WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence


Chapter Twenty-Nine

It takes all of Chase's newfound willpower not to bolt from Cuddy's office the minute they are dismissed, or worse yet lose control of the overwhelming fear and anger her words have unleashed. It's no surprise that Cuddy doubts his ability to work, or his honesty regarding his own addictions. She's been burned by House a hundred times before, and moreover, her concerns are well-founded. And yet her condemnation hits him like a blow to the chest, confirming every ounce of self-loathing that's festered in his gut for the past three years. But he can sense Cameron's eyes on him, can practically feel in the weight of her gaze the trust she's put in him by arranging this meeting. She's gambling her own career on this, he knows, and now that translates to their child's future livelihood.

He feels a new dichotomy of emotions toward Cameron, at once torn between distrust heightened by the risk he's taking in attempting a new beginning of friendship, and a sort of primal protectiveness for the woman carrying his unborn child. He is afraid, he realizes, of her and for her. The more hints of progress he sees, the more he remembers what it felt like to watch her walk out the door, to sign divorce papers, to wake up amongst the ruins of their marriage. Biting his lip until he tastes blood, Chase forces himself to leave Cuddy's office slowly and deliberately, focusing on the sounds Cameron's heels make on the tile floor as they reach the hallway.

"Come on," she says, as soon as the door is closed, and takes him by the wrist.

Chase jumps, surprised, and stumbles after her through the clinic, feeling unable to voice his confusion. "What are you doing?" he manages at last, as she quickly glances at the board and steers him toward an empty exam room.

"Need to make sure you're fit to start work today," Cameron says, too loudly and not convincingly at all.

Frowning, Chase steps inside without comment, watching as she closes and locks the door, then exhales. "Seriously, what is this about?"

"I just—wanted to give you a minute." Cameron crosses her arms and glances at her shoes, seeming suddenly uncertain of this. "After what Cuddy said—I'm sorry you had to hear that. I was hoping she'd be more reasonable. God knows she set a precedent with House."

"House was never reasonable," Chase says flatly, bristling. He hates that Cameron has seen straight through his facade of control, has guessed at the multitude of emotions he's been trying to hide for the past few minutes. It's yet another confirmation of the failures he's too aware of. "And you don't have to babysit me. I'm not gonna say anything to get you in trouble. Not that you'd believe me." The words sound childish, he knows, the entire statement a contradiction of itself.

"This isn't about me trusting you!" Cameron hisses, obviously trying to keep her voice down so the people waiting in the clinic outside won't hear. "Can't I ever do anything nice without you assuming it means I'm doubting you?"

"I don't know." Chase bites his lip again, wanting to feel the pain above the sting of the knowledge that she's right. She has no reason to trust him to restrain himself after their last disastrous meeting with Cuddy two months ago, and yet somehow he believes her statement that she does. "Can I ever do anything nice without you insisting that you don't need special treatment because you're pregnant?"

For a moment Cameron stares at him in dumbstruck silence, as though the idea that any of his attempts to help her might have come of genuine motives actually has not occurred to her. Chase thinks he ought to be hurt, but before the emotion can come, he realizes he's been making the same assumptions of her all along.

Slowly, her lips turn upward into a sheepish smile, and Chase feels laughter bubbling up in the back of his throat, almost a foreign sensation. In the next breath, Cameron is laughing too, stepping forward in a rush to wrap her arms around his waist. Instinctively Chase hugs her back, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It's the first real contact—not necessitated by pain or panic—that he's had with anyone since she left, he realizes, and for one moment he allows himself to ignore the tiny voice of warning in the back of his mind, and simply enjoy the feeling.

"Hey," Cameron murmurs in his ear, as though it's only just occurred to her. "You got your job back. Congratulations."

For one second, it seems as though everything else is insignificant, and all that matters is this victory they've earned together. Chase steps back from her, still smiling. "Thanks, Boss."

Foreman is seated at the conference table when they reach the Diagnostics office, and Chase feels a renewed sense of anxiety. He hasn't seen Foreman since he was at Cameron's apartment in the midst of withdrawal. Worse, he remembers the past three years, remembers being drunk at Foreman's wedding, all the times in the beginning—before he'd started the drugs—when Foreman had tried to remind him to eat, to get out of bed in the morning. Nothing has mattered for such a long time that he finds himself horrified by his past behavior. He resents the judgment of the people he once viewed as friends, and yet he cannot blame them.

"You have a case?" Cameron asks as soon as they walk in the door, as though this day is entirely routine.

"Cuddy approved him coming back to work?" Foreman asks her incredulously, as though Chase isn't standing in the same room.

"No," Chase snaps, already primed to be on the defensive. "Just thought I'd come here and ruin your day."

"Yes," Cameron interrupts firmly. "Would you like to tell me about the case?"

"And that wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that the two of you are living together?" Foreman asks, ignoring her. "Because I'm really tired of you bringing your dirty laundry to work."

"I'm right here." Chase shrugs out of his jacket and into his labcoat just to have something to do. He can't remember the last time he's worn it.

"We're not living together." Cameron moves to the coffeepot in the corner of the room, pouring herself a mug. "Is there a case or not? Right now you're the one making things personal."

"Fine." Foreman sighs, eying Chase as he takes a seat at the far end of the table. "Neurology asked for a consult. Figured we might as well take the case from them."

Cameron goes to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker, carefully sipping her coffee before setting it down. "Go."

"Patient is a forty-six year old female," Foreman reads, not bothering to state her name. Chase wonders for a moment what it is, but isn't about to draw attention back to himself. "Presented to neurology with peripheral neuropathy in the hands and feet. Two years ago, the patient began experiencing a tingling sensation in her fingertips, which later spread to her toes. The tingling progressed to numbness, and now the patient consistently has no feeling in her extremities. She was referred to neurology by her GP when she complained of the inability to hold a pen, and difficulty walking due to the numbness in her feet."

"Diabetic peripheral neuropathy?" Chase offers when Foreman comes to a pause. Cameron is still writing symptoms on the board, and Chase suddenly feels the need to prove himself. He's expected to fall back into the rhythm of work, but finds instead that he doesn't entirely remember it.

Foreman gives him a look of disdain. "You don't think that's the first place her GP went?"

"Sorry," Chase snaps, feeling instantly defensive again, because Foreman is right that it's an obvious answer. Too obvious for the case to have even made it to their department. "Last time I checked, we started by eliminating easy answers."

"And when was the last time you checked?" asks Foreman. "Because I'm pretty sure you haven't been sober at work in at least two years. And I'm not even sure about right now."

"Enough!" Cameron interrupts again. "Can we please act like adults? For the good of the patient?"

Chase looks away, unable to meet her eyes. He hates that he needs protection, hates that he's compromising her authority by arousing suspicion regarding their relationship. And yet he knows too well how much it means that she's treating him this way, after everything. That is the most intimidating of all. Chase remembers her filling in for Cuddy, suddenly, what feels like decades ago. He remembers his shock then at how easily the role fit her, how much she'd grown during her two years in the ER. He'd thought her confidence was alluring then, and if he's honest with himself, he does now too. Yet another threat to his carefully cultivated apathy, the calculated distance he's been keeping between himself and the rest of the world like a shield.

"Were you finished?" Cameron asks Foreman, when a full minute has passed in silence.

"No," says Foreman, and clears his throat before continuing to read. "When the patient was twenty, she was admitted to the ER with severe abdominal pain and a fever of 103. Her appendix was removed, but pathology on the organ was normal. Following surgery, the pain increased for a duration of several weeks before resolving seemingly on its own. Since then, she's had several episodes of severe abdominal pain and fever. She suffers from chronic constipation, and has had more than ten surgeries, including the removal of her gallbladder, both ovaries, and several feet of large intestine. She has also been treated for chronic tachycardia."

"So that rules out appendicitis, and ovarian cysts or tumors," says Cameron, capping the marker. "Was there a pathology report on the bowel that was removed?"

Foreman shakes his head. "If there was, it's not in the file. And she's moved around so much that she's been a patient at five different hospitals. It's a records nightmare. We could try to track them down, but it would probably take days."

"MS?" says Chase, forcing himself to forge onward. "Would account for the neurological symptoms. And maybe the abdominal pain."

Cameron sets the marker on the edge of the board and moves to sit at the corner of the table, drawing his attention momentarily. It occurs to him that this is the first time in more than three years they've sat around this table as anything resembling a truly united team. The first few weeks after House's death, he'd spent most of his working hours dissecting Cameron's performance, trying to catalog every possible reason to resent her. Now he's forced to admit that he's glad she's in charge of the department. Even in her absence, he realizes, she has continued to grow, the profound empathy that's always made her a well-meaning doctor undercut by a hard edge of disillusionment which now makes her an effective boss.

"Lupus," she suggests, and there is a pause in which they all seem to be waiting for House's mockery which will never come.

"GP tested for both," says Foreman, reading the file again.

"The GP is a GP," Chase argues, feeling slightly more confident. "We should redo the tests."

"What about paraneoplastic?" Cameron bites her lip. "Cancer?"

"Unlikely with symptoms that intermittent," says Foreman, "And we know it can't be ovarian cancer."

"Breast or lung cancer could still fit." Chase folds his hands on the table, feeling as though they aren't making any progress. The natural rhythm of a differential feels like a distant memory still; this feels like an uphill climb.

Cameron sighs, then gets to her feet. "We have to start by getting the history straight. She's had so many procedures by so many different doctors, we have no idea what might have been missed by lack of coordination. We'll start with a full blood workup. Foreman, EMG and head MRI. Chase, endoscopy and colonoscopy."

Chase freezes, shocked that she is giving him procedures already, especially after his botched intubation. "Seriously?"

Cameron looks back over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. "Yes. Are you ready to be here or aren't you?"


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