Disclaimer: House, MD. belongs to Universal. No profit made/no profit sought.

Mr. Smith's accomplice held both doctors at gunpoint while he locked the exam room door. Mr. Smith was still gazing at Chase like he had won the lottery.

Foreman and Chase stood very close together trying to communicate while they had a chance.

"I'll try to get them to let you go," Chase told his teammate quietly. "Then you get help."

"I had no idea," Foreman apologized. He knew they were imbalanced, but he had no idea they were dangerous. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow.

"Shut up!" the gunman barked, turning back to them.

Joe stood again and was very close to Chase, looking him up and down like he was inspecting a product. He reached out to touch Chase's hair. He patted the floppy locks that often covered Chase's eyes when he was reading. "It's so soft," Joe said gleefully. He put his palm against Chase's cheek and tilted his head upward so he could study his face.

Chase felt his stomach lurch when the other man touched him. He wanted to swat the hand away from his face, but he was too afraid of what the other man would do if he fought. There was a very real gun pointed right at him.

Foreman saw that Chase looked as if he were going to be sick. There was no doubt that Joe Smith was a head case, but his friend was even more alarming, waving that gun at them with an unsteady hand.

Joe turned back to his friend, "He's pretty," he announced, nodding his head with approval. With the hand that was not on Chase, he touched his own neck. "And smart, and kind, and so talented."

Foreman's stomach turned with anxiety.

"What do you want from me?" Chase asked mustering up the courage to break the order to be quiet. He looked around the exam room as if he were seeing it for the first time, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon or a way to contact the outside office for help. He saw glass jars holding cotton balls and cotton swabs, a box of cheap one-ply tissues, rolls of medical tape and gauze, and a copy of Good Housekeeping that someone had brought in from the waiting room. Anything that could have been useful was locked away in one of the sterile cabinets.

"Cooperation," the gunman answered. Chase noticed that his hand shook slightly which might indicate that he was not comfortable holding a gun. That could be interpreted two ways. Either it was a good thing because he did not often hold people at gunpoint and did not really have a desire to fire that gun, or it was a bad thing because he did not have practice holding someone at gunpoint and might be trigger happy should things not go his way. "Or people will die. Starting with your friend. Then those nice people in the waiting room."

Chase followed the gunman's glance to Foreman. "I'll cooperate," he answered. He looked to Foreman and back to the man. "I think your issue is with me, so there's no reason for him to be here."

The gunman laughed a hysterical, high-pitched laugh. "How stupid do you think I am?" he asked with a hint of anger. "Your buddy there ensures you'll do exactly what we say. Otherwise I'll blow his brains out. I figure being a doctor and all, you don't want to see people die unnecessarily. But it's really up to you."

Trigger happy, Chase decided, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Foreman silently repented for every time he had ever ridiculed Chase. He wished Chase actually had a reason to be loyal to him. He's loyal to House and he's a bigger ass than I am, he thought hopefully.

"Okay, okay," Chase soothed. "Just tell me what you want." He had a sinking feeling that things were going to get a lot worse. Neither of these men were mentally stable and they were armed, creating a very dangerous situation.There was a clinic full of innocent bystanders who would be in jeopardy if he and Foreman did not cooperate. The gunman already had the unfair advantage of knowing he was not likely to let people die if he could help it.

Joe stroked Chase's face again. His green eyes were wide with anticipation. "I want you, Dr. Chase." He leaned down and crushed his lips against the young doctor's.

Chase's posture became rigid and he squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself that he could not fight against it or he and Foreman would both die. Joe Smith was licking his lips and trying to push inside his mouth, which he had clenched shut. Giving in enough to save his life did not mean he had to make this easy for the assailant. It felt like a hundred thoughts were swirling around in his mind all at once. The situation itself was settling upon him and the fact that Foreman was watching only made it more humiliating. He wondered if someone would realize there was a problem and stop this before it went further. He wondered exactly how far Joe intended to take this infatuation with him and what the two men would do to get out of the hospital. Were they going to just leave them there or would they kill them and then open fire on anyone else in the waiting room and clinic office? He wished he had never been there to stop Joe from dying.

Frustrated, Joe pulled away and exhaled. "You're not playing right," he accused.

The next thing Chase felt was the barrel of the gun against his temple. "You said you would cooperate."

"I'm trying," Chase whispered. He refused to look at Foreman. He knew he had to block out the other man's presence in order to play the game these two had created. If he let his fear of Foreman's potential to use this to humiliate him in the future stay in his mind he would probably not live to be disparaged by his colleague.

Before Chase could catch his breath, Joe's lips were on him again and soon he was gagging from the clumsy, abrasive intrusion that was supposed to be a kiss.

Suddenly Joe was pulled away from him by the other man. Chase opened his eyes to see what had happened and saw the gunman just as he was slapped with what seemed to be as much strength as the man could muster. Chase stumbled sideways, but was kept from falling by a cabinet full of medical supplies. "Whores never let you kiss them," the gunman announced. He aimed the weapon at Chase's forehead. "Turn around!" he demanded. He took the roll of medical tape from the counter and threw it to Foreman. "Tie his hands behind his back."

Foreman caught the tape instinctively and blankly stared at it for a moment.

"Now! Or I'll shoot your worthless Black ass!" His voice was cold and far too calm for the situation he was creating.

Foreman approached Chase whose back was to him. Chase moved his arms behind his back. He realized Chase had done that to spare him from having to force them into place. He wrapped tape loosely around his wrists and whispered, "I'm sorry," before backing away.

"Get on your knees!" was the next command. He turned to Joe, "Stop playing nice. Just get what we're here for. Hurry up!"

Reluctantly, Chase fell to his knees. It was a less than graceful move since his balance was compromised by the awkward position of his arms. His heart was beating too fast and there was a rushing sound in his ears. This is not really happening, he thought. This is not really happening.

"You're pathetic," the gunman spat. He turned back to Foreman, "You--get over there and don't let him fall over." He used the firearm as a pointer.

Foreman hesitated, horrified that the men expected him to assist them in whatever they planned to do to Chase. Part of him expected a sign from Chase that it was okay for him to follow the madman's directions, but Chase was staring at the floor. Quickly reminding himself that both of their lives were at stake, he took his place behind Chase to steady him.

What happened next was something Foreman tried to ignore, but could not. He heard Joe tell Chase to open his mouth. He heard Chase softly confessing, "I don't know how." Foreman found himself bracing Chase as Joe Smith rammed himself into the young man's unwilling mouth.

"You'll learn," Joe told him in a low voice. "I'll teach you."

Foreman saw his own hands on Chase's shoulders, holding him steady. At the same time, Joe Smith's hands were tangled in the blond tresses, guiding him in forward, backward, up, down.

Chase was gagging, coughing, and trying to catch his breath while tears were streaming from his eyes. Foreman could tell that the muscles in his back were starting to spasm from the unnatural strain put against his arms and shoulders. He did not know if it was the right or the wrong thing to do, but he squeezed the younger man's shoulders, trying to remind him that he was not alone. He hoped it would not serve to remind him that his coworker was taking part in this attack, albeit by force.

Though it was only a few minutes, it seemed to take forever for Joe Smith to be initially satiated. Foreman checked the clock. It was near 6:00 PM. Surely with the clinic closing soon someone would check the rooms; someone would stop this madness.

Joe released himself and pulled away, collapsing onto the spinning chair that the doctors usually used while talking to their patients.

Chase crumpled against Foreman's legs, his breath ragged. Foreman patted Chase's arm, trying to offer comfort. His muscles jerked again, so Foreman leaned down to tear apart the restraining tape.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the gunman asked.

"This is torture!" Foreman told him. "Please, let me undo his arms." He turned to Joe. "He saved your life. Don't you have any compassion at all?"

"He's not cooperating." The gunman answered.

"Look at him!" Foreman argued. Chase was a broken heap, as silent and still as he could be. If it were not for Foreman's support, he would be curled into himself on the floor. "You got what you wanted. He's not going anywhere."

"It's okay," Joe said to the other man. "I don't want to hurt him."

Foreman resisted the urge to ask what the hell he thought he had just done. His focus was on easing Chase's immediate pain.

"Fine," the gunman approved. But instead of letting Foreman remove the restraints, he lifted Chase by his collar and threw him against the examining table. He laid the gun down momentarily while ripping apart the medical tape. He grabbed the gun again before Foreman even had time to register that he had let a chance to get a hold of it slip away.

Chase was barely standing, leaning limply against the table. His arms fell forward and he reflexively rolled his shoulders to get the blood flowing properly again. His back was to Foreman and he remained quiet.

Foreman watched the other three men, pleading with whatever Force might be listening to do something to end this. Chase was in some sort of daze, his spirit broken. He was trapped by the threat against other innocent people. Joe Smith was still naked from the waist down. The man whose name they did not know was watching Joe, waiting for him to determine what came next.

Joe approached Chase from behind. He grabbed his hair and pushed him face down into the exam table.

Foreman refused to watch. He was perched in the corner, head down, trying to block out the site and sounds of what was being done to his colleague. He dug his hands into his lab coat and felt a small rectangular piece of metal and plastic. He realized he had his cell phone. It was on and the sound was set to vibrate, the way he always kept it when he was working the clinic. He glanced up and saw that the armed man was absorbed by the crime being committed in front of him. Foreman turned his back to block what he was doing. He quickly got to his text messaging center and typed in "2 gnmen xam 4 chase hrt" and sent it to House. If any doctor would ignore the many "No Cell Phone Use" signs, it would be their boss.