A/N: All the lovely reviews were a) most unexpected, and b) most welcomed. Thank you all so much! And, the answer to many of the questions, fairly obviously, is yes - I am going on! There are maybe 10 chapters, and I have it plotted and part written, so don't worry about it being left a WIP. Enjoy this part, and do review please

WARNING: Descriptions of the aftermath of violence and sexual assault

Whatever he had been expecting, this was worse.

The rope burns he had seen before, but not so bloody, nor so vivid against the pale skin. He had been right about the fingers gripping hard enough to bruise. Chase's arms and shoulders had livid purple finger-marks up them, running up to bloody scratches on the backs of his shoulders.

House walked around Chase slowly. The intensivist had closed his eyes, perched nervously on the exam-room table with his shirt pooled around him.

Another red-purple mark on his stomach, with green-yellow cousins around it indicating that this was not an isolated incident.

A line of a healing wound, stitches neat and tight, even when performed on his own chest. Not a knife-wound, probably a broken glass.

'Pants,' he instructed quietly.

Chase didn't even protest this time. Just kept his eyes shut as he kicked off the shoes and unzipped his trousers.

House swallowed a noise when he saw the state of Chase's legs and hips. More rope-burns. More finger-marks – dark bruises on his hips painting a clearer picture even than saying the words. Assault. Rape.

He pushed at Chase's legs to force him to spread them. The look on Chase's face was miserable, more openly unhappy than he had been with his eyes open.

House catalogued the puckered burn on Chase's thigh in the midst of the other bruising. Could have been a drunken "forgot I still had the cigarette in my mouth" – it did look to be the only one. He didn't feel confident enough to bet on it. There really was no reason why that one red circle shocked him more than any of the other marks, but it did. Perhaps it was the knowledge that for that, Chase would have had to be lying still on the bed, letting him do it. Any of the others, he could have been fighting back, but for that one...

'Get dressed,' he said finally. When Chase was buttoning his shirt, House spoke again, 'Did it work?'

'What?' Eyes open now. Painted-on defiance.

'Whatever you thought you would get out of this. Did you get it?'

'It's not what you think.'

'So your "boyfriend" isn't beating you into a bloody pulp?'

'No.'

'The problem with that statement is those darned marks all over you!'

'It's none of your business.'

'He hit me!' House replied, a little petulantly.

'I apologised for that. It won't happen again.'

'I would feel a little more reassured if I thought that the reason it wouldn't happen again was that you were going to stop seeing him.'

'You're the one who was talking about leather stethoscopes. You can't say you're honestly surprised?' Chase sneered, but it was hard to tell who the disgust was aimed at.

'Chase, not that I'm one to interfere in your personal life,' A slight snort from Chase, good to know that he was still in there somewhere, 'but you do understand that there is a difference between what we were talking about, and what he's doing? A safe-word for one thing! Or is he just deaf?'

'You don't care anyway, remember?' Chase reminded him of his words of a month ago. Before House could reply, Chase had straightened his lab coat and walked out.

'You, wait a minute,' House instructed, glaring at Chase from behind his desk, as the three of them stood to leave. It had been a week now, and as far as he could tell, nothing had changed. 'Come here.'

Chase walked over to the desk. 'Yeah?'

When Cameron and Foreman had walked far enough away, House raised his folder to Chase's head, causing him to jerk back. 'Hold still,' House said impatiently. He used the corner of the folder to lift Chase's hair back. 'Is he trying to stop you from going to work?'

'What?'

'Is he trying to stop you from going to work?' House repeated.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'If he's hitting you hard enough to damage your long-term memory then it really has gone farther than fun and games.'

'I...'

'So help me God, if the next words out of your mouth are "I fell", I will fire you.'

'I tripped,' Chase answered.

'Chase, I have in my desk an astonishing variety of pamphlets on domestic abuse, so many, in fact, that the nice lady on the desk gave me an extremely pitying look as I left. This is entirely for your benefit, I might add, so you could try to be a little helpful.'

'Because you've suddenly decided to take an interest? General Hospital in reruns this time of year? Or is it The OC in hiatus?'

'What I don't understand is how none of your hissy-fits are being directed at him. I'm actually the good-guy in this scenario - the one not trying to beat you into a bloody pulp - and I'm the one you're squeaking indignantly at?'

Chase sighed. 'If I take one of your leaflets are you going to stop?'

'Probably not. If, on the other hand, you stop coming into the office looking half-dead, even on the days you're not covered in bruises, then maybe. I ask again, did he want to stop you from coming in to work? That's why they hit you in the face,' he elaborated, waving a leaflet, 'to keep you at home.'

'I tripped.'

'Yes, because continually repeating the lie, that's what makes it true!'

Chase leant towards House. 'Am I doing a bad job?'

'That all depends on...'

'Worse than you normally think I'm doing,' Chase amended.

'You're twitchier than normal.'

'And this is impacting on my diagnostic ability?'

'It's distracting me.'

'No, it's not. When my private life starts impacting on how I do my job, then you can go to Cuddy. Until then, butt out.'

As Chase left the office, House called after him, 'When the glass hits a little closer to one of the major arteries, and you bleed to death in your apartment, is that impact enough?'

Chase didn't reply.

It was ten in the morning, and he was missing one member of his team. They had white-boarded without Chase at nine, expecting to see him come in any moment. House had sent Cameron and Foreman to run the tests while he evaded clinic. But now it was ten, he could see through the glass as he walked back to the office and...

House slammed the door to the office open. Cameron and Foreman looked round, but neither appeared particularly startled. 'Where's Chase?'

'He's not with you?' Foreman asked in surprise.

House made a show of checking his pockets. 'Well, no intensivist here. He hasn't phoned either of you, told you to fob me off for a few hours while he sleeps off a hangover?'

'No,' Cameron answered. She tried to placate him, 'Maybe he's just late? The traffic was pretty bad this morning.'

'Chase isn't late,' House answered, walking back out the door. 'If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'm in the clinic.'

'Won't that be more suspicious?' Foreman asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

'Good point. Tell them I'm with Wilson. That has the benefit of being the truth, so Cameron won't have to blush.'

Not that it mattered much, as Cameron responded to his comment with an indignant blush anyway.

'Get your coat,' House instructed Wilson, hanging in the door of his office.

'Dr House,' Wilson answered formally, with a slight smile to the person sitting opposite him, 'I have a patient - can this wait?'

'No,' he answered shortly. 'We need to go now.'

Wilson made his excuses and rescheduled the meeting while House glared impatiently. Finally free, they walked as quickly as House could manage to the elevator.

'So what's wrong?'

'Chase isn't here.'

'You're dragging me out of the hospital because one of your staff is playing hooky?'

'I paged him. I phoned the cell and his apartment. This is Chase - he doesn't skip work and he doesn't leave his pager off.'

Wilson looked at House in concern. 'You think something's happened to him?'

'If it hasn't, he's in so much trouble.'

'Chase!'

'Why do you have his key?'

'I didn't,' House answered shortly. 'The door wasn't locked. Chase!'

'Robert?' Wilson tried.

House looked at him quizzically, 'When do you think was the last time someone called him by his first name?'

'Fine.' Wilson glared. 'Chase?'

'Chase, if you're not dead or dying, you're fired.'

'House.' Wilson gestured into the bedroom.

'If you're asleep, you're fired twice!'

'House.' The bedroom was a mess. House stepped carefully over the broken glass and around the duvet piled up on the floor.

No sign of Chase though. But there was a walk-in closet. And the way the chair was placed against the door, under the handle…

'Oh God.'

FIN until next time. Thoughts?