Tectonic Plates
On some days, Robert Chase feels like a tectonic plate, lying deep below the earth, supporting all of its weighty dirt and life. Or maybe all of its dirty weight and life. 'Semantics,' he thinks tiredly. Every once in a while, all of that weight sends two tectonic plates crashing into one another, causing a destructive earthquake to erupt. Except, Robert Chase never erupts. Never.
On these days, he'll trudge up the long flight of stairs to the roof, he'll make sure that no one is around, and then he'll sit on the edge of the roof. Here he can get away from the heated, rushed, colliding lithosphere he lives in and just float for a second on the atmosphere. Sometimes he raises his arms up and leans forward, just a little, until he hits that edge of fear that zaps him backwards, like an electric fence. This analogy makes him laugh, because that makes him the collared dog. Typical.
It just happened to be on one of these days that House, propelled by God-knows-what cause, follows Chase up to the roof. Chase doesn't realize he's there until the tale-tell thud-step-thud is right behind him. But this isn't House's place--he's not supposed to be here--so Chase keeps staring down at his feet, entranced by the sight of them dangling over the edge and the feel of them tingling with the fear of knowing there's over thirty feet of air between them and the ground.
Inside, Chase is very annoyed to be intruded upon, but he makes sure that his face remains blank. Vaguely he hears some sarcastic, witty little gibe come from House, but frankly, he's been here so long and heard so many, there's a point where they all merge together.
House is silent for a while; waiting for an answer, Chase supposes. He can't remember what insult House threw at him this time, and House is tapping his cane on the ground--House hates waiting--so Chase throws out the first thing that comes to mind.
"Are you afraid of heights?"
House
grunts, as though the question is unworthy of him.
"Are you?" Chase presses, in a slightly fazed manner.
Chase is sure that he's going to say no. It isn't like House to admit to a weakness, but he's surprised.
"A little." House acquiesces.
"What are you afraid of? Falling? Or jumping?"
House doesn't have an answer to this. He's smart enough to realize that the question isn't about suicide, but beyond that, he seems to be at a loss.
Chase knows that at this moment he is supposed to be deep and mysterious; he's supposed to play the part of the baffling puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit. Still, he can't keep from letting the sides of his mouth twitch upwards for a second. He had effectively silenced House, the man with a cynical opinion on everything.
He gets back up, walks past House, and treks back down the stairs. He has a smile on his face the whole time. By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he's forgotten all about tectonic plates.