Title: Trouble Sleeping
Summary: Chase thinks hard and long about all the years he spent working with and for House. Years later; haunted by a dream he tries to fix all those things that are broken--including one stubborn jackass boss. (House/Chase; set a few years after "Teamwork")
Authors Notes: Damn that last episode was inspiring. Only Tuesday and I'm already writing two stories from it.
Well. Anyways, I'm writing a series of more realistic and futuristic plot line from Chase's perspetive. Finally Chase/House--I've been wanting to do that for forever. So I'm on a roll; already have a few chapters all lined out and plan to keep writing them as well as the ones I have going for previous stories. I'm actually much happier with this line of thought; it flows a lot more naturally I think. :)
I'd love to hear any feed back or suggestions you'd have; and of course long live Chase and House both...!
I dreamt I was on a stage. There were thousands of people as the lights flared to life, the curtain rose; spreading out a brilliant view of endless rows of black and faceless people. Against the noise I could make out whistling and yelling and they were everywhere as far as I could make out; dipping into darkness. Among them I could see familair shapes; blurred by the huge lights at the front; turning towards me in a huge wave of blinding light.
It was shining, straight at me while there I was on this huge stage with nothing but a lab coat. I wasn't even wearing anything else. Just a lab coat. It was empty. The rows became silent. And. Then suddenly the orchestra began...
Before I knew it I was suddenly scrabbling to make something up all on the spot. But the once raving audience, spent with silence and anticipation seemed impatient. Everything completely frozen, focused on nothing but me. Me. Holding their breath and just staring right through me, judging, hating. And I didn't even know my part.
There was my mother, I was sure. I was sure she was there. I couldn't see her, but I felt her eyes on me. Judging. Narrowing. Focusing and following as I juggled together some sort of sentence of words that boomed out over the silence. I was helpless. And I was sure my father was there. I heard him call out, disgust in his boy. "You know better than that, Robert--!" And...as I stood there like a fish straight from water; the silence waned on.
If I hadn't saw the signs in the back I would have been done for. Looking up and only just catching with the corner of my eye a white board and a viewing room--the kind that look over surgeries and serious procedures. I wasn't sure how I'd missed it before, flailing and compiling some kind of story like an idiot--but there it was. A green, unhealthy glow behind it's glass and the white board clearly reading in large marker exactly what I should be doing.
So I start to do it without thought. Looking every once and a while to the board and changing my tactics, my acting; my preformance all based on whatever would be scrawled up onto it by a faceless, shadowed man. As soon as I was done; the man wrote something else in large bold letters. And even though I was proud; relieved I felt uncomfortable. I was looking to the audience while I worked, dancing and singing. And then, while taking a bow I noticed to look up and catch the new words, and his eyes; staring down at me despite the fact he was completely shaded in a black silloute.
FOREVER.
Nothing but that; those black scrawled letters, larger than all the rest--practically screaming at me from the stage. In all their silence, even after I woke up they burned against my mind like someone had plastered them there.
The man who was scribbling away doesn't get up but when I look back to him, he's completely gone. Left with just that glow and those letters while a voice announces over the audience in a booming tone; "And finishing off that was--Puppet Master: Theatrical performances by Robert Chase!!"
There was no clapping. No voice. Nothing. Just. Silence.
That night I woke up in a cold sweat... Staring off into the ceiling of the room I lay in. Completely dumbfounded by nothing imparticular and a bit of a lot of things; the dream already slipping on passed me.
House doesn't wake up, but I know better than to actually bother him with anything. Leg being what it is now a days and.... his temper pretty much the same if not worse than the first night he fired me years back. Instead I turn over into the covers, still staring through the wall at my side. Blue eyes wide with fear and silence while the two of us lay there through the rest of the night.
Although House snored significantly, I really didn't get anymore sleep that night.
