House sneezed, sniffing and wiping his nose, then turning his attention back to the tv.

He looked up, as the door opened, and, rather than one of his three missing ducklings, he saw nurse Brenda.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed at the interruption and continuing absence of his underlings.

"Dr. Chase is in the ER being rushed to surgery with spinal injury and internal bleeding after a car accident."

House tilted his head a little.

"Ah. That explains why he's not here."

Brenda rolled her eyes, pulling back and leaving.

House stared at the tv for a while longer, then sighed, tossed an empty vicodin bottle at the power button, and got up, limping down the hall.

Cameron and Foreman were standing in the surgical observatory, Cameron's face pressed into Foreman shoulder, when House peeked his head around the corner, into the stairwell leading upwards. He pulled it back almost immediately, then crossed quickly into the scrub room, watching from there.

House jumped, as Wilson came in the other door, eyebrows invisible in his hair.

"You're sneaking into the scrub room to watch Chase's surgery because you actually care, but don't want anyone to know you do. You're pathetic."

House sighed.

"Go away."

"No. You're pathetic. Go up there and stand in the corner. You don't have to say you're there cus you care, just cus it's got a better view."

"What's the point of being up there if you don't care about the person, and hence the view?"

"Nothing. But that doesn't matter, because you care about the person. Go up there."

"I don't like stairs."

"Take the elevator."

"It's slow."

"It goes up one floor. Go up there. If they mess up, and you weren't up there to see it, I'm going to spend the next five months scraping you off the floor of your bathroom because the guilt will make your leg hurt and you'll overdose and get drunk trying to deal with that. Just watch the damn surgery."

"What makes you think I give enough of a damn to feel guilty?"

"The fact that you do."

"No, I don–" House was cut off by a loud beeping sound from the operating room.

"Dammit!"

Wilson sighed, as House bolted–to the extent House could bolt–up the stairs to the window.

Foreman clenched his fist around the stethoscope in his pocket, his other hand on Cameron's back as she held on to him, scared for Chase, the sound of the heartrate alarm ringing in their ears.

He blinked, as the person he had least expected to see–House–struggled his way onto the observation platform.

"What happened?"

"He lost blood, v-fib."

House turned, watching the assisting shock the blond once, twice, three times, before the monitor started showing a steady rhythm again.

House sighed, shoulders lowering.

Foreman glanced at him.

"You're staying up here?"

"Well I was hiding in the scrub room, but since you obviously know I'm watching, I might as well get the better view."

Foreman would have rolled his eyes, but decided now was not the best time to berate House for hypocracy.

"What's he got?"

"Internal bleeding, one of his kidneys ruptured. And there's some spinal damage, they haven't had time to assess it yet."

House swore, surprising both Foreman and Cameron. They hadn't thought House would be that upset, or even if he was, that he would show it.

The surgeon looked up, shaking his head.

Foreman sighed.

"What?" asked House.

"They can't save the kidney."

House limped down the stairs, into the scrub room.

Foreman blinked. House was bothering to scrub in before barging into a surgery?

"House, you can watch from the observation room."

"Let me see."

"House, look, I know he's your employee, but–"

House rolled his eyes, shoving himself between the surgeon and Chase.

"Why are you taking it out?"

"Because there's too much damage, he'll bleed out before I'm done suturing."

"Then clamp the artery, there's only one that feeds the kidney."

"That could cause irreversible damage from the oxygen loss!"

"More irreversible than removing it?"

Five hours later, Cameron and Foreman were standing next to Chase's bed in the icu, watching him and waiting for him to wake up. House was lurking just outside the room.

Chase groaned softly, turning his head in the pillows.

"Chase?" asked Cameron, leaning over him.

He groaned again, opening his eyes.

He frowned, blinking sleepily at Cameron.

"What happened? Why am I in the icu?"

"You had a car accident, your kidney ruptured."

"Oh... uh, how'd it go?"

"They were going to remove it, too much damage to sew before you would have bled out."

"Were going to?"

"Yeah. They changed their minds, clamped the artery, let blood flow through it every few minutes."

"Why did they change their minds? That's not an approved technique, it has a risk of major damage due to oxygen loss, which would be worse than just removing it."

Foreman smirked.

"Yeah, well, we're not allowed to tell you who changed their minds, under threat of toenail painting and sex change rumors respectively, but if you think about it, I'm guessing you can figure it out. Oh, and here's a hint. It was a kidney, not a brain, immune system, tumor, or hormone gland."

Chase frowned.

"House?"

Cameron nodded.

Chase blinked.

"Why was he even in the observation room?"

Cameron smiled, Foreman smirked.

"Because you went into v-fib, and he couldn't see what was going on from the scrub room where he'd been hiding."

Chase still looked confused, but gave up on the issue.

"So... just a ruptured kidney that got saved?"

Cameron and Foreman glanced at each other, looking upset.

"I haven't been able to do a full evaluation, because you've been unconscious since they brought you in here, but there's some degree of spinal injury."

Chase's eyes widened.

Foreman grimaced.

"Sorry."

Chase sighed, hand on the painful area above his kidney.

Foreman looked questioningly at him.

Chase rolled his eyes.

"Do it, already."

Foreman nodded, poking each toe in turn.

"Felt it." said Chase, relieved.

Foreman put his hands on the balls of Chase's feet.

"Press?"

He frowned.

"Harder?"

"Chase? Are you pressing harder?"

Chase nodded, looking upset.

Foreman sighed.

"Well, it's not as bad as we thought it might be. You've got pretty good function for the damage you suffered, but you're going to be doing pt for a long time, and you probably won't regain complete use."

Chase nodded, then waved for them to leave.

"Bye." said Cameron quietly.

He just nodded to her, upset, then closed his eyes.

Maybe an hour later, he got the feeling that someone was watching him.

He opened his eyes.

Barely visible, quickly withdrawn, scruffy.

House.

Chase felt the depression he was feeling lighten slightly.

Foreman and Cameron had been looking at him like he was a different person, almost like he was a patient.

House was gawking at him through a window. That happened when he got a date, new tie, mail, or stray drip of ice cream on his shirt. It wasn't new, it was just House.

"Yunno, that's kinda creepy." he said, just loud enough to carry through the glass, "can't really tell if you're worried or jerking off from behind that corner. Might call a nurse, cus the second'd be really creepy."

House emerged from around the corner, looking uncomfortable and... uncertain? Now that was new.

"Hi." said House awkwardly.

Again, unlike Foreman and Cameron, House was looking straight at him, despite the fact that he was obviously uncomfortable.

And even better, Chase was pretty sure the discomfort was caused by the fact that he was letting someone see he was worried about them, not by the reason he was worried.

Chase smirked.

"Hey, do you think you could pretend to detox or something? Because Cameron's being awfully annoying."

House blinked.

Chase frowned internally. He had gotten House off guard with that?

Then he figured it out. House had probably been expecting–and dreading–his wanting to connect, maybe talk about what he was going through. He had, just on a 'this sucks and we both know it' level, rather than a 'how did you get through this? Let's have a touchy-feely discussion' one.

"May I point out that I am not gonna feel sorry for the poor cripple boy?"

Chase paused.

From time he could remember until he turned twenty-four, he had never used, thought, or heard someone else use the word 'cripple' to describe someone without correcting it. Yes, he had read it in books, but it was a very impolite and incorrect thing to say, as far as he had been concerned. Then he had gotten a job with House, less than a year after the infarction, when he was still going to pt. Chase had been so awkward, that the first time House had self-proclaimed himself a cripple, Chase had automatically tried to correct him. House had given him a eye-roll and a withering look, then continued on with his monologue, using the word about twice as often as had been necessary to make his point.

Now, less than an hour after finding out what had happened, and what was likely to be the result, House had called him a cripple, in the same, calm, indifferent way.

Chase grinned.

Disabled, handicapped, mobility impaired... all those polite terms had been running through his head since Foreman had talked to him. They had all given him a picture of years of trying to overcome something, of trying to be normal.

Crippled... was more of a picture of whining at a clinic patient that they needed to get off the table because did it look like he could examine their tonsils from way down here? It was a picture of forcing his personality to stand out more than his body, and too bad for them if they only saw the body. Granted, he probably wouldn't be nearly as extreme as House... but... it seemed so much more inviting than struggling to fit in and be normal.

House was smirking at him.

"You do realize that you're not gonna be nearly as good at it as me, right? Cus I was a jerk anyway."

Chase smirked.

"Maybe I'm not gonna be a jerk."

House shrugged.

"Well, I suppose it will make your ass-kissing much easier. Literarily and figuratively."

Chase snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you were much more subtle before you started carrying a cane everywhere."

House quirked an eyebrow.

"That's been done to death, and it was lame even the first time."

Chase shrugged.

"I'm on morphine and I've got a concussion, I'm allowed to make lame jokes."

"That's not a lame joke, that's the stupidest joke I've ever heard."

"No, the stupidest joke you've ever heard was when I tried to get Foreman with that yo mamma joke."

House considered.

"True. But then again, that means your sense of humor actually improves when you're high and concussed. What does that say about you?"

Chase tilted his head a little.

"Maybe it's more of a humor threshold. It goes up when I'm not thinking straight, takes more to make me laugh."

"You laugh at your own jokes all the time. How easy can a guy be?"

"I dunno, but from what I heard when Stacy was hear, a lot easier than me."

"True, but at least I don't have to get Cameron high on meth to make her want to sleep with me."

"I doubt I'd have to now. She wanted to sleep with you because she found a inanimate piece of wood more attractive than a human being."

"It does get hard, but it sure ain't inanimate."

"Hmm, it moves? No wonder you wear condoms, wouldn't want it to try and escape inside her."

"I'm more worried about her eating it up, it's so good, you know?"

Chase wrinkled his nose.

"No, and I don't want to."

House laughed, getting up–he had sat down in the chair next to Chase's bed partway through–as his pager went off.

"Wilson... probably wants to get all sappy over the fact I watched your surgery."

Chase wrinkled his nose again.

"He got sap all over my surgery? Ew."

House snorted.

"Clean out your ears, I'm pretty sure at least one of your fingers still work."

Chase grinned, watching him go.

That had definitely been the most pleasant visit yet.

Also, definitely the most pleasant conversation he had ever had with House.

Actually... that had been one of the most pleasant conversations he had ever had, period.

It had been fun, funny, and completely unemotional. He had had conversations vaguely similar with girls, but those had been dripping with subtext. This had been like a game, with neither side taking any actual offense at what the other did.

Maybe that sort of conversation was why Wilson still stuck around.

Chase frowned a little.

That sort of conversation hadn't happened before.

Some part of the way House looked at him had to have changed.

But... what?

He obviously didn't feel sorry for him...

Or guilty about anything...

Or awkward about what had happened...

Wait...

Not awkward about what had happened? House had watched his surgery, saved his kidney, and hung around outside his room, worried, for hours.

House had practically hung a banner saying 'I give a damn'.

Which was something House didn't do.

He didn't give a damn, or if he did, he didn't show it, and on the rare occasion he showed it, he ran away and hid behind his prickly asshole personality so nobody would try and get close to him.

This time, he had come in, sat down, talked, cheered Chase up, laughed, and practically apologized for leaving.

All of which practically hung a second banner, reading 'and I want you to know it'.

And that banner practically hung it's own banner, saying 'because I don't mind you getting close to me'.

Why the hell would his getting in a car accident make House not mind him getting close?

Maybe... maybe because like Wilson's perpetual need to care for someone and Stacy's need for a sparring partner, his need for someone who got what he was going through, but didn't want to get all mushy over it was something House could do without trying. Something that was just part of him, that wouldn't go away.

Maybe House needed someone to need him before he could bring himself to get close. Maybe he was too scared to be the one who needed.

Chase smiled quietly to himself.

If that was how House's view of him had changed... well, that was easy to stand.

He liked that change.