"You really don´t have to worry, it actually rings when someone calls. The light is just an added feature."

They were lying on the couch watching a match of cricket and enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

"What?"

"Stop staring at the phone, you´re not going to miss a call when you´re already in the same room as the thing."

"I´m not expecting any calls."

"Right."

They tried to concentrate on the television again. It was supposed to be a very important game, but at the moment she couldn´t remember why. Was it the finals already? Semi-finals? Her eyes drifted once more from the screen to the phone on the table next to it. There had been no calls in the last ten days and hope was beginning to evaporate.

"If you´re so edgy why don´t you call him?"

"I don´t want to call him."

Someone scored.

"What do you want then?"

"Don´t really know. Another beer maybe?" The game was beginning to bore her.

"You want to call him."

"You want to change the subject so you don't have to get up to get my beer."

"Look who's changing the subject."

"Look who's being lazy." The silence lasted a couple of seconds.

"Didn´t think you´d turn out to be such a coward."

"Pity, cause I always knew you were a bit of a couch potato." She replied playfully nudging him with her head.

"You can just call him and get it over with."

"I don't want to call him. He,…He said he'd call yesterday. If he hasn't it must mean he's busy."

"Or he forgot."

She snorted, snuggling deeper into her blanket and his thigh "Then that just goes to show he didn't give a rats ass in the first place."

"Then maybe you should call and tell Robert just how important this is for you. How much you've missed him."

"I´m a big girl, Robbie hasn't been a part of my life for almost nine years. Yeah, sometimes I wish I had done things differently but it´s a little late to be making up for it now. I don't need him here, he doesn't want me there." Sometimes she really, truly wished that she could believe her own words.

"What do you want?"

"For you to stop bothering me. I can´t concentrate on the game"

"Don´t you want to patch things up with him? You were really excited about it last week…"

"Yeah I" Her thoughts started swimming all over the place, like they always did whenever she thought too much about her brother. "I, we've both messed up. A lot. And some things aren't that easily forgiven."

"That was a long time ago love."

"Doesn't really matter does it? All I've ever done is disappoint him."

"Nothing you can do about it now, is there? There really isn't any point worrying about it if you can't fix the past. But you can always try to fix the future."

"I wish it had been different."

"What's done is done and you can't change it." He sighed and began drawing circles on her shoulder. "What do you want?"

"A time machine. To go back and stop him from going to med-school and leaving me alone with dad in that big empty house. Go back and stop myself from blaming him whenever I was lonely and insecure and scared. It was like, losing both your parents at the same time, except that I barely remembered mum, only that she smelled like stale gin, and dad was locked up in his study and Rob was just, a city away. But he wasn't there anymore. He just, disappeared, from my life." She snorted as she said it, burrowing deeper into his sweater. "Sometimes I wished he had stayed at the seminar, even though he hated it there, but at least it meant I saw him every day. I was that spoilt."

The confession was barely a thought and he knew how hard it was to say it out loud.

"I want to get on my time machine" She whispered hypnotized by the perfume commercial on the television, a part of her wondering when the game had ended. "And I want to go to his wedding."

"Think we just ran out of time machines, but there should still be a few death ray canons next to the coffee mugs if you want. Or there´s some amber fluid in the fridge. Lousy substitute I know, but it's better than nothing."

He got up and headed toward the kitchen and she took that opportunity to stretch out on the sofa, taking up all the possible space while she waited. Idly drumming her fingers on the armrest she mentally weighed the pros and cons again.

"I don't want to call him. I want him to call me." She shouted so that her boyfriend could hear.

"Maybe calling is as hard for him as it is for you."

"Well, then that's just too bad. He's the one that started it all; he should be the one that finishes it off"

"Very mature. You know that makes no sense, right?"

"Yeah, doesn't really have to. Wish it did though. I just keep thinking that I have no idea what last week meant."

"Call him and ask."

"Give me my beer."

-o-o-o-o-o-o

He wondered how long it'd take for him to be able to breathe without wanting to cry at the same time again. Every few minutes he concentrated as hard as possible on remembering how to move his toes, and the mere seconds it took until his muscles understood the order seemed like an eternity that would crush his chest. He had grown accustomed to the sound of the beating of his heart in his ears drowning out the rest of the machines whenever he tried to move.

"In through the nose, out through the mouth." How many patients had he repeated the mantra to through the years? Now that he was the one both mumbling and obeying it, the actions seemed a lot harder to do. Sometimes he felt like no matter how much air he breathed into his lungs these remained stubbornly empty. Moments later his chest began to hurt, the pain expanding like a wave until it closed in on his throat; tightening around his larynx and choking him with the unbearable grief of knowing that even though he had woken up perfectly healthy that morning he might never walk again.

He might never walk again.

It had hit him like a ton of bricks so many times that it was a miracle he hadn't thrown up yet, but after so many hours in surgery and afterwards unconscious in the ICU there was little his stomach had left to return.

Never walk again.

Once more he ordered his toes to move, mentally bracing himself for a world in which they didn't respond. There were times where he relied on his hearing rather than trust his legs: the almost imperceptible rustle of hospital sheets seemed more real than the phantom movements his brain conjured.

For the hundredth time that night he decided to not retry moving, he was exhausted and wanted sleep to claim him. Unfortunately every time he closed his eyes he was looking down at the scalpel sticking out of his chest. Chase remembered not feeling anything at the time, just thinking about the last time he had performed surgery and how that one instrument was enough to cut through any flesh right to the root of the problem and cut it out and all of the sudden his scrubs were covered in blood and it was at that moment that the deafening ringing in his ears began. His body felt cold, but there was a warm tingling sensation at the tips of his fingers and when had he fallen to his knees? Adams was there, shouting and pressing something against his chest and was all that blood really his?

"Chase"

He opened his eyes and locked them onto the white ceiling.

"Hey, saw your eyes move, I know you're awake."

Was he trembling? He wasn't really sure if he was or if it was his body playing tricks on him. Would he ever know again?

"I just,… I…" Foreman let his voice trail off. After a few seconds he grabbed one of the visitor chairs and sat down next to the bed. He carefully grabbed the blonde's hand, squeezing it once to try and comfort the man. "I'm here. Are you feeling ok?"

"Yes" Chase croaked out, his throat still felt tight, his body was more than sore and every time he closed his eyes he remembered being stabbed by an instrument he used every day to save lives. It felt like he was never going to be ok again.

"I'm on House watch again. He hasn't left his office since the hearing except for when he comes to see you."

"He doesn't come to see me."

Foreman chuckled, because the situation was so far from funny it was hilarious. "He hides behind the column next to the nurse's station, tries very hard not to be seen. He's worried about you Chase, we all are. Taub hasn't seen his daughters in three days and Parks and Adams have been sleeping on the sofas in the lounge for the last two."

The silence came back, but the Dean of Medicine had expected it. He knew that the man in front of him did not want to talk, too tired and scared to do anything else but stare at the ceiling and think. He remembered being on the hospital bed too, it seemed like yesterday when it had been years ago. The fear of dying in pain still woke him up many nights.

"Is there anything you want?"

"What if I can never walk again?" It was a chain reaction. The moment the words left his mouth Foreman saw his body begin to shake. His breathing became labored and tears began to pool around his sunk-in eyes. He clenched his hands and Foreman responded by squeezing harder.

"Stop thinking about the what ifs Chase. Yeah, this won't be easy, and physical therapy is going to be a bitch, but you can't let it get to you. You've got to hang on, alright? What´s done is done and the worst part is over, from now on it´s only going to get better."

He couldn't break down, not in front of Foreman. They were colleagues, not friends, he'd always been the first to point that out and yet that lump in his throat was threatening to spill the tears. Was there really a reason to fight down the sob? The black doctor was the closest thing he had to family; they'd been to hell and back together more times than he could count. And he was tired. So very tired of staying strong and being alone.

"I miss Allison. " The blond chocked out, not really knowing where the idea was coming from. It was something that he loathed to confess to himself, much less other people.

"Do you want me to call her?"

"No"

"Chase she can be here in a few hours, it really-"

"No. No, she doesn't need to come. That ship sunk a long time ago. She's got her life with her new husband and it wouldn't be right."

"For God's sake Chase, you two were married; you can't just pretend she never existed in your life!"

"No. I don't want her here." And the comment hurt more than he was willing to admit, but it was definite.

"Is there no one else I can call?" He looked him straight in the eye, trying to stare some sense past the fear and pain. "Your father is the only person you had listed as an emergency contact, and when I called the line was dead. Someone must have cancelled his number."

Chase closed his eyes; yes he had never changed his contact information after his father's death, but the truth was that the number was false anyway. So really, what was the point?

"Do you want me to call someone? Anyone? I'll pay for their trip if I have to. If you want someone else here with you all you have to do is say so."

Silence.

"No"

He'd rather think about the scalpel going through his heart than entertain the idea of calling Rebecca. Not after what he'd done last week. He promised he'd call so they could keep talking, not so she had to fly over an ocean to see him. She had her own life, just like Cameron. A job and a boyfriend and a freaking life he wasn't part of because he had decided he didn't want to be a part of it. It wasn't right, to make her go through so much trouble, just for him.

Maybe last week could have meant something, if things had turned out differently.

It had been his fault; no one else should shoulder the blame and the consequences. House shouldn't have to deal with the guilt of his mistakes; Rebecca shouldn't have to take care of a crippled stranger.

He's the one that started it all; he would be the one that finishes it off.

"What do you want then?"

"I want to sleep" Foreman wondered if his friend had ever sounded so defeated. They had known each other for years, he had hated him for the first couple of them and they had somehow made some sort of truce after that. And yet he felt like he didn´t know the man in front of him. The black doctor liked to pretend that the Australian was too much a private person to really get to know him, but he knew that was a lie. Foreman could think of about a dozen different situations in which Chase had tried to open up to him just to get shot down in the past. And now? Now he didn't open up to anybody. Not after Allison.

"Ok, we're here for you Chase. Whatever you need." Foreman reminded him, getting up from his chair. Watching the man lying on the bed in front of him he made a decision and the concerned friend transformed into the doctor. Reaching out for his chart and giving it a quick read he began scribbling on the paper. "I'm going to give you Midazolam, it should knock you out for a few hours. You look like you could use the rest."

With a dry chuckle the surgeon turned patient nodded and as the iv needle was pricked into his arm he tried to forget how screwed up the world had become.

"Thanks."

-o-o-o-oo-o-

Here's the second chapter. I was very surprised when Cameron didn't show up after her ex-husband had been stabbed, or anyone else for that matter so here's my version of it. As for Foreman coming by his bedside I'd like to think that he spent a lot of time there, but he's always had a knack for disappointing me when it comes to personal interactions. Maybe seeing Chase in a situation similar to what happened to him at the end of season two could make him react. Wishful thinking and all.

This chapter is based on the episode "Nobody's fault", season 8.

I tried playing more with the dialogue, I hope it's clear who is talking and who isn't. Any comment is welcome. Next chapter will probably be set in the past. Thanks for reading!