Chapter 2
Note: Hello everyone, thank you for the encouraging reviews! Here's the moment we've been waiting for, when everything goes to hell for ... everyone, especially poor Chase. Enjoy! Disclaimers in part 1. Thanks!
oOooOooOooOo
His head was pounding. That was the first thing he realised. That, and the fact that he felt warm. Too warm. As he dwelled on that thought, a cough bubbled out from his lungs and he flinched, surprised at the stab of pain in his chest.
"What the hell are you doing here?!"
The woman's voice stabbed into his aching head and his eyes snapped open instantly, but all he saw was an oak table. The mahogany desk clock on the wall beyond the table said 10.25am ... he was in an office. Certainly not his, since he didn't have anything that grand (nor liked that kind of décor). Disoriented, he blinked to clear his foggy vision but was startled when someone shook his shoulder roughly.
"Are you drunk?" said the same shrill, irritated voice.
Carefully, he craned his head towards the direction of the voice and was surprised when his eyes finally landed on the face of the enraged Dean of Medicine, Lisa Cuddy.
"What are you doing here?" he wondered out loud. His voice sounded hoarse and scratchy.
"For one, this is my office," she said hotly.
That snapped him out of his fog. Chase sat up quickly – but had to brace himself on the arm of the sofa to combat the wave of nausea that came with the movement – and shook his head in confusion.
"What? How ... how did I get here?" he asked, running a shaky hand through his damp, matted hair. God, it was hot.
If it was possible, Cuddy looked angrier. "Get out!" she snapped.
"What? What the hell is going on?" he demanded. The last thing he remembered was walking to the bar near his place. He vaguely remembered getting a drink and then ... this.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he demanded.
Cuddy looked exasperated this time. "First, you pass out in my office, drunk, and next you ask me if I pulled a prank on you?"
"That's not what I-"
"I have far better things to do than to play tricks on doctors, and you know it's against hospital policy to come in like this!" she snapped.
He winced, then coughed. "Look I ..." he began ... then felt tired when he saw her furious expression. "Okay, all right, I'll go," he hissed against the pain in his head. He was too tired and too confused to figure this out with an angry person around.
He wobbled to his feet, surprised at how dizzy he felt. He looked uncertainly at Cuddy, sighed, then trudged towards the doors, cradling his aching head in a hand.
He heard Cuddy sigh, then said: "Dr. Chase. Wait."
He turned to look at her through squinted eyes.
"I heard about what happened," she said.
God, he didn't need this now.
"It's fine," he muttered irritably and turned away to leave again, but Cuddy stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"What are you going to do about it?" she demanded.
"Nothing," he said tersely.
"You have a right to lodge a complaint," she said, now in a strangely gentle tone.
"And then what? It's not as if it's going to change anything," he said, more harshly than he intended. He sighed again - this time in frustration. "I'm sorry. It's just been a crappy week."
Cuddy sighed. "Isn't it for all of us. I'll let you go this time – seeing what you've been put through yesterday, and today, judging by the fact that you can barely walk straight let alone break into my office. But don't let me catch you drunk in the hospital ever again."
"Of course," he said dully and walked as quickly as his aching body would allow.
OoOoOoOoo
Chase managed to find his way to the doctor's lounge despite his dizziness and growing anxiety over his inability to remember how he got to the hospital, let alone Cuddy's office. When he entered the room, the few doctors who were there turned towards him. Some grinned, while others openly chuckled as he stumbled to his locker.
"Great, which one of you doofuses stuffed me in Cuddy's office?" he demanded, then coughed.
At that, the doctors got up – almost as one – and left the room, some patting him on the shoulder as if he'd done something funny. The last among the lot was Foreman, who gave him a smile and asked: "Had a good nap?" Then, chuckling to himself, he followed the others out.
"I don't need this," Chase muttered, rubbing his aching jaw. He shuffled wearily to the mirror and discovered that the bruise on his jaw had turned a livid purple. He closed his eyes, feeling a mixture of anger and embarrassment as he recalled how he got the bruise in the first place.
His eyes were also bloodshot, and sweat had plastered his matted blond hair to his head. In short: he was a total mess.
"I'm not going to wait anymore," he muttered to himself, repeating what he said to Wilson last night.
"Wait for what?" a voice demanded.
He turned tired eyes towards Cameron, who stood there with her arms crossed indignantly. Her eyes were hard and accusing – yet another person mad at him for reasons he could not remember.
"And you're mad because...?" he drawled.
"You don't remember, do you?"
"Apparently not," he sighed. Despite being in the cool, air-conditioned lounge, he was still sweating heavily. His day had just gotten better – he must be coming down with a cold.
"You came in drunk today. And then you yelled, no, cursed at everyone, and passed out cold on the floor. You're lucky Cuddy didn't see you and haul you up for suspension."
That piece of information sent a surprising spike of fear through him. "What?" he breathed. He didn't remember doing any of that.
How often had he dealt with this with his mother? How many weepy morning afters did he have to endure, with her apologizing for hitting him or calling him "the spawn of that Czech bastard"? He had vowed never to go down the route she was on.
"You really don't remember, do you?" This time Cameron sounded concerned.
"No," he muttered, sinking down on a bench near the lockers. His heart began to thud loudly in his chest, and his chest began to tighten in panic. He was sure ... sure that he did not drink at the bar. He never had the desire to drink himself to oblivion – not after what he'd seen in his life. He tried hard to remember what he did, but came up with a blank.
"Never had blackouts after drinking too much before?" Cameron asked, her voice cutting through his confusion.
He gave her a hard look. "I don't get drunk."
"And I'm supposed to believe that," Cameron said sarcastically.
He suddenly felt tired about it all. House's insufferable attitude, Tritter, his colleagues believing that he had betrayed House, and now the missing few hours from his life.
"I don't care what the fuck you believe," he hissed, and got up, intending fully to march away indignantly.
But the effect was marred when black spots suddenly danced in his vision, and the world suddenly tipped. He grabbed the nearby sink in surprise when he stumbled and began to cough helplessly. His chest burned from deep inside.
"Chase? Are you all right?" Gentle hands touched his face and he jerked away irritably.
"I'm fine. Leave me alone, damn it!" he said breathlessly between coughs, stumbling away from Cameron. He had to get out of this place. This hospital, away from House and everyone. It became a burning mission as he stumbled away.
"You're not fine. You're burning up!"
Cameron intercepted his wobbly path to the door and stopped him by lightly placing her hands on his shoulders.
"It's just a cold," he said, but his attempt at convincing her failed miserably when a strong shudder passed through his body. When it had been hot before, it was now horribly cold. He trembled violently as he fixed determined eyes on Cameron, knowing that he wasn't fooling anyone with his tough act now.
Cameron studied his reaction and shook her head. "It's not just a cold. I'm going to call House," she said.
Chase cursed. "For God's s-s-sakes. I don't need him," he snapped. He brushed past a protesting Cameron and gladly escaped into the busy corridor outside. But his freedom was short lived when he felt a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. Confused at the sudden onslaught of sickness, he stopped in the middle of the crowd, wondering what the hell is happening to him.
The crowd outside made his confusion worse; his vision began to fog and the people who walked by him turned into ghost-like figures which he couldn't focus on. He felt a curious sense of detachment as he stumbled past them towards a destination he now couldn't remember ... he couldn't even remember clearly why he wanted to escape Cameron so much. He faintly heard someone calling his name, but he grew dizzy when he tried to focus on the voice.
"Chase!"
He jerked at the sound of his name, and tried to look around to find who it was that called him. But the world began to spin madly.
Then he felt the cold melt into heat and suddenly he was on fire again. He looked blearily at the now puzzled faces around him and closed his eyes against their intrusive gazes.
That was a mistake. When he opened his eyes again, he found that he didn't know which way was up or down ... and then he was falling ...
ooOoooOoOoo
Wilson looked up when he heard a knock on his door. He wasn't surprised when a chagrined-looking House peeked inside his office.
"You presentable?"
"Depends what you mean by presentable," he replied as he shuffled the remaining case files he was reassigning.
Wilson didn't have to do an examination to know that House felt like hell. There were dark circles under his eyes and lines of pain on his face. Withdrawal was not kind to House; it will only get worse especially now that Tritter is tightening his hold on the staff.
They stared at each silently. House twirled his cane while Wilson merely stared.
"So," House began.
"So," he answered flatly. Wilson found it difficult to meet House's eyes ... afraid that the man would see the truth in them.
After another strained silence, House took one determined step forward. "Look, neither of us is very good at this-"
"House!"
Both men looked up in surprise to see Cuddy at the doorway, her hands on her hips.
"We're having a man-to-man conversation here? Last time I checked you didn't have a penis," House said.
"Shut up. You've gone too far this time, House," she said, her voice steely.
He straightened up, his mouth in a tight, grim line. "So, you've heard."
"Yes, I've heard. And I have no idea why Chase wouldn't report you, but no matter – you've crossed the line. You've done enough."
Wilson realised what Cuddy immediately – he remembered the night with Chase and the sandwiches. Surprisingly, House didn't come back with his usual sarcastic rebuttal.
"It just happened," he said, his tone subdued.
"Just happened? You attacked a subordinate!"
"Now, 'attacked' would be stretching it," he said.
"I can't keep doing this, House. Maybe it's time to reconsider whether you're good for this hospital," she said, her voice low.
Wilson stood up at that. "Come on, you can't seriously-"
Suddenly, a pager went off. All three reached for theirs, but only House's registered a message. He read it and when he looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.
"What?" Cuddy asked in concerned
House didn't bother answering. Without a word, he walked out of the door, leaving a bewildered Wilson and a startled Cuddy behind.
"House? What's going on?" Cuddy called out.
oOooOooOo
When Foreman roped in some residents to pull that prank on Chase, Cameron was, of course, not pleased.
"Last time I checked, eight-year-olds didn't graduate from medical school," she said caustically as the men picked up Chase's prone figure.
"Call this an early onset of dementia," Foreman grinned as he gestured for the others to haul Chase away to Cuddy's room.
"He had it coming," Foreman said pointedly to Cameron.
"What's next? You're going to spit on his food?"
"Come on, that's unprofessional. Why use spit when there are laxatives?" said Dr Bruce Hodgkins, surgery intern and someone Cameron once described as a "professional idiot".
As Foreman strode across the foyer, he grinned at the memory of the morning's juvenile activities. Sure brought back memories of med school; before the days of House, Vogel and Tritter.
Speaking of which, here was Chase walking towards him now, just a few steps away from him.
His grin faded, however, when he saw Chase falter and bump into someone clumsily. And since the hospital was overcrowded today because of a bus accident near the hospital, the excitable teenagers, with their concerned parents and overworked teachers, weren't making things easy for Chase as he weaved his way unsteadily through the crowd.
He's still drunk? He thought, puzzled. That can't be right.
"Chase!" he called out as he walked quickly towards him.
Foreman saw Chase jerk in surprise and turn his unfocused gaze everywhere except at him. It was all the clue Foreman needed to know that there was something seriously wrong with the intensivist. He increased his pace, pushing his way forward through the crowd-
And then, without warning, Chase collapsed heavily.
"Shit!" he cursed as he broke into a run.
The crowd parted neatly for him. However, when he knelt beside Chase's prone body, the murmur at the lobby increased and curious onlookers began gathering around them.
"Everyone, give them some room!" someone yelled. Foreman vaguely realised that was Cameron.
But right now, his attention was on Chase who lay on the cold floor of the hospital lobby. His face was flushed and he was sweating heavily – Foreman didn't have to touch Chase's skin to know that he was burning up with fever. And although he was unconscious, Chase seemed anxious; his breathing was quick and shallow, his head moved restlessly and his eyes fluttering but never really fully opening.
Cameron knelt near Chase's prone body and felt for his pulse. "Pulse is quick and thready," she reported. "Was he symptomatic this morning?" she asked Foreman.
"No. No fever that we could feel. He was just intoxicated. You saw him," he said.
In his mind, Foreman was already noting down Chase's symptoms: High fever, chills, confusion, dyspnea ...
"Chase? Chase, can you -" but before Cameron could complete her sentence, Chase curled into himself and began coughing and shaking violently. Instinctively, Foreman reached out to steady the man but then his eyes widened when he realised that the floor was flecked with blood.
Immediately, Cameron yelled: "Someone page House!"