"Dr. Wilson."

"Yes?"

"You will go with Dr. Cambert." One of the 'doctors' standing off to the left of Jake stepped forward. Wilson didn't move.

"Please don't make this complicated."

"I'm not going anywhere with this quack."

Jake sighed witheringly. He shifted slightly, and two different guards again slipped out of thin air and walked to Wilson. Jake had to give credit to the oncologist for barely even blinking, but he was becoming agitated. This man was stalling the progression of science, after all.

"One more time, Dr. Wilson. Please co-operate. I don't want to make this any harder than it has to be."

"Are you kidding me?! What are you planning on doing, anyway? Unless you tell me what's going on, I'm not moving."

Jake sighed again, not answering. With an almost sad look, he turned to the guards and nodded. They each took one of Wilson's arms, heaving him out of the chair he'd been seated in. He pulled back, trying to tug his arms out of their vise grip. But it was useless. They were much stronger than him. Suddenly he lashed out, kicking one of them hard on the shin. His grip loosened just enough for Wilson to be able to pull an arm out. He pulled it back to swing at the other man, but the guard who'd released him had pulled something out, and now he jabbed it into Wilson's side. With an anguished cry, the doctor crumpled almost to his knees before being forcibly dragged back up to his feet and down a hall, followed briskly by Dr. Cambert.

Jake turned to the two shocked seated men, all but giggling with excitement.

"What did they do to him?" Chase finally demanded.

"Oh, don't worry about him. They simply incapacitated him so he would be safe for his transport to the room where his treatment is."

"What freaking treatment?! We aren't sick!" Chase cried. Jake stayed quiet, grinding his teeth for a moment. But he soon returned to his over zealous demeanor.

"Dr. House is, naturally, going with Dr. Mestic."

House stood, unsure what to do. He wasn't able to move much, let alone fight back. His leg was nearly killing him. Mestic stepped forward. He grinned without any happiness.

"Evening, Dr. House. How are you feeling?"

House didn't reply. He clenched his jaw, eyes darting between Mestic and Chase. It was the first time the younger doctor had seen real uncertainty and-fear?-in his boss's hard blue irises.

"Let's go, shall we?" He sounded pleasant enough on the surface, but underneath the façade was malice, a bit like someone about to slice a knife into their enemies' heart.

House closed his eyes. He followed him.

"Aah, Chase. Our youngest patient."

"I'm not. A patient." Chase stood, daring Jake to make a move. What was this crazy planning on doing?

"I think it's fitting that you go with Dr. Winslet."

Chase balled his fists. Jake saw.

"I wouldn't suggest trying anything, Mr. Robert. Remember Dr. Wilson." He smiled broadly, teeth so perfect they looked like polished plastic.

Chase was seeing red, but he knew if he did try something, he'd be detained. There was obviously some crazy security, and they'd tackle him before he got within two feet. Dr. Mestic took Chase's left arm.

"Please, Mr. Chase. This way."

She gestured down a long corridor, brightly lit with fluorescent lights. It was a typical hospital hallway. Chase jerked his arm roughly away, glaring at the impersonator. Or maybe she was a real doctor, tricked, paid, or somehow convinced into doing this mad project. But he followed, trying hard to contain his emotions.

They traveled down the corridor and turned left, stepping into a large, dark room about three doors down the hall. There was some kind of chair in the middle, almost like at a dentist. Mestic gestured for Chase to sit, and, reluctantly, he did. He immediately regretted it. Metal clasps clamped down onto his wrists and ankles as soon as he had distributed all his weight on the cold, steel seat.

"Don't worry, Mr. Chase, they are merely precautionary measures."

"Yeah, right." Chase muttered darkly.

Winslet produced a syringe. It held around 4cc's of a milky white substance.

"This is, rather frankly, a truth serum. A bit like Sodium Pentothal, but much improved. Just a bit, and the patient will be unable to lie for at least twenty minutes. I know it sounds like something out of a science fiction novel, but believe me, your doubts will be erased as soon as you've tried it." She cut Chase's sleeve open with a small, sharp scalpel and inserted the needle into the latter's forearm. Chase tried to keep his muscles relaxed, but it wasn't easy. Winslet waited a few moments before stepping up to him.

"Now, Mr. Chase, let's start by getting to know you a little better. It's obvious by your accent that you are not native to this land. Why did you move from Australia?"

Chase squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lip. Of course, she'd touched on the most tender subject in Chase's life on the first question. She smiled.

"Mr. Chase? Tough subject for you? Tell me about it."

"My dad." The reply came through gritted teeth."

"Oh? Why? What did he do to you?"

"Left." He was beginning to clench and un-clench his fists.

"Left? Left home? Left you? Your mom? Siblings?"

"I don't have any siblings."

"And your mom. He left her, too?"

"Yes."

"But surely it wasn't all bad, right? She loved you."

"She drank."

"Oh. Well. In moderation, though?" Chase felt like heaving at her sick, sardonically sweet tone.

"No."

"No. She was… an addict, then?"

"Yes."

"Oh, really? Surely, though, she still cared for you."

"… No." Chase was killing himself inside. He wanted to scream.

"Then… you cared for her. Worked? Paid the bills, maybe. Tell me about it. Is she still alive?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, talk to me about when she was. How old were you? When you first moved over?"

"Sixteen." He clenched his jaw.

"That's quite young. It must've been hard to come out here with a drunken mother. However did you get the tickets? Never mind. How did your dad take it?"

"We never told him. He found out later."

"And… how did he react?"

Chase took a breath, struggling to control his emotions. "He called. And yelled."

"No details? And your mom? What did she do?"

"She shouted at me and went back to her room."

"To drink more."

"Yes."

"That must've been terribly hard."

"…Yes."

"Where were you housed, then?"

"An apartment."

"Where did you get the money?"

"Work."

"You worked?"

"Yes."

"Is your dad still alive?"

"No."

"Oh. Terribly sorry."

"Yeah. That's why you're smiling."

"How did he die?"

"Lung cancer."

"You're a doctor. Couldn't you fix it?"

Couldn't you fix it? That was a question Chase had asked himself many times. He knew it wasn't his area, and even if it was, he had no idea his dad was even sick. It's not like it was treatable even if he did know. But you should've known…

"Mr. Chase?..."

"That is not my specialty."

"I see. What's your relationship with Dr.'s House and Wilson?" She asked suddenly.

"They're my friends."

"Right. That's it?"

"I would say so."

Winslet frowned. Then she raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like to see how they're doing?"

* * * *