Chapter Seven

"You can't." Chase stood up so fast that House was momentarily surprised his chair didn't go toppling to the floor behind him. Then, hospital chairs were notoriously easy to slide along the linoleum flooring, as if they'd been designed to stay quiet in moments of extreme distress. "You can't."

"Yes," House sighed wearily. He'd been expecting opposition. "I can."

"You'll go to-"

"We've been over this." House interrupted, it seemed that they'd both forgotten their decision, made just moments before, to leave this room. "And you know I won't. They can't charge me with murder, Chase. They can't."

The Intensivist was breathing shallowly, and House had a feeling it was only the use of his name that had kept him from exploding again. Personalization, the elder doctor knew, had a way of bringing people back to the moment they were truly in, kept them tethered, for whatever reason, to sanity.

"But what if your medical license gets revoked?" He tried, still shaky but more in control of himself. "Even an attack made in self-defense on a patient-"

"He wasn't a patient."

But Chase didn't seem to, or didn't want to, take in his words. "-could lead to a hearing by the disciplinary committee."

"Chase-"

"And taking into account your history with them…" Blonde, messed hair flopped around as he shook his head. "Those aren't good odds."

"I can't lie about this." House repeated his decision. "I'm going to tell them the truth. If I don't…"

I'll be no better than him. I'll be no better than my father.

"If you don't, what?" Chase snapped. It seemed his anger hadn't depleted entirely after all. "You won't lose your medical license and hundreds of your future patients won't die?" He laughed absently. "The guy's already dead, it's not like you turning yourself in would be any sort of justice."

Too late for redemption.

For some reason, his mind transported him back to a moment that had come to play some twenty years ago.

"What…what are you doing?" House had known then that the words were pointless and stupid, but in his state of shock, he'd been able to form no others.

"I can't do this…" His roommate, his friend, the only family that he'd ever chosen, in a way; had let out a choked breath somewhere between a humorless laugh and a dry sob. "I can't…live anymore. I'm not going to medical school, like you, Greg. I just…can't do this."

House had known he'd been serious when he'd used his first name. That was something they so seldom did.

Slowly, never taking his eyes away from the gun in his shaking hands, House had lowered his leather jacket to the floor by the closed front door. "Are you drunk?" Was the only rational thing he'd been able to think of saying.

Alex had snorted again, by then House could see the tears in his eyes. "I'm finished." Was the only answer he'd received. "I'm done."

They'd been separated by almost the entire length of the apartment; House had known he couldn't move quickly, as that might startle his friend into firing the gun held loosely against his temple.

"Because you didn't get into med school?" House tried logic, because logic was all he'd ever had. "C'mon, man, there're other options. Other things to do with your life."

"I'm not you." Alex had shaken his head. "You can do anything. I'm just…stuck here."

House hadn't understood entirely what he'd meant by that, but took the sign that he was still talking as a good one. Slowly, as if approaching a frightened wild animal, he took a step closer.

"You're not stuck anywhere." House had said. "You can go anywhere. Do anything. What about Europe? I thought you wanted to backpack across Europe with Sam this summer."

Another broken sob erupted. "Me and Sam broke up a couple hours ago. She said..." But he'd shaken his head, causing the hair by the barrel of the automatic to rise up slightly. "It doesn't matter."

"It kinda matters." House had risked another tentive step forward. "If it's the reason you're planning on killing yourself."

"You don't understand, G-man." Somehow, House had found the use of that nickname oddly reassuring. Alex only ever used it when they were joking or he was trying to embarrass him in front other people, almost always of the female variety. It had been a long time since Crandall had been around his college; he'd never liked this scene all that much, had never understood why House had wanted to come back here.

He'd been almost smiling when Alex had steadied the gun.

No, House hadn't understood at all.

"Chase, I…" But he didn't know what to say. Just as he hadn't known what to say back in that apartment, when he'd been a kid in his mid-twenties, forced to watch his best friend pull the trigger and end his life.

"It's a tiny lie." Chase pleaded, his face still held traces of anger.

"It's the difference between accidental death and murder." House snapped. No matter what the argument, it could never be debated that this would be a tiny anything.

"It's the difference in hundreds, maybe thousands, of people's lives." He bit back, though he seemed to understand flaw in his previous phrasing.

"I'm not the only doctor in the world." House raised his voice for the first time all night. "Medical care won't stop if I do, on some off chance, get charged with a crime or get my medical license taken away."

These were possibilities he didn't want to think of. He wasn't sure if he could survive without his job, without his mysteries and distractions. He was almost certain he wouldn't survive without his freedom – even the limited, painful freedom that his crippled leg always tainted, was more bearable than the thought of long-term imprisonment.

Domination, being overpowered, having no say in what happened in his life, to him. He'd fought these things – in various forms – throughout his whole life. His father was just the tip of the iceberg. It's why he'd hated Vogler so passionately. Why he'd gotten to the point of nearly throwing everything away in the folds of Tritter's crusade.

Of course, at that point, he'd been almost looking for a reason to throw his life away.

The shooting, and the subsequent ketamine treatment had landed him in a place where the last five years of his life hadn't happened, where he'd been unburdened by his physical restrictions. He'd been free for the first time in half a decade. It had been amazing, to be in that place, feel things that he'd forced himself, years ago, to suppress the desire for.

Of course, he'd known then that he'd only been kidding himself. To believe that he would live the rest of his life without pain had been a joke. A cruel, angry joke that he himself had brought on. He should have never asked for the ketamine in the first place. Should have never believed his mind's delusions and misrepresentations of the real world. Should have never believed that anything could take away his pain.

It was funny; he thought now, that he had murdered a guy in his hallucination too. Perhaps he was a bit of a psychic.

"You're the best Diagnostician in the country," Chase was saying. "How many cases have you solved that no one else could? People come from around the world to get your help. By turning yourself in, you're turning your back on a hundred more future patients."

"It's not that simple." House sighed. He longed to make a joke or revert back to sarcastic defenses; but he found himself unable.

Tritter had started pursuing him right after he'd come crashing down from his painless high. He'd felt, in the months that Detective Tritter had been a part of his life, much as he had back in college after Alex had died.

He hadn't wanted anything to do with the outside world any longer. He was certain, because experience told him so, that it would fail him. People were doomed to fail him.

It was only his hatred of authority figures and dominating presences that had been installed in him by his father so many years ago, that had kept him fighting back against Tritter. That, and his anger.

It was truly ironic, that it had been that predisposition that had kept him from throwing his life away. Even the night he'd swallowed all those pills and downed them with Scotch, he'd known he wouldn't die. Had known he wasn't giving up. He wasn't following Alex's example, because that was something he'd decided long ago that he'd never do.

He hadn't been sure what he was doing exactly, had known only that he was desperate and running out of time.

He hadn't expected Wilson to show up that night and finally see how truly screwed up his best friend really was. He wished he hadn't been a part of that.

Just like he wished now that Chase wasn't a part of this.

"House!" Chase's abrupt shout caught the elder man's drifting attention. "Stop ignoring me." It was a demand. Perhaps the first demand he'd ever received from his Australian fellow.

He couldn't help the vague feeling of pride that rose up slightly inside him.

But he said only, "Why? There's nothing worth listening to. You're just repeating yourself."

"I-"

"I've made my decision." He cut across Chase's angry words. "I'm telling the cops the truth."

Chase looked positively livid.

"It's not the damning choice you're making it out to be." House said snidely, in response to that look, and repeated, "We've been over this."

Chase shook his head, but seemed, finally, at a loss for words. When the phone on the wall of Cameron's hospital room rang a moment later, it caused a welcome distraction for both doctors.

The phone was mounted on the wall right above where House was sitting, so he answered, leaving Chase time to catch his breath and, hopefully, deal with his boss's decision.

"What?" He answered the ringing device more snappishly than he'd actually intended. Pain and sleep deprivation getting the best of him.

"Dr. Foreman's father has arrived." Brenda's voice wasn't as snippy as it normally would have been after being greeted in such a way. It was cool and professionally detached.

House had known it would be her on the other end of the line; she was the only one out there who currently knew where he was.

"I know." He answered plainly, having received that update not ten minutes ago from Chase. He supposed, though, that she had no real way of knowing that.

"He wants to see his son." Brenda sighed, sounding older and wearier than House had ever heard her sound. "Dr. Cuddy's not permitting it."

"Why not?" House asked, only absently curious.

"I think because she doesn't know if you'd allow it." Brenda sounded almost as astounded to say that as House was to hear it.

"What does that have to do with anything?" He asked, and noticed that Chase was now studying him curiously.

"He's your patient." Brenda said, and then sighed. "But you'd better make a decision about this soon. He's already causing a sort of scene down here."

"And we've had enough scenes in the lobby for one night." House mumbled, mostly to Chase, who flushed a light red color and looked away.

"I'll take care of it." He abruptly ended the conversation, hanging up the phone, wincing as he stretched his arm again.

He turned immediately to Chase. "Go get Foreman's dad out of the lobby."

"Me?" Chase balked. "I can't-"

"Then get a nurse or someone to do it." House snapped, no longer in the mood to argue. "Just get him to Foreman's room."

The younger man opened his mouth to argue but his boss cut him off, "Now."

Chase glared as he walked past him, but did indeed obey the order. It was only after the door slammed shut behind him that House spoke again.

"How long have you been awake?"

Cameron's eyes opened at once, no longer under the guise of sleep, she seemed quite content to glare evenly at her boss. "A while." She answered vaguely. "What was Chase talking about?"

House sighed, yet again. It seemed he couldn't do that enough lately. "Nothing."

"Something." Cameron countered. "Something had him pleading with you."

House sensed a quiet determination in her words, a fierce longing to protect the young man that had just stomped out of this room like an angry, cheated teenager.

"And I'd say it's a pretty fair bet that whatever it is, it has something to with what happened tonight."

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well…" Duh.

"Whatever it is…" Cameron looked dead into his eyes, not blinking, not flinching, simply existing to say these words, "Can you just do it?"

It took several seconds for that question to cut through all the things he'd been expecting her to say. "Come again?" He finally managed.

"Just…" she shook her head slightly, and House had to remind himself that she was still pretty out of it from the combination of painkillers and sedatives running through her bloodstream. "You know Chase looks up to you, right?"

House cringed, he hated hearing these things. He nodded curtly to her question, hoping the cocktail of drugs in her system would allow her to leave it at that.

"Whatever he's asking you to do…he said other peopled would suffer if you didn't." She tilted her head slightly. "He meant that he would suffer."

House felt a bit helpless. "Cameron…" he studied her closely, noting the redness in her eyes, he sighed, "Go back to sleep."

"House-"

"Don't make me give you another sedative." He threatened, and was only half-joking.

"I'm serious." She sounded angry now, and House had the fleeting thought that, if Chase and Cameron ever pulled it together enough to get married and have children, those kids would have a frightening amount of temper tantrums.

"You don't even know what he was talking about." House pointed out, though he had a feeling that his logic would be rather moot here.

"It doesn't matter." She insisted, just as House had expected she would. "He needs you."

"No he doesn't." He argued back, feeling nothing but extreme exasperation.

"You don't know him like I do." Cameron's head was turned towards the chair he was still seated in; House could only clearly make out half of her face in the sunless light coming through the window.

No one had bothered turning the overhead light back on after he'd switched it off so many hours ago. He had no wish to so now.

"No, I don't." House agreed, because there was no way he could argue that. "But I-"

"No." Cameron cut him off, sounding nothing but pleading. "No, you really don't understand. To him…you're the only person who's never lied to him, never turned your back on him."

House looked fed up, "No. I'm not." The very proof of that was lying in a hospital bed, pleading with him about something she didn't even fully understand.

"No," Cameron sighed, "Maybe not. But he needs you. We all do."

"Enough with the touchy-feely, emotional crap." He did his best not to raise his voice, knowing that wouldn't be good for her, but couldn't help the slight incline of his words. "This isn't an episode of Dr. Phil. You're not going to win me over with proverbs or fortune cookie platitudes."

"Who's going to take care of Foreman if you're not here?" The question was so innocent, said in such a childish way, that House couldn't bring himself to answer with logic right away. Thus, he couldn't answer at all right away.

He remembered a time, almost two years ago, when he had wished he could fall in love with this woman. He'd thought then, how easy it would be to succumb to her advances. He'd have someone in his life again. To fill the hole that Stacy had left.

Only he'd known that no one could ever fill that void. He'd known also, that allowing Cameron to try to do so would be to damage her, more so than she was already.

House didn't need someone to try to fix him; because he too, was damaged beyond repair. And he hadn't loved Cameron, could see her as nothing more than an employee. Perhaps, recent events may indicate, an employee he felt the fierce need to protect and avenge. But still, it would never be love.

And Cameron needed someone who wasn't him. Cameron needed someone who complimented her. Someone who was strong enough to take care of her, too.

Chase fit that description well enough for House. Well enough that, if asked, he would have to say that he approved of their relationship. Chase, after all, was quite damaged himself.

They fit together. His Immunologist and his Intensivist. Like a perfectly balanced equation.

"Foreman's in good hands." House's tone was gentle, though he'd deny that to his grave if Cameron ever told another sole about it. "Chase can oversee his medical care."

"It's not fair." Cameron's words were lazy, somewhat disconnected. House saw that her eyelids were dropping; she was drifting out of consciousness again.

"What's not fair?" He asked anyway, not really expecting an answer.

"Everybody lies." Were the last words she managed before giving into sleep entirely.

House was puzzled by her words. They didn't fit at all with what they'd been discussing, and were completely irrelevant to the point she'd been attempting to make. The simplest explanation, of course, was that the drugs caused slight disorientation. She was out of it, and saying random things.

House's presence would lead to unprompted memories, and the older doctor had to admit that Cameron, Chase and Foreman undoubtedly had a lot of those floating around their minds featuring him declaring that everybody lies.

The slightly more disturbing explanation – she had heard exactly what Chase had been yelling at him about. She knew what he'd done.

Of course, that would imply that her out-of-sorts rambling had been her way of saying, "I agree with Chase."

That, House found almost too hard to believe. Cameron was the moral center of their department, their team. If anyone would want him to tell the truth, it would be her.

Then again, she'd said it, everybody lies.

The return of Chase to the hospital room pulled him away from these thoughts.

The blonde man didn't look at him, just crossed the room and took up the same seat he'd been in for hours. Steadily he spoke, "I got Brenda to take Mr. Foreman down to isolation. I don't think Cuddy or Wilson will put up with not talking to you for much longer, but Cuddy has been a bit preoccupied."

"He's still getting the ultrasounds every hour, right?" House had to confirm.

"Every half hour." Chase corrected, looking to House at last, as of daring him to present a challenge. "They ended his last surgery way too quickly, in my opinion."

"Well…" House felt that annoying bit of pride trickle through him again. "That's good enough reason for me."

He'd used almost those same words once before, he'd been speaking to Foreman then. And Chase accepted them now with a slight nod and an indefinable look that was gone as soon as it had come.

"House," Chase sighed a short amount of time later. He knew, again, that their time in this room would soon be up. "I want you to lie to the police."

"Why?" Out of all their arguments thus far, House had yet to ask this very simple question.

"Because…" he shifted his head to look at Cameron, as though her image might change to something different than the one he'd been studying closely for so many hours now. "Because you didn't do anything wrong tonight."

House knew that Chase didn't regret what had happened to the man who'd hurt Cameron. House couldn't say that he blamed him. He knew also, that if the younger man had had the chance – if House hadn't beaten him to it – he would have done exactly what his boss had done.

House pursued that thought mindlessly for a moment. If Chase had killed Haring, murdered him as House had murdered him, they'd be in a completely different, yet undeniably parallel, situation right now.

And House realized, somewhat unexpectedly, that if that had been the case; there would be no arguments to be had. House would have lied to the police. He wouldn't have risked – even if the risk was slight and somewhat paranoid – Chase being charged with murder, or the removal of his medical license.

He wouldn't have hesitated in telling the lie.

"And it's not worth the risk." Chase looked up again, parroting his thoughts frighteningly. His gaze, as House was almost getting used to seeing, was confident and unwavering. "You don't deserve it."

House thought of something that Wilson had once said to him, about his take on relationships. …that you think you don't need or deserve…or whatever goes on in your rat maze of a brain.

Then he thought back farther, to the memory those words had initially brought about.

House had known he was too late. Known it the moment he saw Alex's finger tighten around the trigger. He had ran as fast as he could, sprinted the impossibly long distance between where he was and where his best friend stood.

By the time he'd gotten there, the whole world had changed. The gunshot had been impossibly loud, the sound of life ending.

Alex had crumbled to the floor, his brain matter splattered against their wall abstractedly. House had fallen to his knees in front of him. Too much blood, blank eyes…there had been nothing left.

It had only been in the aftermath of that tragedy, when the police had come to their – his, now – apartment to investigate, after the sheet had been thrown over Alex's body and the flashes from the Crime Scene Unit's camera's filled the room, that House had been asked; "And who's gun is this?"

It had seemed such an odd question at the time, such a pointless inquiry. But nevertheless, he looked up as the faceless investigator held the gun – now sealed in an evidence baggie – out for him to see.

It was only then that he'd realized the truth.

He'd spoken slowly, barely able to hear himself. "My dad…gave me a gun when I left. He said…living alone…or with someone I didn't know…I'd need…something…I forgot about it. I had it in a lock box under my bed…I'd completely forgotten…I never even thought about…I was never gonna..."

Finishing a sentence had seemed impossible; all his coherent thoughts were black comedies dancing angrily throughout his fragmented and damaged soul.

But finally he'd latched on to enough to manage, "Yeah, that's my gun. Alex killed himself with my gun."

"I don't deserve it, huh?" House eyed his fellow. "What makes you so sure?"

Chase met his faze squarely, yet again. "I'm sure." He took a deep breath. "And even if you do… no one else does. No one else deserves to lose you to something that could be avoided." Gray eyes deeply penetrated blue, and somehow, in his words, through that gaze; an unavoidable agreement was made. "I don't deserve it."

TBC…