REWIND...part 13
Going home was harder than he had expected. Maybe, in part, because Vanessa's house had never really felt like Home to Chase. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't lived anywhere yet that felt like home. The closest he had come to that feeling was when he as at PPTH, and how sad a fact was that?
"Chase?"
He jerked at the sound of Wilson's voice and turned his head to find the man watching him with a concerned look on his face. Chase hadn't even realized Wilson had pulled up to the front of the house and turned off the car. "Can we sit here a minute?" he asked. He wasn't ready to go inside just yet.
Wilson nodded. "Just so you know..." He paused and seemed hesitant to continue.
"Just so I know, what?" Chase prompted, wondering if Wilson had more bad news to impart. Not that he could think of anything else that could happen.
"Vanessa's things have been packed up," Wilson blurted out. At Chase's surprised look he hastened to explain. "House talked to her lawyer."
Chase was pissed to hear that. "Why would he do that? And how did he get the number?"
Wilson winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a headache. "I don't know the details, you'll have to confront House about it some time. But I do know that Vanessa had it prearranged for her personal belongings to be packed and then picked up by Good Will. Which is sending a truck over tomorrow. They'll come while we're at the funeral."
"I see." Chase didn't exactly, but it didn't seem all that important right now.
"There's also this." Wilson withdrew a sealed envelope from his inside jacket pocket and held it out to Chase.
He stared at it blankly for a moment, then he reached out with a hand that trembled slightly. He almost pulled his hand back, not wanting to take it, but after a moment Chase closed his fingers over the envelope then he simply held it in his lap.
Wilson watched him for a moment then asked, "Do you want to go inside now?"
"No." Chase felt tension throb in his temples and he knew a headache was gearing up. He kept staring at the envelope though, trying to imagine what was inside.
"Do you want me to give you a moment alone?" Wilson looked uncomfortable as he asked, and one hand was already on the door handle.
After a moment of consideration, Chase shook his head. He liked his privacy, but at the same time he felt a sudden reluctance to be alone. Not knowing what the content of the letter was set off flares of panic inside of Chase. If he was alone he might give in to the panic, but with Wilson there he'd be able to maintain a detached facade. He was good at putting up shields and keeping them intact whenever people were watching. "You can stay," he said softly.
Wilson nodded. "Okay." He made a show of relaxing back into the driver's seat, but he looked a bit unhappy. After a moment of heavy silence, he gestured to the letter in Chase's hand. "Maybe you should read that."
"I guess." He stared at the envelope, recognizing Vanessa's handwriting as he stared at his name on it. After a moment he ripped it open and pulled out a single piece of paper. Vanessa's personal stationary. Chase closed his eyes for a moment to settle his nerves, then he unfolded it and began reading.
Hello, beautiful.
To start, this is the final draft of a letter I started writing about six weeks after we met. You took my breath away the moment I first laid eyes on you, and for a while I was enamored by your beauty. But then I got to know you, as much as you let anyone know you, and I fell in love. As much as I know how to fall in love.
We're both damaged, Robbie. I accepted it in myself years ago, but then you came along and you wanted to save me. We both knew you couldn't, but it was enough for me that you wanted to try. No one else has bothered to do even that in a long time. I loved every minute of our time together, even though I knew it wouldn't last. I knew you couldn't save me and that I didn't have it in me to save myself.
I didn't give back what you gave to me. There was nothing inside of me to give. So I'm doing the next best thing and leaving you my shares of my business. Don't panic, my partner will run things for you while you reap the benefits. Also, my lawyer will contact you and explain everything at some point.
I signed over both houses to you. I want you to stay in the house here in New Jersey, but if you don't want to then feel free to sell. Feel free to change whatever you like as well. And if you decide to sell the beach house in Hawaii, at least go there first. I wish we could have gone together, but at least this way you can go and make new memories for yourself. Make them good ones, Robbie. You deserve them.
I have a lot of things, all of which I've left to you. The personal items will be disposed of. I doubt you'll have use for my clothes and make up and such. I hope that made you smile. You have a gorgeous smile, Robbie. Use it more. Find a reason too. I couldn't be saved, but you have the strength to save yourself. Do whatever it takes.
Find someone who loves you for you, because that's what you did for me and it made me happier than I can ever remember being. I had a good life and you made it better. Make a good life of your own, Robbie.
Love Vanessa.
Reaching the end of the letter, Chase folded it back up and stuffed it in the envelope, which he then crumpled in one hand. He wished he could jump out of the car and go for a run right now. A long run with endless miles stretching out before him and no need to turn back until he was ready. Until his body burned itself out. But he couldn't do that anymore, not with Wilson as his watch dog.
"Chase?" Wilson sounded worried.
He turned his head. "I'm fine. We can go in now." Chase reached for the door handle.
Wilson touched his shoulder to stop him. "Do you mind my asking what was in the letter?"
"Vanessa left me her shares of her business and her properties." Chase could hear how monotone his reply was and how his voice echoed hollowly in his ears. He felt hollow inside right at this moment. But he managed a sharp smile as he pointed at the house. "Apparently I own it now."
"Wow." Wilson looked surprised. "Guess that makes you doubly rich now."
Chase frowned as he replied, "I'm not rich, my dad was rich." He had figured Wilson would have known that. That House would have told him. Then again, House didn't seem to believe Chase when he told him that. "Guess I am rich now though."
Wilson nodded, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else right now. To that end he opened his door and stepped out of the car.
Thankfully, Chase followed. He moved to the trunk of the car and said, "I'll help you bring your stuff in."
"I can handle it," Wilson replied, as he opened the trunk. Inside were several suitcases and a clothing bag.
Chase was already reaching inside for one of the cases. "I can help," he insisted, because he was tired of being treated like he was sick and fragile.
Wilson seemed to catch on because he simply nodded and reached for a bag himself. "I can get the rest later," he said, closing the hood.
"Fine." Chase turned and headed for the front door. He waited for Wilson to catch up. "Do you know if the servants are still here?"
"From what House told me they're still employed." Wilson watched Chase closely as he replied. "I'm sure Vanessa's lawyer will have all the details."
Chase figured the same thing. He rather wanted to be alone, but he didn't want the housekeeper and the others to be unemployed either. Mainly he just didn't' want to deal with any of this right now. He lifted his free hand to rub his right temple.
Wilson was watching. "Headache?"
"Not really," Chase lied. He was reaching into his pocket for his key when the door opened.
"Welcome back, Dr. Chase," said the Housekeeper. She stepped back to let him in.
Chase mustered a smile. "Thank you, Maggie. We have a house guest. Make up any room he wants and please move my things to the room at the end of the hall." Chase had no intention of sleeping in the bed he had shared with Vanessa. He didn't really want to set foot in that room ever again. Too many painful memories were trapped there.
Maggie nodded, her eyes moving to Wilson then back. "Yes, Sir. I'll take care of that straight away." She nodded again then strode off.
"You can leave your bags here," Chase said, setting down the one he was holding. "Would you like something to drink?"
"No, I'm good," Wilson replied. He put the case he was holding down and said, "You know your way around servants."
Chase shrugged. "We had them when I was growing up." Since there was nothing more to say on that subject, he wandered off into the drawing room. Nothing had changed in the house, and yet everything was different. Chase knew it was himself that was different. The house empty in a way he hadn't expected. He hadn't loved Vanessa in the way she deserved to be loved, but she had become a part of who he was. Now that she was gone he wasn't sure who to be anymore.
Wilson followed him into the room, turning in a slow circle as he surveyed his surroundings. "This is a nice room."
"I suppose." Chase hadn't thought about it. The house in its entirety was expensively decorated with the intent of making it appear homey. At least that was Vanessa had told him before stating just how much it cost to have done and then bitching about the decorator's bad attitude and love of crushed red velvet. Chase remembered laughing over that conversation and how much younger Vanessa had looked when she smiled. Younger and prettier and full of life.
And now she was dead. Chase still hadn't wrapped his mind around that one. Much like when his mother had died. For months he'd kept expecting her to walk through the door. When she'd been alive he never knew what her mood would be. Sometimes she'd be happy and loving, other times she'd be angry and hurtful, even hitting him on occasion. But Chase had understood and never held it against her. He had simply learned to adjust to whatever mood she was in to make things easier for them both.
"Did Vanessa play the piano?" Wilson asked. He had walked over and was running a fingertip over the glossy side of it.
"No." Chase moved to the window, only now noticing how dark it had gotten. He moved to turn on the side lamp, filling the room with a soft golden glow.
Wilson was watching him again. "Do you play?"
Chase didn't think, he simply answered the question. "A bit."
"Maybe you could play for me later," Wilson requested.
"Maybe," Chase allowed. He had no intentions of doing so, but it was easier to be agreeable.
Wilson narrowed his gaze at him, looking like he had something he wanted to say, but then he glanced at his watch. "It's supper time. You need to eat."
Chase wasn't the least bit hungry, but he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. It was why Wilson was here. "The kitchen's this way."
"You cook?" Wilson sounded curious.
"If I have too." Chase had learned to cook from his mother. During some of her more sober moments. He had enjoyed just being with her then. But he shook the memory aside and went to the fridge. He knew the place was always well stocked because Vanessa had the housekeeper do the shopping.
Wilson followed Chase over to the fridge and peered inside. "I'm a fair cook. Looks like you have the stuff for omelets and toast. Sound good to you?"
Chase made a face. "Not really, but make whatever you want."
"Eggs and toast are light enough they shouldn't bother your stomach," Wilson replied, as he nudged Chase out of the way and reached for the egg carton.
"There's nothing wrong with my stomach!" Chase snapped, and he was angry with himself for getting angry. There was no sense in repeating himself. Everyone believed he had a problem. Everyone was wrong.
Wilson cocked an eyebrow as he set the eggs on the counter then reached for the milk. "Glasses?" he asked. When Chase pointed to the cupboard over the sink, he moved to it and took two glasses out. Then he filled them with milk and handed one to Chase.
Since he couldn't really win no matter what he said or did, Chase accepted the glass. He took a long swallow, resisting the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Wilson when the man grinned at him. Instead he asked, "Anything you need me to do?"
"You can make the toast in a few minutes," Wilson replied. He set about getting familiar with the kitchen, seeking out pans and utensils and such. "Are we eating in here?"
"Dining room is too big," Chase replied, which was his way of saying yes.
Wilson nodded. "Then you can set the table."
Moving to the proper cupboard, Chase took down two plates. There were three patterns to choose from and he found himself using the one Vanessa didn't like. They were a deep red color and he actually liked them himself. Setting the plates on the table, he then grabbed silverware and napkins. That done he sat down and watched Wilson at the stove. Chase made it a point to drink his milk just to prove a point. More to himself than to Wilson really. He wasn't sick and he didn't need anyone watching over him. But like always in his life, Chase knew he would have to prove it. He could do that. He was always doing that anyway. Over and over again. Especially with House.
Idly drawing patterns on the frost that coated the cold glass, Chase thought about House. How the man was always pushing him to prove himself. His father had done the same thing to him, only in a different way. House did it to entertain himself, Rowan Chase had done it to prove to his son that he wasn't worth a damn. There had been times in the past when Chase had been pretty well convinced his father was right. It was his desire to prove his father wrong, once and for all, that had sent him to the states to begin with.
"You can start the toast if you want," Wilson said, interrupting Chase's musings.
"Right." He was glad for the interruption and he jumped up to find the bread, only he must have moved too fast because spots danced before his eyes and he felt himself listing, then stumbling into the chair.
Wilson was by his side in an instant. "Chase...sit down. Head down."
He let himself be pushed into the chair with his head between his knees. Which helped to clear his head. "Don't let the eggs burn," Chase warned. He hated the smell of burnt food. Always had.
"Screw the eggs." Wilson had Chase's wrist in one hand, checking his pulse.
"I'm fine, I just stood up too fast. Head rush." Chase pulled his arm free. "I'm serious, don't burn the eggs." He sat up and felt much better, so he waved a hand at Wilson to get his point across.
Wilson studied him a moment longer, then nodded. He returned to the stove. "After we eat you should probably go to bed."
A mirthless laugh escaped Chase. "You'll make someone a great mother some day," he taunted.
"I very much doubt that," Wilson countered with a grin. "You have any siblings?"
"Two half sisters," Chase replied. He hadn't told anyone before and he hoped Wilson wouldn't go blabbing it to House. He was tired and that had to be part of the reason why he was answering pretty much every damn question Wilson asked him. That and the fact he found himself trusting the guy, which was probably a mistake on his part. But not his first and no doubt not his last.
Chase told himself he wasn't going to answer this time, but he couldn't think of anything deflective to say. Sighing into one hand he replied, "Ten. They're twins." Just then he remembered he hadn't made the toast yet. He started to get up but Wilson turned and shook the spatula at him.
"Don't you move. I'll make the toast." A moments pause then he asked, "Where do you keep the bread and the toaster?"
"Other side of the sink," Chase replied. "Bread in the silver bread basket, toaster right beside it." He watched Wilson follow his directions and slip four slices of toast into the toaster. He was grateful when the omelet called Wilson's attention and for the next few minutes the older man was focused on serving up the eggs and buttering toast.
Looking pleased with himself, Wilson sat down at the table in front of his own plate. "Dig in," he ordered, then paused to ask. "Do you say grace?"
Chase shook his head. "No. Haven't in years." And there was another piece of himself he was giving away for free. He silently chided himself to shut up, and figured maybe he'd do better if he just focused on eating. But he had to give up on the omelet after two bites, and settle on the toast.
"Don't like my cooking?" Wilson asked, not looking the least bit offended.
"Just not hungry," Chase replied. Truthfully, Wilson made a damn good omelet, which he had the feeling the man knew.
Wilson let it go, his attention on his own meal.
After finishing two pieces of toast, Chase finished his milk then took his plate to the sink. "When you're done eating just put everything in the sink. Margaret will do dishes in the morning."
"I think I'm going to like it here," Wilson stated. "House weasels out of chores at his place."
"Why do you put up with him?" The question was out before Chase could stop it.
Wilson set his fork aside and steepled his fingers, looking contemplative before replying. "You know, I've asked myself that question a million times. Still haven't come up with a good answer. How about you? Why do you put up with him? As an Intesivist you could get a job anywhere you want."
Chase knew Wilson was right. In fact, he'd had a few offers from other hospitals because of his specialty. Cuddy had even offered him a position at PPTH for when his fellowship ended. He had countered by asking if he could extend another year. "I'm masochistic," he replied. Which was pretty much telling the truth. Chase just didn't want to think about the implications of it.
"You going to bed?" Wilson asked, as he watched Chase head for the door.
"Just going to wander a bit," Chase replied. He'd given away too much to Wilson as it was. He slipped out the door and did exactly what he said. He wandered from room to room for a time, waiting to feel something. But there was nothing but a sense of emptiness which mirrored each room. Rooms that were too big for one person and echoed with each step he took.
Eventually Chase ended up in the drawing room. He sat down at the piano and began to play. He was so focused on the music that he never heard or saw Wilson enter the room and move to sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs. It wasn't until he finished one piece and closed the lid that he realized he wasn't alone. "I wasn't playing for you." For some reason Chase felt the need to say that.
Wilson shrugged. "I still reaped the benefits. You play beautifully."
"Don't tell House." Chase felt almost panicked at the thought of his boss finding out about something that he considered strictly personal. And he knew it would give House fodder for jokes and taunts for months to come. Chase didn't have the energy to deal with them. Music was something that offered him peace and he didn't want House ruining that for him. He didn't want it turned into a joke like the rest of his life was.
"I won't say a word," Wilson promised, rising from his chair. "It's getting late and you should get to bed. It's going to be rough tomorrow."
Chase had almost forgotten about the funeral. "I'll show you to your room," he said, rising from the piano bench and leading the way out of the room. He climbed the stairs with Wilson just a step behind and, as he had expected, Wilson's suitcases had been delivered to the first bedroom on the left of the stairs. "If you don't like the room we can move you," Chase said, as he gestured for Wilson to enter. "There are six other bedrooms not counting the one I took and the master bedroom."
Wilson was wide-eyed as he surveyed the room. "This is great. Really." He stepped into the connecting bathroom then back out to grin at Chase. "I'm going to be sorry to have to leave here. Not that you'll be sorry to see me go."
"You can stay as long as you like," Chase offered, and he almost laughed at Wilson's surprised reaction. "It's a big house." That said he stepped to the door. "Good night." He didn't wait for a reply but headed down the hallway. Not to his room though. He had to make a pit stop in the master bedroom. For all that he was tired, Chase knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep without help.
Entering the room, he tried to avoid looking at the floor where Vanessa had collapsed. Chase headed straight into the bathroom and retrieved the sleeping pills. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he was back in the hallway feeling a bit lightheaded. He sucked in air as he made his way to his new room. Once there he turned on the lights and headed for the bathroom. Chase popped the pill, brushed his teeth, then stripped down to boxers and t-shirt. Then he crawled into bed, reaching for the remote. Every bedroom had a TV. He turned it on and picked the cartoon channel. Then he closed his eyes and willed himself to drift into oblivion.
Reality sucked.
OoO
House was watching the Disney Channel when his phone rang. He reached for it, resisting the urge to fling it across the room. If it was work somebody's ass was going to be grass. "House!" he barked.
"Hello to you too," Wilson replied.
"Oh...it's you." House switched the phone to his other ear, his irritation evaporating. He had been hoping Wilson would call. "So...like your new digs?"
"I feel like a trespasser, thanks for asking," Wilson countered.
House chuckled. "Has to be better than my couch."
Wilson sighed. "Touché."
"So how's Chase doing?" House decided to cut to the chase. He'd deny it if asked, but he had been worried about Chase going back home.
"He seems okay. A bit distracted." There was a slight pause then Wilson added, "I don't think it's really hit him yet that she's dead. Then again, he's lost a lot of people so maybe his coping mechanism is to just detach himself."
House wasn't surprised to hear that. It was a method he frequently applied to most things emotional. "Whatever he has to do to deal with it, let him do it."
Wilson snorted. "Yeah, because denial is dealing."
"So offer him a shoulder to cry on." House reached for a bag of Doritos and crunched into one.
"I can't imagine Chase crying, for all the jokes you make about it," Wilson replied.
House couldn't either, but he didn't say it. There was something else he was more concerned about. "Did he eat?"
"Better than I expected." Wilson's reply was a bit terse.
"Which means what exactly?" House shot back. "Did he eat good or not?"
Another sigh from Wilson's end. "He ate so I consider that good."
House considered that was Wilson's way of saying Chase hardly ate at all. He'd back off on it until after the funeral, but if Chase didn't get with the program once he was back at work, House was going to be all over him like white on rice. The analogy of which made him have a sudden craving for Chinese food. Stretching a bit, House grabbed the menu on the end table. Now that Wilson had called in he could hang up and order dinner. "Make sure he sleeps and eats a good breakfast. I don't want him passing out at the funeral." He spoke harshly, but he meant well. And he knew Wilson knew that.
"Talk to you tomorrow, House," Wilson said, then he hung up without waiting for a reply.
"Stupid kid," House muttered to himself, as he clicked off then waited for the dial tone. He punched in the number for the Chinese place, but hung up before the connection was made. His appetite had disappeared. House blamed Chase for that. The Aussie was going to give House and ulcer yet, and damned if he wasn't going to charge the little brat for all his medical expenses.
Heaving a sigh of disgust, House grabbed the remote and clicked on HBO. Maybe he could catch a repeat of Deadwood. Nothing like watching some ugly chick swearing like a sailor to get his mind off other things. But even as he felt himself getting lost in the programming, House couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.
THE END...of part 13