New Fic: Untitled
Heya everyone!
I'm kind of a lurker, and this is my first House/Chase fic. It's drabbley and pre-slash, but I may write a sequel if I get inspiration.
Untitled
by Vasco PJ
warnings: spoliers for 'Skin Deep', kind of angsty, pre-slash
summary: Chase just wants to know.
feedback/constructive criticism appreciated :).
“Why did you forgive Cameron?”
Chase mentally raged at himself in instant regret. He’d intended to bring it up casually in conversation, maybe smother it in innuendo so even House in all his omnipotence wouldn’t understand current source of angst. But who was he kidding? House understood everything. That’s why everything he said was like acid, right down to the metallic taste it left in his mouth.
“What game are we playing today?” House replies, almost sounding like he was changing the subject. He leaned on his cane heavily, mocking thoughtfulness, “Not ‘Ease Chase’s Guilt’ again.”
“I’m not… I don’t feel guilty,” he lies, gripping his briefcase in suddenly slippery hands.
“Who said you could stop feeling guilty?” Reproof, with an edge of House, “You haven’t even thrown yourself onto a burning pyre yet.” Pause, for the final blow, “You know, I could help you with that. I don’t have a pyre, but I do have some matches…”
“Stop it.”
“No, it’s fun,” he returns conversationally, already making his way down the corridor, “Fun, fun, fun. But it’s getting less fun the more you talk, so if you could just stand there and look contrite that would be just dandy.”
The only response he can think of is ‘you suck, House’, so instead he falls into step with him, which has become more and more difficult since House started using his cane as a scythe; effortlessly cutting through anything in his path while Chase lagged behind, getting whipped in the face with the reeds.
House shoots him an irritated look out of the corner of his eye, “You, boy, I said stand there and look contrite. Emphasis on stand there.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t answer mine.”
Chase looked at him quizzically, “What?”
“What game are we playing today?” he patronises, elbowing his way out the fire exit. This is fine, Chase can keep up better on the stairs as House struggles with even one at a time.
“What?” he repeated, feeling suddenly awkward. He wants to go with his instinct and offer House his arm, but he suspects the only thing that’ll do is send him on the fastest route back down the stairs, so he tries to concentrate on the question, “What do you mean?”
House sighs a long-suffering sigh, “What role do you want me to play to suit your little angst-fest today? The mentor, the villain, the replacement father figure…” Even House winces at that one, but he could have just jarred his leg awkwardly on the step before.
“I just want you to answer my question,” Chase responds through a tense jaw. He’s starting to get dizzy as they circle up the building. They’ve already gone three floors up and the sound of their voices echoing is disturbing him. Like he’s hearing it through a distorted stereo, “Why did you forgive Cameron?”
…Ameron, said the echo.
“And I suppose the ‘and not you’ part of the question is up for discussion as well, yes?” He stumbles over the top step, and Chase quietly admires how he doesn’t lose his magnificence in the clumsy action. He doesn’t answer House’s last question, just takes his arm.
House glances down and rolls his eyes.
“Let me see, why did I forgive Cameron… maybe it’s because I like her, like, like her, like her,” he says eagerly, falsely, “Like totally, like, like her, like her and so on and so forth.”
He’s losing his breath, but Chase’s gentle guidance to the nearest door is stiffly refused, “Maybe I don’t like you.” That answer is shorter and less comical, and Chase finds himself licking his numb lips.
House rolls his eyes again, “Or, maybe she was doing the right thing, in her own little self-righteous way, not just covering her own ass like a coward.”
“But maybe I haven’t forgiven her. Maybe I have forgiven you.”
House flutters out of his grasp as they reach the roof, and Chase finds himself grabbing hollowly at the air, like he was the one who needed support this whole time. It’s lighter outside, with the moon, and House’s skin glows blue. He suspects his does too, but he doesn’t want to think about his face.
“I expected this from her,” he says abruptly, and when House turns to face him his eyes are blank and glinting like cold, wet stones, and Chase realises this is the answer.
‘Not from you’, goes unsaid.
Fin.