Disapointments

It was dark and stuffy in this room. The walls were wainscoted, the floor was wood, and the ceiling was a deep blue. The furniture wasn't much better either; there was a desk over on the back wall, two large leather couches, four side tables (one for each respective side of the couch), and stand up lights that barely did anything to make the place seem cheery. It was down right depressing.

So as the blonde sat there, his mind surprisingly blank, the only thing he thought about was how he didn't want to be here. It was required of him in order to continue working at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He needed to visit a psychologist once a year to make sure he wasn't crazy. This was his first meeting…he'd been working for the hospital for two months now. He needed to pass this. He shifted tirelessly as he thought about all the pros and cons of being here. On one hand he knew that wherever he applied he'd need to visit a psychologist first, on the other all he wanted to do was run far away.

The door opened and he stood up to be polite. The woman there was in her late forties or early fifties. Her hair was already turning grey and it was cascading down her back. She wore an ugly brown suit with a silk scarf that clashed terribly with it. She had black glasses and big earrings. For all of her faults, the young doctor took that in stride. It may be easier to pass this exam if she seemed to care not a wit about her appearance. Maybe that said something about her?

"Robert Chase?" She read his name off the file. He held out a hand in greeting and she took it.

"Yes, ma'am." He sat back down and his eyes wandered around the room. "This is a nice office, ma'am." Her eyes looked over the rims of her glasses at him, and she frowned somewhat.

"Thank you." They sat there in silence for a while, and Chase shifted nervously every few minutes. After a time it became increasingly clear that she was much more interested in reading his file then actually talking to him. He wondered if he should have brought a book, and looked on the side tables to see if there were any magazines. There weren't. He shifted awkwardly again and began having doubts about being here. Thoughts of "this is a mistake, this is a big mistake" echoed through his head. Eventually it was too big to hold in and so he spoke.

"Ma'am, is there anything that I need to-"

"Ten minutes and forty five seconds." She said suddenly. He did a double take and stared at her in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"Ten minutes and forty five seconds." She looked at him as though he'd understand her this time. He still stared blankly at her, and the woman sighed and placed the file down on one of the side tables. "It took you the aforementioned amount of time to speak." Chase frowned at her in confusion. He still didn't understand what that had to do with anything. "You don't want to be here do you?"

"I'm sorry ma'am, I don't understand." He replied as he shifted uncertainly in his chair.

"You want to get this over with as soon as possible, but you've waited nearly eleven minutes to start the process. That means, perhaps, three things, the first of which is that you don't like talking to people about yourself. You want others to do the talking so you'll stay quiet until you need to speak. It means you're shy by nature. Next is that you're uncomfortable in silence and feel that you need to break it if it extends past your level of comfort. Third is that you're reliant on others to make the first move. You see how they react and then you respond. Was someone close to you an alcoholic?"

"What? No!" Chase's head was spinning from her surprisingly accurate description. He was still trying to process it when she started speaking again. It was making his head hurt.

"You're lying." She stood up and walked towards her desk. The blonde's eyes followed her and watched her make a cup of coffee. "I've read your file, your mother died of liver cancer didn't she? She was ineligible to go on a transplant list because she was an alcoholic."

"That's not in my file." Chase hissed angrily. He'd read his file, it said that his mother died of Hepatocellular carcinoma. It never said she wasn't eligible for a transplant list.

"It's not, but it's what happened." The woman sat back down and Chase felt his fury raise.

"You don't know a thing about what happened back then." He spat out his anger reaching its maximum. She didn't seem bothered by that at all.

"So tell me."

"It's irrelevant."

"How can it be irrelevant if you don't know what relevant is?" She was playing games with him, and Chase wanted it to stop. He wanted her to sign the damn form saying that he could work, and he wanted her to shut up about his personal life. "It says in your file that you had surgery to remove part of your liver to give to your mother. That means that she wasn't eligible for a transplant donor. From your attitude I've guessed that it's because she was an alcoholic."

"Maybe I just wanted it to go faster." He snapped. "We had the same blood type, is it a crime to give your mother part of your liver if she's dying?"

"No, but that's not what happened." He looked away from her and felt his last defenses fall down. He always tried to avoid the topic of his past, when that failed he got angry, and when that still failed, he felt his life shatter and he would beg for them to leave him alone.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"That's too bad; you're in here until I declare you sane enough to practice medicine. So start talking." He looked up at her with tear filled eyes; this was the last part of the equation. Getting upset.

Ten years ago

The bus was late getting home. There was a traffic jam on the Nepean Highway was three hours of waiting. Apparently some drunk driver drove in the wrong lane and had a head on collision with a car, then those cars were hit – it continued on to be a ten car pile up. He had taken the time to do his homework on the bus; he knew he wouldn't have time when he came home.

When he finally stepped off of the vehicle and began the long walk up his street to his apartment, he was exhausted. It was twelve o'clock, far too late for doing anything productive now. He opened the front door and called out that he was home. Chase removed his jacket and hung it up on the hooks by the threshold. He kicked off his shoes and started to walk down the front hallway.

"Mom? Are you there?" He clicked on the lights in the living room, and sighed. There was a broken bottle of gin shattered on the floor. His mother was lying on the sofa with her head buried under a blanket. "Mom?" He carefully maneuvered himself around the broken glass, and knelt beside the couch. "Mom are you okay?" He reached out and gently shook her shoulder. She didn't move. "Mom?" He pulled the blanket from over her, and rolled her onto her back so she could look at him.

She was deathly pale, and her eyes were clenched tight. She moaned something, but Chase couldn't make it out. His heart was fluttering in his chest as he looked at her terrified. He slapped her cheek lightly, and she opened her eyes and looked at him. They were jaundice and he spent enough time with his father over the years to know what that meant. He stumbled up, promising her that she'd be okay. He needed to find the phone. Where was the damn phone? A hand grabbed his wrist just before he went searching and he looked down.

"I'm sorry baby." She said weakly, but he wasn't going to listen to her goodbyes.

"I'll be right back, I promise." He rushed to the door and pulled out his cell phone, it was faster then looking for the landline.

He managed to call an ambulance, and they'd gotten her stable after five hours. In that time he sat in the waiting room praying with all of his might that his mother would be alright. The only time that he stopped was when he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his father's number. He hadn't realized he was crying until his father picked up the phone. He asked who was calling, and all the youngest Chase could do was sob. Eventually he managed to choke out "dad."

"Robert?" The man asked. "What are you doing calling this late?" He wasn't mad parse, he was never mad when his son called. He was always…indifferent somehow. As though he was simply indulging the boy.

"Mom…" he chocked out, his body was shivering and he remembered the torrential raining that had started after he'd called for help. He'd sat outside for the longest time trying to find a way to the hospital after the ambulance left. They wouldn't let him go with them. He eventually took his bike and rode there. He'd fallen twice because of the rain, and he knew his arm was bleeding under his clothes, but he couldn't bring himself to draw attention to it. "Hospital…" He felt himself slapping his eyes to try to get rid of the tears and make himself more understandable.

"Your mother's in the hospital?" It wasn't worry in his voice; it was just a simple fact. The teen coughed and nodded to no one.

"Please…dad…can you come? I…I need you dad….here, with me…I'm scared…please?" He never asked his father this. It was just not done. The man was a well respected doctor; you don't call him up and ask him to sit in the waiting room for you. You call him up and ask him to go do what he did best – figure out what's wrong. The younger Chase had become well aware of that fact over the years, but here he was, begging his father. There was silence on the other end, and the teen wondered what was going through his father's head.

"I'll try." Then he hung up, and the teen sat in the waiting room for another hour shivering and crying to himself.

His mother's doctor, Henry Dickenson, sat down with him in the waiting room after a while, and started discussing with him what they'd found. He was shaking so bad that he worried the doctor would believe he was having a seizure. He couldn't think right now, his hands were on his forehead and his elbows were on his knees. Only part of what the doctor was saying to him made any sense.

Cancer…needed liver….transplant committee….draw blood…match…relative…dad?

"Is my dad here?" He suddenly asked, cutting the man off. He looked up with big blue eyes and the doctor felt himself be stabbed by them. He tried to continue on as if the teen hadn't said anything, but the boy asked again. "Is my dad here?"

The answer was no, Rowan hadn't come. When the transplant committee turned his mother down for a donor, Rowan hadn't come. He went to get tested and his father still wasn't there. They told him he was a match and he went to talk to his mother about donating part of his liver. She said she was proud of him, and signed the consent forms…but his father wasn't there to tell her that she was out of her mind. That he could die on the table to save a drunkard.

He called his father again before they prepped him for surgery. He got voice mail, and he begged his father to come to the hospital. He needed to see him, be assured he was doing something right. He needed someone other then his mother there guiding him through what was happening. Rowan never came.

He was prepped for surgery, he went into the operating room, and the surgery commenced. It only took two hours for something to go wrong. One of the intern surgeons who was doing their first transplant, nicked an artery when they cut in. His heart stopped not to long afterwards. It took six minutes to bring him back. They took care of the bleed, but they couldn't do the surgery. He'd lost too much blood.

He slipped into a light coma, coming out of it three weeks later. His mother had died while he was out. She hadn't been able to get a donor from anyone else. Chase spent another week in the hospital and then he was released. His mother's lawyers and his aunt had done the funeral while he was still in the coma. His father hadn't come once to see if he was alright.

End Flashback

"Do you think it's your fault that your mother died?" The woman asked him as she wrote down what he said in her note book.

"No, it was the intern's fault." He replied.

"Did you sue them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It wasn't their fault that my mother died. It was their fault I was in a coma, but it wasn't their fault she died. She was sick, and she needed a transplant, but she didn't qualify for a registered liver. I didn't sue because it was a matter of circumstance…that's all…"

"Were you mad at your father for not coming when you asked him to? Or visiting while you were sick?" Chase looked at her for a long time, his mind trying to remember exactly what his emotion was. Then he remembered exactly how it felt. It felt like nothing.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I wasn't his patient, he didn't have to worry about me." It was a sad thing to say, and Chase hadn't realized quite how sad until he noticed the look in her eyes as he spoke. He just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I think it was then that I realized that I shouldn't expect anything of him. If I don't hope for him to be there or expect him to come, he can't disappoint me. He can't make me sad or mad."

"So you didn't live with your father after your mother died?"

"I did for about four or five months. I went to college after that and never lived with him again."

Hmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmdhmd

He didn't think he needed to be here. He was required to of course, but only one session. After finding out you're going to die, the hospital makes you talk to a psychologist . It was a bad policy in his mind. Or at least it was a bad policy now that he had to do it. The room was too bright for his taste. He liked it better when there was nice wainscoted walls and 15th century furniture. It gave the rooms he worked in a nice appeal to them.

There was a young doctor sitting in front of him, she was wearing a classy outfit that clearly showed her knowledge for the fashion industry. He felt slightly better at that, because it meant that he'd be able to weedle his way into her mind and just sign the papers saying that he was fine.

She was reading his files and he had to say that annoyed him. Couldn't she just talk directly to him instead of reading the damn paperwork? He looked at his watch, this meeting started five minutes ago.

"Excuse me, but may we begin?" She looked up at him and smiled.

"You're impatient." She stated. "It's rather rude…" She looked back at the file. "Rowan Chase." She closed it and placed it on the table between them. "So, tell me about your son." He scowled at her but she didn't seem phased by it.

"That's hardly relevant." He snapped.

"I think it's very relevant. You're here because the hospital wants to make sure you're alright. Your son affects you as part of your life, so tell me about him."

"I haven't seen him in five years, and I haven't talked to him in ten."

"What'd you talk about?" She pulled out a notebook and started writing, and he took that as his cue to start speaking again.

"He was leaving to go to college, and we were arguing about his mother." Rowan sighed and started recollecting what had happened.

Flashback

Christina was smiling happily at him across the table. They'd been married for three years now, and had a beautiful baby girl together. Christina had come into the marriage with an 18 year old daughter, but she was sentenced to college for the time being. After an incident that occurred four months ago, she was no longer allowed in the house until further notice.

Also sitting at the table though, was Christina's step son; Robert. He barely spoke to anyone and was picking at his breakfast with distaste. He didn't like eating so early in the morning; it was required though. Christina had tried to make up with Robert after the fiasco with her eldest daughter, Ava. He'd only returned that gesture by staying blissfully silent and unresponsive to the comes and goings of their days.

Rowan was sick of it though. He never spent much time with his son after the divorce. He regretted that – really. However it was completely rude and unethical to be moping for months after his mother's death, especially if he was going to college in another few weeks. Robert had been accepted into the University of Sydney in their Social Work program. Behind his son's back though, Rowan had phoned the school and requested that his major be changed to Medicine. Some arguing and a hefty donation later was all it took to change the major. He just had to tell Robert about it.

"I called Sydney; they've got a rather nice dorm chosen for you." He started. His son just nodded and moved to take a sip of his juice. "I also had your major changed to Medicine." Robert gasped in his drink and immediately started choking as his lungs filled with apple juice. He coughed miserably into his hands for at least five minutes and Christina stood up eventually to rub his back soothingly. Finally he looked up and met his father's eyes.

"Why?" His original goal had been to be a priest, but after his mother's death he had completely lost faith in God. He applied to be a social worker, and was accepted. He wanted to help children who'd come from similar situations as him. He didn't want to be a doctor.

"Social Work is a soft job; you'd do better as a doctor." Rowan took a bite of his eggs and watched as his wife sat down. She was giving him a disapproving look.

"I don't want to be a doctor!" Robert all but shouted, he was angry and Rowan supposed he had a right to be.

"This is not a discussion Robert." The man hissed.

"I'll drop out of Sydney; I'll apply somewhere else – without a medical school attached to it!" Rowan slammed his silverware down and the baby started screaming in her high-chair. Christina took her out of the room to calm her down as the two started yelling at each other more.

The argument lasted nearly twenty minutes, and ended with him running out the door. He'd never come back home. He went to Sydney Medical, and he'd become a doctor. Rowan doubted it was because he had convinced him that being a doctor would be better then being a Social Worker, but more on the fact that he had the power to demolish Robert's mother's home and spend her money.

In Annabel, his former wife's, will she had left everything to Robert. Everything meaning a small but comfortable home on a farm and a nice nest of money incase the teen needed it. It had been her home growing up, and she hadn't gone back there in years. Legally it was Roberts, but until he became an adult by law, Rowan had the power to do with it as he pleased.

Robert finished medschool because he was already half way through it by the time the threat was null and void. It was pointless to stop now. He hadn't come home once in all the time he was at Sydney. He went to his mother's farm, cleaned up the place, and stayed there when he couldn't stay at the dorm.

The last Rowan saw of Robert was at his graduation. He never told his son that he was going, but he went anyway. Robert had graduated at the top of his class, and completely debt free. He wanted to go over and tell him how proud he was of his son, but instead he couldn't make out any words.

He listened to him talk to his friends about his plans for the future. He was going to do his Residency in America, and he hoped to do his Fellowship with some Doctor House or other.

When Rowan went home that night he looked up this Doctor House and found him. He picked up the phone and called the man. The doctor was rude and abrasive and didn't seem interested at all in what Rowan was saying. It sounded as though the Doctor would crush Robert's already fragile spirit, and so after a long talk with the man, Rowan angrily told him that he wanted him to deny his son the job when he asked.

Years later, when Robert was ready for his fellowship, he called House again only to find that the man had ignored him. He'd hired him. Apparently his son, the intensivist, was still working for the man.

End Flashback

"Why did you do all of this behind Robert's back? Instead of talking to him about it?" The woman asked as she took a sip of her coffee. Rowan looked at her for a long moment and then sighed. He didn't know how exactly to put it into words. He tried to remember what was running through his head all those years ago when he manipulated his son's life.

"I never understood how to talk to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Robert was my first child. When he was just born I never let him go, I carried him around the hospital introducing him to all of my coworkers. Then when Annabel took him home, she took care of him while I was at work. She dressed him and fed him. I'd come home after a late night at the hospital and he'd already be asleep. I wasn't there when he first started talking, or walking, or reading. I missed out on all of that. Whenever he was sick I knew exactly what to do, I knew what he had and how to treat it. But it was his mother who held him when he cried and hugged him when he was ill. I think the first time I actually hugged him after his first few months, was when he was sixteen."

"What was the occasion?"

"His mother was in the hospital, he called me in the middle of the night. He was terrified and was crying. It'd been years since our divorce and I had only spent time with him maybe four or five times a year after we were separated. I didn't know what to do. He asked me to come to the hospital. He told me he needed me there, that he was scared. I told him I'd try to get there."

"So you went, and you hugged him?" Rowan looked up sadly.

"No. I didn't go. I was half way out the door when I remembered something about a patient. I spent the rest of the night in my office reading articles and working. He called me two more times after that. I didn't pick up either of them. I forgot about him. I forgot about him, and remembered a patient. When I went into work the next day, one of my coworkers came up to me and started yelling at me. He told me that Robert had called me three times the night before trying to contact me. His mother had Hepatocellular carcinoma, liver cancer. They tested Robert. He had the same blood type as his mother, and she signed a consent form. He went in to surgery and they messed up. They'd cut an artery. It took them six minutes to bring him back. That's long enough to cause brain damage…He fell into a coma. A few days later his mother died because they couldn't do the surgery after that."

The woman didn't say anything as Rowan placed his hands on his face. She let him collect himself for a few moments before she spoke.

"Do you feel as though Annabel's death was your fault? That Robert going into a coma was your fault?"

"Yes. I had the same blood type as her. If I had picked up my phone, if I had remembered my son…I could have donated my liver to her. I could have saved him from having to deal with that, and kept his mother's death off of his conscience. Her doctor – Henry Dickenson – yelled at me for not coming in. I just walked to my office and sat down and started working some more. I saved the patient I remembered instead of my son, and when that was done I had nothing else to do. So I went to Robert's room. I didn't bother with a guest list, and no one saw me there, but I sat in his room for the better part of three days. During that time I sat on his bed…and I picked him up. I just held him for at least an hour. After that day I left and never visited again."

"What did it feel like when you held him?"

"He was so…small." Rowan breathed the last word as he thought about that time. "I remembered him when he was wrestling with his friends in the yard before the divorce. He seemed so much bigger then when he was ten, then he did at sixteen. He moved so much and was so energetic that when he was in my arms that day…when he was just limp in my arms…he seemed so small and fragile."

"Do you love your son?" Rowan looked at her for the longest time. He didn't know what to say. After everything he'd done to his baby as Robert grew up, did that still count as love? He sat there for the longest time thinking about it. Finally he replied.

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell him about my Cancer." He decided that the moment he found out. He would tell his wife, and his daughters, but he wouldn't tell Robert.

"Why not?"

"He cares too much. I don't want him to come home and think that he needs to take care of me. Think that he needs to make everything right. He doesn't need to watch another parent die. No matter how distant."

"You should go and visit him sometime, before you feel too weak to travel."

"Yes…maybe I should."

Windstar: After a very long time, I really liked how this turned out. I've been toying with the idea of making it longer, if you approve then I'll do so. For now it's a one-shot.

Disclaimer: If I owned House don't you think this would have been an episode by now?