'The dad didn't lay a finger on that kid.'

'Broken bones. Claims he fell over. Breakages too severe for that. We've run many, many tests, Chase. If he's not getting hit by someone, he has some disease so obscure even I can't figure it out, and that's a prospect I wouldn't like to entertain. Personally I prefer to believe he's lying.'

'Better for the kid too,' Foreman observed, 'Abusive dad is easier to remove than whatever the hell bizarre disease Chase is about to suggest.'

'I'm not saying he's not getting hit,' Chase responded sharply. 'I'm saying it's not the dad. Look at them.'

The four of them looked through the window at their patient and his father.

'People...'

'Lie,' Chase interrupted. 'I know. But I'm telling you, it's not the dad. He's easier around his dad than I ever was with mine, and Dad never so much as slapped me.'

'Doesn't mean much,' House said. 'Oedipus had a better relationship with his pops than you did.'

'Give me a minute with him,' Chase asked.

House stood at the doorway with Cameron and Foreman when Chase went into the room. They held back, but left the door open a crack.

'Hi, Jamie,' Chase said quietly.

The sixteen year old turned his head to smile at Chase. 'Dr. Chase.'

'How are you feeling?'

'Fine. I keep telling you, it was just a bad fall. Unlucky break.' He grinned at the pun.

'I brought something for you.'

'Yeah?'

Chase nodded as he dropped a pile of leaflets on the bed.

Jamie's voice was tight as he lifted one up and waved it at Chase. 'What the hell? "Getting out and staying out?" – this is for women getting beaten up by their boyfriends. I fell. Why would you even...?'

'A friend of mine gave me those,' Chase answered simply. 'I told him that I had fallen too. He didn't believe me. He was right not to.'

'Because what, your ninety-pound girlfriend beat you up?' Jamie asked, looking pointedly at Cameron through the glass.

'Uh...no,' Chase corrected. 'My three-hundred pound boyfriend.'

House heard Cameron's sharp intake of breath. He didn't need to look at her to know that her hand was over her mouth. He looked at Foreman instead, to see his quieter form of shock.

House looked back in at Chase, unsure why he had chosen this way to reveal his big secret. He knew they were listening.

Jamie was looking at his hands on the bed. 'Were you a kid? I mean, was it your dad or something and you just want me to think...'

'No,' Chase answered. 'It was my boyfriend, and it stopped about two months ago.'

'You're just trying to get me to talk.'

'Nope,' Chase said. 'But if you want to, I'm not going anywhere.' Chase stretched his arms up with a sigh, ostensibly getting comfortable and giving Jamie a moment to collect himself. But House would be damned if Chase wasn't better at this than any of them had given him credit for. As he stretched, his shirt sleeves rolled down his wrists to reveal the patches of healing bruises up his arms.

'He's on the football team,' Jamie whispered. 'He's not...not gay, you know? But...'

'But he likes what can get from you.'

'It didn't start like that. I thought we were both just new at it. So I didn't care that it was secret, or even that it hurt, not at the beginning, I mean – they tell you that it hurts to start with, and it's not like I was going to complain...'

'But he liked it when you hurt. He liked it when you yelled or when you screamed.'

'He...he got rough. Not just rough like when guys mess around, but rough, rough.'

'And you ended up with fractures.'

'I didn't notice until I got home.'

'You were used to it hurting.' Chase's voice was more knowing than it had any right to be.

'Yeah,' Jamie admitted softly. 'So I just told Dad I had fallen down the stairs. But then they did some x-rays and it turned out that there was more than one break. And I couldn't...'

'It's okay. I get it. I'm just glad we know you're not sick.'

'You can tell them to let me out?'

'Yeah. But Jamie, you're going to have to tell your dad something. He's really worried about you.'

'You wouldn't...'

'No, of course I wouldn't. But we need to tell him something. And you'll need to get help. That's why I brought the leaflets. A lot of help-lines only get calls from men if they're the one doing the hitting. They don't know how to deal with a guy who needs help to get out. But these do. You need to stop it before you get really badly hurt.

'Did you... do you mind me asking... how did you do it?'

Chase sighed, and looked thoughtful. 'Why do you stay with him?'

'Umm...' Jamie started, looking confused, 'I guess I couldn't believe that he was even interested. He's a football player, and all the girls like him, and he was with me. I thought he would beat me up, or tell the whole school or something when he caught me looking at him, but he just...'

'It was like he loved you. Like it didn't matter how screwed up you were, because he cared enough to stick around. And the world made more sense for a little while, because someone else was in charge of it. And by the time you realised what was happening, you had stopped being able to tell the difference between kissing and bleeding.'

Jamie's eyes were wide. 'So how did you stop?'

Chase smiled, looking down. His voice was calm and clear. 'You saw my boss? Dr. House, the grumpy one with the limp.' He waved his hand in a way that was presumably meant to indicate a cane. 'He found out. He's the best diagnostician in the country, so that's not much of a surprise. But... he was scared. I've never seen him scared before, and he was scared for me. It hadn't... there's just me. My mum and dad are gone, and I've got no brothers or sisters. No one that would care. I hadn't thought that there was anyone that would care if ... Let alone him. But he was scared for me, and I didn't want to do that. I couldn't do that. So,' he sighed and the trance was broken, 'I have days when I want to go back, but most days I'm okay. Because there are always people that care about us, and we don't repay that by letting ourselves get hurt.'

'Can you... if I tell my dad, will you stay?'

'Sure,' Chase answered. He walked past them out of the room, not saying a word. When he brought Jamie's dad back into the room, he stayed beside the teenager. He curled one hand over the thin shoulder, lending the strength few people even realised he had.

Chase suffered their scrutiny with good grace. He smiled at Cameron's hesitant inquiries, and doled out information in small doses. He tolerated Foreman's repeated checks that he was going straight home, and went to bars with them when they asked. And he never mentioned House's continual watching, or the calls to check where he was that masqueraded as medical consults.

It had been three weeks since he had let his secret slip, and they were nearly getting to the point where they no longer watched themselves so carefully.

'Scat,' House instructed. He tapped Chase on the cheek with his cane to get him to leave the seat. Chase was given frequent reminders that this chair was House's chair but every time House came into the office, there he was.

'I'm not a dog, you know,' Chase observed mildly, hopping out of the chair to perch on the desk.

'Oh, you love it really,' House answered on reflex.

'Yup,' Chase said, 'being treated like a pet while my boss knocks me out is my idea of a fun working environment.'

If Chase hadn't been laughing, House might have thought harder before speaking. 'If you think that was me knocking you out, clearly I haven't been hitting you hard enough.' It was a testament to how much of a screw-up that statement was that House, who took back nothing, would have rewound those last few seconds had he been able to.

He looked around to meet Cameron's watery betrayed look, and Foreman's angry one. The two of them edged closer to Chase, silent between them. When Chase looked at him, there was no malice, but a little rueful acknowledgment. Foreman and Cameron still looked ready to punch him. Well, at least this had brought his ducklings together.

House walked to the side of the room and busied himself at the kettle, not speaking. Minutes later, he walked back with two red mugs, one for himself, and one for Chase. 'You two can make your own,' he snapped, while Chase looked at him in confusion.

A split-second later he was feeling the full force of one of Chase's head-down, half-there grins. The blonde head dipped down at the cup pointedly, and then up again to look at House. Cocoa and marshmallows.

'Dr Chase?' A nurse poked her head through the door. 'There's a man waiting for you in reception. Tom Woods?'

Even from the office, House could see Chase stiffen. 'Tell him to leave, please.'

'We tried. He says he has to see you, that it's important. He said...' she trailed off hesitantly. Idiot. They were trained to call security, but she had obviously decided that this was some kind of lover's tiff.

'I'll be right down,' Chase answered, sighing.

'Should you be doing that?' Foreman asked, recognising the name. A good question.

'I'm not going to...' Chase replied.

'I believe you, but I still think you should just call the police.'

'I need to see him.' Now Foreman was looking tense. Chase tried to placate him, 'If I'm not back in five minutes, you can come down and rescue me, okay?'

'Sure.'

'And...' Chase was halfway out the door when he went back and knelt beside Foreman at the table. He leaned in, speaking urgently. 'Tell House I didn't call him,' Chase pleaded, gripping Foreman's arm. 'Tell him...'

'I got it, man,' Foreman said, 'I'll tell him, I promise.'

'Tom.'

If Chase had expected House to bother waiting five minutes to come and find him, he was sorely mistaken. And as House had the sense to wait ten seconds for the elevator rather than running helter-skelter for the stairs, he made it there only a few seconds after Chase.

'Rob...' Tom answered, swaying drunkenly.

That was all Chase was going to allow him to say. 'If you come one step closer, I'm calling the police.'

'And tell them what?' Tom asked, sneering. 'Gonna call 911 and tell them that your big bad boyfriend came to pick you up after work? Or is Greg still riding you too hard to come home early?' He made a gesture showing his disbelief that their work was purely medical.

House's hand tightened on his cane.

Chase blushed, just a little. 'Classy, Tom. You're not making this very difficult.' He took out his cell. 'Leave, now, and I won't be calling the police to report you for domestic abuse.'

And Chase hadn't said those words before, but they came from his mouth as if this was a conversation he'd had in his head many times. When Tom stepped forward, face getting redder, Chase lifted the cell phone and dialed.

The next three things happened within a few seconds – Chase started speaking, Tom took a swing at him, and Chase took one back. By the time security arrived, Chase was on the ground clutching his ankle from an awkward fall, but Tom was bleeding from the mouth after Chase's one good hit. Tom was dragged away and House walked over to Chase. He didn't know whether his looming was protective or disapproving, but he didn't leave. Chase's harsh intakes of breath were the only sounds.