Author's Notes: The song that House sings is from American History X, and it's a white supremacist version of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Song can be listened to at . com/watch?vGsC0BCAwkb4 but I'm telling you, turn the volume down. Not work safe.
Untouchable
Chapter 25
(C'mon Feel the Noize)
"I want him gone."
Cuddy jumped out of her skin, whirling around so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. She scowled as she saw that it was only House standing in the corner, a characteristically smug look on his face. He leaned forward, his cane planted firmly between his legs, and raised his eyebrows.
"Now," House added, clearly still enjoying the fact that he'd scared her.
"You're talking about Chase?" Cuddy asked, frowning a little as she tried to remember if Wilson had said that Chase would be returning today or tomorrow.
House gave her a look that clearly said he was disappointed she wasn't keeping a day planner based on the finer details of his life. "I'm talking about the new night janitor. Can't have those guys that don't know to wash their hands proximal to distal. It's very unsanitary."
"You can hold an information session at the next union meeting," Cuddy told him.
Scowling, House steered the conversation back to the way he wanted it to go. "Chase. I want him gone."
Cuddy sighed. "I told Wilson to talk to you." She began walking down the hallway, and House followed her. "And I'm going to assume that he didn't, by the way that you're still talking to me."
"It's Wilson," House said, and without even looking behind her, Cuddy knew that House had his 'are you serious?' look on his face. "He hasn't been able to make me do something in years."
"So you're here because you want me to try to convince you that Chase belongs back on the payroll?" Cuddy asked, slowing down as she reached the nurse's station, where she had to pick up the latest reports on a few patients.
"Nooo…" House said, drawing out the last syllable for at least a second or two. He stopped when Cuddy finally turned around to tell him to shut up. "I came here to tell you that I'm refusing to work with him. I'm peacefully protesting."
"This isn't peaceful. It's harassment," Cuddy said, going back to the nurse's station. "Excuse me—I need the updates from rooms 1789 and 1745. Thank you."
House was silent for a beat. "It's peaceful for me. I could be doing all sorts of obscene things to get my way, but I figured that I'd give you the chance to cave first."
"I'm not caving on this. Chase is here to stay. If you've got a problem, go talk it out with Wilson," Cuddy said. She gratefully accepted the two clipboards that were handed to her, and she turned around to head back to her office. "Learn how to work with people you hate."
"I'm not working with him," House said, continuing to follow her down the hallway like a persistent dog on the trail. "Fire him. Bribe him. I don't care."
"Go away," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes.
House was quiet again, but she heard him stop and suck in a deep breath. Almost afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth, Cuddy turned around to find out what he was doing. She was just in time to see him begin singing at the top of his lungs.
"Mi-ine eyes have seen the glory of the trampling of the zoo!" House half-shouted, causing passing patients to stare. A passing teenager in a wheelchair looked positively fascinated. "We have washed ourselves of—"
Cuddy reached up and slapped a hand over his mouth, just in time.
House ducked and freed his mouth, but he didn't carry on. He apparently thought that his point was proven, because he gave Cuddy a victorious smile and then limped away. Cuddy watched him go, more relieved because he hadn't bitten her hand than that he hadn't gotten the chance to shout racial slurs down the hospital corridors. Chase wasn't going anywhere. If nothing else, at least, it would be entertaining to watch the fireworks.
oOo
House watched Chase discover the note in his lab coat, taking it out and unfolding it carefully. He was still, his face impassive as his read over the words. House wasn't quite sure what was taking so long. He'd only written three words. But then Chase's head snapped up, and House barely looked away in time. Even through the glass walls, he could feel Chase staring at him with those wide eyes—House hoped that he came storming into the office and started shouting that the game wasn't over and other such dramatic things. Now that he'd intimidated Cuddy into getting rid of Chase, he could officially say that it didn't matter if the game was still continuing. It was hard to play a game if you never saw each other.
But Chase didn't come in and start screaming, because Chase had way too much self control for that. And besides that, House suspected that Chase would make his anger known in more subtle and effective ways.
Waiting until he felt sure that Chase was no longer looking at him, House reached for his cane and pushed himself out of his chair. He was going to need another Vicodin refill in a few days. Wilson would say that it wasn't actual pain, that it was just the agony of Chase's betrayal or some rot similar to that, and they would probably argue back and forth for a few minutes before Wilson gave in and wrote House another script.
"You'd better have a case," he announced as he limped into the conference.
Cameron stood up, file in her hands. "Two-year-old boy with genital sores and a fever."
"Daddy's been busy with his boy," House said, not taking the file as he passed her. He was going for the coffee machine, intent on having the cup of coffee that he'd been rudely deprived of this morning. "Boring."
"He's been in the hospital for the last four months—brain cancer," Chase spoke up, and House succeeded in not visibly reacting to the sound of his voice. "The sores are new."
"They've already checked for allergies, but his labs came back clean," Foreman said quickly, before House could say that it was probably just a diaper rash.
"Who dumped out the coffee?" House demanded, staring at the empty pot in disbelief. He needed coffee.
There was a beat of confused silence.
"Uh… Chase did," Cameron said slowly. "You already had a cup, and it was going cold in the pot anyway. Why?"
House didn't growl in frustration, but it was a close thing. Damn Chase.
oOo
There was a soft knock at the door.
Wilson, just back from his lunch break and thus feeling energized, set down his pen and called out for whoever it was to come in. He was hoping that it wasn't House, here to whine about Chase, or Cuddy, here to get on him about House whining to her about Chase. But as the door swung open and Wilson saw that it was Chase himself, he relaxed and smiled.
"Hi there," he said, sitting back in his chair.
Chase gave him a small smile. "Hi," he said, coming into the room. "Sorry to interrupt."
Wilson waved a hand. "It's not a big deal. Just more lousy paperwork. You aren't calling it quits so soon, are you?"
"No, no, everything's fine," Chase said, taking a seat on the sofa and resting his arms on his knees. "House is furious, you know."
"I know," Wilson said, nodding.
"He's sent me here to tell you that he wants a Vicodin refill," Chase said mildly, and he looked as if he found the idea faintly amusing. "I don't think he's going to let me do any diagnosing for a few months. Years, if he has it his way."
Wilson grimaced. "I'll see what I can do."
"It's fine," Chase said, shaking his head. "Listen, can I get the script so I can run down to the pharmacy and have it for him within the hour?"
"Yeah,'" Wilson said, shifting in his seat so that he could grab his script pad out of his drawer. House had asked him for a refill the day after Chase had been fired, and he'd barely refrained from commenting on psychological pain affecting physical pain. Barely. He'd reminded himself that a lecture was probably the last thing House needed, and had wordlessly given him the piece of paper. It had barely been a week since then, but he wasn't going to say anything. He wasn't in a position to, considering the fact that he'd went behind House's back and gotten Chase rehired.
Chase pushed himself up off the couch as Wilson wrote, and held out a hand for the script.
"Thanks," he sighed as Wilson tore off the slip of paper and let him have it. "I'll see you later."
Wilson nodded and watched silently as he opened the door, paused, squared his shoulders, and then left.
oOo
They worked through the night on the little boy. More accurately, Cameron and Foreman worked through the night in the lab, because the boy was immunosuppressed and could have a thousand different infections wreaking havoc in his body, and House made Chase sit in the conference room and not fall asleep (which was accomplished by jabbing Chase with a thumbtack any time he started nodding off). Morning came, and Cameron and Foreman had not found the answer yet. House sent them off to do a few more blood tests, and then left Chase with the threat that if he came back and found him sleeping, he'd make him clean the blinds.
He went to Cuddy's office and sat down in her chair, waiting for her to arrive.
She spotted him before she even walked in the door and rolled her eyes in exasperation, which made House grin.
"Good morning, girls," he said, looking to Cuddy and then looking six inches south.
Cuddy set her things down on her desk, drawing herself up and looking down at House. "I'm not firing Chase."
"Yes you are," House said matter-of-factly.
"No, I'm not. The point of getting rid of Vogler was to put an end to the idea of one person having free reign over everyone's lives. You don't get to decide who loses their job. I do," Cuddy said. It was clear that she enjoyed saying so.
"The point of getting rid of Vogler was to get rid of Vogler—because he was a power-hungry jackass. Chase helped him. By default, he's a power-hungry jackass too," House said, swinging back and forth in Cuddy's chair as he spoke. "And policy around here seems to be that we fire power-hungry jackasses."
"If it was, you'd have been out of a job years ago," Cuddy said dryly.
House was not impressed. "Get rid of him. You could make it look like an accident."
"I'm not having this conversation," Cuddy said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Get over it."
"Just because I employ him doesn't mean that he actually works for me," House pointed out.
Cuddy stopped at that, either weighing her options or trying to figure out what he'd meant by his last comment. Probably the latter, judging by the faintly confused look on her face. She chewed on it for a minute, and then threw up her hands. "Do what you want," she said in exasperation. "I'm not firing him."
oOo
House returned to diagnostics in time to catch Cameron and Foreman checking in with the latest lab results (and he saw Chase's head jerk up as he came in, looking suspiciously like he'd been dozing). He told Cameron and Foreman to give it a rest for an hour so that they could do another differential. They both collapsed in chairs, eyeing Chase nervously and probably wondering what he and House had been busy doing all night.
"It could be a coincidence that the sores have only broken out in the genital area," Cameron said after swallowing a large gulp of coffee.
"What do you think it is? AIDS?" Foreman asked, with a slight snort.
"We should test the parents for STDs and make sure they didn't pass anything down to him," Chase said, much to Foreman's displeasure. "Including AIDS."
House was quiet for a minute, and when nobody said anything more, he made an impatient gesture and glared at them. "Come on, what else? Besides AIDS?"
"Other STDs, from the parents," Cameron said, staring at him in confusion. "Weren't you listening?"
"Good idea, Cameron," House said, nodding to her affirmatively. "You and Foreman go have more laboratory fun."
Cameron still looked suspicious. "But Chase—"
"He's ignoring me," Chase interrupted wearily, glancing from her to House. "Don't worry about it."
Mouth open, Cameron paused for a beat. "Oh."
"What are you waiting for?" House asked her impatiently.
"Nothing," Cameron said quickly.
Foreman followed her out, not sparing Chase a second glance as he did so.
"I got your note yesterday," Chase said as the door shut.
House continued to ignore him, moving over to the coffee pot for his second cup of coffee of the day.
"And you're wrong. The game can't be over, because there hasn't been a checkmate." Chase watched House go about making his coffee. "Don't you want to win, still? I thought you'd like the chance to kick my ass and make me do whatever you want in the process."
Still not acknowledging Chase, House stirred his coffee.
"Come on," Chase said, a hint of a grin forming on his face. "Teach me a lesson."
House limped back into his office with his coffee in hand, leaving Chase alone. Chase stared after him for a few seconds, and then put his head in his arms and closed his eyes. At least now that House was ignoring him, he wouldn't wake him up.
oOo
"Chase…"
Chase mumbled something and buried his face deeper in the crook of his arm, clearly trying to get away from Cameron's attempts to wake him.
"Chase, you've got to get up. We're doing another differential," Cameron prodded, resisting the urge to grab his arm and shake him awake.
Raising his head slightly, Chase blinked blearily. "House is ignoring me," he mumbled. "Doesn't matter." And then, apparently thinking that his case was rested, Chase laid his head back down and went back to sleep.
Cameron glanced over to Foreman, looking for help, but he just shook his head and rolled his eyes.
"If you've got any ideas, I'll say them for you," Cameron offered hesitantly. "You did it for me when House thought that I was working for Vogler."
But Chase had fallen asleep already.
The door from House's office opened, and his voice floated into the room before him. "I want to know! Who's been zooming who?"
Cameron resisted the urge to say, "You and Chase, obviously," and let Foreman deliver the bad news. Not paying attention to House, Cameron reached out and paused, her hand hovering above Chase's arm, but she told herself that he needed to wake up, and he hadn't listened to her when she'd tried to talk him awake. So she gently grabbed his arm and shook it.
"Parents were clean," Foreman said was saying, handing House the results of the screens.
"Chase," Cameron hissed, giving him a particularly rough shake. "Get up."
Finally, Chase seemed to give up raised his head, scrubbing his face with his hand. He mumbled something incoherent and blinked several times, and Cameron withdrew her hand.
"Damn," House said, his eyes sweeping over the test results. "All right. Did they get the fever down yet?"
"A little. He started throwing up a little while ago," Cameron said, watching Chase to make sure that he didn't fall back asleep. Even if House was ignoring him, it was no reason to stop working entirely. Chase was a fighter and he needed to start acting like it.
"He obviously hasn't been out of the country," Foreman said, while House wrote the latest symptom down on the whiteboard. "But he could have caught something in the hospital."
"If there was an infection in the cancer ward, half the patients in there would have been dead yesterday," Chase said, sounding more awake. He stood up and began making his way over to the coffee pot.
"Bad idea, Foreman," House said as he capped the marker, not turning around. "All those little Yodas are immunosuppressed, not just this one. Unless he's getting special treatment. Son of a donor?"
"Nephew," Foreman admitted. "He's got his own room and a personal nurse assigned specifically to him."
House opened his mouth, looking a tad irate, but Cameron quickly spoke up before he could waste time yelling at them. "We'll go sweep the room and talk to his nurse. Do you want an STD screen for her, too?"
"Screen her for everything that we've checked for so far," House said, tossing the marker up in the air and catching it with his other hand (his cane was hooked over the whiteboard). "And get a history from the nurse, just for fun."
Trying not to sigh, Cameron got up from her chair. She looked over to Chase, who had just finished setting the coffee pot. "Chase—you can help me with labs."
Chase looked over to her, clearly startled that she was speaking to him. "I don't…"
"House is ignoring you," Cameron said, stubbornly ignoring the fact that House was watching both of them with interest. "So he can't forbid you from going anywhere, can he?"
"Cameron, your imaginary friend can't help you with the lab work," House said, giving her a pointed look.
Or maybe he could. Cameron sighed.
"I'm going, House," she said, giving Chase an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Foreman, can you get the history? I can sweep the room."
oOo
Someone (three guesses who) had left a note on his desk. On a yellow Post-It note, someone had written knight to e5—I stole this one from hospice. The Post-It note was sticking to a glassy knight, which was sitting atop a busy chessboard. House stared at it. This set was much nicer than the last one. It was made of glass, and while his pieces were a frosty white, Chase's were clear as crystal. What was more, the board wasn't set for a new game. It looked like their old game; all the pieces were in their positions, Chase's queen lying on its side from where House had taken it in his last move. His own queen had just been taken by Chase's knight, and had also been tipped over.
He hadn't the faintest idea how Chase had remembered all of their moves. The bastard had probably been keeping track of them for Vogler, writing each one down in a little notebook for further study.
House was about to just dismantle the game, keeping true to his unsaid declaration that he wasn't speaking to Chase, when he saw that he was in position to take Chase's knight, without consequence. Chase's next move would be to put him in check again, and he could easily move out of that, so he could move around the board taking as many pieces as he could while Chase preoccupied himself with a cat-and-mouse game with his king.
That is, if he was playing. Because he wasn't.
But the thought of kicking Chase's ass was really, really tempting. He knew that his skill in chess far outranked Chase's, and if he actually sat down and thought carefully about his moves, he'd be able to pull out of the tight spot that he'd worked himself into—and to beat Chase out would feel great. Not to mention, there were all sorts of things that he could do to Chase in the meantime. Taking Chase's knight, he could… Ask him more questions about his mother. That always got to him. Or he could punch him again—but he wasn't feeling angry enough to do that. The possibilities still remained endless.
Except that he was ignoring Chase, currently, and to start playing would give Chase what he wanted. And the last thing House wanted to do was give Chase what he wanted, because he deserved anything but.
Although… Chase didn't just want to start playing to involve him. Chase wanted to start playing the game again and win—so if House went along with it and kicked his ass, then he really wasn't giving Chase what he wanted, right? Actually, it would be quite the opposite. Finishing this game would send the message loud and clear that he was through with Chase, really and truly done.
It wouldn't hurt anything. The trouble was deciding what to do with Chase.
House pushed the bishop over, watching as Chase's knight merely slid off its square and onto the one beside it instead of falling. Slightly disappointed, he poked the little glass horse with his finger and watched as it fell onto the board, the little head hitting the glass of the board with a small bang. He picked up the knight and set it aside, in the gathering of the rest of the fallen pieces.
He slid open the top drawer in his desk, pulled out a pen and a piece of paper, and began writing.
oOo
Wilson had expected House to be in his office. It was where House had spent the majority of the last week, sitting in his chair and throwing his red tennis ball in the air with a contemplative look on his face even though there was no case to be solved. Wilson had assumed that just because Chase had returned, House wouldn't defect from routine—but as he stared around the office, he realized that he'd clearly been wrong. House had obviously gone somewhere.
He glanced over to the conference room hopefully, but Chase sat alone at the table.
House was probably giving Chase the same punishment he'd given Cameron. But he'd only put Cameron on unofficial house arrest for about a month, so with any luck, things would go back to normal for Chase in the next few weeks.
He was about to go in and ask Chase where House had gone when he caught sight of something that had been conspicuously absent from House's desk for a while: a chess set. It wasn't the same one as before. The last one had been crudely crafted from pieces of wood, but this one was made of glass and looked like it would be right at home next to a three-digit price tag. The game was clearly coming to a close—the board was thinner, the pieces fewer and scattered.
Taking a step closer, Wilson saw that there was a note lying atop three pawns. Ignoring the part of him that was insisting that if House were to barge in and demand to know why Wilson was sticking his overlarge nose where it had no business being, he'd never be able to justify himself, Wilson took a few more steps and stopped when he could read the writing on the scrap of paper.
In House's script, at the top, it read: bishop- e5 if you want me to forgive you, you're going to have to get down on your knees and beg. Underneath it, in unfamiliar handwriting, someone had replied: I'm not looking for forgiveness bishop - c6 Check.
Wilson had a good idea of who wasn't looking for forgiveness, and sent another glance over to the conference room. Chase had his back to House's office and was just sitting there, apparently lost in thought.
He sighed read the note again, but it still said the same thing. With the vague feeling that his words were going to fall on deaf ears, Wilson left the chessboard and pushed open the door to the conference room, intent on finding out what the hell Chase was thinking.
"Nothing," Chase said with a shrug, when Wilson asked.
Wilson gave him the 'do I look stupid?' expression that he usually reserved for House.
"Honest," Chase said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
"You're playing chess with him," Wilson said, nodding towards House's office. "That constitutes as nothing?"
"Look," Chase said, and then he paused and seemed to reconsider what he was going to say. He lowered his hands and exhaled. "It was really nice of you to get me my job back, but I don't need your help. I know what I'm doing."
Wilson refrained from rolling his eyes. "Can you tell me what you're trying to accomplish by bothering House?"
"No," Chase said.
"Is it because you don't know, or because you don't want to tell me?" Wilson asked, raising his eyebrows and putting his hands on his hips, waiting for an answer.
"It could be because it's none of your business," Chase said coolly as he sat back in his chair and looked up at Wilson.
Wilson shook his head slowly, sighing. "He's not going to forgive you. You have to know that."
Chase scowled. "You read the note—I'm not hoping that he'll forgive me. "
"Do you want him to forgive you?" Wilson asked, moving his hands from his hips to the table.
"No," Chase said, eyeing Wilson's hands with slightly suspicion.
"Then what do—"
The sound of the door opening made him look over his shoulder, and he caught the tail end of some insult House was barking out at Cameron. Knowing that his conversation with Chase was over now, Wilson turned around and watched House come into the conference room, Cameron and Foreman filing in behind him.
"Good afternoon, Wilson," House said, waving cheerfully.
"Hi," Wilson said, wondering why House was in such a good mood. He hoped that the Vicodin script he'd given to Chase earlier hadn't been a contributing factor.
"It's not cancer," House said pleasantly. "So you can go now. Bye-bye."
Rolling his eyes, Wilson left House to his diagnosing. He didn't know what Chase was planning on doing with House and this chess game, but it wouldn't end well. It never did. If only he could somehow convince Chase that it was a lost cause, that whatever shot he'd had with House had been lost the moment House had discovered that he'd been betrayed. But it appeared that Chase actually had a backbone—he simply didn't show it very often.
Which was really just peachy.
oOo
It had been 36 hours since the two-year-old had been put under his care, and House had yet to come up with the solution. The answer. The diagnosis. Every time he sat down and tried to think, his head was too clouded with drifting thoughts and puffs of emotions to pull rational, coherent thinking out of the mess.
He had already been pissed at Chase for the Vogler thing. Then, he'd been furious that Chase had dared to come back. And now Chase was going to lie and say that he wasn't pathetically hoping to earn forgiveness?
House was livid.
He couldn't concentrate. There were a thousand awful things that he could do to teach Chase a lesson, but he was positive that there was something worse as each new idea crossed his mind. It might take hours to come up with something that was as humiliating as it was painful—and he didn't have that kind of time with a boy's life on the line. He had to take that aggression and throw it into the case.
But why was Chase doing this? Where was he getting the idea that House was some sort of magnanimous being who was willing to overlook a few mistakes? Even Wilson wouldn't be stupid enough to think that there was any hope for retribution. Maybe Chase just figured that it couldn't hurt with all the damage he'd already done. Maybe he was desperate, so desperate that he wouldn't listen to reason. There had to be some kind of irrational thinking behind it, because all this game was succeeding in doing was pissing him off. A lot.
He would teach Chase a lesson. If he pushed him hard enough, Chase would wake up and realize that it was a lost cause. All he needed was something that would push these mutant ideas—
Mutant.
Mutate.
House sat straight up in his chair as the answer came to him. Forgetting about Chase completely, he seized his cane. Time to go confirm.
oOo
"Is House still ignoring you?" Cameron asked, sort of looking at Chase but not really. She was dead tired.
Chase, who was getting another cup of coffee, shook his head. "Yeah. Don't worry about it."
"And he's just ignoring you on a whim, right?" Foreman asked suddenly, taking an interest in Chase for the first time all day.
"They broke up," Cameron reminded him, trying to convey in a look that he was being way too crass about it.
Foreman nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Right. I know that. But they said it was because House had been harassing Chase for weeks. If it was Chase who was being tormented, why is House the one who's taking revenge?"
Cameron blinked. That was a really good point.
Chase set his cup of coffee down on the table and sat, not looking at them. "Chase is still in the room, you know," he said dryly as he brought the cup to his lips.
"So why is House ignoring you, then?" Cameron asked, turning to face Chase. The new twist in the puzzle had revived her curiosity.
"I don't know," Chase said tightly, lowering his coffee and staring down into it, but not in a dejected way. His jaw was clenched.
"Why would he rehire you then ignore you?" Cameron tried, knowing that she should probably stop but unable to without first sating her curiosity.
"I don't know," Chase said again, releasing his grip on his coffee mug.
"Don't you want to—"
"It's none of your business!" Chase said, slamming his hand down on the table.
Even Foreman turned to stare at Chase, startled.
"I don't need help," Chase said through gritted teeth. "So back off."
The silence after Chase's outburst was still and stunned. Cameron felt a twinge of guilt because she knew that it really wasn't her place to know about Chase's personal life. She just felt like he was in a bad place right now, and if she were in his shoes, she would want the support of her coworkers behind her. Why Chase didn't want that wasn't entirely lost on her, but it was still difficult to swallow. She would have to respect his wishes from here on out. He was under enough stress.
Just as she was promising herself this, House barged into the conference room with his usual lack of consideration for courtesy. His eyes were blazing and his movements were hurried and erratic, which either meant that his office was on fire or he'd just had an epiphany relating to their current case. Judging by the lack of smoke billowing from his office, Cameron would put her money on the latter.
"Cold sore," House said, stopping in front of the table just before he ran into it. "Which one of the parents has a cold sore?"
Foreman frowned. "How do you know—"
"The mother," Cameron said as she suddenly remembered. She sent Foreman an apologetic look as she realized that she'd interrupted him. "She tried to cover it up with makeup."
"And you didn't think that it was important?" House demanded.
Cameron shook her head slightly. "Uh… No. House, over half the nation gets cold sores. Why—"
"He's got herpes," Chase said slowly, his voice slightly awed. "Simplex II."
"What?" Foreman said, turning his head to stare at Chase in confusion.
House tensed, and Chase looked over and a stared up at him defiantly, as if daring him to finally speak. House scowled.
"He's got herpes simplex II," House said loudly, continuing as if Chase hadn't spoken and there hadn't been a subsequent awkward pause. "And simplex I. Radiation treatment caused it to mutate to simplex II. First outbreak presents with flu-like symptoms, explaining the fever and the vomiting."
"I'll go run another lab to be sure," Foreman said, standing up.
"Just start him on acyclovir. The longer this acts up, the longer he's got to wait for his treatment," House said, now pointedly not looking at Chase.
Chase didn't look like he particularly cared, except that Cameron could feel something radiating from him. Not anger. Something more desperate, more base than anger or fury or even rage.
Foreman nodded, not noticing Chase.
House did notice the tension rolling off of Chase, and his mouth twisted horribly as he stared in silence. Finally, with obvious effort, House looked away. "Cameron—do paperwork."
"Sure," she said, her voice sounding hollow and thin in the quiet of the room.
Chase stiffly took another sip of his coffee. Cameron knew that he wouldn't go home until she or Foreman went home, because he was principled like that, but she wished that he would. The tension between him and House was almost palpable, and if they had been in the same room for another minute, she feared that they might have lost control and fallen into a brawling, shouting tangle of limbs.
She looked around and saw that Foreman had gone, and House was heading back into his office. She felt sweeping relief at first, but then she remembered that she was supposed to give House a message. Moving quickly, she stood up and hurried after House.
"House," she called after him, but he kept walking, pausing only to pull the door open. She followed. "I'm supposed to tell you tha—"
"I don't care what Chase has to say," House snarled, whirling around faster than Cameron had thought he would be able to do with his leg. "Tell him to go fuck himself."
Startled, Cameron was silent for a second. Then she took a deep breath and spoke again, her voice hard. "I'm supposed to tell you that you need to do your clinic duty. Cuddy says that she'll be checking the log at the end of the day."
Then she left, leaving House to work out what had just happened.