REWIND...part 8
Nearly a week skittered by and Chase figured out various ways to keep everyone off his back. He allowed Cameron to fuss over him every morning, simply smiling in reaction and thanking her. By day four she had mostly backed off. Foreman never bothered him anyway, so that one was easy. Cuddy had finally gotten off his back and House was simply House. He tormented Chase, needled him, taunted him and was downright nasty to him at times, all of which felt comfortably familiar. Although there were times when House would watch Chase with an intensity that seemed to sear his skin. That's when he would find something to do, elsewhere.
Wilson, however, seemed to feel a sudden need to bond with Chase. At unexpected times he would suddenly appear. Like when Chase would take a quick break in the cafeteria. Since he ran during lunch it meant he skipped eating, so a couple of hours later he would dash off for some fruit and Gatorade and find Wilson sitting down at his table in the corner. Wanting to chat.
Today he was all about relationships.
"I think I need to go into therapy," Wilson blurted out, as he fiddled with his coffee cup.
"Therapy?" Chase echoed, feeling one eyebrow rise up to meet his bangs. "For what?" At least the conversation was geared away from himself and he was actually a bit curious at this point. Although the whole thing was probably some kind of trap, because Chase was beginning to suspect that, whatever it was Wilson was doing by dogging him of late, House was behind it in some way. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing to be around House.
Wilson sighed. "I met this woman, a blond. She's a dancer."
Chase felt both eyebrows climb. "What kind of dancer?"
"Exotic." Wilson sighed then took a sip of his coffee, making a face at it.
"Exotic," Chase repeated, and he was glad he wasn't drinking something because he most definitely would have choked. At Wilson's nod he prompted, "So how did you meet her?" What he really wanted to know was where, because he really couldn't picture Wilson at a strip club.
Scrubbing a hand over a face that looked gray with fatigue, Wilson replied, "At the bank."
Chase was now thoroughly confused. "She was dancing at the bank?"
"No...no no!" Wilson looked alarmed and waved his hands in denial. "She works at the bank as a clerk. By day. She dances at night. She's working on her PhD in Electrical Engineering."
"That's rather impressive," Chase replied. "So...she dances to make money for school?" It was a rather obvious guess.
Wilson nodded. "Right. But she really likes the dancing, prefers it to the bank job and makes three times as much money at it."
Chase thought that made sense. "So...what's the problem? Is she married already?"
"Recently divorced." Wilson looked glum.
"Sounds like you have a lot in common." That came out before Chase could stop it and he winced at the awkward silence that filled up between them.
Then Wilson looked up and smiled. "You sound just like House."
Chase wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But one thing for certain, he was still confused about this entire conversation. "Why are you telling me all this?" he queried, with genuine interest in the reply.
"Because I'm evoking the confidentiality clause I think we have going between us," Wilson replied. "I keep your privacy, you keep mine."
"So you haven't told House about the new woman in your life," Chase said, as comprehension dawned.
Wilson shook his head, looking miserable. "The thing is, I really like her. She's independent and funny and beautiful. She's not interested in getting married again, but she's all for a serious relationship."
Chase couldn't help but be amused, although he was a bit uncomfortable being privy to what he considered Wilson's private life. "Well, she might be the perfect woman for you then," he stated. "I mean, keep you from running off and getting married again." And that might have been a rather uncouth thing to say, but Chase never pretended to be up on social graces or form and policy. He was a mess when it came to how relationships worked. Mainly because people could never be trusted to do what they were supposed to do. Himself included.
"Good point," Wilson conceded. He pushed aside his coffee cup, locked eyes with Chase and asked, "How are things with you?"
"Fine." Standard answer and Chase would stick to it. He knew, however, that Wilson was asking about him and Vanessa and now he was pretty certain House was behind it. Grabbing his bottle of Gatorade, Chase rose from his seat. "Break's over," he announced. "It was nice chatting with you." That said, he turned and walked away, but he could feel Wilson watching him go.
OoO
Because nothing good ever lasts, Chase wasn't all that surprised when Vanessa went back to drinking heavily. She was finally off her prescription pain killers and that very night she wanted to celebrate with dinner and her favorite bottle of wine. Two of them, in fact. Chase had a hell of a time getting her into bed that night and he was grateful that she passed out on him before she could get his shirt unbuttoned.
Stripping it off, he changed into running clothes and hit the road. He ran for over an hour, coming back and grabbing a banana and chugging down some Gatorade before checking on Vanessa then hitting the shower. He swallowed a sleeping pill, crawled into bed, took a moment to set the alarm a bit earlier than usual so he could take a longer run before work, then he closed his eyes and recited prayers in his head until he fell asleep.
Morning was the usual routine, only his run was delayed when Vanessa woke up puking. Chase got her into the bathroom before she hurled, holding her hair back until she was done then guiding her over to the sink to rinse her mouth. He ended up having to steady her while she relieved her bladder, then he helped her strip off her sweat soaked night shirt to trade it for one that was clean and dry. She was staggering by the time they exited the bathroom and he ended up carrying her back to bed.
"Don't leave me, Robbie," Vanessa pleaded, gripping his forearm with both hands.
"I have to go to work," Chase replied, even as he stretched out on top of the covers. "But I'll lay with you for a moment." Luckily it didn't take her long to fall back to sleep, and Chase slipped away from her, changed into running clothes and headed out.
He had to cut his run a bit short, and his stomach felt off so he only managed two bites of his toast before hitting the shower. He got dressed, kissed a sleeping Vanessa on the cheek then paused at the corner desk to leave her a note that he'd be home late. Case or not, Chase didn't feel up to dealing with her drinking tonight.
Or the next night. He got lucky that time, in that he didn't have to make up an excuse for Vanessa. Their patient coded and Chase spent the night with her in ICU. By the time he came home the next morning, having been sent off by House with instructions not to come back until he slept for at least eight hours, Vanessa was already gone.
Chase didn't sleep for eight hours, but a sleeping pill gave him a decent six. He went for a run, showered then returned to work. House had already figured out what was wrong with their patient and she was being treated so there was nothing for Chase to do. No new case. To keep himself busy he offered to do House's clinic hours. After those were done he went to Cuddy and volunteered for a half shift in ICU. She was understaffed and happily accepted.
And so went the pattern of Chase's days for the next week. With it he was able to justify avoiding Vanessa. She called him, of course, paging him several times a day and sounding drunk pretty much every time he called her back. She was stinking drunk and waiting for him Sunday night. Not his usual work day but Chase had done a shift in NICU just to have a reason not to be home.
"Who is she?" Vanessa demanded, the moment he walked in the door. She had been sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, waiting for him, a bottle of vodka, mostly empty, clutched in one hand.
"Who are you talking about?" Chase replied, evening out his tone so that it was soft and soothing. He didn't blow her off because he knew that never worked with a drunk. He had to shift himself into neutral to keep her from getting more riled up and out of control. He was a pro at doing that, thanks to his mother.
Vanessa got up, limping towards him. "That bitch you're sleeping with!" she spat. "What's her name? Is she pretty?"
Chase didn't react when she got in his face. If he let her rant a bit and just kept calm himself, she would eventually wind down. "There's no woman," he said softly. "No one but you."
"LIAR!" Vanessa slapped him hard across the face. Hard enough to jerk his head back.
"I'm not lying," Chase replied, not letting the slap affect him. He simply looked at her and waited.
Vanessa took another swig of Vodka. "I'm not an idiot!" She snarled. "I bet she's younger, isn't she? Is she blond? A brunette?"
Chase shook his head. "There's no one," he repeated. "I was working."
"It's Sunday!" Vanessa shook a finger at him. "You don't work on Sundays!"
"I do sometimes," Chase reminded her, because his schedule was based more on patient needs than anything else. And it wasn't as if he was lying to Vanessa. She didn't need to know that he wanted time away from her. It wasn't about her anyway, it was about what he needed to deal with things. He just wasn't overly clear about what it was he needed to deal with, nor did he want to dwell on it.
Vanessa stared at him, eyes wide and glassy and shimmering with disbelief. "You bastard!" She cried, then she was swinging the vodka bottle at his head.
Instinct gave Chase fast reflexes. Instinct and past experience, so he threw up his left arm to block the hit and the blunt end of the bottle nailed him in the forearm. Hard enough to make him hiss in pain, but he still had enough wits about him to grab the bottle from Vanessa with his good hand. The left hand felt numb from where the bottle connected with the bone. Something similar to hitting your funny bone and feeling pins and needles for a bit.
"Robbie...oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Vanessa seemed to realize what she had done and she released the bottle to him without a fight. She then reached for his arm, but backed off when he flinched away from her.
"It's okay," Chase told her, setting the vodka bottle down and moving to her when she collapsed to her knees and began rocking and crying. He hugged her to him with his good arm, cradling the sore arm to his chest. "Let's get you to bed, okay?" He spoke softly and soothingly, as one might to a terrified animal. He was grateful when she rose to her feet as he tugged her up. His arm was throbbing and he doubted he could have carried her up the stairs at the moment.
Once in the bedroom, Vanessa started crying again in earnest. She was begging for his forgiveness as he tucked her into bed. "I'm so sorry, Robbie. I never meant to hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you..."
Chase smoothed the tears from her cheeks and smiled, trying to hide his pain. "I know," he whispered. "I know you wouldn't hurt me intentionally. It's okay." He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, then he pulled the covers over her. "Get some sleep now. I'll come to bed soon." He waited until she had closed her eyes and curled up into a ball. She was still trembling with dry sobs, but after a time they eased as her body relaxed into slumber.
Rising to his feet, Chase bit his lip as the movement jarred his arm. He knew he was going to have a bone bruise without having to look at it. But once in the bathroom he shrugged out of his shirt, cursing himself for not wearing his suit jacket home. It would have provided some padding, but it happened to be a warm night so he'd left his jacket in the car. Pushing aside such idle thoughts, Chase studied his injury.
It was red and already swelling, and the contact point was about two inches above his elbow, directly on the bone. Flexibility was limited and there was still a sense of numbness. Reaching for the Tylenol, Chase popped three down then headed for the shower. He wanted to run but he knew he wouldn't be able too. Showering made his arm throb more so after he was done, dried and dressed in boxers and a tee-shirt, Chase headed to the kitchen for an ice pack. He kept a few in the freezer, usually for Vanessa's headaches, but he hoped they'd offer him some relief from the swelling.
Returning to the bedroom, Chase grabbed a towel before sliding under the covers on his side. Vanessa was still out for the count and she didn't stir as Chase reached over her for the remote. He was exhausted but jittery because of missing his run, and he wished he could take a sleeping pill, but knew he couldn't because he would be popping Tylenol and Ibuprofen all night. So he clicked on the TV and settled himself in for a long night, his throbbing arm propped on his stomach with the ice pack. It was three am before he drifted into a restless slumber.
OoO
He woke up feeling groggy and lethargic, pain throbbing in his arm and in his temples. He hadn't slept well between the pain and anxiety that plagued him. Chase felt jumpy and out of sorts even though he lacked the energy to respond accordingly. He slid out of bed to use the bathroom, taking the now warm ice pack with him. He checked his arm and winced to see the bruise that had already formed. He poked at the injury, hissing in pain. It was still swollen and sore but there was nothing he could do for it but let it heal. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't be able to run today. Not that he had the balance to do so. He felt too tired to see straight. But oddly enough, he hadn't really dreamed beyond a few hazy images of his mother floating around in his head.
Stripping off his t-shirt and boxers, Chase stepped into the shower. Using his left arm was painful, but he did what he had to do. Just like always. Getting dressed wasn't much fun either, but he managed it and was able to check on Vanessa before slipping out of the room. He didn't want to be there when she woke up and remembered what she had done. His mom had always remembered hurting him at the worst moments. There were always tears and pleas for forgiveness that had made Chase feel broken and angry at the same time. Angry at her. Then that anger would twist itself into guilt for blaming his mother for any of it. She hadn't asked for what had happened, anymore than he had.
Shrugging off such thoughts as useless and adding to his headache, Chase drove off to work. He swallowed Tylenol along with what felt like gallons of coffee, all of which roiled about in his otherwise empty stomach. Just the thought of food today made him want to retch.
Cuddy had brought them a patient, so they conferenced, ran tests and Chase plodded through the day with no intention of going home any time soon. He ignored the half a dozen pages Vanessa sent and just kept focused on his work. Until Cameron accidentally bumped into his sore arm and Chase felt the blood drain from his face. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out in pain and had to grip the counter to stay on his feet when dizziness washed over him. He didn't think anyone had noticed.
But House had. He continued arguing a point with Foreman, but his sharp gaze never flickered off of Chase. Then he was spouting orders at Cameron, who hadn't even noticed Chase's reaction, and at Foreman, sending both of them out of the room.
Chase made to follow after them but House blocked his way. He backed up and glared at his boss.
"I didn't say you could leave," House drawled.
"You sent us to run tests," Chase countered, resisting the urge to cradle his arm to his chest; leaving it dangling at his side made it hurt more. But he could endure it. Another minute of arguing with House and he'd be off to help the others with the labs and such.
House arched and eyebrow and looked somewhat amused. "I sent them to run tests," he stated. "I didn't mention your name."
Chase resisted the urge to huff a sigh. "Fine then. What do you want me to do?"
"Show me your arm."
The words hit Chase like a slap in the face. "Excuse me?" he countered, even as he took an unwitting step back.
House followed him. "Your arm," he repeated, eyeing Chase like a predator who'd caught his prey and was about to pounce. "I want to see it."
"Why?" He couldn't have made a more lame response if he tried and Chase knew it, but he still glared defiance at House. How the hell did the man know? Obvious answer being he had been watching Chase, but why? Why was he always watching?
"Focus, Goldilocks," House said, while snapping his fingers in front of Chase's face. Then he was reaching out, one hand gripping Chase's wrist while the long fingers of his other hand were undoing the buttons at Chase's shirt sleeve cuff.
Too late he thought to pull back and all he achieved was causing himself pain when House refused to release him. Then he found himself pushed down into a chair, at which point Chase just gave in. It was too late to hide the truth anyway. He said nothing but gritted his teeth as House poked and prodded the injury.
Tutting to himself, House announced, "Bone bruise. Bad one."
"No kidding!" Chase snapped, and instantly regretted his outburst. For one thing it gave away too much. For another, House could use his anger against him. For a third, shouting made his head hurt worse.
"So what happened?" House asked, as he limped over to the mini fridge. It had a miniscule freezer compartment and Chase watched, more than a little surprised, when House removed an ice pack from it and came back to press it over Chase's arm.
Gripping it to keep it in place, Chase took a moment to enjoy the relief. It would be temporary as hell, but it was still welcome. After a moment he focused on the question and had a ready answer. "I tripped and fell."
House nodded. "While running?"
"Yes." Chase had hesitated over agreeing to that, but he really didn't have a choice with House watching him so intently.
"You see, here's my theory," House countered, moving to sit in the chair across from Chase. "I think Vanessa whacked you one with a vodka bottle."
Chase felt himself tensing and suddenly wondering if House had a spy at the manor, or maybe had managed to install video cameras when they weren't around. But he realized that this was nothing more than House hypothesizing the scenario that would freak Chase out the most. He'd be damned if he let it work this time. Sucking in a calming breath, Chase breezily replied, "You're wrong."
House chuckled at that, but the look in his eyes wasn't amusement. Chase couldn't pinpoint what it was, but then the laughter faded and House was leaning forward. "You shouldn't lie to yourself, Chase. Lie to everyone else, sure...but not to yourself."
"Whatever," Chase replied, because he really did not have the energy to debate with House right now.
"What are you taking for the pain and swelling?" House suddenly asked.
Chase was surprised by the question but answered readily enough. "Tylenol and Ibuprofen."
Reaching into his jacket pocket, House removed his prescription pad and scribbled something on two pages of it. "Get these filled then go home." He handed off the little squares of white paper then rose to his feet.
"I'm not going home," Chase replied, absently, as he stared at the prescriptions. He thought he might get them filled because House had prescribed an anti-inflammatory and a stronger pain reliever.
"You like the pain, don't you?" House was suddenly back in Chase's face. "Does it help assuage all your Catholic guilt? Is that why you're with Vanessa? Penance? Can't be for the money and you could have any young and gorgeous chick you wanted. Hell, half the nurses here would sell their souls for the chance of one night with you. So that has to be it." He trailed off as if pondering his own words for the moment. Then he looked triumphant and nodded. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you're with Vanessa. Penance. You couldn't save mom and you know damn well you can't save Vanessa, but you picked a winner, Chase. She's killing you slowly. Death without it being suicide so you won't be committing any sin and therefore you won't rot in hell when you're gone."
Chase stared at House in disbelief. The man looked obscenely smug and Chase wanted nothing more than to slug him. "You're talking rubbish," Chase replied, making himself speak softly and calmly. "I don't like pain and I'm not trying to die, slowly or otherwise."
House sighed. "What did I tell you about lying to yourself?"
"Stay out of my personal life!" Chase snapped, losing his temper after all. He made to get up but House blocked him with his cane.
"I'm trying to help you." House both looked and sounded serious.
But Chase didn't want his help. "You're and addict," he shot back, locking eyes with House and seeing the blue eyes darken in reaction to his words. "You can't even help yourself. So leave me alone." With his good hand Chase knocked the cane aside, rose to his feet and exited the room.
He walked down the hallway, focusing on keeping his breathing even. He felt jittery and nauseous and his head was pounding. He made it to the elevator and hit the down button. The moment he hit the next floor he was running for the nearest bathroom. Falling to his knees inside the stall, he didn't pray for forgiveness as he heaved his guts out. He prayed for relief.
OoO
The moment Chase left, House headed for Wilson's office. He knocked but didn't wait to be invited in. Wilson was on the phone and he glanced up when House entered and didn't seem the least bit surprised when the phone was plucked out of his hand and dropped back into the cradle.
"Let me guess," Wilson began, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin as if in deep contemplation. "You're here to talk about Chase?"
"You should put out a sign," House shot back. "Five bucks for a psychic reading. You'll make a killing." He dropped into the chair across from his friend, stretching out his bad leg and rubbing at his damaged thigh. He needed another Vicodin but he wanted to be focused at the moment. "You need to talk to Chase," he announced.
Wilson sighed. "We've been chatting and he's not revealing anything to me. He's just...polite. He listens to me ramble on then escapes as soon as he can."
House glared at his friend. "Then make him talk! You're good at it."
"Actually, I suck at it," Wilson countered. "What happened?" he asked, because it was obvious something had.
"Chase got whacked by Vanessa," House replied, lifting one hand to rub at his temples. "And by whacked I don't mean snuffed out. I mean she hit him, probably with a vodka bottle."
Wilson looked stunned. "Chase told you that?"
House rolled his eyes. "No!" he snapped. "But he has a bone bruise on his forearm, right in the place you would get one if you threw your arm up to protect yourself from being whacked in the head with a vodka bottle. And you might have noticed he's been avoiding going home nights for almost a week now."
"I have noticed that," Wilson allowed.
"So talk to him," House prompted, and he really wanted Wilson to jump right up and go have a chat with Chase. Like right now. But the other man just sat behind his desk, staring at him. People could be so very very frustrating some times. He wondered why he bothered with them. "Now would be good," he emphasized.
Wilson shook his head. "House...he's not going to talk to me. He's not going to talk to any of us. In case you haven't noticed, Chase has trust issues?"
House feigned dramatic shock. "Really? OMG! I hadn't noticed!" He glared at Wilson then pushed to his feet. "Maybe he'll talk to Cameron."
"He slept with Cameron, so forget that. It's not like they're friends." Wilson tapped his fingertips on his desk top, suddenly looking deep in thought. "He was talking to Cuddy for a while, maybe he'll..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind, bad idea. He already admitted to me that he just told her what she wanted to hear."
"Maybe I'll go talk to Vanessa," House decided, already heading for the door. But Wilson didn't have a limp to slow him down and he cut House off.
Leaning back against the door to keep House from it, Wilson stated, "Bad idea. Very very bad idea. Besides which, you don't have proof that Vanessa hit Chase. And even if she did she was probably drunk at the time and didn't realize what she was doing."
House was stunned and let it show. "So it's okay that she's beating on him because she was drunk at the time? I wonder if that's how mommy dearest justified it."
"What makes you think Chase's mother ever hit him?" It was Wilson's turn to be stunned again. "I think your imagination is running wild, House. You need to stop watching General Hospital."
"Drunks always get violent," House replied. "And in his desire to help mommy, do you really doubt the fact that young Robbie didn't get a few whacks for his troubles?"
Wilson scrubbed a weary hand over his face then locked eyes with House. "Whatever you decide to do, base your actions on facts...not assumptions. Chase is damaged enough, don't do something stupid and break him in the process."
House scowled at Wilson. The man needed to buy a clue. "Of course I won't break him. If I did I'd have to do interviews again. You know I hate them." With that he reached out and pushed Wilson aside so he could stride out the door as fast as his limp would take him.
He went in search of Chase who was back in the conference room, with test results from Cameron. Then Foreman showed up, they conferenced and Chase headed out for clinic duty, before House could stop him. So in the end he let it go. For now. But he watched Chase like a hawk.
OoO
Wilson couldn't get House's words out of his head. House was seldom wrong about things. He was an irritatingly good judge of people, so maybe he was right about Vanessa. Which had him heading off in search of Chase instead of going home at the end of the day.
He found Chase in ICU and hauled him away for a break. He decided it was time to be painfully honest. "House is worried about you." Wilson was a bit worried himself. Chase looked pale and drawn and he was cradling his left arm to his chest.
"He should stop," Chase replied, being completely succinct.
"Probably," Wilson allowed, then he withdrew a packet of small white tablets. He pushed held them out to Chase. "Take one for the pain," he ordered.
Chase stared at the tablets, then he popped one out and swallowed it dry. "Thanks." He looked ready to walk away.
So Wilson cut him off by blurting out, "How is Vanessa doing?"
"She's been better," Chase replied, and he looked surprised at himself for the admission.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Wilson prompted, hiding the fact that he was just as surprised by Chase's reply.
But Chase shook his head. "No, I don't. I know House asked you to talk to me..." he began.
Wilson cut him off. "He did, but I'm evoking the doctor-patient thingy. Anything you say to me will remain between us, Chase. I swear it."
"There's nothing to say," Chase replied, looking jittery. They were at a corner table in the cafeteria and Chase had one leg jiggling up and down without seeming to be aware of it. "All couples go through rough patches. We'll work it out."
"Sometimes you can't," Wilson replied, and he knew that from experience. Three wives and he struck out at the marriage thing with all of them.
Chase was staring down at his hands, which were loosely clasped on the table. After a long moment he began to talk in a quiet voice, almost as if he had forgotten Wilson was there and he was just doing a string of consciousness type of rambling. Like he was just sorting things out in his head. "When you love someone you don't give up on them. You take care of them. Sometimes your love isn't good enough, but that doesn't mean you can stop trying. You just have to try harder. It's not their fault when you fail."
It hit Wilson, like a sledgehammer to his gut, that Chase was talking about his mother. Maybe even his father. That Chase was saying his love wasn't good enough. Or maybe he was just taking a page out of the House book of projecting, putting forth his own hypothesis, but Wilson was pretty sure Chase was making his own form of confession. "Love is a two way street, Chase," he replied. "Sometimes we're not the ones who fail."
"I suppose," Chase replied, then he shook his head and looked up at Wilson. His eyes were glazed and he pushed to his feet with a weariness that looked bone deep. "I have to get back to work." With that he slipped away.
"Dammit," Wilson muttered, as he got up himself. He couldn't talk about this with House, but he could tell him he needed to keep close watch on Chase. Wilson had no doubt that the Aussie was going to crash and burn. And that it was going to be soon.
THE END...of part 8