-Ch 4-

Chexie silently watched Chase pace back and forth muttering to him self.

"Ok. Ok I can do this. What am I a man or mouse? It's just a physical. It's no big deal! I've done a hundred of them on patients, I can make it through one little exam!" He chewed on his cell phone antenna, trying to make himself believe his pep talk. It wasn't working.

Chase had tried calling House over and over and was ignored every time. He knew House had taken the afternoon off, and he wasn't in Chase's apartment, so he had to be at his own house. He was probably just ignoring the calls, or worse, saving them to taunt him with later. He had spent all night staring at the phone, waiting for House to call and curse him out. His disappointment almost overrode his fear when he got a call early in the morning, reminding him of his 10 o'clock appointment.

Chase looked at his watch and twitched. 8:30/

"Everything will be fine, I just have to go and get the damned physical then I can come home and have a private break down!"

Chase jumped when Chexie squawked and he looked at her. "I take it your agreeing with me?"

She squawked again, flapping her wings.

Chase chuckled. "Alright, alright I'm going..."

He coaxed Chexie back into her cage, and dialed House's number again, letting it ring until the answering machine picked up, and left one last message.

Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and forced himself out the door. He was being silly, he told himself. What could possibly go wrong?

--

House slammed the alarm clock against the wall. He was still in a wombat-induced bad mood, and the fact that he had apparently forgotten he had taken the day off and set the alarm didn't help much.

Against his better judgment he had stayed in the Clinic the rest of the day

Five runny noses, an outbreak of crabs, and a kid who thought quarters looked yummy. How the hell did people survive without him? By the time he left all he had wanted to do was take as many pills as medically possible and sleep, which is exactly what he did.

House sighed and rolled out of bed, not bothering to get dressed as he headed towards the living room. He was pretty sure the blinds were closed.

He headed towards Steve's cage, making sure the rat had food and water before pulling his own breakfast, which consisted of a cold beer, out of the refrigerator. What the hell. He pulled out the makings of a sandwich as well. After the day he had, he deserved a fancy meal. He leaned over and hit the playback button on his answering machine as he assembled his sandwich.

Beep! "House? It's me. Chase. Uh look I'm sorry. I- I shouldn't have said that, it was mean and unnecessary and- and I just shouldn't have! It doesn't matter how scared I am I shouldn't have said something like-"

"Boring!" House decided, hitting the button again.

Beep! "House? It's me again. Look I know you're there it's your day off. House I'm really sorry please say something? House-"

House rolled his eyes and punched the button a third time, wondering how many more messages begging for forgiveness Chase had left.

Beep! "Ok this is the last time I'm calling. I just want you to know I know I'm an idiot and I-I'm fixing it. I'm going in to the hospital. ... sorry for calling. Bye."

House frowned at the answering machine. He chewed his sandwich slowly, thinking.

Chase had gone in. As panic stricken as he was, as piled with issues as he was, he'd gone in without being physically dragged, drugged, bribed, or threatened with being fired by House.

He sucked mayo off one finger as he tapped the fingers of his other hand against the counter he was leaning against. He remembered how Chase had been that night in the ER when he got his concussion, and every time someone mentioned going back to the hospital, and how... pitiful Chase had sounded when he told House about what his father had done to him.

House growled and grabbed his cane, tossing the remains of his sandwich into Steve's cage and stalked for the front door, intending to go check up on his intensivist. No, to make sure he wasn't giving the doctors a hard time, or throwing a hissy fit, or clinging to the light fixtures and refusing to come down.

He paused, and did a 180, heading for the bedroom. Clothes first, he reminded himself.

"God damn that high maintenance wombat!"

Steve squeaked in protest and House glared at the rat. "You stay out of this! You always take his side!"