Author's Note:"You know, you're the second guy I've met today that seems to think a gat in the hand means the world by the tail." – from The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler
Disclaimer: I don't own House, M.D., nor its concepts, characters, and setting. I just love me some Dr. Chase.
Tension filled the conference room as the full complement of House's fellows, old and new, listened to the telephone ring.
"Joe's Bar and Grill," House's voice answered.
It's a joke to him, Chase thought silently. A gunman takes him and a bunch of other people hostage, and it's all okay because he isn't bored.
The self-appointed second in command of the Diagnostics Department stated aloud, "It's Foreman, and every fellow you've had in the last five years."
"What causes low lung volume, heart palpitations, fatigue, stomach pain, insomnia, and a rash?"
Oh, hell no. "This is pathetic," Chase snapped. "If I strap a bomb to my chest, do I get seven doctors attending to me?" He didn't normally engage in anger, but this was the outside of enough. Screw this #$%^.
House's voice from the telephone spoke aside to someone in Cuddy's office: "Dr. Robert Chase. On the off chance you have some brilliant escape plan and are the vengeful type."
Apparently, the last guy who'd shot House hadn't taught him anything. "Do you think he's the only guy in New Jersey with an unsolved illness and a pistol? I'm not playing this game."
As he stalked out the door, he heard House's voice saying, "Seriously? You're walking out?" So much for Americans not negotiating with terrorists. They should really think about amending their second amendment.
When it was all over, Cameron found him asleep on the couch in the doctors' lounge, still wearing scrubs. He looked exhausted, but it was time to go, so she shook his shoulder. "Chase, wake up."
Green eyes opened. He smiled. "Hi."
"The guy had melioidosis. He's gonna be okay. He's in custody."
The smile vanished. "I don't care what he had," Chase replied coldly.
Cameron bristled. "Do you care that he tested all the medications on Thirteen before he took them?"
He clearly did care about that, for his voice softened. "How is she?"
"She'll be okay after a week or so of dialysis. No thanks to you."
Long blond lashes swept down over the green eyes for a moment.
Why did men have such beautiful eyelashes? Cameron wondered.
Chase chose not to comment on her attempt to lay the blame at his door. "Anyone else hurt?"
"No." She stared at him hotly.
"You're angry that I left," he remarked, as she clearly wanted to talk about it. "Should I be angry that you stayed?"
She shrugged. "I guess we each had to do what we thought was right."
"If I had stayed up there, do you really think anything would have been different?"
"Maybe. We might have—"
"We were all there when that other guy shot House, and none of us was able to do anything."
Cameron frowned. "Okay. It's over. Let's go home."
"Can't."
"Can't what?"
"Leave."
"Why not? The shift's over."
He sighed and rubbed his face. "In the Surgery Department, we don't leave our messes for the next shift to clean up." It was clearly a quote.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm waiting to see if the guy is finally stable or if he needs a third surgery."
"What guy?"
It was Chase's turn to stare. "You're kidding. What guy do you think? The one your precious hostage taker shot."
Cameron gaped at him. "But House said that was just a flesh wound!" she exclaimed in surprise.
The blond eyebrows rose. "Oh, House examined the guy, did he? I wouldn't think he would have, since, funnily enough, this guy didn't think to bring a gun with him into the clinic!"
He thought about it. "Well, I reckon you could say it was a flesh wound in the sense that the Black Knight's amputated arm is just a flesh wound." He sat up and started moving his neck and shoulders to get out the kinks acquired from sleeping on the couch.
He wondered if he should tell Cameron that her senior resident in the E.R. had paged him frantically looking for her. What good would it do? It wouldn't stop her from running to House any time she thought he needed her.
Instead, he explained, "When they got him to the E.R., he was in hypovolemic shock. There wasn't much blood to be seen on his leg or hip, but unfortunately, this guy has an aberrant obturator artery, and there was iliac artery involvement as well. A lot of internal hemorrhaging. A lot. Two hematomas had to be evacuated. We transfused the best part of eight units of blood into the guy. We couldn't even do it all in one go. We had to stop and stabilize him, then bring him back in to work on him some more." He ran his hands through his already tousled blond locks. God, he'd bled like a stuck pig, except internally.
Cameron was at last looking concerned. "Is he gonna be okay?"
"I dunno. I hope so, and not just 'cause I'd like to go home."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry, Robert."
"What for?"
"I was angry you left, I thought—I thought you were refusing to help in a crisis, but—"
He laughed. "Helping in a crisis is the job. I just didn't want to help the guy who caused the crisis."
