JUST SO YOU KNOW, I'LL CRY IF YOU DON'T READ THIS
Artful Possibilities
House, M.D.
House/Chase, PG-13 {3,854 words}
Notes: This is for Kitty, and she knows it. Thank you so much to my kindly betas, and those who allowed me to read snippets of this to them, despite their complete disinterest in fanfiction. Also, thank you to my mother who allowed me to purchase House, M.D: Season Two when my funds were sorely lacking. Hope you enjoy!
When Chase first begins working with Doctor House he is reminded of the hours he spent reminding himself to be pious and Good when he was at seminary, except now he is reminding himself not to speak out of turn and to look as unassuming as possible even when he’s the only person in the room. For those reasons, and those reasons alone, Chase feels a sense of relief when the two other members of the current Scooby Gang join House’s team.
--
“Do you always need to have something in your mouth?” House asks him out of nowhere on a Tuesday morning, early. Early for House, which means 11.
Chase guiltily pulls the lollipop out of his mouth.
“It helps me think,” he says.
“Wet sucking noises help you think?” House raises his right eyebrow.
Chase gingerly puts the lollipop back into his mouth without making a sound.
--
Later, when the whole team is together working on a diagnosis and Chase has a brand new lollipop, Cameron is whole-heartedly backing up a theory with the utmost conviction and Foreman is clearly counting the number of tiles in the ceiling.
Feet up on his desk, House is tossing his ball back and forth.
Chase doesn’t hear the ball hit the ground, but he knows it’s gone because out of nowhere House has a hand around the stem of Chase’s lollipop, and he tugs it from between Chase’s lips with a resounding pop. Then he sniffs it.
“Funny,” he says, “didn’t have you pegged for a cherry man.” He sticks the sucker into his own mouth.
Foreman raises his eyebrows half way up his forehead. Cameron looks vaguely sick.
Chase just blinks.
“So, is the plan to just let the patient die? Or do you intend to catch flies in those open mouths of yours for the rest of the day?” House asks them blandly.
“I’ll draw some more blood,” Cameron says hurriedly and leaves before House can get another word out.
House twirls the lollipop around in his mouth.
“I’ll get a better documented family history,” Foreman says, but looks like he wants to either kick Chase under the table or take a very long lunch break.
“And you?” House asks Chase directly.
“I, well, I…”
“You were thinking of tormenting the patient with the fabulously annoying sound effects you seem to be so keen on making today? Or was that just your treatment for me and the rest of our colleagues?"
"I’m going now.” Foreman grabs his clipboard, straightens his lab coat.
"I was just-” Chase sighs. “It’s just a bloody sucker. It’s not like I was smacking gum.”
“No, by all means,” House waves his hand dismissively. “Smack gum. That’s better. That’s way better. That way you’ll remind me of diner waitresses when they’re actually on duty, as opposed to their post-work,” leer, “predilections.”
Chase swallows. Draws his lips into a pout.
“What?” House pouts mockingly back at him. “Did you think I hired you just because you have great hair?”
“No, I thought you hired me because my father made a phone call.” Chase crosses his arms defiantly.
“Actually, that just sounded better than, ‘I hired you because you have cock sucking lips.’” House shrugs.
Chase pales, wishes he were used to this by now, wishes House would just resort to hitting him with his cane instead of using verbal torture. Then again, House probably knows that Chase would enjoy that all too much.
House rolls his eyes.
“Stop fish-mouthing at me and go do something useful.”
Chase leaves.
“You forgot your sucker!” House calls out from his chair, and it sounds smug.
--
“I guess it’s your day today,” Cameron says to him a little later while they watch their patient go through the second MRI of the work up.
“Yeah, no shit.” Chase sighs.
Cameron shrugs. “You know he’s like with all of us. Foreman’s kind of lucky, though. He only gets racism.”
“It was only a sucker.”
“It was kind of annoying.”
Chase looks at her. She shrugs again, the picture of innocence. Sister Mary Cameron. If Chase hadn’t fucked her once already, he’d wonder if she wore a habit under her little sweaters and slacks. A very close-fitting habit.
“He really needs to get some.”
“Yeah,” Cameron says, as she goes to help the patient out of the MRI machine, “I had that exact thought once.” Wink. She actually winks at him.
--
Against odds of a thousand to one, several angry visits from Cuddy, and two very flustered parents, the patient is cured. At 1AM she stabilizes and House has Cameron let her family know that she’ll be ready to go home after 24 hours of observation. Relief all around.
Chase gets to spend the rest of the night at the hospital because he’s an intensivist, and because their patient is still on slightly shaky ground. Her parents have gone home for the night, leaving her in his more than capable hands. Now all Chase has to do is make sure she makes it through the last few hours of the night. He can do that. He brings a book with. Watches her sleep, her breathing and heart rate carefully monitored.
Soon he’s falling asleep, and he knows it. His tired body is lulled by the quiet bleeps of the hospital machinery, the whir of the lights, and the gentle whoosh of their patient’s respirator. The respirator, which she, with hope, will not need tomorrow.
Whack!
Chase hears the whack before he feels it, and then it feels like his shin is on fire.
“Goddamnit!” he shouts, before quickly lowering his tone of voice, “what the hell is wrong with you, House?”
The patient rolls over. Makes a few childlike snuffling sounds.
House shrugs. “Checking in on you,” he says, and sits himself slowly down on the plastic chair next to Chase. “Ah, the beauty of a sleeping child.”
“Almost not.” Chase scowls, and then raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here so late anyhow?”
“Paperwork.”
“You hate paperwork.”
“Even what we hate must get done at some point.” House reaches into his pocket. “I brought you another lollipop.”
Chase takes the candy suspiciously. Looks at it.
“Oh please, even if I were to poison you, you’d probably be able to cure yourself.”
“Yeah, probably,” Chase says, and puts the sucker in jacket pocket.
“So.” House crosses his arms over his chest.
“So,” Chase says right back.
The patient sleeps soundly on into the night.
--
In the morning, Princeton is cold and the first fall frost covers the hospital grounds. It’s midterms at the university, and the whole hospital knows it because they have had three suicides, all under 21, in the past two days. House has clinic hours and his mood is less than amicable. Lucky for his team, he isn’t very good at sneaking up on them. Holed up in their little conference room, Chase, Foreman, and Cameron can hear the thump and skid of House’s awkward walk before they see his unshaven mug.
Chase has just helped to discharge their little patient from the day before, and she gives him a hug before her parents wheel her out the door. In many ways, he supposes that being a doctor is probably way better than being a priest. Although being a priest have certainly involved far fewer cane induced bruises.
“Woman, age 22, hacking cough and bloody urine. Connect the dots.” House throws the patient file down onto the table.
“Blood in the urine is always an anomaly,” Cameron says quickly, adjusts her glasses.
“Is she black?” Chase asks.
Foreman looks at him.
“Hey,” Chase says, “bloody urine can sometimes be indicative of sickle cell disease… which is more commonly found in African-Americans.”
“Which I know,” Foreman says, “but let’s focus on her first symptom. How long as she been coughing?”
“About three weeks. The bloody urine brought her in.”
“Test for TB?” Cameron tries.
“She’s a college student not a recent émigré,” sneers Chase.
House smirks at them. “What? It could be sympathetic illness. She’s been reading a lot of Keats lately.”
Foreman groans. “What else is there besides a cough and urine?”
“Ah, the lovely Doctor Cameron never let me finish.”
“You said ‘connect the dots.’” Cameron looks indignant.
“Well you missed one. She’s been losing weight. Lots of weight.”
“Did she tell you that?” Chase asks.
“No,” House says glibly. “Her boyfriend mentioned it in passing when I weighed her.”
“Cancer,” Foreman concludes
“One of you call Wilson,” Cameron sighs. “I’ll have a nurse admit her."
Cameron leaves, Foreman goes to knock on Wilson’s door. House has a sip of coffee. Chase sits alone at the table.
“That was too easy,” Chase says.
“It was,” House concurs. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“It’s lunch time.”
“It’s time to drink somewhere. We're going. Now. Before they get back.”
“You hate me,” Chase says, but grabs his coat.
“Yeah, but I love drinking.”
They leave the hospital together.
--
House is driving that hot little red car of his, and he takes Chase to the sketchiest bar in pretty much all of Princeton.
“The Dirty Truth,” House says as they enter, “serves more imported beer than any other bar in the city, and,” he grins, “there are way fewer college students.”
“Great,” Chase says, “no one will know where to find my body.”
“Hah,” House says dryly. “Go get a table. Pick a corner. I’ll get you one of their good English,” he holds up a finger as if to say sshhhh, “ales.”
Chase sighs, takes the blazer House passes to him and watches the older man lumber toward the bar with a certain kind of uneasy grace that Chase has always found remotely mesmerizing. Once he’s certain that House has actually ordered them beers, Chase wanders off and finds a table.
“Drink this,” House says, and hands Chase a pint of something colored like milky piss.
Chase sips.
“It’s good.”
“I know it’s good, I wouldn’t have ordered it for you if it wasn’t good.” House rolls his eyes. Sips his own beer.
“Why are we here?” Chase asks.
“Can’t a man take one of his ducklings out for a drink?”
“No.”
“Okay, you’ve got me. I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” House looks down at his hands, does that thing he does where he rubs one of those hands over his scrubby face and looks long suffering. Chase doesn’t even want to know.
“You’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he repeats.
“Yeah,” House says.
“You’ve wanted to feed me beer in the afternoon for a while, is what you’re saying?” Chase looks confused. Actually, he is confused. His brow furrows. “Like, what? Like a pre-meditating doctor-knapping for a lunchtime kip?”
“Sure, you could call it that.” Sip of beer.
The Dirty Truth is dark even at 1pm, and the few characters lazing about are pretty good at ignoring each other and paying incredibly little attention to the two gentlemen sitting in the corner. Dire Straits is playing on the speakers, Chase is wondering what the fuck is going on and why the floor is so damn sticky.
“Is this,” Chase pauses. “Is this some kind of date?”
“Sure,” House says again. “You could call it that.”
“So you think I’m gay?”
“No.” House quirks his lips. “I know you’re gay.”
“I fucked Cameron.”
“Actually one might argue that Cameron fucked you.” Full blown grin.
“Fine, fine.” Chase shakes his head. “So you’ve got me, I’m gay. Kind of gay. I mean, not a total pouf, but you know. Gay.” He sighs. “It’s no wonder people really hate you.”
“It’s no wonder your father disowned you.”
“I hate you.”
The bar hasn’t picked up at all in the last few minutes, but Chase sort of feels like he’s suffocating.
“You don’t hate me. You like me. And here’s the trouble:”
“Enlighten me, Doctor.”
“I like you, too.” House looks down again. Finishes off his beer. The whole half a pint of it.
Chase is pretty certain he’s cracking up. But his stomach feels kind of funny and he kind of wants to kill himself or start a barroom brawl, but there really aren’t enough people around for the kind of brawl that would cause a good enough distraction so that he could run the fuck away.
“You like me,” he says, because it might actually be more dangerous than taking a swing at someone.
“Sadly yes, even I’m not perfect.”
“What now?” Chase asks.
“How about we go back to work and you meet me in my office when your shift is done today.”
Chase nods. “I think I can do that,” he says slowly.
“Good, great,” House says. “Let’s get out of here. We don’t want your little pals to think I’m showing favoritism.”
As they walk out the door, Chase swallows his heart.
--
The ride back to the hospital is silent, and when Chase is back on the job, both Cameron and Foreman want to know what he was doing, and where House has been for the past hour. Chase is shaky. He drops two needs while trying to perform routine blood work and is almost run over by an orderly when as he exits the patient’s room. Cameron pulls him aside indiscreetly in the staff restroom and wants to know what’s up. Badly. She almost shakes it out of him.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he covers for himself quickly.
“Seriously, Chase,” she says. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. My lunch was. I had a weird lunch, okay?” Chase shrugs. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Cameron concedes, “but if you want to talk… you know where to find me.” Sometimes she treats him like a little brother, and Chase just thinks it’s…awkward. Really awkward.
“Thanks,” Chase says, and spends the rest of the day busying himself with anything he can get his hands on and basically doing the best job he can to avoid Foreman, Cameron, and even Doctor Wilson.
--
He declines an offer of dinner with Foreman, Cameron and Pierce-from-Cardiology at around 6:00 and then slips into the staff lounge to shower. He’s not exactly certain why he feels the need to shower. He knows House won’t have showered because House is a little bit like Rick Blaine in the sense that he doesn’t put himself out for anybody.
Ivory soap clean, Chase combs his hair in front of the slightly steamed mirror. Feels ten different kinds of guilt creeping into his gut, and as he decides not to put his tie back on a moment later, he thinks that maybe being a priest wouldn’t have been that all that different from being a doctor.
Priests help the lame, too.
--
House is waiting for him in his office when Chase gets there at just after 7:00. He’s tossing that ever-present ball around, his feet up on his desk. Chase can see that his eyes are just a little glassy and the open bottle of Vicodin on his desk is a good enough hint as ever. The Doors are blasting out of House’s iPod speakers.
“You haven’t changed much since the 70s, have you?” Chase quips.
“Didn’t think you were going to show.” House ignores his barb.
“Well, here I am,” Chase says, and sits himself down on one of the chairs across from House’s desk. He always thinks of the Head Master’s office at school when he has to sit across from someone like this.
“Here you are.” House nods.
“So, what’s the plan then? Do you intend to take me home and ply me with wine and sucking candy?” Chase purses his lips.
“Something like that,” House agrees. He throws Chase his keys. “You’re driving.”
“Sweet!” Chase says, before he thinks better of it.
--
House’s car practically purrs as he’s driving it, and Chase knows that’s a cliché, but the Corvette really feels that good under his control. The seats are leather, bucket style. House has the seat warmers flipped on and Chase’s butt feels toasty. Mobsters sure know how to pick out cars.
"You know,” Chase muses as he’s driving, “you’re kind of fucked up.”
"Pot, meet kettle,” House says without missing a beat.
“I am not…” he stops. “Where are we going?”
“My apartment.” House is his tapping his cane along to the music.
“This isn’t the way to your apartment,” Chase says.
“We’re taking the fun route.” House half-smiles and Chase thinks it looks a little sinister.
“Seriously, House….Where are we going?”
“Just drive, pretty boy.” House rolls his eyes. “Just drive.”
“Humph,” Chase sniffs. And then he’s actually laughing.
--
They end up at a park somewhere in Pennsylvania. Not one of those dinky urban parks, but a full-blown mountains and lakes type of deal. They are not even close to House’s apartment, or Princeton, but Chase parks the Corvette by the edge of the glassy pond, and House limps out of the car and over to a picnic bench. He leans his cane against the wood and then hauls himself up onto the table. Chase hears his foot scrape along the bench, and half-winces. It is already dark. Winter is coming on fast and strong. He shivers in his quilted jacket.
“I didn’t know you liked hiking,” Chase says.
“I suppose it’s too dark out to look at the foliage,” House rejoins.
“It’s cold.” Chase blows on his hands and sits down next to House.
“It’s cold in my house, too.”
“The hospital isn’t cold,” Chase offers.
“The hospital is full of people. I hate people.”
Chase shrugs. “So,” he says.
“You keep saying that.” House looks at him. He didn’t shower, Chase can tell.
“I keep expecting you to say something…something-”
“Something what?” House snaps.
“Something revelatory, you know, like you always do.” Chase feels helpless. And his feet are cold.
“Maybe it’s your turn.” House takes a pair of gloves out of his jacket pocket, passes them to Chase.
“You brought gloves?” Chase takes them, puts them on. They’re worn brown leather, cashmere lined, and lovely. His father had a pair just like them, but Chase doesn’t exactly want to go there right now.
“You don’t like the cold,” House says nonchalantly. Like it means nothing at all that he just offered up a pair of gloves to Chase, even though he seems to derive more pleasure than humanly possible from taunting him, from taunting everyone.
“Thanks,” Chase says, and then, “it’s really nice here. I mean, even though I can’t really see any of it.”
“I think so, too.”
Time passes, slowly. Chase can hear geese somewhere in the distance. They’re flying south.
“House,” Chase touches his shoulder. He can feel the camelhair of House’s coat through the gloves. Coarse, probably, but very warm, classic-a little bit like House.
“Chase,” House says, and they both have their heads turned toward each other for the first time. Chase knows that his name was really a question, the equivalent of an expectant twist of lips.
“You’re my boss,” Chase says, lets out a deep sigh, his hand still on House’s shoulder.
“That didn’t seem to bother Cameron,” House smirks.
“You’d be surprised to know how few scruples Cameron actually has,” Chase shrugs, remembering that one night with her, the way she stretched herself out for him.
“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime,” House leers, reading his mind, and the expression makes Chase feel a little bit weak. A little bit like he’s about to fall from grace.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Chase says, and finally closes the space between them, presses his lips just lightly to House’s.
House kisses him back, there’s no tongue, but a soft parting of lips instead. Chase has always been told he has lips like a girl, and if he’s ever kissed anyone with lips like a man, then it’s House, whose stubble is rough and warming against his smooth cheek. Before either of them pull away, Chase has his other gloved hand on the back of House’s neck, and House has his eyes closed, which Chase didn’t think he knew how to do without the aid of drugs.
Somewhat reluctantly, Chase pulls away first. He can see both of their breaths in the cold night, coming together in soft white puffs of air.
“Is this…is this what you want?” He asks quietly.
“I hired you all for a reason.” House looks as innocently as possible at him.
“Bollocks,” Chase sneers. “You’re a bastard.”
“You kissed me,” House says slowly. “Just now, you assumed that’s what I wanted. Romantic setting, letting you drive my car, beers this afternoon-those could have been signs. And sure, I told you that I liked you, but I could have been messing with you. Logic would dictate that I was just messing with you. But you went there. You used your instincts. Like a good doctor, you went against everything you already know about me, about us. You went there before I did. You,” he looks directly at Chase, “kissed me.”
“Now what?” Chase says, feeling a tremor of indignation rise in his chest, mixed with a hint of astonishment. This was a test. Another test.... He shoves hands into his pockets petulantly. “You break my heart and leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere?”
“No.” House raises that infernal eyebrow again. “Now I take you back to my apartment.” He gets up from the table and takes his cane in hand.
“Wait,” Chase says, unmoving, “Do you even actually want me?” He narrows his eyes. Everyone lies. Everyone wants something.
House stops. Turns slowly and looks at him, looks exasperated.
“Get in the car.”
“Okay.” Chase gives in, because he always gives in to House. Always. He feels like hanging his head as he walks to the car, but there’s a shimmer of excitement in his stomach that he can’t ignore as House revs the engine and Chase realizes that he stole the keys back while they were kissing.
He buckles his seatbelt defiantly.
“Robert,” House says sternly, and Chase looks over at him quickly because no one ever calls him by his first name anymore.
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t the start of a beautiful friendship.”
“I figured as much,” Chase shakes his head.
“I mean,” House pauses and looks, for a moment, like he cannot find the perfect, cutting words. “I mean,” he says, “this is start of something else entirely.”
“Okay,” Chase says, and knows he’s just accepted whatever craziness House is offering him. He puts his hand near House’s, somewhere between the stick and the armrest.
House glances at him.
Chase nods resolutely.
“Okay,” House says.
They drive on.
End.
Feedback is much appreciated. This is my first piece of House fan-fiction, and I am, per usual, a nervous mother bird.
House, M.D.
House/Chase, PG-13 {3,854 words}
Notes: This is for Kitty, and she knows it. Thank you so much to my kindly betas, and those who allowed me to read snippets of this to them, despite their complete disinterest in fanfiction. Also, thank you to my mother who allowed me to purchase House, M.D: Season Two when my funds were sorely lacking. Hope you enjoy!
When Chase first begins working with Doctor House he is reminded of the hours he spent reminding himself to be pious and Good when he was at seminary, except now he is reminding himself not to speak out of turn and to look as unassuming as possible even when he’s the only person in the room. For those reasons, and those reasons alone, Chase feels a sense of relief when the two other members of the current Scooby Gang join House’s team.
--
“Do you always need to have something in your mouth?” House asks him out of nowhere on a Tuesday morning, early. Early for House, which means 11.
Chase guiltily pulls the lollipop out of his mouth.
“It helps me think,” he says.
“Wet sucking noises help you think?” House raises his right eyebrow.
Chase gingerly puts the lollipop back into his mouth without making a sound.
--
Later, when the whole team is together working on a diagnosis and Chase has a brand new lollipop, Cameron is whole-heartedly backing up a theory with the utmost conviction and Foreman is clearly counting the number of tiles in the ceiling.
Feet up on his desk, House is tossing his ball back and forth.
Chase doesn’t hear the ball hit the ground, but he knows it’s gone because out of nowhere House has a hand around the stem of Chase’s lollipop, and he tugs it from between Chase’s lips with a resounding pop. Then he sniffs it.
“Funny,” he says, “didn’t have you pegged for a cherry man.” He sticks the sucker into his own mouth.
Foreman raises his eyebrows half way up his forehead. Cameron looks vaguely sick.
Chase just blinks.
“So, is the plan to just let the patient die? Or do you intend to catch flies in those open mouths of yours for the rest of the day?” House asks them blandly.
“I’ll draw some more blood,” Cameron says hurriedly and leaves before House can get another word out.
House twirls the lollipop around in his mouth.
“I’ll get a better documented family history,” Foreman says, but looks like he wants to either kick Chase under the table or take a very long lunch break.
“And you?” House asks Chase directly.
“I, well, I…”
“You were thinking of tormenting the patient with the fabulously annoying sound effects you seem to be so keen on making today? Or was that just your treatment for me and the rest of our colleagues?"
"I’m going now.” Foreman grabs his clipboard, straightens his lab coat.
"I was just-” Chase sighs. “It’s just a bloody sucker. It’s not like I was smacking gum.”
“No, by all means,” House waves his hand dismissively. “Smack gum. That’s better. That’s way better. That way you’ll remind me of diner waitresses when they’re actually on duty, as opposed to their post-work,” leer, “predilections.”
Chase swallows. Draws his lips into a pout.
“What?” House pouts mockingly back at him. “Did you think I hired you just because you have great hair?”
“No, I thought you hired me because my father made a phone call.” Chase crosses his arms defiantly.
“Actually, that just sounded better than, ‘I hired you because you have cock sucking lips.’” House shrugs.
Chase pales, wishes he were used to this by now, wishes House would just resort to hitting him with his cane instead of using verbal torture. Then again, House probably knows that Chase would enjoy that all too much.
House rolls his eyes.
“Stop fish-mouthing at me and go do something useful.”
Chase leaves.
“You forgot your sucker!” House calls out from his chair, and it sounds smug.
--
“I guess it’s your day today,” Cameron says to him a little later while they watch their patient go through the second MRI of the work up.
“Yeah, no shit.” Chase sighs.
Cameron shrugs. “You know he’s like with all of us. Foreman’s kind of lucky, though. He only gets racism.”
“It was only a sucker.”
“It was kind of annoying.”
Chase looks at her. She shrugs again, the picture of innocence. Sister Mary Cameron. If Chase hadn’t fucked her once already, he’d wonder if she wore a habit under her little sweaters and slacks. A very close-fitting habit.
“He really needs to get some.”
“Yeah,” Cameron says, as she goes to help the patient out of the MRI machine, “I had that exact thought once.” Wink. She actually winks at him.
--
Against odds of a thousand to one, several angry visits from Cuddy, and two very flustered parents, the patient is cured. At 1AM she stabilizes and House has Cameron let her family know that she’ll be ready to go home after 24 hours of observation. Relief all around.
Chase gets to spend the rest of the night at the hospital because he’s an intensivist, and because their patient is still on slightly shaky ground. Her parents have gone home for the night, leaving her in his more than capable hands. Now all Chase has to do is make sure she makes it through the last few hours of the night. He can do that. He brings a book with. Watches her sleep, her breathing and heart rate carefully monitored.
Soon he’s falling asleep, and he knows it. His tired body is lulled by the quiet bleeps of the hospital machinery, the whir of the lights, and the gentle whoosh of their patient’s respirator. The respirator, which she, with hope, will not need tomorrow.
Whack!
Chase hears the whack before he feels it, and then it feels like his shin is on fire.
“Goddamnit!” he shouts, before quickly lowering his tone of voice, “what the hell is wrong with you, House?”
The patient rolls over. Makes a few childlike snuffling sounds.
House shrugs. “Checking in on you,” he says, and sits himself slowly down on the plastic chair next to Chase. “Ah, the beauty of a sleeping child.”
“Almost not.” Chase scowls, and then raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here so late anyhow?”
“Paperwork.”
“You hate paperwork.”
“Even what we hate must get done at some point.” House reaches into his pocket. “I brought you another lollipop.”
Chase takes the candy suspiciously. Looks at it.
“Oh please, even if I were to poison you, you’d probably be able to cure yourself.”
“Yeah, probably,” Chase says, and puts the sucker in jacket pocket.
“So.” House crosses his arms over his chest.
“So,” Chase says right back.
The patient sleeps soundly on into the night.
--
In the morning, Princeton is cold and the first fall frost covers the hospital grounds. It’s midterms at the university, and the whole hospital knows it because they have had three suicides, all under 21, in the past two days. House has clinic hours and his mood is less than amicable. Lucky for his team, he isn’t very good at sneaking up on them. Holed up in their little conference room, Chase, Foreman, and Cameron can hear the thump and skid of House’s awkward walk before they see his unshaven mug.
Chase has just helped to discharge their little patient from the day before, and she gives him a hug before her parents wheel her out the door. In many ways, he supposes that being a doctor is probably way better than being a priest. Although being a priest have certainly involved far fewer cane induced bruises.
“Woman, age 22, hacking cough and bloody urine. Connect the dots.” House throws the patient file down onto the table.
“Blood in the urine is always an anomaly,” Cameron says quickly, adjusts her glasses.
“Is she black?” Chase asks.
Foreman looks at him.
“Hey,” Chase says, “bloody urine can sometimes be indicative of sickle cell disease… which is more commonly found in African-Americans.”
“Which I know,” Foreman says, “but let’s focus on her first symptom. How long as she been coughing?”
“About three weeks. The bloody urine brought her in.”
“Test for TB?” Cameron tries.
“She’s a college student not a recent émigré,” sneers Chase.
House smirks at them. “What? It could be sympathetic illness. She’s been reading a lot of Keats lately.”
Foreman groans. “What else is there besides a cough and urine?”
“Ah, the lovely Doctor Cameron never let me finish.”
“You said ‘connect the dots.’” Cameron looks indignant.
“Well you missed one. She’s been losing weight. Lots of weight.”
“Did she tell you that?” Chase asks.
“No,” House says glibly. “Her boyfriend mentioned it in passing when I weighed her.”
“Cancer,” Foreman concludes
“One of you call Wilson,” Cameron sighs. “I’ll have a nurse admit her."
Cameron leaves, Foreman goes to knock on Wilson’s door. House has a sip of coffee. Chase sits alone at the table.
“That was too easy,” Chase says.
“It was,” House concurs. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
“It’s lunch time.”
“It’s time to drink somewhere. We're going. Now. Before they get back.”
“You hate me,” Chase says, but grabs his coat.
“Yeah, but I love drinking.”
They leave the hospital together.
--
House is driving that hot little red car of his, and he takes Chase to the sketchiest bar in pretty much all of Princeton.
“The Dirty Truth,” House says as they enter, “serves more imported beer than any other bar in the city, and,” he grins, “there are way fewer college students.”
“Great,” Chase says, “no one will know where to find my body.”
“Hah,” House says dryly. “Go get a table. Pick a corner. I’ll get you one of their good English,” he holds up a finger as if to say sshhhh, “ales.”
Chase sighs, takes the blazer House passes to him and watches the older man lumber toward the bar with a certain kind of uneasy grace that Chase has always found remotely mesmerizing. Once he’s certain that House has actually ordered them beers, Chase wanders off and finds a table.
“Drink this,” House says, and hands Chase a pint of something colored like milky piss.
Chase sips.
“It’s good.”
“I know it’s good, I wouldn’t have ordered it for you if it wasn’t good.” House rolls his eyes. Sips his own beer.
“Why are we here?” Chase asks.
“Can’t a man take one of his ducklings out for a drink?”
“No.”
“Okay, you’ve got me. I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” House looks down at his hands, does that thing he does where he rubs one of those hands over his scrubby face and looks long suffering. Chase doesn’t even want to know.
“You’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he repeats.
“Yeah,” House says.
“You’ve wanted to feed me beer in the afternoon for a while, is what you’re saying?” Chase looks confused. Actually, he is confused. His brow furrows. “Like, what? Like a pre-meditating doctor-knapping for a lunchtime kip?”
“Sure, you could call it that.” Sip of beer.
The Dirty Truth is dark even at 1pm, and the few characters lazing about are pretty good at ignoring each other and paying incredibly little attention to the two gentlemen sitting in the corner. Dire Straits is playing on the speakers, Chase is wondering what the fuck is going on and why the floor is so damn sticky.
“Is this,” Chase pauses. “Is this some kind of date?”
“Sure,” House says again. “You could call it that.”
“So you think I’m gay?”
“No.” House quirks his lips. “I know you’re gay.”
“I fucked Cameron.”
“Actually one might argue that Cameron fucked you.” Full blown grin.
“Fine, fine.” Chase shakes his head. “So you’ve got me, I’m gay. Kind of gay. I mean, not a total pouf, but you know. Gay.” He sighs. “It’s no wonder people really hate you.”
“It’s no wonder your father disowned you.”
“I hate you.”
The bar hasn’t picked up at all in the last few minutes, but Chase sort of feels like he’s suffocating.
“You don’t hate me. You like me. And here’s the trouble:”
“Enlighten me, Doctor.”
“I like you, too.” House looks down again. Finishes off his beer. The whole half a pint of it.
Chase is pretty certain he’s cracking up. But his stomach feels kind of funny and he kind of wants to kill himself or start a barroom brawl, but there really aren’t enough people around for the kind of brawl that would cause a good enough distraction so that he could run the fuck away.
“You like me,” he says, because it might actually be more dangerous than taking a swing at someone.
“Sadly yes, even I’m not perfect.”
“What now?” Chase asks.
“How about we go back to work and you meet me in my office when your shift is done today.”
Chase nods. “I think I can do that,” he says slowly.
“Good, great,” House says. “Let’s get out of here. We don’t want your little pals to think I’m showing favoritism.”
As they walk out the door, Chase swallows his heart.
--
The ride back to the hospital is silent, and when Chase is back on the job, both Cameron and Foreman want to know what he was doing, and where House has been for the past hour. Chase is shaky. He drops two needs while trying to perform routine blood work and is almost run over by an orderly when as he exits the patient’s room. Cameron pulls him aside indiscreetly in the staff restroom and wants to know what’s up. Badly. She almost shakes it out of him.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he covers for himself quickly.
“Seriously, Chase,” she says. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. My lunch was. I had a weird lunch, okay?” Chase shrugs. “Honestly, I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Cameron concedes, “but if you want to talk… you know where to find me.” Sometimes she treats him like a little brother, and Chase just thinks it’s…awkward. Really awkward.
“Thanks,” Chase says, and spends the rest of the day busying himself with anything he can get his hands on and basically doing the best job he can to avoid Foreman, Cameron, and even Doctor Wilson.
--
He declines an offer of dinner with Foreman, Cameron and Pierce-from-Cardiology at around 6:00 and then slips into the staff lounge to shower. He’s not exactly certain why he feels the need to shower. He knows House won’t have showered because House is a little bit like Rick Blaine in the sense that he doesn’t put himself out for anybody.
Ivory soap clean, Chase combs his hair in front of the slightly steamed mirror. Feels ten different kinds of guilt creeping into his gut, and as he decides not to put his tie back on a moment later, he thinks that maybe being a priest wouldn’t have been that all that different from being a doctor.
Priests help the lame, too.
--
House is waiting for him in his office when Chase gets there at just after 7:00. He’s tossing that ever-present ball around, his feet up on his desk. Chase can see that his eyes are just a little glassy and the open bottle of Vicodin on his desk is a good enough hint as ever. The Doors are blasting out of House’s iPod speakers.
“You haven’t changed much since the 70s, have you?” Chase quips.
“Didn’t think you were going to show.” House ignores his barb.
“Well, here I am,” Chase says, and sits himself down on one of the chairs across from House’s desk. He always thinks of the Head Master’s office at school when he has to sit across from someone like this.
“Here you are.” House nods.
“So, what’s the plan then? Do you intend to take me home and ply me with wine and sucking candy?” Chase purses his lips.
“Something like that,” House agrees. He throws Chase his keys. “You’re driving.”
“Sweet!” Chase says, before he thinks better of it.
--
House’s car practically purrs as he’s driving it, and Chase knows that’s a cliché, but the Corvette really feels that good under his control. The seats are leather, bucket style. House has the seat warmers flipped on and Chase’s butt feels toasty. Mobsters sure know how to pick out cars.
"You know,” Chase muses as he’s driving, “you’re kind of fucked up.”
"Pot, meet kettle,” House says without missing a beat.
“I am not…” he stops. “Where are we going?”
“My apartment.” House is his tapping his cane along to the music.
“This isn’t the way to your apartment,” Chase says.
“We’re taking the fun route.” House half-smiles and Chase thinks it looks a little sinister.
“Seriously, House….Where are we going?”
“Just drive, pretty boy.” House rolls his eyes. “Just drive.”
“Humph,” Chase sniffs. And then he’s actually laughing.
--
They end up at a park somewhere in Pennsylvania. Not one of those dinky urban parks, but a full-blown mountains and lakes type of deal. They are not even close to House’s apartment, or Princeton, but Chase parks the Corvette by the edge of the glassy pond, and House limps out of the car and over to a picnic bench. He leans his cane against the wood and then hauls himself up onto the table. Chase hears his foot scrape along the bench, and half-winces. It is already dark. Winter is coming on fast and strong. He shivers in his quilted jacket.
“I didn’t know you liked hiking,” Chase says.
“I suppose it’s too dark out to look at the foliage,” House rejoins.
“It’s cold.” Chase blows on his hands and sits down next to House.
“It’s cold in my house, too.”
“The hospital isn’t cold,” Chase offers.
“The hospital is full of people. I hate people.”
Chase shrugs. “So,” he says.
“You keep saying that.” House looks at him. He didn’t shower, Chase can tell.
“I keep expecting you to say something…something-”
“Something what?” House snaps.
“Something revelatory, you know, like you always do.” Chase feels helpless. And his feet are cold.
“Maybe it’s your turn.” House takes a pair of gloves out of his jacket pocket, passes them to Chase.
“You brought gloves?” Chase takes them, puts them on. They’re worn brown leather, cashmere lined, and lovely. His father had a pair just like them, but Chase doesn’t exactly want to go there right now.
“You don’t like the cold,” House says nonchalantly. Like it means nothing at all that he just offered up a pair of gloves to Chase, even though he seems to derive more pleasure than humanly possible from taunting him, from taunting everyone.
“Thanks,” Chase says, and then, “it’s really nice here. I mean, even though I can’t really see any of it.”
“I think so, too.”
Time passes, slowly. Chase can hear geese somewhere in the distance. They’re flying south.
“House,” Chase touches his shoulder. He can feel the camelhair of House’s coat through the gloves. Coarse, probably, but very warm, classic-a little bit like House.
“Chase,” House says, and they both have their heads turned toward each other for the first time. Chase knows that his name was really a question, the equivalent of an expectant twist of lips.
“You’re my boss,” Chase says, lets out a deep sigh, his hand still on House’s shoulder.
“That didn’t seem to bother Cameron,” House smirks.
“You’d be surprised to know how few scruples Cameron actually has,” Chase shrugs, remembering that one night with her, the way she stretched herself out for him.
“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime,” House leers, reading his mind, and the expression makes Chase feel a little bit weak. A little bit like he’s about to fall from grace.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Chase says, and finally closes the space between them, presses his lips just lightly to House’s.
House kisses him back, there’s no tongue, but a soft parting of lips instead. Chase has always been told he has lips like a girl, and if he’s ever kissed anyone with lips like a man, then it’s House, whose stubble is rough and warming against his smooth cheek. Before either of them pull away, Chase has his other gloved hand on the back of House’s neck, and House has his eyes closed, which Chase didn’t think he knew how to do without the aid of drugs.
Somewhat reluctantly, Chase pulls away first. He can see both of their breaths in the cold night, coming together in soft white puffs of air.
“Is this…is this what you want?” He asks quietly.
“I hired you all for a reason.” House looks as innocently as possible at him.
“Bollocks,” Chase sneers. “You’re a bastard.”
“You kissed me,” House says slowly. “Just now, you assumed that’s what I wanted. Romantic setting, letting you drive my car, beers this afternoon-those could have been signs. And sure, I told you that I liked you, but I could have been messing with you. Logic would dictate that I was just messing with you. But you went there. You used your instincts. Like a good doctor, you went against everything you already know about me, about us. You went there before I did. You,” he looks directly at Chase, “kissed me.”
“Now what?” Chase says, feeling a tremor of indignation rise in his chest, mixed with a hint of astonishment. This was a test. Another test.... He shoves hands into his pockets petulantly. “You break my heart and leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere?”
“No.” House raises that infernal eyebrow again. “Now I take you back to my apartment.” He gets up from the table and takes his cane in hand.
“Wait,” Chase says, unmoving, “Do you even actually want me?” He narrows his eyes. Everyone lies. Everyone wants something.
House stops. Turns slowly and looks at him, looks exasperated.
“Get in the car.”
“Okay.” Chase gives in, because he always gives in to House. Always. He feels like hanging his head as he walks to the car, but there’s a shimmer of excitement in his stomach that he can’t ignore as House revs the engine and Chase realizes that he stole the keys back while they were kissing.
He buckles his seatbelt defiantly.
“Robert,” House says sternly, and Chase looks over at him quickly because no one ever calls him by his first name anymore.
“Yeah?”
“This isn’t the start of a beautiful friendship.”
“I figured as much,” Chase shakes his head.
“I mean,” House pauses and looks, for a moment, like he cannot find the perfect, cutting words. “I mean,” he says, “this is start of something else entirely.”
“Okay,” Chase says, and knows he’s just accepted whatever craziness House is offering him. He puts his hand near House’s, somewhere between the stick and the armrest.
House glances at him.
Chase nods resolutely.
“Okay,” House says.
They drive on.
End.
Feedback is much appreciated. This is my first piece of House fan-fiction, and I am, per usual, a nervous mother bird.