-Ch 11-
House shifted in his seat with a small pained grunt, and popped another Vicodin. The hospital chairs weren't getting any more comfortable, and after – house checked his watch: 11:30 – 24 hours he was starting to believe his ass was going to be permenantly numb.
Chase looked over guiltily and gnawed on his lower lip for a moment before speaking. "Go. You should go."
House raised an eyebrow. "What? Kicking me out all of a sudden?"
"It's my fault you're in pain. Your leg... sitting here all night can't have helped it. You should go home. I-I'll be fine."
House snorted. "Says the man who panicked when I had to go to the bathroom."
Chase got a strange expression, a combination of a scowl and a blush. "That was yesterday. I was extremely medicated. I'm lucid now and I'm fine."
"That was three hours ago."
Chase muttered.
"And what happens when a nurse or doctor wanders in here to check on you?" Chase flinched and the beeping of the heart monitor increased. "That's what I thought."
Chase scowled again. "Well if I was at home in my own bed I would not have this problem!"
House rolled his eyes again not even bother to get into that argument with him again.
Chase sighed, shifting in his bed and winced. "Ok, now I'm kinda missing being stoned off my ass..."
House snorted in amusement and leaned over and adjusted the IV drip. "I increased your morphine. That should help."
Chase glared at the IV. "Do I really need this? Can't I take pills or something?"
"So you're swallower not a spitter? Good to know." House snarked. "And what makes you think I'd give you the right pills any sooner than I'd give you the right IV."
Chase rolled his eyes sinking lower in the bed with a sigh.