Ghosts of the Past

A/N: Hello all! I'm really sorry for the long delay…I was suffering major writer's block on this story. I knew exactly what I wanted, and yet I stared at the page and couldn't write it down. But thanks to several House DVD marathons, the awesome new episodes of House (and the Chase screen time!) that have been on since the show came back on in January, I'm completely cured! Anyhow, I do hope you like this chapter. Even though this is dealing with tough subject matter, I do promise some lighthearted moments in future chapters. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think; thanks to everyone who is reading or reviewing!

Chapter 10: Never Give Up

Chase wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but he awoke to the sound of Cameron and Foreman's soft tones, the smell of Chinese food wafting into his nose. He opened his eyes, the reality of his situation hitting him as consciousness fully took over. He pushed down the wave of anxiety that threatened to eat away at him and sat up against the pillows, the rustling causing the other two to look up.

"Hey man," Foreman said. "How are you feeling?"

Chase wanted to tell him that he felt as if his entire life was spiraling completely out of control, that this entire thing felt like something out of a novel.

"Sore," he said instead. "My head and ribs still hurt, but the wrist is feeling better."

"Foreman snuck in some Chinese for you," Cameron said, gesturing at the red and white box. "There's some chicken fried rice in there."

"I could eat," Chase replied, reaching for the fork Foreman had lain next to the rice, realizing he didn't really remember the last time he'd eaten anything solid. He glanced at Foreman, a hint of a smirk flitting across his features. "Breaking the rules, huh?"

"House has rubbed off on me," Foreman quipped.

Chase dug into the rice, feeling hungry for the first time since the accident. Sitting here with Foreman and Cameron reminded him of the thousands of times they'd sat at the conference table eating out of boxes just like this at some ungodly hour of the night, throwing out diagnoses and sniping because they hadn't slept, it reminded him of all the times they'd met up for dinner while he was working in surgery, Cameron in the ER, and Foreman in Diagnostics, arguing, laughing, and sharing hospital gossip. The three of them had faced their ups and downs with each other, but in the end, Chase knew the three of them together shared a strong bond.

He peeked up, still busying himself with the rice, taking in their expressions and body language. Foreman tried to appear relaxed, but the magazine in his lap was only open to the first page, and his hands were tightly knit together. Cameron's legs were crossed together so firmly that Chase thought she might have a difficult time unwinding them, one foot jiggling with nerves. It was terrifying really, for one of them to be the patient, because they were supposed to diagnose and cure others, they weren't supposed to ever be in the sick bed. It was his turn, Chase supposed, knowing it was morbid: after all, Foreman had once caught a deadly brain virus from a patient, Cameron had experienced an HIV scare from being coughed on by a patient, and House had been the one in the hospital too many times to count.

"It's good you're eating," Cameron piped up.

"I don't think I've eaten anything really solid since the accident," Chase answered, closing the top of the box. His appetite wasn't exactly stellar, but at least he'd eaten something. "The nurse forced some orange juice and toast down, but aside from that…" he trailed off, suddenly remembering that Wilson was due to come by. "When is Wilson coming?"

"He paged me to say he was coming in about ten minutes," Foreman said. "And last I saw, House was locked in Wilson's office, so I'm guessing he'll be along too."

Chase paused, considering his next question. House had been honest with him during his last visit, but it was always interesting to get another perspective on his complex, sometimes perplexing boss.

"How is House taking it?" he asked, his hands fiddling with the sheets. "He was pretty serious when he came in here. Told me if I didn't get upset he'd send me to the psych ward."

Foreman rolled his eyes but couldn't help but chuckle.

"He's taking emotional things like he usually does," he replied. "He gets snippy, shuts people out. He's hardly even talked to Cuddy, and other than following Wilson around, he keeps sitting in his office with that intense look on his face."

"A sure sign he's upset," Cameron said, meeting Chase's eyes for a moment. She'd been the only one to whom he'd admitted that House was a bit of a twisted father figure; his other friends from around the hospital, especially the ones from surgery, had never really made sense of his relationship with House, but Cameron had understood, had felt the same way. "Even though I've been gone, I know that hasn't changed, and it's not likely to anytime soon."

Chase was hit by the significance of her words; it was small, but in saying that she'd been gone, Cameron was admitting that things were different, that things couldn't go back to the way they were before she'd left. She continued holding his gaze with her own particular brand of intensity, raw emotion that she attempted to keep hidden swirling within her eyes. If she hadn't returned the night of the lockdown, he wasn't sure he'd be willing to risk any re-consideration of their relationship, simply because there had been far too many unanswered questions, and he'd already watched his heart shatter on the floor once. He'd been hurt, but he'd also been furious. But that night…that night had left him with an entirely different set of unanswered questions, but the love they had felt for each other had been thick in the air, and he dared himself to maintain a shred of hope. She'd said that she had loved him, and that was somehow more difficult to deal with than if she hadn't. He wasn't expecting anything, but now that she was here…he knew it was unwise, perhaps, but their relationship had always been anything but simple.

Quiet fell as Chase's cancer once again became the elephant in the room, suffocating their voices.

Foreman cleared his throat, a sign he was about to say something emotional.

"You know that we're here for you, right?" he asked, sincerity in his expression. Foreman was not a man to mince words, so Chase knew he was telling the truth. "I know I give you crap sometimes, but you are my friend, and I'll do whatever you need me to do right now."

"I know," Chase replied, smiling slightly in reassurance, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at being the center of attention, instead of fading into the background as he so often attempted to do. He caught a shared glance between Cameron and Foreman, his curiosity piqued.

"I," Cameron began, hesitant. "I took the next couple of weeks off work, just to see how your treatment goes. I've racked up God knows how much vacation, and I've got another doctor tending to my patients while I'm gone. But I'll only stay if it's alright with you."

Her offer to put the ball in his court surprised him more than the news about her taking vacation; Cameron often did things on her terms, and although she'd softened up about that over the past years, it was still a part of her. Her willingness to leave it up to him, her willingness not to hover if she wasn't wanted, spoke volumes.

"It's fine," Chase said, nodding at her in response because he wasn't sure how to phrase what he was thinking.

Before any further words were spoken, a knock punctuated the room, and Wilson appeared at the window, House in tow. The sound of the glass door sliding opened seemed unusually loud in Chase's ears. His heart started pounding so hard he could see it through the thin fabric of the hospital gown. He tried to force what he sincerely hoped was an impassive expression onto his face, but knew it likely wasn't a successful attempt.

"Dr. Sleepyhead is awake, I see," House said, making himself comfortable in the empty chair beside Cameron. "It's about time."

"You're the one who upped my morphine," Chase argued.

"House," Wilson reprimanded, drawing out the name and rolling his eyes at his friend. "You're not even the attending, Dr. Simmons is until Chase is out of the ICU, and then when he gets moved to Oncology, I am."

"I could see the man was in pain," House said. His voice was full of its usual intrinsic sarcasm, but the empathetic glint in his eyes told a different story. "I figured I might as well put a stop to it. Now, put the boy out of his agony and tell him what the plan is."

Wilson looked ready to respond, but knowing any argument was futile, he turned back to Chase.

"It's not good news, I take it?" Chase half-joked, feeling his hands start to shake. House noticed, but Cameron and Foreman were too focused on Wilson, something Chase was grateful for.

"Actually it's pretty positive," Wilson said, allowing a small smile to slip onto his face. "The cancer is at stage IIIA, but the tumor, while a decent size, can likely be mostly if not entirely removed with a segmental resection."

"And the rest of it?" Chase asked, daring to hope.

"The tests confirmed that it hasn't spread to any other organs, although it has spread to some lymph nodes in your sternum," Wilson continued. "But I believe we can get rid of it with radiation if we attack this fast. It's more effective than chemo with lung cancer, generally speaking."

"So when is the surgery?" Chase asked, feeling his heart crawl its way up his throat. "Today?"

"The day after tomorrow, actually…" Wilson began.

"Simmons, in all his mighty wisdom, said he wanted to monitor your concussion, just to be sure there won't be any brain swelling," House interrupted. "I tried to make him see reason, but…"

"We'll be keeping you in the ICU until tomorrow night, and then we'll move you to the Oncology ward in preparation for the surgery the next day," Wilson cut back in.

"The good news is," House said, a smirk on his face. "You won't be losing any of that oh so pretty boy hair of yours."

Where normally Chase would have brushed the comment off with silence and a roll of his eyes, this time, he laughed out loud. The rug of his world had been violently and suddenly pulled out from under his feet, and House's jab was so typical, so normal, that he found it comforting. Foreman shook his head, and Cameron smiled despite herself.

"You know," Wilson said in a very matter-of-fact tone. "He could probably sue you for verbal sexual harassment for all those kinds of comments over the years."

"Statute of limitations," House quipped, glancing over at the littering of Chinese takeout boxes. "Contraband food, I see. Your doing, I take it?" he asked, turning to Cameron.

"Mine, actually," Foreman said. "Like you said, the food here is only one step-above Riker's Island." He raised a single eyebrow.

"You have been around me too long," House said, amused. He turned his gaze back to Cameron. "Come with me to my office for a minute."

She looked unsure, and Chase couldn't blame her; House was up to something.

"I don't bite," House assured her. He lifted his cane up off the floor. "And I'm pretty sure you can outrun me if need be."

"Okay…" Cameron said, drawing out the word. "Sure."

"We'll let you rest," Wilson said, sharing a bewildered glance with Foreman.

Chase felt the oncologist squeeze his shoulder before watching his friends and colleagues exit the room.

Within five minutes Cameron found herself sitting across from her ex-boss, his hands folded on top of the glass desk. He was trying to read her, that much was obvious, but she grew irritated by his silence.

"So, did you bring me in here to talk about something, or to try and make an attempt to read my mind?" she asked.

"Some things never change," House muttered, but at seeing Cameron open her mouth to argue, started speaking again. "You need to get him to talk."

"You already did that, from what I ascertained earlier," Cameron said, but her voice was losing a bit of it terseness.

"I broke the surface, yes," House continued, eyes still not leaving her face. "But you need to dig in deeper."

"Why are you leaving this task to me?" Cameron shot back, her defenses rising for reasons she couldn't quite explain. "I thought you would want to get him to talk yourself."

"I will," House said, annoyingly cryptic. "But right now, he needs to talk to you, needs to know where you stand with him, wherever the hell that is. He's freaked out about the Cancer, about you being here, about his stepmother's news, and he needs to focus his energy on getting well and not worrying about all the other crap going on."

House's blue eyes were covered with clouds of worry, even as he tried to conceal his feelings by acting like his usual self.

"I think he's still angry with me," Cameron said softly, diverting her eyes from House's face to her hands twisted in her lap.

"Since when have you been afraid of his anger?" House questioned. "Since when have you been afraid of anyone's anger?"

"But...I…"

"You're not afraid of his anger," House said, cutting off her mumbling. "You're afraid of yourself, and you're afraid of this situation. You constantly sabotage yourself."

"I don't!" Cameron exclaimed, feeling hot anger flaring within her. "That's you. I've changed."

"People can move, people can get new hairstyles, new jobs, new hobbies, new friends, new significant others," House said, eyes narrowing, although he didn't raise his voice. "But the inherent parts of a person? What's that? Oh, they don't change!"

"You don't know me."

"I do. And you know it."

Cameron crossed her arms over her chest, sliding slightly lower in her chair. She hated that House was right, hated that he could sense her fear. Right now, she just wanted to be there for Chase while he was sick, wanted to be at this side, because she knew intimately how deep his abandonment issues were, knew how hard she had worked to stop him from turning inward to himself during times of trouble. But a part of her…a part of her couldn't help but entertain the thought of a renewed relationship with him; she'd entertained it from the moment she'd walked out of their condo, and seeing how well they still fit together during the night of the lockdown, realizing how much she still loved him, the force of it feeling like a punch to the stomach, did nothing to help those thoughts.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, looking back up at House. His expression had lost some of its electric intensity, and he contemplated her, looking as if he was thinking of something in the past, of other times when she had sat across from him at this desk.

"Talk to him about the Cancer, Melinda, his father, just make him talk," House said. "If he doesn't, he'll shut off, and he won't fight this, and all that kind of sappy stuff Wilson always talks about. Besides, it's not like he can run away from you."

"Okay," Cameron said, nodding as a renewed strength in her voice. "I can do that."

"Good. Now get out," House said, shooing her with his hands and putting on his reading glasses. "I've got some research to do."

Cameron did as requested and rose from the chair, but stopped in the doorway for a moment, turning her head to look back at House. She'd been sad, furious, and utterly confused the last time she'd seen House, and a part of her was still angry, but despite herself, she still cared about him.

"Thanks, House," she half-whispered.

He nodded, looking at her over the tops of his reading glasses.

She was hesitant about what she would say next, but proceeded, knowing there was nothing to lose.

"He's always looked up to, you know," she said, referring to Chase. "He's always cared about you. And now…now he really needs you."

Quiet punctuated the room, loud in the absolute absence of noise.

"I know," House said gruffly, looking back down. "Now go do what I said."

"I don't even work here and you're still bossing me around," Cameron chuckled. Then she left, determined to get through to Chase.

Chase pretended to be asleep when he heard the door open. Judging from the sound of the footsteps, he knew it was Cameron; there was no thud of the cane to indicate House, no firm, sure echo to indicate Foreman, no heels to indicate Cuddy, no attempt to quiet the sound to indicate Wilson. No, these footsteps were at the same time both hesitant and determined. The door slid open and closed again, and he still kept his eyes shut. He wasn't ready to talk yet, even as he heard House's voice in his head, urging him to face this.

"I know you aren't asleep," Cameron said, and Chase heard her settling into the chair nearest him. "You never sleep on your back, only on your side and your stomach."

Chase popped one eye open; her normally pristine blonde hair was in a messy ponytail, and she wore an old med-school t-shirt with jeans, a spot of light green paint on the leg. His mind flashed momentarily to the day they'd re-painted the condo shortly after they'd returned from their honeymoon, and they'd ended up covered in the stuff.

"Caught me," Chase said, opening both eyes and sitting up to face her. "What's up?" he asked, keeping his tone even, stoic, almost. A part of him wanted to break down, to sob even harder than he had when House had been here, but a bigger part of him put up his walls, protecting himself.

She folded one of her hands over his, and he didn't pull back, but he felt fear take a sewing needle and thread it in and out of his heart, shooting ice through his bloodstream.

"We need to talk," she said. "You need to talk."

"About what?" Chase questioned, injecting a nonchalance that didn't actually exist into his voice.

"About this," she said, not removing her hand. "About what's happening."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he said. "And besides, House was already in here. I've dealt with it, and I've faced it."

"You've barely scratched the surface," she said, the first sign of irritation entering her tone. "You always encourage patients to deal with what's going on around them. You always made me face things. It's emotionally healthy…"

"Like I need you telling me what's emotionally healthy," Chase said, cutting her off and pulling his hand out from under hers. The words spouted from his mouth like venom, and as much as he wanted to control them, he couldn't. He was utterly terrified, and he felt it overcoming his entire person.

"What happened to the Robert I knew?" she said without missing a beat, ignoring his swipe.

"He's sitting right here."

"No he isn't," she said, hands gripping the metal rail of the bed. "The Robert I knew would be fighting back against this, he wouldn't give up over this illness. The Robert I knew never gave up. You applied for one of the most prestigious jobs in the country, moved here from another continent, you made House believe in you. You probably saved more lives than your father likely ever did, and you kept pursuing me until I came to my senses. You came into work practically falling down sick from the flu because you were worried about a patient…"

"Why are you still here?" he asked. "I just…I don't understand."

"I told you," she said, gritting her teeth. "I'm staying to make sure…"

"You left me!" he exploded. "I had to watch you leave twice. Just…" he struggled to keep his voice steady. "Just go, before you can leave again after I've started acting like a fool and getting my hopes up."

"I came back," she said, her own voice straining.

"You came back before."

"I thought…I thought we needed that proper goodbye, that it made things better between us."

"It did," Chase admitted. "But you still left. I'm trying to deal with the fact that I have cancer."

"You aren't dealing with it," Cameron insisted. "How do you feel about it? You. Not anyone else. You."

"How the hell do you think I feel, Allison!" he said, shouting again.

"Don't turn this back around on me!" she said. "I asked how you feel about it!"

"Like God, or the universe or whatever you might want to name it, is playing some kind of sick, cosmic joke on me, that's how I feel!" he said, feeling uninvited tears spring to his eyes, hating how utterly out of control he felt. "My father's last curse from the grave."

"You need to stop worrying about your father, who is not cursing you, you need to stop worrying about my motives, you need to stop worrying about Melinda," Cameron said, leaning in closer, desperately searching his eyes. "And start focusing, for once in your life, on you. You have to have hope, you have to maintain that optimism. Wilson will tell you that depressed cancer patients go downhill." She drew a shaky breath, drawing Chase's eyes to her face. "You have to…you can't…" she trailed off, weaving her fingertips through her hair.

Silence stood between them, and Chase found he couldn't form words. He was angry at God, at his body, at Melinda, at his father, and he was frightened. There was so much going on, and his rational mind was failing to assist his emotional center in coping with everything. Yet, even as he was tempted to shield himself from any hurt by anyone left in his life, to simply ignore what was happening, a voice in the back of his head warned him that House and Cameron were right. Cameron looked up again, tears streaming down her face.

"Didn't I tell you once," she whispered. "That no matter what happened between us, that I would be there if you really needed me?"

"Yes," he said, the words hitting him like bullets, the ice in his veins starting to thaw. "Yes."

"I know you're scared," she said, voice growing hoarse. "Anyone would be. And I know you're angry. But I'm here for you, everyone is here for you, and I really hope eventually you'll believe us."

In that moment Chase met her eyes directly, and the walls that House had so expertly cracked came crashing down at Cameron's words, an emotional tag-team that had succeeded. He ran his hands tightly through his hair, pure, unadulterated sobs breaking through his well-built armor. Cameron moved from her position and sat on the bed, seizing Chase's arm and gently pulling him toward her. He went rigid, but gave in after a few moments, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, running a hand up and down his back. She'd seen him upset, had obviously seen him cry more than once, but outright sobbing was a rarity for him, and this…this was on an entirely different level.

"Why this?" he asked, barely audible. "Why this, out of anything in the entire fucking spectrum of diseases?"

"I don't know, babe," she said, hardly noticing when she used the old term of endearment out of habit. "But it's going to be okay. Wilson has it figured out. And you know House won't back off until that cancer won't even know what hit it."

He didn't respond but pressed his face into her shoulder, not caring if he was being foolish, not caring if she got up and left as soon as he was well, because right now, he needed her.

Meanwhile, House watched from outside, positioned so that the pair couldn't see him, a reluctant father seeing two of his adopted, emotionally scarred children reunite. The sound of heels echoed down the hall, coming closer.

"I got a page that there was shouting coming from Chase's room," Cuddy said, coming up next to him. She made to reach for the door. "I know this is intense, but this isn't good for the other patients, not to mention Chase, in his condition. Or Cameron. I'm going to go see…"

"Don't," House said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her. "My idea actually worked."

"What?" Cuddy asked, glancing into the room, seeing Cameron holding Chase, whose face wasn't visible. "Oh. You…brought them together? I though you wondered if her coming was even a good idea?"

"Chase needed to break down," House said, eyes still fixed on Chase and Cameron. "I started the process, but I knew Cameron could pull at those raw emotions. It's a talent of hers. He was already starting to give up, and I'll be damned if I let him pull something like that."

Cuddy slid her hand down House's arm and took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his own.

"I know you're worried about him," she said quietly. "We all are."

He didn't respond, but lightly squeezed her hand.

"And I know you care about him," she continued. "You've given him more crap than pretty much anyone on your team, a sure sign he's special to you."

House's eyes flitted to her face momentarily, then back to his present and former fellows on the other side of the glass.

"He's grown on me," he said gruffly. "He's grown on me."