The insentient form of Robert Chase looked somehow diminished, his blond hair framing his pale face like a halo. Several hours had passed since he had crashed but Chase had failed to regain consciousness, his lifeless body moving in rhythmic harmony with the ventilator.
Foreman and Cameron again found themselves in the hospital room, flanking Chase's bed. They had come equipped with the necessary apparatus to carry out the fibreoptic broncoscopy, but had found their professionalism had given way to unease at the prospect of performing such an invasive procedure on someone so close.
Seeming to steel himself Foreman blew out a sigh,
"Right, let's do this."
Cameron nodded mutely and began to prepare the fibroscope.
Lowering Chase's head so he could gain full access Foreman carefully began to remove the tape from the tube snaking its way into Chase's throat: in order to insert the fibroscope it would be necessary to remove the intubation tube.
Grasping the tube Foreman glanced quickly at Cameron, whom he found to be watching his actions intently. Turning back to the task in hand Foreman slowly began to retract the tube, frowning in concentration as he withdrew it.
Chase coughed; a choking gasp, and for a moment Foreman hesitated. The coughing subsided however and Chase began to breathe, albeit in a shuddering intake. He did not wake.
"OK?" Foreman said in both a statement and a question.
"Here." Cameron said, passing an anaesthetic spray to Foreman.
After depressing the aerosol in two rapid burst he handed it back to Cameron, who took it and in turn handed him the flexible fibroscope. After easing Chase's head back further he began to insert the camera into his throat.
Foreman progressed slowly, his gaze flitting back and forth between the monitor and Chase's eyes, searching for signs of consciousness.
A minute passed before Foreman spoke again,
"I'm in the secondary bronchiole."
"Look" Cameron said, indicating the screen where healthy pink tissue gave way to a seething mass of blisters.
"Damn," Foreman breathed.
"Take it a little deeper, we need to know how extensive the burns are."
Foreman nodded and began to work the scope further into Chase's lungs.
Chase coughed, his body twitching lightly.
Foreman hesitated, watching for further signs of consciousness, but observing none he continued.
Chase twitched again, more violently this time, and his eyes jerked open. His gaze darted haphazardly about the room, coming to rest at last on Foreman who stood above him. His eyes were fearful, panic-stricken, and he choked, gagging on the fibroscope.
"Chase," Cameron said, moving to his side at once, "Chase, its ok."
Chase gagged again and began to grope wildly at the tube.
"Chase!" Cameron tried to restrain his flailing arms.
"Cameron will you get hold of him!" Foreman snapped, trying to complete the procedure. A pearl of sweat beaded on his brow as he frowned in concentration.
"I'm trying." Cameron retorted through gritted teeth. "Chase, please."
Chase knew that he should listen; he knew that they were trying to help him, but a crushing panic had overwhelmed him. In the brief moments that consciousness had found him in the past twenty-four hours he had known nothing but struggle, his body rebelling against his basest need for breath.
"Dammit Chase!" Foreman began to retract the fibroscope, abandoning the attempt. Releasing the scope with one hand he gripped Chase's head, forcing his struggling to subside.
"Chase, listen to me," Foreman said, his voice quiet but firm. "You can breathe, just calm down, ok? Just breathe."
Slowly, with effort, Chase forced his pounding heart to calm. He drew in a breath and despite the burning exertion it instantly soothed his blazing lungs.
Returning his attention to the fibroscope Foreman removed it quickly and expertly, eliciting only a short series of coughs from Chase before his breathing once again returned to a semblance of normal.
Cameron, her hands remaining on Chase's arms after her failed attempt at stilling his writhing, dropped her head lower.
"Chase, do you know where you are?"
Chase, his eyes screwed up against the pain, heard the words but couldn't answer; his focus concentrated instead on the task of breathing. Each inhalation revived and depleted in unmatched measure, draining what little energy remained within him. He longed to respond; to demand explanations as to what was happening to him, why his lungs raged and his head pounded.
"What…" he croaked, his voice dying away after the single word.
"You're in hospital," Cameron said, "You were…" Cameron hesitated to use the word 'poisoned', "…you've been very sick."
Chase forced his eyes open, his gaze coming to rest on Cameron's face. The look of incomprehension spoke volumes, his brow creased in bewilderment.
"Can't… breathe…" Chase choked, his chest caving in exertion.
"You aspirated your stomach contents." Foreman said, moving from the head of the bed.
"Why?" Chase gasped, struggling against the pain hammering from within his lungs.
"You were exposed to benzene."
Chase frowned at this information, his exhausted mind trying to comprehend its implications. A dozen more questions entered his mind, but he could not articulate them; his body utterly drained.
"It happened when you went to Jameson's place – the air, the water – both were contaminated."
A particularly sharp pain pierced his head and Chase winced.
"Listen, man, you're going to be sore for a few days but you're gonna be alright, okay?" Foreman said, patting Chase's arm reassuringly.
"We need to run a few more tests, but you are going to be fine." Cameron said, squeezing his hand in encouragement, "You've got House working on it. Don't worry."
Chase could not respond. Incapable of holding them open any longer, his eyelids closed of their own volition and the room faded into darkness.