Author's Note: I do not own the television show House or any of its characters.

This is just a warning to you all, this one-shot starts out a bit slow. Don't worry, the fluffiness will come in eventually, I just have to build up to it, so please hang in there. I realize it's a longer one-shot, but it's mostly about Thirteen getting to know Chase a bit better when she takes care of him while he's sick. There will be plenty of tension that makes both of them think about their relationship together. Hopefully all of you who read this will enjoy it! It's set in season seven, after Masters finally leaves and Thirteen comes back.

Anyway, on with the story!

Taking Care of You

As soon as he wakes up, he notices that his whole body feels...off. His head is throbbing, his muscles are aching, his limbs feel like they're made of lead, his throat is raw, his stomach is doing somersaults. These feelings are all to familiar for Chase, who is more than used to getting sick during the vicious New Jersey winter. Every year he's been here, he always gets some sort of illness, ranging from a cold to, one year, pneumonia. It doesn't surprise him that it happens the day after he's forced to have snowball fight with House and the team after work. Why the hell would a cripple want to engage in an activity that could end with him falling flat on his face from his lack of balance, you may ask? Well, Chase isn't too sure about it himself, but all he knows is that it's his boss's fault that he is now jumping out of bed and running to the bathroom like a chicken with its head cut off when his stomach drops down to his feet. His knees hit the floor hard enough to leave bruises while he empties all of his stomach contents, out of breath and not completely awake the whole time.

The biles are bitter and, since he hadn't been granted the privilege to eat by Dr. Voldemort (which is what House likes to be called now since he saw the latest Harry Potter movie) during their case last night, it's mostly stomach acid. It feels like his esophagus has been lit with a blow torch, but it seems like the boughts of nausea are never ending. When it finally stops, he's out of breath and his stomach is cramping as he sits back against his bathtub, putting his head in his hands. Wow, he's pathetic, he realizes. Chase has always over-dramaticized his illnesses, making them much more than what they seem to be. It's just the stomach flu, he tells himself. See, now that isn't so hard. Just stop whining and everything will be okay. No one at work wants to hear this anyway, especially House. He'd probably just slap him with the broom stick he's been using as a cane lately. Chills wrack his body, leaving him shaking to death, until he's smart enough to stand up on trembling legs to crawl back in bed. The warm comforter makes Chase's insides melt and he wishes he could lay there forever.

But nothing is that simple.

Just then, his cell phone rings on his bedside table, blaring Man, I Feel Like a Woman over and over again. House changed it to that whenever he calls, since he claims that Chase is forever thinking about him. On the ninth ring, he answers. "Hello?" His voice cracks even with though he only said one word, his throat too sore to say much more.

"Wakey wakey, Chase and bakey! Where the hell are you? I have something that you Brits will for sure love." Odd, he actually sounds happy that Chase is late. Usually, House would call and yell at him for a longer amount of time than it would take for him to actually be at the hospital, saying his was an irresponsible git and that he'll dunk his head in the loo whenever he arrives. I'm Australian, he wants to say to his boss, but he's too tired. He also wants to add that people in England do indeed call toilets toilets because that's what they are.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hangs up the phone after that, closing his eyes as he senses another throwing up incident to happen soon. It passes and he gets ready, throwing on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, completely forgetting a tie and to look presentable. Oh well, it's not like House cares about looks anyway.

"Good lord, Wombat. You look horrible. Didn't your Mommy teach you how to dress properly for a job?" Looks like Chase spoke a bit too soon. He hangs up his puffy coat over Foreman's and then proceeds to stretch his legs out in the chair in the conference room. He can feel everyone staring at him, but he doesn't care. His eyes are already drifting closed when something jabs him in his side, making him raise his head up. Stupid broomstick cane. It never leaves him alone. He isn't caught off guard at all when he sees House hovering over him with shades and a lopsided cap on, a boom box that he didn't notice is playing until now on his shoulder. "What's the word, Chase?" He says in some accent that he can't even bother to figure out.

All Chase wants to do is go home and crawl back in bed. Actually, he'd rather be anywhere than here. He wants to avoid House's racist comments, his constant belittling, his loud and obnoxious voice, the whole nine yards. "Uh, Chase, are you okay?" he hears Foreman, or at least he thinks it's Foreman, ask.

He nods, not willing to say anything more.

"Now that we have that figured out, what's up with our little hood rat these days?"

"Well, he's now septic thanks to your inability to treat him with something other than Mentos last night."

House sighs. "He said he was hungry. Figured the happiness of a man caring would buy us a few hours."

"Well, now we're in more trouble since he can't even tell us his own name."

"Details, details."

Chase can sense the team rolling their eyes at House. He doesn't know what's wrong with him lately, since he's been goofing off and taking his job less seriously. At this point in the case, he should be yelling at them, making them run any and every test in alphabetical order because he hates randomness, not feeding patients Mentos and putting on ridiculous costumes. Chase thinks it may because he and Cuddy just broke up and he's trying to find a way to cope, but he doesn't have any energy at all to say that to him.

"What did we find on our second to trip to Michael Jordan's hizz-ouse?"

"Nothing worth testing."

"C'mon, man. Get some good information for a brotha."

Just then, Chase hears the voice he bets House has been dreading this whole time. Or looking forward to, it's hard to tell which. "House. Can I have a word with you?"

"Chill out for a bit, my home dawg skilly-biscuits. I be back in a minute, yo."

The air in the room grows thicker as soon as House leaves, but Chase now has the nerve to lay his head down on the table, the cool glass waking him up a bit only before lulling him back to sleep. More chills go down his spine and he's half-tempted to get his coat. But he just doesn't have the strength to. He's asleep when a voice makes him jump.

"Are you sure you're okay, Chase?" Foreman inquires once again.

He nods. "`m fine."

"Uh huh, because you totally look like it right now. Why don't you go home?" Foreman is well aware of all the times Chase has gotten sick because of House's idiotic antics. One year, after a slushy drinking contest that House hosted, Chase vomited blueberry everywhere for ten minutes straight and then had a fever for three days. House always makes him work through it, even though it's obvious that he gets ill easier than most people, but Foreman thinks this is one of the worst conditions he's seen his colleague in. He has bags underneath his eyes, there's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, he's shaking so that means he has a pretty high fever, he keeps swallowing so his throat is sore, the list can go on and on.

Chase shrugs, unable to say anything else.

House returns minutes later, the smile on his face still there. "I think this may actually be the case where I can say that he has Lupus. How cool is that? Anyway, ya'll know the treatment, so let's hop to it." Everyone stands up, including Chase, who's legs are so weak that he wouldn't mind keeling over right here. "Oh, and Chase, come into my office."

The rest of the team leaves as Chase struggles to make it to House's office without falling on his face. He sees House gesture for him to take a seat and he does, the leather feeling marvelous against his sore back. House stares him down for a few minutes, just looking and not talking, which is very strange for him.

"Go home, Wombat. You're useless to me today."

Chase just nods.

"That's all you have to say? You're not grateful for my kindness?"

He blinks. "Um...thank you?"

House nods. "Yeah, whatever. And take a cab, you're too shaky to drive."

Thirteen finds Chase curled up on the couch in the doctor's lounge, covered up with his coat. He's asleep, but she can tell that it's not deep or comforting. She kneels down next to him, placing her hand on his forehead. It comes to no surprise to her that it's scalding hot, a little too hot for her liking. His eyes pop open after she removes it, revealing that they are extremely bloodshot. She's never seen him in a state of vulnerability, where he looks like he needs to be taken care of. Thirteen has known him for almost four years now and has seen him get sick, but she's never witnessed him like this before.

"I thought you were going home?"

Chase shrugs. "Tired. Can't drive." That's definitely true. He couldn't have drove home like this even if he wanted to. He has no energy left in him, his vision is blurry because he isn't too sure he put in his contacts this morning, and he'd most likely end up puking out his car window. Then, that would result in someone pulling him over and kicking his ass and then he would never get to go home. After all, that's the only place he wants to be right now, burrowed underneath the covers and sleeping this illness off.

"Well, if that isn't you asking for a ride home I don't know what is. C'mon," she says as she extends her hand for him to take. Thirteen giving him a ride home? Not only is that unexpected, it's something he never imagined her offering to do for him. Sure, they've gotten close this past year, but the thought of actually being with another woman for real makes him just as nauseous as he's feeling right now. What if I screw up, kill another man, and she can't stand me anymore? Wouldn't be the first time that happened to me.

Chase ignores her hand and pushes himself up, still fighting off sleep. He picks up his coat, shrugs it on stiffly, and then makes his way out of the hospital, shivering violently as snow falls all around him. He fumbles with Thirteen's car door for what feels like hours before she has to open it for him, making him feel more useless than ever.

The ride home is filled with Chase's sniffles, his chills seeming to shake the whole car. Thirteen glances over to find him still wide awake. She figured he would have zonked out as soon as he sat down, but he's just staring out the window. "You okay?" she feels compelled to ask. All he does is nod, letting his head fall over to where the seat meets the door, still continuing to stay alert. It sort of makes sense that he doesn't want to sleep since they're only ten minutes away from his apartment, but she wonders if there's a reason why he's like this. Maybe he's just thinking. Nothing wrong with that.

"Thirteen," Chase croaks out of the blue. "We've got a code green." His face is, in fact, a light shade of green. He covers his mouth, inhaling and exhaling deeply in order to make the nausea leave. She swerves the car over to the side of the road and jumps out as soon as he does. He's on his knees in at least six inches of snow, vomiting his guts out. She kneels down next to him, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Thirteen can't even imagine what he feels like right now. Sure, she has Huntington's, but her symptoms are few and far between, while Chase seems to get sick every few months. He falls back into her arms once he's done, his eyes drooping, his breathing ragged, his heartbeat almost irregular.

"Let's get you home." Home. Chase doesn't even care if he has to sleep on the couch because he can't make it to his bedroom, he just wants to be anywhere but here. His throat is completely raw, the pain in his stomach still taking over most of his body. He thinks he's going to throw up again, but she's pulling into the parking lot right now, so it's useless to say anything to her. He shouldn't complain or bother her anyway, it's nice enough to do what she's doing, even though she's made it clear that they're just friends.

Thirteen parks the car and her pulse starts to quicken as she realizes that Chase isn't moving, even though she's sure he knows that they're at his apartment. She places her hand on his shoulder and she smiles when he looks at her, a bit dazed and confused. He proceeds to get out of the car, the shaking becoming full force as he leans on Thirteen for support. She can tell that his legs are too wobbly to do him any justice right now, so it's better to make sure he doesn't fall and hurt himself out here in these conditions.

Chase feels a bit better as he uses Thirteen as his crutch. He wishes it were like this all the time. Wait. What the hell is he saying? She's your colleague, dimwit. You see her everyday at work, you don't need to see her anymore than that. Especially not after what happened with Cameron. You already know how these things turn out.

He sprints to the bathroom the second they enter his apartment, another bile rising in his throat. This time, nothing comes up, he's just there dry heaving for minutes upon minutes. He's in a ball on the floor when Thirteen returns, a pair of plaid pajama pants and a grey long sleeved shirt in her hands. He's trembling, his hands ice cold as she touches them, his eyes glassy with tears. He must be in a lot of pain, she realizes. She notes that he can't even stand up straight, one hand placed over his stomach in comfort.

Instead of letting him get dressed himself, she feels she has to help him, her observations leading her to the conclusion that he might just pass out if she doesn't. Much to her surprise, he doesn't protest when she lifts his shirt over his head, pulling a new one on in replacement. The normal Chase would fight her until the very end, probably too embarrassed to be taken care of by a girl. She wonders if Cameron ever helped him out like this, but she was a bitch to him anyway, so that's definitely a no. After all, it's not his fault that he's sick.

She strips him down into his boxers and her heart stops beating. Thirteen's frozen, just staring at him, when Chase grabs her arm. "Y-You okay?" He stammers. She looks up at him, nods, and then helps him get his feet into the pants legs as he pulls them up. She leads him into his bedroom, where he then lays down, his whole body collapsing in exhaustion. He's already almost asleep when Thirteen's gentle tone wakes him.

"Don't fall asleep yet, you need some medicine." She pulls the covers up over him and he sinks into the bed. He can feel his pulse vibrating in his head, the furious ticking of the clock on the wall not helping in the least. Thirteen returns with a hand full of pills in his hand, he's guessing one for each of his symptoms. The water sends him flailing back up and to the bathroom, on his hands and knees once again. All of the pills come back up since he barely had a chance to swallow them. Thirteen's there again, her hands massaging his back, a cool wash cloth placed on his burning forehead. Her touch automatically makes him feel better, but not enough to where he can get back up.

"You-You don't have to s-stay," he says, making it more and more obvious as to how tired he is.

Thirteen just smiles. "I want to stay."

And it comes to no surprise to her that she means it.

Chase is sound asleep in his bed, buried underneath a mound of covers when Thirteen makes her way into his living room. She figures that he will be out like a light for a few hours at the very least, but she doesn't feel comfortable leaving him alone just yet. He's too sick to do that to him. She thinks that, without her here, he never would have thought to take medicine before passing out, which meant that when he woke up he would feel way worse.

The living room is nice, but a bit cluttered. A pile of tissues and some blankets lead her to believe that he hadn't been feeling up to par the past few days, which she already knew based on how he acted at work, this just proved it. There are a few books, a couple of medical journals, and random cups of liquid on the coffee table, a pair of tennis shoes beside it. She sits down, placing her bare feet on the coffee table, figuring that Chase wouldn't mind. Thirteen picks up one of the blankets and is about ready to turn on the television when she notices yet another book labeled Photos on the couch. She retrieves it, running her hand over the front of it. She wonders if Chase would care if she took a look at it. With some hesitation, she opens it up to see To Robert scrawled on the front page in fancy handwriting.

She begins to flip through it. There are a lot of pictures of a younger Chase, bright eyed and with a bit longer blond hair. He seems happy in a lot of the pictures, but in every picture with this older man, who she assumes is his father, his spark is gone, his expression more sullen and hard. She wonders what happened between them to make him look like this toward the other person. She continues looking through it when she stumbles upon a picture of little Chase, perhaps when he was about ten or eleven, and a blond hair, blue eyed girl that is a splitting image of him standing next to each other with a park-like scenery in the background. The woman was obviously older than he was, but they looked like they loved each other so much, she could just tell. She doesn't know how to explain it, but she does ponder why Chase never mentioned anything about her to her. Does he still not trust her as much as he should?

"What're you doin'?" The voice makes her jump and she practically throws the book on the coffee table. Her heart is racing, but it immediately calms down when she realizes it's just Chase. Who else would it be? He's standing there with a blanket draped across his shoulders, his arms crossed, looking colder and more uncomfortable than ever. She scoots over so he has a place to sit and pats the couch. He stumbles a bit, but makes it over there, curling up next to Thirteen. She places another cover over his legs.

She shakes her head. "Sorry, I-I know I shouldn't have been looking at them."

Chase just shrugs. "`s okay. Pictures are meant to be looked at."

He doesn't know what woke him up, he just did. It felt odd being in there by himself when all he wants is for someone to lay there next to him, much like Cameron did on those days where he came home feeling too tired to move. But, now he realizes that she did those things just because she felt the need to take care of someone all the time. Truth is, if Chase had been dying when he met her, Cameron would have fallen head over heels in no time. He cringes at those thoughts since he has been trying to forget about her for the past year.

Thirteen moves a little closer after he shivers a bit too much, sharing some of her body heat with him. "I know this is none of my business, but do you mind if I ask you something?" She inquires, picking the book back up from the table.

"Sure," is all he says.

"Who are these people in the pictures. I mean, I recognize you, but what about this man and woman?"

Chase fights the urge to room to the bathroom again. This time, it's not because he's sick, it's purely because he doesn't want to have this conversation right now. The only people who know about his parents are Cuddy, House, and Cameron and he isn't exactly comfortable telling it to other people. But, this is Thirteen. He can trust her, he's always been able to trust her. He just hates talking about the two people who ruined his life far more than Cameron could ever manage to do.

He sniffles before answering. "Um, the man is my dad and the woman is my mum."

"Do you still talk to them?"

He shakes his head. "That'd be impossible. They're both dead."

Thirteen is taken aback by this. She always imagined Chase to be the type of guy who goes to visit his parents every weekend since he is so sweet and considerate. To find out that they're dead hurts her, since she knows what it's like to lose a parent. "Oh, I'm sorry," is all she can say, not exactly knowing what to say. She's gotten the sympathy from others many times, but she's never really had to give it back before.

Chase shrugs once again. "Don't be. It was a long time ago."

"How long is a long time ago?"

"My mum died when I was fifteen, so about seventeen years ago, and my dad's only been dead for five years. It was actually seventeen years ago on Tuesday," he clarifies. He's more okay now talking about his mum since he's come to terms with the fact that she was going to drink herself into oblivion regardless of what he said. His dad's death, on the other hand, infuritiates him so much that he can barely stand it. He takes the book from Thirteen's hands gently and places it back on the table, which is his way of saying that he's done talking about this. He absolutely loathes having this conversation with anyone, no matter how old he gets.

"Sorry, I can tell that made you upset."

He sighs. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

They sit there for a long time, not saying anything to each other. Thirteen listens as Chase's breathing becomes more relaxed until she notices that he's dozed off with his head on her shoulder. She can feel the warmth of his high fever through her shirt, knowing that she'll have to take care of that when he wakes up. She just waits for that moment to happen so she can talk to him again, hear his voice, even though the accent is way thicker when he's sick. She's still wondering what happened between Chase and his parents, but maybe one day she can finally get him to open up to her about it.

She takes his hand and curls her fingers around his, feeling something she's never felt about him before.

She knows this feeling more than what she should.

Chase wakes up to Thirteen holding his hand. He automatically smiles, but that's short lived when he feels his stomach begin to rumble again. Dammit! Why me? He gets up carefully not to disturb her sleeping form and then runs to the bathroom, expelling all of his stomach in the toilet once again. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. Between the nearly constant throwing up, his head feeling like it's going to explode, the shivering, blah blah blah, he doesn't think that he can stay conscious much longer.

Thirteen is by his side in a heartbeat, cleaning up the bit of mess he's made on the toilet seat. After she helps him get to his feet, she has him rinse his mouth out before letting him practically fall on to her to let her get him back to his bedroom. He curls up into a ball on the bed while Thirteen pulls the blankets on top of him once again, running his hand through his hair of instict. She smiles as he smiles, the feeling appearing in her heart for yet another time.

She tucks him in and then, out of the blue, she gives him a quick kiss on the lips, just because it feels right. "Get some rest."

Chase has never felt better in his life.

Author's Note: So, what did you think? Too long and boring for you to withstand? Hopefully not, since it did take me a while to write this. Would you like me to continue on with this? I was thinking about making it into a multi-chapter story, but that just depends on what you all would like me to do. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little, or long, one-shot that could possibly be turned into an actual story! Thank you so much for reading! Whoever reviews will get homemade chocolate chip cookies and an ice cold glass of milk!