Hello, and thank you for reading. I just wanted to point out a few things, first of all the patent disclaimer that I only own Shelly and Diedre. All other characters are creations of Davis Shore, .

I also went with a little poetic license in this story. (It is fan fiction, after all!) The dates and relationships might not always be true to story, and the medical stuff was all adapted out of a hypothetical conversation my friend and I had over an article in a medical journal she found, so please, be nice. I have a degree in art, not medicine! ;-)

Hope you enjoy!

..:1

House peeled back his right undereyelid and looked again into the mirror. The slight yellow tinge was staring back at his reflection. Scleral icterus. Yellowing of the whites of his eyes. He gave a deep sigh and looked down as he braced his arms on the sink to support himself. He knew this day would come. Every time he popped a Vicodin, every time he poured himself a finger of scotch, that little voice in the back of his head warned him. Reminded him. The voice that spoke for his liver. (And sounded very much like his mother's voice if he was honest with himself.)

Looking back up into the mirror, his mind wrestled with itself. But there was really only one option left if he was going to try and extend his ride on this planet any further. Unhooking his cane from the doorframe, House limped into his bedroom to get dressed.

Robert Chase was reading a patient file as he skirted towards the elevators from the ER. Cameron had alerted him that he might have some impending surgery coming up from a recent car accident victim, and so he was engrossed in stats and triage shorthand when the nimble hook latched into his shirt pocket and dragged him into the direction of the now deserted clinic. It took a moment for Chase to orient himself as he stumbled sideways before he looked up and recognized his kidnapper.

"House. You know a simple greeting would be suffice to get my attention," he remarked, being careful to mask his annoyance in a tone of indifference. "Where did you plan on spiriting me away to, anyway? The clinic is still closed this early."

"Precisely," came the cryptic reply. House just turned and started pushing a small cart in front of him towards the semi-dark clinic area. It was then that Chase realized House was in possession of a phlebotomy cart, and dressed in an uncharacteristic pair of sweatpants and loose t-shirt. His interest piqued, he followed his ex-boss into the first room and shut the door behind them before flicking on the lights. When his eyes adjusted to the glare, what he saw before him made him drop his jaw in shock.

"House! Your - "

"I know, I know. Why the hell do you think I dragged you in here? So you'd regale me with the lurid details of your honeymoon?" House hopped up onto the table and grabbed the tourniquet out of one of the cart drawers to tie around his arm. "I need you to draw my bloodwork for me. I need two hands, so I can't do it myself, and I wasn't up for any pity parties or thirty dozen questions." His slightly jaundiced eye regarded Chase carefully.

"No problem. We were never here," Chase assured him as he moved to snap on a pair of gloves.

"Good," House replied. He quickly tied off his arm and relinquished the rest of the work to his protege.

"You want this under Luke N Laura?" Chase enquired as he filled another vial with the dark swell of blood. House grunted his confirmation and tried to ignore Chase's surreptitious glances at his eyes. "You know there is a great detox facility in Beverly Hills. Limited counseling sessions, they have a pain management specialist to set a course for your options afterwards, and the whole withdrawal process is done in a matter of days while you're under anaesthesia. The Waismann method. No pain, no cravings." House's trademark glare aimed in the Aussie's direction was magnified by the angry yellow tint of his eyes. After another moment of silence the snapping of Chase releasing the tourniquet ended the tense stalemate.

"Just this last one and we're done."

House took a cotton swab and held it to his arm as Chase removed the angel wing and disposed of it in the sharps container. The younger doctor busied himself with labeling the vials and cleaning up the empty packaging until he saw that House's arm was clotted sufficiently.

"I'll drop the samples off at the lab, but you need to return this cart to whatever station you stole it from," Chase admonished as they prepared to leave. They worked easily together, returning the clinic room to rights and slipping stealthily out into the lobby before the front desk nurse noticed where they came from. Their proximity was evoking a sense of familiarity in Chase, and the lab tray in his hand suddenly felt like the weight of the world was in it. In a way it was. Chase couldn't imagine the world of PPTH without House in it.

The two men parted with a glance and a nod, and Chase once again headed to the elevators where he waited for an available car. The numbness that was settling in was a complete contrast to the swirl of thoughts and emotions going through his head. He didn't even notice that another person had snuck into the car with him until the familiar voice broke into his thoughts.

"How in the world did Cameron ever get you to take up nursing duty?" Wilson's question was meant to be light, but the startled expression on the younger doctor's face caused him to pause. "Everything okay?"

"Fine. Yeah. Fine. Everything is just...fine. Just taking some blood samples to lab before I set up for surgery." Chase hoped he sounded more confident to Wilson than he did to himself, but pretended to be intensely interested in the stainless surface of the handrail to avoid any further slip ups.

"You know I thought I was hallucinating this morning, coming in. I could have sworn I saw House pushing a phlebotomy cart down the hallway as I passed through the lobby. Could you imagine the poor victim having House trying to take his blood sample?" Wilson was laughing lightly to himself, and Chase forced a smile but could feel his face blanch. Wilson was looking at him intently again, and he swallowed hard.

"You know, you don't look that good. You want me to take the labs, so maybe you could get a coffee or somet-" Wilson's hand extended to take the tray.

"No!" Chase exclaimed with more force than was necessary, and his free hand shot protectively over the vials. But it was too late. One vial was sent off the rack and dropped softly on the floor of the elevator next to Wilson's foot before Chase could stop it.

"Luke N. Laura?" Wilson whispered incredulously to himself as he retrieved the vial. His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions and Chase felt his palms get sweaty. "But why would you...? That was House I saw this morning then." The latter part wasn't a question. Before the younger doctor knew what was happening, the oncologist had grabbed up the vials, pouring over the markings to determine what labs were to be done.

"A full liver panel? And hep tests. Jesus Christ. He's done it, hasn't he? He's fried his liver." His tone was final but Chase could see the silent despair in Wilson's eyes begging him for a contradiction. The intensivist could only look away and return the vials to the tray. At that moment the elevator coasted to a stop and his escape appeared between the sliding doors, but as Chase stepped off, he looked back to see the crumpled shell of the man left behind in the elevator. House's one true friend.

In an instant, the numbness that had enveloped Chase minutes before was washed away by a seething anger. An anger he hadn't felt since his father was alive.

The selfish dick. Doesn't care what he's doing to anyone else. All he cares about are the pills. His precious damn pills! Not one ounce of thought for the people he's leaving behind!

As the doors closed, Chase turned and strode angrily for the lab department, his mind filled with the injustice of how House's selfish dependency was going to crush the people who loved him the most.

And the small voice acknowledging that he was one of those people was just blatantly ignored.

-tbc