trueaussiedoc | with theyremembermine || "All your secrets and your lies..."

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with theyremembermine || "All your secrets and your lies..."

[ In the wake of THIS @

wayswithwords, follows end of How To Get Away With Murder 1x09 ]

Despite Connor's best attempts to get information out of Chase about one of their patients, who apparently killed someone in Philadelphia and then drove to Princeton (for some reason) and keeled over at the wheel, driving his car into a children's playground, his efforts were fruitless. At least, fruitless to that intention. Chase had been extremely tight-lipped with the information, not revealing anything and holding firm on his doctor-patient confidentiality, but he still ended up fucking Connor.

And so what? He had needs, and one of those was the fact he was constantly horny without an outlet of late. Whatever small things that had started had fizzled out before they turned into anything serious. Not that he was looking for something serious. He wasn't... at least, he didn't think so. He was divorced and all his past relationships had bombed, so there was that. But still, he had always been a romantic at heart, and maybe he was looking without realising? All he knew was that before Connor came along, even casual sex had been boring.

Though, Connor was very similar to him. Not just in personality, but in the do-anything-to-win ambition and dry sarcasm. Maybe the opposites attract was total bullshit, and what he needed was someone the same as him to challenge him and keep it interesting. Which is what happened when Connor showed up. They had fucked a few times now, and even though Chase expected him to lose interest when the patient was diagnosed and discharged from hospital, it didn't. In fact, only a week ago, they had met up in a hotel halfway between Philadelphia and Princeton for a really hot fuck... or five. Chase was late to work the next day, and didn't give a flying fuck about it.

He hadn't given Connor his home address, and vice-versa. All in all, they barely knew anything about each other beyond the Aussie doctor and law student thing. Chase was leaving work that night, planning on hitting the sack early. He was just checking his backed up text messages on his phone and unlocking his Jeep when suddenly Connor seemed to appear out of the shadows on the sidewalk and made Chase nearly shit himself. "What the fuck?!" he gasped in shock, hoping he wasn't about to have a heart attack. It was two beats of a pause, if that, where he quickly gave Connor the once over and he looked like hell. "... are you high? I've fucked someone on drugs in the past, and let's just say, it was a hot mess, so I'm not keen."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

In the past day and a half, Connor had cleaned the interior of his car no less than six different times, paranoid and terrified that there might be the slightest speck of evidence found that linked him to the murder. Especially considering that Asher had known that Connor's car was at the Keating residence around the time that Sam was murdered, even if it hadn't come up in discussion yet. He was terrified, and he felt sick even now, well over 36 hours later. He'd gone to Oliver, seeking comfort from the guy that he'd somehow weirdly connected with and whom he'd secretly hoped might actually be special to him, but standing there in Oliver's apartment, he'd wanted to connect with him -- to feel safe enough with him to be able to tell him everything -- but he just couldn't. He stood there in front of Oliver, trying to get the words to come, and when he'd tried, he'd just ended up lying and trying to escape the situation. It was only halfway to Princeton that he even realized where he was going, and that it was because the whole time he'd been standing in front of Oliver, he'd been thinking about Chase.

He hadn't slept in what seemed like an eternity. He was tired, and he was terrified, and these weren't sensations familiar to the cocky gay bitch that Connor had been for a long damn time. He didn't worry. He never got scared. He wasn't weak. And he sure as hell didn't fucking need anyone enough to make him travel this fucking far to reach out to them for help when he wasn't even sure what kind of help he was looking for. But here he was, and he had absolutely no reason to think that Chase would listen to him or would care or want to be involved in something so incredibly fucked up. But he'd been on autopilot and everything in him had brought him here, a mere shell... Nothing like his normal self. And he stood in front of Chase, terrified to the point that he was shaking, his face red from having been sick earlier and possibly crying, though he'd never admit it, and he shook his head at Chase's suggestion. "No... No, I'm not high. I just... Fuck, I don't know why I'm even here. I didn't know where else to go."

As soon as Connor said he wasn't high - and Chase took his word for it, he could figure out for sure later - he looked more closely at him. There were a few moments he kept his distance, because if not high, the doctor in Chase was telling him the guy could be having a psychotic break, could be riddled with infection affecting his outward responses and emotions. He had to literally cockblock himself from going into diagnostics mode, and he stepped up to Connor, resting a careful hand on his arm. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured and noticed Connor was shaking from head-to-toe. He pulled his own leather jacket off and draped it around Connor's shoulders.

"What do you want to do? Do you want to go inside and get a coffee? Or we can go back to my place. It's just a few blocks from here. Has something happened?" he asked, looking over Connor's face. No dilated pupils. He wasn't high. If he had been drinking, he wasn't drunk. At least, Chase hoped not because he would have had to drive here and he had personally witnessed the aftermath of a drunk driving smash in his resident days, the remains of a toddler barely recognisable. In the end, he made the decision for Connor because going back inside, there were too many questioning eyes and something told him that wasn't needed right now. "Come on, I'll take you to my place," he added, giving Connor's back a small, comforting rub.

"It's not okay," Connor protested. His tone wasn't snappish. To the contrary, it was almost as if he were begging Chase to tell him that he was wrong -- that it really was okay and he was going to be fine. But he knew it wasn't. There was nothing okay or fine about any of this, and it was never something Connor had seen coming. He was training to be a criminal defense attorney, which meant that, at times, he was going to be involved in less than legal things in the interest of doing his job. But witnessing and subsequently covering up a murder? That wasn't one of the things he'd expected. When he said he'd stop at nothing to get what he wanted, murder was kind of one of those outliers that wasn't supposed to be included in the final results.

He absentmindedly pulled the jacket in closer around him, the cold of the night air and the absolute fear of what had happened setting in down deep in his bones. He looked at Chase, nothing more than a cold blank stare, and he wanted to protest. They were fucking. They weren't lovers. They weren't boyfriends, and they didn't go to each other's places. But he was terrified and he was cold and he needed something though he couldn't be sure what or even how to begin to ask for it. All that he could really make sense of was that Chase was there, comforting him, and Connor finally turned to him with a weak nod and started toward the passenger's side of the car -- after making sure on at least three occasions that his own car was locked. "Y... Yeah, your place sounds okay, as long as you're sure you're cool with it." He was trying so desperately to keep it together, here... But there was no doubt it wouldn't be long before he fell apart.

Chase kind of recognised the state Connor was in. He had been there. He knew that he wasn't privy to any of the circumstances, but he been twisted up in the same emotional state, so it told him that something very serious was going down here. If he had come for a fuck, it wasn't for fun but distraction. Or he hadn't come for a fuck at all, and that, in itself, spoke loudly. "It's no problem," he assured Connor, leading him around the car to the passenger's side. He unlocked it and opened the door for Connor to get in. He wasn't going to push Connor for information or grill him, but he was subtly leaving the lines of communication open. It would probably be better once they got back to his apartment because Connor seemed to be completely and totally on edge, eyes flicking around like he was expecting someone to jump on him at any moment.

Once they were in the car with the engine started, Chase turned the heating up and then popped the glove compartment open. He dug around inside for a few moment and handed Connor a half-spent strip of Valium. "Pop a couple. They'll help." At the very least, he did have his doctorly resources to draw on here. "Don't take the whole strip or I'll have to dose you with charcoal and there's way too much paperwork for that," he added, shifting the Jeep into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot to head home.

This was so out of character for Connor -- so unlike him. He was usually the picture of cool confidence, never stressing, never worried, never upset. He recovered well in situations out of his control and had a way of making people feel like the things they had caught him off his guard with were actually things he'd been expecting all along. He prided himself on that -- on every surprise coming off like part of the plan. But this was one he had no way to plan for, no way to play off, and no way to face. Part of him hated everyone involved in this whole thing for their parts in it -- Wes and Rebecca, Laurel and Michaela, even Sam himself. He hated them for robbing him of his calm... the cool exterior that held him together, no matter how mixed up he might be on the inside. There was none of that anymore. He hadn't been able to hold it together at all, and maybe that was why he was here in the first place.

Connor looked down at the pills in his hand for a moment, running over about a million possibilities in his head. What if he took them and they made him sleep, and he woke up in jail? Or what if he slipped up and told Chase something that would put him in danger? But in the end, the rush of thoughts in his mind needed to slow down at least a little, and Connor carefully popped two of the pills out of the strip and swallowed them dry. "Something... Something really terrible happened," he said, his voice a mere breathy whisper in the car, almost so low that Chase may not have even heard him over the sound of the car's engine and heater. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't be dragging you into this. I just needed someone, and... I ended up here."

Chase glanced over as Connor took the pills, relieved he hadn't fought him on that. It would help ease the anxiety a little. It wouldn't take away the cause, but sometimes you needed something to help you along. "I've got something at home for nausea if you need it too," he told him, flicking his indicators on at the exit of the parking lot and waiting for the right of way. It wasn't like he knew Connor very well. This could be a regular thing for him, but the small handful of encounters they had, Connor had always been cool, calm and collected. Much like Chase himself. But his eyes were red and puffy, his hair a mess, a slight sheen of sweat that could be caused from a panicked state he was in. His hands had the tremors too. Maybe it was withdrawal? Was it DTs? A possibility, and could explain why he had come to Chase, who was a doctor and could treat withdrawal symptoms. It was hard for Chase to switch his mind off trying to analyse Connor here. That aside, though, he was worried about the poor guy. Something was wrong, and he had come to Chase for some reason or another that had yet to be disclosed.

"What did you do, murder someone?" It was meant as a joke. He couldn't have any idea at that point how close he skimmed to the dark truth. "I've got plenty of skeletons in my own closet. Trust me on that. Whatever you've done, it's unlikely to scrape remotely close to what I've done. You can trust me. You just took my pills, so you get doctor-patient confidentiality by default." A stark confession from him, but it was only fair. He wasn't the squeaky clean doctor persona by any means. He had a lot in his past that was messy, illegal, immoral, unethical, and downright sinning, if you wanted to take it that far.

Edited 2014-11-22 06:18 (UTC)

There was a weak nod from Connor as his eyes flickered restlessly over the road in front of them. "Nausea? I could definitely go for something for that." He tried to laugh, but it was weak and came out more as a grunt. "Have you ever thrown up so much you weren't sure how you had anything left to throw up? I'm pretty sure I'm at that point right now. I haven't eaten. Still keep throwing up." His fingers were wrapped tightly around the package of Valium, the other hand clenched around the strap of his messenger bag, and he felt like he might just die, just right here like this if his fucking heart didn't stop beating so damn fast. "You don't believe me that I'm not high, do you?" he asked, but without even looking at Chase. "You think I'm doped up. I'm not. Fuck knows I wish I were, but I'm not. I don't think there's anything strong enough anyway." He couldn't be sure at that point if he was even talking to Chase, or just to himself, or simply trying to make sure he was still alive by virtue of hearing himself talk.

At Chase's question, Connor stopped his rambling stone cold, and turned to look at Chase in disbelief before he literally started laughing. In a stark contrast to his failure to laugh only moments earlier, at this point, he couldn't stop the laughter, and he was pretty sure that Chase thought he'd gone full on mental health patient up in this business. "Doctor-patient confidentiality is tricky and you know it as well as I do," Connor replied, when he finally stopped laughing long enough to breathe, a ridiculous, frightening, and entirely out of place grin still on his face. "All they have to do is subpoena you, and you'd have to break it. Besides that, doesn't the fact that you and I have both been balls deep in each other in the last week kind of make them frown on you having any sort of medical relationship with me anyway?" This stuff was easy. Facts. Cold hard facts and laws and rules of life and society. Connor got those things. He understood them well. But this wasn't one of those things at all, and he felt so sick inside that it was ridiculous. "But what the hell... If I go to jail, I go to jail. It's pretty well expected at this point. But no. I didn't... exactly murder anyone."

"I know you're not high. I saw your pupils in the parking lot. You don't do a job I do and just switch it off when someone's clearly affected by something. That something isn't always drugs. There are very long lists of things that can mimic drug use, abuse, and withdrawal. Right up on the top of the list? Shock and anxiety," Chase told him. It was late, so there weren't many cars on the road. It was one of those dreary nights where it looked like it wasn't far off raining, and a rumble of thunder in the distance proved his suspicions correct. He wanted to get Connor back to his place before it started to bucket down. "Fucking cold weather. The one thing I hate the most about America. Yes, I have thrown up that much and it was anxiety and stress that caused it. I don't care if you need to throw up, I'm a doctor, I can handle puke."

The laughing was hysteria, there was no doubt about it. In fact, he wasn't all that convinced that Connor would be able to stop once he started. The guy was distressed and something was seriously haunting him here. As soon as the laughing started, Chase knew how much of a raw nerve he had hit. He pulled up in front of his apartment block and shut the engine off. "They can't subpoena anything I haven't put in writing. If you don't exist on paper as my patient, they can't prove that you are. Do you want the legal loophole to work in your favour or theirs? I've lied under oath before, and I'm not afraid to do it again. The big man upstairs doesn't mean as much to me as he used to. Again, they need to prove my dick has been near your arse. I won't tell if you don't. You throw me fact, and I'll counter it all with grey area. My whole job weighs on grey area. That's good to hear, because I have." He got out of the car, locking his side and went around to open the door for Connor and gestured to the stairs up into his ground-floor place. "Get your arse inside so I can help you out. I promise I won't murder you. Grey area, remember? Anything you confide in me, I'll confide in something with you in return. Deal?"

Connor had the fleeting thought that he really wished this were just a routine trip to get laid. Chase was older than him, and older than most of the guys he tended to sleep with, but with that came a level of experience that didn't leave anything to be desired. Thinking about sex was far more pleasant than thinking about why he was really here -- and for the briefest moment he was able to focus hard enough to turn the flashbacks in his brain from images of Sam lying in a pool of his own blood to flashbacks of last week in the hotel with Chase, being fucked within an inch of his life by the Aussie doctor. That didn't last long, though, and then it was right back to the memories of seeing Sam die -- memories that he couldn't erase no matter how hard he tried. "Excellent diagnostics, Dr. Chase," Connor replied with another mirthless grunt of a laugh. "Shock and anxiety... Doesn't even begin to explain it." He didn't respond to the weather talk or even to Chase's reassurances, at first, because his mind wasn't slowing down enough for him to even think about them much.

Chase was quick. There was no doubt about that, which was why Connor had ended up spending a great deal of time since they'd met coming back here to fuck Chase again. He wasn't dumb, and he wasn't weak like so many other guys Connor had fucked to try and get information about things. Chase understood the legal system pretty damn well, which Connor assumed you would have to as a doctor to protect yourself. "The law is black and white," Connor said softly, thinking out loud and musing about all the things ever, apparently. "The grey area is the part you use to keep juries on your side, and to make them question everything they're hearing." Pretty useless information that Connor may or may not have been repeating from one of his lectures at school. "It's... You have what? Murdered someone?" Connor's face changed just a little, and as Chase opened the door on his side, he met his gaze, the shiftiness gone from his eyes for a moment because he needed to know if he could believe what Chase was saying. "Okay, then," he finally said, still hugging Chase's jacket around his torso tightly. "Deal. I hope to god it's warm in your place."

Chase quirked an eyebrow and glanced over at Connor. "You'll be thanking my diagnostic skills when that Valium kicks in. If it's not shock and anxiety, feel free to offer up more symptoms for me to work with. Unless you're bleeding from the brain or projectile vomiting, I'm not actually a mind reader, despite the fact my ex-boss used to like to think I was. If you do feel like projectile vomiting, though, at least do it out in the gutter. I just had my car detailed two days ago after you spilt that raspberry lube all over the back seat. Let's put it this way. You can trust me or you don't. The ball's in your court. It's not going to shift my situation in any way, but it could potentially help yours."

"No, it's not, and you know it," he countered with a small, cynical snort. He might be an American citizen now that marrying Cameron got him his Green Card, but he would always be Aussie at heart. "At least, the American law isn't black and white. Other countries are way more on the ball. In this place, you can get away with anything if you know what strings you can pull and tricks you can turn. You can pin people for things they didn't do, and you can do horrific things and get away scot-free. I've dealt with plenty of lawyers in my career, I know how they work and how they think. They hate us because of our Hippocratic Oath and that doctor-patient confidentiality surpasses their access to information without a court order or a subpoena. And even then? You only get what we write in the records. We can take what patients confess to us to the grave. The best criminal lawyers are criminals themselves, so maybe you've done yourself a favour ultimately. Work experience or some shit. And of course it's warm in my place, I'm Australian and this weather is cold enough to freeze the balls off a bloody brass monkey. Are you getting out or not?"

"I'm not arguing with the shock and anxiety," Connor confessed. "It's just... I've never -- I've never felt like this before. I don't even know how to explain it to you, because it's so fucking... Intense. Intense is a good word." He wasn't usually so bad at putting words to things, and he usually wasn't so... So... So like this. He wanted nothing more than to just be able to forget what had happened, and in all honesty, there was a huge part of him that really did want to take more of the Valium than he should. "I'll try and give you a heads up on that," Connor replied, trying like hell to smile and just not having it eventuate. "It's not my fault that you did that thing with my balls and made me lose focus," he added, needing some sort of levity here to cling to.

"It's supposed to be. The laws themselves are black and white, but there's a million and one ways to work around them. But you're right. I've seen Ms. Keating get people off when I knew they did it... They were guiltier than hell. She's brilliant. But you're right. We're not big fans of any information we can't readily get our hands on... At least any information that helps our case." He paused, trying to control his urge to start that full-on hysterical laughing again. "If being a criminal makes me a good attorney, I should be the best damn attorney out there. I'm like a gold star crim at this point." He nodded slowly at Chase, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the car with the Valium still clutch in one hand. "I want to get drunk. Really, really fucking drunk. Permanently."

Chase looked over Connor's face quietly, wondering what sort of past and upbringing he had. It was funny when Chase first started working for House that House had pegged him as the pristine golden boy who was riding on daddy's privilege card. His assumption couldn't have been more further from the truth. His relationship with his dad was abysmal and his mother was dead from alcoholism. That was only scratching the surface too. He couldn't help but wonder what Connor's story was and why he had gone from 0 to 1000 of distressed states. "Just make sure you stick to raspberry. I'm allergic to strawberry, and there's nothing worse than anaphylactic shock to ruin the mood of a good fuck."

He took the meds back off Connor and shoved them in his pocket. "If you need more, we'll stick to the standard regular dose when it's next due." He was still standing there waiting for Connor to get out of the car. There was no way he was going to force the guy into anything. Hell, if he told Chase right then that he was having second thoughts, he would have just gotten back in the car and driven him back to the hospital to his own car. They weren't married, they weren't even dating, he had no grounds for forcing Connor's hand at anything, even if he was worried about his obvious distressed state and concerned about the trouble he had gotten himself into. He would help, but Connor had to want it. Chase learnt his lesson about that in his early days working for House. It never ended well, especially not with a stubborn, cocky ego involved. "I still beg to differ. Criminal precedent law isn't black and white. It's interchangeable, any court case at trial can change a whole string of laws in one verdict. See, I know my shit. I've been around longer than you, remember. Every genius has an Achilles Heal. You're going to learn more from her when she fails, trust me on that. Nah, gold star crim, you would have to be a pedophile serial killer. You've got wiggle room. And I'm not letting you drink in this state, so nice try." He closed the door over behind Connor and locked the Jeep up, setting the alarm so they could head inside.

Edited 2014-11-23 01:31 (UTC)

"And grape tastes like shit," Connor replied, almost as if he were reading it off a cue card. His emotional state was so far out of his control that it was ridiculous, and at the moment, it just felt like a roller coaster. One minute he was laughing hysterically, the next slightly amused about a conversation about lube, and in a few minutes, once the doors of Chase's apartment closed behind them, he was pretty sure he was going to be sobbing, possibly curled up in a ball in the corner. "I'm pretty sure swelling from an allergic reaction isn't the best way to go about male enhancement -- and in all honesty, you really don't have any need to enhance anything."

He seriously considered protesting Chase taking the Valium, but there would be no arguing with the doctor, and Connor knew it. Chase had kicked into protective doctor mode, and on some level, Connor was clinging to that as much as he could. It was not his usual way to let himself rely on other people, but this was absolutely necessary right now or there was literally no way of knowing what Connor might do. "Thank you," he murmured softly to Chase, a definite level of humility in his tone, again, far outside his usual cocky bitchiness. He had no idea what he might do left alone with Valium. Contrary to what he'd told Oliver, he really didn't have a drug problem. He had used them in the past, recreationally, but these days, he had far too much to lose. Stuff he might lose now anyway, because he was covering up a goddamn murder. "I mostly just think about your being older than me in terms of you having more sexual experience, which works for me. But I guess you do have a point. Things can change in the blink of an eye when it comes to law. Hell, things can change in the blink of an eye when it comes to life in general -- obviously. But no... Not a pedo serial killer. I can't even stomach what just happened... Much less committing a murder myself." There would be no arguing Chase's point about drinking, so Connor didn't push it. Instead he just followed the doctor into the building, still trying to keep his focus on holding himself together.

There was a wry smirk. "You tend to forget caring about your cock when you're keeling over because you can't breathe. Nearly dropping dead at your bachelor party for licking strawberry body butter off a stripper is not a good look," Chase said with a shake of his head. A lot of old water under a very large bridge on that whole thing. It was ancient history, and of course, House's fault for hiring the strippers. What a way to go, though.

"You could say that. I did lose my virginity to a 45 year old married secretary when I was 15 to piss my father off and have blackmail material. But I also have three medical specialties and an epic fuck ton of life experience, so yeah, I think I'm little more advanced, but I wouldn't take it personally. I'm weathered, cynical, and judgemental. Those are the down sides of too much experience too quickly. Things you can't turn the clock back on and have no choice but to deal or lose everything," he said with a small shrug. He still wasn't sure what it was Connor had done, but he was assuming something serious that possibly involved a death. Had he witnessed it? That would certainly make sense about his emotional state. Without even thinking about it, Chase wrapped his arm around Connor's waist to hold him up while he sorted through his keys for the ones to the apartment.

Connor gave a brief nod. "That's a hell of an allergy story," he said, shaking his head. "You're lucky your ex-wife didn't finish the job if that was right before you got married. Death by stripper might be a cool story, but death by pissed off fiancee wouldn't be quite so cool. Trust me, I've heard a ton of those types of stories in classes, and they get more and more scary as they go... Pissed off women do scary shit.'

"Ah, you've got me beat there," Connor said, the teasing in his tone lost in the fact that he was still incredibly on edge. "I lost mine at the same age, but it was a twenty-two year old guy who was student teaching my English class. I'm kind of impressed you went for three times your age. I hope the secretary was at least hot. I'm pretty cynical myself, but I've never..." Suddenly, though, Chase's arm was around Connor's waist, and instead of his instant reaction per usual, which would've been to pull away or make a wisecrack about not being there for the snuggling, but at this point, Connor just let Chase be there for a while. He actually could feel himself slumping against Chase's side, letting his weight rest there for a moment or two. "So much for keeping our personal lives out of our fucks, huh?"

Edited 2014-11-23 14:21 (UTC)

"She's a thick-skinned ball-breaker with iron-cast ethics. Hence why our marriage went down the shitter," Chase reeled off with an air of indifference. He and Cameron were really close friend now and stayed in touch, but anything romantic had well and truly been quashed long ago. Thinking back, even starting a relationship together way back when had been a bad idea and on too shaky a foundation. They were too different, and Chase felt these days like that had been the problem all along. They would have had to change each other way too much to have made it a lasting thing. "But we know each other's worst skeletons, so we'd never truly hurt each other, pissed off or not."

He gave a small snort of a laugh. "Student teacher v-card loss. How cliché, it's practically a TV trope. Whatever gets the job done. I was a messed up kid. Just watched my mum die in a pool of her own blood and vomit. I wanted to switch that off. It was fun, until the bitch accused me of getting her pregnant to try to piss her husband off. Then it was hello Seminary college because I was so screwed up. You kind of dissolved that disclaimer when you showed up for reasons that weren't a simple fuck and about on edge enough for me to be considering suicide watch. There's a step here, so be careful," he warned as he got his door open and pushed it back against the wall so Connor could get in without faceplanting the cheap rug he adopted with the apartment when Cameron moved out. "If you know some of my personal life and demons, you'll find it easier to trust me with yours."

"I'd never last long with anybody with 'iron-cast ethics' myself. Then again, I never last long with anybody, except when it comes to stamina... You know all about that. I'm not the boyfriend type. Sure as hell not the husband type. Then again, you didn't seem that way either when I met you, and then I find out you gave it the old college try at least." He paused, thinking that over for a moment before adding, "But I guess you're not married now, so you're probably not the husband type either. She sounds like a good person, though. In criminal law, you don't meet a lot of those."

Connor managed a small smirk of his own at that. "I know. At the time I thought it was the most badass thing ever, and I bragged about it extensively. Now it's almost embarrassing how after-school-special it is. He was a good lay, though. I'll give him that." Chase's comment about his mom, almost casually spoken in the confines of the conversation, caught Connor totally off his guard, and he looked him over for a moment, feeling a knot building up in his throat. He seriously couldn't get a handle on his goddamn emotions here and he was frustrated over that. "I guess I did. To be fair, I didn't even know where I was going when I started this way. I was halfway here before I even realized it. I don't need to be on suicide watch. I just need to sleep, and I don't know how the fuck I'm going to sleep because I can't stop..." His words caught in his throat and as soon as they were inside, and the door was closed behind them, Connor looked at Chase, opening his mouth to try and start to explain, and he just fucking lost it, the words he intended to say lost in a choked sob as his forehead came to rest on Chase's shoulder."

"I just don't think I was her husband type," Chase admitted honestly. There was an air of banter through the pain and confusion of the whole situation. He was just focusing on keeping Connor on his feet long enough to get him inside out of the cold and his feet working effectively enough to not let him trip and hurt himself. The autopilot drive over here was worrying too, though Chase knew very well how easy it was do things without thinking about them when your brain hit a wall and couldn't think anymore. He knew that was what was happening here. Connor was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown, if not already had one, and this was the aftermath.

He got him inside safely and elbowed the door shut to cut off the chilled breeze that had picked up as a starter to the bad weather setting in. He had barely locked the door and tossed his keys on the small table before Connor was breaking down completely. "Hey, it's okay. Come one, come sit down so you're off your feet," he coaxed softly and led Connor into the room directly on the left where a large, comfortable sofa was. Once they were seated, Chase pulled the throw rug from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Connor to keep him warm because he was still showing signs of shock. "You're safe here, alright? I've got your back. I'm not going to tell anyone anything you tell me."

"I never thought I was the ask my casual fuck for help type, but here I am," Connor replied with a tired shake of his head, still leaning against Chase's side. He needed the support -- both physical and emotional right now. He was falling apart inside, and trying like hell to fake that he was okay. Chase knew better. It was far too late now for him to try and pretend he was feeling great. He wasn't. Not in the slightest, and he'd already given that away to Chase from the start.

Chase really did have Connor's back, and there were no words for how grateful Connor was when the doctor wrapped the blanket around him and reassured him that this was a safe place. He needed to know that... to be reassured time and again... because this was just too damn much to handle, and while he couldn't maintain any control, at least there was someone he could trust here. The sobs were choking him, and he honestly felt like curling up into the fetal position and spending the rest of the night crying his eyes out, but he couldn't. He just couldn't, or he knew he'd never stop. Managing to only slightly catch his breath, he looked at Chase with a shake of his head. "I can't... I can't... I can't fucking..." He took another breath, gritting his teeth, and managed to force the words out that he was looking for. "I fucking saw Sam Keating die, and I helped get rid of the body," he confessed, trying to keep from hyperventilating or just plain losing his shit again. "He fucking deserved it, but I've never... I never wanted to be part of something like that. I didn't."

Edited 2014-11-24 12:25 (UTC)

Chase had gotten up to get the small trash can from the kitchen in case Connor was going to throw up, and he also brought him back a large glass of water. He set them near by and sat back down beside him, rubbing his back through the blanket to try to warm him up a little. "You didn't ask me for help," he reminded him, because Connor just showing up in a distressed state wasn't the same thing. Chase was just helping him because he knew Connor shouldn't have to ask for it. They didn't know much about each other, but there was a connection of some sort there. It hadn't stopped at a single fuck, neither of them had tried to stop what was happening. He only knew that sort of thing happened when it was more than just a random fuck... which they both had a lot of experience with.

He frowned with a small shake of his head, trying to wrap his head around this and follow along. "Annalise's... husband? Sorry, I'm only familiar with her work, not her personal life. She's infamous so the reputation precedes her. Got rid of the body, so I'm going to assume it wasn't from natural causes, and that by doing that, you've become an accessory or you did it yourself. Do you want to tell me what happened? There's no judgement, I promise. Like I said, I've... done things that aren't legal or ethical by any means. I know enough to know that seeing something terrible can affect people just as much as if they conducted the act itself. You have to talk to someone about it or it will eat you alive."

It wasn't even on purpose that Connor leaned into Chase, resting his head on his shoulder as the warmth from Chase's body slowly but surely warmed Connor's. "I needed it... I just... haven't ever been really good at asking for it." He said nothing for a long time, just sitting in the silence with Chase and trying as hard as he could to catch his breath and keep control of himself when his urge was to just cry uncontrollably for the rest of forever.

"Yeah. Her husband. There was this... This girl. Lila. You might've heard about her on the news... All the major stations were covering the hell out of it. She was murdered, and she went to the school where Annalise's husband teaches." He felt sick even talking about this -- about seeing Sam in a pool of his own blood and Wes standing there in absolute shock at the realization that he'd just killed a man. "Lila was apparently fucking Sam, and she was pregnant when she died. It's a really fucking long story, but they thought that Wes -- you don't know Wes. He's a classmate -- His friend or... whatever she is did it. She tried to make sure all the evidence about Sam got out, and he tried to kill her. Wes... Wes fucking killed him first." It was such an abrupt sort of ending, and Connor took a moment to focus on breathing so that he could finish telling Chase his story. "Long story short, we got rid of the body and the murder weapon is safe, but... Fuck, I never saw anybody die before, and this? I don't know what the fuck I was thinking."

"In my experience, it's the people who don't know how to ask for help who need it the most. It doesn't matter why, all it usually means is that before anyone even realises they needed the help, they're usually in danger or worse. I'm glad you came to me. Stress and shock can put a brain into a volatile state and no matter how well we usually deal with shit, or despite our pasts, everyone is still susceptible to breaking. I can think of four times off the top of my head that I completely lost my shit. But there is absolutely nothing in this world that can prepare you for two things... the first time you see someone you love dead, and seeing a murdered body," Chase told him quietly, making sure to keep the soft rubs to Connor's back rhythmic so he could have something consistent to focus on.

He gave a small shake of his head. "I know you're probably feeling like you failed here, that you should have kept your shit together better, or even feeling stupid for letting yourself get caught up in that jeopardising your career that you've worked really hard towards. This is one of those situations where you don't have time to think, you just act. Not all that long ago, I was stabbed by a patient. I didn't see it coming, I felt like I should have. I felt like I fucked up for a very long time. Not only was the possibility of be never working again on the cards, but so was the possibility that I could be paralysed for the rest of my life. He could have killed me. Now, I've also fucked up in ways that I don't regret. I took a life of a bad person, and that's something I have to live with. This is something you will have to live with, but you'll be faced with this precipice... feel like you're standing on the edge of the cliff with no way out of the mess. You have to keep going. Or it will ruin you. I'm not talking professional, I'm talking mentally," he warned. "Especially if you don't know how much you can trust the others involved. Human nature, people will stab you in the back to save themselves. Protect number one, okay? I guarantee, they'll all be doing that too."

"I'm glad I came to you, too," Connor admitted, which in itself said how desperate and afraid he'd been. He wasn't the type of person to cop to needing anyone or anything, but he'd needed Chase so bad and he hadn't even known it until he got here. But Chase was a doctor and a damn good one, and he'd stepped right in here, helping Connor as much as he could. "Especially when you see the murdered body when the murder happens. He was our the husband of our professor and our boss, dude. But he would've killed that girl, no questions asked. Probably already did kill Lila. He deserved it, but I can't stop feeling fucked up about it inside."

"All of the above," Connor agreed with a tired shake of his head, the tears still streaming down his face, though the painful sobs had subsided a little. "How the fuck did a patient stab you?" he asked, taking the moment to focus on the doctor instead of everything else swirling around his head. "You couldn't have seen that coming. But... You... you did? How did you keep going, though? How did you live knowing what you did? How does it not drive you batshit crazy every fucking day of your life? It... It feels like it's never going to stop."

Chase wasn't sure what the whole logistics of the nightmare had been. "So, the guy was killed to save someone else? Do you feel guilty that he's dead or just guilty that you were involved in the cover-up? Because honestly, both just mean you're human. Someone every fucking one of us is guilty of. Pretty much why I stopped believing in heaven and hell, because not a single fucking person on the face of this earth is guilt-free of sin or bad things. We all are. This has just happened. You're in shock. You need to give it time."

"Psychotic episode. I was performing a biopsy and he grabbed the scalpel and stabbed me in the chest. Lacerated my heart. I should have known better because his presenting issue was a psychotic episode, but everyone can have lapses in judgement that can cause an pile of shit for them." It was probably one of the hardest times of Chase's life, and that was saying something considering the crap he had been through since he was a kid. Feeling like you had your independence on the line, and possibly losing the quality of your life forever. Really make you reassess, well, absolutely fucking everything. He shrugged. "There was no other choice. I lost a hell of a lot. Lost my wife, lost my confidence, nearly lost my job, nearly got a murder record. It was only my boss saving my arse that prevented it. The reason I really lived with it ultimately was knowing I saved a lot of lives in exchange for one. It didn't stop the guilt, though. Maybe I'm just a cold-hearted bastard without a conscience and a selfish streak a mile wide to not want to waste my own live over something I can't wind the clock back and change."

"He deserved to die. He would've killed that girl -- Rebecca. I'm not sorry he's dead. I've just never seen a murder happen before, and I just... If they find out that I helped cover it up, I'll never be an attorney. I'll be in jail, and after that, there'll be no way that anybody's going to want to give me a chance to finish law school. I'd never even get a public defender job. Not a chance in hell. I worked too hard for this shit, and I could lose it now in the blink of an eye... And I'm not even the one who fucking killed him." He looked at Chase, wondering if the doctor could see the utter helplessness that he felt inside written all over his face.

"Seriously? You're fucking lucky you're alive. Hell... I'm fucking lucky you're alive. If you weren't here tonight, I don't know where I'd be. But those are the kinds of things you never expect to happen. You never think you're going to see somebody murdered in front of you... or have to do the murdering yourself. The thing is... I didn't save anybody or help anybody really with what I did, unless you want to consider hiding the body for Wes to be helping him. Honestly, I think he would've been able to get off anyway. A lot of good damn reasons he could've gotten out of it." Connor ran his hands through his hair before he laid his head on Chase's shoulder again, more for warmth than anything. "I don't want to waste my life, either. I just don't know how to stop feeling out of control."

It would certainly be an impossible for Annalise Keating to defend all of them on a murder charge when she would probably go down as an accessory herself. Maybe they could all share a jail cell or something. It was a complete and utter mess, and one that left Connor's future and reputation on the line. Chase didn't care about any of the others involved, or even who it was who actually did the murder. He cared about Connor. "Where did you hide the body?" he asked. That would have a lot of standing on the actual outcome of it all. Once a medical examiner was called in, that was were a lot of the turning point evidence would come from.

"Lucky twice over. I nearly killed myself in high school too, so maybe I was a cat in a former life? Who the hell knows. I used to have firm beliefs, now not so much." Who was Wes? Chase wasn't sure. Maybe he was that 'other guy' Connor had mentioned in passing as seeing, and Chase had countered with asking whether he was fucking him to get information too and they both just laughed about it. "You had no choice. If you witnessed it and had an involvement in the lead-up, if you walked away to save your own arse, you'd have the biggest target on your back and you would still be running scared. At least this way, you know you're not the only one guilty of what you did."

"We burned it," Connor said with a shrug, disconnected from the words he was saying because he had to be or he was going to be sobbing all over again. "It's gone. We almost got caught with it a couple times. This guy Asher in our class came to Annalise's house looking for us, and my car was there. It puts me at least at the scene of the crime if Asher tells them. He probably would. He's more of a classmate, less of a friend, and he was mad at us because he thought we went to the bonfire without him..." It was stupid what he remembered and what seemed important now that he was recounting his story to Chase.

"I'm glad you didn't," he replied, looking Chase over. "Why did you almost kill yourself?" he asked with a look of concern on his face. But the doctor's words were comforting, and Connor clung to the knowledge that he had done the right thing. Or at least the best impression of the right thing he could've done with a dead body in front of him and very little other choice in the matter. "Yeah. You're right. I had to do something. I just..." he sighed, shaking his head, as if somehow he'd be able to shake the memories away of what he'd seen... what he'd been part of doing. "I had no way to fucking win this. No easy fix to be had. For fuck's sake, dude. My whole life's a mess, and I don't know how to fix it."

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