A/N Don't own House. wish I did. We good? Good.

Chapter 4: Options

"House, if you think Chase is suicidal-"

"He's not suicidal. He's an idiot, but he' s not suicidal. "

They reached the door of Chase's apartment.

"Chase!" shouted Wilson, "It's me. Open up!"

The door opened cautiously. The Australian stuck his head out, bleary-eyed.

"…Wilson? ..House? What the…fuck are you doing here?" he slurred

"Chase? Are you drunk?!" Wilson asked, incredulously.

"Cool." Said House , walking into the apartment.

"Chase, let's sit down," Wilson said, grabbing the bottle out of Chase's hand.

House grabbed it and took a swig, then spat it out "Chase, how the hell can you drink this? It tastes like paint thinner?"

"House!" Wilson was leading Chase back to the couch. "He's bleeding!"

"Well, no shit Sherlock, what did I tell you?"

"Yeah but-" Wilson stopped. "House, he needs to see a psychiatrist, or-or something. It's not healthy to sit in your apartment alone and drink yourself into oblivion!"

"It's not? Sounds like Friday night to me."

"Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to. And it's Wednesday. And you don't cut yourself afterwards!"

Ignoring him, House came back from the kitchen with a large glass of… something.

"Hey, you. Blondie. Drink this. "

Chase went to grab the glass, and missed. Wilson picked up his hands and guided it to the glass, pouring it down his throat. Chase gulped it down and then started coughing.

"…Jesus Christ House…. You tryin' to kill me or somethin'?

"No, just trying to make sure you're still breathing."

"I didn't have… that much."

"Define 'that much'. There's a half-empty mickey of the shittest bourbon I've ever tasted on the table, and an empty one in the kitchen."

"I couldn't… sleep."

"Chase," Wilson said, "When you have that much to drink, it's no longer 'going to sleep', but 'passing out'. And you could die."

At the same time, House said "Fair enough."

The pair glared at each other.

Chase said "I think I'm going to be sick."

And without much ado, emptied the contents of his stomach onto Wilson's shoes.

They both stared at him, then at the sick. It was purely liquid.

"Jesus Christ, Chase," House said approvingly "Don't you eat?"

"..Don't eat… don't sleep… what do you think the bourbon's for?"

"Good point."

"House!" Wilson snapped "It's not a good point, it's a terrible point. The man needs help!"

House, by this point, was up and in the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

"Well, obviously he had it at some point: look at these." He thrust some bottles of pills into Wilson's hand.

"Amitryptoline, lorazepam, zopiclone… anti-depression meds, anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills…? " He shook the bottle "They're all full."

"Read the date"

"February 2005? Bloody hell, that's…"

"Over 2 years ago. And, incidentally, around the same time a certain somebody left the ADF."

Chase looked up to see the older tow doctors staring at him quizzically.

"They… don't work."

"I've got a feeling they work a hell of a lot better than bourbon and self-mutilation."

"Wilson," House said , "Trust me. They don't."

Wilson glared at him.

"House, help me sit him up."

They hauled him up into s vertical position.

"Chase, why aren't you taking your meds?" Wilson said

"I already TOLD you, they don't work."

"Chase-"

"Wait a sec, Wilson. Ooh, what's this?" House pushed himself up and picked up a small velvet box.

"Put. It. Back!" Chase yelled, and tried to get up, but fell back onto the couch.

"House…"

"Issued to Robert M. Chase, for conspicuous gallantry. It's a-"

"PUT IT BACK!"

-"Distinguished Conduct metal. Oooh, our little Aussie is decorated."

"What'd you do, Chase?" Wilson asked curiously.

Chase shook his head. "…Get out."

"Whoa whoa whoa, d'you think we're going anywhere?" House taunted " With you too drunk to sit up, blood drying on your arm, and a switchblade on your table? A switchblade which, incidentally-" he walked over to the window "-I am throwing out." He tossed it out.

"Chase," he continued, "I'm afraid that if you ever want to get rid of us, you're going to have to tell the tale. Well, get rid of me, at least. I don't think Ken over there is ever leaving you, Barbie."

Chase looked at him. "What if I don't want to?"

"Want to what?" Wilson asked softly.

Chase looked at him, he seemed slightly more sympathetic than House.

"Remember. "

"I'm afraid," said House, "That you don't have an option."

"I thought you said there were always options."

"Not for you."