House sighed, as he watched his ex-employee sleep. The blond's expression was peaceful, content. Chase had the quilt balled up, between his legs and against his chest, his chin buried in the top of the bundle.
House sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching over and gently brushing Chase's hair out of the younger doctor's face. Chase stirred a little, turning his head into House's touch, and murmuring a little into the quilt.
House couldn't help a small grin, at Chase's reaction. He laid down on the bed, on top of the sheets, and gently stroked his hand over Chase's arm. Chase groaned happily, and shifted, smiling into the comforter. The blond was a little flushed and warm, so House pulled the sheets back. Chase stretched out, straightening his legs, until he was only holding the quilt in his arms, not between his legs.
House smiled, sadly, and got up, limping back over to the chair up against the wall, facing the bed. He sat down, and sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. His thigh was starting to ache fiercely, but this was the first time in weeks that Chase had slept this peacefully. He didn't want to rouse the younger man with the awkward sound of his steps, and the heavy thumping of his cane.
Chase stirred, and House straightened in the chair, immediately alert and watchful, despite his fatigue and pain. Chase made a small, unhappy sound into the quilt, and his feet twitched a little, knees bending. House got up, and moved to the bedside, laying a hand on the blond surgeon's arm.
Chase whimpered, curling in on himself, his bangs falling into his face. House leaned forwards, and brushed them out of the way, his side pressed up against Chase's back. He rested his hand on Chase's shoulder, watching the distress slowly filter into Chase's previously peaceful and relaxed expression. He carded his fingers through Chase's hair, trying to calm him, trying to ease him back into the warm, comfortable, pain-free place he had been. It wasn't working.
Another whimper came from the younger doctor, and a quiet whine, and then a small cry. House sighed, resigning himself to the fact that the cycle hadn't ended; this night was going to be no different from any other night. Chase cried out again, hands clenched in the comforter, body starting to tremble.
House pulled the quilt away, gently easing Chase's fingers from its folds, slipping a pillow into Chase's arms instead, so if Chase started really not feeling well, House could move him without making him not hold onto something. Chase's expression was distressed, when House pulled his hands off the comforter, but at least that unhappiness resolved with the addition of the pillow.
Chase groaned, starting to wake up. House moved to grab the basin on the table a few feet away, and was just in time to catch the bile Chase brought up. The blond groaned again, once he finished retching, and curled up on the bed, clutching the pillow against his chest. He looked up at House, with aquamarine pools of misery and pain.
House sat back down on the side of the bed, resting a hand on Chase's shoulder. Chase closed his eyes, face pale, mouth set. House rubbed his hand back and forth over Chase's shoulder, until Chase opened his eyes again, and glared.
House gave him a bit of a morose smile, "how bad?"
Chase shook his head, "I think it's getting worse again," he paused for a moment, a different expression coming over his face, "I need to pee."
House snorted, "that one I can fix."
Chase let go of the pillow, and instead wrapped his arms around House's neck, letting the older man pull him to his feet, and hold him there. He shook his head as soon as he was upright, and House let him back down onto the bed, going to get the wheelchair.
When House came back, Chase was sitting up, knees drawn up against his chest, forehead resting against his knee. House sighed, and sat down next to him, drawing the curled man close against his side, "it's really bad, isn't it?"
Chase nodded, leaning against House's side. House rubbed the younger man's arm, until Chase unfolded himself, and moved onto the wheelchair, wheeling out to the bathroom. House held the surgeon under the armpits, as Chase moved from the chair to the toilet. It wasn't that he couldn't move himself, it was just that his balance was so bad he would probably fall.
Chase sighed, as he finished, and House helped him balance while he did his fly, before muttering distractedly, "House."
"What?"
"I think I should just crash on the couch tonight."
"You're not even going to try and sleep some more?"
Chase shook his head, holding onto House's shoulder as he sat back down in the wheelchair, "you and I both know that's not going to happen. Why are you pretending it is?."
"It's not even midnight. You don't usually wake up until at least two. There's more time."
"There's more time because there's more pain. More pain, less sleep. You know that equation just as well as I do."
House sighed, a bit angrily, annoyed that Chase wasn't even going to try and rest more. He understood, but Chase was no fun at all when he was tired–through granted, any amount of rest he could get would do little to change that.
Chase got himself from the wheelchair to the couch, and House sat down next to his head, handing the remote to the younger doctor. He watched Chase flip through the channels, finally settling on some program about zebras.
House stared at the tv for a while, until he felt something rest on his left leg. Chase's head. The younger doctor's eyes were closed, and he was pale–clearly in a lot of pain. House sat, awkwardly, then rested his hand down on the younger doctor's chest.