so she's counting on the element of surprise to give her the upper hand, and on her escort to take over if things go badly. Cindy's gun is in her bag, too-- in the clever little concealed pouch of her purse, usually locked but tonight left at the ready-- but Cameron isn't certain she can stomach the thought of using it.

She steps towards him, tugging at the shield on the needle so the cap will slide off easily, without taking it out of her pocket. Nearly close enough to touch, now; and she hesitates without meaning to, hoping he won't turn around.]

[It's the hesitation that makes him look. Not through suspicion, but to reassure. For all that he's sure of her concern, he also knows she's not entirely stupid. She's going to be wary.]

You don't have to worry, I won't-

[The hand working at something in her pocket is almost as good a giveaway as if she'd been uncapping the syringe in the open. He has, after all, been using this method himself on harder marks than her. He shifts and turns immediately.]

What are you doing?

[She privately curses, frustrated, clenching her jaw and moving as quickly as she can to try and jab him. The cap of the syringe falls between them on the ground, dropped along with any pretense of playing into his trap.]

[He's much too quick for that, especially forewarned. One of those damaged hands grabs her wrist en-route, supposedly useless fingers squeezing hard enough to make her drop the needle as he drags her toward him. He doesn't look scared anymore, just annoyed.]

You stupid bitch. Now I'm going to have to account for your recovery time.

[She cries out, because that hurts; and because it feels like betrayal, even though she's certain now that this isn't Chase, not really. Cameron fights to back off as he pulls, curling in on herself and not gaining much ground. It does, though, put her free hand right where it needs to be. She can't stop him from bringing her too close to lash out; but by the time she draws her hand out, she's too close for him to bat away the muzzle of the gun from his midsection. Her arm isn't entirely steady-- she's trembling, slightly, all over-- but her grip is firm and her expression proves this isn't a joke. She's not sure if it's a bluff. She's never shot anything but the sheep, after all; and if she has to shoot him she intends to try to incapacitate rather than kill, but at this range it's too close to call.]

Let go of my wrist.

[Of course, she doesn't sound calm. In the least.]

Or you'll shoot me? [It raises a sardonic eyebrow, looking between her raised left wrist, firm in his grip, to the cool gunmetal pressing against the soft tissue of Chase's abdomen. A quick shuffle through internal file cards confirms that if she shoots from where she's threatening the risk of even clipping something vital is low. She's still soft.]

Maybe I should let you. Looks like someone really does have to be dying to get your attention.

[His eyes widen, making it a challenge. All the adrenaline rushing through this body is definitely making it a thrill.]

You'll kill him, not me. Think you can live with that?

[And crying over a dead body would be an opportune time to switch hosts. But it doesn't have to come to that, and the obvious preference would be having two workers alive. Pulling roughly on her wrist, Chase sidesteps and goes to grab the gun with his free hand, trusting that it will take her more than a second's though to fire it. If he can get his hand over the hammer, he'll take that option out anyway.]

[From where she's been hidden, Claire feels like she's watching a movie with the volume turned too low, the plot playing out as everyone involved tries to tell a convincing lie, put on a convincing face. The wait has been tense and intense, muscles in her legs pulled tight and the weight behind her breastbone growing with each minute and each repositioning to make sure that she isn't seen. It's the sinking flicker of the needle falling that pulls at her attention, turning 'wait and see' into 'move right now, and Claire perks up and nearly pops up like a gopher from where she's been crouching, low and shadowed in dark jeans and a dark sweater.

As she slides out from behind the twisted plastic and metal of the playground jungle gyms, she thinks about creating some kind of commotion, something to draw some degree of Chase's attention away, but Claire moves, instead, as quietly as she can, until the crunch of the damp grass under her tennis shoes reaches her ears and she turns her walk into a trot. Even if her presence as a distraction misfires, one of them can get the needle again. Claire only hopes that if Chase gets the only weapon in this situation, her being there in general will be enough for her to end up bearing the brunt of the bullet, as much as she hopes it doesn't come to that, as much as she hopes Cameron doesn't pull the trigger first.]

Hey!

[Her voice cuts across the diminishing space separating her from them, a loud bark in a quiet night, and Claire picks up her trot to a jog which will end about as abruptly as it starts once she reaches them completely. She thinks to smile, act as though nothing is wrong, but she's not that good at keeping things off of her face. Instead, she's left just hoping that her appearance at all will prove as enough of a distraction, that Cameron will get away from him granted the opportunity. If not, Claire's right hook is much better than it looks, and her fingers are already balled into fists.]

That's enough.

[He does get the grip he wants on the gun, effectively disabling it while it's under his hand, but that cry across the way reaches him before he can disable the woman holding it. He jerks his head to the side, squinting through the twilight at a girl who looks pale and stark across the background. He's really not pleased by the company, scoffing low in his throat.]

Why the hell would you bring her? She's worthless to me.

[And it's true. As perfect a worker as the body might be, it's likely the regenerative aspects of her physiology would make rewiring the control panel impossible. That's why he hasn't tried her. Worthless, and the disgust shows on his face as he calls back.]

Back off. Do what you're going to be stuck doing until we're done here. Just sit back and watch.

[Focus on her, his attention and, for a small but vital moment his hand slips from the weapon.]

[She doesn't hesitate this time, pulling her arm back and raising it the second he slips, finger uncurling from the trigger to reduce the chance she'll accidentally fire. Desperately glad he's turned his attention towards Claire, she brings the weapon down to crack him on the head, hoping she's strong enough to knock him out and not strong enough to fracture his skull.]

[Cameron is lucky on both counts, though she won't know the latter without checking later. The blow doesn't crack bone but does throw up a shock of blood in its wake, spattering back up her arm. Chase gasps airlessly, arms thrown out to the sides as if he might catch himself in the swandive of a fall his body performs, the side of his head taking another slam as the ground rises up to meet it. In combination, no matter how frantic the signals sent twitching through his neurons become, there's no consciousness left to answer the call.]

[Claire is halfway through rearranging her features out of anger, in response to what he's said, back into strained blankness when the crack across the back of Chase's head catches her off-guard. Even seeing Cameron begin and end the motion doesn't stop surprise from settling in over her face, in the wideness of her eyes. She feels her head turn and travel the length of Chase's fall, almost comically, and then she looks at Cameron with both eyebrows raised. What do you say after you've just knocked someone unconscious to kidnap and then study them?]

Uhm. [Nothing, apparently. The blood catches her eye, only bothering her because it's not her own, and she spends a moment staring at Cameron's sleeve before she crouches down, knees bent once again, extending a hand to Chase's shoulder as if to determine the realness of this situation and start the process of getting back to the hospital.] Not exactly a roofie, but unconscious is unconscious. Do you have anything to -

[She breaks off and pantomimes pressing something against the back of her head, looking around for the discarded needle and wishing they'd brought a wheelbarrow at the same time. Getting away from here and this entire situation nags at her as much as the wrongness of everything going on this past week already has.]

Do we carry him or are we waiting for help?

[This is where Amory would've been a big help.]

[She manages not to scream or anything, though being covered in someone else's blood is becoming a depressingly common event these days. The first thing she does is crouch down and check his pulse to make sure she hasn't managed to kill him by accident. Her relief at finding him all right and incapacitated is enough to leave her reeling a moment before Claire's words really penetrate the haze of an adrenaline crash.]

I wasn't planning it, but I guess compared to the alternative...

[She frowns, breathing hard but starting to regain her composure. Looking down she wipes the butt of the gun off on her shirt-- it's already ruined, after all-- and engages the safety before hiding it away again in her purse.]

I guess we may as well carry him. It's hard to say how long he'll stay out, I'd rather not risk waiting. I think we can manage...

[She nods, pressing her lips together and reaching up to pull at her ponytail, tightening it - her own nervous twitch, all she allows herself - before practically crawling around to get her hands underneath Chase's shoulders. Claire looks up at Cameron, as much to determine whether or not she's ready as she is trying to determine whether or not Cameron is actually alright without actually coming out and asking. Her own muscles feel a little loose, all the adrenaline running out of her in a rush.]

I think we can take one for the team. It won't be that far. [She straightens up a little bit, then indicates his shoes. It's a toss up as to which one of them is actually stronger, but Claire knows she's the one least likely to be uncomfortable from some additional weight.] Get his feet? I can manage this end.

[Saying that is strange, but then there's nothing about this situation that's going to be normal until they get to the bottom of things.]

[Cameron is not okay, but there are many shades of Not Okay and all things considered, she's doing fairly well. No one's dead, and even if she's a little shell-shocked they've accomplished what they came here to do.

Cameron is stronger than she looks-- admittedly, she'd have to be because she doesn't look very strong at all-- but she isn't inclined to complain about grabbing the lighter load, and so she lets her purse settle back at her side and wraps her arms around his legs.]

I've got him. On three?

Yeah, just -

[Claire needs to readjust her position, takes a moment to grapple with fabric and weight that she admittedly isn't used to. Though she lifts in all the wrong ways, she does lift, and on a count -] Okay. One, two, three. [- and once Cameron has taken her first step backward, Claire comes around so that they're carrying him sideways, no one having to worry about stepping over things they can't see. Under the sole of her shoe, she feels something reaching up through the damp grass, and when she looks down, the syringe looks back up. Claire looks over at Cameron.]

Doing okay? [Talking makes Claire, personally, feel better, but she's more than willing to shut her mouth until their odd little parody of a strange crab walk puts them back at the hospital, and she'll do so at the slightest indication. Her arms feel the weight of someone nearly a foot taller than her, perhaps more than they normally might, given the circumstances, but there's no real, lingering discomfort. For once a handicap is actually coming in handy. It's a bleak thought.] With the weight, I mean.

I can manage. [They're pacing themselves, at least, so though she's straining a bit she isn't out of breath.] You?

[The longer he stays out the better, in one sense-- she doesn't want to think about trying to subdue him again, since the sedative's long gone by the time she thinks of it. But it also increases the risks, means there's a greater chance something is seriously wrong with him.]

That wasn't Chase. I mean, it is, obviously. But I don't think he's in control of his actions, maybe not even his thoughts.

I'm okay.

[Claire's state is essentially the same, holding on tight with some strain to light the weight but still level. She doesn't try to smile as a reassurance, looks down instead and looks back up almost immediately, searching out the bright lights leading them out of the park, and she's glad for Cameron's train of thought, setting her foot down and repositioning her hold before picking it up herself.]

I know what you mean. I don't think so either. I don't know what it is, but... [She bites her lip, which looks ridiculous given the way they're moving right now, but it's only for a moment.] Even without the serious change in attitude, there's still... He lost like an hour and a half, and when I mentioned it to him, it's like whatever it is that's making him act this way tried to cover it up and lie. Badly. Saying that he's not in control of his thoughts I think is pretty much hitting the nail right on the head.

[Claire looks down and doesn't say, "No pun intended."]

Edited 2010-07-22 08:34 (UTC)

[It's surreal, and even though she doesn't doubt in the least that this is the right course of action, she can't help but feeling a little sordid, dragging an unconscious coworker through the shadows and gossiping about him. Another fine evening in the City.]

He's not totally different-- more exaggerated. He goes too far. Like whoever it is pulling the strings is doing a bad impression...

[A moment later they at least are no longer dragging him through total shadow. The City lights are more in view now as they navigate their way out of the park, and for once the general disposition of citizens can be considered fortunate, as no one really stops to look or pay attention to something that seems no more out of place than the City's regular dish of curses and insane events. Another fine evening, indeed.]

Maybe he's possessed. [Claire is at least glad that this doesn't come out sounding calm or rational, that she isn't so conditioned to this place as to not consider that something unbelievable, no matter how possible it is. The forgetfulness is still what bothers her the most, all things considered.] Whatever's going on, you're right. I don't think he's in control, not after what happened back there.

[Her tone is reassuring, both for Cameron and for herself. Whatever actually is going on, getting to the hospital is the only way to get any definitive answers, even if discussing what they already know, sordid or not, is helpful for other reasons.]

It can't be that far now, right?

[ooc: I apologize for any massive tagging delays sob. I will be out most of the day. ♥!]

The possibility of possession had crossed my mind. [There's a sour, long-suffering note to that comment. The City with its curses is bad enough; but the variety of beings inhabiting it, the people that go so strongly against the grain of her skepticism, are much harder for Cameron to accept. It's not that she dislikes them; she just dislikes the complexity of the situation. It's nigh impossible to narrow down what might be wrong with a patient, sometimes; and when the patient is a close friend...]

Just a little further.

[Maybe no one's bothering them because they look like they mean business; intent and a bit bloody, dragging Chase onward. At length the Hospital looms, brightly lit and always busy, and she wishes she'd had the foresight to have someone bring down a gurney to meet them when they got there.]

[Squinting in the direction of the hospital, Claire tries to make out anything that might relieve them of the weight they're carrying. Aren't wheelchairs typically found toward the entrances of these places? From their distance, she can't see inside any of the glass doors, but she's assuming there will at least be someone around to help them as much as they can. As it stands, Claire is glad that it's the two of them handling the handling, rather than anyone else.]

There's something going on down in the graveyard. Maybe it's got something to do with that. [Claire doesn't actually know whether she believes the two instances are related or not, and another look down toward Chase in an attempt to get a look at his hands doesn't give her any information either. What's he been doing? What have they all been doing?] Did he say anything to you before...

[She sees no real need to finish the question, has no real word to put toward what happened, so she hopes that Cameron will pick up on it. They're at least close enough to the hospital now to have a real endgame in sight.]

[If nothing else there's always the E.R., with a few ready hands and-- more importantly, maybe-- more sedatives if he starts to wake up before they're ready for him.]

Nothing that answers any questions. He's hurt, but it doesn't seem like he really feels it.

[Another worry in a long list and right now, honestly, the slightest of her concerns. She looks up and tries to catch someone's eye as they get closer to the doors, hoping for some assistance.]

[That strikes a chord with Claire, and she cuts another look over at Cameron once more, then back down Chase's face, wondering what receptors and neurons whatever it is that's doing this is pressing on and gnashing at. She feels new anger and new determination, hauls him up under his arms.]

I think someone's coming.

[And someone is coming, though probably not with the same sort of frame of mind that Claire and Cameron are bringing with them. If anything, this is going to look like just another emergency, and right now it is. The important part is getting him inside, keeping him out until they can figure out what to do with him, what might be wrong. No matter what, the doors slide open for them, and there's a cold burst of air and a rush of noise, and they're finally inside.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Log; Closed; Ongoing

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

/experiences massive delays herself so no worries ;3

/delay horses around

derp i am a failure at timely logging, obviously.

do not worry i am the SLOWEST of slowberries