Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize.

AN: I started this piece before The Itch aired, based on spoilers, and finished after with my original intentions not based on the episode. I was hoping this episode would inspire me to keep writing (this and Confess) and it certainly did. So look for updates on that, if anyone's still interested. Read, enjoy, review!

Remember When

She used to play Remember When. The endless mind game was so addictive, so crucial, so vital. It defined her: the moments of the past; the moments regretted. But it was something to fill the gap that fading memories create. It was something to lean on, a game to hide behind so she didn't have to move forward. In high school, she and her friends could play for hours holed up in their rooms, reliving memories, creating new ones.

Remember when we met?

Remember when we fought?

Remember when we made up, crying so hard we laughed and laughing so hard we cried?

She'd play with her mother too, sitting at the kitchen table scratched from years of uniting. She's long fallen out of the habit, but the memory doesn't fade.

Remember when you were always right?

Remember when I fell?

Remember when you saved me?

She'd even play with her late husband sometimes, but he didn't know it was a game. Or that he was playing into her own little addiction.

Remember when we first?

Remember when we last?

Remember me.

She still plays now, but only with herself. When she turns the wrong way and ends up outside of diagnostics. When she's pinning Chase up against the wall. When she's waiting for bad news. Tiny, insignificant instances spark moments of greater meaning, buried deep in her mind. But she's so fixated on remembering the past, she forgets she's living in the present, living for the future.

-

Chase is sitting on her couch absently stroking her hair when the phone rings.

"Hello?" answers Cameron, and then the nurse is rushing to explain about an old patient as she rises from the couch. "All right, I'm heading over," she says after a moment, and Chase turns his head.

"To a patient's. No one can figure out what's wrong."

"Why are you going to the house?"

Remember when you weren't so insecure? But she can't seem to recall.

"He's an agoraphobic. No way he'll leave."

Chase stares. "Need a ride?"

Yes, she wants to say. "Nope," comes out. Then she's out the door and in the car without even thinking why.

Remember when our patients were the same?

Remember when we were too distant for small talk?

Remember when that all changed?

-

The door's unusually heavy as she leans against it, moonlight melting with the security light in a glowing, grayscale spectrum reflected in the glass.

"What?" she hears gruffly from the corner as soon as she pushes the door open.

"Got a case. Thought it'd interest you." Cameron walks across the room and hands the file to House unsteadily, like it's a test to see if it's good enough for him. His eyes flit around the page until at last he looks satisfied.

"Fine. We'll start it tomorrow." A million questions spark in her head like the stars shining through the long window, but House rises and shuffles out of the room a moment too soon. Cameron stays for only a minute longer, haunting whispers dancing through her, until the demons of her past chase her away.

Remember when these walls, the carpet, this room was your domain?

Remember when you belonged?

Remember when you chose not to?

-

Cameron gets back to her apartment and finds Chase sitting on the couch staring at the TV, almost exactly as she left him.

"How'd it go?" he asks emptily, eyelids gradually drooping lower across his line of vision.

Cameron sighs. "It's complicated. I had to get House involved."

Chase shifts uncomfortably as she sits next to him, a blur of accusations whizzing around his head but he's trying to trust, really.

"I should go," he says stiffly after a moment. He stands up and arches his back with a small groan, then moves toward the door.

Cameron watches, upset. "No. Stay," she pleads. He knows he's being petty, but he can't stop feeling so bitter. "It's late," she says, slinking over to him. Gently she rests her hand on his chest, like she wants to leave her fingerprints on his heart. "Please?"

Chase stares for a minute, because he's got no reason to be angry. Maybe he just wants to be alone. Maybe he wants to fall back in time. Maybe he's wasting time now.

Suddenly Chase's mouth is smothering hers and she's shocked and he never wants to leave. Cameron gasps slightly into him and he presses her to the wall, and himself roughly against her. Her tongue wants to dance more lightly, softly, but he pushes harder. As soon as she tries to tilt her head he grabs her cheeks and takes control of her, kissing so heavily that her knees buckle. Cameron freezes, tense, and his hands snake down to her hips, ignoring no curve along the way. He holds her hard and kisses harder, like he can drive House right out of their heads.

Then, just as suddenly, it's over. Cameron's out of breath and so is Chase, and she looks almost embarrassed by how much that shook her. She grins a little, hoping it will lead to more, but Chase seems like he's waiting for something to happen- like the ceiling to crash down or the walls to burst into flames or the world to simply shatter.

"I should go," he says again, but they both know he's not going anywhere. Gently she lifts onto her toes to kiss him softly on the corner of his mouth, then walks back to the couch, his footsteps padding along behind her.

Remember when we weren't so predictable?

Remember when we weren't supposed to last?

Remember the distance, the difference?

-

Cameron wakes alone, as is usual in her own bed. Chase is at the hospital by now, she's sure, and even if he weren't he doesn't linger. It's almost like they still have rules: Cameron needs her space and Chase gives it to her. She's given him no sign to come closer, nor one to back off, and can't find harm in it either way.

But he's done everything to make his apartment more theirs. Cameron's just too scared to admit it's real. And she likes staying there, likes that he's opening up, likes that it's real. But then that's too much, and she needs somewhere to turn to, alone.

Remember when this apartment was emptier?

Remember when you were always alone?

Remember before that?

-

This morning is out of place, out of chronological order in her neatly partitioned life. Instead of entering the ER, she goes through the front doors. Instead of giving orders, she takes them. Instead of the predictable, she's unsure.

House is being stubborn and insists on following her car on his bike, and once they arrive the snide comments grow exponentially. But instead of having him step down or shut up, she falls back, his subordinate, his lackey, his fellow.

Then House calls for the team, his team, and when they show up Cameron suddenly remembers Foreman's still there. Chase's absence is so gaping, so obvious, that she finally reaches the point where she can't stand it.

-

"Hello?" he finally answers, on the third call and fifth ring.

"Hey. Could you come down here? We need you for the differential."

Chase sighs, and Cameron shivers. "You're doing surgery in the differential?"

She's starting to resent him, because staying away is so natural for him, like it should be, but isn't, for her. "No. But we need more ideas. We need you." She glances over her shoulder and down the hall, making sure it's safe. "I do."

He's silent for a minute, and Cameron feels another shiver race up her spine. "I'll get there as soon as I can."

She exhales slowly as she closes her phone, but a sudden sound makes her inhale sharply, breathless and tense.

"We don't need him. Now get back here or go home." House limps away and Cameron presses her back to the cool wall and closes her eyes, surrendering to the fear and shame and vulnerability swimming in her gut.

-

When Chase finally arrives they're severely segregated- old and new, lost and found. Foreman sits with Chase and Cameron as they feel he should, but then again he's still with the new and still out of place with the old. It's three against three, on opposite couches. Maybe four against two. Maybe five against one.

"Okay," says House once they've physically settled. "What disease do these symptoms have in common, and how can we test without testing?"

Cameron stares at the white board that Kutner brought, but medicine's the last thing on her mind.

Remember when the white board, and cane, and tennis ball were constants?

Remember when differentials were necessary?

Remember when the mystery unraveled, case by case, patient by patient, mirror by mirror?

-

"Coming right over?" Chase asks as they walk down the steps; the new team, the real team has been told to stay, and while leaving should feel like a privilege it burns more like rejection.

Cameron bites her lip then nods, a cluster of falling snowflakes catching her eyelashes. "If you don't mind," she says softly, then blinks it away.

"'Course not. Let's go."

She almost looks for an excuse just to go home for a little, to be alone, like maybe she's starting to fear the outside world too. But there is no excuse anyway; everything she'd need is already there, and maybe it's an omen of some sort, a sign, to follow Chase and not look back.

His car leads hers back to his apartment, and the ride there makes her overwhelmingly lonely, drained, empty.

Remember when you chased me?

Remember when I messed up?

Remember when you never surrendered your faith?

Quickly she leaves the car almost as soon as it's in park and hurries to Chase's side.

"Well," he says, unlocking the door. "It's been quite a day."

Cameron doesn't give any sort of indication that she's heard as they walk through the doorway, entering the only place where they both subconsciously feel home. "Chase?" she says, and his head quirks. "How long has it been?"

"Since what, Cam?" he says absently while moving down the hall.

Since this. Since this became real. She leans against the kitchen doorframe as he opens the fridge. "Since us."

"Depends how you count it," he says with a smile, but she's too lost.

"Since we became…normal?"

He stands upright and stares at her, over five years whirling in circles, etching into his skull.

"I'm not really sure how to answer that," he says honestly, stepping closer. "We never were normal. We…aren't."

He's a few steps away but she closes the gap fast, and they're kissing and they're holding and they're feeling.

Remember when we were strangers?

Remember when this was brand new?

Remember when it became a habit?

Her head falls to his chest and she closes her eyes and listens until their hearts beat as one, then layer by later they shed their skins, tumbling and hoping until they reach the couch. He holds her close like he can protect her from hurt, and when he slides inside something in the universe seems to change, ripples cast from them to eternity, sent out to alter everything from the outside in.

Remember, she thinks, as she wraps her arms tighter around his neck. Remember when. Remember this.

He comes, she comes, they come as one, and when it's over and the ripples cease and the water's calm, they're still beating in unison. Remember- remember or you're sure to forget.

Close, so close; they lay tangled. Close, and maybe too close, Cameron thinks. Because she's not supposed to depend on this, not supposed to need it. And yet she does. But she knows what comes next, and doesn't have the strength to face it.

-

Cameron returns without Chase, envy biting at her along with the chill in the air, because he's strong enough to resist. But the patient's slipping in and out of consciousness, and they're going to need to operate.

Asking the old Chase wouldn't be difficult, but she knows now he's got a reputation to keep, now he'll have to refuse. What she doesn't expect is for him to bring up the distance between them, here, now; she didn't even expect him to notice.

"Listen," he says as she stands defensively, as the cold from their fight seeps into her cracks. "I'll do the surgery if there's no other option. Just let me know when you think that is."

She squares against him; she knows it's a test but she's not sure if she's going to pass or fail. "Okay," Cameron says, her chilling blue-green eyes glowing against the paleness of her skin. "There's no other option."

"Fine," Chase says gruffly, angrily, trustingly. "I'll head over."

-

The surgery is so nerve-racking, and rigid, and unsettling. This is Chase's domain now and she feels like an intruder, like the stranger that she's become to large-scale operations.

Chase's hands work quickly and nimbly, and all it takes is for one little slip of her shaking fingers to slice too soon to set him off. Cameron almost wants to flee, and get kicked off the case, and go back to her house and stay there until the world changes back.

But she's got a duty to fulfill, to save this man, and she's not going to risk him for her own selfish, irrational desires. She presses on, careful to remain steady and keep her insecurities away from her actions.

When at last the surgery is over and the patient is stable and Cameron can breathe, she takes a precious moment of solitude on the couch. It's not long before Chase comes to sit next to her, and she's truly grateful that there's someone else who understands, who knows. She gently presses her head to his shoulder, pretending for this moment that they're the only ones here. "Want to come over tonight?"

But it sort of comes out wrong, like she's only saying it because he brought it up before. "Cameron, it's fine. Forget I said anything. Come over to my place. I'll make dinner."

She seems to accept this; perhaps the fear of argument keeps her from saying more, so she nods softly as he rubs her cool, exposed arm. After a while Chase stands to leave, murmuring a faint goodbye that rattles down to her core. There's this insecurity, preying upon her insides, that she's done wrong and can't live with the disappointment, and she knows she has to fix it.

Remember when it was all for fun?

Remember when we didn't need love?

Remember when we did?

-

He hears her car pulling into the driveway and meets her at the door, like so long ago when this became real and everything was irrevocably altered.

"Hey," Cameron says softly, brightly. "Get in the car. I'm taking you somewhere."

Chase smiles eagerly, like the child he never got to be, and walks to the car with Cameron in tow. It doesn't take him long to realize where they're going, but the why escapes him.

When they pull into Cameron's driveway, her hands start to shake and she grips the wheel hard. It's another step toward unfamiliarity, away from shadow of safety that she lives her life in. The key quivers in her hand, nerves from something new holding her back. Chase seems to realize, though, and when he steadies her hand with his she knows it's time.

The door creaks open and Cameron leads Chase to her bedroom, as it all starts to unfold for him. With a nervous smile, she opens a dresser drawer, an empty drawer, and slides open the closet door to reveal half of a blank canvas.

"I made room," she says unsurely, blinking shyly. "I don't want to lose you."

Chase stares at the drawer and closet, with the same sort of excitement on his face as when she first showed up on his doorstep, so, so long ago. "You didn't have to. I didn't want to intrude-"

"No," she interrupts, pressing her finger to his lips. "I want to do this. You deserve it."

"Cam-"

"I know it's not a lot of room, but it's something. If you want to stay here it's fine. It's great."

"Cameron." She's nervous, and babbling, but she's excited and he's excited and he has to grab her by the shoulders to catch her focus. "Cameron. Move in with me."

She seems like she wants to debate it, or look away, but once she thinks it's the easiest choice she's ever had to make. "Yes. Of course."

Because she's been ready to take this step, make this leap, and this is the sign that let him know. Because she spends every night there anyway, and it just feels so right. Because life is short, and all it takes is one instant to steal a life, and they need to value each other, together.

Remember when we were scared?

Chase leans his head in and kisses her gently and tenderly, careful not to break her enchanting unsteadiness.

Remember when we took one step, then another, then this?

Cameron snakes her arms around his waist, fingertips brushing over his spine so she has something to hold her steady, to keep her safe.

Remember when we thought about the future, and what could come?

His hands trace their secrets onto her cheeks, her warmth keeping him steady, his strength keeping her secure.

Remember. Never forget.

AN: This episode was just too perfect to pass up, so I hope you like my take on how it could have gone. Let me know what you think!