Everybody Lies by Omission

by Ranowa Hikura

In which House says everything in what he doesn't say. House doesn't know why he's playing the game, just that he is. Wilson, Cuddy, and his team don't know what's going on, just that something is up with House. Chase doesn't know anything, just that House is always there. Anti-Chameron, House/Chase if you squint; pretty much just Chase whump and House mucking it up.

The coma study House reads to Chase is taken directly from some website online. The lyrics (He's the king of the country...) are taken from Servant of Evil by Akuno Meshitukai, which you should totally check out; it's a great song. I wrote most of this a while ago, then recently revisited it to pull all the disjointed scenes together, write a few more, and pull it up to snuff ;) I've tried this style once before, jumping between past and present, but add in disoriented coma-Chase and it made my head spin to proofread this. Well... I hope you enjoy!

(Ugh, sorry to keep updating this. I think the site was on the fritz when I first posted it because half the line breaks I put in weren't saved and this is already confusing enough!

---

can't breathe

something in my throat

I

I can't breathe!

"Doctor, we're not going that route until we've exhausted all other options."

my arm

my head

my... everything

everything hurts so bad

AGHHHHH!

"There are no other options! The sedation will only keep him calm if the intubation is the problem. It's not; his stress levels are caused by migraines, his migraines are caused by the head injury; brain wave activity shows the migraines are still present when he's sedated, but he needs to relax to stop exacerbating the skull fracture- ergo-"

House

That's House

House make it stop

do something, work your magic, shove your vicodin down my throat, whatever it takes

MAKE IT STOP!

HOUSE!

"...ouse... H-H-Ho..."

HOUSE!

"I'm not putting my patient in a medically induced coma on your say so!"

"Then I'll get him transferred to Princeton Plainsboro, he'll become my patient, and I'll put him in the coma there. Unless, of course, he dies en route, that's always a possibility-"

"H... H... Hou...se..."

Black became white, blinding, white, and pain multiplied, breaking all thresholds and limits and leaving him with a silent scream trapped in his throat. Every sound was the pulse of a headache, every light was a piercing blow to tired eyes, and trapped in a world of anguish, Chase wanted nothing more than to die.

Make... it... stop...

There was a flash of blurry blue, and then his world expanded and he could see a little more. A doctor, standing over him, across from...

House.

"He's in pain!" House exploded, and the words were curiously familiar, like a shot of deja vu, and Chase fought to get his attention- reaching for him, trying so damn hard to talk to him, just staring at him

you're in pain House, you understand, make it stop, it hurts, make them make it stop

"Everyone here-"

"H- H- H- H-"

The gasped breathing, because it sounded more like that than words to Chase, finally got their attention, and both doctors looked down at him in concern. House's eyes widened briefly, then there was a bright penlight in front of his eyes and House's voice again. "Quit talking, Chase. There's a tube in your throat; doctor 101, or didn't they teach you that in England Medical School?"

"Dr. Chase, I'm going to talk fast, so please focus on me. One blink yes, two blinks no. Dr. House here-"

"Are you serious; he's out of his mind with pain, he can't possibly make a medical decision-"

"Shut up, or you're out of here, House!"

Chase looked away from the other doctor back to House, trying to gasp, not knowing anything except that he didn't want House to go.

"Dr. Chase, House wants to put you in a medically induced coma to sleep through the worst of it. Do we have your consent? Dr. Chase!"

House... please... make it stop...

"Chase, blink once so he'll stop questioning me and give you the drugs. Nice drugs. Better than vicodin."

He blinked once. And did it again. And again. Again. Again.

Whatever House said. Whatever House wanted.

To make it stop.

"Good enough for you?!"

Chase kept on blinking, rapidly losing any coherency, any train of thought, any anything except blinking leads to sleep. House said so.

He caught sight of House again, and House's eyes, they met his, wide blue and clear as light. "Relax, wombat," House said, and winked. "You'll be skipping through the outback on a drug induced haze in no time."

House

Please

House...

His world started to close, edges fading, but House stayed where he was. Watching.

House...

Sounds trailed away, like his ears were full of water, everything turning distant, and what wasn't already black started to lose shape and color, vision draining into nothing.

He saw blue. Blue eyes.

House-

---

Subject: sick leave

from RChase princetonplainsboro net

to LCuddy princetonplainsboro net

Dr. Cuddy-

Sorry to tell you this in an email, but I've come down with a case of laryngitis. Won't be in today, or probably at all this week. House'll probably be of the opinion that I can differential diagnosis, break and enter, and run tests without my voice, but I figured you wouldn't want me exposing immunocompromised patients to my infection.

-Dr. Chase

---

With a firm hand to the door, a threatening foot ready to kick the cane out from under him, and a patient's file held out for the taking, Cuddy had triumphantly stopped her most troublesome doctor from escaping from clinic duty yet again. She watched as House tried to find his way through for a moment, fully prepared for a loudly announced declaration of cripple abuse or some other such nonsense, unable to hold back a victorious smirk. House wasn't going to sleep in until noon and skip out on clinic duty.

"Okay, you are able to physically best me. Congratulations. Now, if you don't mind, I've got lives to save, so..." House tried again to move past her, but Cuddy shook her head and pushed the file into his hands.

"No, you had lives to save four hours ago. Now you have clinic duty. Exam room one. 4o year old obese male, complaining of a... genital rash." She grinned again, a particularly evil grin that should've made House proud, and pointed in the direction of the exam room.

There was a slightly disgusted shudder at the thought of the sight waiting for him if he chose to do his job, but then, House frowned, glancing at his watch, then reached up with his left hand to rub his temples, as if he had a headache. "Clinic duty?" he asked innocently, then winced and lowered his hand. "Is that today?"

Cuddy glared at him. "You're not getting out of this. Yes, it's Tuesday, House; get in there and do your job."

"Vindictive. That's so not a good color on you." But House's insult seemed more absentminded than usual, instinctive rather than calculated, and he shook himself after a moment and reached out to take the file before he caught himself. He blinked and shook his head, focusing again, and almost curiously reached out to pluck the file from her hands. "And... that's it?" he questioned, frowning- tone of the voice one that put Cuddy on edge. "No bugging me for coming in late? No pestering me about where I was?"

She frowned herself. "I just guessed your flight got in late last night and that you were sleeping in. Or never mind the flight, just that you were sleeping in ...Why?" she trailed off in suspicion. If he was bringing it up, there was maybe less than a one percent chance that that was what had actually happened.

House paused for a moment longer, but then his contemplative features turned confident, and he pulled his cane away from Cuddy's foot to limp away. "Oh, yes, that's exactly what happened. As far as you know."

She rolled her eyes; typical, and decided she really didn't want to know where he'd really been and let him go. "And Chase has laryngitis," she called after his retreating form, "so he's taking the week off. With my permission, so don't go hounding him or sending your lackies to hound him to come into work."

And House- despite all of Chase's expectations- simply ignored her entirely, and kept on walking to the exam room.

Cuddy frowned after him. No parting sarcastic remarks? No further attempts to get out of clinic work? Just quietly going off to do his job?

"Dr. Cuddy! We've got an emergency in cardiac ICU!"

And all thoughts of House's games were banished. She had a job to do that wasn't babysitting a troublesome diagnostician.

---

Wilson got a miraculous fifteen minutes into his patient's meeting before, without so much as a knock, House strode into his office, limped his way right between Wilson and Mrs. Dearing, and dropped himself down on the couch as if he owned the place. With a loud, long exhale, the diagnostician kicked his feet up and spread a file out on his lap, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he apparently settled in for a thinking session.

No attempt to actually interrupt the meeting. Besides, you know, actually physically interrupting it. No attempt to talk to Wilson or make the situation so awkward and uncomfortable the patient was forced out of the room. No attempt to just talk over the meeting like it wasn't happening, strongarm his way into getting his way.

Just sat there and read his file.

When staring at him, evidently, wasn't going to get anywhere, Wilson cleared his throat, drawing Mrs. Dearing's attention back to him, and said, "Ah, apparently, Dr. House and I are sharing offices. I'm sorry I neglected to prepare you for thistype of-"

"Ahem."

Just a quiet little clearing of his throat. Could've been innocuous, for all the patient knew.

But Wilson knew better.

God damn it, House. If you're going to draw this out, can't you at least have the courtesy to do it not when this woman is dying?

...Of course he can't. This is House, after all.

Sighing, Wilson pulled his prescription pad out from his desk drawer and started writing out a refill for the patient. "Call my if any symptoms worsen and come back to my office next week, same time, I need-"

"Ahem."

"-to run another ultrasound, see how the treatment is progressing, and then we can discuss-"

"AHEM!"

"-further options then; Dr. House, do you need something?"

"Hmm?" House poked his head out from behind the file to peer out at both of them, the picture of innocence. "Oh, sorry, just a tickle in my throat. Please. Continue with your..." House trailed off, as if trying to think of another insulting pseudonym he could call Wilson's work- normally he went with fixing the unfixable but, sometimes, he liked to get creative.

Wilson frowned when House ended up trailing off into silence, making a frustrated face, and gesturing for them to continue before ducking back behind the file again.

House couldn't come up with an insult?

A moment passed in a heavy, awkward silence, and, sighing, Wilson turned back to the patient and smiled again. Mrs. Dearing was looking very confused now, not to mention unsettled at the idea of discussing her case in the presence of another doctor, and Wilson was left with little option but to gesture for her to leave. "I'm sorry to have to cut this short... again, call me if you need anything. And I promise to lock the door next time," he told her as he held the door open for her- keeping his apologetic smile in place for only the amount of time it took for her to leave.

As usual, House didn't comment on his victory. He just stayed slumped down on the couch, head behind the file like he had done nothing wrong. Wilson groaned.

"Interesting read?" Because there was no point in asking House not to interrupt patient meetings, or anything of that nature. Showing his aggravation was only an invitation for House to do it again.

"...Differential diagnosis," House said at length. He lowered the file again to look at Wilson over the top of it, his gaze searching for something. "Lack of awareness. Go."

And there, Wilson thought regretfully, goes the rest of my night.

He waved a mournful goodbye to what could've been a nice few hours of relaxation and settled himself in for a good hour or two of House's games, because he could already tell, this was going to be a long one. "Is something wrong with your team? You know... the people hired to do differentials?" He frowned, then added on, "I didn't even know you had a case."

House shrugged. "Pet project of mine. The ducklings are busy, not to mention we're down a man. Lack of awareness- go, go, go. Ideas?"

With a sigh, Wilson mentally resigned himself to the fate of having his ideas mocked by House. Although he was usually more brutal with his team than he was with him... "What do you mean 'lack of awareness'- like an absence seizure? And who's missing from your team?"

"The wombat's lost his voice. And, no; the patients just aren't noticing things they should be."

Wilson frowned. House was letting Chase off the hook for something as simple as losing his voice? Since when had he grown a heart? After a moment, he shook his head and let it pass; House probably just didn't want to catch whatever Chase had. "Patients?" he pressed on, letting the subject of the third fellow drop. "How many patients do we have here? And I'm still not following you. Is this a vision problem...? Neurological?"

House started counting off on his fingers with a yawn. "I'd say four patients, now. And possibly neurological. I'm leaning psychological. The patients are ignoring things that they probably don't want to hear."

"Wait- it's aural, now?"

"Did I say that?"

Wilson groaned heavily. He could feel a headache coming on and wished, not for the first time, that House would be straight with him. "If it's four patients at the same time, it's probably not psychological. Of course, you know that. ...Why would Cuddy give you four patients if one of your team is sick? And why haven't you come in here complaining to high heaven about that before now?"

House smiled.

And, with that, it seemed he had gotten his answer.

Wilson watched in blanket confusion as the other doctor snapped the file shut and got to his feet, limping around the table and straight for the door. "That's a good question," House said smoothly, as if that was all he'd been looking for all along, and looked back over his shoulder from the doorway. "Call me when you figure out the answer."

---

"Scientists still don't understand exactly how human consciousness works, but the twilight state of a coma could reveal some insight. Past research revealed that a person in a coma is closer to being anesthetized than being asleep. Other studies have found that vegetative and minimally conscious patients have very different brain activity. But for the most part, it was hard to find obvious differences in brain functioning between healthy patients and those who have lost consciousness.

"...Which is clearly a load of bull crap that discredits every study that says talking to coma patients, helps them. Patients under anesthetic don't report hearing anyone talking around them, and if being..."

And as the already distant voice began to fade easily away, gossamer curtain after gossamer curtain dropping down between him and the lecture, Chase felt himself falling.

"...third world studies... worthless degrees..."

And falling.

"...ridiculous... nonsensical... asinine..."

and falling

deeper

"...ase..."

God, did his head hurt.

"Chase..."

And his shoulder. And his... wow. Ow. Everything. Ow.

"Chase!"

He was so cold. So tired. He closed his eyes tighter, sleep tugging on the edges of his mind, and he searched for the cloak of exhaustion to drag it over him, wanting nothing more than to rest.

"Chase! Can you hear me? Chase, listen to me!"

The voice, persistent, irritated, maybe; it wouldn't let him sleep. Frustrated, Chase slowly dragged his eyelids open, squinting and gasping- exhausted and in pain. "What..." he grunted, glaring mildly at the blurry shape by his side.

"Can you tell me your name? Where you are?"

"Gah..." Chase shook his head slightly, trying to clear it, then regretted it when the motion only woke him up more- along with bringing on even more pain. He winced and froze, biting his lip hard to stop a cry, fighting to just breathe through the pain until it subsided. "C... Chase," he gasped as soon as he could talk, then frowned again, squinting around his surroundings. "Apparently... I'm... off the road..."

"Yeah. Good. You crashed the car."

Chase coughed, frowning again, and moved his gaze back to glare at the passenger. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, but the insult lost much of its sting in the slurring of his voice. "I'm not the idiot... who was driving too fast..."

House shrugged back, appearing nonchalant, but his eyes were too distressed for Chase's comfort, and he found himself watching as the older doctor pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Memory's intact, at least. Can you feel your arms?"

Chase stared at him. What kind of a question was that? "Of course I..." can't...

He couldn't feel his left arm.

"I- I can't- my arm-"

"Chase, relax, don't look-"

House's warning came too late.

---

Knock, knock, knock. "Chase! It's Cameron!" Knock, knock. "I heard you were sick... just coming to check up on you."

No response.

She sighed and adjusted her hold on the warm tupparware container in her hand. "Chase?" she called again. "I- I brought chicken noodle soup." Cameron smiled sheepishly. "I know it's cliche, but, well... it's dinner, at least." She knocked again. "Chase!"

Still, no response. No sound of movement from within that apartment.

Cameron frowned. Chase was probably asleep, she reasoned. Whatever he had had to have come on quickly; he'd seemed perfectly healthy yesterday, and House would only let them take a sick day if they were on death's door. He'd probably been out for most of the day if he was able to sleep at all...

She bit her lip. She didn't want to wake him up. So, sighing, Cameron bent to place the container on the floor and ripped the receipt off, quickly scribbling a short message on it before sticking it under his door. Chase would see it when he woke up, she reasoned. And the soup would be almost as good ten hours later in a microwave.

Tried to check up on you, but guess you're asleep. Here's dinner. Feel better soon! Now, get some sleep-

Cameron

---

"Differential diagnosis. Lack of awareness- stupidity, really- headaches, broken rib, concussion. Go."

Foreman glanced at House curiously as the other doctor began writing symptoms on the whiteboard without giving them the file. "Broken rib isn't a symptom, stupidity's not, either- and headaches are probably from the concussion which is probably from the same trauma that broke the rib."

"Do the headaches predate the rib?"

"No, no, no..." House murmured, black marker squeaking its way across the board for a moment before he withdrew to reveal two columns of symptoms. One had stupidity in it, the other had broken rib, headaches, and concussion. "Four patients," he declared, pointing at the first column, "one patient." He pointed at the second. "Ideas?"

Foreman frowned again. This wasn't typical of House. "Are we really taking a case of headaches?" he asked, blatantly ignoring the other symptoms. "What did Cuddy do, threaten to double your clinic hours?"

"Triple."

"How are the two cases related?" Cameron asked over them, waving between the two columns with her pen and ignoring the both of them completely. She'd decided to bite, apparently, which made Foreman all the more resigned to being forced to deal with this case.

"Same environment," House said, leaning back against the wall and starting to twirl his cane in his left hand. "Stupid patients aren't aware that the other patient is experiencing headaches and pain from the broken rib- among other things."

Foreman sighed. "Not everyone's a doctor, House."

"The sooner you treat this like a real case, the sooner we get done with this."

Foreman glared at House's smirk, but then, ever the serious one, Cameron continued on with her previous train of thought. "How did the guy in the second column break his rib?"

"Don't know."

"...Patient history?"

"Irrelevant."

"How can patient history be-"

"Where are the patient files?" Foreman broke in, doubting more and more that this was a real case. He gestured at the whiteboard. "Those aren't real symptoms... come on, there has to be a reason Cuddy gave you this case."

House turned to him with a judgmental look, eyebrow raised, and momentarily ceased spinning his cane. "Seriously? A neurologist, calling a headache not a real symptom?" He shook his head. "I had no idea the neurology program at Harvard had gone so downhill of late..."

He sighed again. Fine, I'll bite... and hope Cuddy comes along to give us a real case soon. "Fine. How has the patient described the headaches? How long have they lasted, where are they located, how bad is the pain..."

House paused for a second, pretending to be deep in thought, then shook his head. "No idea. The headaches aren't important, anyway- not a symptom."

Foreman stared at him.

"But you just said-"

"What, I can't change my mind? Damn. That's harsh," House interrupted, shaking his head at Cameron. "I decided the headaches aren't interesting. No... lack of awareness is cooler."

"And a minute ago, you were calling it stupidity, which you say every other day is the general human condition. Unless you tell us what this is all about, we can't diagnose anything."

House shrugged. He let the twirling cane slow to a stop and rested it lightly on the ground, pushing himself off the wall and turning into his office. "Suit yourselves." And, just like that, House gave up- just limped out of the room.

Foreman stared after him in confusion. House could be obscure, but this was ridiculous, even for him. And if this was a real case, he never would've just let them not diagnose. Something weird was going on.

And Chase, the lucky bastard, got to skip out on one of House's moods.

There was the sound of a chair schooching back on the carpeted floor, and Foreman looked over in surprise to see Cameron was on her way out the door. "Where are you going?"

She looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. "Clinic duty. If House isn't going to be clearer about this, then I don't think it's very important."

"Oh, right, because House has never played fast and loose with a patient's life just to screw with us."

The other doctor just shrugged. "If something comes up, page me." And, with that, Cameorn left the room.

Foreman paused for a moment, then dug his laptop out of his bag and opened it on the table. She was right, at any rate; if there was a real patient, with a real problem, either House would deal with it, or House would give them enough information. As it was now, there was no point in wasting any more time on the case.

Less than a minute of staring at his computer screen later, and Foreman was looking back over the screen at the whiteboard.

---

"He's got a broken collarbone, at least, and he's losing blood fast. I can't get him out of the car without making it worse. And a head injury."

Chase glared at House out of the corner of his eye- too wary of shifting the metal pole stuck through his shoulder and pinning him to the seat to risk even moving his head. "I do not. You checked my memory..."

"And you're bleeding out of your ear, Aussie. Either you ripped a piercing, or your brain is bleeding."

Chase swallowed. More very not good signs. He nervously reached up with his right hand, still very careful not to dare move his left one, and lifted it to touch his ear. It came away wet. He didn't look to see with what.

House nodded silently, then blinked, attention returning to the phone call. "No, I'm not hurt-"

"House!" Chase gasped, eyes widening, and when the older doctor turned back to him in aggravation, he reverted his gaze to stare at the side of his head. "You're bleeding. You are hurt."

House just glared back in response, then, pointedly, still looking back at him, said, "Actually, yeah, I'm bleeding to death from a very dangerously lethal injury out here. In the freezing cold. Where no one else is around. Anything else I can say to get you out here faster?!" House listened for a couple moments to the 911 operator, then swore under his breath and looked around the car. "I don't know, somewhere off the road? Between my apartment and Princeton Plainsboro?! I'm calling on a cell phone, can't you track that?" There was another short silence, House staring anxiously past Chase while he listened to the operator, and then the older doctor frowned again, looking almost suspicious. "Yes, I am... why? ...Look, he doesn't need an ambulance, just a ride to the hospital- a cop would do- ...God damn it." And with no further social niceties than that, House hung up the phone.

Chase shifted nervously- the shockwave of pain that accompanied the motion not enough to outweigh the panic that whatever House had heard on the phone, it wasn't anything good. "...Bad news?" he asked hesitantly, and his boss sat quietly for a few moments before, expression peculiarly blank, he turned back to face him.

"Because of the ice storm, emergency services has more requests than they can handle. One critical patient, both of us are doctors..." House shrugged helplessly. "We're low priority. The operator estimated it would take another half hour before paramedics would get to us."

Chase paled.

Another half hour...

His shoulder chose that moment to give another agonizing throb, and he almost cried out.

"That's... n-not good," he gasped, teeth, suddenly chattering, and House shook his head- eyes going from Chase's to the pole in his shoulder.

"No. It's not."

Yes, that... that had happened...

But after that it felt dark, like his memory continued on but there was some insurmountable wall inbetween him and it. He was too tired, too content with not knowing, to try and struggle his way through.

It just felt... so far away...

"The other still haven't guessed yet. Though they're not really trying. Foreman thinks whatever game I'm playing is beneath him and Cameron, well... she's Cameron."

Yes, she certainly was. Chase chuckled to himself. That was the best way to put it.

Wait, what?

"You know, you two make a great best friends with benefits, but I don't know why you pressed her for more. My own thoughts on the futility of relationships aside... you'd two just coast on good looks and the sex for a while, then implode. You're too distant and she's too moral. Actually, she's too moral regardless, but the two of you together? No."

Hmm. Chase supposed he could think about Cameron. If that was what the voice wanted to talk about he could think about it, too.

"Neither one of you knows what you wants, I think. No one does, really. But you two especially. Cameron thinks she wants something to fix, but once she's done that, what's left? You- I don't really know what you want. Or what you think you want. Relationships are doomed to fail, but this still interests me... what was it about her? Don't tell me it was just the looks. No; of course it wasn't. You could get prettier than her, what with the adorable hair and your short shorts."

Why had he gone after Cameron? He didn't really remember. It felt like an age ago; it also felt like a childish game. She had been like a very pretty toy, the newest surfboard put on TV that all the kids at school just had to have, and Chase, of course, would have it whether he really wanted it or not; what Rowan Chase could not do in fatherly support, he could attempt in handing a checkbook to his personal shopper and sending him out to buy what every boy his age wanted.

"I think you knew she would say no. Half the nurses in this hospital have their eye on you, and most don't have Cameron's bitchyness down, but you went for the one who would say no."

Yeah, maybe he had. All his life he'd had everything he'd ever asked for. Actually asked for, of course; he had never verbally said Dad, don't go or Mom, don't drink tonight. He knew how to ask for what he wanted, but hadn't yet figured out how to ask for what he needed.

And maybe he hadn't. Who knew. Chase certainly didn't.

---

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" House countered, with a swallow of vicodin. "If the answer is making jokes at the expense of hapless patients, then you're correct."

Cuddy sighed and gave a suspicious glance around the room. No TV, no extra stashes of drugs, a steady stream of patients in and out- nothing to explain why House was here, in the clinic, without having to be forced.

She almost pinched herself to make sure this wasn't all some kind of ridiculous dream.

"House, you're not even supposed to be on clinic duty today. What is this- what are you playing at this time?"

House just shrugged and shifted his position in the chair, feet up on the chair across from him, and rubbed his chest. "Can't I just be in it to help people?"

"No," she said flatly.

The sound of someone clearing his throat from the doorway had Cuddy turning around to see a young man, probably a teenager by the looks of it, standing awkwardly in the room, looking uneasy and uncertain. House talked over anything she might have said as he waved for the patient to come in the room, saying, "Into the den STDs and no health insurance. And ignore the pair of talking breasts in the corner. Great to look at, but after a while, the urge to sleep with them is beaten out by her nagging."

Two out of three people in the room turned pink.

Cuddy was halfway back to her office when she remembered that she hadn't asked House about why he was making up mysterious cases for his team.

---

"You're late."

"Yes, well, 'ride home?' did not seem that urgent."

House stayed still for a moment, then, slowly, slipped his legs off the table and turned around in his chair, but made no move to get to his feet. He just looked at Wilson for another moment, expression unreadable, then reached for his cane. "Do you have an answer?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "For your 'case', you mean?" he asked, putting air quotes around the word. "I heard that you finally put the same scenario forth to your team, just with a few other pieces- I fail to see how this is fun for you at all. What are you trying to play?"

Wilson narrowed his eyes when, again, House just didn't answer. He sat there silently for a moment, then grabbed his cane, stood with a grunt, and almost pushed past him- suddenly seeming irritated yet again. "Guess someone needs another clue."

Slightly shocked, Wilson was left standing in the empty exam room, alone. He blinked, then shook his head and turned to hurry after House, his mind already racing for just what the hell House was talking about- and how badly this could end for him. A fake case, a whole day in the clinic- House was creating work where there was none.

And given his usual penchant for avoiding work, that was seriously disturbing.

"Is Cuddy just not giving you a case while Chase is out?" he tried after a moment, walking quickly to keep up with House's fast limp out of the hospital. That would make sense, he reasoned. If House was bored, he could be making up a case- though that was more interesting for Wilson than it would be for House. And why would he have relocated to the clinic? Uninteresting work was worse than uninteresting soap operas, in House's book. Not to mention he doubted Cuddy would give House a break just because Chase was out for a few days.

House confirmed Wilson's suspicions. "Nope. Tyrants will be tyrants, man down or no. Although you're getting warmer."

They walked together out into icy Princeton, where the snow was starting to pile up on sidewalks and conditions for a dangerous drive were getting into place. "Calling Cuddy a tyrant is hardly getting us anywhere..." he muttered, drawing his coat tighter around him and pulling at his scarf. "Why aren't you taking your motorcycle home?" he asked for a change of subject- and for something that wasn't one of House's games, although he wasn't sure this answer would be any better.

"You know, you people keep asking me questions, but none of you will answer the one question I'm asking you. That's not a fair trade, now is it?"

Wilson sighed. A non answer was better than nothing at all, he supposed...

"Your questions involve a mythical case with non-symptoms and not much else. Sorry if we have real work to do over entertaining you; busy doctors and all.." Wilson trailed off and looked back, searching for what had attracted his attention. He blinked in surprise.

Yes, sure enough- House's parking space was empty.

"Wait- how'd you get into work today? You didn't drive here-"

"Either you can continue to extrapolate based on conclusions formed off your stunning powers of observation, and wonder at the mysteries of the phrase, I took a cab, or, you can-" House broke off with a short gasp, the hand not gripping his cane going to his chest, and his rolling gait slowed to a stop when he closed his eyes in pain.

"House?!" Wilson stopped in alarm, reaching out to help him, but he only got far enough to grasp his wrist before the diagnostician withdrew, pushing him away and carefully wiping all semblances of pain off his features. "House, what-"

"I'm fine. The cold just makes my leg hurt."

"Oh. Yes. That's perfectly logical. Now, if the femur were located around here," he said, indicating on his own torso where House had just grabbed, "I'd believe you."

House rolled his eyes. "You're spending too much time around sick people if you're imagining pain in everyone."

"Don't turn this around on me, House!"

"What's that, you say? Sorry, my ride's here- gotta go." And, with that, House limped around the side of Wilson's car and effectively ended the conversation- and left Wilson standing suspicious and confused in the snow, keys in hand.

It was cold enough that Wilson just wanted to get inside, and so, deciding he'd rather puzzle over the puzzle that was House in his car than out in the snow, Wilson shook it off and quickly unlocked his car, rubbing the melting snow on his gloves off on his pants. He sent another surreptitious glance at House and his mysterious chest wound, then frowned. What was going on? With every piece House added to the puzzle, it got more and more confusing.

House swallowed another few pills, although the rattle in his hand warned Wilson that it was probably more than he should take (not that that was unusual), then stretched out his legs and carefully leaned his head against the cool window with a yawn. Wilson started to maneuver his way out of the icy parking lot, all the while keeping an eye on House, his mind more on the day's events than the road.

House was hurt- and lying about it. Wilson had seem him take blows to the face without flinching, so whatever it was, it had to be serious.

He was inventing a case with strange symptoms and dropping hints everywhere that it was important.

He'd just spent the day in the clinic- when he wasn't even supposed to be on clinic duty.

Wilson sighed, frustrated. He felt like all the puzzle pieces were there... but he just couldn't tie them together.

He snuck another glance at House. The doctor's features were set in a firm frown, his forehead pressed now against the window, one hand rubbing at his temples. Wilson watched him for a moment longer than smiled triumphantly. "You've got a headache, too."

House opened his eyes just long enough to glare at him. "Yeah. Something about weather changes and pressure. Congratulations, Wilson, you diagnosed something any kid with access to WebMD could accomplish. Do you want a cookie?"

"Yes, actually," he muttered, not finding it in him to hold back a petulant reply. Too bad irritability isn't a new symptom...

"Take the next right."

Wilson blinked, focusing back on his surroundings, then stared in surprise. "Princeton General?" he asked, looking ahead on the road to the next turn.

"Got a request for a consult."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. What was the last consult you took that required you to leave your office?"

"Well, it was just a few blocks away, figured I could make an exception."

"Uhuh," Wilson snorted. "And pigs fly."

House shrugged, not choosing to respond to that comment, and Wilson let out a resigned sigh as he flicked on his turn signal. Princeton General, it was. "I'm not waiting outside here for an hour," he warned, but House didn't seem overly concerned.

"Dr. Eggs Benedict over here owes me. I figure, a ride home in these conditions, he'll crash, I'll save his life, and then, he'll owe me twice."

"Well, someone's confident," he muttered under his breath, turning into the parking lot with another eye roll.

House grinned back. "It's all part of my master plan to take over the diagnostic department over here. I hear the cafeteria's mystery meet is to die for."

Wilson couldn't help but chuckle. He pulled over in front of the entrance and came to a stop. "Night, House."

And- as Wilson was becoming increasingly used to- House looked decidedly let down, maybe even disappointed, and definitely frustrated, before the expression was hidden again, and the doctor was getting out of the car without another word.

---

It was blue for a while before Chase could hear.

"...One participant in the study was an employee at a hospital; the same institution he was hospitalized in when he was in a coma. He specifically reported that he was aware when friends or coworkers were with him, but had no recollection of other employees unknown to him performing routine check ups, despite documentation that such occurred. These findings were not replicated in... god, that's drab. Basically, Foreman co-authored a coma article after he got sick from the giddy cop. Under the name Eric Blacksmith, if you can believe the originality.

"Hey- look at that! I'm two for three for members of team that have been in medically induced comas now. Three for four, if you count me."

Blue...

It's so nice...

When everything's blue, I feel almost... alive...

When everything's dark, though-...

"If we can just get Cameron to join us now, then I'll have 100%. Something to put on my resume. "

Chase was past caring what the voice even said.

The blue... it's so... warm...

Blue...

So

Beautiful

Long after the voice stopped, it was still blue.

---

Cameron came to a stop when she walked out of the elevator.

The chicken soup from yesterday was still sitting on the floor outside Chase's apartment.

After a quick glance at her watch to confirm that, yeah, it had been over twenty four hours since she had left it there, Cameron almost ran forward, already gnawing on her lower lip in worry. If Chase hadn't gotten out of bed in that long, then he shouldn't be staying by himself- or he at least needed to be checked up on.

"Chase!" she called, pounding on the door. "Chase, it's Cameron! You awake? Chase!"

There was, again, no sound of life from within the apartment, and after another moment, Cameron had reached into her pocket to grab her cell phone. She already pulled it out before she remembered the reason Chase wasn't at work was laryngitis. If he was even awake to answer his phone, he wouldn't be able to talk.

Although, the only symptom in almost all cases of laryngitis is hoarseness- no reason Chase should be in bed for this long.

That conclusion only further bolstered her decision to go through with this.

Cameron dropped her cell phone back in her pocket and reached up to try the knob, just in case. No surprise, it was locked. Also no surprise, there was no key above the doorframe or under the mat- Chase had learned his lesson after years of breaking into houses for their boss. However, Chase's door was not impervious to being picked, and, her hands shaking slightly with worry, Cameron pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and went for the lock. Maybe she was invading Chase's privacy, but laryngitis wasn't something that should leave him bedridden for twenty four hours. He could be much sicker than they knew.

She fiddled in the lock for a minute, becoming increasingly frustrated every time the bobby pin slipped or the lock held fast, and was this close to cursing aloud when there was finally an audible click, and she slid into the apartment silently and with relief. "Chase!" she called again, nudging the cold tuppaware container inside with her foot. "Chase, I'm inside!"

There's was still no reply, not that she was expecting one, and she slowly turned to examine the apartment with a critical eye. The lights were off, and she flicked them on before moving her gaze to the TV- also, off- It didn't look like the home of someone sick; there was no mess, the couch didn't look like a cesspool for infection... Cameron moved from the front room to the kitchen, which looked just as clean as untouched as everything else, and poked her head into the bathroom. No mess there, either- which was particularly unexpected, if Chase was sick enough to not ever notice the letter she'd slipped under the door.

"...Chase?" she called again, turning around to head to the bedroom. This was looking less and less like he was sick, and more and more like he just wasn't home. Memories of the last and only time she had been here started to rise, hazy memories that started floating on cloud nine and ended after a crash and burn, and, swallowing, she moved quicker to the bedroom. Revisiting old feelings wasn't helpful, especially if she was going to end up taking care of Chase (if he was sick at all). It would be too easy to find feelings again if that were the case.

Just be clinical... and remember how disgusting sex would be with a laryngitis petri dish...

Then, Cameron reached the bedroom.

It was utterly deserted. The bed was even made.

Chase wasn't home.

A vein pulsed in Cameron's forehead.

---

You're the king of the country

I'm a servant of yours

"I don't even know why I'm not telling the treehugger or Cuddy or any of them. I can tell 'em that I'd get no work done if Cameron ever heard about this but... I don't know. I guess I just don't want them here when you finally get your lazy butt out of bed."

We were twins right from the start

That from fate got torn apart

"I'm not good at this- bedside manner, talking to coma patients bullshit. That's Cameron's alley. And Foreman's been known to pull a few tricks out of his hat a time or two. I'm just good for pissing people off."

I will do as you say

"...I want to hog you to myself while I still can, cause I'm pretty sure when you're conscious you'll pick the others. Hell, I'd pick them over me, too. ...Actually, no, I wouldn't, but I think any sane person would. ...Guess I just want to up my friends list to two people this week, even if one of them is comatose."

Even your evil way

A pause.

"Wilson would probably die of pleasure if he heard me confirming his greatest theories, but, damn it, Chase, is it any wonder I don't like making friends if it always ends like this? ...Screw you."

He didn't remember...

Words, no, lyrics from somewhere, he didn't remember...

They had struck a chord with him, though, he remembered that.

Melodramatic, just plain dramatic, dancing around topics like fate and evil- but still familiar. Him and House. Servant and king was more right than employee and boss, though House wouldn't like that, House liked his doctors to stand up to him not meekly submit.

Their similarities, though... similarities that Foreman fought, Cameron utterly denied- and Chase embraced. To a point. Twins right from the start, but the more Chase saw of him the more he veered away from that hell. House was a cautionary tale, first and foremost.

But if he looked beyond that, the warning of what not to become-

He's not all bad.

Someone to learn from, watch, admire...

Someone worth being friends with.

"...You have to wake up."

---

"Chase isn't sick."

Foreman raised his eyes from the microscope curiously. Cameron sat across from him, a needle in hand, staining a sample, her gaze focused entirely on her work. The other doctor pushed her glasses up her nose with her wrist, her hands otherwise occupied, and glanced up at him for a second before she looked back down at the table.

Sighing, Foreman looked back down as well. "Okay, I'll bite. How do you know?"

"I went to his apartment last night. I got worried that he wasn't answering his door and didn't seem to have gotten the note I'd left him two days ago, so I broke in. He's not sick- he's not even there. Hasn't been since at least two nights ago."

Foreman nodded absentmindedly, turning around in his swivel chair to get another batch of test tubes. "Okay," he said easily. "And you're telling me... why?"

Cameron's face turned into an expression snatched right out of her grab bag of 'morally outraged'. "You don't care that Chase is skipping work while we're stuck here running tests?"

Foreman shrugged. "Do I care? No, not really. I'm pissed off, sure. But why are you telling me? If you want revenge, just tell House- he'll take it out on Chase. I don't really care what Chase does in his free time."

There was silence, and then, the sound of Cameron resuming her work again with an annoyed puff of air. "Just thought you might like to know."

Foreman didn't contest the quiet that fell after that, continuing to work as well, focusing on the collection of test samples in his hands- but then, something Cameron had said registered. Still not turning around, but with a slow, regretful frown beginning to spread, he said, "You make it a habit of checking in on Chase after hours?"

"I thought he was sick. What, you wouldn't check in on a sick colleague?"

"Two days in a row? For something as minor as laryngitis?"

"Excuse me for caring."

Damn it. Foreman groaned, shaking his head to himself. "You're getting defensive, which means there's something to get defensive about. ...You're sleeping with him again." And thus, the short peace at work, ends.

"I am not!"

"Do my ducklings have presents for me, all gift wrapped with a bow on top? Or are you just arguing again? Damn it, I told you, Mommy and Daddy will have to ground you the next time you fight."

Foreman glanced over his shoulder to see House had limped his way into the pathology lab, and was now standing there expectantly, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "I've got two more in my stack. And, Chase and Cameron are sleeping together again."

"We are not!"

House blinked, expressionless, slowly looking between the two of them before his mouth slipped into a frown. "Tattletale," he mocked, pointing his cane at Foreman. "But how do you know that? I was under the impression the tail Mrs. Treehugger was hitting was a little less foreign, if you know what I mean."

Cameron gave another huff, this one, too, from her morally outraged bag of reactions. "Foreman thinks we're sleeping together because I thought I should check up on him when I heard he was sick. I know you don't care, but I think normal people feel at least an ounce of concern when they hear a coworker has laryngitis. Or says he has laryngitis; maybe you'll be interested to know that Chase wasn't home. He's faking."

House stared at them wordlessly, his gaze going from Cameron to Foreman, then back again- expression still unreadable. A few moments later, House cleared his throat and slowly moved off the wall, leaning back on his cane. "My team's sexual escapades are, for the time being, not high on the list of things I care about. When you guys finish this labwork, come over to my office- our case got more interesting. The 'lack of awareness' that you said wasn't a symptom, Foreman? Just escalated to stupidity so profound, I'm certain the patients are lacking brain cells." House limped towards the door, then paused and looked back again. "Oh, right- and get those test results over to Jones in cardiology. Then he'll owe me." And, with a wink, House was gone.

Foreman groaned.

Of course. They weren't just doing grunt work- they were doing grunt work for another department. Fantastic.

"...Can't believe not even House cares that he's faking."

And he was stuck doing grunt work for another department with a Cameron that had a stick up her butt.

Double fantastic.

---

"Differential diagnosis. Such a stupendous lack of awareness, the patients might as well as be blind, deaf, and dumb. Dumb as in stupid, not as in mute. Go."

Foreman raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Cameron. "Are we ignoring the fact that you added a third column to the board?"

House, from his position by the computer, slumped back in the chair with a slouch so severe his shoulders might as well have been pinned to his ears, tilted his head to the side innocently. "The first column is still the most interesting. If you want to be boring, well..."

Foreman glanced at the whiteboard again. In addition to the first column, which still had just 'lack of awareness' written in it, but now, underlined three times, and the second column, which still had only 'broken rib' and 'headache', there was now a third column- the longest, and, in Foreman's opinion, definitely the most interesting. Under it was a long list of trauma related symptoms, including shattered collarbone, skull fracture, migraines, severe blood loss, and medically induced coma. He'd certainly find more of a challenge in treating than that than treating stupidity- but, then, he wasn't House.

"And you still won't tell us how these three patients are connected?"

House shook his head. "Nope."

"How patients two and three sustained their injuries?"

Another head shake, and what Foreman was almost positive was a small smirk.

"Why you're so interested in the stupidity?"

"Ah, ah, ah. Lack of awareness- not stupidity. I, for one, think it's psychological."

"If it's multiple patients, it can't be psychological," Cameron cut in, looking from Foreman to House in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm the only one who cares that Chase is faking."

House sighed loudly. "Wilson was of the the same opinion. But, as the only infectious disease specialist in the room, my opinion is the only one that really counts. And maybe, you care, because you care too much, and Foreman is right, and you're sleeping-"

"Psychological disorders are hardly infectious diseases, House, and I'm not sleeping with Chase!"

House shrugged easily and made to stand. He winced before he could make it, hand on his cane tightening in a white knuckled grip and expression tightening for just a moment before he had regained his composure, and gone blank again. "No one leaves here," he said, talking over Cameron's concerned question with nothing more than a hard look to silence her, "until I get at least three ideas for patient one."

"What, you're holding us hostage now? Diagnoses in exchange for our freedom?

"Yes, Blacksmith. And if you have a problem with doing your job, I suggest getting a new one."

---

The warm summer rays glistened the waters of the ocean, turning them a bright blue-green. The color washed up over the white sands of the beach. The deserted beach. He was alone, and it was cold here. No matter how hot the sun, it still felt cold.

Chase looked down at himself, only to discover a lack there of. He couldn't see himself. He looked down only to see sand. He raised his hands to see nothing- tried to feel himself, and felt nothing.

Tilting his head to the side, Chase frowned for a moment, then decided it didn't matter. He knew where he was- recognized this place, even, as one of the many beaches he'd spent his childhood one. It had never been as deserted as this, though.

He realized vaguely he didn't know how he'd gotten here, and frowned deeper when that did not trouble him. Chase paused, then started walking forward towards the ocean. He could feel the sand under his feet, so they must bare; feel the hot sand, the burning kind that made kids hops from one foot to another and run and adults grit their teeth and shuffle, but- he was still so COLD. He could feel the temperature of the sand but it did nothing to rival the ice block that was inside of him- like liquid nitrogen in a lake of fire.

Chase walked faster, walking towards the ocean. The blue-green color looked warm, somehow, and he wanted that warmth. Faster, faster, he walked faster, would've stumbled if his limbs weren't something but intangible smoke.

His feet hit the water first, at least, they should have, because he was over the water now, but it didn't feel anything different. Frustrated, Chase walked out further. The water was eerily still, no waves, eerily flat, no wind, and Chase found himself remembering that this beach was a lot better the last time he had been here.

He walked farther. The water should've been up to his waist, now, then chest height, then his neck, but the further he walked in, the colder he got. He could feel it boiling around him but it didn't come close to melting the cold, and Chase struggled now, fighting to get in deep enough to get warm.

But nothing was working.

Nothing!

In a panic, Chase turned around, the water up to his neck now, but behind him there was nothing but ocean. He whirled around again to find the same thing, and then in every direction, nothing but water- no sand, no beach, and no land. He just stood in the middle of the ocean, this ocean of neck-height water, freezing and alone, and then, Chase realized how impossible it was for an ocean to only be this deep.

The ground dropped out from under him.

Black- suffocating- dark- freezing-

can't breathe

so dark

help me somebody help me

He swam, fighting, but the surface was always behind him and every move he made bore him deeper, and he fought harder but there was nothing- nothing

nothing

but darkness

---

"He seizing!"

"House, you're being ridiculous-"

"It doesn't look like one because he's on muscle relaxants for the ventilator- but look at the monitors! It's a seizure!"

"House-"

"His fever broke 104 ten minutes ago. That's what set this off- we have to cool him down-"

so dark

Chase fought as hard as he could, swimming as hard as he could, but the water was heavy, and it weighed him down, bearing him deeper and deeper.

So deep

can't

breathe

so cold

I want...

blue...

---

"Wait it out, then start cooling him off. That's all we can do."

"If this doesn't work we'll have to ice bath him."

"His heart's already weak, do you want to kill him?!"

"House, you know it's standard. If you can't be objective, then get out!"

blue

blue

blue is warm... and... home...

it's so dark here

dark- and... cold

i want blue

Chase slumped, the will to fight leaving him with every breath. Without resistance, the frigid ocean just bore him deeper.

and deeper

deeper

---

"That's it, I'm getting an ice bath ready-"

"Wait!"

"House!"

"Look, you fool- he's not seizing anymore. Take his temp again, it's probably dropped."

"...103.6. He's out of danger."

"Barely."

"Damn it... House- get me the second his fever starts rising again."

---

"...and if you're not careful, Chase, you're going to end up becoming another statistic in one of these studies. Though I suppose that's every doctor's dream, right- be mentioned in a study published in some hack's medical journal."

black

colors

blue

that voice, it was blue

a blue sun in a black night

Warm

There was a Warm touch on his forehead

"Damn it. Nurse! Get the doctor, now!"

the Warm touch retreated

no come back

it's... cold here...

"His fever's coming back. Up the..."

wait? stop?

i can't hear you... come back...

"...inflammatory... have to lower..."

the blue was fading

"...sleep..."

the blue was...

gone...

---

And the moment the cold, the darkness, the water got so suffocating Chase was convinced he would die- there was light.

A tiny pinprick of white in the black- a minuscule shot of warmth in the arctic. So far away it might as well have been the summit of Everest- but it was there.

And he swam for it.

"...post op... fracture... give him time..."

He swam harder. That white light- that was where the blue voice was.

He didn't care if he was dying or finally coming out of this nightmarish dream- or- he just didn't care.

All he wanted was to find the blue voice again.

"...damn it, Chase... five days already... stop..."

It was getting louder.

"...any longer the others will figure it out before you wake up."

The blue voice-

It was getting closer-

Come back-!

Almost-

there

"Cameron wants to sleep with you again, by the way. So, if you wanna hit that, you have to wake up soon for max sympathy points."

so close

just a

little bit... farther...

But Chase was getting tired again.

It was just so far away... and he was so weak...

I can't keep... going...

He reached out for it, one last, desperate cry-

but the blue was fading away again

and he was very soon lost

in the dark

"Breathe."

Black, his vision was going black- fuzzy dots, fading edges, black, black, he couldn't breathe-

"It's all in your head. Breathe, Chase. It's all in your head."

He was panicking- he couldn't think, couldn't- couldn't- he was-

"Breathe! Come on! Do it with me! In... and out. Come on, Chase!"

His lungs weren't working, every breath was shallow and not enough air and left him feeling more suffocated than the last; his head spun and his heart pounded in his ears-

"CHASE! FOCUS!"

And House slapped him across the face.

The advancing black dots froze, the shuddering shadows jerked back, and suddenly, all he could see were House's blue eyes. Large, clear, and blue- right in his face, expectant but distressed, stare piercing into his own. Shocked into silence and stillness, the next ragged breath, Chase realized, was just a little deeper.

"It doesn't feel like you're getting enough air because you're going into shock. Gasping like a fish on land isn't going to help anything. Breathe. Breathe with me." And House took one deep breath in, then a long, steady exhale- staring at him expectantly, eyes wide, just staring at him-

The next time House breathed in, Chase did with him.

House nodded approvingly. "Good. Again."

And again.

...again...

The darkness started to recede...

Chase didn't realize what had happened until House had disappeared from his vision, and he was left panting and staring out the shattered window into the cold piles of snow. He let out another gasp, then blinked, shaking, and slowly let his gaze move back over to House.

The older doctor nodded again. "Good. Stay like that. If you go into hypovolemic shock out here, there's no going back. Keep breathing. Stay calm."

"I know the... protocols..."

House shook his head, even as his skilled hands moved lightly over the terrible wound in his shoulder. "No," he muttered, attention elsewhere, and he shook his head again. "Knowing the symptoms of shock doesn't prevent you from going into it. Keep-"

"FUCK!"

The scream tore loose from Chase's throat and his vision turned red; the pressure from House's hand was so gentle he barely felt it but GOD, it HURT! What little breath he'd got was knocked out of him and he couldn't see- couldn't think- couldn't feel anything but pain.

And then, like cascading waves, the crimson shards of agony began to fade, dropping back until the pain was at where it had been before. What was once almost unbearable- now blissful peace...

House wavered into view again, and, wheezing, Chase gasped, "What the hell was that?" His voice was hoarse and weak and he sucked in another deep breath, fighting a wave of dizziness- glaring at at arrogant son of a bitch who'd just pushed down on his shoulder when he knew what pain it would cause.

"You're not numb," House said pointedly, and he gestured at the snow falling outside. "In these temperatures, that's good. The shock isn't severe- yet."

Chase glared. "You c-couldn't... have tested that... any other way?!"

"Shut up, you big baby."

Chase watched, through tired eyes and blurry vision, as House unwound the thin scarf from around his neck, then started wrapping it around his shoulder and upper arm. Chase grunted in pain and shut his eyes, doing his best to focus on something else, and muttered, "As long as the... pole's there, bleeding's not an... issue. That isn't necessary."

"Meanwhile, you're showing the beginning stages of shock. So unless you've got another explanation..."

Chase sighed. Every knot House tied made him wince, but it was nothing compare to when he put pressure on it, and he tried to stay quiet and just bear it. House knew it was almost worthless, but he also knew there was almost nothing else he could do out here. It was either try and stop the bleeding, or sit here and freeze.

"Careful," he muttered when House tied off the last knot so tight he almost gasped. "Don't completely cut off circulation!"

"I'm cutting it off for twenty minutes. Teenage girls tie their bracelets just as tight for even longer; if I can stop the bleeding, you won't go into shock."

Chase blinked slowly. That made sense. He knew that made sense. It wasn't orthodox, but House's methods never were, and they almost always worked. Why had he questioned House? What he was doing was logical. "I... right..."

House paused in his work. "You're showing lack of good judgment. ...Does your head hurt?"

It only took a half second's silence for Chase to glare at him this time. "Yeah. Being in a car crash can do that to you. Does YOURS hurt?"

House did not look amused, but he did narrow his eyes, watching Chase carefully without answering the challenge- searching, he knew, for signs of brain trauma. Chase stared without flinching back until the other doctor just sighed, piercing stare wavering as he started to take off his jacket.

"What are you- House! Stop! You're bleeding too, don't-"

"I'm not at risk of going into hypovolemic shock. You are. Now shut up before I add stupidity to your list of symptoms."

Disgruntled, Chase let House spread the thick leather jacket over his uninjured side, adding it to his own coat, and refused to admit to himself that he did, in fact, feel cold. Worse than that; he couldn't stop the occasional shiver, and his teeth were starting to shatter so violently it hurt. If hypovolemic shock didn't hit him, then hypothermia would.

It was just a matter of time- and, for once, he and House weren't the ones racing against the clock.

Chase finally got a look at what it felt like to be on the other side, watching doctors race to fix things in time- and he didn't like it at all.

The paramedics needed to hurry.

---

"Differential diagnosis. Lack of awareness. Go!"

"House!" Cameron cried in abject frustration. "You can't keep asking us that same thing! We've given you every psychological disease that could cause it, and even moved on to other types, but you just shoot down every suggestion!"

"We can't diagnose anything without test results- patient history- if this really is psychological a patient interview is absolutely necessary..." Foreman trailed off and shrugged self explanatorily. "The third patient is the only one getting sicker, anyway, we should focus on him and not-"

"The third patient already has a doctor," House interrupted, and there was no doubt about it, he was irritated. "So does the second patient, too, if anyone cares about him. The first patient is our case. And the reason you're not suggesting the right answer is because you're all idiots."

With a frustrated cry, Cameron let her head drop to the table, her shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Foreman wasn't far from doing the same, but House, slavedriver that he was, just poked the whiteboard with his cane and demanded a diagnosis. Again.

Foreman was, honestly, at his wit's end. This was the sixth day in a row House had given them this same symptom, and, thus, the sixth day in a row he had refused to listen to logic and reason. He still insisted stupidity was a symptom- and no matter what answer he and Cameron would spout back at him, it was always declared wrong... by an increasingly frustrated House.

"House, come on. What's this all about? You clearly know the answer- why don't you just tell us."

House looked at him like he'd just grown a second head. "'Tell you'?" he quoted, and Foreman sighed- already getting the very distinct feeling that he was about to be mocked. "I have done everything but literally spelled it out for you. At this point you need refresher courses in plain English, not medicine."

"What- are you just going to insult us now? Maybe that'll make us diagnose faster?"

"No!" House thumped his cane into the carpet for emphasis, a controlled explosion of irritation, and dropped his head into his hands, massaging his temples as if just the conversation was giving him a headache. "No... the answer is right in front of you. You keep guessing zebras, but this time it's actually not a rare condition- you just don't want to know the answer!"

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Trust me," he muttered, "I want to know the answer, just to end this whole charade."

"We're all idiots."

Foreman blinked in surprise, raising his gaze from the table and looking to the door to find that Wilson had made his entrance. And, like the rest of them- he did not look happy.

Wilson stayed where he was, arms crossed, eyes on House. Foreman looked back at their boss as well to find that, for once, the irritation was gone- momentarily, he was sure. In it's place was suspicion, eyes narrowed and head tilted to the side. Foreman perked up. Whatever Wilson was about to say next was either the answer- or would just lead to another round of mocking from House.

Regretfully, he had a pretty good idea which was about to happen.

"We're patient one- and we're all idiots for not being aware. Right?" Wilson challenged, taking a step further into the room. He had eyes only for House. "That's the only explanation. Well, either that, or you're just an ass."

House shrugged innocently. "Why can't it both?"

"No- I think you're just an ass." Wilson's expression turned angry, and he went from just looking at House to glaring at him. "I got a call from Dr. Owens at Princeton General. Seems the patient I dropped you off to consult for is showing signs of waking up. When I asked just why he was calling me, he told me that you asked him to call my number if it was good news. He seemed to think the patient was your friend... that you might be interested to know he was waking up. How strange."

House didn't say anything. Not a single sarcastic quip. Foreman swallowed dryly.

Wilson continued on- looking more and more distressed the longer he spoke. "I asked why he thought you cared about the patient, and he said that you two had come into the ER together as car accident victims. You're the second patient, House- the broken rib is why you've been working in the clinic; you can just sit down all day, and the concussion explains everything else."

"You were in a car crash?!"

"Now, of course, I had to wonder- why would you ask for news on a car accident victim? That's not interesting. The only explanation is that you knew him. The only people you know work at this hospital. So, who do we know that's been mysteriously absent this past week?"

Foreman's blood ran cold.

Slowly, disbelieving, Foreman looked from Wilson to Chase's empty seat. His eyes widened.

Oh my god...

He turned back to the board of symptoms, staring at the third column with a renewed sense of horror.

Severe blood loss

Migraines

Skull fracture

Shattered collarbone

Medically induced coma

Fever

Seizures

If he took those labels of symptoms... and slapped them onto Chase...

"I'm going to the hospital, right now."

Blinking, Foreman was shaken out of his reverie by Cameron- the younger doctor, clearly enraged, had already stood and grabbed her coat in one smooth motion, and was on her way to the door when she tossed what was meant to be a biting, parting remark over her shoulder. "I can't believe you didn't tell us Chase was hurt!"

House, clearly, had other ideas on her leaving.

"'Hurt'?" he quoted, looking at her oddly. "Now, I wouldn't say hurt..."

Obviously, the remark was meant to bait Cameron into staying and arguing further. Either she just didn't realize that, or she just didn't care, because the younger doctor stopped in her tracks and whirled to face him, furious. "Hurt?! He's in a coma!"

"Eh, semantics. We took him off the drugs last night because his head injury's healing up nicely. The seizures were caused by the fever, and since Owens didn't tell this one anything about the fever, we can assume the fever's gone down. So, no head injury, no seizures, no fever, and soon, no coma." He shrugged, ticking the list of symptoms off on his hand, and gave another innocent smile. "I mean, there's still that pesky collarbone injury, but being non life threatening and all..."

The morally outraged expression made another appearance. This time, Foreman was in full agreement with it.

"You- you're sick, you know that?!" he snapped, pushing himself to his feet and turning to follow Cameorn out the door. "What kind of game was this? Did you think we just wouldn't care that Chase was in a coma?!"

"No, that's not what he thought," Wilson cut in, still standing by the door and looking none too pleased with House at the moment, either. "He just wanted to see how long it would take for you all to figure it out yourselves."

"Precisely," House proclaimed. "Finally, the class gets one right. Yes. I wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure out what had happened. And, in the end- you guys are pathetic. I gave you a missing wombat, his symptoms- I even gave that one," he pointed at Wilson with his cane, "Princeton General, and you guys still couldn't tell me two plus two equals four!"

"Well excuse us for not assuming the worst possible scenario."

"Wilson's right," Foreman said shortly, with another glare. "If I find out Chase is faking sick, my first assumption isn't that he's in a coma. None of us were ever going to guess that you were hiding this from us! What kind of a person does that-"

"I'm not normal. Ergo, I don't do things a normal person does. Expect the unexpected... you should know that by now."

Foreman stared in disbelief. House just sat there, feigning innocence, like this was nothing more than one of his daily pranks. The incongruity of the situation was astounding. How could House literally see nothing wrong with this? It was insane!

When it seemed that House had left them all dumbfounded, the doctor sighed, seemed resigned to the fact that his crazy misdeeds deserved further explanation. "I wanted to see how much you all cared. Case and point... you didn't figure it out until someone told you. For those of us who get touchy feely with all of our patients," he nodded at Cameron and Wilson, "and those are us who are consumed by not being me," a pointed glance at Foreman, "...you all fail rather spectacularly."

Cameron looked like she'd just been slapped across the face.

Foreman wasn't far away from punching House in the nose.

It took a forced, long, calming breath for Foreman to relax enough to turn away, and even more effort to stop his hand from shaking, for him to be able to steer Cameron back towards the door and say simply, "Come on. Princeton General. I'll drive you."

And the moment Cameron had regained herself enough to focus on something rather than House, she was out the door- and Foreman wasted no time in following her.

---

Wilson watched the remnants of House's team leave in a fury. Cameron wasn't far away from bursting into tears, he was sure, and Foreman had apparently decided to put off his 'I don't care' facade for another, more normal, day. House had really pushed it far this time- he wouldn't be half surprised if this was the straw that broke the camel's back and pushed either one of the healthy fellows- or, possibly, both of them- into looking for another hospital.

And House would have to know that, too.

Which begged the question... why.

He paused, the reality of what he had just learned weighing heavily on his mind, and he looked uneasily at the whiteboard again before he cleared his throat and turned away from it. He opened his mouth to ask House why, then swallowed and changed tactics before the words had left his mouth- because he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"What actually... happened? How did you walk out of the a crash like- this, when the same crash left Chase like... that?" He gestured at the whiteboard and House both- thinking that, perhaps, if House had been injured worse, this entire situation could've been avoided. Just one call to his emergency contact would've circumvented all of this.

House shrugged, his eyes turning hazy with memory. "Chase was driving me home from the airport. I would've asked you or Cuddy, but Cuddy would've used it as a deal to extort clinic hours from me, and I just wasn't in the mood to hear about cancer. Such a depressing topic. Also wasn't in the mood to get my ear talked off by Cameron, and Foreman hates me. He probably would've told me he could pick me up, then left me stranded at the airport."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't. Well, now he might..."

"Well, unfortunately, that left me with just one choice: the ass kisser. Also unfortunately, they must not teach driving in icy conditions down in the outback, because the ass kisser sucks at it."

"Or, maybe, everybody sucks at it, and you just have high standards." Wilson sat down in Cameron's vacated seat and rested his chin on his hand, watching as House shook his head and started to search around in his pocket for another pill.

"Well, then explain how we ended up wrapped around a tree?"

Wilson just looked at him.

Sighing, House rubbed his chest again and lowered his gaze, still lost in the memory of that night. "...Some idiot took a turn too fast, ended up in our lane. Chase swerved. Into a tree."

"Which would hardly be grounds to call him an idiot."

"He could've swerved in the other direction! There was no one else on the road but us and the idiot, would've been fine, but-"

"Or he could've not swerved, and let you hit the idiot head on."

House glared at him, and Wilson just shrugged. It was the truth, and whether or not House wanted to accept it was House's business.

House sighed, going on with his story then as if Wilson hadn't even said anything. "We went through the guardrail. The tree stopped us. Some metal broke off from the guardrail, went through Chase's shoulder- that's what shattered his collarbone and led to the severe blood loss. The sudden stop caused the head injury."

"And yours, and the broken rib."

"Yeah." House paused, then, grudgingly, got to his feet, one arm wrapped around his torso to alleviate pain from the broken rib. "There were a ton of wrecks that night because of the conditions, and one car going off the road with one serious patient wasn't top priority. We were out there for... almost half an hour."

Wilson's eyes widened. He thought back to the night House had gotten back from the conference- remembered he'd mentally been dreading the call to come pick him up at the airport because it wasn't just below freezing, it was in the negatives- remembered spending fifteen minutes in the parking lot getting snow off his windshield and pulling open the door that was almost frozen shut... and the snowstorm had only gotten worse later that night...

"You mean to tell me Chase was- for half an hour-"

House nodded. "Yeah," he said shortly once again. "...On the upside, the cold slowed the bleeding, which is probably why he didn't end up in hypovolemic shock."

"How about, on the downside, the more blood he lost, the more he was at risk for hypothermia?"

House just shrugged in the face of Wilson's disbelief. "I told the paramedics the same thing- doesn't change the fact that they went to five pile ups before reaching us. Chase wasn't dying... triage did its thing."

"And now, he's in a coma."

House nodded slowly- still expressionless, still, if Wilson didn't know better, emotionless.

"Yep."

---

"I can't believe him. I just can not accept this!"

"Cameron."

"How could he do this?! How could he just not tell us-"

"Cameron."

"-about him?!"

"Cameron!"

Different voices. Ones he did not remember.

He liked the other one better. It was more... dependable.

"...Right. Sorry."

These were tolerable, if he had to use a word. Acceptable. Maybe nice.

"...God, Chase." A little sniff; a hiccup.

Concerned, very much so. That was nice, too, he supposed, though off-putting. He wasn't used to people being concerned about him.

Sniff, sniff...

He didn't very much like it; it wasn't normal. The normal, the familiar; that was comforting. That was good. Between his father being unsure of why he would even draw a skinned knee to his attention to his mother being the one to skin it, the bedside manner all doctors were supposed to have wasn't something he could even fake, and it wasn't something he liked being turned on him. He didn't know how to respond to it, he didn't know how he was supposed to feel when faced with it- he simply did not like it.

"He'll be okay, Cameron... we talked to the doctor, he said he thinks Chase is coming out of it..."

More insistently loud sobs.

Chase liked the people, but he didn't like the comforting or the pity, directed at him or not.

He supposed maybe that was why he could stand House. House was everything that was familiar to him, was twice the asshole that Rowan had been, and yet somehow had done more for him than Rowan ever had. Maybe it was simply because House was House; a cautionary tale but in the end, to House, he was just Chase.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not- god, I'm sorry Foreman..."

Not Chase With The Bad Past to Cameron, or Chase With The Rich Daddy to Foreman. It was not as simple as that, but that was how it broke down. At the end of the day, if Cameron had to make a judgment on him it'd be to fix him and his past. He'd be broken in some way and she would obsess over it. And if Foreman had to make a judgment on him, it'd be bitter, stemming from scholarships, degrees, and fellowships he'd had to work for that Chase (though he hated to admit it) knew had been at least partially been given to him because of his famous father. Regardless of how hard he'd worked to earn it.

We've all got our own problems to deal with; our lives are all imperfect in some way.

Cameron lived off trying to perfect the imperfections. Maybe that was why he and she would never have worked; too many imperfections.

House did not give a shit about how his mother had died, and he did not give a shit who his father was. He did not give a shit about the imperfections because they all had them, screws up and mistakes and their own little hells they had lived through and survived. House didn't care about that; that was life.

To House, he was just... Chase.

"Hold-

-on, Chase, hold on."

What?

"Hold on. The paramedics are coming soon. Stay conscious until they get here."

Something... something he didn't want to remember... something weighing heavily on his mind, something terrible...

Snap, snap. "Chase! Look at me! Remember to breathe. Chase!"

...he felt, cold, again...

and

tired

"CHASE!"

House forced him to look at him, turning his head with one gloved hand and meeting his eyes. Chase blinked, watching dully as House wavered in and out of existence, shapes losing defined form and colors bleeding out to leave a grey and white world. His mouth felt dry, every breath, too shallow- he felt dizzy, and exhausted, and...

"Chase, stay with me. The paramedics are just minutes away, you can't go to sleep now."

But he was... so tired...

Something warm touched his hand, the feel of it, foreign, when he felt like his blood had turned to ice water, and everything was just, so, cold... He blinked sleepily again, letting his eyes move slowly down to look at it.

Chase stared oddly at the anomaly for a few seconds, confused. He frowned. The sight didn't make any sense.

One warm hand was wrapped tightly around his.

House wasn't the type to hold hands, but no one else was in the car with them. Who was holding his hand?

"Stay with me."

Urgent, distressed, upset... that wasn't House, either.

Slowly, Chase looked back up at the man across from him.

That was House, all right.

Chase smiled weakly.

So maybe House did care, after all.

When his vision started to go dark, Chase fell back into the arms of sleep with the warm feeling of House's hand around his, and the last thing he saw was House's blue eyes.

The first thing Chase saw was Foreman and Cameron.

He couldn't see very well but he recognized them anyway, two very excited and ridiculously happy blurs. They were talking and moving around but their sentences were left half finished and unstarted as he dropped off into sleep again.

"Oh my god!"

"He's awake!"

...

"Cameron, I'll get the doctor, just..."

"...okay, Chase. You'll be okay..."

He blinked again, exhaustion still clinging to him like a shroud. His vision wavered in and out of focus, and then in and out of blackness altogether; the darkness left him deaf and slipping back towards sleep again.

His eyesight cleared slowly once again, the heavy clouds lifting with the feel of Cameron's anxious hand around his. He blinked several times, too devoid of strength or even the will to care to anything beyond wait. For what, he didn't know.

His roaming, blurred vision wondered over a Cameron-looking figure to land on another.

House.

He was far away, standing not in the room but through the glass wall and all the way across the floor. But he was looking at Chase and somehow, House was clear how Cameron was not.

House's eyes held his own, long, steady, and simply there.

He was still there.

Chase did not resist the pull towards darkness again. It wasn't scary this time, because he knew he'd wake up. House would stay and he would make sure of that.

House would stay.

It was only after Chase's eyes slid shut that House started to smile.