The Relationship House/Chase 2/6
When he goes back down, Blythe is alone in the kitchen. “I didn’t thank you,” she says. “For coming. I’m sure my son didn’t.”
Chase shrugs. “It’s no trouble. It’s not like I’ll get in trouble at work.”
Blythe smiles. “Still, I’m sure you have other things you could be doing.”
“Not really.” He piles up the empty plates. “Are you finished with this? I’ll do the washing up.”
She protests, but Chase is able to convince her that it’s no trouble at all. She says goodnight and goes to bed.
He hears the thump of House’s cane, and the refrigerator door opening.
“Your mother’s starting to wonder what I’m doing here,” Chase reports.
“Tell her, if it bothers you.”
Chase scrubs at a spot of egg on a fork. “Where’d you go?”
“Outside.” There’s a scraping sound as House pulls out a chair and then flops into it. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist if I wander off sometimes during this trip. I can only take my mother in small doses.”
“Okay.”
“Wilson thinks it was cruel of me to drag you out here to deal with this.”
Chase has to think about that for a moment. “Because of that thing with my father?” he hazards.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I don’t think I’d go as far as cruel.” Tactless, maybe, but that’s par for the course. “It’s not like I don’t know that other people’s fathers die. Anyway, there’s a long list of people who had more of a responsibility to tell me-starting with him. And I could have figured it out the same way you did.” He stacks plates in the draining rack. “I don’t know what difference it would have made if I’d known. We’d just have had to pretend to be a family for a few months, instead of two strangers who happen to share DNA.” Once he’d gotten over the shock, it had been kind of a guilty sort of relief, not having been on the hook to reconcile with his dying father. It hurt that his father had known he was dying and not told him, but not having that time for, as the Americans put it, closure wasn’t much of a loss.
“Yeah. On the plane, I was trying to figure out what to say if he regains consciousness. I couldn’t think of anything, so I guess that worked out.” He gets up, and pats Chase’s shoulder on his way to the stairs. “Come up to bed when you’re done with those.”
The shower’s running when Chase goes upstairs. He picks up the trail of discarded clothes strewn from the bed to the bathroom door and hangs them neatly over the back of a chair. There can’t be room for much in the overnight bag House packed; he might have to wear them again before anyone has time to do laundry.
House comes out of the bathroom, dressed in his boxers and T-shirt. When House is fully dressed, his cane seems like so much a part of him that Chase hardly notices, but it seems unfair, somehow, that he still has to use it when he’s walking around in his underwear. Sitting on the edge of the bed, House reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. “C’mere,” he says, gesturing to the floor in front of him. “And be quiet. My mother’s a light sleeper.”
If that isn’t a turn-on, Chase doesn’t know what is. But he gets down on his knees in front of House anyway. Sucking House off is, at least, familiar. He wonders if this is why House has brought him along-if he’s managed to make his mouth, at least, indispensable.
After, he flops back against the dresser.
“Thanks,” House says. “We should get some sleep. Old people wake up early.” He passes Chase his phone. “This goes on your side. I’m not good with being woken up in the middle of the night.”
“Okay. I’m going to take a shower.” He feels grungy from two days in the same clothes, and besides, he can jerk off in there without it feeling too weird.
“Have fun.” House starts flipping through the channels on the TV.
Chase leans against the wall, clutching one of the (many) grab bars with his left hand while his right works his cock. Not for the first time, he thinks that he’s going to have to come up with a new repertoire of sexual fantasies-thinking about sucking off his boss under his desk at work isn’t quite as hot, now that he does it at least once a day.
He still likes doing it. It’s just that it’s starting to feel more comforting and everyday than thrillingly forbidden.
The best part is what House says during sex-the jumbled mixture of praise and commands and swear words and things that might almost be endearments, running together into “Fuckchaseyeahlikethatohgodmorenowfuckgoodboychase.” He’s never going to get tired of that.
After he’s taken care of himself, he washes his hair with shampoo specially formulated to keep gray hair bright, and turns off the shower.
Naturally, House has used all of the towels, but he manages to find a reasonably dry corner on one of them, and dresses in his airport-purchased underwear. When he goes back out into the bedroom, House is under the covers and the lights are off.
“There will be no cuddling,” House warns him, turning off the TV.
Chase is not surprised.
Still, getting into bed with House-to sleep-feels pretty strange. He squirms around trying to get comfortable.
“If you’re even thinking about jerking off in here, you’re dead.”
“I’m not.”
“See that you don’t.”
Chase wakes up with something poking him in the ribs. Unfortunately, it’s just House’s cane. “If you want to eat before we leave for the hospital, you have to get up now. If you’re not hungry, you can sleep for another ten minutes. Unless you want to pee, in which case you can sleep for eight minutes. If you’re horny, too bad, because it’s already too late for that.”
“Can’t you just say, ‘shift your arse, you lazy sod,’ like a normal person?” Chase asks, sitting up.
“Normal people say that?”
“Maybe not,” Chase admits, pulling on yesterday’s clothes. “Is there any news?”
“You were in charge of the phone, so I certainly hope not.”
Downstairs, Blythe is setting out juice, coffee, toast, and cereal. “Good morning,” Chase says to her.
Instead of demanding to know what’s good about it, as House probably would, she answers, “Good morning. Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, thanks. How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m all right, thank you. Eat up; they’ll let me see John at nine, and I don’t want to be late.”
House joins them, and shovels the cereal down, despite its complete lack of artificial colors, marshmallows, or cartoon spokescreatures. “If there are any errands you need run, groceries or anything, Chase can drop us off at the hospital and take care of it,” House offers, between bites.
Blythe looks at him inquiringly. He nods. “I’d be happy to.”
“I can’t think of anything right now, but I might take you up on that later.”
Chase nods. There are going to be a lot of logistical things to handle soon-not just the obvious things like picking out the casket and deciding on a service, but also food for people who come over after the funeral, clothes to be dry-cleaned, a myriad of minor chores. “Anything I can do to help,” he agrees.
“Mr. House is ready for visitors,” a nurse tells them. “But only two of you can go in, and only for ten minutes.”
Chase begins, “Oh, I’m not--”
“Neither am I,” House adds. “Go on, Mom, we’ll wait out here. But bring his chart,” he tells the space between the nurse and his mother.
“Greg.” Blythe looks at him meaningfully.
“You go. Have some privacy.”
“He’s your father,” she presses.
“I know who he is.”
“He might not have much time left.”
“I know that, too.” He inclines his head toward the ICU doors. “Go on, you’re wasting time.”
She favors him with a disappointed look and goes in.
“Wanna look in windows and guess what’s wrong with people?” House suggests.
“This hospital isn’t made out of glass, like ours,” Chase points out.
“I’m sure we can find sick people to ogle somewhere.”
“It’s early. Maybe we should save that for later.”
“Maybe you’re right. Give us something to look forward to.”
The thing about hospitals is that if you aren’t the doctor, it’s just boring. House’s father’s chart makes for ten minutes of interesting reading, and when visiting time rolls around every hour, House and his mother argue quietly about his refusal to go in and see his father. A few times, Chase agrees to go in with her, secretly hoping he’ll see another doctor doing something wrong so he’ll be able to point it out and impress everyone, with the possible exception of House.
“I spy, with my little eye,” House says, “something that begins with G.”
“You think that guy has gonorrhea?”
House rolls his eyes.
“Oh, that one? Guillain-Barre?”
“Not that one. And he doesn’t have Guillain-Barre.”
“This game is too hard. At least tell me which one you’re talking about.”
“The one visiting the guy who doesn’t have Guillain-Barre.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were doing visitors now. Gout?”
“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Give the man a kewpie doll. Okay, I spy with my little eye, something that begins with A.”
“Angina.”
“Which one?”
Chase points.
“No. Well…maybe. But I meant that one. We’re coming up on the NICU. Preemies, diagnostically boring. Wanna stare at them, or turn back?”
“Either way, really.”
They turn back.
When they get back to the ICU, a doctor is talking to House’s mother.
“Here’s my son,” she says. “He’s a doctor; tell him about it.” She retreats.
“Your father’s had another seizure. We’ve increased his phenytoin dosage, but, as you can see, his condition is getting worse. Another CT would give us a better idea of what’s going on, but he’s not stable enough for the test.”
House nods. “Any ideas, Chase?”
“We could try a different anticonvulsant,” he suggests. “But…” There really isn’t much point. He doesn’t need to say it.
The other doctor looks puzzled. “Are you…?”
“I’m an intensivist,” Chase explains.
“Oh, I see. We’ll continue to monitor your father, and do everything we can, but you should prepare yourself for….”
“Yeah, I know,” House says. “Chase, go do your thing.”
“Which thing?”
“Talking-to-the-family thing.”
“You’re delegating talking to your mother? I think she wants to hear it from you.”
“She wants a lot of things. Go.”
Blythe is sitting down, looking toward the ICU. Chase sits next to her.
“Did Greg send you to talk to me?” Her smile is brittle.
“Yes,” Chase admits. “Your husband’s had another seizure. That means that the medication they started giving him yesterday to control seizures is no longer working. They’ve increased the dosage, and he might stabilize again, or he might not. If the new dosage works, he might…continue as he is for a matter of days, or even longer, but the likelihood of significant improvement is very, very low.”
“You’re saying he’s going to die.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“It’s hard to say. Most likely, it’ll be a matter of hours or days.” It’s just possible that he’ll stabilize and remain unconscious and on the ventilator for weeks or months.
“Thank you.” She dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex. “I knew. I did. I just hoped…”
Chase nods understanding.
“Does Greg know? I mean…he hasn’t gone in to see John. It is that he hasn’t accepted that he’s dying? Or….”
“He…knows,” Chase says. “He…doesn’t know what to say.”
“Can you convince him to go in? They didn’t always have the best relationship, but I just know he’ll regret it if he doesn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”
“I’ll…try,” he says dubiously. “He doesn’t…exactly take my advice. Much. But I’ll see what I can do.”
Chase decides to wait until House is fed and watered to broach the subject. The cafeteria here doesn’t have Reubens, so he has to make do with a roast beef sandwich. After a few bites, he decides he should have gotten the special, baked ziti-which, fortunately, Chase did get.
The roast beef sandwich isn’t half bad, anyway.
“Your mother asked me to talk you into going in to say goodbye to your father,” Chase says.
“Obviously, she has no idea how this thing between us works,” House observes.
“Maybe you should do it,” Chase says.
“Okay, now you can tell her you tried, and I said no.”
“You must have something you want to say to him. Maybe, now that he can’t say anything back...” He’d spent some time with his father just before the funeral, gotten a few things off his chest. It might have even helped, he still isn’t sure.
“No.” House gets up and shoves their trash into a bin. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”
Chase hurries to catch up as House leaves the cafeteria. “Even if you didn’t have the best relationship, he is your father. And you won’t have another chance.”
“We didn’t just not have the best relationship. We hated each other.” House pauses by the elevators that would take them back to the ICU, then keeps moving. “I came here to help her. Not for him.”
“It seems to mean a lot to her for you to do it,” Chase says. “You could…pretend, even. Just tell her okay, you want to be alone with him, go in for five minutes, and come out.”
“She’d know, so there’s no point. Even if she’d buy it, I wouldn’t do it. She’s emotionally invested in pretending he really wasn’t that bad. It was, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise, even to make her feel better.” He picks up speed, and people all along the hallway scramble to get out of his way. “You think it’s bad having a father who doesn’t show up for your football match? Try having one who does show up, for everything, and then spends hours telling you how much you suck. I’d have been thrilled if he’d walked out on us.” The hallway dead-ends at a staircase. House contemplates it for a second, then grabs the railing and laboriously starts dragging himself up it. “You only feel like your father left you because you weren’t good enough. On some level, you know he had lots of other reasons. It’s not the same.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“This is so not the time to grow a spine, Chase.” Halfway up the stairs, House’s shoulders slump, and wavers on his feet for a moment, then sits down. “Just don’t think that your dead father gives you any moral authority.”
That’s really unfair, because Chase hasn’t said a word about his father-House has. But he just sits next to House on the step and says, “I know.”
“I know, this is hard for her. She loves him-I can’t imagine why, but she does. I’m not going to make it harder for her by reminding her why I hate him-unless she brings the fight to me by trying to convince me that I don’t, or shouldn’t. Tell her that, if you want.”
“Okay.”
“I hope he hurries up and dies soon, so we can get the hell out of here.”
“It probably won’t be long.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.”
“Sorry.”
“Besides, if you keep saying that, you might jinx it and make him hang around for weeks.”
“I didn’t know I had the power to make people live by wishing them dead.”
“It’s your mutant super-power. Mine is always knowing when Wilson has food, and Wilson’s is making dying people fall in love with him.”
“Do Cameron and Foreman have mutant super-powers?”
“No, just us.”
“Cool. Mine kind of sucks, though.”
“Uh-huh. There’s a reason for that.”
Chase thinks for a second. “Oh. Do you want me to--”
“In a public staircase? No, I don’t think so.”
“Haven’t seen anyone else in here,” Chase points out.
“That could change at any time. It’ll probably be feeding time for the candy-stripers any minute, and there’ll be a whole herd of them traipsing through. That’s the problem with being in a different hospital-no private place to go off and have a-what do your people call it? Shag?”
“Root. Or kouřit ptáka, if by ‘my people’ you mean Czechs.”
“Yes, this is a good time for you to develop some ethnic pride.”
Chase shrugs.
The door at the next landing up opens, and there’s the sound of a woman’s high-heeled shoes coming down the stairs. When she turns the corner Chase sees that she’s wearing civvies, but has a hospital ID badge around her neck. “Are you all right?” She peers down at them from half a flight up. “I can call someone.”
“We’re fine,” House answers.
“Well, then, you can’t sit here. It’s a fire hazard.”
“Yes, because if the building catches fire, we’re just going to sit here while people trip over us trying to evacuate,” House says.
“Sir, would you like some help getting back to your room?”
“He’s not a patient,” Chase says quickly. “Shouldn’t we be getting back, anyway?” he suggests to House.
The woman shrugs and keeps going. House waits until she’s out of sight to get to his feet. He dry-swallows a Vicodin, then dumps the contents of the bottle out on his palm and counts. “You’d better find out where they keep the pharmacy here. Then write me a prescription. And while you’re at it, you might as well trot down there and get it filled for me.”
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. “I don’t exactly have a prescription pad with me,” Chase admits.
“What? You fucking moron. Don’t you ever think?”
“I didn’t think I’d need one at your house, no,” Chase says as calmly as he can. He hates having House mad at him-really mad, not just for fun-but he knows House is under a lot of strain; this is just how it’s coming out.
“You could have said something on the way to the airport. This is a fucking disaster. I’m not going to be able to get a doctor I don’t even know to prescribe as much as I need to get through the week.”
“We’ll think of something.” He starts up the stairs. “I got it, we’ll have Wilson fax a script to the pharmacy here.”
“They might not take a fax,” House worries. “Controlled substance.”
“If they give us a hard time, we’ll have him overnight it. Or I can take the fax around to every pharmacy in town until I find one that’ll take it. I’ll get some somehow.”
“You’d better.”
“How soon do you need it?”
“This afternoon would be best. I can make what I have last until morning if I have to. I’d have dug out more from my secret stash, but I assumed that bringing an actual doctor along was just as good.”
Chase isn’t sure if being compared to a spare bottle of a Vicodin is supposed to be a compliment or an insult. He wrestles with the temptation to ask if House happens to have his own prescription pad along-since he’s fairly sure House doesn’t consider one essential equipment for a dirty weekend, either-but manages to resist. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises.
Chase calls Wilson’s office-it’s about ten AM back in New Jersey, so that’s the likeliest place to reach him. “House?”
“It’s Chase.”
“What’s up, Chase?”
Chase brings him up to date on House’s father’s condition, finishing, “House seems to be holding up okay.”
Wilson sighs. “Good, I guess. Listen, I explained to Cuddy about his father, and everything’s fine, she says to take all the time he needs. But she’s very curious about why he took you along. I told her I have no idea, so he’s wide open, but he’d better have an answer ready when you guys get back.”
“Thanks. Uh, do you know why he brought me along?” There’s a chance Wilson knows something he doesn’t.
“Not really. I mean, I know you and he are….”
It strikes Chase that an awkward pause is the perfect description for whatever he and House are. “Yeah. But he didn’t say anything about what I’m supposed to be doing?” They’d only had sex twice since leaving House’s apartment the day before, so it didn’t seem like House had brought him along just because he couldn’t do without for a few days.
“Talking to him last night, I got the vague idea he took you along for what the people of Earth call emotional support, but I have no idea what that looks like on Planet House. Other than putting food and beer in front of him at appropriate intervals.”
“Thanks anyway,” Chase says.
“Are you doing all right? He’s not being too horrible to you, is he?”
“No, I’m okay. His mother wants to know what I’m doing here but won’t ask him, and he won’t tell me what to tell her, so that’s weird. Plus she thinks I can talk him into going into his father’s room-he’s been refusing to all day--”
“Naturally,” Wilson says.
“But it’s a lot easier to deal with someone else’s crazy family than your own, I guess. And House is no worse than usual. Listen, I actually called because he needs a new Vicodin prescription. We left on such short notice, I don’t have a prescription pad, and I guess House thought I did, so--”
“Do you have a number for the pharmacy there?”
“Yes.” Chase reads it off.
“I’ll give them a call. How much does he have left?”
“Enough to last until tomorrow morning if he’s careful.”
“How many pills?”
“I don’t know. He wants them this afternoon if possible.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Tell him I said that if he takes a Vicodin every time he thinks he might feel something, he’s going to drop over dead from an overdose.”
“Um…I don’t think I can do that,” Chase admits.
Wilson sighs. “All right, I’ll send him a text message. But we’re going to have to have a talk when you get back. This…thing isn’t going to work if you let him walk all over you.”
Maybe not, but it’s certainly not going to work if he stops. Letting House walk all over him is the basis of their whole relationship.
Arrangement.
Thing.
Chase shrugs. “It’s no trouble. It’s not like I’ll get in trouble at work.”
Blythe smiles. “Still, I’m sure you have other things you could be doing.”
“Not really.” He piles up the empty plates. “Are you finished with this? I’ll do the washing up.”
She protests, but Chase is able to convince her that it’s no trouble at all. She says goodnight and goes to bed.
He hears the thump of House’s cane, and the refrigerator door opening.
“Your mother’s starting to wonder what I’m doing here,” Chase reports.
“Tell her, if it bothers you.”
Chase scrubs at a spot of egg on a fork. “Where’d you go?”
“Outside.” There’s a scraping sound as House pulls out a chair and then flops into it. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist if I wander off sometimes during this trip. I can only take my mother in small doses.”
“Okay.”
“Wilson thinks it was cruel of me to drag you out here to deal with this.”
Chase has to think about that for a moment. “Because of that thing with my father?” he hazards.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I don’t think I’d go as far as cruel.” Tactless, maybe, but that’s par for the course. “It’s not like I don’t know that other people’s fathers die. Anyway, there’s a long list of people who had more of a responsibility to tell me-starting with him. And I could have figured it out the same way you did.” He stacks plates in the draining rack. “I don’t know what difference it would have made if I’d known. We’d just have had to pretend to be a family for a few months, instead of two strangers who happen to share DNA.” Once he’d gotten over the shock, it had been kind of a guilty sort of relief, not having been on the hook to reconcile with his dying father. It hurt that his father had known he was dying and not told him, but not having that time for, as the Americans put it, closure wasn’t much of a loss.
“Yeah. On the plane, I was trying to figure out what to say if he regains consciousness. I couldn’t think of anything, so I guess that worked out.” He gets up, and pats Chase’s shoulder on his way to the stairs. “Come up to bed when you’re done with those.”
The shower’s running when Chase goes upstairs. He picks up the trail of discarded clothes strewn from the bed to the bathroom door and hangs them neatly over the back of a chair. There can’t be room for much in the overnight bag House packed; he might have to wear them again before anyone has time to do laundry.
House comes out of the bathroom, dressed in his boxers and T-shirt. When House is fully dressed, his cane seems like so much a part of him that Chase hardly notices, but it seems unfair, somehow, that he still has to use it when he’s walking around in his underwear. Sitting on the edge of the bed, House reaches for the remote and turns on the TV. “C’mere,” he says, gesturing to the floor in front of him. “And be quiet. My mother’s a light sleeper.”
If that isn’t a turn-on, Chase doesn’t know what is. But he gets down on his knees in front of House anyway. Sucking House off is, at least, familiar. He wonders if this is why House has brought him along-if he’s managed to make his mouth, at least, indispensable.
After, he flops back against the dresser.
“Thanks,” House says. “We should get some sleep. Old people wake up early.” He passes Chase his phone. “This goes on your side. I’m not good with being woken up in the middle of the night.”
“Okay. I’m going to take a shower.” He feels grungy from two days in the same clothes, and besides, he can jerk off in there without it feeling too weird.
“Have fun.” House starts flipping through the channels on the TV.
Chase leans against the wall, clutching one of the (many) grab bars with his left hand while his right works his cock. Not for the first time, he thinks that he’s going to have to come up with a new repertoire of sexual fantasies-thinking about sucking off his boss under his desk at work isn’t quite as hot, now that he does it at least once a day.
He still likes doing it. It’s just that it’s starting to feel more comforting and everyday than thrillingly forbidden.
The best part is what House says during sex-the jumbled mixture of praise and commands and swear words and things that might almost be endearments, running together into “Fuckchaseyeahlikethatohgodmorenowfuckgoodboychase.” He’s never going to get tired of that.
After he’s taken care of himself, he washes his hair with shampoo specially formulated to keep gray hair bright, and turns off the shower.
Naturally, House has used all of the towels, but he manages to find a reasonably dry corner on one of them, and dresses in his airport-purchased underwear. When he goes back out into the bedroom, House is under the covers and the lights are off.
“There will be no cuddling,” House warns him, turning off the TV.
Chase is not surprised.
Still, getting into bed with House-to sleep-feels pretty strange. He squirms around trying to get comfortable.
“If you’re even thinking about jerking off in here, you’re dead.”
“I’m not.”
“See that you don’t.”
Chase wakes up with something poking him in the ribs. Unfortunately, it’s just House’s cane. “If you want to eat before we leave for the hospital, you have to get up now. If you’re not hungry, you can sleep for another ten minutes. Unless you want to pee, in which case you can sleep for eight minutes. If you’re horny, too bad, because it’s already too late for that.”
“Can’t you just say, ‘shift your arse, you lazy sod,’ like a normal person?” Chase asks, sitting up.
“Normal people say that?”
“Maybe not,” Chase admits, pulling on yesterday’s clothes. “Is there any news?”
“You were in charge of the phone, so I certainly hope not.”
Downstairs, Blythe is setting out juice, coffee, toast, and cereal. “Good morning,” Chase says to her.
Instead of demanding to know what’s good about it, as House probably would, she answers, “Good morning. Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, thanks. How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m all right, thank you. Eat up; they’ll let me see John at nine, and I don’t want to be late.”
House joins them, and shovels the cereal down, despite its complete lack of artificial colors, marshmallows, or cartoon spokescreatures. “If there are any errands you need run, groceries or anything, Chase can drop us off at the hospital and take care of it,” House offers, between bites.
Blythe looks at him inquiringly. He nods. “I’d be happy to.”
“I can’t think of anything right now, but I might take you up on that later.”
Chase nods. There are going to be a lot of logistical things to handle soon-not just the obvious things like picking out the casket and deciding on a service, but also food for people who come over after the funeral, clothes to be dry-cleaned, a myriad of minor chores. “Anything I can do to help,” he agrees.
“Mr. House is ready for visitors,” a nurse tells them. “But only two of you can go in, and only for ten minutes.”
Chase begins, “Oh, I’m not--”
“Neither am I,” House adds. “Go on, Mom, we’ll wait out here. But bring his chart,” he tells the space between the nurse and his mother.
“Greg.” Blythe looks at him meaningfully.
“You go. Have some privacy.”
“He’s your father,” she presses.
“I know who he is.”
“He might not have much time left.”
“I know that, too.” He inclines his head toward the ICU doors. “Go on, you’re wasting time.”
She favors him with a disappointed look and goes in.
“Wanna look in windows and guess what’s wrong with people?” House suggests.
“This hospital isn’t made out of glass, like ours,” Chase points out.
“I’m sure we can find sick people to ogle somewhere.”
“It’s early. Maybe we should save that for later.”
“Maybe you’re right. Give us something to look forward to.”
The thing about hospitals is that if you aren’t the doctor, it’s just boring. House’s father’s chart makes for ten minutes of interesting reading, and when visiting time rolls around every hour, House and his mother argue quietly about his refusal to go in and see his father. A few times, Chase agrees to go in with her, secretly hoping he’ll see another doctor doing something wrong so he’ll be able to point it out and impress everyone, with the possible exception of House.
“I spy, with my little eye,” House says, “something that begins with G.”
“You think that guy has gonorrhea?”
House rolls his eyes.
“Oh, that one? Guillain-Barre?”
“Not that one. And he doesn’t have Guillain-Barre.”
“This game is too hard. At least tell me which one you’re talking about.”
“The one visiting the guy who doesn’t have Guillain-Barre.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize we were doing visitors now. Gout?”
“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Give the man a kewpie doll. Okay, I spy with my little eye, something that begins with A.”
“Angina.”
“Which one?”
Chase points.
“No. Well…maybe. But I meant that one. We’re coming up on the NICU. Preemies, diagnostically boring. Wanna stare at them, or turn back?”
“Either way, really.”
They turn back.
When they get back to the ICU, a doctor is talking to House’s mother.
“Here’s my son,” she says. “He’s a doctor; tell him about it.” She retreats.
“Your father’s had another seizure. We’ve increased his phenytoin dosage, but, as you can see, his condition is getting worse. Another CT would give us a better idea of what’s going on, but he’s not stable enough for the test.”
House nods. “Any ideas, Chase?”
“We could try a different anticonvulsant,” he suggests. “But…” There really isn’t much point. He doesn’t need to say it.
The other doctor looks puzzled. “Are you…?”
“I’m an intensivist,” Chase explains.
“Oh, I see. We’ll continue to monitor your father, and do everything we can, but you should prepare yourself for….”
“Yeah, I know,” House says. “Chase, go do your thing.”
“Which thing?”
“Talking-to-the-family thing.”
“You’re delegating talking to your mother? I think she wants to hear it from you.”
“She wants a lot of things. Go.”
Blythe is sitting down, looking toward the ICU. Chase sits next to her.
“Did Greg send you to talk to me?” Her smile is brittle.
“Yes,” Chase admits. “Your husband’s had another seizure. That means that the medication they started giving him yesterday to control seizures is no longer working. They’ve increased the dosage, and he might stabilize again, or he might not. If the new dosage works, he might…continue as he is for a matter of days, or even longer, but the likelihood of significant improvement is very, very low.”
“You’re saying he’s going to die.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“It’s hard to say. Most likely, it’ll be a matter of hours or days.” It’s just possible that he’ll stabilize and remain unconscious and on the ventilator for weeks or months.
“Thank you.” She dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex. “I knew. I did. I just hoped…”
Chase nods understanding.
“Does Greg know? I mean…he hasn’t gone in to see John. It is that he hasn’t accepted that he’s dying? Or….”
“He…knows,” Chase says. “He…doesn’t know what to say.”
“Can you convince him to go in? They didn’t always have the best relationship, but I just know he’ll regret it if he doesn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”
“I’ll…try,” he says dubiously. “He doesn’t…exactly take my advice. Much. But I’ll see what I can do.”
Chase decides to wait until House is fed and watered to broach the subject. The cafeteria here doesn’t have Reubens, so he has to make do with a roast beef sandwich. After a few bites, he decides he should have gotten the special, baked ziti-which, fortunately, Chase did get.
The roast beef sandwich isn’t half bad, anyway.
“Your mother asked me to talk you into going in to say goodbye to your father,” Chase says.
“Obviously, she has no idea how this thing between us works,” House observes.
“Maybe you should do it,” Chase says.
“Okay, now you can tell her you tried, and I said no.”
“You must have something you want to say to him. Maybe, now that he can’t say anything back...” He’d spent some time with his father just before the funeral, gotten a few things off his chest. It might have even helped, he still isn’t sure.
“No.” House gets up and shoves their trash into a bin. “I don’t have anything to say to him.”
Chase hurries to catch up as House leaves the cafeteria. “Even if you didn’t have the best relationship, he is your father. And you won’t have another chance.”
“We didn’t just not have the best relationship. We hated each other.” House pauses by the elevators that would take them back to the ICU, then keeps moving. “I came here to help her. Not for him.”
“It seems to mean a lot to her for you to do it,” Chase says. “You could…pretend, even. Just tell her okay, you want to be alone with him, go in for five minutes, and come out.”
“She’d know, so there’s no point. Even if she’d buy it, I wouldn’t do it. She’s emotionally invested in pretending he really wasn’t that bad. It was, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise, even to make her feel better.” He picks up speed, and people all along the hallway scramble to get out of his way. “You think it’s bad having a father who doesn’t show up for your football match? Try having one who does show up, for everything, and then spends hours telling you how much you suck. I’d have been thrilled if he’d walked out on us.” The hallway dead-ends at a staircase. House contemplates it for a second, then grabs the railing and laboriously starts dragging himself up it. “You only feel like your father left you because you weren’t good enough. On some level, you know he had lots of other reasons. It’s not the same.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“This is so not the time to grow a spine, Chase.” Halfway up the stairs, House’s shoulders slump, and wavers on his feet for a moment, then sits down. “Just don’t think that your dead father gives you any moral authority.”
That’s really unfair, because Chase hasn’t said a word about his father-House has. But he just sits next to House on the step and says, “I know.”
“I know, this is hard for her. She loves him-I can’t imagine why, but she does. I’m not going to make it harder for her by reminding her why I hate him-unless she brings the fight to me by trying to convince me that I don’t, or shouldn’t. Tell her that, if you want.”
“Okay.”
“I hope he hurries up and dies soon, so we can get the hell out of here.”
“It probably won’t be long.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.”
“Sorry.”
“Besides, if you keep saying that, you might jinx it and make him hang around for weeks.”
“I didn’t know I had the power to make people live by wishing them dead.”
“It’s your mutant super-power. Mine is always knowing when Wilson has food, and Wilson’s is making dying people fall in love with him.”
“Do Cameron and Foreman have mutant super-powers?”
“No, just us.”
“Cool. Mine kind of sucks, though.”
“Uh-huh. There’s a reason for that.”
Chase thinks for a second. “Oh. Do you want me to--”
“In a public staircase? No, I don’t think so.”
“Haven’t seen anyone else in here,” Chase points out.
“That could change at any time. It’ll probably be feeding time for the candy-stripers any minute, and there’ll be a whole herd of them traipsing through. That’s the problem with being in a different hospital-no private place to go off and have a-what do your people call it? Shag?”
“Root. Or kouřit ptáka, if by ‘my people’ you mean Czechs.”
“Yes, this is a good time for you to develop some ethnic pride.”
Chase shrugs.
The door at the next landing up opens, and there’s the sound of a woman’s high-heeled shoes coming down the stairs. When she turns the corner Chase sees that she’s wearing civvies, but has a hospital ID badge around her neck. “Are you all right?” She peers down at them from half a flight up. “I can call someone.”
“We’re fine,” House answers.
“Well, then, you can’t sit here. It’s a fire hazard.”
“Yes, because if the building catches fire, we’re just going to sit here while people trip over us trying to evacuate,” House says.
“Sir, would you like some help getting back to your room?”
“He’s not a patient,” Chase says quickly. “Shouldn’t we be getting back, anyway?” he suggests to House.
The woman shrugs and keeps going. House waits until she’s out of sight to get to his feet. He dry-swallows a Vicodin, then dumps the contents of the bottle out on his palm and counts. “You’d better find out where they keep the pharmacy here. Then write me a prescription. And while you’re at it, you might as well trot down there and get it filled for me.”
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. “I don’t exactly have a prescription pad with me,” Chase admits.
“What? You fucking moron. Don’t you ever think?”
“I didn’t think I’d need one at your house, no,” Chase says as calmly as he can. He hates having House mad at him-really mad, not just for fun-but he knows House is under a lot of strain; this is just how it’s coming out.
“You could have said something on the way to the airport. This is a fucking disaster. I’m not going to be able to get a doctor I don’t even know to prescribe as much as I need to get through the week.”
“We’ll think of something.” He starts up the stairs. “I got it, we’ll have Wilson fax a script to the pharmacy here.”
“They might not take a fax,” House worries. “Controlled substance.”
“If they give us a hard time, we’ll have him overnight it. Or I can take the fax around to every pharmacy in town until I find one that’ll take it. I’ll get some somehow.”
“You’d better.”
“How soon do you need it?”
“This afternoon would be best. I can make what I have last until morning if I have to. I’d have dug out more from my secret stash, but I assumed that bringing an actual doctor along was just as good.”
Chase isn’t sure if being compared to a spare bottle of a Vicodin is supposed to be a compliment or an insult. He wrestles with the temptation to ask if House happens to have his own prescription pad along-since he’s fairly sure House doesn’t consider one essential equipment for a dirty weekend, either-but manages to resist. “I’ll take care of it,” he promises.
Chase calls Wilson’s office-it’s about ten AM back in New Jersey, so that’s the likeliest place to reach him. “House?”
“It’s Chase.”
“What’s up, Chase?”
Chase brings him up to date on House’s father’s condition, finishing, “House seems to be holding up okay.”
Wilson sighs. “Good, I guess. Listen, I explained to Cuddy about his father, and everything’s fine, she says to take all the time he needs. But she’s very curious about why he took you along. I told her I have no idea, so he’s wide open, but he’d better have an answer ready when you guys get back.”
“Thanks. Uh, do you know why he brought me along?” There’s a chance Wilson knows something he doesn’t.
“Not really. I mean, I know you and he are….”
It strikes Chase that an awkward pause is the perfect description for whatever he and House are. “Yeah. But he didn’t say anything about what I’m supposed to be doing?” They’d only had sex twice since leaving House’s apartment the day before, so it didn’t seem like House had brought him along just because he couldn’t do without for a few days.
“Talking to him last night, I got the vague idea he took you along for what the people of Earth call emotional support, but I have no idea what that looks like on Planet House. Other than putting food and beer in front of him at appropriate intervals.”
“Thanks anyway,” Chase says.
“Are you doing all right? He’s not being too horrible to you, is he?”
“No, I’m okay. His mother wants to know what I’m doing here but won’t ask him, and he won’t tell me what to tell her, so that’s weird. Plus she thinks I can talk him into going into his father’s room-he’s been refusing to all day--”
“Naturally,” Wilson says.
“But it’s a lot easier to deal with someone else’s crazy family than your own, I guess. And House is no worse than usual. Listen, I actually called because he needs a new Vicodin prescription. We left on such short notice, I don’t have a prescription pad, and I guess House thought I did, so--”
“Do you have a number for the pharmacy there?”
“Yes.” Chase reads it off.
“I’ll give them a call. How much does he have left?”
“Enough to last until tomorrow morning if he’s careful.”
“How many pills?”
“I don’t know. He wants them this afternoon if possible.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Tell him I said that if he takes a Vicodin every time he thinks he might feel something, he’s going to drop over dead from an overdose.”
“Um…I don’t think I can do that,” Chase admits.
Wilson sighs. “All right, I’ll send him a text message. But we’re going to have to have a talk when you get back. This…thing isn’t going to work if you let him walk all over you.”
Maybe not, but it’s certainly not going to work if he stops. Letting House walk all over him is the basis of their whole relationship.
Arrangement.
Thing.