I guess I'm going to have to get an icon now.
Random little House ficlet that popped out when I should have been doing any number of other things, as fic tends to do. Just me sort of taking the fandom for a test drive. Spoilers for the season four finale.
Having dinner with Foreman and Cameron - Allison, and it's funny how he can't quite let go of using her surname, but appropriate for right now, because it does feel like old times. The three of them snatching a rare moment of relaxation together, laughing a little too hard to shut out something they want to escape from, just for a while.
It is, perhaps, that sense of perverse nostalgia that makes Chase kiss Cameron and squeeze Foreman's shoulder and beg off early to go back to the hospital. He doesn't tell them where or why. The fact that they don't ask says he doesn't have to. Cameron's eyes drop to her beer glass, and he hears her resigned sigh as he walks away.
House is asleep when Chase slips into his room. Cuddy is, too, curled up tight in the chair next to House's bed, her hand gripping his even in sleep. Chase hesitates, then goes over to wake her.
She blinks a couple of times, looks at him. Then her eyes flick away to look at House, to check the readings on the equipment.
"Hey," Chase says in a near-whisper, unsure of whether House's sleep is natural or drug-induced. "You should go home and get some real sleep. We need you alert." He feels a twinge of guilt as he says it, because he doesn't much care how much sleep Cuddy gets or where she does it, as long as it's not here where he wants to be.
Cuddy doesn't move. "He shouldn't be alone." Shouldn't wake up alone, she means, and Chase couldn't agree more.
"I'll stay," he says. Her gaze turns back toward him, sharp and knowing, and Chase feels suddenly foolish and transparent, because she didn't get to where she is today by being unable to read people. It's his turn to look away. His eyes fall on Cuddy's hand, still linked with House's.
There are a few seconds of silence, then Cuddy says, "God, we make a hell of a pair, don't we?"
Chase looks up in surprise. Cuddy's mouth is curved slightly in a faint, tired smile. She disentangles her hand from House's and stands, stretching a little to work out some of the kinks. Chase can hear a couple of joints popping from being in that chair for so long.
She leans forward and hugs him, which he returns in fumbling surprise as she says quietly into his ear, "As long as he's not alone. I don't think he cares which of us he wakes up to." She lets him go and walks to the door. She pauses there for a moment to look back at House, then she leaves.
Chase sinks slowly into the chair; it's still warm from Cuddy's vigil. He curls into it as comfortably as he can, turning to face House.
House's hand, which had been still and slack in Cuddy's, is moving a little against the bed, fingers pushing into the folds in the sheet. Chase reaches over without thinking about it, gently winding his fingers around House's. House sighs faintly in his sleep and his hand stills once more.
Having dinner with Foreman and Cameron - Allison, and it's funny how he can't quite let go of using her surname, but appropriate for right now, because it does feel like old times. The three of them snatching a rare moment of relaxation together, laughing a little too hard to shut out something they want to escape from, just for a while.
It is, perhaps, that sense of perverse nostalgia that makes Chase kiss Cameron and squeeze Foreman's shoulder and beg off early to go back to the hospital. He doesn't tell them where or why. The fact that they don't ask says he doesn't have to. Cameron's eyes drop to her beer glass, and he hears her resigned sigh as he walks away.
House is asleep when Chase slips into his room. Cuddy is, too, curled up tight in the chair next to House's bed, her hand gripping his even in sleep. Chase hesitates, then goes over to wake her.
She blinks a couple of times, looks at him. Then her eyes flick away to look at House, to check the readings on the equipment.
"Hey," Chase says in a near-whisper, unsure of whether House's sleep is natural or drug-induced. "You should go home and get some real sleep. We need you alert." He feels a twinge of guilt as he says it, because he doesn't much care how much sleep Cuddy gets or where she does it, as long as it's not here where he wants to be.
Cuddy doesn't move. "He shouldn't be alone." Shouldn't wake up alone, she means, and Chase couldn't agree more.
"I'll stay," he says. Her gaze turns back toward him, sharp and knowing, and Chase feels suddenly foolish and transparent, because she didn't get to where she is today by being unable to read people. It's his turn to look away. His eyes fall on Cuddy's hand, still linked with House's.
There are a few seconds of silence, then Cuddy says, "God, we make a hell of a pair, don't we?"
Chase looks up in surprise. Cuddy's mouth is curved slightly in a faint, tired smile. She disentangles her hand from House's and stands, stretching a little to work out some of the kinks. Chase can hear a couple of joints popping from being in that chair for so long.
She leans forward and hugs him, which he returns in fumbling surprise as she says quietly into his ear, "As long as he's not alone. I don't think he cares which of us he wakes up to." She lets him go and walks to the door. She pauses there for a moment to look back at House, then she leaves.
Chase sinks slowly into the chair; it's still warm from Cuddy's vigil. He curls into it as comfortably as he can, turning to face House.
House's hand, which had been still and slack in Cuddy's, is moving a little against the bed, fingers pushing into the folds in the sheet. Chase reaches over without thinking about it, gently winding his fingers around House's. House sighs faintly in his sleep and his hand stills once more.