Robert Chase, alphabetdrabble

[lovely_ambition]

He never saw it coming because up until two point eight seconds ago, Chase had assumed there was nothing to see. But Cuddy was kissing him in her office against the file cabinets and Chase hardly minded. He'd done her a favour by donating and she had called him in with good news.

Apparently, she had a very good way of delivering that news, the way she kissed him like some kind of preying mantis, like she'd kill him when this was through.

"It worked," she announced with triumph and surprise. Chase just wanted to know what to expect next.



He lights the candle and sinks to his knees in the empty church, in the empty pew. His hands clasped together, he prays for patience and for understanding. He wants to know why his faith isn't as strong as those around him and whether he'll be able to become a man of the cloth without completely changing who he is.

The candles flicker as the front door is pushed open and Chase is joined by a grieving widow who prays in a soft whisper.

He rises to his feet and leaves to give her privacy, his own prayers always unanswered.



She drinks with lunch and dinner and before bed.

She drinks in coloured glasses to hide the colour of her beverages, even though they're always clear and lucid and Chase can see through the lies that it's just water as easily as she knocks back gin and tonic number three. She drinks in the morning sometimes, "hair of the dog, Robbie," is her slurred excuse that Chase never believes.

She drinks right up until the day she dies and then she just can't anymore. It's the only time she's actually stopped, because she certainly didn't stop for her only son.