Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: First time I've written fanfiction in quite a long time. I might have lost my touch so I'll only continue this if people think it's good enough J

Cutting Happiness

Chapter 1

Doctors Foreman and Cameron didn't need to look up to know he had entered the room – the tap-tap-tapping of his cane against the hard tiled floors was enough to signify Doctor House's entrance. They also knew not to look up upon his arrival – he would announce his presence with a new case and a smart goad to catch their attention.

"Forty-six year old male falls on head and bleeds from rectum – thoughts?"

They raise their heads then. Cameron pushes away the medical journal she's been diligently reading and Foreman puts his cup of coffee down.

"Man is clumsy and has haemorrhoids," Foreman suggests nonchalantly. "Not much of a case."

"That doesn't explain the hypertension or the dysuria," House objected, throwing down three files on the table.

Foreman frowned. "Well if I had known those were his symptoms, I wouldn't have suggested –"

"Where's Skippy?" House interrupted, intrigued by the absence of his third fellow.

Cameron flicked through the file she had picked up. "He's sick," she explained before quickly moving on to the patient. "He's having hallucinations," she read. "Could be Hypoglycaemia."

House shook his head. "Doesn't explain the rectal bleeding," he paused for a brief second before changing track. "He's not sick. He's crying over dead babies and alcoholic parents."

"He said he threw up," Cameron answered. "Sarcoidosis would explain the hypertension."

"But not the rectal bleeding and hallucinations," Foreman said.

"He's lying," House interjected.

Foreman huffed. "Are we going to talk about Chase all day or are we gonna find out what this guy has?"

House frowned in mock concern. "Don't worry, daddy loves you too." He limped to the whiteboard and started to write down the list of symptoms and the possible diagnoses which his fellows had suggested. "Test for them all. Foreman, test his blood sugar levels. If it's Sarcoidosis he'll have pulmonary symptoms – do a CT scan of his chest as well. Start from there." He finished writing on the board and stood back to read it. "Cameron, ring Chase and tell him to get over here or I'll assign him more dead babies to cut open. When you're done threatening him, test for fungi and parasites."

Foreman took that as his cue to leave and, finishing off the last of his coffee, he walked briskly out the door. Cameron stayed behind. She was troubled by House's request.

"If he's sick, he can't come in to work and if he's upset about baby Mikey, I don't think threatening him with more dead babies will help."

House turned to face her, swinging his cane in the air lazily. "What's a better motivator than dead babies?"

Xxx

He had started working in NICU for the extra cash. If Chase had known that asking for extra hours in NICU would result in him performing the last rites to a dead baby in the morgue, he probably would have forgone a dinner or two. Every day since little Mikey had died had been accompanied by a hollow feeling in his chest. It had nothing to do with the fact that this was the second baby that had died under his care – he wasn't keeping count, not really – but it had everything to do with the circumstances surrounding his death. Complications due to asphyxiation. Asphyxiation committed to Mikey by his own mother. His alcoholic mother. It hit Chase a little too close to home.

He had taken the day off work, not wanting to face House, not now that House knew about his money problems and how bad he screwed up with Mikey. He just needed one day to himself, to relax and recommit himself to a career he had been having serious doubts over since Mikey. So he rang up Cameron – Cameron, not House – and informed her that he had been 'puking all night'. A lie, one which he knew House would see through, but he figured as long as he got a medical certificate from a doctor, House couldn't do much about it.

So that's what brought him to a doctor's private clinic that morning. He thought he'd just make up a few symptoms that would lead the clinic's doctor to believe he had a mild case of the flu and that would be the end of it. He had chosen a clinic as far away from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as he was willing to go – he didn't want to run into anyone he knew.

The waiting room of the clinic was fairly empty when Chase arrived. There was one man sitting in the far corner reading a magazine and a woman and her crying child sitting closer to the door. Chase went to check in with the receptionist who kindly explained to him that the doctor was running a little late, but should arrive any minute now. She instructed him to take a seat and he obliged, opting for a chair opposite the man reading the magazine.

He watched the woman and her child. She was trying to cajole him into taking a sip from a juicebox. The child was stubbornly refusing, complaining of a sore throat. The child, a boy around four, showed classic signs of the flu. Chase tried to count all the symptoms he noticed but stopped himself when he felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pocket. Retrieving it, he glanced at the screen and noted House's office number displayed there.

"Hello?"

"Chase," it was Cameron. "House wants you to come in."

"I'm sick," he said, aware that the little boy had stopped crying and was watching him with interest. "I'm at a clinic."

"Well, come in when you're finished," Cameron insisted. "He wants you here."

"I'm not going to risk my health and the health of the patients because of him," Chase felt the lie slip out easily and wondered when he had become so adept fibbing.

"He insisted," Cameron pushed and Chase was sure that what she really meant was that House had threatened.

"Too bad," Chase said, letting off a cough for authenticity's sake. "Look, I got to go." And in one swift motion of his hand, Chase had closed the phone and successfully cut the line.

Chase committed the next minute of his time seething over the phone call and the implications his refusal to return to work would have. He was brought out of his stupor however when he noticed that the little boy had abandoned his mother and was creeping his way closer towards Chase. Chase cocked an eyebrow and watched in fascination as the boy took a few steps forward and then subsequently take one step back. The mother, still holding the rejected juicebox, chuckled softly.

"Well at least his mind is off the sore throat," she said. "He likes your accent," she explained to Chase. "He thinks it's funny."

Chase smiled. "It is kinda funny, isn't it?" he directed it at the boy who took this as an invitation to take the seat next to Chase.

Suddenly, the door to the clinic flew open and two men rushed in. Chase had barely enough time to register their arrival when one of the men retrieved a pistol from the inside of his jacket and pointed it at the receptionist.

"Everyone on the ground!" the other man strode into the waiting room and pulled out his own pistol, pointing it at Chase first, then the mother and lastly at the man reading the magazine.

The woman screamed in response and the boy sitting next to Chase began to cry. But nobody moved.

"Did you hear me?" the man shouted again. "Get on the fucking ground!"

Xxx

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