Fic: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint (1/?)
Title: Sinnerman, Prophet, Saint
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 1: The Living Shadows
Chapter 1: The Living Shadows
Some days earlier…
He should have known. Things had been going too well for it to last. If he had simply kept count the surprise would have been less of one. But he’d fallen into the easy comfort of an unconcerned life; unconcerned about his job so long as he did it well by his own standards. Unconcerned with the opinions of other people, they could cal him an ass-kisser all they wanted. Unconcerned with the future -he could coast through the rest of his life, being a talented and bright doctor afforded him at least that luxury. And in all this lack of concern, Chase rediscovered for a brief period, that almost forgotten sense of peace he’d been surprised to find in his father’s profession. Then the nightmare began again, and he cursed himself for falling into the trap of ease and comfort. He really should have known better.
Something in the corridor passing by caught his eye, and only his.
The white pill flipped ended over end, following a sharp arch as gravity took hold. Aware of that eventuality, a mouth was open in just the right spot to catch the small object that would bring him welcomed relief from his aching leg. He was still revelling in the freedom of being able to take his pills whenever he wanted. The New Jersey detective that had attempted to thwart his habit was now just an ugly memory that only taught him to hide his stash better. It was surprising how much trouble a thermometer forgotten up someone’s ass could cause.
Now well into the aftermath, bruises healed and vanished, House attempted to find balance again. Though much had changed, he didn’t expect it to stay that way for long. He was and addict, a junkie, only the nanoscopic chemical guiding too much of his existence was available with a prescription and he could still hold down a job. If anybody was surprised then it was there problem not his. Or so he convinced himself. He told himself he couldn’t have fallen from grace, never recalling being on its plains in the first place.
It didn’t bother him if they’re words hushed to a bare whisper when he entered the room to refill his already full cup of coffee. He didn’t face them as he dumped out the old brew and replaced it with the new. It didn’t phase him when they would only meet his eyes for a second, briefly showing their disappointment. It did stop him short however when his intensivist didn’t notice his presence at all. Soon his scrutiny drew the attention of the other two fellows and they followed his sight to the third.
“Chase, you ok?” Cameron ventured first.
His mouth opened and his words were ready but he froze.
House walked into the man’s line of sight and tilted his head just a little as he eyed the Australian. “What?” What was with that strange look on the young man’s face? House followed Chase’s gaze and looked behind him. There was nothing there but air and the glass wall a few feet behind him. He turned back to find that Chase had moved.
House stepped back, Chase being just a little too close for comfort, but he wasn’t Chase’s target. He continued past House and out into the corridor. He watched with wide eyes as a teenage boy walked down the corridor. Only it wasn’t the boy that had stolen his attention. It was the thing walking with him, the thing he knew nobody else but he could see. When it turned around to look at him Chase took a startled step back and promptly hit his shoulder against the doorjamb of to the conference room.
“Chase what is it?” Cameron stepped in front of him, concern in her brown eyes.
He glanced to her than back to the spectre that was walking with the boy again. He couldn’t find any words. He saw another pass next to another person and closed his eyes, ignoring the stare of the being when it looked at him. More seemed to appear then, precipitating out of the air to stand before him, staring, searching, asking. The corridor was soon filled with them, all different types that he had no desire to identify. He was suffocating! He had to get away!
Eyes still closed Chase stumbled back into the conference room, only opening them when he was sure he was facing the window. He felt the apparitions fade from sight, though their presence remained, an itch in the back of his mind.
He felt cold. The bright spring sun was on him, all around him but didn’t give him any warmth. A cool tingle of perspiration pricked his forehead and the back of his neck while he tried to keep his breathing normal. A heavy hand unexpectedly fell on his shoulder and Chase startled badly, pulling away from the grip.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” House told him with a voice that held some concern in it, as though he was a patient that had just displayed yet another strange symptom.
Chase took a shallow breath and shook his head. “They’re not ghosts.” He swallowed and turned back to the view through the window barely managing to hold the despair inside. They were creeping up on him, encroaching on the life he carved out, ready to dash it all. He knew this time there would be no escape, but he’d try anyway. “I think they’re real.”
“What?”
“…nothing.”
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---H/C---
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Annabelle Nelson seemed like a nice girl. She was working as a lawyer, just recently hired to a firm in the area. She had a pretty smile, bright eyes and an optimistic attitude. After assuring them that she and Cameron weren’t twins separated at birth they got on with treating her; or tying to. Nothing fit and what they had tried only made her worse. Another diagnostic session was coming to an end, the symptoms on the whiteboard having been modified to the patient’s current presentation.
“How can all the lab tests be normal?” Cameron asked of no one in particular. The blood sample and spinal fluid they’d collected had all come back typical.
“It could still be MS, lupus, CNS vasculitis, glioma or another brain cancer…” Foreman stated knowledgeably. The host of neurological symptoms put this case squarely in his court. The professional challenge was exciting, as was always being one step ahead of his colleagues, who were not experts in the field. Even House had to defer to him at times.
“It could still be an infection.”
Foreman shook his head with a condescending smile at Chase’s suggestion. Infection might be the only thing he could think of but Foreman knew better.
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention when the patient continued to decline when Cameron tried antibiotics,” House snipped nastily. Chase didn’t even turn a glare at him. His eyes were still on the white board and the list of symptoms: headache, vision loss, impaired speech, sweats and, most strangely, paralysis and spasms. How could somebody be paralyzed and still have muscle spasms?
The autonomic dysfunction that was beginning to present wasn’t indicative of either the paralysis or the spasms winning out and they couldn’t take her off the diazepam to get a clearer picture of her condition. After one particularly violent set of spasms broke her ulna, Chase had begun a drip of the muscle relaxant. Lessening the dose in order to get a better feel for the symptoms had only resulted in more involuntary muscle spasms, as had their first attempt at treating this ailment as an infection.
“Maybe whatever this is, is resistant to penicillin,” Chase suggested.
“Or maybe it’s not an infection at all. We need to do a biopsy.” House stood up from where he’d been seated on the table and limped towards the door. The others followed, Chase still arguing his case.
“There are other things we could do first.”
“We could watch our fingernails grow and wait to see if she gets any better by herself too, but this way is a lot more fun, and more conclusive.”
“You can’t just drill a hole in her head because you have a hunch. You’re being impatient.”
House stopped and stared down his unusually vociferous fellow. “Fine. If you have a new idea we’ll try that! If you’re still stuck on infection, then shut up!”
“It could be drug-induced-”
“You always think it’s drugs, or alcohol,” Foreman scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Chase turned a glare to Foreman. “And you always think it’s Lupus. Which of us has been right more often?” The sudden pugnacity left House and Cameron glancing between the two men, as another troublesome clue in the unusual mystery of the intensive care specialist emerged. Chase rarely snapped at anyone. Foreman’s brows were furrowed putting a set of dark lines into the smooth, dark forehead. He cast a glance to Cameron and House who were both looking as surprised as he, though House was a touch amused.
Cameron made to intervene but House beat her too it. “If you think it’s drugs, prove it. The rest of us are going to go do that doctoring thing.” House nodded his head in the direction of their patient while looking at Foreman and Cameron. They left, Foreman shaking his head at the odd confrontation.
House was still giving Chase an openly judging look which he knew would annoy the man, as he saw it was. Something was going on with his fellow and so far he’d figured out nothing. All he knew was that Chase was distant and, the best word House could think of was, unbalanced.
“Whatever is going on, keep it out of the hospital,” House scolded, his callousness winning out over his mild concern. “I don’t want you killing anymore patients.”
“But it’s okay for you to give a weak patient a dangerous procedure, because you’re stumped.” Chase knew he was treading on dangerous territory. The last time he’d opposed House like this he’d gotten a fist in the face for his effort. But in the shadow of his current problems, House seemed like nothing at all. And at least House was now medicated and thus a little more even-tempered.
“I’m not stumped. I have an idea and I’m carrying it out. You’re stumped, so you keep repeating an idea that’s already been ruled out. And infection was Cameron’s idea. Get your own.”
Although it had been Cameron who suggested tetanus to House, Chase had commented first during the rush to stabilize Annabelle during a full-body spasm that it seemed like tetanus. While he’d been finishing with Nelson and leaving instructions for the diazepam to be administered, the others had continued with the differential and Cameron had brought up the possible diagnosis. Chase had arrived back just in time to hear House consider and then shoot down the suggestion, as it only accounted for a few of the long list of symptoms. He hadn’t said anything, though he wished that Cameron had pushed more for House to consider tetanus. But he hadn’t felt much like playing these games as of late anyway; not with the portents of greater conflicts whispering in his dreams.
So, he dismissed easily his boss’s jibe. “I’ll pay royalties to her later. Right now I’m going to give Ms. Nelson a different antibiotic.” He was turned halfway around, about to go pick out an antibiotic when…
“Do, and I’ll fire you,” House threatened. It was the only thing he really had on Chase anymore, but this job was the only thing Chase really had too. Chase’s behaviour had been somewhat odd as of late but that he came to work and performed well as a doctor was never in question. House was at once annoyed and intrigued. He wondered how deep this change went or if this was simple some juvenile rebellion phase Chase was belatedly going through.
Chase couldn’t believe House was doing this. House didn’t listen to him, didn’t like him, didn’t respect him and Chase figured he should have been used to that. But this was getting old. How many times were his ideas supposed to be disregarded just because they were his?
“Fine, fire me,” Chase was going to say but was cut off before the angry words could come out.
“We can’t get a procedure room until tomorrow,” Cameron’s worried voice informed.
“Wilson can get us one,” Foreman suggested following behind Cameron. “Head of oncology can bump a couple of biopsies to tomorrow.”
House felt all their eyes on him even as he kept his heated gaze on Chase. The young physician crossed his arms and tilted his head expectantly. He knew that the relationship between House and Wilson was strained as of late, even months after the betrayal. Many people still churned theories over the act that had even the Dean of Medicine stomping through the corridors. When finally the situation imploded and the dust cleared, nothing substantial had changed except for the subtle new rift between old friends. Lines had been drawn, each thinking they now knew where the other rated their importance.
“Book the biopsy for tomorrow. I can give her antibiotics tonight. If I’m wrong she doesn’t get any better and you can crack her head open in the morning,” Chase pushed and waited for his minimal victory.
House hated being one-upped. He hated being backed into a corner, especially if there was a door there that he just wouldn’t open. He glanced to said wood door, James Wilson, M.D. Head of Oncology written in shiny grey letters across the surface. He had apologized to Wilson (in his way) but there was still a thin fog of mistrust between them that left their friendship in a state of perpetual awkwardness. He couldn’t run to Wilson every time he had a problem, because in the back of his mind he wondered if they were still friends on that level, or was the trust gone? This time he wasn’t doing anything wrong (unless Chase was right) but he wasn’t going to go beg to get some time in a procedure room. There were certain social things that House chose to avoid, and a great deal as of late.
Besides, he was certain that the patient was lying to him. Well, she had been lying to him before. Right now she could barely form coherent sentences. Still he wasn’t going to Wilson just for her.
“Give her your antibiotic. And stay the night just to make sure she doesn’t flat line.” He roughly shouldered past the Aussie and went back to his office. Chase glared back at him but didn’t waste so much as a glance on his co-workers before going to get the antibiotic he wanted.
He was followed
“What are you thinking?” Cameron’s voice floated to him from the other side of the closet door in the pharmacy. She peaked around it, watching his hands skim over the numerous clear bags with different solutions.
“Just curious, or are you looking for more ideas to pass-off as your own?” He found the bag for which he was looking. “Metronidazole, for anaerobic bacterial infection.”
“Still thinking tetanus?” She ignored the jab at her, not feeling at all guilty. She had only made a suggestion. The patient was more important than Chase’s pride or looking good in front of House. “It only explains the spasms and the headache.”
“And the autonomic dysfunction and the fever.”
“The mild fever. A tetanus infection that bad would produce a more severe fever. And what about the rest of the neurological symptoms and the intermittent paralysis? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be right, wanting to prove to House that you can-”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to him. I’m trying to help this woman before she can’t be helped.”
Cameron flinched when the closet door was slammed shut with just a bit too much force. Not far away a pair of nurses shifted their eyes to them but looked away with a shake of their heads, the antics of the diagnostics department having become tedious and bothersome after so long.
“It doesn’t fit, Chase,” Cameron warned. She fell into step next to him as he moved quickly towards their patient.
“Why does one thing have to explain it all? Why can’t she have tetanus and something else?”
“She could but the chances of two infections that both have primarily neurological symptoms is unlikely.”
“Why?” He challenged simply, while he hung the bag and removed the transparent brown covering that was used for storage. “Because House didn’t think of it?”
“She’s not a drug user.” Finally the crux of the matter. That was the suggestion that continued to annoy her with Chase and this case. His insistence that she used drugs made her less accepting of and more hostile towards his ideas as she tried on some level to prove that good girls can be good girls without cracking and going bad.
They’d all seen the scars on the inside crease of her elbow. Nelson had said they were from old blood tests as she’d been sick a while ago. The story was believable but Chase had immediately countered that she was using drugs. The tox screen had come back clean but that didn’t prove anything except that she hadn’t used lately. Still Cameron believed her.
“And how well do you know her?” Chase asked sarcastically.
“I know her type.” She put her hand on his arm to stop him and he pulled it quickly back, uncomfortable with the touch. Cameron didn’t seem to notice as she went on. “She’s worked hard to get where she is and she’s not going throw it away by doing something stupid, like taking drugs…or having a dumb fling with a colleague.”
“Oh, ouch!” Chase put a hand to his heart and a fake wounded expression on his face. The expression vanished quickly, giving even more proof of its mendacity. Cameron’s lips thinned. “I know her type too,” Chase started. “She can’t see the bad side of any of her actions. She thinks she walks with the angels and is ignorant of all her short comings, of which there are more than a few. She takes too much responsibility for the tragic, unfortunate things that aren’t her fault. Let’s herself be hurt even if she can see it coming a mile away and wonders why nobody commends her for her nobility.” The line was attached and Chase set the flow rate on the infuser.
“Just because you’ve never taken the moral high-ground-”
He didn’t even face her when he laughed. “Is that what they’re calling that sanctimonious shit these days? Or is just another American term I’m unfamiliar with?”
“Being a human being means having some empathy, trusting in people. I don’t know where yours went.”
“Being a human being also means protecting yourself from things that will only end in hurt! I don’t understand why you keep…believing when you know what’s around the corner! That’s not empathy! That’s stupidity and it doesn’t make you a better person for doing it.”
Cameron’s right hand clenched and she fought and barely won over the urge to slap him.
“Keep it up and you’ll end up like her,” He nodded to the sleeping patient. He picked up the packaging and the other rubbish and tossed them. As he left he stated, knowing somehow that it was true, “She is a drug user.”
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---H/C---
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“I see he slapped you with the graveyard shift.”
Chase shrugged. “The antibiotics were my idea,” he excused. “What are you still doing here?” It was well past midnight and even the most dedicated of physicians tried to make it home before the next day rolled over. Mostly that was for the sake of families, letting the kids see you before they went to bed, knowing that he or she would be gone back to work before they got up. Maybe it was only something that good parents did. Chase’s father hadn’t.
“Just trying to clear up a few files that have been cluttering my desk,” Wilson said casually. “I thought I’d take a break. Thought I’d drag you to take one too.” He and Chase weren’t close. They didn’t interact often, barely nodded when the passed each other in the corridor but after House had taken out his frustration on Chase and Chase’s subsequent withdrawal from the rest of the team, Wilson was felt he had to offer something to help, even if it was just a meal without being judged. He knew people were still giving him a hard time about Detective Tritter’s meddling, which had only brought back memories of his betrayal of House to Vogler.
Wilson knew how it felt to be the bad guy. And when it was House that played the good guy, you had to be really, really bad. Oddly enough, Wilson had been forgiven rather quickly once it leaked to the hospital staff what he’d done. Perhaps his years of silent suffering as House’s friend and his general blundering charm had gotten him a free pass.
“I have to stay with Ms. Nelson,” Chase said, declining the meal offer, despite his hunger.
“I figured. That’s why I brought the break here.” He held up the paper bag with a fast food logo written on the side.
“Um…thanks.”
Wilson quietly, as not to disturb the patient, brought a chair over and handed Chase a burger. He knew Chase didn’t indulge in fast food often but every once in a while seemed to be okay. Wilson dug into his burger, skipping dinner having left him famished. He didn’t even care when a mixture of tomato-water, mayonnaise and ketchup dripped from his sandwich and fell onto the trousers he’d just pulled fresh from the drycleaner’s plastic bag this morning. With the pinky of his right hand he scooped up the small dollop of condiments and brought it to his mouth. He looked to his eating partner just in time to catch a slight smile before he took another, timid bite of his burger.
“So how’s she doing?”
“Okay for now. Added TIG to go along with the metronidazole.”
“Tetanus?”
“Looks like.”
“You’re getting good at this,” Wilson complimented through his mouthful, thinking that perhaps Chase would like to hear it from someone. Chase didn’t respond, still pondering the patient. Meanwhile James who was about to speak again realized his mouth was still full. He’d spoken a moment ago while still chewing, but he felt to do so twice was past rude and pushing boorish.
He assumed that Chase probably knew all about proper manners too, but he rarely used them. There was an art, or something not quite tangible that Wilson could never really master about the whole extensive list of proper table manners. When Julie had insisted that they go out to a very fancy restaurant, the type where the waiters wore tuxes almost as nice as the patrons and served the food (none of which was written in English on the menu) with white gloves, Wilson had always deferred to her in regards to the proper way of approaching the artful but not quite edible looking dishes. She’d giggled and shown him what to do. It was in those moments that their marriage, fraught with arguments and misunderstandings felt like it was supposed to. It was partnership and love, and he never bothered to figure out what all the forks were for.
Chase must have known. There was just something about his air of lassitude but the distinct lack of worry in it that made Wilson suspect. He imagined that Chase could have, if he’d wanted, fit right in at that overpriced restaurant -charmed the maitre de into giving him and his company a table even if they didn’t have a reservation. He could make polite but still interesting conversation, draw out a few laughs, play the people around him like a well-tuned instrument. He’d order the perfect wine for their meal, translate the unfamiliar entrees in the menu without making anyone feel unintelligent and make the perfect toast before commenting on the vintage of their drinks. Of course that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was that Chase could probably do all this and chose not to that drew Wilson’s curiosity. Maybe that’s what drew everyone’s curiosity after they’d gotten past his looks.
“There’s still something else going on. Tetatus doesn’t explain everything,” Chase added in a vague mimicry of his colleagues that he didn’t expect Wilson to pick-up on.
“Well, with this infection off the table you guys can see clearly whatever else is going on.”
“Yeah,” Chase murmured unenthusiastically around a bite of his meal.
Wilson wiped his mouth with a napkin, giving himself a moment to consider what he was going to say. “You don’t have much time left in your fellowship. Don’t let him get the better of you now.”
Chase wanted to tell Wilson that his mood wasn’t about House. He had much bigger, much creepier, much scarier problems to deal with. He couldn’t say that though. And, of course, behind those problems was House, who he had turned into a non-issue when he gave up on him and gave up on them. Not in a romantic sense, but in regards to a good working relationship.
“He’s not getting to me. He already got to me and I’ve already…I don’t know…lost? Broken? I’m not exactly sure what this is supposed to be called.”
Wilson was going to speak but Chase cut him short.
“If you’re going to apologize, don’t. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I was going to apologize for him.”
Chase cringed. Somehow that was even worse. “Don’t bother. I don’t want, or need an apology.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted any more. He intended to finish his fellowship and then leave with no intention of speaking to any of these people again. Not because there weren’t any he actually liked, but because he couldn’t risk leaving a trail. He was already risking quite a bit staying here to the end of his term.
Wilson crumpled his burger wrapper and napkin together. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Chase’s head that the man he’d admired for so long meant so little to him. It was one of the reasons he’d gone to Tritter and agreed to testify against House in the first place. House had snapped at Lisa and brought her to tears. She hadn’t deserved that. He’d punched Chase, when he’d been trying to save a child’s life, and save her from a life of disfigurement. He hadn’t deserved that. House had used his best friend to support his drug habit. Wilson didn’t think he deserved that, and he couldn’t watch the downward spiral. He couldn’t turn away from it like he had turned away from his brother after he’d snapped at everyone and pushed them away.
His brother had vanished, becoming one of the many nameless unfortunates that slept in cardboard boxes in dank alleys. Maybe he was a John Doe listed under a number in a pauper’s grave along with the other lost ones. Wilson could not watch his best friend do the same and not take the drastic measure he knew he needed to in order to save him before Detective Tritter made it too late.
It had worked. It had cost a part of their almost perfectly if somewhat erratically running friendship, but it was worth it. House was stable, still and addict, but James liked to think he was less controlled by his addiction than he had been. Or he hoped, at the very least, that House was smarter about it.
“You did the right thing.” The soft statement almost sounded like his conscience trying to reassure him, except for the accent.
Wilson directed his gaze to the man at his left and found Chase staring out the glass wall.
“He needed someone who loved him enough to cause a momentary hurt, so that he could be saved.” His voice was barely a whisper and his words sounded as distant as Chase had been sometimes over the last few months.
“Chase?”
The blond man stood from his chair and absently placed his burger there before striding slowly to the rooms only exit. He peered out and his eyes seemed to follow something as it moved down the hall. Behind him, Wilson couldn’t see anything except an empty corridor. After a quick glance back at the patient, who appeared stable, Chase continued out, Wilson following with confusion shading his face.
Chase turned right, stepping slowly and silently, just watching, awed and scared at the same time.
“Azrael,” he whispered. Wilson heard and recognized the name sometimes given to the angel of death.
Chase stopped cold.
Wilson nearly bumped into him. Eventually did but that was because Chase took a startled step back, eyes wide with fright.
“Chase?”
From down the hall and around a corner the intermittent beeping that they’d barely noticed turned to a sustained shrill tone as the heart monitor flat-lined. A cry of sadness and pain carried to them as the poor woman lamented the loss of her loved one.
Chase nodded. A moment later he relaxed and breathed again.
“Chase, what is it?”
Chase could only shake his head. He couldn’t say what he’d just seen. He didn’t want to end up in the psyche ward, though sometimes he wondered if a short trip there might do him some good. He’d been able to see them but this was the first time one had ever responded to him. And this wasn’t just any one of them. That was Azrael. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he knew.
“-you okay? What happened?” Wilson’s hands were at his shoulders and he was gently shaking him when Chase’s mind finally became aware again.
“…it’s…nothing.” Chase pulled away and straightened his labcoat. Eyes down, voice hollow, he thanked Wilson for the burger and went back to Ms. Nelson’s room.
Once he was out of sight Wilson went to the room where they had just heard the tell-tale sounds of someone’s death. As he approached he saw a sad but collected colleague, Sampson. The other man gave a sad shake of his head. There was nothing anyone could do. They couldn’t cure death. This patient was no longer theirs.
Wilson nodded solemnly and turned to go the way he’d come. The trip back to his office was filled with silent, furious thought, eventually breaking down to two statements that he could not quite believe.
Azrael had been there.
Chase had seen him.
End Chapter 1
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- - - H/C - - -
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Check out the Cast and Characters!
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Chase/OMC, House/Chase
Summary: The marks of the saints and a past he won’t remember force Chase and House to face religion head on. They won’t get his fellow without a fight!
Spoilers: Up to season 4 Finale.
Genre: Drama, Action/Adventure, Supernatural
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. I’m not making any money off this story.
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Language, Adult Situations, Violence, M/M relationships. Do not read this story if any of these bother you!
Chapter 1: The Living Shadows
Chapter 1: The Living Shadows
Some days earlier…
He should have known. Things had been going too well for it to last. If he had simply kept count the surprise would have been less of one. But he’d fallen into the easy comfort of an unconcerned life; unconcerned about his job so long as he did it well by his own standards. Unconcerned with the opinions of other people, they could cal him an ass-kisser all they wanted. Unconcerned with the future -he could coast through the rest of his life, being a talented and bright doctor afforded him at least that luxury. And in all this lack of concern, Chase rediscovered for a brief period, that almost forgotten sense of peace he’d been surprised to find in his father’s profession. Then the nightmare began again, and he cursed himself for falling into the trap of ease and comfort. He really should have known better.
Something in the corridor passing by caught his eye, and only his.
The white pill flipped ended over end, following a sharp arch as gravity took hold. Aware of that eventuality, a mouth was open in just the right spot to catch the small object that would bring him welcomed relief from his aching leg. He was still revelling in the freedom of being able to take his pills whenever he wanted. The New Jersey detective that had attempted to thwart his habit was now just an ugly memory that only taught him to hide his stash better. It was surprising how much trouble a thermometer forgotten up someone’s ass could cause.
Now well into the aftermath, bruises healed and vanished, House attempted to find balance again. Though much had changed, he didn’t expect it to stay that way for long. He was and addict, a junkie, only the nanoscopic chemical guiding too much of his existence was available with a prescription and he could still hold down a job. If anybody was surprised then it was there problem not his. Or so he convinced himself. He told himself he couldn’t have fallen from grace, never recalling being on its plains in the first place.
It didn’t bother him if they’re words hushed to a bare whisper when he entered the room to refill his already full cup of coffee. He didn’t face them as he dumped out the old brew and replaced it with the new. It didn’t phase him when they would only meet his eyes for a second, briefly showing their disappointment. It did stop him short however when his intensivist didn’t notice his presence at all. Soon his scrutiny drew the attention of the other two fellows and they followed his sight to the third.
“Chase, you ok?” Cameron ventured first.
His mouth opened and his words were ready but he froze.
House walked into the man’s line of sight and tilted his head just a little as he eyed the Australian. “What?” What was with that strange look on the young man’s face? House followed Chase’s gaze and looked behind him. There was nothing there but air and the glass wall a few feet behind him. He turned back to find that Chase had moved.
House stepped back, Chase being just a little too close for comfort, but he wasn’t Chase’s target. He continued past House and out into the corridor. He watched with wide eyes as a teenage boy walked down the corridor. Only it wasn’t the boy that had stolen his attention. It was the thing walking with him, the thing he knew nobody else but he could see. When it turned around to look at him Chase took a startled step back and promptly hit his shoulder against the doorjamb of to the conference room.
“Chase what is it?” Cameron stepped in front of him, concern in her brown eyes.
He glanced to her than back to the spectre that was walking with the boy again. He couldn’t find any words. He saw another pass next to another person and closed his eyes, ignoring the stare of the being when it looked at him. More seemed to appear then, precipitating out of the air to stand before him, staring, searching, asking. The corridor was soon filled with them, all different types that he had no desire to identify. He was suffocating! He had to get away!
Eyes still closed Chase stumbled back into the conference room, only opening them when he was sure he was facing the window. He felt the apparitions fade from sight, though their presence remained, an itch in the back of his mind.
He felt cold. The bright spring sun was on him, all around him but didn’t give him any warmth. A cool tingle of perspiration pricked his forehead and the back of his neck while he tried to keep his breathing normal. A heavy hand unexpectedly fell on his shoulder and Chase startled badly, pulling away from the grip.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” House told him with a voice that held some concern in it, as though he was a patient that had just displayed yet another strange symptom.
Chase took a shallow breath and shook his head. “They’re not ghosts.” He swallowed and turned back to the view through the window barely managing to hold the despair inside. They were creeping up on him, encroaching on the life he carved out, ready to dash it all. He knew this time there would be no escape, but he’d try anyway. “I think they’re real.”
“What?”
“…nothing.”
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---H/C---
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Annabelle Nelson seemed like a nice girl. She was working as a lawyer, just recently hired to a firm in the area. She had a pretty smile, bright eyes and an optimistic attitude. After assuring them that she and Cameron weren’t twins separated at birth they got on with treating her; or tying to. Nothing fit and what they had tried only made her worse. Another diagnostic session was coming to an end, the symptoms on the whiteboard having been modified to the patient’s current presentation.
“How can all the lab tests be normal?” Cameron asked of no one in particular. The blood sample and spinal fluid they’d collected had all come back typical.
“It could still be MS, lupus, CNS vasculitis, glioma or another brain cancer…” Foreman stated knowledgeably. The host of neurological symptoms put this case squarely in his court. The professional challenge was exciting, as was always being one step ahead of his colleagues, who were not experts in the field. Even House had to defer to him at times.
“It could still be an infection.”
Foreman shook his head with a condescending smile at Chase’s suggestion. Infection might be the only thing he could think of but Foreman knew better.
“Maybe you weren’t paying attention when the patient continued to decline when Cameron tried antibiotics,” House snipped nastily. Chase didn’t even turn a glare at him. His eyes were still on the white board and the list of symptoms: headache, vision loss, impaired speech, sweats and, most strangely, paralysis and spasms. How could somebody be paralyzed and still have muscle spasms?
The autonomic dysfunction that was beginning to present wasn’t indicative of either the paralysis or the spasms winning out and they couldn’t take her off the diazepam to get a clearer picture of her condition. After one particularly violent set of spasms broke her ulna, Chase had begun a drip of the muscle relaxant. Lessening the dose in order to get a better feel for the symptoms had only resulted in more involuntary muscle spasms, as had their first attempt at treating this ailment as an infection.
“Maybe whatever this is, is resistant to penicillin,” Chase suggested.
“Or maybe it’s not an infection at all. We need to do a biopsy.” House stood up from where he’d been seated on the table and limped towards the door. The others followed, Chase still arguing his case.
“There are other things we could do first.”
“We could watch our fingernails grow and wait to see if she gets any better by herself too, but this way is a lot more fun, and more conclusive.”
“You can’t just drill a hole in her head because you have a hunch. You’re being impatient.”
House stopped and stared down his unusually vociferous fellow. “Fine. If you have a new idea we’ll try that! If you’re still stuck on infection, then shut up!”
“It could be drug-induced-”
“You always think it’s drugs, or alcohol,” Foreman scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Chase turned a glare to Foreman. “And you always think it’s Lupus. Which of us has been right more often?” The sudden pugnacity left House and Cameron glancing between the two men, as another troublesome clue in the unusual mystery of the intensive care specialist emerged. Chase rarely snapped at anyone. Foreman’s brows were furrowed putting a set of dark lines into the smooth, dark forehead. He cast a glance to Cameron and House who were both looking as surprised as he, though House was a touch amused.
Cameron made to intervene but House beat her too it. “If you think it’s drugs, prove it. The rest of us are going to go do that doctoring thing.” House nodded his head in the direction of their patient while looking at Foreman and Cameron. They left, Foreman shaking his head at the odd confrontation.
House was still giving Chase an openly judging look which he knew would annoy the man, as he saw it was. Something was going on with his fellow and so far he’d figured out nothing. All he knew was that Chase was distant and, the best word House could think of was, unbalanced.
“Whatever is going on, keep it out of the hospital,” House scolded, his callousness winning out over his mild concern. “I don’t want you killing anymore patients.”
“But it’s okay for you to give a weak patient a dangerous procedure, because you’re stumped.” Chase knew he was treading on dangerous territory. The last time he’d opposed House like this he’d gotten a fist in the face for his effort. But in the shadow of his current problems, House seemed like nothing at all. And at least House was now medicated and thus a little more even-tempered.
“I’m not stumped. I have an idea and I’m carrying it out. You’re stumped, so you keep repeating an idea that’s already been ruled out. And infection was Cameron’s idea. Get your own.”
Although it had been Cameron who suggested tetanus to House, Chase had commented first during the rush to stabilize Annabelle during a full-body spasm that it seemed like tetanus. While he’d been finishing with Nelson and leaving instructions for the diazepam to be administered, the others had continued with the differential and Cameron had brought up the possible diagnosis. Chase had arrived back just in time to hear House consider and then shoot down the suggestion, as it only accounted for a few of the long list of symptoms. He hadn’t said anything, though he wished that Cameron had pushed more for House to consider tetanus. But he hadn’t felt much like playing these games as of late anyway; not with the portents of greater conflicts whispering in his dreams.
So, he dismissed easily his boss’s jibe. “I’ll pay royalties to her later. Right now I’m going to give Ms. Nelson a different antibiotic.” He was turned halfway around, about to go pick out an antibiotic when…
“Do, and I’ll fire you,” House threatened. It was the only thing he really had on Chase anymore, but this job was the only thing Chase really had too. Chase’s behaviour had been somewhat odd as of late but that he came to work and performed well as a doctor was never in question. House was at once annoyed and intrigued. He wondered how deep this change went or if this was simple some juvenile rebellion phase Chase was belatedly going through.
Chase couldn’t believe House was doing this. House didn’t listen to him, didn’t like him, didn’t respect him and Chase figured he should have been used to that. But this was getting old. How many times were his ideas supposed to be disregarded just because they were his?
“Fine, fire me,” Chase was going to say but was cut off before the angry words could come out.
“We can’t get a procedure room until tomorrow,” Cameron’s worried voice informed.
“Wilson can get us one,” Foreman suggested following behind Cameron. “Head of oncology can bump a couple of biopsies to tomorrow.”
House felt all their eyes on him even as he kept his heated gaze on Chase. The young physician crossed his arms and tilted his head expectantly. He knew that the relationship between House and Wilson was strained as of late, even months after the betrayal. Many people still churned theories over the act that had even the Dean of Medicine stomping through the corridors. When finally the situation imploded and the dust cleared, nothing substantial had changed except for the subtle new rift between old friends. Lines had been drawn, each thinking they now knew where the other rated their importance.
“Book the biopsy for tomorrow. I can give her antibiotics tonight. If I’m wrong she doesn’t get any better and you can crack her head open in the morning,” Chase pushed and waited for his minimal victory.
House hated being one-upped. He hated being backed into a corner, especially if there was a door there that he just wouldn’t open. He glanced to said wood door, James Wilson, M.D. Head of Oncology written in shiny grey letters across the surface. He had apologized to Wilson (in his way) but there was still a thin fog of mistrust between them that left their friendship in a state of perpetual awkwardness. He couldn’t run to Wilson every time he had a problem, because in the back of his mind he wondered if they were still friends on that level, or was the trust gone? This time he wasn’t doing anything wrong (unless Chase was right) but he wasn’t going to go beg to get some time in a procedure room. There were certain social things that House chose to avoid, and a great deal as of late.
Besides, he was certain that the patient was lying to him. Well, she had been lying to him before. Right now she could barely form coherent sentences. Still he wasn’t going to Wilson just for her.
“Give her your antibiotic. And stay the night just to make sure she doesn’t flat line.” He roughly shouldered past the Aussie and went back to his office. Chase glared back at him but didn’t waste so much as a glance on his co-workers before going to get the antibiotic he wanted.
He was followed
“What are you thinking?” Cameron’s voice floated to him from the other side of the closet door in the pharmacy. She peaked around it, watching his hands skim over the numerous clear bags with different solutions.
“Just curious, or are you looking for more ideas to pass-off as your own?” He found the bag for which he was looking. “Metronidazole, for anaerobic bacterial infection.”
“Still thinking tetanus?” She ignored the jab at her, not feeling at all guilty. She had only made a suggestion. The patient was more important than Chase’s pride or looking good in front of House. “It only explains the spasms and the headache.”
“And the autonomic dysfunction and the fever.”
“The mild fever. A tetanus infection that bad would produce a more severe fever. And what about the rest of the neurological symptoms and the intermittent paralysis? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be right, wanting to prove to House that you can-”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to him. I’m trying to help this woman before she can’t be helped.”
Cameron flinched when the closet door was slammed shut with just a bit too much force. Not far away a pair of nurses shifted their eyes to them but looked away with a shake of their heads, the antics of the diagnostics department having become tedious and bothersome after so long.
“It doesn’t fit, Chase,” Cameron warned. She fell into step next to him as he moved quickly towards their patient.
“Why does one thing have to explain it all? Why can’t she have tetanus and something else?”
“She could but the chances of two infections that both have primarily neurological symptoms is unlikely.”
“Why?” He challenged simply, while he hung the bag and removed the transparent brown covering that was used for storage. “Because House didn’t think of it?”
“She’s not a drug user.” Finally the crux of the matter. That was the suggestion that continued to annoy her with Chase and this case. His insistence that she used drugs made her less accepting of and more hostile towards his ideas as she tried on some level to prove that good girls can be good girls without cracking and going bad.
They’d all seen the scars on the inside crease of her elbow. Nelson had said they were from old blood tests as she’d been sick a while ago. The story was believable but Chase had immediately countered that she was using drugs. The tox screen had come back clean but that didn’t prove anything except that she hadn’t used lately. Still Cameron believed her.
“And how well do you know her?” Chase asked sarcastically.
“I know her type.” She put her hand on his arm to stop him and he pulled it quickly back, uncomfortable with the touch. Cameron didn’t seem to notice as she went on. “She’s worked hard to get where she is and she’s not going throw it away by doing something stupid, like taking drugs…or having a dumb fling with a colleague.”
“Oh, ouch!” Chase put a hand to his heart and a fake wounded expression on his face. The expression vanished quickly, giving even more proof of its mendacity. Cameron’s lips thinned. “I know her type too,” Chase started. “She can’t see the bad side of any of her actions. She thinks she walks with the angels and is ignorant of all her short comings, of which there are more than a few. She takes too much responsibility for the tragic, unfortunate things that aren’t her fault. Let’s herself be hurt even if she can see it coming a mile away and wonders why nobody commends her for her nobility.” The line was attached and Chase set the flow rate on the infuser.
“Just because you’ve never taken the moral high-ground-”
He didn’t even face her when he laughed. “Is that what they’re calling that sanctimonious shit these days? Or is just another American term I’m unfamiliar with?”
“Being a human being means having some empathy, trusting in people. I don’t know where yours went.”
“Being a human being also means protecting yourself from things that will only end in hurt! I don’t understand why you keep…believing when you know what’s around the corner! That’s not empathy! That’s stupidity and it doesn’t make you a better person for doing it.”
Cameron’s right hand clenched and she fought and barely won over the urge to slap him.
“Keep it up and you’ll end up like her,” He nodded to the sleeping patient. He picked up the packaging and the other rubbish and tossed them. As he left he stated, knowing somehow that it was true, “She is a drug user.”
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---H/C---
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“I see he slapped you with the graveyard shift.”
Chase shrugged. “The antibiotics were my idea,” he excused. “What are you still doing here?” It was well past midnight and even the most dedicated of physicians tried to make it home before the next day rolled over. Mostly that was for the sake of families, letting the kids see you before they went to bed, knowing that he or she would be gone back to work before they got up. Maybe it was only something that good parents did. Chase’s father hadn’t.
“Just trying to clear up a few files that have been cluttering my desk,” Wilson said casually. “I thought I’d take a break. Thought I’d drag you to take one too.” He and Chase weren’t close. They didn’t interact often, barely nodded when the passed each other in the corridor but after House had taken out his frustration on Chase and Chase’s subsequent withdrawal from the rest of the team, Wilson was felt he had to offer something to help, even if it was just a meal without being judged. He knew people were still giving him a hard time about Detective Tritter’s meddling, which had only brought back memories of his betrayal of House to Vogler.
Wilson knew how it felt to be the bad guy. And when it was House that played the good guy, you had to be really, really bad. Oddly enough, Wilson had been forgiven rather quickly once it leaked to the hospital staff what he’d done. Perhaps his years of silent suffering as House’s friend and his general blundering charm had gotten him a free pass.
“I have to stay with Ms. Nelson,” Chase said, declining the meal offer, despite his hunger.
“I figured. That’s why I brought the break here.” He held up the paper bag with a fast food logo written on the side.
“Um…thanks.”
Wilson quietly, as not to disturb the patient, brought a chair over and handed Chase a burger. He knew Chase didn’t indulge in fast food often but every once in a while seemed to be okay. Wilson dug into his burger, skipping dinner having left him famished. He didn’t even care when a mixture of tomato-water, mayonnaise and ketchup dripped from his sandwich and fell onto the trousers he’d just pulled fresh from the drycleaner’s plastic bag this morning. With the pinky of his right hand he scooped up the small dollop of condiments and brought it to his mouth. He looked to his eating partner just in time to catch a slight smile before he took another, timid bite of his burger.
“So how’s she doing?”
“Okay for now. Added TIG to go along with the metronidazole.”
“Tetanus?”
“Looks like.”
“You’re getting good at this,” Wilson complimented through his mouthful, thinking that perhaps Chase would like to hear it from someone. Chase didn’t respond, still pondering the patient. Meanwhile James who was about to speak again realized his mouth was still full. He’d spoken a moment ago while still chewing, but he felt to do so twice was past rude and pushing boorish.
He assumed that Chase probably knew all about proper manners too, but he rarely used them. There was an art, or something not quite tangible that Wilson could never really master about the whole extensive list of proper table manners. When Julie had insisted that they go out to a very fancy restaurant, the type where the waiters wore tuxes almost as nice as the patrons and served the food (none of which was written in English on the menu) with white gloves, Wilson had always deferred to her in regards to the proper way of approaching the artful but not quite edible looking dishes. She’d giggled and shown him what to do. It was in those moments that their marriage, fraught with arguments and misunderstandings felt like it was supposed to. It was partnership and love, and he never bothered to figure out what all the forks were for.
Chase must have known. There was just something about his air of lassitude but the distinct lack of worry in it that made Wilson suspect. He imagined that Chase could have, if he’d wanted, fit right in at that overpriced restaurant -charmed the maitre de into giving him and his company a table even if they didn’t have a reservation. He could make polite but still interesting conversation, draw out a few laughs, play the people around him like a well-tuned instrument. He’d order the perfect wine for their meal, translate the unfamiliar entrees in the menu without making anyone feel unintelligent and make the perfect toast before commenting on the vintage of their drinks. Of course that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was that Chase could probably do all this and chose not to that drew Wilson’s curiosity. Maybe that’s what drew everyone’s curiosity after they’d gotten past his looks.
“There’s still something else going on. Tetatus doesn’t explain everything,” Chase added in a vague mimicry of his colleagues that he didn’t expect Wilson to pick-up on.
“Well, with this infection off the table you guys can see clearly whatever else is going on.”
“Yeah,” Chase murmured unenthusiastically around a bite of his meal.
Wilson wiped his mouth with a napkin, giving himself a moment to consider what he was going to say. “You don’t have much time left in your fellowship. Don’t let him get the better of you now.”
Chase wanted to tell Wilson that his mood wasn’t about House. He had much bigger, much creepier, much scarier problems to deal with. He couldn’t say that though. And, of course, behind those problems was House, who he had turned into a non-issue when he gave up on him and gave up on them. Not in a romantic sense, but in regards to a good working relationship.
“He’s not getting to me. He already got to me and I’ve already…I don’t know…lost? Broken? I’m not exactly sure what this is supposed to be called.”
Wilson was going to speak but Chase cut him short.
“If you’re going to apologize, don’t. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I was going to apologize for him.”
Chase cringed. Somehow that was even worse. “Don’t bother. I don’t want, or need an apology.” He wasn’t sure what he wanted any more. He intended to finish his fellowship and then leave with no intention of speaking to any of these people again. Not because there weren’t any he actually liked, but because he couldn’t risk leaving a trail. He was already risking quite a bit staying here to the end of his term.
Wilson crumpled his burger wrapper and napkin together. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Chase’s head that the man he’d admired for so long meant so little to him. It was one of the reasons he’d gone to Tritter and agreed to testify against House in the first place. House had snapped at Lisa and brought her to tears. She hadn’t deserved that. He’d punched Chase, when he’d been trying to save a child’s life, and save her from a life of disfigurement. He hadn’t deserved that. House had used his best friend to support his drug habit. Wilson didn’t think he deserved that, and he couldn’t watch the downward spiral. He couldn’t turn away from it like he had turned away from his brother after he’d snapped at everyone and pushed them away.
His brother had vanished, becoming one of the many nameless unfortunates that slept in cardboard boxes in dank alleys. Maybe he was a John Doe listed under a number in a pauper’s grave along with the other lost ones. Wilson could not watch his best friend do the same and not take the drastic measure he knew he needed to in order to save him before Detective Tritter made it too late.
It had worked. It had cost a part of their almost perfectly if somewhat erratically running friendship, but it was worth it. House was stable, still and addict, but James liked to think he was less controlled by his addiction than he had been. Or he hoped, at the very least, that House was smarter about it.
“You did the right thing.” The soft statement almost sounded like his conscience trying to reassure him, except for the accent.
Wilson directed his gaze to the man at his left and found Chase staring out the glass wall.
“He needed someone who loved him enough to cause a momentary hurt, so that he could be saved.” His voice was barely a whisper and his words sounded as distant as Chase had been sometimes over the last few months.
“Chase?”
The blond man stood from his chair and absently placed his burger there before striding slowly to the rooms only exit. He peered out and his eyes seemed to follow something as it moved down the hall. Behind him, Wilson couldn’t see anything except an empty corridor. After a quick glance back at the patient, who appeared stable, Chase continued out, Wilson following with confusion shading his face.
Chase turned right, stepping slowly and silently, just watching, awed and scared at the same time.
“Azrael,” he whispered. Wilson heard and recognized the name sometimes given to the angel of death.
Chase stopped cold.
Wilson nearly bumped into him. Eventually did but that was because Chase took a startled step back, eyes wide with fright.
“Chase?”
From down the hall and around a corner the intermittent beeping that they’d barely noticed turned to a sustained shrill tone as the heart monitor flat-lined. A cry of sadness and pain carried to them as the poor woman lamented the loss of her loved one.
Chase nodded. A moment later he relaxed and breathed again.
“Chase, what is it?”
Chase could only shake his head. He couldn’t say what he’d just seen. He didn’t want to end up in the psyche ward, though sometimes he wondered if a short trip there might do him some good. He’d been able to see them but this was the first time one had ever responded to him. And this wasn’t just any one of them. That was Azrael. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he knew.
“-you okay? What happened?” Wilson’s hands were at his shoulders and he was gently shaking him when Chase’s mind finally became aware again.
“…it’s…nothing.” Chase pulled away and straightened his labcoat. Eyes down, voice hollow, he thanked Wilson for the burger and went back to Ms. Nelson’s room.
Once he was out of sight Wilson went to the room where they had just heard the tell-tale sounds of someone’s death. As he approached he saw a sad but collected colleague, Sampson. The other man gave a sad shake of his head. There was nothing anyone could do. They couldn’t cure death. This patient was no longer theirs.
Wilson nodded solemnly and turned to go the way he’d come. The trip back to his office was filled with silent, furious thought, eventually breaking down to two statements that he could not quite believe.
Azrael had been there.
Chase had seen him.
End Chapter 1
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