Chase stopped to brush his teeth before following Foreman back to the living room. He lingered long enough to allow Foreman to leave unnoticed if he wanted. He was certain that Foreman would rather be anywhere but there. He would.
Instead of leaving, Chase found that Foreman had made him a cup of warm tea. Foreman obviously had fewer qualms about going through House's kitchen shelves than he did.
"It'll settle your stomach," Foreman explained, handing him the tea. That he had sweetened it with honey and added lemon suggested that he also planned for the tea to help soothe Chase's throat and make it easier for him to talk.
Chase accepted the tea and focused on drinking it. It was too strong and the lemon was overpowering, but he drank it anyway. It was as good of an excuse to avoid eye contact as anything else. He was embarrassed that Foreman had seen him overwhelmed by the memories. Foreman, who had no respect for him, had been privy to some of the worst moments in his life. Chase was sure there was something cosmically unfair about that, but he did not have the energy to even be bitter or question it.
Had someone looked in on the two doctors, they might think they were engrossed in a television program. They were sitting on each end of the couch, neither looking at the other.
"You don't have to stay," Chase told Foreman.
"No, I want to stay," Foreman offered, attempting to sound sincere. He had, after all, just told Chase he wanted to listen if he needed to talk. He had reconsidered somewhere between the bathroom and the kitchen. The truth was he felt obligated to stay, but he was certain that it would be unbearable for him if Chase needed to retell the graphic details of his experience.
Foreman had momentarily thought of drugging the tea as he stirred in the honey. He was no expert in psychiatric issues, but he did know that a flashback like that could lead to a person making some irrational decisions. He had never witnessed such a deeply involved traumatic memory in someone who was not institutionalized at the time. In fact, he had only seen one person go through something similar and it had boggled his mind then, as it did now, that anyone could become so completely absorbed in memories. He supposed that most people were probably alone when they went through something like this. Most probably did not seek professional help but had it thrust upon them. The young woman he had seen had been hospitalized due to several suicide attempts. He suspected that Chase should be back at PPTH on suicide watch, just to be safe.
"You're lying," Chase accused, suspecting the other man's sense of obligation.
Foreman shrugged. It was still disconcerting to him to hear Chase speak in that labored voice. "You don't need to be alone, even if you don't want me to stay." He put the desire to escape one another's company back on Chase.
"I do fine alone every day," Chase replied. He knew was straining his voice more than he should, but he added. "I was fine today until you showed up." His words held much less of an impact than he aspired for them to impart. Sarcasm was all in the delivery and his delivery was weak. He thought of the website he had been reading earlier and wished Foreman would leave so he could log back onto it. Maybe one of the users there could tell him he was not crazy.
Foreman held his tongue. He did not want a repeat of the anger induced flashback. He wanted to ask if Chase blamed him for the stroll down memory lane. Though, he blamed himself and that was probably enough for him to know. "I'm not leaving," he stated.
Chase shrugged. "Whatever."
They skillfully avoided looking at each other.
"I'm sorry I got mad earlier. I didn't mean to take it out on you." It pained Foreman to make another apology. But apologizing was less bothersome to him than the silence. As far as he was concerned, he had not done anything wrong either. Okay, maybe he had been selfish by ignoring what was happening to Chase. And maybe he was a jerk to feel jealous that Chase got sympathy and no one really cared that he had been held hostage too. But he figured that was akin to two people coming into the emergency room, one with a gunshot wound and the other with a cold. Massive injury trumps minor problem. He wanted someone to realize that being held hostage was not really minor in and of itself. It simply paled in comparison to what Chase had been through while he also was held at gunpoint.
There was a part of Chase that wanted to tell Foreman that he had no right to be angry at him. He had not done anything to Foreman but try to keep him safe. He wanted to yell at the other man and tell him to go away and stop pretending to care. He had so many emotions and memories battling for his attention that mollifying Foreman's guilt ridden conscience was just a little too much to ask of him at this point. He did not blame Foreman, but it was clear that Foreman felt some burden of responsibility. And it seemed that he resented Chase for that.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Foreman asked hesitantly.
Do you have permanent brain damage? Chase asked silently. He shook his head. He was not sure why anyone would think that "talking about it" would help. Now that he remembered what had happened, he wanted to promptly forget again. Each word he said to another person about his experience was a weapon that could be used against him later. There was no one he trusted with those weapons.
Foreman frowned when Chase did not respond to him. He noticed the younger man's foot was bouncing against the floor and he chalked that up to nerves. "If you do talk to me, I won't tell anyone what you said," he promised. "It's no one else's business."
"It's not your business either," Chase snapped. He had no intention whatsoever of sharing his thoughts with Foreman.
"Fine," Foreman answered, trying to keep his irritation at bay. "We'll just sit here and stare at the wall."
Chase shrugged as if to say, Fine with me.
"You're acting a like a two-year old," Foreman muttered, not quite able to keep his mouth shut.
"Go to hell," Chase responded.
"It's not my fault!" Foreman exclaimed.
"I never said it was," Chase retorted, wishing his voice was stronger. "You're the one making this all about you." He set his cup of tea down on the coffee table.
"How the--" He did not have to finish asking how he was making it about him.
Chase cut him off, knowing exactly what the question was. "You came in here under the guise of checking on me just so you can have me say it's not your fault. Fine. It's not your fault. You did not hold a gun to your own head. But you did not do a damn thing to try to stop them either. You are a bloody coward. I'm not mad because you didn't try to stop them. I know you couldn't. I'm mad because you want me to make you feel better and I'm too damn tired to do it." His voice faltered, but Foreman was engrossed enough with what he said that the altering tone and volume did not prevent the message from coming through.
"I don't--" Foreman stopped himself. He did not what? Want absolution? But he did. Chase was right. He had come there wanting Chase to tell him everything was fine.
"If it mattered to you, you would have shown up by now. Not because Cameron dragged you or House pressured you. You don't want to be here. You want to pretend it never happened and that's fine. I want you to pretend it never happened so I don't have to look at you and wonder if you think about me choking on him when you see me. You can pretend it didn't happen and I can pretend that you weren't there with your back turned while he strangled me and…" He hesitated.
"Raped you," Foreman supplied, using House's logic that ignoring what it was would not change it.
"Shut up! Don't ever say that again! You weren't there and you don't know anything."
"Chase?" Foreman questioned. Chase had instantly moved from the idea of pretending that he had not been in that room to proclaiming it as fact. "That doesn't even make sense."
"Yes it does. You weren't there. As far as you're concerned nothing happened. You don't have to feel guilty and I don't have to--" he stopped, realizing he was saying too much.
"You don't have to what?" He wondered if Chase's voice had given out again.
Chase shook his head, refusing to finish the thought aloud. He was going to say he did not have to be ashamed. "You can pretend I've gone to Australia for a month. I'll tell you about snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef when I get back," he whispered.
Foreman was dumbfounded. Did Chase really think that there was any logic in what he was saying? Did he think the best course of action was to ignore reality?
"I'll come back to work and you'll be pissy because I was on an expensive vacation and I'll tell you it was nice because you'll ask, just because you don't have anything else to say. But I won't say too much because I won't want to offend you."
"Offend me?" Foreman asked, so confused by Chase's thoughts that the only thing he knew to do was try to play along.
"Because you didn't have a rich famous father," Chase answered, turning to face Foreman for the first time. "You're lucky. Your dad is really nice and he's proud of you."
Foreman opened his mouth, but closed it again. He had no idea what to say. It struck him that Chase always referred to his father as the one who was rich.
"It's okay," Chase told him. "It's not a competition. And if it was, you'd win."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Foreman told him honestly. He was still lost on the idea of being "pissy" about the imaginary vacation. It stunned him that Chase was conscientious about offending him over an imaginary vacation and he wondered if Chase was as sensitive about real life and censored himself for his benefit.
"Your dad," Chase answered, as if he believed that would clarify his meaning.
Foreman rubbed his forehead, trying to decipher what Chase was saying.
"Your dad loves you." Chase added.
"I know," Foreman answered.
"You're lucky." He repeated, turning away and focusing his attention back on the wall across the room.
"I know," Foreman repeated. He was not thinking as much about who had the superior parent as the fact that he was not rambling about competitions and the Great Barrier Reef. He needs counseling, Foreman determined, glad that he had not left earlier.
"He'd be more disgusted than you are," Chase whispered.
"Who?" Foreman asked, still trying to go along with whatever Chase said. He had been right about one thing--rational thought did not follow a flashback.
"My father."
"Would be disgusted?"
Chase nodded. "If he knew."
"Knew what?"
"What they did. What they made me do. He would hate me."
"Made you," Foreman reminded him. "You didn't have a choice. Your father would not hate you for that. And, for the record, I'm not disgusted with you either." Foreman considered how his own father might react if he were in Chase's situation. Embarrassed by the idea of his conservative father even considering the idea of one man sexually assaulting another man, he felt more sympathetic about the shame that Chase must be enduring.
Chase frowned with a tired, Hmph. "Any excuse would do."
"Excuse for what?"
"To hate me."
"He wouldn't have paid for your college if hated you," Foreman argued, vowing that he would not be "pissy" about it.
"He didn't."
Foreman was visibly shocked. "He didn't?"
"I aced the UMAT and GAMSAT and had scholarships and got student loans. I didn't want his money."
"You aced the UMAT?" Foreman asked, impressed. He had heard of the test and how many claimed it was unfair because it was more a test of logical and nonverbal reasoning than academic skills. He hoped that he could bring Chase back to a more coherent train of thought. "I've heard it's really hard."
"So they say," Chase shrugged.
"Why didn't you ever say you had student loans when I assumed your father paid for your education."
"You'd already made up your mind." Chase answered. It was part of being the son of Rowan Chase. People in the medical community had certain assumptions.
Foreman nodded. Good or bad, it was the truth. He tended to stick to his first impressions.
"You're not disgusted?" Chase asked meekly.
"No! Of course not!" Foreman asserted. It was a lie. But keeping the truth to himself was the only kind thing he could do. The sight of the attacker's rough hands tangled in Chase's hair was never far from his mind when he was with Chase. He was disgusted by that memory, but it had nothing to do with Chase himself. He was repulsed by what had been done to his colleague and by being forced to play a part in it. He promised himself that he would never let Chase know that truth. With time, things would change.
"Even though--"
"You didn't do anything wrong," Foreman answered, not allowing Chase to finish his sentence because he did not want him to focus on the bad things when he was just starting to make sense again.
Chase ventured to make eye contact. He studied Foreman's face for a moment--the concern and sincerity in his eyes. It was rare to find them there.
"I'm not disgusted," Foreman repeated. He thought of adding that he was a little disgusted with himself, but that would only serve to demonstrate that he really was making this all about him.
"I'm so fucked up," Chase announced.
Foreman was surprised by the self-assessment. He could see torment clearly in the blue eyes that were boring a hole into him. "Yeah," he agreed. He was not being cruel, but honest. He thought it was a good sign that Chase realized that he was not quite in touch with reality. Crazy people did not think they were crazy, after all. "You'll get better though."
They both turned to the door when they heard a noise outside. In a moment, House was standing in the doorway. "When did I start running a shelter for wayward employees?" he asked, tossing his mail on the coffee table. He nodded to Foreman and turned to Chase, "So what's for dinner? I'm starving."
AN: Sorry it took so long to update. This was one of those chapters where I weighed every word. I hope it was worth the wait. Question: About reviews: do you want a response if you review or do you find responses annoying?