"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Chase asked, surprised by the answer. He had just asked House if he could start back to work on Monday. "With Foreman out, you need me." He was not pleased that his bid to bribe House with a very unhealthy meal was not working. He had kept his principles, refusing to fry anything, but had broiled some hamburgers and roasted some thinly sliced red skinned potatoes hoping they would be crispy enough to be a suitable substitution for French fries.

"We don't even have a case," House replied, splitting a bun and setting one of the burgers on the bottom half. He grabbed the bottle of mayonnaise that Wilson had just used.

"You'll get one," Chase argued. "It's inevitable."

"Not necessarily," House shrugged. "And it doesn't matter if we do, you signed up for a six week medical leave, so you're going to take a six week medical leave."

"I don't need the whole six weeks. I'm better."

"You signed for a six week--"

"I can't be held to anything I signed," Chase told him, vaguely remembering the advocate Helen Harper. "I think." His eyes darted upward as he tried to remember that conversation. Yes, there was something about mind-altering drugs and having no one with power of attorney.

"You're not ready to come back." House saw the look of protest that met his statement. "Physically."

"Dr. Johnson said I could be part of the diagnostic process. My mind is fine."

"The psychiatrist you're seeing for post traumatic stress disorder and depression said your mind is fine?" House asked, skeptically. "Interesting. That's like Wilson telling someone with leukemia that their blood is just dandy, don't you think?"

Chase frowned. Leave it to House to point out the inconsistency of that set of circumstances. "I can still think like a doctor," he clarified. "He thinks it would be good for me to do something productive."

"Your voice still goes out when you overuse it."

"That could continue for months--not a good enough reason," Chase declared. He realized his voice was weak and it gave out when strained, but that was an inevitable effect of the damage. "You've asked for my input at home. Why not at the hospital?"

"You still sleep sixteen hours a day."

"Because I'm bored." A tiny nagging voice in his mind reminded him that he could do something other than sleep like reading journals or some of his leisure books, working on his article, or playing his guitar. An even tinier voice added that the only thing keeping him from getting out of the apartment and doing things independently like he used to do was his own fear. He ignored that voice.

"And depressed," House added, knowing that Chase's sleeping habits were due to much more than boredom.

"And on ARV's," Chase reminded him, intent on finding a way around his embarrassing depression.

"Which make you groggy." House took an apple from the basket in the center of the table and tossed it toward Chase.

Chase did not realize what House had done until the apple sailed past his ear and hit the floor.

"And numb your reflexes," House added to the assessment of the effects of the post-exposure medicine. "You'd be dangerous if you were working on a patient."

Chase scowled. "I don't need reflexes to think. Johnson said he would only release me for diagnostic work, nothing to do with direct patient care yet."

"Right. Because if you're in the room when a patient codes, you'll stand back and wait for another doctor to take charge."

"I don't have to actually see any patients," Chase offered. "You don't have to eyeball all your patients."

House ignored the silly argument. He got around to seeing all his patients… eventually. "Besides you said 'And ARVs,' meaning you acknowledge that you're depressed."

Chase threw his hands upward. "I could deny it. It wouldn't make it untrue. But, I've been taking Effexor since my father died. A little bout of depression doesn't mean I can't work for you. I bet half the doctors in the hospital are on some kind of SSRI."

"If it was a little bout, you'd be coming off the Effexor, not switching to Lexapro." House had immediately recognized that the medication switch noted in Chase's record was likely due to either obsessive thoughts or compulsions. Despite his protests to Foreman and Cameron that it was not an issue, he was wary that if Chase admitted to suicidal ideology, it would have prompted Johnson to make the medication switch. However, House was only aware of the switch and would not be able to determine the rationale for the change unless he broke into Johnson's office and confiscated his notes on Chase.

"Does he have to know everything?" Chase asked with a sidelong glance at Wilson.

Wilson stopped eating and said, "I could leave," around the bite of hamburger in his mouth.

"If you insist on bringing these things up at the dinner table, then yes," House answered.

"I don't want you to leave," Chase told Wilson, apologetically.

"You weren't expecting me anyway," Wilson said, feeling guilty. They had already had this discussion once. Chase had broiled only two fresh hamburger patties that he had seasoned and shaped himself. Wilson assumed one was supposed to have been Chase's meal, but Chase argued that he had no intention of eating any meat for a while. Wilson reminded him that he had put chicken on his plate before. Chase reminded Wilson that he did not actually eat the chicken and insisted that he had made the hamburger specifically for him, because he knew Wilson was coming over to watch the DVDs he had dropped off the night before.

"I stuck my hand in dead cow for you," Chase told him. He made a face that emphasized his opinion of the meat. It was actually more disturbing to think of eating a hamburger after he had handled the raw ground sirloin.

House crinkled his nose, peering at his own hamburger that he head just slathered with mustard. The patty was thick, grayish-brown, and he could see black pepper flakes in it. It barely reached the edges of his bun. He shrugged, deciding it was not that disgusting. He added a slice of cheese and topped it with some onions. "So, you're just going to eat potatoes?" House asked, nodding toward Chase's plate.

"Yes."

"That's healthy," Wilson commented sarcastically.

"That's healthy?" Chase countered, nodding toward the hamburger. He had seen the copious amounts of grease left in the bottom of the broiler pan.

"It's delicious," Wilson answered, overemphasizing how much he was enjoying the burger.

"But I'm bored," Chase whined, turning back to House. "Please let me come back to work."

"So you can nap in the conference room?"

"So I can help in differentials."

"No patient. No differentials."

"When you get a patient--then can I come back to work?"

"Of course," House answered.

Chase smiled, feeling victorious.

"If our next patient comes in two weeks," House added stubbornly. He took a big bite of his hamburger, savoring the flavor. One thing was certain: he had not eaten this well in a very long time. Having Chase around to cook and clean had been to his advantage. "If you're really bored, make more of these. I'll sell them outside the cafeteria at exorbitant prices and we can split the profit. Eighty-twenty sound fair to you?"

"You need me," Chase reverted to his original argument.

"Fine," House snapped in his clearly irritated tone. "Do twelve hours in the clinic and you can come back."

Chase felt as if someone had doused him with ice water. A chill ran over his skin, creeping from his head to his shoulders, on down to his toes. It went right through to his bones.

Wilson froze, his hamburger halfway between his plate and his mouth. He looked from House to Chase, shocked that House had mentioned the clinic.

House waited, eyes keenly peering at his underling.

Chase swallowed, and made eye contact with House. "I'm not going back to the clinic," he announced. His voice was eerily calm. "Ever." He said it with such certainty that one would be inclined to believe him.

There was no reason to specify that Johnson had not cleared him for the direct contact required to work with clinic patients. It was irrelevant to the House's aim of reminding Chase that he was not prepared to return to the duties required by his job.

"Until you can work in the clinic, you can't work for me." House's voice was just as calm, just as sure.

Chase sighed and admitted defeat, angry that House had brought up the clinic and humiliated that he knew exactly where to hit to get the reaction he wanted. He was angry with himself as well. He doubted House ever would have made that stipulation if he had not pressed so hard to go back to work immediately. He also knew House was just stubborn enough to stick to it. He started to get up from the table.

"Refusing to eat like a four year old is not going to convince me that you're capable of working," House told him sternly. "And I'm sick of you eating like some pansy assed vegetarian."

Chase dropped the plate he had started to lift, letting it fall an inch or so to the table. It clattered against the tabletop and some of his potatoes nearly slid off the dish. He sat again and ate his potatoes quickly. Every bite seemed to grow instead of getting smaller as he chewed. Swallowing was unpleasant at best. No one said another word. He finished eating as quickly as he could, then cleared his place at the table. He retrieved the bruised apple before Kacey had a chance to transform it into his latest plaything. He wiped it on the front of his shirt and placed it back in the fruit bowl. Then, he went to the recliner while House and Wilson finished their meal. He felt trapped. He wanted to be in his own home where he could close the door to his own bedroom and be alone.

He looked around the living room that had been his home of late. He was torn between wanting to stay in this haven of safety and wanting to move back to his own apartment. He thought about being here with House. Did he feel safe because House was present about half of the time? Or was it simply because he was not in his own home? He considered his apartment, questioning if he would even be able to stay there by himself knowing that Joe and Dave had tried to break in so soon after they had attacked him. Would he ever feel safe there again? They knew where he lived--that meant they could watch him as he came and went. On the other hand, they had failed at breaking into that apartment so they knew the security was good. Though, what good was security if they grabbed him in the parking lot?

His thoughts were interrupted as House and Wilson joined him in the living room. He ignored their conversation. Wilson had indeed bought all three seasons of Kung Fu so the series was theirs to watch at their convenience. Chase imagined that Wilson had shown up at House's place the night before and gotten very irritated when no one came home or bothered to tell them where they were. He now watched the oncologist put the first DVD of the series into the player and toss the remote control to House.

Chase felt a tiny bit better when Kacey jumped into his lap, bringing the toy sock with him. Everyone was curling up in their own comfortable spot to watch the show. Wilson made a trip into the kitchen to gather a six pack of beer, a bag of corn chips, a bag plain potato chips, and a carton of sour cream and onion dip.

"Don't forget the cookies," House ordered from the sofa.

Chase was almost insulted that they were gorging themselves on junk food so soon after the meal he had prepared.

Wilson grumbled just a little bit, something about not having five hands, and brought a bag of Chips Ahoy cookies out of the pantry. He managed to balance the cookies on top of the beer and the dip on top of the cookies while holding both bags of chips in one hand. He sighed, set down the assortment of treats, then retrieved a single can of Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator. Somehow he managed to carry it in the crook of his elbow as he brought the snacks to the coffee table. He dropped the bags of chips first, then set down the beer and cookies. The carton of dip tumbled to the side, but he caught it before it could spill. He saved the soda from falling out of his arm and handed it to Chase.

Chase was startled by the gesture and it woke him up to the way he had been completely useless when he could have been helping Wilson instead of watching him. "Oh, crap, I'm sorry, Wilson. I should have helped." Chase was not one to drink a soda very often, but he appreciated the drink. More than that, he appreciated Wilson for thinking of the fact that he could not drink beer with his medications.

Wilson shook his head, looking from Chase to House, back to Chase. "Don't worry about it." For the time being, looking out for House meant looking out for Chase. It was not something Wilson had ever expected, but he found Chase's presence oddly comfortable, even if the Great Wall had just erected itself between the two other men. Wilson doubted the strain would last too much longer. One or the other would say something stupid and clear the air.

While Chase and House had some obvious similarities, they also had some glaring differences. Chase was much more concerned than House with treating others well and pulling his fair share of the workload. House would be content to have anyone cater to his whims while Chase had far more difficulty accepting acts of kindness. Wilson thought he came across like he did not think he was worthy of kindness.

It was obvious that Chase was preoccupied. Wilson had noticed a pattern with the young man--when he sat in the recliner quietly stroking the cat, his mind was usually on something else. This was not the first time they had spent an evening watching a DVD. Sometimes Chase was so far away that he had been able to sit quietly while the other two were holding their sides from laughing. There was a great deal of pain being quietly assimilated. Wilson was certain that House had inflicted a new and complicated layer by demanding Chase return to work in the clinic. He knew things were going to turn sour when Chase would not give up on his request, but he had not expected House to throw clinic duty in Chase's face. In fact, Wilson would not have been surprised if Cuddy had already promised Chase that he really would not have to return to the clinic. Cuddy was powerful, but House was stubborn. If he wanted to force the issue, he would, despite Cuddy's position on the matter.

"Sit your fat ass down, Wilson. You're blocking the TV," House ordered. He was obviously still in a bad mood.

Wilson rolled his eyes then took his seat.

House offered an open bag of corn chips and said, "Chip?" as he held onto the bag. With his other hand, he started the DVD.

"Can we skip the prev--" Wilson started.

"No," House answered adamantly.

Chase shook his head slightly, amused by the predictable interchange between the old friends. He watched them pop open their beer cans simultaneously and sink back into the cushions. He marveled at the way they had no qualms about double-dipping their chips (noting to himself to never share dips with either of them). He was really starting to feel like a third wheel.

"So, they never showed this in jolly old England?" House asked as the opening scene began.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. That was Housespeak for "Stop worrying about the clinic."

"Not that I know of," Chase answered. He still sounded sullen, but he had replied, thus accepting the truce. After half an hour had passed, he felt a twinge of hunger. "Pass the cookies please," he said, reaching over to the couch. Wilson handed him the open bag of Chips Ahoy. Chase took two cookies and handed it back to Wilson. He ate them and washed them down with the soda. He had barely finished the two when he felt the plastic tray that held the cookies being nudged against his arm. Wilson was offering him more cookies. He took two more and repeated the scene. The third time Wilson passed the bag his way, he shook his head, "No thanks." Wilson responded by holding the bag of corn chips out for him to take. Chase shook his head, "Can't," he said, but did not clarify if he meant he was not hungry or if the sharp chips might make his throat hurt.

They watched several episodes before Wilson declared that it was getting late and he needed to go home, even if it was a Friday night. Chase had started to doze. House had had too many beers and too many cookies.

"You okay to drive?" Chase asked, waking up when Wilson started moving about the room. He noticed Wilson was starting to clean up while House remained still on the couch. "I can get that," he offered, indicating the pile of leftover chips, cookies, and empty beer cans. He stood up and started gathering the food while Wilson cleared the beer cans.

"Only had two beers," Wilson answered, letting the cans fall into the bin set aside for items to recycle. "And lots of junk food. I'll be fine," he assured Chase.

House joined them in the kitchen, opting to take his Vicodin with water. He turned to Chase and looked him up and down. "I will teach you much, Grasshopper," he said in a funny accent. "I am the Master!" he declared. "One day, you too will be a great diagnostician."

If stunned described Chase, flabbergasted described Wilson. Despite the accent and the playful delivery, the words themselves packed a wallop. Wilson knew how rare it was for House to make a real emotional connection to anyone. Still, he had no fear that Chase would ever interfer with his friendship with House and he was proud that House had managed to connect with someone else.

Chase was overwhelmed with mixed feelings of honor, humility, and elation. House had just named him his protégé in a playful, half-drunken way as only House could do. He wanted to hug House because he did not feel quite as much like nothing more than a tolerated intrusion. He understood that House was telling him that this was not going to paralyze him. Still, this was House and he might get decked if he initiated contact. Chase nodded, soaking in the words like sunshine on a winter's day. "Cool."

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore, Universal, etc. This story is not for profit.