Initially, House ignored the cell phone as it buzzed against the wooden table, the sound penetrating the solace that he had formed in his mind. He held a new guitar in his hands at the moment, the smooth finish such a wonderful feeling beneath his fingers that it brought him close to bliss. The guitar was actually far from a new model- it was a refurbished vintage, one that he had had his eye on for the better part of two years. Though the price tag had been daunting, he had finally caved to his insatiable desires, and shelled out the cash that would land the beautiful instrument in his hands.

More so than just the weight of money that went into the purchase, the seller was located in Ohio, an additional investment of quite a few hours of driving. Though he had never planned to go to the conference in the first place, the purchase of the instrument served as yet another excuse to avoid the loathsome situation. Instead of confessing to Cuddy that he would be missing the talk she had scheduled him for, he had assigned Chase to go in his place without telling another soul. This forced reassignment of duties had occurred the very night before the intensivist had to leave to make the conference in ample time.

It had been somewhat humorous to see the blonde's eyes go wide at the news, and hear him stutter in surprise to the unexpected trip. The reaction had been full of surprise and shock, just what House had expected, and even looked forward to seeing from his employee. Even better, House had been given a front row seat to Chase's fear as he explained to the intensivist just what his duties at the conference included. For the young doctor to hear that he was to be giving a review of diagnostic medicine in the elder doctor's place had brought Chase near to collapsing, and House admittedly took some pleasure in watching Chase's knees shake at the prospects of such a task.

"Tell them that a case has come up for me, an emergency that needs my full attention." Those were the words that had left his mouth, no shame at the delivery of the blatant lie. There had been nonchalance to his tone, although what he were asking was not an assignment of tremendous weight, as though it were no sin to be so uncaring. It was only then that he had left Chase alone, standing shocked in the middle of the office, now with a full three-day weekend conference on his hands. At that point, House had felt rather amused, and even enthralled that he had managed to avoid yet another obligation that Cuddy had forced upon him.

Now it seemed that the young doctor was in need of some sort of attention, perhaps brought on by panic, or by some other sort of minor disaster in the wake of obligation. House was sitting and plucking the strings even as the phone went off, hearing them vibrate with gloriously brilliant sound as Chase's name blinked across the small screen of the phone. He merely struck one more chord before giving in to the maddening ringtone and reaching for the phone, slightly irritated with the interruption. It was late at night, incredibly so, but that aided in his decision to reach for the phone. If Chase was calling so late, and to House's personal cell, no less, it was surely something important. That fact did not ease House's irritancy at the call, and that sour feeling was reflected in his tone as he answered.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a medical conference?" he questioned with a bite to his tone, placing the guitar gently beside him as he awaited a response from the youngest member of his team. Surprisingly, nothing but silence was his initial response, forgive a soft crackling sound coming over the line, the source of which House could not identify. But Chase answered soon after a few more moments, his voice uncharacteristically softened.

"Please, please come get me. I need help, House. I need you to help me."

The plea was enough to make House's spine go rigid, and for his hand grab instinctually for his cane at the clearly identifiable sound of desperation. Despite his usually cold demeanor, the sound of pain was unmistakable to House's ears, and one that always brought him to a high degree of alert. Though the tone of his voice was one matter, Chase's pleading demand was also clearly understandable, yet terribly out of place. House struggled to his feet, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he went, trying to secure the device so he could use both of his hands freely. One freed hand was use to bear his weight onto the cane, the other to press to his forehead in an attempt to quell the coming headache. Before he would dignify a response to Chase's begging, before he would go out of his way to turn his evening around for an employee, he had one final duty. With a sigh beneath his breath, he asked a question that had come to the tip of his tongue the instant he heard Chase's distress, an emotion never found in a man so unshakable.

"Have you been drinking? Go out to a bar? Any recreational drugs?"

"No! No, none of those. That's not it" the intensivist choked out, this time without hesitation. It was obvious that he was wounded severely by this accusation, one which House had voiced as a mere precaution to distress.

"What's wrong, Chase?" House asked, keeping his voice level as he went, now opting to set the guitar back in its case with his left hand, while balancing himself carefully with his right. Everything about Chase's language and tone told House that he should tread lightly, if nothing else. The proud Aussie would never fold unless there was something of grave and terrible importance, perhaps life or death, if not the influence of one drug or another. House busied himself with tucking the precious guitar away as silence came to his ears, along with the same crackling sound as earlier. It took a few more moments, and the sound of a small whimper, before Chase's voice came again to break the silence that had spanned between them.

"I can't- I can't talk about it. I just need help. I got hurt. I got hurt really badly." Despite how upset Chase sounded, House had to use all of his willpower to bite back a sarcastic comment regarding the irony of a doctor getting hurt at a medical conference. For once in his life he was able to hold his tongue, however painful it might have been, just to spare Chase any additional misery and humiliation. House moved forward to snatch the keys from their hook by the door, trying to push away the concern blooming in his chest at the pain tainting Chase's voice. Though curiosity urged him to question further, as he was conditioned as a doctor to do, he figured that getting a firm handle on the situation would serve best for the time being.

"Listen, Chase, if you're really hurt, just get to a hospital. If you can't get home because of your problem, I'll meet you there and get you home" he tried to reason, but before he could get another word out, Chase cut him off with a high-pitched cry.

"No! I can't go to a hospital, not here. Please House, just believe me. Please. You're the only one that can help me. Please, I need you" he whimpered, and it was after those words that Chase collapsed into sobbing. The distortion of the sound from over the phone made the crying sound utterly hideous, as though a child were pouring out his heart and soul to the world to show his pain. If anything, this abhorrent display of emotion spurred House forward yet, bringing a sense of urgency to his motions at is employee's infantile signs of distress. He was already climbing into his car, turning the keys in the ignition, and checking to ensure his wallet had extra cash and his ID as he spoke back to Chase.

"Alright, alright. Where are you?" House asked, hoping that this question would interrupt the sobbing. And it did, though it took a few moments for Chase to grow calm enough to respond with a full sentence.

"I don't know the name of the hotel, it's wherever the conference is being held. I'm in room three-four-six. It's the third floor, end of the hall."

"Alright, you better be in some serious shit, because I'm about to drag my ass out to see you. I'm about four hours away, are you going to be alright for that long?" House asked, cushioning his cold remarks and irritancy with a gentle question. He was already pulling out into the street, trying to recall the address for the conference from memory, trying to figure the fastest route to Boston with the highways mapped through his mind.

"I'll be fine until then, I'll be fine. Thank you, thank you so much" Chase choked out in meager response, and House felt ill at just how awful the Aussie sounded. But still he drew in a deep breath, trying to keep his voice even, for Chase's sake.

"I'll be there soon. See you in a bit." With that, the ill feeling still settling in his stomach, House closed the phone and threw it onto the seat beside him. Easing his foot onto the gas pedal, House's mind was growing filled with not just concern, but with curiosity. Chase had never shown weakness, never folded, even under the intense pressure that House constantly placed on him. It was for this reason that House was willing to drive four hours in the dead of night for an employee, and in the end, he could always use curiosity as justification. Never concern. He could never admit to anything even the same hue as concern. It would never, ever be concern.

-H-O-U-S-E-

By the time that House got to Boston, it was incredibly early in the morning, so early that the horizon was becoming tinted with stains of yellow and orange. His eyelids were heavy, but determination fueled his body to stay awake, to keep pushing onwards through this personal crusade. There had been no more calls from Chase through the duration of the trip, the silver phone sitting motionless and silent on the passenger seat, not so much as a text to alert House to Chase's status. Fortunately, due to the time of night, the highways had been all but deserted. With a foot heavy on the gas pedal, House had shaved what could have been forty minutes from the trip estimate he had made initially.

The hotel was not difficult to find, nor was it sleeping, even at a time before the cock would dare to crow. Though a few lone windows of the building glowed with a gentle yellow light, a bright welcoming shine came from beyond the lobby doors. House wasted no time in hurrying through the expansive and ornate entranceway to the elevators, not even taking time to gawk at the décor of such an establishment. He merely jabbed the end of his cane onto the button for the third floor, irritated further by the length of time it took for the doors to slide shut and the metal box to ascend those three stories.

As quickly as he could with his handicap, House limped down the quiet hallway, seeking the number that Chase had whimpered out between tears. True to the intensivist's words, the aforementioned room was at the very end of the hallway. For a moment, House prepared to knock, raising his cane to the door with some suppressed sense of urgency. Yet he stopped just before his knuckles met the wood, as though the anxiety filling his gut had yanked him back. There was an incredible apprehension in his mind as to what might lie beyond that door, just what scene was awaiting him in the rented living space. Perhaps Chase was just drunk, lost and intoxicated, merely overwhelmed by the chemicals polluting his blood. That was a thought that danced at the back of House's mind the entire trip, a sliver of doubt that there was indeed any urgency or true tragedy.

House was able to defend this doubt by the change in character he had incurred to act as he had. It was nothing other than illogical for him to drop everything in the middle of the night and run out to a city hours away for an employee, someone who was supposed to be just an employee, nothing more. He hadn't received an explanation, no hint or clue as to what had plagued the younger man. All it had taken was a pitiful cry for help, and House had surrendered all he had for the intensivist. For a moment, he grumbled over how pathetic it was, and cast his eyes to the ground with the shame.

Only then did he notice the corner of a card peeking out from under the door, almost as though it had been placed there deliberately, just barely within reach of any visitor. Recalling how Chase had excluded any specific mentions of just exactly how House was going to make his way into the room, he assumed that the card that stuck out from beneath the door was a hint to how he would make his entrance.

Despite how painful it was to bend down and get the card, House managed the task shakily, sliding the card all of the way out and picking it up in his hands. Sure enough, it was a room key for the hotel, and it worked on the door to Chase's room with a cheerful beeping. Assuming that Chase had forgone all notions of true privacy when he left his key under the door, House strode in, not bothering to announce himself with more than the slam of a door.

To his surprise, the room was not dark, as he had suspected it would be. Rather it seemed that every light, no matter how small or dim, was on and illuminating the small space. It was incredibly bright, and in the middle of the light-filled room, Chase was sitting on the bed, his eyes looking at House with a combination of shock and fear.

The intensivist was truly a pitiful sight to behold. Chase was sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, knees drawn up to his chest in a self-pacifying gesture. Although the stereotypical scene would have included the young doctor hugging his legs close, House noted the gap between his legs and his body, where he was gingerly cradling his right arm. Chase's eyes were red and bloodshot, his cheeks moist, hair disheveled. The doctor was still wearing all of his clothes, as though he had just walked out of one of the conference lectures. He was just as he would appear every day, but those clothes were wrinkled and stained with blood, and his face was a painful sight to behold, with purple bruises splotched across the tan skin of his neck and left eye.

The only thing that House could think to compare his employee to at this point was a beaten animal, those wide eyes staring out from behind kennel bars. The hollow look in Chase's eyes, the way his body shivered like a leaf in the breeze, all of them spoke of a victim, a creature so traumatized that only the fractured core was left. House didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react to something so disgusting, so exposed. Thankfully, Chase was able to fill the void with a few hushed words, incredibly broken sounding, and terribly weak.

"You came."

"Of course I came, you moron. You said you needed a doctor. Now what kind of doctor denies people medical help?" House responded out of harsh reflex, too late to stop the words from leaving his mouth. But Chase did no more than flinch at this comment, his lips not even flickering towards a grin at the mention of such cruel irony. Softly, House amended his previous mistake with a few gentle words, which were much harder to force from his lips.

"Now that I dragged my ass over to Boston, you might as well let me know what's wrong, and why you couldn't go to a hospital."

To this inquiry, Chase looked down at his knees, wincing as he pulled his right arm from the hollow space he had created in the curvature of his body. It took a few moments to free the limb from its awkward position, but once he had managed the feat, Chase extended the arm, holding it out for House's inspection. Even from a distance, House could see the dried blood smeared over broken skin, the swelling that had brought the hand to resemble a mangled club, an item that looked like a chunk of raw meat instead of a hand. He had seen gruesome injuries in his time, such terrible contortions that even his iron stomach soured, but he had never imagined such an injury on Chase.

Limping over without a word, he looked at the hand Chase had offered out to him, and resisted the urge to curse colorfully. It was obvious from just a halfhearted glance that the bones of the fingers had been broken into multiple pieces, the skin torn open, and anything else bruised and beaten. The hand was contorted, like flesh out of a bad movie, but this was incredibly real. After a few more moments of close inspection, House had to keep himself from exploding on Chase with a newfound anger, the only emotion he could use to replace the pain and concern, chasing away the darkness.

"Why couldn't you go to a hospital, Chase? What happened?" The diagnostician thundered, trying to reign himself back under control as quickly as he had lost it, not wishing to terrify the intensivist any further, open any more wounds as he went.

"I can't tell you" came the soft reply, as though Chase were no more than a child, a scared and frightened child with no more courage than a mouse. Sighing at the constant denial of the issue's severity, and the continued refusal to discuss just what mess that he had gotten into, House walked towards Chase, trying to get a better look at the hand.

Instead of giving him a better idea of the extent of the damage, House was merely sickened again. The hand was so contorted, so mangled, that all House felt was a sort of urgency. There was no way that Chase could wait any longer to get medical care, some kind of treatment for the injuries that were ravaging him. It was apparent that Chase was near shock, and with bones broken to such a severity, there was always a concern for internal bleeding, even if it were just contained to the hand.

"Listen, we need to get you to a hospital. There are some doctors around here that I know. Now, we might not be on good terms, but they wouldn't be opposed to checking that out. You need some serious help. You're a doctor, you know the risks" House said beneath his breath, allowing Chase to withdraw his hand near his body once more. Though he tried to be gentle, this time, House made no effort to disguise the strength behind his demand for action. He was determined to act in any way he could to make his employee finally get up and accept the medical help that he needed. The intensivist was shaking, trembling as he did so, and House turned away, prepared to limp towards the door once more. "Come on, follow me. Your legs still work, right?"

"House, I can't go. I can't go somewhere else. Just take me back to Princeton-Plainsboro, you can do everything yourself. Hell, I can do some of it. Please, just take me back home" Chase whimpered, pleading with the older doctor once more. This second refusal was enough to make House look over his shoulder, watching Chase look at him with scared eyes. The look was enough to make him feel something, pity, fear for Chase's safety, something small biting into his heart with meek persistence. But it was this same feeling that made him walk back to Chase's bed, his voice cold as stone as he voiced his demand once more.

"You're not going to argue with me. You're coming with me right now. We are going to the nearest hospital. You need help as soon as you can. I can't believe you were stupid enough to wait this long. I don't give a damn what you did, or what happened. You could've been stoned, you could've been drunk, you could've been screwing a bit too rough for all I care. What matters now is getting your sorry ass to a hospital. Now."

At this cold statement Chase cringed back as though he had been struck, his shaking renewed in intensity. It seemed as though something were chaining the young doctor to his bed, holding him to that one spot, not allowing him to leave. But House gave him another cold look, and Chase finally started to unfurl his body, still cradling his right arm to his body with a degree of care and caution, right hand hanging limply.

"Okay" the intensivist whispered as he went, hanging his head low, defeat seizing his body language. House nodded curtly, waiting to watch Chase rise from the bed at a painfully slow pace. It took nearly a minute, Chase gradually moving to the side of the bed, swinging his legs over the edge, and placing his feet gently on the floor. It took a minute for the Aussie to steady himself, holding himself upright for a few moments with the nightstand, before gingerly stepping away from the wrinkled sheets.

To these pathetic motions, House felt pity once more. It was hard for him to feel pity, to feel anything other than disgust for someone suffering. When he himself was always in pain, it was hard to empathize with others who pronounced their pain so loudly, so boldly. But to see Chase struggling, stubborn and angry, all while in incredible pain, it brought him sorrow. It was obvious that the intensivist was trying to swallow the burden of the physical pain, despite how openly he was displaying his emotional turmoil.

Despite how cold he acted, the well-being of his employees meant the world to House. He knew when something was wrong, and it mattered to him. Most importantly because their happiness affected how well they worked, but also because some part of him cared. To watch the young employee struggle as he was, it made something deep inside of House ache, a deep bond growing stretched as such agony.

Just as he was about to turn away and let Chase ahead of him and out the door, he noticed something amongst the rumpled sheets that Chase had been sitting on. It was easy to see the color contrast against the whiteness of the fabric, the bright crimson screaming out against banks of snow. This colorful display was enough to make House stop cold, realizing in an instant that something was terribly wrong, more so than he had been able to deduce from the visible injuries. Hobbling over to the bed, House tried to take a closer look at the blood, but Chase called out with renewed strength.

"House, you wanted to leave, right?"

"What's this blood from?" House asked, staring at the startling large stain that was spread out across the sheets, not completely dried. Dread was rising in his gut at the inspection of the color, too distinct of a hue to be arterial, and not quite dry enough to have come from the mangled hand. Chase was quick to respond to this inquiry, seemingly excited now to work his way towards the door. Yet Chase was not able to distinguish as House was- the sudden change in demeanor was a red flag for another issue, one the intensivist must have been harboring closely. Chase replied then, sounding just as annoyed as he demonstrated regularly in the hospital.

"It's from my hand, don't worry about it" the doctor whined, shuffling a few steps closer to the door as he spoke. "You wanted to go, I'm going. It's hard to stand."

"No it's not" House retorted immediately, looking back to where Chase was standing, and at the blood on his hand. "The blood on your shirt is from your hand, the blood on your pillows is because of your hand. This blood is where you were sitting. Now what's that from?" he asked again, but as Chase tried to quickly turn away, House already had his answer.

There was a stain across the back of Chase's pants, though the color wasn't definitive against the dark color of Chase's pants, but it didn't take a detective to figure out what it was. House's heart immediately dropped to his feet, an explanation no longer needed as the world came crashing down upon him with a weight unparalleled. He had seen similar things in the clinic, from his many years practicing medicine. Everything suddenly made sense. Chase's distress, the reluctance, the privacy, all of it came together, along with the physical injury.

It was only in certain cases that he had seen that hollow look in the eyes of the victims, of that hopelessness, the fear and the defensiveness. That need to protect their body, their core and their heart, no matter what other part of them had been beaten. Now as he looked at Chase, he saw the bruises across his neck more clearly, illuminated by the light streaming from the bathroom. Distinct fingerprints encircled Chase's neck, marks of brute force, and this melted the other bruises into cruelness. Between the blood, the marks, the hand, and the stench of fear filling the room, House had his conclusion, however dark it was.

"Chase" House whispered beneath his breath with as much caution as he could bear, but the blonde was already turning away, wiping at his eyes with his left hand in an attempt to hide his face.

"Don't, House. Don't say a word. I'm begging you, please" Chase pleaded, but House couldn't leave it alone, and there was no way that he could stop the words from leaving his mouth. He brought the pain to exposure as he stared at Chase's watering eyes, their lifeless pupils still focused at the floor. The words filled the room like a gunshot, however quietly they were uttered.

"You were raped, weren't you?"

Thank you all so much for reading! The support I have received on this story has been tremendous. The kind and sincere reviews absolutely illuminate my each and every day. I appreciate each follow, favorite, and review on this story with all of my heart. I hope to bring you more chapters soon! Thanks so much for reading.