Chase's door opens loudly as House announces his return.
"Aaaaaaaand the progress report of the weather network says that there's a sixty percent of Robby Bobby Chase being healthy in the near future and we've reached our maximum high of House being happy right now. The jackpot now sits at Chase's appetite. You can check out the road conditions at our website at attempts to block the noise out with his flimsy pillow are futile and House comes marching into the room. "I should have been a news anchor, then I'd be even COOLER than Clark Kent. I'd do the saving the world thing and the reporting!
His humor is lost on Chase, who squints and looks up with one eye.
"Okay little Miss Muffet, time for your curds and whey" House forces a spoon of something lumpy and nutritious into his mouth. Chase almost chokes, he can't think and eat at the same time. Something is up with House, and he wonders how much it'll cost him in pride later on. He really doesn't have enough pride to pay the price. He'll take whatever memories he can get, and enjoys the spoon-feeding for a while.
He sleeps for a while afterwards, and he dreams. House is firing him. Robert wakes up thrashing, when something grips his legs and pulls. He almost falls off the bed.
House's smile is crooked and gleeful, but his eyes show concern. It's quite a menacing look. "A little insecure about your job aren't you?" Chase won't reply and House decides to tell his clinic story of the day.
"So this awful looking lady came into the clinic, she sits down and when I ask her what's wrong, just so I can eliminate those as the truth- she opens her mouth and says 'I think I have metapods'. METAPODS! I mean I know its hard to spell menopause, but this lady should be in the Guinness book of world record for being the most stupid old fart there is on this planet! Metapods… it sounds like the breeding ground of a new caterpillar."
Chase is still trying to swallow, but he almost chokes in laughter. He can't tell whether this really happened, but it doesn't really matter. House goes into the kitchen a bit to heat something up. Chase can hear the hum of the microwave. When it stops, House returns to the room with a bowl of steaming soup. It smells scary good. Chase wonders where it's from. He's pretty sure House doesn't cook. He's spent alot of time reflecting on the stubject.
Chase is tired of being confined to the bed. Actually, he's just tired of wishing he wasn't alone in it, but he won't admit it. He's tired of House fussing around like he cares- tired of thinking, tired of life.
When House asks him for the millionth third time why he's starving himself to death and not sleeping, Chase finds he can't really answer.
He doesn't have a good reason like everyone else does. He isn't coping with some huge loss, he's not had some life-changing revelation, he's not angry with the world-- Chase doesn't know if you need to have the right to be tired of life, but he is anyways. For no good reason.
He doesn't want to say this, it sounds stupid enough in his head. It sounds the same way people do when they say dog's lick their own arses just because they can. Simply put, he'd rather make up a good justification- a heart-wrenching, blockbuster sort of story, but he can't think of anything at the moment, so the truth sort of tumbles out a bit.
"I'm tired". He says it quietly, thinking House will get it- will understand it.
House misunderstands, thinking Chase is just closing the conversation. It's funny. House is usually so perceptive when it comes to anything. He's not happy.
"I hate interviews. If you die on me, I'll find a gypsy to curse your grave for me. It won't be fun."
Chase is pretty sure the talking-about-your-emotions thing should remain a female quality. He's not sure he wants this conversation to continue at all.
He shuts his eyes and hopes that House'll get the picture. He doesn't hear House leaving, but he doesn't really hear anything else. Certainly, he doesn't hear any more pressing questions.
Which is good, because he can't explain. He can't even breathe. He doesn't have enough pride to pay the price.
A/N: As you can tell, the story will be taking a different direction from here on (from the previous version of this chapter). The next few chappies will probably be a bit longer, but still keep the hazy sort of half-awake style of writing. I meant for this fic to be centered on feeling instead of actual plot, so I'm hoping to keep that while still getting an ending. Unfortunately, it looks like I might be leaning towards a very un-conclusional ending, just because the nature of this story is that it's more a chronicling of feeling and emotion than of actual plot substance. Next fic will be an actual story, promise.