Because he was an actual doctor that was employed by the hospital, they gave him a private room. In fact, they gave him his former room. "They should just put my name on the door and be done with it." Chase sighed as they helped him move from one bed to the other, trying to keep wires and tubes from twisting and turning. He'd already been down for X-rays. Soon they'd start the 'poke him with holes' part of the program.

"Aw, Doctor Chase. It won't be too bad." RJ promised, tucking him in. It reminded him of the way people on television tucked their children in. The other nurse left the room as soon as they were done, leaving RJ to tend Chase. "We'll take really good care of you."

"Which department do you actually work in?" Chase finally asked. He'd eventually dozed off in the ER before being taken for tests and then brought up, but woke as soon as he was moved. He was tired but he did not want to go to sleep. There was a fear that if he did, he'd wake up during another attack. Or worse? He'd never wake up again!

"Technically? I'm a floater. But I've been working under Turner and Bannon. I'm their main go-fer. Go fer this, go fer that." He smiled. "It's not too bad. And, hey, at least here your friends can visit! Hop, skip, and a jump away! Well, that is if they actually hopped, skipped, or jumped." RJ offered with a small smile. "I don't think they really do that too much."

He was closer to diagnostics, so he figured it made sense to bring him here. He'd have care by the nurses that worked for Wilson's department, and House could come down and bug him. He'd watch some television and eat some lunch while his team ran around running tests.

RJ finished getting everything re-arranged and smoothed out before disappearing. Only to return about half an hour later lugging a very large white board into the room. Then he pulled out the markers and lay them on the ledge. "Um... I was told to bring this down here." He explained after looking at Chase's very confused look.

"Sooo... I did." He said awkwardly. "Um... you sure your friend isn't going to kill me and bury my body in the backyard? I just ask for my personal information. So I can finish making out my last will and testament. That kind of thing."

"I'm sure. He's mostly bark. The only time he bites is when he's cornered. Though, watch the cane... that's like a mood meter sometimes." Chase advised, giving him a faint smile. "Just let it roll off you like water off a duck's back. He just has a strange sense of humor, sometimes."

"Um... this is probably inappropriate, but... do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" RJ asked shyly.

"Well, sure. I might not answer. But you can ask?" Chase carefully answered. Curious, but at the same time fearful of what that question was.

"Is it true..." RJ trailed off and flushed slightly.

"Is what true?" Chase asked, narrowing his eyes a little, but then a tiny little smile formed on his lips. He'd wondered if House had made any headway on his side of the rumor-war. Looked like he had!

RJ looked down and then away. "Um... never mind. It's none of my business." He cleared his throat.

"Noooo... is what true? I want to know now?" Chase smiled a little more. Deeply curious now.

RJ was staring at him suddenly, his eyes widening before he quickly rushed forward and grabbed one of the clothes that the nurses tended to leave out for general use. He shoved it up to Chase's nose. "Nosebleed!"

Chase frowned, and pulled the cloth down and was shocked to see the bright red blood. He pinched his nose and started to take care of it while RJ quickly turned around and wrote 'Nosebleed' on the board. He capped the marker and then ran out of the room, returning several minutes later with the cart to take blood.

"It's never done that before... No, well, it has. But usually when I'm in dry air." Chase explained. "You know how winter is..."

RJ shook his head while he wrapped the tubing around Chase's arm. "No, no, no... nothing ignored. Captain's orders!"

Vial after vial of blood drawn. Labeling each one.

He looked at Chase's arm and put a little bandage on it. Then he spirited the blood samples off to be analyzed. As he pushed the cart out, someone passed him on the way in.

It was the woman that Turner had called Eileen. She still had the severe look on her face, and if anything, it was more serious today. Her hair was in a tight bun, pulling her skin back just the slightest bit around her face. Turning to him, she introduced herself and was right down to business. "I'm Dr. Eileen Bannon. I'm Dr. Turner's partner. He and I have been in practice together for a rather long time. I've been his partner for fifteen years and have known him even longer, and thus I am very familiar with how he will wish to work on your case. I want you, to list any and all symptoms that you've had recently. Even if you do not see them as important or connected to the problems you've experienced."

She went to the white board and frowned at the word nosebleed. Looking over at him, her lips tightened to see that he still had the barest touch of red around his nose. Frowning, she wrote the words 'lightheaded-dizziness-fainting, muscle spasms-legs/feet/hands, compression fractures, fractures-general, myocardial infarction-arrhythmia-tachycardia, shortness of breath, muscle weakness, absent seizures'. As she looked off a paper in the file she held in her other hand.

Her handwriting was neat and tidy. Rounded. Whereas RJ's had been scrawled.

"Can you think of anything else?" She asked, turning to look over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, and Dr. House said he'll be down shortly. He's... I believe the words he used was 'assembling the troops'." She raised her brow, and he had the impression that she was amused by his word choice.

"He does tend to come off as something of either a petty tyrant, or a dictator." Chase smiled slightly. "And... I... honestly don't know of any more symptoms. Oh, I suppose... um... occasional constipation? And my stomach tends to hurt after eating."

She wrote them down, nodding to herself. "Yes, Tom tends to act as such as well. I find it is easier to silently stare at him. But then, I don't know if that just works for me, or if it would work for others."

"Numbness!" He remembered suddenly. "Usually in my hands, feet... arms... sometimes legs. He'd probably outstare me."

She wrote it down as well, nodding to herself. "I have cats. I can stare for a really long time."

For some reason that made him chuckle, and smile. His opinion of her as being too severe and stern was starting to change. Her face still carried a particular look, and her eyes still looked cold. But she didn't seem nearly as bad as he thought she'd be. But she was very 'quick' and abrupt. Her conversation style was to the point with no real preamble. She made statements that one had to connect together to the subject in your head to understand what she meant.

"Um, I... I can see where cats would be good staring practice." He laughed quietly.

"Tom sometimes reminds me of a cat. The way he can be finicky, or bitchy. The way he 'claws' someone with his words, when he's in a mood." She said in amusement as she checked the machines that were hooked up to Chase. "I've even seen him randomly comb his hair in the middle of the day. A sulky, bitchy cat from hell."

"Fifteen years in partnership, safe to say you think he's all right, all in all?" He asked the woman. He was curious, because how could someone work with another person for years and years if they were such a bastard? How did she stand him? "I mean... you're still in partnership with him?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "He was better before Eve passed. Still a jerk, but better." She admitted. "But I'm used to him. It is impossible for him to offend me. Before forming the partnership, we went to school together. Did our residency together. I've seen him at his worst, and I've seen him at his best. He's like... broccoli. You don't necessarily like it to begin with. But you can eventually get used to the taste. And eventually, you might even start to like it."

Eileen scratched beside her eye and stifled a slight yawn, finishing the notations before slipping the chart back.

"Sounds like House, kind of. Though, I'm not sure I could get used to Turner like that." He admitted. "He's so much... he... goes for the throat in a way that House doesn't."

She kind of shrugged and shook her head. "He didn't used. It's amazing what you can get used to." She commented. "I'm used to him. He's used to me. There's nothing he can say or do that he can use against me. When he insults you, or makes snide remarks. Just ignore it. If you react to them, and act offended and angry... you just feed him. You give him a sense of power that he doesn't otherwise have. It makes him... taller. If you merely stand there, raise a brow and tilt your head in a manner that suggests 'are you done?' He scowls, and perhaps will continue. But he will never physically injure or harm you. And he does stop at some point when he realizes it won't work. And, if it is truly getting to you, you have to ask yourself why. Took me a two years and three therapists before I realized I was giving him power over me. Med school."

"Wait. Why are you telling me all this?" Chase asked her, confused and curious. He frowned up at her. She was giving him tools to deal with a man she worked with and probably considered some kind of friend. She was telling him ways of getting 'around' him. She was undermining Turner!

"Because. He's going to be in your life, in some form or another for a long time to come. Not just because of your heart condition, but because if you're connected to Greg, you're sure to run into Tom at some point. Especially now. And more importantly, I like it here." She admitted. With another shrug, she swept from the room, off to report her findings.

He nearly smiled as he realized, she'd basically told him the same thing parents all over the world told their children. 'Ignore them, and they go away. Eventually.' She also told him another fact. She and House knew each other as well, somehow.

He finished cleaning his nose of blood, and rested his eyes. But he told himself, he was not going to sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He was not going to go to sleep.

The squeak of the marker on the board brought him back to awareness and he startled when he realized he had in fact fallen asleep. He didn't feel like he'd slept much, if at all? But it frightened him. He frowned, he knew it was silly to be afraid of going to sleep. He needed rest. Staying awake wouldn't help him. But last night had scared the hell out of him far more than he was comfortable with admitting.

Turning his head, he saw Cameron at the board this time. She wrote underneath Bannon's words. 'Irritability, depression, fatigue' After a thoughtful pause, she added. 'indigestion, gas, smelly stools.' She paused again and then wrote. 'Rash on rear and back that comes and goes.'

His eyes widened on that one and he felt his face flush. She was obviously writing down anything and everything she could remember from their time together. But good lord, this was embarrassing! Not that she'd ever said anything after he'd come out of the bathroom, and he'd used the air freshener, thank you very much. It wasn't like anyone's smelled like roses! But to have it written out like that for all and sundry to see? And his rash was his business! Just a minor food allergy. Not...

He deflated as he realized why patients lie so much. It's embarrassing as hell. Still, he didn't have to like it.

She turned around, capping the marker and realized his eyes were open. "Oh! Um... I didn't wake you, did I?" She asked.

He found himself staring at her and blinked. She seemed to be repeating his name over and over again. "Yes, what?" He asked.

"Did you hear me?" She asked as she went to one of the machines and read the readout.

"I don't know." For the first time honest about it. "I remember asking if you woke me, and then you saying my name."

"You had a seizure." She sighed, rubbing her head. She grimaced and noted it in his chart. She still had the tense look on her face a few minutes later. "To think, we used to believe you just weren't paying attention or were daydreaming."

Her face was pinched and she had the tension line between her eyes. She was upset, about something. And not just his seizures. She was wanting to yell at someone.

"What's wrong? You look like you're in a mood." He said, trying to keep his voice light. It was still awkward to talk to her, just yet.

"Nothing you've done. Just had a bit of a run in with Dr. Turner." She frowned, pressing her lips together in irritation. "He called me an air-headed bimbo. Where does he get off?" She asked, finally raising her voice and gesturing with the hand that had the pen in it.

Chase opened his mouth, and almost started to speak. But then he closed it and thought very carefully about the situation. Tilting his head, he had an idea. A very evil idea. A wonderful awful terrible idea. He had to do it! Had to!

"Try not to take it personally..." He sighed, looking down and playing with a thread from his blanket. He had to inject just the right amount of... pity... in his voice.

"Not take air-headed bimbo personally?" She asked, incredulous.

"He called me an idiotic jackass." He pointed out. "It's... just ignore it. Sticks and stones." He shook his head. "He's just feeling threatened. His only true weapon is his mouth. He's pushing people away, so he can't be hurt. Again."

"And you know this... how?" She asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Because House told me about him. Explained it. I also talked to his partner, Bannon." He explained, folding his hands in his lap. "House and Turner are cousins. He watched Turner grow up. Saw what happened to him."

There it was, the interested face. The wall and shield lowering. The empathy was peeking over the edge. Perrrfect. "What happened to him?"

"Well, for one, you see how big he is. Or rather, he isn't. House admitted that by the time he was ten, a lot of the other kids in the family were actively plotting against him. Imagine how tiny he was at age ten?" It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. "You see how tall House is. How tall his dad is! I imagine most the family is like that. Imagine how scary that would be, being so small with larger people trying to intimidate you? He may not have been able to defend himself with his fists, but he could make them feel as small as he was with his mouth."

She looked sympathetic for a second, but then frowned. "Yes, but he's what? Almost forty now?"

He nodded. "I know. I know... but that was just the start. That's just where he learned to do it." He gave a heartfelt sigh and said. "The reason he and House were arguing this morning is, because Turner has been convinced something more is wrong. But, until now, my symptoms have always been easy to explain. There were 'reasons' for all of them. Nothing that had an overall... indication... of any one disease. But the reason he is pushing it so hard is because he lost his wife, to a misdiagnosis."

And there was the true sympathy face with a touch of hurt puppy. "Aw, does he blame House?" She frowned.

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It happened a year before this department was even formed. A year before House had his own misdiagnosis. Her final diagnosis before death was flu. But autopsy showed meningitis. She got it from an ear infection, which she got from a cold."

She slowly sunk down into a chair, looking sad. "That's terrible."

Chase nodded gravely. "He's never been the same since. Bannon has worked with him for years. She knew him long before his wife Eve died. She confirmed he's been... like that... since. Cold and dead inside. Eve was the only one he'd ever really loved. They dated in school, married as soon as they were able... and were together until the day she died. He's not even dated since then, and that was ten years ago."

Oh yes, score! Direct hit! Pure empathy was achieved!

"Is he trying to... I don't know... not look at other women or such, or notice them, because he wants to remain true to her memory?" She asked, wrinkling her brow.

"I don't know. But the fact that he thought you were dressed in a... revealing... manner... indicates that he noticed. But it does kind of sound like he doesn't think he should notice. Maybe he's hoping to push you away, and not see you like that." Chase said very carefully.

She looked very thoughtful. It was her plotting and conspiracy face! This was going so well.

"As I said, I spoke to Bannon earlier, and she told me the best way to handle Turner. You stand your ground, look him in the eye and wait. You can even use the 'are you done yet?' look. But don't take offense. Don't rise to the bait. Don't runaway! It's... kind of like dealing with House, in a way. Only Turner is so depressed and in the hole of despair, that... that everything has turned to ice. But this morning? I saw him argue passionately. So, I don't think it is hopeless." Perfect, compare him just enough to House to remind her of her initial attraction TO House. Make him look just enough sad and damaged... Plot. Engaged!

House finally arrived. In his hands was a very large envelope. "Chatting?" He asked, giving them both a level look.

"He had a seizure just a few minutes ago. Absent." She told House, but was still distracted.

"Tattletale." Chase said quietly. But inside he was giggling with glee and clapping his hands in accomplishment. Turner was now dooooooomed! DOOOMED! Cameron would seek out and focus all her loving, caring, healing energy upon his poor damaged soul. Revengeeeeeee was SWEET! He'd live to regret pissing off Robert Chase! Mwhahahahaaaaa! He may have had a point this morning, but still pissed Chase off in the meantime.

"Now now children, behave. Chase! You have had a rash on your tuckus? Have you been a bad boy?" House said. "Chase? Are you having another seizure?"

She jumped up to look, and shook her head. He realized that he was being spoken to and broke off from his mental celebration. "I'm fine. Was just thinking... about... stuff."

"Rash. Tuckus. Did you play with the wrong people?" House asked, giving him a strange look, before looking back at Cameron.

"It's just a rash and it comes and goes. It's just an allergy! Eat the wrong food, it shows up." He argued, arms crossed over his stomach. He realized he was pouting, but didn't seem to be able to stop.. "I've been tested for all STDs. I'm clean. Do you want to order the tests so I can prove it?"

"First. I'm not your doctor on this case. Not really. Wilson is. Still. With the addition of Foreman and Turner. Cuddy wouldn't allow me to take the case because of the conflict of interest since I'm your medical proxy. But? Because I am, I have access to everything I need to make 'decisions' in regard to your health." He gave up on glaring at Cameron, and was in lecture mode.

He turned on one of the light boxes on the wall and clipped the new X-ray on beside an older one. "This? Was taken just before your surgery." He pointed to the one he and Wilson had taken. "This, is now. Taken before you were brought to your room." He pointed. "See the rods? They're holding up pretty well. But..."

He pulled them down and put two more x-rays up. "This, is your hip area, obviously. This is when Wilson and I took it. This... is now." He pointed at it.

"Oh, my god." Cameron had wrinkled her brow and peered at it closer. She'd put on her glasses to work and frowned. "There's been additional damage in just the last couple of weeks."

He frowned and turned to Chase who was staring wide eyed at the x-rays. "You also have a couple of hairline cracks in your ribs, and in your wrist. I imagine the meds are helping to dull the pain."

Chase rubbed a hand down his face. "One decent bump would probably break them?"

House nodded. "Have you been having bone pain?" He asked Chase.

"Ah, but... well duh. I mean, it wasn't as though I didn't have a reason." Chase defended himself.

"While he was down there, they did a bone density test." House frowned as he looked at the results. "Chase? You have the bone density of an old woman. My mother could probably kick your ass about now. Didn't you learn in medical school that milk does a body good?"

"I drink milk." Chase shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"

"That's what we're going to find out. Because, a thirty three year old man should not have osteoporosis." House shook his head. "You... have gnomes picking away at your bones!"

"Could be cancer." Chase covered his face with his hands and groaned. He feared cancer to a degree. His father died from it. His grandparents had also died from it. Intestinal and colon. Cancer ran in his family. This was like a nightmare.

"We don't know that yet." House said testily. "Just because Wilson is your doctor of note, does not mean I'm willing to give you to him in fact! You're mine until I say you're not. And it isn't cancer, until I say it is! It's... something else."

Cameron hurried to the board and wrote it down near the word fractures. 'Bone pain, loss of bone density.' "We need that bone biopsy either way." She said.

"And a bone scan. Tell Wilson he needs to order them. If you can't find Wilson, get Turner or Foreman." House sat down in the chair next to Chase's bed.

She nodded, hurrying out to find one of them.

"Why are you letting them write on your white board? I thought you were the only one to touch the markers?" Chase smiled slightly. "And why isn't your team working on this?"

"They're too new to trust with something like this. And since I can't be your doctor of note, I'm having to... improvise. Since I can't seem to be objective and distance myself far enough away from this to look at your symptoms without automatically trying to explain them away in simple terms. I'm... letting them figure out what are symptoms and what aren't. They write it down, and then we all look at it together as a whole." House admitted, though with an obvious trace of reluctance as he rubbed his lower jaw.

Chase looked up at him and gave him a faint smile. "House? I... I do appreciate everything you've done."

"Don't you dare start talking like that. That's how people sound when they think they're going to die! And you aren't dying. You're being a pain in the ass. There is a difference." House held up a hand, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm not dying. I refuse to believe I will. But I still want you to know I appreciate everything you've done so far, and will be doing." Chase sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" House asked quietly. "I've been wondering that, since this morning."

"For... what?" Chase asked in at first confusion, and then nodded to himself, figuring it out. But at the same time, he wanted House to admit there was something to forgive in the first place.

"For..." He kind of shook his head and grimaced. "For last year. You know... the... hitting you, and the... I still insist none of you were supposed to find out about the brain cancer thing... and the... letting you go without... a better..." He gestured vaguely.

It wasn't really an apology. He never said sorry. He was asking, if he was forgiven. And there is the big difference right there. And Chase realized that for House, to say sorry was almost like giving up another piece of his pride. But the fact that he realizes he might need to be forgiven? Indicated that offense was noted, and that he knew he was wrong, on some level. And you don't concern yourself with whether or not you have forgiveness, if you don't have some trace of guilt.

These things were remembered from his time in the seminary. Sometimes, he would reject all that he learned there. But sometimes, like now, he remembered why he embraced it to begin with. He closed his eyes and said. "I understand why you hit me. I thought about it, at the time of the 'scare' with the cancer. And I recall that you were detoxing, sick, and... during the moment, I kept... touching you. In a manner that could almost be aggressive." He said it very carefully and slowly, remembering the moment as he spoke. "I kept grabbing at your shoulder, to stop you from walking. But it could almost be seen as 'pushing' at you. Every time I touched you, you would pull back... and look at me... and... at the time I didn't see or realize it. I didn't analyze it then. You were getting angry, and you were losing control. You hit me, yes, but I don't think you meant to."

House looked down, and Chase thought for a flicker of a moment, he saw shame in House's face and eyes. It was quickly gone, but he gave a sharp curt nod. "I would not normally hit an employee. No. I was out of control. Yes."

"I had forgiven you that, at the time of the cancer scare. I thought, we were going to lose you. I hugged you, because..." He sighed letting it trail off.

"You care." House finished for him.

"What I don't understand is, why you would go that far? That far to get high?" He squinted at him. "That, was harder to forgive. Because I didn't understand why."

House scratched his eyebrow and leaned forward so he could rest his chin on his cane. Chase realized at that point, that House had found fresh clothes since earlier in the morning.

"It wasn't to get high." House said quietly. "If I honestly wanted to get 'high', I could do that a lot easier with the drugs I could get hold of almost anywhere." He grimaced.

"Then what was it?" Chase asked.

"It was going to be... the ultimate... anti-depressant." He growled the word. "It works directly on the brain and makes the person 'happy'. Even though they are in pain and dying, they are happy. I'm not dying. But... I'm in pain." He finished with a disgusted look.

Chase felt as though ice water was splashed on him as every missing block fell into place from that time period. "If you're happy, you can ignore the pain a bit more, and take less vicodin. Less vicodin means more time before your liver gives up on you."

"I was actually hoping that eventually I could taper off completely, and then use one of the other pain management drugs. Just..." He shook his head and shrugged.

"The treatment then has merit." Chase said quickly.

"But the study isn't being done for chronic pain. It is being done for terminal patients. So... I couldn't get in, just because of my leg." House explained.

"Bloody hell." Chase sunk deeper into his pillow and groaned to himself. "I wish I had known." He said the last bit to himself.

"I didn't think you or any of the others would approve." House pointed out.

"They wouldn't have. But I would have understood why you wanted it. I'm not so superior and set in my ways that I wouldn't have... hidden... a few facts. Not if it meant it would help you. But then, you didn't know that either." He paused and asked. "Have you tried other anti-depressant trials? The ones that do target chronic pain?" He asked.

House shrugged a shoulder and said. "Wilson started secretly dosing me at one point, because he thought since I was so unhappy? He'd try to help me. But he's going for the depression angle, because he himself takes anti-depressants because he's depressed. Trycyclic antidepressants have moderate interactions with the vicodin. And, I don't like how I feel on them anyway. They make me feel hazy. I don't like feeling hazy. At all! Desyrel also has moderate reactions to Vicodin. Wellbutrin has severe reactions to Vicodin. And regardless of what Cuddy and Wilson think, I want to live. Zoloft and Paxil have moderate reactions. Fuck MAOIs. No way will I take those. So that leaves good old fashioned prozac. And there is no data on how effective it is against chronic pain."

He paused and then added. "But I've been trying it anyway." He sighed.

Chase looked up at him in complete surprise.

"It's easier than having Wilson randomly spiking my food until he thinks I'm appropriately 'happy' enough." House explained. "And sometimes, it's hard for me to ignore hope."

"It's not really been helping though, has it." Chase asked quietly.

House shook his head, frowning. "I didn't think it would. Not really. That's why I didn't try the prozac first. So I was hoping a direct pop to the brain..." He tapped the top of his head with a finger as he sat up straighter. "Didn't get it, so now I'm trying the prozac."

Chase was quiet for a moment and knew he could ask about the firing, but by this point? It didn't matter to him anymore. He thought he could safely say, it wasn't personal. Instead, he said. "I don't think there's anything TO forgive at this point."

He was rewarded with a very faint smile as House squeezed his cane and once more put his chin on his cane. Chase choose to interpret that as 'thank you'.

House stared blankly at the symptom list. "You have gnooooomes... in your booooooones." He intoned.

nosebleed lightheaded-dizziness-fainting, muscle spasms-legs/feet/hands, numbness- arms/hands/legs/feet bone pain- loss of bone density compression fractures, fractures-general, myocardial infarction- arrhythmia-tachycardia, shortness of breath, muscle weakness, absent seizures constipation-stomach pain-indigestion-gas-smelly stools irritability-depression fatigue rash-on rear and back that come and go

Wilson stepped in, looked at the board and then took the marker. He wrote Cancer? on the other side of the board.

"It's not cancer. Doesn't explain the neuro or stomach-bowel problems." House insisted.

"It would if it is going places it shouldn't go. Or it could be unconnected." Wilson said with a heavy sigh. "We're going to test for cancer. We're setting up for the bone biopsy now. House, do you wish to sit in on the procedure?"

He took a deep breath, held it and then gave a curt nod. Chase was secretly relieved. Now that everything was written on the board? Now that there were new test results proving something was literally wrong? He was actually, honestly... worried. Scared really.

"It's still not cancer. But we still need the biopsy to prove me right later. To prove what it is."

"Just sit tight, Chase. We'll be back for you soon. Try to rest in the meantime." Wilson gently reached out and touched Chase's arm as House stood up.

"It's going to be fine." House told him, his eyes narrowed and the smallest trace of a smile. "It's not cancer. It's... something else."

But what? House obviously didn't know exactly what yet. But something was starting to form in his mind. Chase has seen that look in House's eyes too many times over the years to know otherwise! House was on to something!

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