So many challenges.
Title: Declare Ye, Tell This
Summary: "He’s always the middle ground, where all are welcome but none are ever really safe."
Fandom: House
Word Count: 601
Rating/Warnings: PG, possibly dubious Catholicism
Pairing: None, Chase-centric
A/N: For Special Prompt: Ash Wednesday at house_fest. Title from Isaiah 48:20. I'm still not happy about the last line, but I don't think I'm ever going to be, because I must have gone through twenty iterations, all of which sucked.
Chase is late to Mass, which is no particular surprise, and slips into the back rows with the other lapsed Catholics. He sees the woman next to him nervously cast her eyes around, as if she’s trying to fool God into thinking she’s been here the whole time. Chase knows the type too well; somewhere he’s got a whole stack of papers detailing exactly how to deal with them. It’s better if he makes what he did in the ministry sound cold, clinical, rational. It’s not as if anyone but him will believe it, but it helps him through.
On his bookshelf, he’s got half a row devoted to hardbacks with titles like The Science of Religion and The Language of God. He’s got them neatly separated into two groups: Why It’s Okay To Believe, We Swear and Why You’re An Idiot For Believing. The more he reads, the more he decides that no, science and religion can’t work it out, because scientists and religious people don’t even know what they’re fighting about. He didn’t actually buy any of the stupid books, and every last one has the paper marker it came with stuck in somewhere before the middle.
He shakes his head, trying to bring his attention back to Mass, but it isn’t really working. The number of Masses he’s attended must reach the thousands, and as much as he enjoys going, it just isn’t the most riveting thing in the world anymore. It’s medium, lukewarm, just like so much in his life is.
The truth is that he doesn’t really fall one way or the other when it comes right down to ideology. Religion was always so much more about doing than believing for him, and science is no different. Your parishioner is in pain. You pray for them. They feel better. Your patient is in pain. You inject them. They feel better. It’s just how you get from Point A to Point B that makes the difference.
And in the middle of Points B and A, there’s always (Father, Doctor) Chase. He’s always the middle ground, where all are welcome but none are ever really safe. He’s startlingly loyal and heartbreakingly disloyal by turns, and it shows in everything. At work, he’s constantly stuck between House and whoever he’s up against- Ed Vogler, Cameron, even that bastard Tritter tried to make the most of it.
It wouldn’t be so easy if it wasn’t made so abundantly clear so frequently that he’s the one that doesn’t fit. Cameron’s the woman, Foreman’s the black guy, Chase is the other one. Cameron is the one that loves House, Foreman is the one that hates him, Chase is the other one. Even their specializations say it- the other two have flashy certifications in fields that people actually recognize, but his is just a fancy way of saying he’s good at helping really sick people.
His thoughts, all contradictory and twisted in on themselves, don’t resolve before his turn comes before the priest; but when it does, they just seem to spill out of his head. The man’s touch is soothing on his forehead, his vestments smelling of incense and warmth. For the moment, his mind is smoothed by the old familiarity, the calm refrain of the Sign of the Cross. It’s something concrete, something he can hold on to, something in black and white.
House will have a field day over the ashes on his brow, but he doesn’t care. Just for today, he’s not going to be the leftover, the middle ground. He’s going to be the one that stands out.
Summary: "He’s always the middle ground, where all are welcome but none are ever really safe."
Fandom: House
Word Count: 601
Rating/Warnings: PG, possibly dubious Catholicism
Pairing: None, Chase-centric
A/N: For Special Prompt: Ash Wednesday at house_fest. Title from Isaiah 48:20. I'm still not happy about the last line, but I don't think I'm ever going to be, because I must have gone through twenty iterations, all of which sucked.
Chase is late to Mass, which is no particular surprise, and slips into the back rows with the other lapsed Catholics. He sees the woman next to him nervously cast her eyes around, as if she’s trying to fool God into thinking she’s been here the whole time. Chase knows the type too well; somewhere he’s got a whole stack of papers detailing exactly how to deal with them. It’s better if he makes what he did in the ministry sound cold, clinical, rational. It’s not as if anyone but him will believe it, but it helps him through.
On his bookshelf, he’s got half a row devoted to hardbacks with titles like The Science of Religion and The Language of God. He’s got them neatly separated into two groups: Why It’s Okay To Believe, We Swear and Why You’re An Idiot For Believing. The more he reads, the more he decides that no, science and religion can’t work it out, because scientists and religious people don’t even know what they’re fighting about. He didn’t actually buy any of the stupid books, and every last one has the paper marker it came with stuck in somewhere before the middle.
He shakes his head, trying to bring his attention back to Mass, but it isn’t really working. The number of Masses he’s attended must reach the thousands, and as much as he enjoys going, it just isn’t the most riveting thing in the world anymore. It’s medium, lukewarm, just like so much in his life is.
The truth is that he doesn’t really fall one way or the other when it comes right down to ideology. Religion was always so much more about doing than believing for him, and science is no different. Your parishioner is in pain. You pray for them. They feel better. Your patient is in pain. You inject them. They feel better. It’s just how you get from Point A to Point B that makes the difference.
And in the middle of Points B and A, there’s always (Father, Doctor) Chase. He’s always the middle ground, where all are welcome but none are ever really safe. He’s startlingly loyal and heartbreakingly disloyal by turns, and it shows in everything. At work, he’s constantly stuck between House and whoever he’s up against- Ed Vogler, Cameron, even that bastard Tritter tried to make the most of it.
It wouldn’t be so easy if it wasn’t made so abundantly clear so frequently that he’s the one that doesn’t fit. Cameron’s the woman, Foreman’s the black guy, Chase is the other one. Cameron is the one that loves House, Foreman is the one that hates him, Chase is the other one. Even their specializations say it- the other two have flashy certifications in fields that people actually recognize, but his is just a fancy way of saying he’s good at helping really sick people.
His thoughts, all contradictory and twisted in on themselves, don’t resolve before his turn comes before the priest; but when it does, they just seem to spill out of his head. The man’s touch is soothing on his forehead, his vestments smelling of incense and warmth. For the moment, his mind is smoothed by the old familiarity, the calm refrain of the Sign of the Cross. It’s something concrete, something he can hold on to, something in black and white.
House will have a field day over the ashes on his brow, but he doesn’t care. Just for today, he’s not going to be the leftover, the middle ground. He’s going to be the one that stands out.