The Relationship House/Chase 6/6
They get back to the funeral home just as the service is starting. A man about Major House’s age, with the air of a military chaplain, starts things off with the 23rd Psalm.
“Is this the only one that has ‘death’ in it?” House asks in a whisper.
“No,” Chase answers. He’s not sure why it’s always used in funerals. “People find it comforting. For some reason.”
Next, a young woman who is apparently distantly related to House in some way sings “Amazing Grace,” accompanied on the harp by someone who works for the funeral home.
“I know,” House tells him, even though he hasn’t said anything. “I can’t believe it took us three hours to pick out this service. Seems like we should have been able to say, ‘Give us the number four.’”
Captain Wozynski gets up and does his eulogy. He focuses mainly on Major House’s military heroism, with a few asides into boys-will-be-boys hijinks. Chase watches House’s reactions play out on his face-boredom, annoyance, a brief smile of mild amusement when Wozynski tells a story about the two of them jumping into a lake, fully clothed, to avoid the MPs after a late night off-base.
“That was before John married Blythe, of course. After that he settled down and became a responsible family man,” Wozynski adds. “He will be sorely missed by all of us. He was a good soldier, a good friend, and a…devoted…husband and father.”
“Interesting word choice,” House says, as Wozynski sits down and the funeral-home chaplain gets back up. “Can’t really say it’s not true, and it sounds positive.”
The chaplain finished up with a very generic prayer and directions to the cemetery.
The graveside is short-a bit of ashes to ashes, some flowers thrown on the casket, and they’re out of there. House and Chase hurry back to the condo to make coffee and set out food for the people who will be coming over.
“Hide some of those little sandwiches in the refrigerator. I might want them later,” House says, putting a jello mold in a prominent spot on the counter.
Chase does. “Anything else? This potato salad looks okay.”
“Yeah, save me some of that, too. Are these supposed to be little éclairs? What’s in them?”
“I think it’s cool whip.”
“That’s disgusting.” House piles them on a plate. “Do you think I should ask that Wozynski guy if he knows why my father hates me?”
“Uh…maybe?”
“He’s supposedly his best friend. Maybe he knows.”
“Do you want to know?” Chase asks, then remembers who he’s talking to. “I mean, is there an answer that’s going to make you feel better?” Is feeling better something House even cares about?
“Maybe. If it’s ‘your mother had a fling with the milkman, and he secretly knew you weren’t his.’”
Only House would consider that good news. “Is there any chance….”
“No, I did a DNA test a few years ago.”
“I guess it’s possible he thought you weren’t,” Chase suggests.
“I don’t think he’d have stayed with Mom if he thought that. It was just an example. Is this a dessert or an hors d’oeuvre?” he asks, holding up what looks like a cheese ball covered in pecans.
Chase doesn’t remember who brought it, or if they said what it was. “Dunno. You could taste it.”
“You do it,” House says, shoving it at him.
Chase rolls the cheese ball onto its side to scrape a sample from the bottom. “Is there an answer that would make you feel worse? What if he tells you it all stems from the time you pounded the coffee table full of nails when you were six?”
“He hated me before that. And it wasn’t the coffee table, it was the leaf from the dining room table, and I was ten.”
“I just made that up,” Chase explains. “I didn’t know you’d actually done it.” He tastes the cheese ball. Garlic, and a hint of onion. “This is an hors d’oeuvre. Why did you do it?”
“I was trying to make a pachinko machine. I was going to buy a bunch of candy and cheap toys for prizes, and make a fortune off of the other kids on the base. It would have worked, too.”
Chase bets it would have. “I wouldn’t ask. If it was me.”
“Well, you’re kind of a pussy.”
Chase shrugs.
“I got it,” House says, appearing at Chase’s shoulder.
“Got what? Do you know where your mother keeps the decaf?”
“Why would I know that? You’re going to ask Wozynski.”
“I am? Why?”
“Just make some more regular and tell them it’s decaf,” House suggests. “Because he’s likelier to tell you the truth.”
“You think? It could be he’ll think it’s none of my business and not tell me anything.”
“Good point. Okay, we’ll both ask him. Separately. And then compare notes.”
“So you and Major House were good friends,” Chase says, feeling stupid.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“This may not be the best time,” Chase says hesitantly, “but I was wondering….”
“Yes?”
“House…Greg, I mean…and his father never had the best relationship, you know. I wondered if you knew anything about why that was.”
“Oh. Well.” The old man is silent for a long time, and Chase starts to think he’s not going to answer. “John was pretty young when he and Blythe…. He wasn’t really ready to start a family. But that was what you did, in those days. You got married and you made the best of it.”
Chase wonders if this is good news. Sorry, House, turns out your father hated you for being born. Not much you could do about it.
“He was away on maneuvers almost all of the time for the first few years of their marriage, too. He’d come home for a few weeks at a time and feel like a guest in his own home. The baby didn’t recognize him, and Blythe was too busy being a mother to pay much attention to John. I convinced him to try to get longer assignments, places he could take them along, but by the time he did--” Wozynski shrugged. “I guess it was too late.”
It’s late afternoon before the last of the funeral guests say their goodbyes. After shutting the door behind the last person to leave, House sits at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Chase has been helping Blythe put leftovers away, but when he gets a look at House, he abandons the chore and sits down with him.
“Mom,” House says, as Blythe starts to load up the dishwasher. “Leave that alone for a while. Chase’ll do it later.”
“I don’t mind,” she says.
“I mind. You’re making me tired.”
Blythe sits down.
“Should I get out your sandwiches?” Chase asks.
“Not right now. Let’s just be quiet for a little bit.”
They sit quietly for a few minutes.
“I thought it was a nice service,” Blythe says after a while.
“Yeah,” House says. “Great.”
“What time’s your flight tomorrow?”
Chase shifts in his seat. “One thirty.”
“We’ll have an early lunch before you go, then.”
“Okay.” House sits for a while longer. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Me?” Blythe asks.
“Yeah, you.”
“Well…I suppose so. Why wouldn’t I be?”
House almost laughs. “I don’t know. If you’re not going to be okay, you could come back to New Jersey with me.”
“I think I’ll manage.”
“Okay.” House gets up and goes to the refrigerator. “Chase, what did you do with that potato salad?”
“Besides, I’m too old to sleep on your sofa.”
House, his head half inside the refrigerator, says, “I didn’t mean you should live with me. We could find you a nice apartment. Nearby,” he adds dubiously. “What did you say about the potato salad?”
“That’s all right, dear.”
“It’s in the green container,” Chase adds.
“Got it!” House emerges from the refrigerator, potato salad in hand and a packet of sandwiches in his teeth. Sitting down at the table, he unwraps the sandwiches. “Chase, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about the difference between pastrami and corned beef.”
“I know those are pastrami, I just thought you’d want them anyway.”
“There wasn’t any corned beef?”
“Right.”
“I guess that’s okay, then.” He eats. “You know what would be nice? If there was a never-ending platter of tiny Reubens in my office. I’d never have to go to lunch. I could just one-bite tiny sandwiches all day.”
Chase sincerely hopes that’s not supposed to be a hint. “You could probably make that happen if you really wanted to,” he says. “Set up some kind of delivery contract with a deli.”
“I’d rather it just magically appeared.”
“Maybe for your birthday.”
“I don’t celebrate my birthday.” House chews meditatively. “You could get me a giant platter of tiny Reubens for our anniversary.”
“The anniversary of what, exactly?” Chase asks, and wishes he hadn’t.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“So what did he tell you?” House is out on the stoop smoking again, and Chase is sitting with him.
“Who? Wozynski?” House has a habit of starting conversations in the middle and expecting you to catch up.
“Yeah.”
“What did he tell you?” Chase stalls.
“Nothing. He said my father didn’t hate me.”
Chase relates his conversation with Wozynski, adding, “I think he’s right. It matches pretty well with what your mother said.”
House sits bolt upright. “You asked her? Why?”
“I didn’t ask her that. When she was talking about your childhood, that night we went to the supermarket.”
“Oh.” House slumps down again. “What did she say?”
“Something about how she liked it better when it was just the two of you, and everything was harder when your father was home,” Chase explains. “He probably noticed.”
“So what if my mom liked me better? What kind of man’s jealous of his own kid?” House objects.
“A very immature and insecure one, I guess,” Chase answers.
“Huh.” House slouches and smokes for a while. “He could have just stayed away, then.”
There are any number of logical reasons why he couldn’t have, but Chase just shrugs.
The next day, House stoically allows his mother to hug him before they leave for the airport. She hugs Chase too, and tells them to come back soon. House sighs heavily and says, “We’ll see.”
House is quiet on the flight home. He reads the lesbian sorority sisters book for a while, then knocks back a couple of drinks and falls asleep. Chase finally gets a chance to read the book he’d bought for the flight out.
The next thing he knows, something’s poking him in the stomach and saying, “Hey. Sleeping beauty.”
It’s House, of course, jabbing him in the stomach with his fingers, for some reason. Chase is scrunched down and twisted sideways in his seat, his head on House’s shoulder-he doesn’t remember how he got that way, and he’s astonished House put up with it.
“Put your seatbelt on. We’re landing.”
Yawning, Chase sits upright and fastens his seatbelt. “Home, huh?” he says inanely.
“Yeah. Wonder how Steve is.”
“I hope I remembered to turn off the stove and lock my apartment door on Friday morning when I left.”
“Don’t you usually?”
“Yeah. But I wasn’t planning to be away for ten days at the time.”
“I don’t think ten days is much worse than three for leaving your stove on and your door unlocked. At least this way the ashes had time to cool.” House looks out the window as they descend. “Do you want to drive by your place and check on our way home?”
Chase hadn’t known he was staying over at House’s again that night, but he just shrugs. “I guess it’ll be the same tomorrow night. Wish we didn’t have to work tomorrow.” He’s exhausted, and tomorrow morning is going to arrive much too soon.
“Yeah. Well, except as soon as we get there I’ll go in my office and take a nap. You can get started on all the clinic hours I missed.”
“House,” Chase protests feebly.
“You can’t expect not to have to do your share of the grunt work just because you’re sexing me up on a daily basis,” House points out.
“I guess not,” Chase agrees, trying to calculate how much coffee it’s going to take to get him through the day.
House smacks his arm. “You’d do it, too, wouldn’t you? You are so my bitch. Kidding. We’ll both take a nap in my office.”
“Is that a euphemism?” Chase asks.
“If you’re lucky.”
Epilogue:
After their nap-which began as the euphemistic variety and segued into the other--Chase stumbled out of House’s office on a coffee-seeking mission. House’s bright red coffee mug caught his eye instantly, but he spent at least thirty seconds trying to fill it from the empty coffee pot before realizing his fundamental error.
“Hi, Chase.” Cameron pops up out of nowhere behind him.
“Oh. Hi.” He must be groggier than he thought-someone seems to have moved all of the buttons on the coffee maker.
“It’s a new machine,” Cameron says. “Let me do it. House likes my coffee better anyway.”
“Okay,” Chase says. That might be true, but House likes his blowjobs better.
“How was the funeral?” she asks briskly, dropping a filter into the basket and scooping in the ground coffee.
“Fine. You know, for a funeral. It was okay.”
“Did House’s mother like the flowers that we sent?”
Chase isn’t sure which ones they were, but he says, “She loved them. Said it was very thoughtful of you to send something.”
“Good. Your share is twenty-one fifty, by the way. And twelve seventy-five for the new coffee maker.”
Chase really doesn’t think that’s fair-he was there, he shouldn’t have to chip in for the flowers from the New Jersey contingent-but he decides not to make a fuss. “Remind me next payday, okay?”
“I guess that’s okay.” She pours a measured amount of water into the coffee maker and turns it on. “I still don’t understand why he took you out there.”
Chase shrugs.
“What did you do all day, while he was with his mother?”
“I helped,” Chase says flatly. “With the arrangements.”
He can see Cameron fighting the question. He’s rooting for her, but the question wins. “What…why? Why did he take you?”
He wonders if she realizes that that isn’t, quite, the question. What she wants to know is why not her? “You’d really have to ask him that,” Chase says, answering both questions.
“Did he just call you up and say, ‘my father’s dying, come to Arizona with me?’”
Chase watches the coffee drip down into the pot. “I was over at his place when his mom called.”
“Doing what?”
“Playing Tetris.”
“But you don’t even like him,” Cameron points out.
“Turns out he grows on you.” Chase turns and looks at the door to House’s office. It would be just like him, to be standing there listening to this. But the door’s closed.
“So, what, you’re Wilson’s understudy now?”
Chase gnaws on his lower lip. “Not…exactly.” There’s at least a cup’s worth of coffee in the pot now; he grabs the carafe and quickly fills House’s red mug. A drop of coffee hisses and spits on the warming plate; he has the carafe back in place before a second one has time to fall. “I’d better take him this.”
Cameron looks at him, her face unreadable. “Yes. You’d better.”