Sorry guys, I know, that was quite a while. Somehow stoned Chase – while incredibly cute – is not that easy to write about. Which is why he's back to normal after

this chapter, sorry. Thank you so much for all your reviews! There will be at least five more chapters, Guest. Zaffiro, Pallada, Elisabeth Fox, Rei and verlan, I agree,

drugged Chase is perfect. I know it's been done before, by the way, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad to hear you like the story, espogio! I'll try to be faster with the next

chapter...

The lollipop had shut Chase up for a while, but the silence didn't last long.

"Do you think fish can learn to hold their breath?"

"Why is this happening to me?"

"What is?"

"You're talking again."

"You always tell me to join in..."

"When we're diagnosing patients. And you're not in a state to treat anyone right now."

"I could!"

"No you couldn't."

"Why?"

"Because you're stoned."

Chase grinned. "Haha. Cameron was stoned. We had sex."

House shuddered. "I know."

"First, she told me she wanted a drink. But she didn't. She was home. So she opened the door, and I was confu – "

"Stop. Talking."

The Australian sighed, and went quiet, gazing at his boss like a shy toddler. He put his lollipop back in his mouth and started sucking it again.

"Once I was sad because of you, House." The intensivist told his boss sombrely, between licks.

"Horrifying."

"You know, when you said I had to clean the cupboards. And when you wouldn't let me call Janie.

And the time I had to write about magazines, that was boring. And once..." Chase fell silent,

and then looked at his boss. "You make me sad a lot."

House shrugged. "Tough."

"It's not nice to make people sad..."

"I'm not nice."

"Yes you are." the Australian gazed at the ceiling dreamily, "...you're the the nicest...why are there colours floating everywhere?"

"The angels left those behind."

"Ah...yeah, okay. You don't like Janie."

"No I don't."

"Why?"

"She reminds me of a toad."

Chase threw his head back, laughing. "Ha ha, Janie looks like a toad. I'm a doctor."

"I know."

"That's why I'm a nice person. 'Cause I help people."

"Good boy."

House's employee stared. "You've never said that before."

"I don't feel the urge too, normally."

"You don't think I'm good?" Chase's eyes were soft and vulnerable, and the older doctor couldn't bear to crush him.

"You're good." he said, quietly, as if he didn't quite want the other man to hear.

"Thank you, so are you."

"..."

"Say 'thank you'!"

"I did. In my head."

"Oh, that's okay then. What's that noise?" The intensivist had his head cocked, listening to House's phone chirping. The diagnostician grabbed it and put it on

speaker. "What's up?" he inquired.

Foreman answered. "House. She's having trouble speaking."

Before his boss could answer, Chase cut in excitedly. "Foreman!" he yelled, "Greg likes me now! He gave me a lollipop. I'm sorry you didn't get any, maybe you

will when we're back!"

House stared, and only snapped out of his confusion when he heard his neurologist chuckle lightly. "Foreman, if you know what's good for you, you'll shut up."

the diagnostician turned to the younger doctor, "I'll deal with you in a minute." then, to his absent employee, he added, "Give me something."

The smirk was clearly audible in the neurologist's voice, as he drawled, "Yeah...in a minute. Right after you tell me what you did to Chase."

"Foreman..."

"Come on, tell me!"

"No, actually. You'll give me possible diagnoses right now – because if you don't, I'll make sure you're on nights until I get bored watching you fight sleep-

deprivation. And that could be a while."

Foreman hesitated, but decided not to risk that.

"Her facial nerves are weakened. Sarcoidosis?"

"Not again."

The neurologist rolled his eyes. "It fits..." he muttered sullenly. "How about a tumour? Neoplasm of the parotid gland? Cholesteatoma?"

"Cholesteatoma would have turned up in her family history. You did say you'd taken a history, didn't you?"

"Yes, House..." Foreman was just barely hiding his irritation.

Chase had been playing with his toes, pressing on each of them and making different noises as if his feet consisted of musical instruments. Now, he'd grown

bored with that. He got up and went over to House, standing in front of him patiently. The diagnostician groaned inwardly. "What is it, Chase?" he snarled, and

the Australian backed away slightly. "Can I go outside now?"

"No."

"But..."

I said no."

This time, the young doctor's eyes actually filled with tears. "Now you're mean again..."

House ignored him. "Do an MRI." he ordered, before adding, grudgingly, "And check for sarcoidosis."

His employee was about to hang up, when the department head thought of something else, "Where's Cameron?"

"She's watching the kid."

House nodded, "Keep someone with her at all times."

"Right."

The call was disconnected, and House sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Chase."

The intensivist was lying on the floor, curled up, facing the wall.

"Chase..."

"I'm not talking to you..."

"Well that's relaxing."

"...because you were mean again."

House shook his head and popped a Vicodin.

"What are you eating?"

"Candy."

"Oooh. Yummy. I want one!"

The diagnostician held the bottle of pills behind his back protectively, "No way. You've had enough!"

"That's not fair!"

"'That's not fair'. You just fill every cliché in the book, don't you?"

"What's a cliché?"

"Oh, shut up."

Before even having had the chance to voice his indignation, the Australian yawned. "I'm tired." He stretched out on the bed, already closing his eyes while

holding out his lollipop for House to take. Which the diagnostician did, disgustedly. At the sight of his duckling, though, the corners of his mouth turned up.

"Goodnight..."

Chase giggled sleepily. "'s' not night..." he mumbled, and was asleep.

When he woke up again, much later, the young man blinked at his boss out of tired eyes.

"Where...why? What...what happened?"

House smirked. "Yeah...that's what coming off a high's like. Sorry, it'll be a while before you're 100% again. If you ever were."

"I'm – high?"

"You were."

"But..."

"I gave you a Vicodin."

"House! That's a prescription drug. You – are you...?"

"Irresponsible, dangerous and slightly crazy? Always. You're feeling better, aren't you?"

"Well. Yeah. But..."

"Oh, come on. It's done. Suck it up."

Chase shrugged. "I...I do feel better. But I just needed some rest, I think."

"Which you weren't getting since you were coughing too much."

"I guess... Well. Thanks."

"Any time. Well, not literally. I don't share pills. But if I did, you'd definitely get some!"

The intensivist shook his head and stretched. "I think I'll go take a walk."

"No way. You're resting today. Doctor's orders."

"Meaning, you don't want me to leave."

House raised an eyebrow. "Well, I am your doctor. And your boss."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay. May I have my laptop?"

"What for?"

Chase looked puzzled. "Um, I wanted to write to Janie."

The diagnostician's eyes narrowed, and his face showed no emotion at all.

"House?"

"Find out what environmental factors could cause facial paralysis."

"But I was going to write to – "

"You do still work for me. Meaning I don't care what you were going to do. Now you're researching."

The Australian looked at his boss, shocked and hurt. House didn't meet his gaze, and slowly, painfully slow, Chase got started.