By nine o clock at night, Wilson was on the verge of just turning round and driving back, regardless of House's wishes. The only reason he had kept going so long was because it was unusual for House to show he cared about anything, and when he did, Wilson knew that it was important. But he suspected that House had only kept going so long out of sheer stubbornness, because he refused to admit that he could be wrong. He turned to House to speak his mind, but House spoke first. "I know," he admitted wearily. "But we can keep looking on the way back."
As a gang of teenagers rode out of a street, House glanced down. House didn't recognise it; it was dark, and lined by tall, abandoned grey concrete buildings with gapingly empty windows. House instructed Wilson, "Turn down there. We haven't looked there." He wasn't sure why he was forcing Wilson to keep going. He was no longer sure whether it was because he honestly believed that they might still find Chase, or whether he simply couldn't bring himself to admit that he had been wrong, that there was nothing he could do.
Wilson swung the car into the deserted street, and House peered out of the windows, looking for any sign of something living in the small circle of bright light that the headlights cast on the still fresh, white snow. Wilson drove slowly down the street, as much because of the treacherous road conditions as to allow House to look.
"Stop", House ordered. Wilson glanced at House dubiously, but stopped the car anyway, expecting it to be only a shadow, or an empty box, or a homeless person, as it had been every other time that House had ordered the car to stop. He turned the heating on full blast as House hopped (well, not quite) out of the car and pressed his hands against the warmth, longingly looking forwards to his central heated apartment.
House made his way over to the doorway carefully, struggling to stay upright on the slippery surface of the pavement, now completely covered in snow. As he approached, the foot sticking out told him that he had been right, and that it was a person sleeping in the doorway. As an exercise, the whole day had been highly unhealthy from House's point of view. He wasn't used to caring about things, but as they had searched through the streets of Princeton, they had encountered various homeless people dressed in tatty rags, huddling in doorways to escape the cold, and House had again felt that surge of guilt that Chase kept bringing out in him.
House approached the lifeless body cautiously, wanting to avoid a violent encounter with a drunken bum (although he had to admit that at least similar encounters throughout the day had significantly quelled his guilt). But staring closely at the limb that protruded from the doorway, House quickened his pace as much as he could. The foot was wearing his sneaker.
"Wilson!" he yelled, closing in on the doorway, then – "Chase", he breathed, staring down at the barely recognisable face in front of him. Ignoring the pain in his leg, House awkwardly sat down by his lifeless employee, noting immediately the cold dampness of the doorway, which provided little shelter against the snow. Rubbing his fingers against Chase's ice cold skin, he felt for a pulse, and was relieved when he found the beat, though in contrast to it's rhythm over the past few days, it was now alarmingly slow. Beneath his fingers, House felt Chase stir from his uncomfortably bent position. "Chase?" He asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Hope leapt within him as Chase's eyelids began to flicker open, finally revealing the oddly bright eyes beneath. Chase moved as if to sit up, and was overtaken by a bout of coughing. Manoeuvring himself so that Chase was leant against him, House placed his hand on Chase's back as he continued his coughing, unable to restrain the thought that he was glad that this was happening out here, in the dark where no one could see, rather than in the hospital. Turning his attention on Chase, he was alarmed to see that along with a string of green yellow sputum, the front of Chase's t-shirt was now spattered with blood.
"Wilson! Get over here, I found him!" House called again, relieved to hear the car door slamming shut a moment later.
With the coughing under control, Chase leaned back weakly against House, unable to support his own weight, and shut his eyes.
"Stay with me, Chase," House ordered, seeing the youngest duckling slipping away from him. "27 year old male, coughing up blood and green yellow sputum, differential diagnosis?" House asked, hoping not only to keep his fellow with him but also to find out what the hell had happened to him. Chase inhaled as if to speak, but was rewarded only with another bout of coughing as his head flopped against House's shoulder.
House pinched Chase's arm, hard, eliciting a stifled moan from Chase that was just enough to convince him that the younger man was still awake. "That a boy," he said with false cheer.
Wilson approached the doorway, not knowing what to expect, but seeing Chase lying there with House by his side, he jogged the remaining distance and withdrew his cell phone from his pocket.
"Ambulance?" he asked House, wanting to make up for his lack of faith in House's instincts as quickly as possible. House nodded and Wilson dialled 911, turning back towards the car to get his medical bag.
A moment later, he appeared again at House's side, unzipping his bag and withdrawing a flashlight and a stethoscope, which House quickly relieved him of, putting the stethoscope to his own ears and slid the bell under Chase's t-shirt, noting the slight whimper of pain that Chase emitted. Listening for a moment, House's face drew further into a frown.
Wilson looked worriedly over Chase. Reaching for his thermometer, he forced Chase's mouth open and inserted it beneath his tongue. He withdrew it a moment later. "Temperature at 90f", he informed House. "Low, but not as low as it might be."
"Breath sounds suggest pneumonia, could be combating the low temperature caused by the hypothermia," House suggested. "But for the pneumonia to come on this quickly, it must be hospital acquired."
As the sounds of sirens rounded the corner, Wilson took Chase's limp weight, allowing House to struggle to his feet as he flagged the ambulance down.
"Robert Chase, age 27, breaths at 6 per minute, rales on both sides, temperature at 90F," House informed the EMTs as they stepped out of the ambulance. "You a doctor?" One of them, a young man with an excessively large nose, asked. House rolled his eyes. "No, I just enjoy hanging about on street corners and falsely diagnosing bums," he responded. The EMTs ignored him as they relieved Wilson of Chase's weight, beginning to carry out there own tests, despite the information that House had already fed to them. House hovered frustratedly.
"Will you get on with it and stick him in the ambulance already?" He asked the EMTs grumpily. Big Nose looked up at him, clearly annoyed. May I ask who you are, sir?" He asked.
"I'm his doctor and his boss. So stop messing about and just do what I say," he ordered the EMT. Big Nose scowled at him, but the pair began loading him onto the gurney nevertheless.
The EMTs climbed into the ambulance, carefully navigating the gurney inside, and House hauled himself in without question.
"Meet you at PPTH", said House, slamming the door shut behind him. As the sirens whirred into the distance, Wilson was left alone in the dark. The snow had finally stopped, and he stared up at the sky. The moon shone brightly above, illuminating the dancing shadows of the clouds in a deep, smoky grey. Wilson looked at the ground before him, covered in dirtied snow, and caught sight of the spatter of red. A dog barked in the distance. Wilson shivered and snapped his eyes away from the ground and the despairing feeling that it left him with, climbing into the warm leather interior of his car, and turning the radio up extra loud.