A/N: This has turned into a bit of a medical mystery fic. I do have an ending in mind and a plan. Please review!


It's a shame, it's a shame, it's a perfect shame.
Creep under my door and we do it again.
The Bird and The Bee

It's the first halfway decent day since September and, while everything's still brown and grey, there's sun and the ground has dried out somewhat; enough that it wouldn't be out of the question to sit on the grass. He sits on the bench anyway. Too risky and he's had enough of taking risks for right now.

His circadian rhythm has been off recently. Can't keep his eyes open during DDX and can't close them when he should be snug in his bed. He can't remember the last time he slept for more than an hour. His "arrangement" with Cameron hasn't helped. Any benefit to the vigorous physical activity diminishes when your post-coital activities include sarcasm and driving across town to your own apartment. Tends to wake a person up.

There's actually a Chase-shaped impression on his previously pristine sofa and he's become intimately familiar with the late night programming of the Food Network. Cameron had it on one night after a particularly active 'date.' He got out of the shower and there she was watching battle mango on the living room couch. She didn't make him leave and it was so absurdly normal, almost as if they were friends enjoying a night in.

One show bleeds into another and there's a perverse sense of accomplishment to watching a meal from start to finish. Silly, but true. He watches until the paid programming starts and sometimes after that. Can't resist the lure of the Magic Bullet. He'd never hear the end of it if House knew he bought one of the damned things.

But he's got his lunch and an unread Annals of Emergency Medicine (plus a copy of People, if there's no one around) and they haven't got a case. He's determined to enjoy it since it's as close to he's come to resting in the last three weeks.


"Chase!" If there was an award for dismount, his surprised jerk right off the bench may have been a contender. He can't help but glare at Foreman as he pushes himself off the ground and brushes tuna sandwich from his slacks. Foreman just grins.

"Yes?" There's no end to Chase's annoyance with Foreman's satisfied smirk. "Is there a reason you've decided to go around startling people to death?"

Foreman shakes his head. "In case you haven't noticed, it's been three hours. And Cameron's been paging you for the last half hour."

Chase groans, grabbing at his pockets. He's more confused than exasperated when he finds the pager on and flashing. He's never slept through his pager, not even in the hellish initiation of his intern days. It's more than automatic; it's engrained. It's just...weird.

"..th to Chase?" Foreman's smile is all but gone. "You feeling all right?" He gently pushes Chase back on the bench.

"Yeah. No, I'm fine. Just a little tired. Enjoying the sun too much, I suspect." Chase scratches the back of his neck, a sheepish half-grin pulling across his features.

Foreman seems mollified, if skeptical. "You are looking a little pink." He offers a hand, already turning back towards the hospital. "Come on. We've got a case."

Damn. "House?" They've developed a highly sophisticated shorthand consisting of one name in various inflections.

"You've got about five minutes before he notices." They're through the hospital doors and Foreman hesitates as they pass the reception desk. "A little advice, man? This thing with Cameron? Maybe take a break for a few nights. You're looking a little rough."

Chase pushes past him, telegraphing his disapproval with a pointed glare. "Right." He doesn't tell Foreman that it's been 3 days since the last "encounter."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger! I'm all for you two getting some regular sex. Just...don't let it affect your work." They reach the conference room and Foreman stops Chase before the door. "You screw up and we all suffer."

Chase bites down the urge to snap back. They're too close and Foreman was only trying to help in that pompous, clueless manner of his. But Chase didn't need another father. Didn't even need an older brother. "Note taken."

They slide into their usual places around the table and await the arrival of House. Cameron watches Chase closely and it's a little annoying. He shrugs his shoulders and mouths a quick "What?" She rolls her eyes and turns back to the file in front of her.
He's honestly a little disappointed. It's ridiculous, of course. There's nothing wrong with him that a good night's sleep would take care of, but he'd hoped she'd...something. Chase groans silently and rubs his face.

"I'm sorry. Am I bothering you, Chase? I'll just go tell our patient to stop dying because her doctor needs an afternoon nap." Fuck. How House can surprise him every time is a mystery he doesn't even want to solve. It wouldn't change anything. "You with us now? Good. We've got a 37 year old church organist hearing God, and oh yeah, she's got a goiter the size of a guinea pig. It's fantastic. Differential?"

They go to work.


It turns out to be a simple case of schizophrenia (as if any mental illness is simple) and an iodine deficiency. The labs that had initially interested House were mislabeled. A waste of time for all involved, except maybe the patient who would finaly get the treatment she needed.

Anyway.

He's been at home for hours and he's no closer to sleep. Alton Brown is making some sort of casserole that looks mildly interesting. Not interesting enough to stay up for, not really, but sleep is elusive and he's tried everything.

Well. Not everything. But it's late and Cameron's probably asleep. Besides, he's not the one who calls.

He's just the one who waits.