Title: Any Port

Author: Mercaque

Summary: Chase gets arrested during a break-in; Foreman comes to bail him out. Slash, m/m sex.

Disclaimer: House MD and all characters are property of David Shore and FOX.

Author's Notes: Constructive criticism highly welcome.

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Twenty-five minutes later, Chase was gulping down great mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Foreman had pulled into the nearest 24-hour diner, that peculiarly New Jersey institution which Chase would never again take for granted.

The right side of his face was still a blind heavy ache, but he was otherwise beginning to relax, the warmth flowing back into his bones. It was an overwhelming relief not to be alone with grisly thoughts of Mum anymore, even if Foreman's faintly amused demeanor across the table was increasingly maddening. He seemed so casual, Chase reflected enviously, as if getting arrested were something the grown-ups just dealt with. As if fears and smells and memories were just trivial things to be locked away and put on a shelf...

Foreman's voice, low and placating, interrupted his brooding. "So, how long were you in there?"

"I don't know," Chase answered through a mouthful of bacon. "What time is it now?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Wow," he murmured. It had been bright and sunny when the cops came for him; now the sky was pitch-black. "I guess about nine hours, then."

"Long time," Foreman nodded approvingly.

It probably wasn't meant to be patronizing, but Chase's pride chafed anyway. He went silent and frowned down at his plate, engrossing himself again in his food.

Foreman waited a few moments before trying again. "Who did that to you?"

The memory of how he'd been fooled only deepened his scowl. "It was stupid."

"Was it the cops?"

Chase snorted; his had possibly been the most docile arrest in history. "No."

"Somebody in the cell?"

"Yeah."

Foreman opened his mouth, on the verge of asking more, but mercifully sensed he ought to drop it. "Asshole."

Chase laughed in spite of himself. Eager to change the subject, he ventured a question of his own. "Well, how was it for you? When you... got in trouble?"

Foreman seemed amused by the diplomatic description of his juvenile record, and Chase realized it was the first time his face hadn't simply clouded over at the mere mention of it. Of course, that particular reaction now made a hell of a lot more sense.

But all Foreman did this time was purse his lips contemplatively. "Wasn't fun."

He did not elaborate, and after a long silence, Chase rolled his eyes. "That's it?"

His brown eyes flickered uncomfortably for only the briefest of seconds, but that was all it took for Foreman to unwittingly give himself away. "Not much to tell."

Chase tilted his head curiously, his pulse picking up speed. His colleague's cool veneer had cracked ever so slightly, and he was suddenly possessed of an urge to peel it back even more, although he guiltily realized he was motivated by a desire to turn the tables as much as any concept of friendship. Regardless, the defensive hunch of Foreman's shoulders suddenly fascinated him, like a small clue in a much greater puzzle.

"Well, what happened?" Chase asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"I broke the lock, the car alarm went off, the cops came." Foreman explained it broadly, as if simplifying a complex medical procedure for a patient. It was a fairly transparent attempt to close the subject, but that hardly made it less grating.

Chase poured a healthy dose of skepticism into his voice. "And that's it."

"Pretty much."

"You're sure?"

"Why don't you tell me what happened to your face?" Foreman challenged him suddenly.

For a moment they faced off silently, like cowboys at high noon, neither daring to crack first. Foreman's benevolent pride had vanished, replaced by the cold arrogance he usually reserved for defending a diagnosis. There it was, Chase thought, the haughty contempt he'd been waiting for.

But instead of relief that the other shoe had dropped, he only felt his heart sink. The hard set of Foreman's face was a painful contrast to the genuine goodwill he'd first displayed when Chase emerged from the holding cell. A slow creeping shame rose in his cheeks as it became suddenly, painfully apparent how badly he had miscalculated Foreman's motives.

"I got tricked," he admitted quietly.

Foreman relaxed his guard only a little. "Yeah?"

"This guy in the cell had a seizure," Chase explained grudgingly, still unable to hide how stupid he felt. "I tried to help him. Turned out he was faking, and... well, you know." He gestured loosely to his face.

Now Foreman's dark eyes, fixed firmly upon him, warmed with sympathy. But there was still an undercurrent of skepticism. "There something else, too?"

Chase's lips tightened. He couldn't possibly be so transparent, that Foreman could come so close to guessing about Mum... Well, it didn't matter. Chase may have felt bad, but he still had his limits.

Not bothering to mask his annoyance, he replied, "Is that not enough?"

Thankfully, Foreman backed off with the rueful duck of his head. "No, no. Hey, I'm sorry. It sucks getting burned like that."

It was an obvious opening; still smarting a little, Chase went for it immediately. "Is that what happened to you?"

"Sort of." Foreman paused, and a sour self-consciousness crossed his face. "See, it wasn't just me trying to steal that car. It was also these three friends of mine. I was just the only one who got caught."

Chase blinked. "They left you behind?"

Embarrassment flickered in his eyes, but otherwise Foreman continued without acknowledging the question. "Anyway, the cops really wanted the other guys' names, but I said no." His expression took on a faraway cast, edged by a self-satisfied smile. "They kept me for 24 hours straight without giving me my phone call. Which was a violation of my rights, by the way. They kept telling me I could cut a deal, but I wouldn't break."

The image of some hapless cop attempting to outstubborn a fifteen-year-old Foreman rose up in his mind; the poor fool likely had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. Chase couldn't help chuckling. "I see some things haven't changed."

Foreman laughed halfheartedly, but it faded quickly into a pained smile, and when he spoke his voice was startlingly soft. "Well, it turned out my loyalty was... one-sided." He shook his head. "Stupid."

Chase opened his mouth to ask more, and found it got stuck in an astonished gawk, as a million possibilities ran through his mind. The specifics were largely unnecessary; Foreman still looked faintly bewildered, not to mention crushed, by the betrayal. It hurts exactly because you'll never find out why, Chase wanted to tell him, but that would've opened up a whole new conversation he really didn't feel like having right now.

"Assholes," he finally offered, and Foreman broke into genuine laughter.

They trailed again into silence, but this time it was companionable, each man lost in his own thoughts. Foreman picked absently at the remains of his sandwich, his dignified features slightly overcast with regret.

Chase, meanwhile, scooped up the last of his scrambled eggs, watching his coworker in a new light. Foreman's presence was no longer maddening, but rather inspired something altogether indescribable – an unsettling, uneasy tenderness. He was captivated by the pensive sag of Foreman's solid shoulders; by his supple, masculine fingers, toying with the fork; by the musky scent, drifting up from his borrowed clothes, that seemed to reassert itself.

"Hey," Chase said quietly, trying not to give away the sudden turn of his thoughts. "Thanks for coming to get me."

Foreman looked up, startled out of his introspection, and his gaze darted to Chase's wounded eye. "Well, sorry I didn't come sooner."

"At least you did," he shrugged. And then, suddenly curious about what else he had misgauged: "Speaking of which... I left that message for House."

"Yeah, he went home early." At Chase's perplexed look, Foreman threw up his hands. "Hey, don't ask me. You're just lucky Cameron decided to go through his voicemail."

Chase snorted, and couldn't quite keep the tentative hope out of his voice. "And yet you're the one who came."

Foreman's eyes flickered, and for a second he looked fascinatingly guilty. But then a sly smile crept across his face. "Yeah, well, I was just excited not to be the only 'criminal' on staff anymore. Do you have any idea what it was like, hearing House's endless crap?"

"I'm sure I will soon," Chase groaned, but he was laughing.

"At least now he'll have to spread it around," Foreman pointed out.

"You and me, huh?" Chase asked.

Foreman grinned. "Looks that way."