Two weeks later
Lost in cheap delirium
Lisa Cuddy and Eric Foreman
Cuddy has a migraine and Foreman does too, so it’s only natural that they end up sitting around in her office together. It’s clear Foreman doesn’t like the atmosphere in the office and is trying to stay away from it, from Cameron who’s crumbling, from Chase and House and the dirty little thing they’ve got going on.
“Are you crazy yet?” she asks. Foreman, the sane one, the one who she can slightly rely on in that whole schizophrenic department, smirks slightly.
“Oh, I’m getting there,” he replies. “Is that part of what Princeton/Plainsboro does to you?”
“Of course,” Cuddy tells him. “Everyone here is mad. They’d have to be.” Foreman smiles and looks down at his hands, twisting them together. I can’t cope with this, I don’t know what to do doesn’t get said but she hears it anyway.
“Hang in there,” she says softly, and it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’ll get from her today. Maybe ever. Foreman looks up and gives her a vague smile.
“For how long?” he replies, and Cuddy can practically taste his helplessness.
Searching the neon lights
James Wilson and Lisa Cuddy
As the only two people who really understand House, and who can really put up with him, Wilson and Cuddy are fairly close. They were in it together to try to get him off Vicodin, they take it in turns to try and make him a slightly better person. Sometimes it works. Mostly it doesn’t. And they’re there to console each other when House takes their plan and rips it into shreds and laughs in their faces. He’s like a child, but the worst thing is that sometimes he’s really not.
“I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this,” Cuddy begins, smoothing her skirt with her fingers and then apparently becoming fascinated with the files on her desk, “But someone ought to let you know.”
“Tell me what?” Wilson asks suspiciously. He’s in her office and drinking coffee and it’s peaceful here. He doesn’t want the peace to end and he suspects it will now. “What’s House doing now that he shouldn’t?”
“Chase,” Cuddy replies shortly. It takes a moment for the penny to drop and then he nearly spills his coffee.
“Oh, God.” Wilson bites his lower lip, feeling surprisingly devastated, even though he can’t be angry with Chase and it’s just the sort of thing House would do.
“I’m sorry,” Cuddy sighs. “I’m not happy about it either.”
It can’t be easy for her, trying to hold the hospital together when everyone else is so determined that it should split apart and fail miserably, and Wilson quietly pities her.
I move carefully
Allison Cameron and Robert Chase
He pushes a mug of coffee into her hand and watches her face crumple in confusion. Chase knows she thinks that he ought to hate her, knows that she feels guilty, doesn’t much care.
“Drink it while it’s hot,” he tells her, “I know you haven’t had much sleep.”
Cameron reluctantly brings it to her mouth and sips, worried like she thinks he’s poisoned it or something.
“Thank you,” she says vaguely.
She is pretty and he doesn’t blame Wilson in the same way he didn’t blame himself when Cameron made a move on him and he didn’t say no.
“I don’t hate you,” he says.
“You should,” she replies.
“Oh, I know.” He smiles in a way that doesn’t reassure her. “You did me a favour, actually.”
“I did?” Her eyes are wide and Chase continues in that calm, calm voice that he knows must be making her spine crawl because it’s doing the same thing to him.
“Oh yeah. I was actually waiting for Wilson to cheat on me.” He shrugs. “Better the devil I know than the devil I don’t.”
Cameron flinches. Chase suddenly becomes interested in making himself a mug of coffee.
“And you were wrong,” he adds. He looks over his shoulder at Cameron, who looks quietly horrified. “You thought that maybe if you were with Wilson you wouldn’t be the one crying. But Wilson is just as capable of breaking your heart as House is. He’s just a little better at it.” He gives her a quick smile, and Cameron looks like the guilt is tearing her up inside. Good.
Sink in the city aquarium
Eric Foreman and Greg House
“You’re pouting worse than Chase these days,” House remarks, sounding impossibly cheerful.
“And I suppose you’d know all about that,” Foreman replies tightly.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” House asks, batting his eyelids over those horribly blue eyes.
“Do you want me to be?” Foreman asks in a monotone, trying to pay attention to his coffee.
“Ooh, feisty,” House smirks, “I like that.”
“Can’t you go and act like a whore somewhere else?” Foreman mutters softly, but not so softly that House doesn’t hear him.
“Oh, Eric, I’m wounded,” he murmurs. “Of course, there is the chance that it’s not me or Chase you’re jealous of. Does Little Miss Cameron know?”
“I’m trying to-” Foreman begins loudly, and in irritation, but he soon realises he’s doing nothing but drinking coffee, and therefore his argument is rather pointless.
“I’ll take it that she doesn’t.” House smirks. “Want me to tell her for you?”
“If you breathe one word-” Foreman hisses, and now he sounds angry.
House just blinks, pretending to be offended, and then walks out, leaving Foreman fuming in his wake.
Sing in the key of night
James Wilson and Greg House
He brought this entirely on himself and therefore he shouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity. He is though. Chase’s words keep coming back to him. I don’t blame you, I saw this coming, I was actually waiting for this. Like his infidelity has got to the point where people are just biding their time waiting for him to slip up. It explains a lot. Like why Chase never got close to him, not as close as Wilson craved. Didn’t want to get hurt. Yeah, Wilson can understand that. He privately blames this on Cameron. Like it was her fault he suddenly betrayed a six-month relationship for a quick fuck on his desk. He shouldn’t blame her. It isn’t her fault.
Maybe he could blame House, because House is the one who has Chase now. House doesn’t expect intimacy, Chase doesn’t have to accept it or give it. Sometimes Wilson feels sick, picturing Chase wrapped around his best friend, kissing him the way he used to kiss James.
“Do you hate me?” House asks, once, when they’re both drunk.
“No, not really,” Wilson replies. “It’s not your fault.”
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you Jimmy.”
“Then stay the fuck away.”
Ok, so maybe it isn’t as amicable between them as he pretends it is.
As they're watching me
Lisa Cuddy and Allison Cameron
Cameron was broken long before House took it into his head to tinker with her. A couple of years ago, when he announced that he’d hired another fellow, and shoved the pretty, dark-haired thing into her line of vision, Cuddy knew then that it was going to end badly. It’s House’s prerogative. To get already damaged people and then damage them a little more. Only sometimes, he doesn’t know when to stop. He really doesn’t know when to stop. Cameron, when she first arrived at PPTH, was held together with rapidly unpeeling duct tape and the hope that she could make a difference. House knew that and he still took his time removing the tape and then poking every inch of her to see what would make her crack. As it turns out, everything makes Cameron crack.
Cuddy tucks a strand of dark hair behind her hair and doodles a memo to tell House that he should stop acting like the one who smashed Allison Cameron into pieces; she was messed-up years ago, and no one’s going to give him a gold star for it anyway.
“Are you considering handing in your resignation?” she asks, cutting to the chase because Cameron is shifting uncomfortably in her chair.
“Yes… no.” Cameron manages to meet her eyes, and offers a quick smile. “No, I’m not.”
Cuddy knows she shouldn’t say it but it spills out anyway.
Take me somewhere we can be alone
Greg House and Robert Chase
Chase is a whore, and that surprises him. It shouldn’t. If he’d just gone with his gut instinct all along, maybe he wouldn’t be quite as confused as he is now. But House listened to the few drunken admissions Wilson whispered about their relationship, and then Chase sounded anything but cheap.
House has come to realise that Chase is a chameleon. He is what people need him to be. He probably learnt it in all that time trying to please his father. He’s the rich, spoilt white guy because Foreman wants someone to hate. He’s cruel and distant to Cameron because she needs to feel guilty. He was the ruthless and whiny traitor for Vogler and the dominant, strong one for Wilson (Wilson always wants his women weak and broken and his men harsh and controlling). And he’s the perfect whore for House. He screams and sweats and moans and writhes and spreads his legs and plays his part with such panache that it’s almost impossible for even House to tell he’s faking.
But he is, and House doesn’t blame him.
“I’m not Cameron,” Chase whispers one day when his lips are swollen and his face is covered in stubble burn.
“And for that I am eternally grateful,” He replies, running his hands through that soft, soft golden hair. “No whining, no mention of ‘fixing’ me, no ‘getting off more on the scar than on me’ thing.” His words smack of bitterness and he cuts himself off by kissing Chase again, and Chase moans against his lips, keens at every touch. Boy should get an Oscar for the way he’s acting. For the way he degrades himself because he knows that’s exactly what House needs.
This ‘relationship’ can’t last much longer and they both know it (and don’t actually mind that much) but House does wonder how Wilson could be so stupid as to throw away the one man who can be everything he ever wanted.
Make me somewhere I can call a home
Allison Cameron and James Wilson
Cameron feels, now, that she’s just lurching from one disaster to another, accountable for none of them now, the catalyst who won’t blame herself. But everyone else blames her. It’s in Chase’s calm, unnatural friendliness and the stubble burns on his jaw, in the way House smirks at her and gropes Chase in the lab when he knows she’s watching through the glass, in the way Foreman can’t even look at her any more, and Cuddy’s unspoken worry and the way she keeps finding excuses to be in the diagnostics lounge, like she’s afraid they’ll all implode and start attacking each other if she’s not there to mediate. And more than that, it’s in every inch, every pore, every step taken, every breath of James Wilson.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asks her at one point, in the angry tone he normally reserves for House.
“Maybe you should stop blaming me,” Cameron snaps back, getting her backbone out again, “Maybe you should think about the fact that you just couldn’t say ‘no’.”
Wilson draws back, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, and shakes his head, only now Cameron isn’t sure who he’s angry with any more.
’Cause lately I've been losing my own
Lisa Cuddy and Stacy Warner
In her heart of hearts, Cuddy has been waiting for this phonecall. It seems cruel, to underestimate her friend like this, but still. She’s been waiting for this to happen. Preparing a long list of ‘I told you so’s, carefully deciding which ones she definitely can’t say. Turns out that most of them are inappropriate, and quite a lot of them are unforgivably personal.
“Mark and I are getting a divorce,” Stacy says. There is a pause. “Come on, say ‘I told you so’.”
“At this point in time, do I really need to?” asks Cuddy.
“Say it anyway,” Stacy mumbles, sounding incredibly chastened. “Someone ought to.”
“Fine.” Lisa sighs. “I told you so.”
“Thank you,” Stacy says. There is a very long pause. “Who is House sleeping with now?”
“Chase,” Cuddy tells her, although she’s tempted to say me, and see how Stacy reacts to that.
“He lost interest in Cameron.”
“We’re all just toys to him, really, aren’t we?” Stacy mutters, but it’s clear that she doesn’t like to think of herself as a toy, however true it is.
Wrapped in silent elegance
It is almost hilarious, the way everyone lets him get away with being him. House stretches out in his chair and looks at his team standing in an anxious row in front of him, hands full of medical files that they all know he’ll ignore.
“Aren’t you quite the little trio?” he murmurs. “Cameron- she wants some courage, Foreman wants a heart, so I guess that means, Chase, all you want are some brains.”
“So I suppose that makes you the Wicked Witch of the West,” Chase returns dryly, as Cameron flushes and Foreman carries on looking impassive.
“As if I’m that melodramatic. Please. That’s Cuddy,” House tells him, watching as Wilson comes in. “Ah, it’s Good Witch Glinda.”
“I’m surprised no one has murdered you yet,” Wilson remarks.
“Day’s still young,” House tells him, smiling slightly. He turns his attention back to his team. “Shoo! Go off and find the wizard.”
“And where’s he supposed to be?” Foreman asks in a long-suffering voice.
“I don’t care as long as it keeps you out of my way until lunch,” House responds. Cameron and Foreman roll their eyes and leave obediently, but Chase lingers by his chair, bending down to whisper in his ear.
“Does that make you Dorothy, then?” he murmurs.
“You will never, ever know,” House replies, and their eyes meet, and they both know then that it’s over between them.
Beautifully broken down
Eric Foreman and Robert Chase
Foreman thought that Chase was almost as untouchable an asshole as House, but it turns out that anyone can fall and at any minute. It’s really early in the morning and Cameron is Somewhere Not Here and House is At Home Because House Is Always At Home and outside the windows it’s dark and Foreman is supposed to be checking on the patient. He’s sure Chase had some kind of job to do but instead he’s standing in the diagnostics office with the lights off and the blinds shut and he’s sobbing like his heart is broken.
“Chase.” Foreman’s voice doesn’t tremble and it doesn’t come out as a question. He can’t tell if the other man is looking at him or even anywhere near him, but the sobs don’t abate in the slightest. This is the last place Foreman wants to be right now but he can’t leave, not now. Eventually, the wet noises ease up a little.
“I’m sorry,” Chase mumbles, and his voice is shaking like nobody’s business, “I’ve never broken down over any of it yet, and it just-”
“If House has wound you up so much-” Foreman begins, and there’s a snort of almost amusement from Chase.
“You think I’m crying over House?”
“No.” And they both stand in the dark for a little while longer, broken down, confused, and maybe closer than they’ve ever been.
As illusions burst
James Wilson and Robert Chase
“Did I ever matter to you?” Wilson asks eventually, when he can’t stand not knowing any longer. “Did our relationship ever mean anything?”
“How can you ask me that?” Chase asks, looking surprisingly hurt.
“Because you always acted like it didn’t,” Wilson replies, looking at Chase and wanting answers.
“I couldn’t let it mean anything,” Chase tells him simply.
“What the hell-”
“We all knew that in the end it would be a ‘complete accident’, but you’d still end up cheating on me and destroying whatever we had going on,” Chase replies, inspecting his fingernails with fake nonchalance. “If I cared I’d just end up hurt.”
“You always thought that-”
“I was right, though, wasn’t I?” Chase’s tone is so bitter it catches Wilson by surprise. “All it took was Cameron in a skirt and I got forgotten in a second.”
“It wasn’t like that!” Wilson protests, even though it was. Chase bites his lips together and gets up to leave.
“I loved you, you know.” He laughs humourlessly. “I didn’t want to, and tried not to, and I never mentioned it so it wouldn’t matter, but I really fucking loved you.”
He leaves Wilson confused and gasping behind him, and doesn’t look back.
Too late to learn from experience
Greg House and Allison Cameron
“You never learn, do you Allison?” House asks her when he catches Cameron looking at him for too long yet again.
“What, you think I’ll roll over and play ball just because you smiled at me?” Cameron snarls, and oh, she’s trying so hard to be nasty. It’s rather adorable, actually.
“Yes,” he says, “That’s exactly what I think.”
“Don’t do this to me,” Cameron mutters, but with less conviction than she should.
“Was Jimmy good? Was he better than me?” House asks mercilessly.
“And if I said ‘yes’, what would you say?”
“Cameron, honey, you’d never say ‘yes’,” House points out, and rather enjoys her blush. Cameron tuts and turns away from him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, biting her lip, looking like she’d like to say something, but House knows, with an edge of smugness, that there are no words.
Too late to wonder how to finish first
Underneath the differential diagnoses being thrown about the room, Chase keeps one hand banging on the table, a quiet but steady beat, and it’s bringing the tension in the room to a boiling point that’s going to explode any minute. House knows what he’s doing and is smirking slightly, although he’s also being subconsciously affected too, his barbed comments getting nastier and Cameron’s started flinching away from the words like they’ll actually cut her. Foreman merely smirks but there’s fire in his eyes too, and at some point Chase reckons the entire diagnostics department is going to require some group therapy so they can air their grievances at some point. He’ll certainly enjoy telling Cameron that she’s a bitch and House that he should stop fucking acting like he’s king of the world just because his leg doesn’t work and he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. He’s not sure what he’ll say to Foreman. He used to basically hate the guy, but things have been getting better lately, if only because now he hates him less than he hates everyone else. That thought strikes Chase as slightly sick but he pushes it out of his head and carries on with his steady beat, watching anger rise and fall like a restless wave that can’t… quite… break.
Take me somewhere we can be alone
Lisa Cuddy and James Wilson
Friday afternoon, with rain pouring down the windows. Cuddy draws the blinds so that she doesn’t have to look. Somehow, that doesn’t make her feel any better, the pathetic fallacy just highlighting parts of a life that’s already crappy enough. She sighs. It’s been a long week; too long, too exhausting, too many arguments with House, too many comments directed towards her clothing. So many that she feels weak and broken-down all over. Wilson, sprawled on the couch in the corner of her office, doesn’t look any better. He’s got his hand over his face and he’s grimacing like he’s in pain. Cuddy doesn’t dare ask what’s wrong, because she suspects that she won’t want to know. It’s really all entered an area of complication that she doesn’t want to get involved in, because it’s so sticky that everyone tangled up in it is swiftly drowning, unable to escape.
“Talk to him,” she orders eventually, looking Wilson in the eye and making sure he can’t flinch away from her advice. “Take a moment, and actually talk to him.”
Wilson just looks at her like he’s crazy.
“Fine,” Cuddy sighs, “Go and do some damn work then.”
Make me somewhere I can call a home
Stacy Warner and Greg House
Stacy makes the call, just once, just because she knows she has to. Because she’s going crazy and has to get closure on this. She feels sick, all the time, dizzy and lonely and now even Mark’s left from her. Stacy carefully doesn’t think about how frustrated she feels, or how lonely she is, in the bed, in the house with the echoing wooden floors.
“Mark and I are getting divorced,” she says quietly, and listens to him breathing on the other end of the line.
“What do you want me to say, Stacy?” he asks eventually, just as she thinks he’s gone away. She bites her lips together and closes her eyes, not sure what she wants from him either, and maybe that’s always going to be a problem. She gets the feeling that she and Greg will always be tied together, forever. Always crossing each other’s paths, always held back a little by that love and hate and confusion and that scar along his thigh. Stacy, fingers curled too tight around the phone, suddenly realises that she could be the last person alive at the end of the apocalypse, and Greg’s dead body would still trip her up.
“I don’t know,” she admits finally, and waits for an abrasive comment that doesn’t come. Instead, they sit in silence together, possibly for the first and definitely for the last time.
'Cause lately I've been losing my own
The sob-stories in the diagnostics department could keep Jerry Springer happy for months. He might even have to bring in Oprah for back up. It’s not a fact that amuses Foreman, except when he’s very drunk and then the idea makes him laugh until he starts choking. Chase must have enough problems to drown someone in, because they’re certainly drowning him. House and his leg and his Stacy and his Vicodin and his Wilson and his bored genius and so on could probably cover a week’s worth of episodes single-handedly. Foreman’s got daddy issues and authority issues and a difficulty with optimism and (whisper it in House’s tone) probably has race issues too. And Cameron’s all messed-up too. Really, it’s amazing they get any work done at all, and Foreman wonders just when they all became wrapped up in each other’s problems, and when that became ok.
Take me somewhere we can be alone
Robert Chase and Allison Cameron
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to stop loving House?” Chase asks one day, because he’s bored and Cameron was starting to look cheerful again for about five minutes and he can’t possibly ever let that happen. She can never be happy again.
“You’re a complete bastard, you know that?” she whispers, but he shrugs and lets it slide off his shoulders.
“But will you?” he persists, fiddling with the end of his tie and not looking away from her no matter how hard she tries to shift his gaze.
“I don’t know!” she snaps. Pauses, and bites her lip. “I hope so.”
“He’ll never love you, you know,” Chase adds, just because it makes Cameron squirm when he states the obvious, “And you can keep on hoping and keep on blinking those eyes because there’s a vague chance that he might look at you once in a while, but-”
“Asshole,” Cameron mutters.
“Sticks and stones may break his bones but whips and chains excite him,” House intones, walking in and catching the end of the conversation. “What have I told you about kicking puppies Chase?”
“Don’t you start too,” Cameron murmurs, storming out in a swirl of hair that both men appreciate for a moment before shrugging and going into the studious art of ignoring each other.
Make me somewhere I can call a home
It’s never, ever worked on any of his wives, so Wilson isn’t sure why he thinks it will work on Chase, but he spends about an hour gritting his teeth and working up the nerve. He’s tired and he’s ashamed and he’s spent many, many hours listening to Robert tell him he loved him, over and over again in his head until he feels completely crazy. He knows that he screwed-up, screwed-up worse than anyone could ever realise, but he’s also determined that he can repair this, if only he can have the opportunity. So he spends a long time trying to find the words that he’s not sure he has, because it’s never been like this before. He’s never cared so much, and the phoney phrases like give me another chance and but I love you honey, we can make this work stick in his throat, make him feel queasy. There’s nothing he can say, and he doesn’t deserve a second chance to mess this up but God, he wants one so, so badly. In the end, he gives up on trying to find the right thing to say, and goes to find Chase. The other man looks at him through his fringe, face impassive and jaw clenched, and all James can think of to say is please.
Won't you take me home?
Greg House and Lisa Cuddy
So no one is supposed to know that they get on and maybe no one does, but Friday nights they go to a bar near the hospital and drink together. Greg House and Lisa Cuddy, drinking pitchers of margaritas and laughing over the things that wound each other up so much over the week. It’s the only way they’ve managed to survive working together all these years. Sniping at each other perpetually throughout the week and then getting over it on Friday evening with too much alcohol in their systems.
House looks over to see Chase and Wilson in a booth in the corner, empty shotglasses on the table in front of them. The two of them are kissing viciously, like they’re trying to eat each other alive, trying to cause as much damage as possible, fingers tangling and pulling at each other’s hair, biting and sucking hungrily, angrily. They’re both furious, that’s clear enough, especially from the way Chase has Wilson pinned mercilessly against the seat, the hard lines of his body betraying an edge of violence. House looks away. He doesn’t want to see. Wilson is too drunk and too guilty to say ‘no’ and Chase is too angry and just drunk enough to lose his self-control. Chase could do and probably will do anything he wants to Wilson, and House doesn’t want to watch and doesn’t want to get himself involved.
Cuddy smiles slightly at him, dark hair tumbling over her face, slight drunkenness making her much more relaxed than she normally is. Her blouse is coming open but he’s not looking at her like that, he’s looking at her with mild respect and it’s the only time anyone might think that he actually likes her, that he values her as a friend, and you know, maybe he does.
'Cause lately I've been losing my own
James Wilson and Robert Chase
Wilson has a hangover and his head feels like it’s falling off. He rolls over in bed and groans softly. He aches all over and when he opens his eyes, squinting against the light, there are bruises and teeth marks all over his skin. He doesn’t remember much about last night, just little flashes that tell him he should be glad he can’t recall the majority of it. The shower is going and it takes Wilson a moment or two to realise that he’s not in his apartment. He’s in Chase’s. A few more things about last night skitter through his mind, although most of it’s still a blank.
Eventually, when he begins to think that maybe he should just find out what happened to his clothes and leave, before he has to face up to whatever happened or didn’t happen somewhere in that haze of alcohol that’s keeping his mind blank, the door between the bedroom and the bathroom opens.
Chase just stares at him for a moment, and he looks exactly how Wilson feels. His mouth is bruised and his lower lip looks like it was bleeding at one point or another, and his shoulders and hips are bruised above the towel wrapped around his waist. He doesn’t look hungover though. Was Chase drunk last night? Does Chase ever get drunk? Wilson, with a cold feeling of dread in his stomach, realises that the parts of last night he can’t remember, Chase probably isn’t going to forget in a hurry.
“I’m sorry,” Chase says quietly, dragging the towel over his wet hair. Wilson almost says for what?, but his memory’s not quite that defective and he can’t help wondering if that’s blood on the sheets. There’s a pause. “I heated up the shower for you,” Chase adds, “The water should be just warm enough.”
“Thank you,” Wilson replies, feeling strange and awkward and not quite right, unfolding his sore body and getting up. He starts walking towards the bathroom, the pain spreading through his limbs and making him almost limp, and Chase catches his arm and kisses him with surprising sweetness, cold, shaking fingers cupping his jaw. Wilson doesn’t ask if this is the end or a new beginning, and Chase doesn’t tell him, maybe because neither of them actually know.
Won't you take me home?
Eric Foreman and Allison Cameron
Cameron sits on her own in the cafeteria, head bowed, picking at a salad. Foreman makes his way to sit with her, because she looks so damn lonely.
“You all right?” he asks. Cameron smiles slightly at him, like she’s still a martyr, even though they all know that that isn’t true. Foreman abstractly wishes that he could hate her. But he can’t.
He sits down opposite her, following her gaze to where Chase and Wilson are sitting and talking with their heads a little too close together, and he hopes that the two of them can reach some kind of understanding, if only because when Wilson is miserable House is manic, and when Chase is miserable the whole office is full of bad feeling and scowling, and House just mocks him more and more. House himself is conspicuously absent- probably sulking on his balcony or stuck in the clinic (he went in there today with very little fuss; and Cuddy was smiling in far too satisfied a manner), and Cameron has a heap of medical files and is trying to make sense of them.
“Take a break, Allison,” he tells her. “Just- stop for a minute.”
She looks up and her blue eyes meet his.
“I can’t,” she whispers, and Foreman smiles slightly and entwines his fingers with hers.