Disclaimer: House, MD. is the property of Universal Studios. No profit is to be made from this story.

February 2

Chase briskly walked through the hospital toward Dr. Johnson's office. His next appointment had been scheduled for the next Monday, but he had called to see if it could be changed. Fortunately, the receptionist had been eager to find a time to work him into the schedule.

After the confrontation with House the night before, House had eventually announced that he was hungry and pizza was going to waste, so they decided to check to see if Cuddy and Cameron were anywhere to be found. House had asked them why they were sitting in the hallway, then invited them inside to finish the soggy pizza, pasta, and cinnamon sticks.

While Cuddy had been unusually quiet, Cameron had had questions; but House tersely answered her first one with, "Everything's fine."

Chase had only made eye contact with her for a few seconds when offering to pay for the meal she had ordered. He was certain she would bombard him with sympathy the next time they were alone, or even if they were not alone. Since everyone knew everything about him now, of what value was privacy?

Chase had suggested that he would be fine staying the night in his own place, but three sets of eyes met him with such glares that his campaign to move back home was short-lived. It was frustrating for him even though he appreciated their concern. There was also a distinct part of him that was relieved that House nixed the idea of his leaving their current safe arrangement. Now that he had his Explorer back, he was eager to be cleared to drive again, but he doubted that would come until he finished the post-exposure medication. It would not be much longer.

Strangely, it did not bother Chase that House knew about his mother. But what House had said came back to him in the early hours of morning and he shot awake in a panic. He had to see Dr. Johnson. Immediately.

As he made his way to the psychiatrist's office, Chase noticed that some people veered in opposite directions when they saw him, but some of the nurses greeted him with friendly words as he passed. He nodded and responded, "Good morning," but did not slow down when he spoke to anyone. He found that he did not even care what anyone thought of his being at the therapist's office two days in a row. He amused himself by imagining threatening to send Foreman after anyone who even looked at him funny.

He arrived at Dr. Johnson's office and was ushered into the room. Johnson greeted him with an outstretched hand, "Robert," he started. "How are you?"

"Thanks for working me in," Chase shook his hand quickly and then headed to the couch to sit. He was sure that if he did not speak to Johnson today, he would lose his nerve over the weekend.

"I'm glad to. I'm pleased that you felt comfortable with calling in to ask for the appointment," Johnson started as he sat in his chair and opened his notebook. "Most of my patients don't believe me when I tell them to call if they need anything," he quipped. "You seem agitated this morning," he observed.

Chase took a deep breath and blurted, "It was my mother who hit me."

A worried expression crossed Johnson's features. "Is this a new memory?" he asked.

"No," Chase shook his head. Of course Johnson would assume he was digging up repressed memories. He had been seeing the man for nearly four years and conveniently left out that part of his history. "No, I just didn't tell you before."

Johnson made some notes.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Chase explained. He thought it was evident, but saying it out loud might smooth over the fact that he had lied to his therapist for years. Johnson had asked him if there was any physical abuse involved when he first admitted that his mother was an alcoholic, claiming that alcoholics were three times more likely to abuse their children than non-alcoholics. Chase had said that she mostly left him alone to avoid further discussion. "I wanted to protect her," he admitted. Maybe it was foolish to want to keep the truth from a man who had never known her and never would. But it always came back to the same thing: he loved her.

"Why do you want me to know now?"

"Because of what House said," he answered. "I told him. Or I didn't tell him. He guessed. And he was right," Chase babbled. He began to sound more like he was talking to himself than to someone else, "Of course he was right. He's House. He's always right. He sees right through you. Eventually."

"Tell me what House said," Johnson requested.

Chase clasped his hands together loosely near his knees. He bounced them slightly. "He said I rationalize it, like I actually believe it was okay." He shifted and started rubbing his left shoulder, then ran his left had through his hair. "He's right. I do."

"You rationalize the abuse?"

Chase nodded. The word abuse sounded odd to him. He never thought of himself as abused. He clasp his hands together behind his head and, looking through the shield of his elbows, announced, "It's not okay." He stood up and walked to the window. "Even if she did love me, it's not okay." He toyed with the blinds for a moment, letting light in, then shutting it out.

"No, it's not," Johnson agreed.

He turned around. "But I realized that that's a problem. I can't give her an excuse. Because, if I give her an excuse," he narrowed eyes, thinking deeply, "Then I would give myself an excuse too," he said cautiously.

"Explain what you mean."

Chase took a few steps toward Johnson's desk and leaned against it, not quite allowing himself to sit on it. He picked up a pale pink brain shaped stress ball that advertised Paxil and squeezed it. "If I make myself believe that it was okay for her to hit me when I was a kid because she didn't mean to, then one day I might try to convince myself that it's okay for me to hit my kid because I don't really mean it either," he explained, putting the miniature brain exactly where he had found it, then spinning it like a top. "Not that I have a kid. And I might not ever, but if I did, I don't want to hit him. Ever." He looked up at Johnson. "I think this is how those circles of abuse go. You know, the parent beats up his kid because it's what happened to him when he was little?" He discovered a pen with a triangular barrel that had the Wellbutrin logo on it. "Only you always think that a person would never hit their kids if their parents hit them because they know what it's like and how it makes you scared of every day." He clicked the pen several times as he spoke, then put it back where it belonged. "But maybe they don't know better because they think it's okay. If it wasn't wrong when it happened to them, then it's not wrong when they do it." He paused, then went back to the couch. "That could be me."

Johnson listened and wrote notes quickly without taking his eyes off Chase for more than a few seconds at a time.

Chase's right leg was bouncing as he continued, "If I believe it was my own fault that she hit me, I could make myself believe that it was my kid's fault. Because I would become her." He put his hand to his forehead for a moment. "That's insane." He ran his hand through his hair again, convinced that his convoluted thoughts made sense only to himself. He was giving himself a headache and his throat was hurting again. "House was right. I'm afraid of turning into her." He stopped talking and looked to Johnson, hoping he could tell him how to stop that cycle.

Johnson watched Chase closely while he noted what he said and his behaviors. "Congratulations," he said.

Chase did not expect to hear that. "What?"

"Somehow, in twenty-four hours, you've had a breakthrough regarding a deeply guarded secret that we have never even broached before."

"How do I fix it?" Chase asked, far less concerned about his progress than the outcome.

"Through understanding, which is what you're achieving right now. You could have told me three years ago that your mother was physically abusive, but there's nothing that comes from telling me about instances when she hit you that would have been any more beneficial for you than recognizing your own misperceptions."

Chase thought that Johnson looked genuinely pleased.

"You said you rationalized it, thus you gave her an excuse. Can you explain that a little bit more to me?"

Chase was taken aback. He had expected Johnson to want to start hypnotherapy or give him another notebook, not to congratulate him on a breakthrough. "I… believed that she only hit me because she was drinking and that if she had been sober, she wouldn't do it." That was not the full truth and he knew it. His voice was soft, "I thought if I was a better son, she would love me enough to stop hurting me. If I could be good enough, she wouldn't drink. I wanted to make it better for her after my dad left, but I wasn't good enough to make her happy. So I blamed it on myself and the liquor, but never her."

"Did she ever hit you while she was sober?"

Chase thought about the question. It was more difficult to answer than one might expect. Somehow, when he looked back on that part of his life, it was mostly blank. "I don't know," he answered. "I think I've told myself over and over that she only hit me when she was drunk, but I don't remember enough to know for sure one way or the other," he frowned. It was frustrating to search for memories that simply were not there. "I remember her being drunk." And he remembered that no one was there to help him with her when she was drunk. A split second flash entered his mind--himself sitting in his desk in chemistry class with his elbow propped on the desktop and his head against hand, trying to hide the fading bruise on his cheek as he read the text. He wished someone would notice. Nobody did.

Johnson nodded. "You've mentioned twice that House was right. I'm assuming the two of you had a conversation about your mother last night."

Chase nodded. He knew this was his cue to expand upon the details.

Johnson waited. "Robert?"

Chase looked up without a word.

"Could you tell me about that?"

Chase shrugged, "He told me about Foreman hitting that guy." He expected Johnson to ask him how he felt about that incident.

He did not. "What led to the subject of your mother?"

Chase likened Johnson to a verbal figure skater. He could go around, over, or through a subject in ways that seemed completely random, or spin around and around in the same spot until the ice beneath him cracked. Chase felt like he was cracking. "House thought I was acting weird." No, that didn't sound right. That might convince Johnson he was unstable. "He thought I should have been angry, when I wasn't." And that was admitting defeat since he had just discussed allowing himself to become angry before he left Johnson's office the day before. Chase figured he was failing this test of competence miserably. Johnson would never let Cuddy put him back to work. "It's really not Foreman's fault…" he started, but his enthusiasm for the defense faltered and he simply let the sentence fade. He sighed. "I am kind of pissed," he admitted.

"Why?"

Chase exhaled heavily. "I really don't want to talk about Foreman."

Johnson nodded.

Chase was certain that Johnson was noting that he was being noncompliant. "In fact, I'm kind of sick of talking about that whole incident. It happened. Apparently, everybody knows it happened, so I think it's time we all just moved on."

"I would like to discuss how your mother was brought into the conversation with House," Johnson reminded him.

"I asked House if he thought I was supposed to go beat up Foreman and he guessed that my mother beat me."

"Just from asking if you should beat up Foreman?"

"That was the last clue he needed," Chase explained.

"What were the others?" Johnson asked.

"You'd have to ask House," Chase answered, wondering if Johnson was asking to find the clues that he had not seen for himself. He was the psychiatrist, after all.

"Let's focus on House," Johnson suggested. "How would you classify your relationship?"

"Shouldn't we be talking about my mother?" Chase asked.

"We are."

"House is not my mother," Chase pointed out sarcastically.

"You trust him enough to confide in him about a lot of things."

"That doesn't make him my mother," Chase argued, stubbornly.

"I'm not implying that," Johnson replied.

Johnson's tone was the closest to annoyance that Chase had ever heard him use. "I don't confide in him," Chase disputed. "He figures everybody out whether you want him to or not." He thought of the night before. Then, he thought of the night before that. And there was the evening he had that horrible nightmare. And House had been there when he spoke to the police. That was not confiding in House, was it? Somebody had to speak for him and House had volunteered. But he knew he would not have written half of what he had for the police had it been any other doctor or any random interpreter. "Maybe I do," he admitted after a few moments of thought.

"Do you see any similarities between House and your mother?"

Chase looked at the psychiatrist with disbelief. "You think I'm turning House into some kind of mother figure? How fucked up do you think I am?"

Johnson's expression remained neutral. The man had to be unbeatable when playing poker.

"There aren't any similarities," he huffed.

"None?"

"No." Chase crossed his arms, waiting for a reply.

Johnson waited.

"I'm not falling for that," Chase warned him.

"What?"

"You sitting there saying nothing while you wait for me to think of whatever it is you want me to see. If there's some connection, just spell it out."

"I don't think you need me to point it out. "

Chase was getting angry. "What are you implying?" he asked. "You think they're both addicts so I must be addicted to addicts? Well, it's not the same. My mother chose alcohol over her family and life and everything else. House takes pills because he's in pain. He needs his Vicodin. And he's functional. And he doesn't go around hitting people."

Johnson did not have to speak for his expression to convey the fallacy of that statement.

"Once!" Chase asserted. "That was a completely unique situation. He said he was sorry," he lied.

Johnson looked doubtful.

"Look, I didn't have a choice when it came to my mother. I stay with House because he's the best doctor I've ever known and I'm learning from him. I trust him. He didn't mean to hit me and it won't happen again. This is stupid. I told you my mother used to hit me and you want to talk about House, which is completely irrelevant. Just tell me how to not hit my kids if I ever have any."

"So you're saying there are two different situations wherein a person in authority, someone you love and respect, have hit you. One hit you as part of a pattern. One hit you in an isolated incident."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying." Chase answered. He ground his teeth together in frustration.

"In your best estimation, what is the correlating factor?"

Chase shook his head, irritated by this entire exchange. House had been good to him. It was just wrong to compare one incident when he was out of his mind in pain to years of abuse from his mother. "He wasn't thinking clearly," Chase said, still defending House.

"And your mother?"

"Was drunk."

"Which means?"

"She was… what do you want me to say? She was intoxicated, inebriated, stonkered--" The answer hit Chase like a brick, "Not thinking clearly."

Johnson made notes silently.

"I have to stay in control of my thoughts," he realized. "If I have a kid, I have to focus on them and not what's going on with me." Chase considered that for a minute. It was overwhelming. "How do you even do that?" He had been so caught up in himself for the past few weeks, that there was no room for anything else.

"For most people, their mindset changes when they have kids."

"Most?"

"Robert, I can't promise you that you'll walk out of here ready to be a father. You know that. What's important is that you're clarifying what is healthy behavior and what is not."

Chase shook his head, "I don't think I should have kids." If keeping control over his thoughts was an issue, he was not sure he would ever be ready.

"Maybe not today. However, by recognizing your own potential for becoming abusive, you're far ahead of most men who were battered as children. Robert, you're not a violent person. I believe that because you did not react in kind when you've been hit on the job. You've been through the kind of trauma that would drive many people to substance abuse and not gone that route. I think you underestimate your strength and overestimate your flaws."

"No, you don't understand. I… my thoughts. I think about it all the time," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't have control over my thoughts and I might never again. I can't make it go away."

Johnson nodded. He set his pen on his paper and looked up.

Somehow, setting the pen down made Chase feel as though he had Johnson's full attention.

"Can you trust me enough to tell me exactly what you think about?" Johnson asked.

Chase looked down. His eyes felt watery as he whispered, "Joe." He was quiet for a minute, considering his words. "He's always in my mind. I… he's… everything. I remember him. I think about the black holes and wonder what happened that I don't remember. I dream about him every time I fall asleep. I remember things when if I'm cooking, or watching TV, or even… with… Cameron." He kept his eyes averted. "I still feel him," he whispered, ashamed of what he was admitting. He could be surrounded by other people and still sense things that he had experienced in the clinic.

"They're called somatic memories," Johnson explained.

Chase was shocked to discover that Johnson had moved from his chair to sit next to him on the couch.

"Your mind and body can not be separated. Your memories are not just in your brain. They're in the tissues of your skin, your muscles, your organs."

"It's like reliving a little bit of what happened over and over again," Chase told his therapist in a soft voice. "I'm crazy," he felt tears slide down his cheeks and reached up to wipe them away. He did not know how or if he would ever get back to normal.

"You're no crazier for having physical memories of assault than you are for being able to recall the way sand feels when you're barefoot on the beach."

"I don't feel sand between my toes when I'm trying to have a conversation or falling asleep," Chase argued weakly. There were times that he sensed fleeting phantom hands roaming over his flesh or gripping his throat and his stomach churned with anxiety although there was nothing corporal attacking him.

"Somatic memories are very common in cases of severe physical trauma," Johnson explained. "Your body has to process the trauma, just as your brain does. Sometimes a person will have a physical reaction to an intangible stimulus. Your body responds to trauma in physiologic ways and those responses may be repeated when you revisit the trauma."

"This is embarrassing," Chase cringed.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Johnson assured him. "This is not as abnormal as you think it is. Did you know that studies have show that victims of abuse or rape sometimes develop allergies, autoimmune disorders, heart disease, even Type II diabetes related to the enduring physical stress? Long term chemical changes, such as those caused by stress hormones, can lead to degenerative processes. Your body will not be ignored."

Chase nodded as if he understood all that Johnson was telling him, but the information was overwhelming, even for a student of the human body.

"We can work on helping you stop the somatic memories. Is there any particular physical memory that is strongest or most likely to resurface?"

Chase nodded, knowing that Johnson would expect him to elaborate. "My mouth," he whispered. He often felt tingling sensations or a smothering force that he wanted to push away. He supposed it was what haunted him most because it was the most vivid of his memories. There was no loss of consciousness or oxygen deprivation clouding that experience. No, he had been perfectly lucid for that.

"How often do these memories bother you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think they ever go away for long."

"Okay, there are a few things we can try. First, we can consider changing your medication from Effexor to Lexapro. It's indicated for obsessive compulsive disorder which the Effexor is not."

"I don't have OCD," Chase argued.

"Even without behavioral compulsions, you are having obsessive thoughts," Johnson explained.

Chase sighed with disappointment, "We were going to start working my way off the anti-depressants."

"We may still be able to do that eventually," Johnson consoled him. "But now is not the time."

Chase nodded, accepting that life got in the way of plans.

"Are you open to the idea of holistic therapies?"

Chase shrugged, "Like what?"

"Aromatherapy, for starters."

"Aromatherapy?" Chase repeated, doubt evident in his tone.

"Smells go directly to the limbic system," Johnson told him. "I'm sure you've noticed how certain aromas can trigger memories."

Chase nodded in agreement, thinking of how any strong perfume reminded him of his mother and how her favorite perfume could put him right back in the middle of their kitchen as he tried to wrestle a bottle out of her hands.

"I'll be right back," Johnson promised. He went to his desk and rummaged through three different drawers before pulling out a very small glass bottle. He returned to the couch and offered it to Chase.

Chase took it from the outstretched hand hesitantly. He read that it was spearmint oil.

"Smell it," Johnson encouraged.

Chase undid the cap and held the bottle to his nose. The scent seemed to go right into the core of his brain. It was strong, but not necessarily offensive. For a split second, the smell overpowered everything else on his mind.

"What do you see?" Johnson asked.

"Huh?" he shook his head and put the cap back in place.

"What did you see when you smelled the oil?"

"Uh," Chase was afraid that this session was going down a strange path. "Um, a leaf?" he answered, unsure of the response. Perhaps he did see the image of a bright green leaf, a logo he remembered from a pack of spearmint flavored gum.

"Great," Johnson responded.

Chase thought the man seemed genuinely excited by this.

"Do you find that to be a pleasant smell?"

"It's okay," Chase answered.

"I want you to keep that. When you are bothered by the somatic memories, inhale and picture that leaf."

Chase's expression easily conveyed his uncertainty in the treatment.

"Try it for at least two weeks. If you want, you can massage some of the oil into your temples."

Chase was certainly dubious of that suggestion. "I don't really like to wear fragrances," he said. "It's bad policy for patient care anyway." He had been taught that medical professionals were not to wear colognes because they could make sick people feel even worse. He was surprised by how many American doctors and nurses did not follow that guideline.

"That's no problem. You can easily carry that bottle in the pocket of your pants or lab coat when you come back to work."

"So you want me to sniff this and think of a leaf?" Chase asked. He felt a spark of hope that Johnson had said when he came back to work instead of if he came back to work.

"Yes."

"And what will that do to help?"

"It interrupts the flow of the somatic memory," Johnson answered. Eventually, if you feel a memory, you can simply picture the leaf in your mind to stop it, even without smelling the oil."

Chase was not sure if this idea was really cool or really absurd. The smell had momentarily overtaken his senses, so he supposed it had potential to interrupt a memory. He never would have imagined himself carrying around a tiny bottle of spearmint oil, but he was willing to try anything to keep from reliving those memories. "Okay," he agreed.

"If the aromatherapy doesn't work, we'll look into other options," Johnson promised. "Massage therapy would probably be very beneficial."

Chase shifted uncomfortably, thinking of how Cameron's touch had only served to remind him of Joe's. It sickened him to think of some stranger running their hands over his body.

"It may take longer for you to be ready for that," Johnson acknowledged. "My next question is this--has there been a time since you were raped that you were able to focus for a significant period of time without being distracted by the attack?"

"Yeah," Chase answered. "Cameron and I had lunch together and a man next to us went into cardiac arrest. I didn't think about Joe while we were working on him, not until we left."

"That's promising," Johnson said. "I think you should consider coming back to work. I believe part of your problem is being home alone with nothing to do but think."

"Watching Days of Our Lives certainly isn't helping," Chase agreed. "You think I could come back?" he asked eagerly.

"I don't see any reason why you could not be involved in differentials on patients. Just differentials, though. I don't have any qualms with you using your mind. However, I do not think you're quite ready physically to work with patients yet. Your responsibilities are too high to risk a dissociative episode during a procedure. You do recognize that the somatic memories are linked to the process of dissociation? They can become overwhelming."

Chase nodded. He had certainly been overwhelmed when Foreman came to visit him.

"Possibly, you could start with half-days if you think you're ready to face this place every day."

"I have to start sometime," Chase answered. "It's not quite as bad today as it was yesterday."

"Despite the incident with Dr. Foreman?"

Chase nodded. "The truth isn't nearly as scandalous as speculation, right?"

"That's a very healthy attitude, Robert."

Chase smiled, pleased that Johnson approved.

"You should check with your primary physician to see when you can be medically released to work again."

"Can you let House know you think I'm competent enough to be included in differentials? He's my primary."

"I'll talk with him this afternoon. I'll also speak with Dr. Cuddy. If they do not agree that you're physically ready due to your medication or injuries, then you might consider some other means to shift your focus. A vacation, perhaps."

"What about keeping appointments?" Chase asked, reminded that Cuddy was adamant about his therapy sessions.

"You've had two back to back. It looks to me like it should be at least five to seven days until I see you again. Unless, of course, you need to come back. Start small, but I want you to try to get back to your normal routines."

"You mean, I should start living again?" Chase asked.

"That's exactly what I mean."

AN: Thanks so much for all the responses to the last chapter! I was blissfully overwhelmed! labrat and saarazaara, thanks for the recs at House's House of Whining.