Disclaimer: Don't own.

A/N: Hi! I'm so, so sorry for the hiatus fanfic was being bitchy and I've been so depressed by this entire Cameron/Chase thing that I haven't been able to write. (I HATE HER! I HATE HER! I HATE HER! Okay… I'm all right now… I think… no I'm not I HATE HER! Deep breath… in… and out… okay I'll deal with my rage later for now I must focus on this chapter.) Originally I killed Cameron off, but I thought having her getting abducted by crazy psycho killers and having her being pecked apart alive by vultures while the said crazy psycho killers and that mother from the episode "Poison" (season one episode eight if my memory serves me right.) (I just watch it) stand around laughing and making mean comments about obese people would be just a smidgen to harsh. But don't worry revenge will come… it's just best served cold is all. And PS I LOVE YOU ALL. Your comments are all so sweet, but the constructive criticism thing still stands. And here we go!

It had been exactly two weeks, three days, eleven hours, and twenty-three minutes since House stepped out of Chase's front door, but (much to Chase's dismay) not his life. Well, that's not entirely true.

Ever since The Incident (as Chase referred to it in his own mind) House had been distance from Chase, barely casting him a sideways glance every now and then. Even when Chase got the next two cases right and possibly saved the hospital a major lawsuit all House did was give a firm nod. At least, before Chase got some acknowledgement.

House still continued to throw an "idiot" comment or sneer about his father's bank account his way just so no one would think there was something strange going on. (Or, more correctly there use to be something strange going on.)

Pretending nothing bad happened was one of Chase's specialties.

He could mentally prepare himself for seeing House in seconds (it was a skill that came in handy in his youth, dealing with his father and other people that disliked, rejected, were disappointed, or indifferent to him.) But one thing he was not prepared, nor could he ever be was when Chase walked—unannounced—into House's office.

The blinds were drawn, although the door was slightly ajar, and Wilson and House were talking in the dark. They didn't notice Chase entered and he made to move to reveal himself.

"…migraines can have emotional triggers you know," Wilson informed House in a soft caring voice.

"Yeah," House snapped, "I went to medical school too,"

Wilson sighed in response.

House groaned.

"House… you know you haven't been your usual miserable self lately. You seem even worse," Wilson shifted his weight from his right foot to his left as he stood in front of House.

"Thanks for the insight. Hand me my coffee," House demanded.

Wilson sighed again.

"Do you think this may have anything to do with Chase?"

The question hung in the air between them, suspended like when you're a kid and you jump of a swing after pumping yourself so high you are dangerously close to flipping over. The first few blissful milliseconds before you drop down on to hard pebbles, rough sand, or lethal blacktop. Then you either end up with rocks in your socks, a face full of sand, or a sprained ankle. All the choices suck. So, House let the question hang.

Of course, Wilson knew the answer was yes, it has everything to do with Chase.

Of course, House knew Wilson knew the answer was yes, it has everything to do with Chase.

Of course, Chase knew the answer was yes, it has everything to do with me form the way House remained silent.

Wilson sighed (loudly, he has a nasty habit of that).

House moaned (loudly, he hates Wilson's nasty habit).

Chase left (quietly, also hating Wilson's nasty habit for House).

Chase was dazed and confused when he got home that night. House felt guilty, yet he said that they "weren't going to work out" it didn't make any sense.

Now, Chase isn't (and hadn't ever been) a big risk taker. Well, sure he liked making trivial bets with his mates and hosting the odd poker game here and there. But when it comes to matters of the heart Chase would rather not take that one particular risk, but it seemed as if that was his only choice. House was going to Asia for some conference tomorrow and he needed to say something to House before he left. So he grabbed his car keys off the hook by the door and sprinted to the elevator.

HouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChase

There was a loud, persistent rapping on House's front door. House groaned and rolled out of bed limping over and answered the door. His migraine was long gone but he was exhausted and not in the mood to see anyone. (Not that he ever was, but especially not now, he had a fight in a few hours!)

Standing before him was Chase grinning from ear to ear his hair mussed and he was out of breath. His cheeks were slightly flushed pink and he reminded House of a little kid once again. But House pushed those thoughts out of his mind as Chase leaped forward and slammed House against his wall. Gee, for a little guy Chase sure is strong House thought tangling his finger through Chase's hair. He let himself get lost in Chase's mouth for a few moments before shoving Chase off him.

They stood and face to face panting for about a minute before House said in a low soft tone, "Chase, what the hell?"

Chase took a deep breath and a step to House, "I know you said that wouldn't work, but I walked in on you and Wilson and…," Chase trailed off noticing the disapproving look House was giving him.

"Chase go home, or to Cameron's place," He said coldly.

"House I don't want to be with her it just sex I want more… for us,"

House shook his head in response.

"But the migraine…," Chase pleaded. "House come on,"

"Chase, there isn't ever going to be anything more between us, it was a few nights of fun. That's all." It hurt House just as much to say this, but he feared the same thing would happen between him and Chase and it did him and Stacy. He'd ruin it and then never get to be around Chase… you know, unless his husband required a world renowned diagnostician to save his life.

"House…" Chase choked back a sob. "Please don't…"

House sighed and shook his head again limping back to his bedroom. Chase stood even deader inside that before, only now it was in House's foyer.

HouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChaseHouseChase

The next week Chase was on top of his game he got the diagnosis right with Fran but he wasn't as happy about it as he should have been.

Aside from breath, bite, and count method there was another one that always worked out well for him. It was the fall in love with someone else method. After every break up he would go and find some one new to drown his sorrows in. He'd fall head over heels and next thing you know he could barely remember the name of his last love. Just ask his two ex-wives and ex-husband (None of the marriages lasted longer than a few months). In this case Cameron was the person with whom he wanted with great passion to, well, want with great passion.

So he obsessed and surrounded himself with her as much as possible for that week that by the end his blood type had been replaced from AB negative to C positive.

And then with C positive flowing through his veins and arties and into a broken and bruised heart he told Cameron what he told House. He wanted more pure and simple. But then… and then it was over and that was it.

So he went home, opened a bottle of scotch, curled up on his couch in front of a roaring fire and drank himself to sleep.