Disclaimer: Words are mine, characters are not.

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Chase knew something was awry when he came in for work that morning.

He had finished off the last of the coffee after hours of researching the previous evening. Despite the fact that the team could barely function without caffeine, Chase had failed to inform the others about their lack of coffee. And even though he had woken up hours before his alarm clock went off, the intensivist decided that buying coffee for the others just wasn't worth his extra time. Instead he stopped off at the nearest Dunkin' Donuts and purchased the largest available size of coffee for himself.

Foreman and Cameron will be babbling dipsticks without their coffee, Chase thought deviously as he blew smugly at his steaming beverage. It'll give me a chance to answer all the questions myself. Serves them right for leaving me with all that research.

Nodding a greeting to a group of nurses, Chase passed the front desk and stepped into the elevator. Upon reaching the floor of House's office, he stepped out, debating whether or not to chance a sip at his still-hot coffee, then deciding against it. The more I save for later is the more I get to drink in front of everyone else.

As he drew nearer to House's office, his pace slowed. There was an odd noise emanating from the doctor's office, some sort of peculiar beat. Chase was used to hearing music in House's office, but this was unusual, even for him. It was strange and ethnic sounding, perhaps bongo drums, pattering at a fevered pace that slowed and quickened sporadically. Judging by the kind of person House was, Chase took it to be dancing music, and that would be fine and dandy if House was capable of dancing.

The rapid pounding made Chase feel dizzy, and he tightened his grip on the Styrofoam cup that contained his sacred drink. Turning the corner, he could see House sitting on his desk, dressed all in black with a beret on his head. His attire, in addition to the surreal music, was an eyebrow raiser for Chase, who was wondering what House was trying to prove. He risked opening the door and interrupting whatever voodoo ceremony House was participating in.

The beat seemed to slow, becoming mellower as Chase entered the room. Before he had the chance to question House's motives, the older doctor's voice rang out dramatically, booming over the bongos. "Lab coats of white," House bellowed, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Stethoscopes of gray."

Chase's eyes went wide with confusion, and then even larger yet when they landed on the other two ducklings, who sat intrigued by House's poetry. "Research by night," House continued, slowly turning to acknowledge Chase with cold eyes, "and save lives by day."

"Such arduous tasks we are called to perform," House almost purred, his voice taking on a sadistic tone that made Chase shudder. "Runny noses to wipe, broken bones to reform."

"But these things become harder, I'm sure you'll agree..."

By now House had slid off his desk and was approaching Chase, who was pressed up against the wall, his head free of the boastful thoughts he had minutes earlier regarding his coffee. As if reading his mind, House's gaze shifted to the cup in Chase's trembling hand. "… when our brains become frazzled from lack of coffee."

Cameron and Foreman were on their feet and behind House now, their eyes ravenous as they too took notice of the coffee. "I'm sure you're aware that there's no coffee left," House growled. "He who finished the last of it thought he was deft."

"He thought he was clever," Cameron chimed in. "He thought he was quick."

"But now there are people sicker than sick," Foreman added.

"I cut off the wrong leg, but you cannot blame me," House said with a shrug. "Blame the man who drank the last of the coffee."

"I gave him her medicine, and her nothing at all," Cameron remarked just as apathetically. "But there was no coffee left, as you may recall."

"So if you're gonna blame someone, don't you dare blame her," Foreman warned.

"Blame that God-damned, infernal coffee-hogging cur!" they finished together.

By now Chase had plummeted to the floor, petrified with fear, as his team shot drastic accusations down at him. What he had originally thought to be House just giving a poetry reading in that charmingly random and weird way of his had turned into something very wrong. Their voices stopped suddenly and Chase, his head ducked under his arm, felt them tugging at his coffee. Suddenly a protective instinct flared up inside of him and he leapt up, clawing at all three of them at once while surprisingly keeping his hair in place and his coffee from spilling. "This is my coffee! Mine! Go buy your own if you're that desperate!"

Suddenly a voice jarred him out of his frantic thrashing. "Woah, hold up there, Teenage Mutant Ninja Wombat."

Chase blinked at the mess of papers spread across the floor. He was half-standing, stooped over the desk he had been researching at all night. "I know you absolutely love being in my office, since it's the next best thing to being near me, but I didn't think you loved it so much you'd spend the night."

Still blinking, Chase stared at the blurred image before him as it came into focus. House was smiling in a less than friendly way at him. "I also see you've drained us of our coffee, but-"

Chase felt his eyes go wide with fear. "I'll go right now and get us some!" he yelped, stumbling over the chair that had served as his bed for the night.

House watched as the Aussie fled the room in a panic. "Hmm," he muttered blandly. "I wonder what that was about. I mean," he continued, pulling out a few packets of instant coffee from his drawer, "it's not a severe coffee drought."

Still within earshot, Chase quickened his pace, his destination the closest coffee shop and then maybe afterwards, the psychiatric ward.