Confessions

A/NI: This is just an idea I've been kicking around for awhile, so I thought I'd finally write it out. Not my best, but hey, it's all in good fun.

A/NII: Edited on 9/17/13 to reduce crap factor.

"We've got enough time before work, we can talk at this little coffee shop around the corner," Chase said as Thirteen tailed him through the halls of PPTH. Not many people were in the corridors this early in the morning, only the occasional passing nurse or orderly crossed their paths as they walked through the ground floor of the hospital, their bags slung over their shoulders.

"Is this your discreet way of hitting on me?" Thirteen inquired. "You've caught wind of my emotional vulnerability and now you're going to take your chance and pounce?" she asked. Chase looked at her, hurt visible in his light blue eyes.

"You really think I'm like that?" he asked as they entered the lobby. Thirteen considered him for a long moment.

"I don't know. You did try and sleep with me before I left," she pointed out nonchalantly.

"That was over a year ago," Chase countered. "And it's not like I forced myself on you. I simply offered up the possibility of us having sex, you declined, that was the end of it," he said, shrugging. Thirteen raised an eyebrow.

"So what is this about then?" she asked. "Chase, I'm sorry, but I really don't think you-"

"You said I didn't know what you're going through," he cut across her. "You're wrong," Chase said quietly. Thirteen's eyes widened for a brief moment before her mind caught up with her initial reaction.

"Chase, assisted suicide for a patient you barely know is hardly the same-" she began in a hushed voice.

"It wasn't," he interrupted her again, his expression dark. They were silent as they pushed through the hospital doors. Chase pointed to a small storefront down the street and motioned her forward. Puzzled at Chase's words, they said nothing on the short walk over. It was a warm spring morning, and most of the shops were just now opening.

They reached the small coffee shop, and Chase held the door open for her. A small bell chimed as they entered the shop. He walked up to the counter.

"Two lattes, please. Both with whip, but one decaff," he told the plump woman behind the counter. Thirteen eyed Chase. She valued the distraction this outing was offering her from thoughts of Darien and her brother, but this distraction was now turning into a House worthy enigma. Chase, although undeniably as screwed up as the rest of the team, didn't exactly scream "I have dark, disturbing secrets!" He was a player who was unable to keep up meaningful relationships.

Or was there more to the story?

They waited for only two minutes before the plump woman returned, their drinks in hand. Chase took them from her and nodded his thanks, then jerked his head toward a semi-obscured booth in the corner. Thirteen followed Chase, taking a seat across from him in the small booth. The cafe was almost completely deserted. He handed her the hot beverage, and she took an experimental sip, waiting for Chase to start.

"When you and Taub quit after House got released from Mayfield, Cameron and I worked a few cases with Foreman," Chase began, tapping his fingers slowly on the table. "The first patient we treated after you left was an African dictator named Dibala."

"I've heard of him. The guy was a tyrant. A genocidal maniac, formed youth labor leagues..." She nodded. "He died, didn't he?"

"Yes. The official story was that Foreman put him on the wrong meds."

"I take it that's not true," Thirteen said quietly. She had noticed the haunted expression on Chase's face. Although his eyes were fixed on her, they seemed distant. Tortured. She felt a thrill of unease. What was Chase about to tell her?

"No. It's not." He took a deep breath, pursing his lips. "Foreman thought it was blastomycosis. House thought it was scleroderma. We decided to run his blood for anticentromere antibodies and started him on anti-fungal for blasto. I ran his blood. Foreman was right." He closed his eyes. "I switched Dibala's blood with a dead patient who had scleroderma, knowing that he would be switched to steroids once I showed Foreman the results. Knowing it would kill him." Chase swallowed, opening his eyes. "He died in the ICU shortly after we switched him off the anti-fungals. He went into respiratory arrest, then he started bleeding into his lungs and went into V-fib. They couldn't shock him back."

She stared at him with unabashed shock. Chase had murdered someone. "Chase..."

"I killed a man, Thirteen," he said. "House and Foreman found out later, and they helped me cover it up. My reasons were justified, and to this day I still believe I did the right thing. He was going to kill the Sitibi, massacre hundreds of thousands of innocent people... all the lives we'd saved, all the good we'd done, would have been all for nothing if I let that man walk out of there alive. I don't regret what I did." He pursed his lips, looking at her. "But that doesn't change the fact that I crossed the line. I never figured out how to get back."

He took a moment, seeming to gather himself, then continued.

"Sometimes when I'm in the ICU, I start to shake. I feel like I'm going to suffocate. For a second, I'm back there in that room with Foreman and Cameron, watching Dibala drown in his own blood, feeling the blood on my hands. For months, every time I closed my eyes, that's where I was. I still have nightmares about it. I did the right thing, but it still changed me. I'm permanently damaged because of that. What both of us did was different. You killed your brother, someone you loved and cared about, because he asked you to and you knew it was the right thing. I murdered a man who I didn't know because I knew it was the right thing to do. We're both scarred by that. It does get better. Eventually you don't think about it as much... but the pain never goes away. The guilt never goes away. That will stick with you for the rest of your life."

"The only solace I can take is that I did the right thing." He finished, pinching the bridge of his nose. His latte was untouched. She saw that his eyes looked slightly shiny. "I know you feel alone right now, like no one could possibly know what you're going through... but you're wrong."

Thirteen stared at him, suddenly understanding.

"Cameron?" she asked, not needing to elaborate further. He nodded. "Chase... I didn't know..."

"I didn't tell you this so you could see the beaten down man underneath the accent and the attitude, and I didn't tell you this for sympathy or for pity, or even just to confide in someone. I told you this to let you know that you're not the only one. And that if you ever need to talk, even if it's in the middle of the damn night, find me," he stated, his voice firm, intense. "I would have given anything to talk to someone who had the slightest clue what it felt like, after it happened," Chase said, running a hand through his hair and leaning back into the booth. Thirteen couldn't believe what Chase had just told her. Her mind still processing the revelation, she could only think of one thing to say.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice shaking slightly. She felt as though a burden had not necessarily been lifted off of her shoulders, but almost as though someone else was bearing it with her. Like Chase was standing beside her, keeping it from crushing her.

Thirteen's hand was flat on the table, and much to her surprise, Chase took it in his own, squeezing it slightly. Nothing about Chase's expression communicated anything of a romantic nature. It was just a genuine display of comfort. Thirteen closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she decided to speak.

"He had been getting worse for awhile, and he called me when his lucid moments were getting fewer and farther between..."

A/N: Review, tell me what you think!