AN: Thanks for sticking with me, and thanks for the lovely reviews. Slight warning, although if you've read the story so far, it shouldn't be a problem: description of sexual acts in this chapter. Parkermonster, my lovely beta, tells me that it's definitely not more than R-rated, so I hope that doesn't put anyone off. Enjoy!

He grabbed Chase's wrist tightly, dragging the younger man off the stool. 'So sorry,' he said to the hulking man Chase was talking to, 'I'm his doctor, and we need him back in quarantine.' Whatever the man-mountain had been going to say, he stopped when he heard that.

Tossing a few bills on the bar, House pulled Chase, who was still not speaking, out and into his car. When they were safely on the road, and Chase couldn't leave unless he decided to play stunt-man out of the Corvette, House asked, 'What the hell is wrong with you?' He wasn't shaking, because he wasn't a teenage girl, but he gripped the wheel tightly. 'Just how much of a moron are you?'

'It's none of your...'

'Business. Heard this song, the original was better. What is going on in that pretty head of yours, Robert? My big bad boss lost me one violent psychopathic boyfriend, so it's probably time to go and find a new one?'

'He was nice.'

'No, he wasn't. Or did you not notice what kind of establishment you were frequenting there? Plus there was the way he was looking at you, like Christmas had come early.'

'There's a difference between...'

'Yes, there is, but I'm not convinced you actually know what it is.' Genuinely curious he asked, 'What do you get from it?'

'From what?'

'From letting someone beat you into a pulp, Chase. What did you think I meant?'

'I...'

'Because, you see, I understand what you get from me. I'm the Daddy-replacement. An improvement in every way of course, but a replacement nonetheless. I'm where you go for medical-genius, pats on the head, and, according to Wilson, emotional abuse. But I cannot quite fathom what you get from being used a punching bag.'

'What does anyone get from it?'

'Usually? They're stuck, or compulsive fixers, or so starved for attention that a slap's as good as a kiss.'

'So pick one,' Chase answered, smiling with something that was neither warmth nor humour. 'You're the diagnostician.'

'So are you.'

'I'm an intensivist.'

'No, Chase, you're a diagnostician. So if the intensivist thing was an attempt to make Pops mad, you're going to have to abandon it. I'm all geared up to train you into a mini-me.' He would have cackled to emphasise the point, but they were getting off track. 'So you tell me why you think it is. You did a psych rotation at some point, I'm sure.'

'You want me to tell you that my Dad leaving gave me abandonment issues and left me with no male role-model to create my identity from? That having to take care of an alcoholic mother made me a control-freak? That I had to grow up too fast and now I'll take affection wherever I can get it?'

'Well now I know what you think isn't wrong with you. That's a start.'

'Everybody lies?'

'Good boy.'

Chase smiled at that despite himself, and then looked around in alarm. 'Where are we?'

'Forgotten so soon?'

'I thought you were taking me home?'

'After that little display? You'll be lucky if you're ever let out to play again.'

'You're... what, kidnapping me?'

'I'm putting you somewhere safe until I can figure out what to do with you.'

- - - -- - -

And once again, here he was, sitting on his sofa with Chase, the younger man curled into a tight ball.

'You're not a replacement for my Dad,' Chase said, apropos of nothing.

'Are you sure? Because I was so looking forward to our estrangement.' House wondered whether that was going too far. On the plus side, he hadn't mentioned Rowan's untimely death, so he considered himself to be on the side of the angels right now.

'You're not,' Chase repeated. 'If I was looking for that, I'd go to Wilson before you.'

'Robert, I'm hurt.'

'Everyone knows he's the nice one. If I wanted someone to tell me I was doing alright, pat me on the head and give me hugs, he's the better choice. You're...'

'Special,' House answered smugly.

Chase sighed and rubbed his face in exhaustion. 'Sure, whatever.'

'What do you get from them?' House asked again.

'Why won't you leave this alone?'

'I had.'

'So this is what I deserve?'

'Interesting choice of words there.'

Chase groaned. 'Clearly you're the one still thinking about their psyche rotation.'

'What can I say, you intrigue me. And since I can't throw you in with Rowan and watch the explosion in real-time anymore, I'll have to go with the boring option. What's up?'

'Why should I tell you?' Chase asked coolly.

'Because right now I'm the only person in your life who cares enough to ask.'

He leaned back, just a little, not because he was afraid, but because if Chase actually used that raised hand to hit him, there would be no hope of ending this conversation well. But Chase didn't make a fist, or swipe his palm across House's face. He curled his fingers around House's shoulder, and pulled him back, closer than before. The kiss was clumsy and hard, in contrast to Chase's feather-light grip. For a moment, he didn't move. When he did, opening his mouth to Chase, tentatively using his tongue, Chase stopped pushing. Letting House take control. Making House take control.

The next positive move Chase made was standing up, pulling House with him, towards the bedroom.

'Chase,' House said. 'Bad idea.'

'You asked.'

He couldn't really argue with that. It was just that he hadn't expected the answer to his question to be a practical demonstration.

If he had ever imagined sex with Chase, not something he was willing to concede definitively, even in his head, it had not been like this. Pinning Chase, lying half on top of him, using his one good leg to hold himself up. Driving into him, harder than he should be, because of Chase's insistent thrusts upwards. The blond head was tilted back, eyes shut tightly. The cry he gave could either be pleasure or pain and House was reminded of exactly why he thought this was a bad idea.

'Stop,' House instructed harshly.

Chase's protesting cry was inarticulate at best.

'Chase, stop.'

He did, petulantly rolling away, shaking House from his precarious balance. House swore harshly, grimacing in pain.

Chase's eyes were wide with horror as he stammered apologies.

He must be more of a bastard than he thought, because this – Chase's mingled apology and adoration as he crawled down the bed – this – warm mouth around his cock in penance for a sin major or minor – this was closer to what he imagined sex with Chase would be like.

So, in the morning, he wasn't sure whether it was for Chase's benefit or his own that the first words out of his mouth were: 'This can't happen again.'

Chase nodded, as if this was no more than he had expected.

'Not that it wasn't a fun time for all involved, but you need help, Chase, and I'm not it.'

'And there's no particular reason this revelation didn't occur before the blow-job?'

'Chase.'

He didn't respond, pulling on jeans and wounded dignity. But his voice was lost and despairing, and utterly, utterly resigned when he turned at the door to deliver his goodbye. 'Why can you never just leave me alone?'

Fin for this chapter. Thoughts?