REWIND...part 14
The sleeping pill didn't do much good. Chase found himself tossing and turning for most of the night, finally giving up all pretense of trying to sleep around 5am. The anxiety that had plagued him for the past few months was back. For a while it had gone away, or maybe he had been detached enough from everything as to not feel it for a time. But it was back with a vengeance and Chase found himself pulling on running clothes and tying on his sneakers.
It felt good to run again. He didn't have the stamina to go far, and he knew it, but just pounding the pavement and working his muscles was enough to burn away the jitters. He just hoped it would keep them away for the day.
A stitch in his side forced Chase to slow to a walk and, at one point, stop and bend over. He breathed through the pain, almost welcoming it. He wanted to feel things that he could control. Physical pain was something he had control over. Once the pain in his side eased, he straightened up and started walking. His thigh muscles felt like rubber at the moment so running wasn't an option. As he walked, feeling a bit unsteady, Chase wondered if it were like that for House.
He didn't often think about his boss's injury. The limp, the cane and the pain was a part of what made House...House. The Vicodin popping didn't bother Chase either. Unlike what alcohol had done to his mother, the pain pills didn't blur House's ability to be who he was. In fact, they allowed him to be who he was and to do his job. Sometimes Chase wished he had a pill for that.
He was lost in thought about House for a time, wondering about his own willingness to subject himself to the man's taunts and abuse. Chase wondered what that said about himself and decided he really didn't want to go there. So he focused on the way his body felt. On the areas of weakness that he needed to strengthen. To that end he began running again, pushing past the burn and intent only on obtaining his goal.
It took longer than it usually would for him to complete his run. It was after seven when he made it back home and he wasn't all that surprised to see the door open as he reached it and Wilson standing there in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.
"Nice day for a run," was Wilson's comment, as Chase stepped inside.
"Nice enough," Chase allowed, but he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He could see that Wilson was disappointed in him. Oddly enough, that bothered him a bit. So Chase looked at him and waited for the lecture.
Wilson studied Chase for a moment then said, "Go shower. I'll have breakfast ready by the time you're done."
Chase watched him head for the kitchen, and he almost went after him to ask if that was it. But apparently it was, at least for now, so Chase did as he was told and headed for the stairs. When didn't he? Shaking his head at himself, Chase entered his room and stripped. He stayed under the hot water for a long time, feeling it wash away some of the lingering burn. He willed the jitters to stay away as well and so far so good.
Because it was still early, he didn't get dressed for the funeral yet. Instead he pulled on jeans and a pullover and just pulled on socks, not bothering with shoes. He knew what he would wear to the funeral. Vanessa's favorite suit. Italian designer made and a dark blue with the matching shirt and tie. She'd bought him the outfit and he'd only had the chance to wear it twice. But she'd told him to wear it to her funeral on the day she'd given it to him.
They'd gone out to dinner that night, to her favorite resturant. Chase had worn the suit because she'd wanted him to break it in doing something fun. During dinner they'd talked about funerals, Vanessa's choice of subject. She'd gone to two in the past months, for friends, and was feeling her mortality. It was during that dinner she'd told him her thoughts on the whole matter. Which was why Chase had a pretty good idea what to expect today, even though he hadn't been involved in any of the arrangements.
Vanessa had made it clear that she'd taken care of everything and that she believed everyone should do the same. That it shouldn't be left to loved ones to have to make funeral arrangements. She told Chase all he would have to do was show up to hers. There wouldn't be any calling hours either, she hated that. Just the funeral itself and a party afterwards. later that night. Vanessa wanted people to celebrate the memory of her, not weep over her being gone. And Chase had promised her then, and he reminded himself of that promise now, to celebrate the memory of her. He could even guess where the party would be. Her favorite restaurant. Vincente's.
"Chase?"
He started at the sound of his name and left his room to go to the head of the stairs. Wilson was at the bottom, looking worried. "I'm ready," Chase told him, descending the stairs.
Wilson watched him, then walked with him to the kitchen. "I made french toast. Do you want jam or syrup?"
"Just butter," Chase replied. Everything else was too sweet for his taste.
"Go sit." Wilson waved him over to the table where plates were set and glasses of orange juice were waiting.
Chase sat down and took a sip of juice. He then watched as Wilson came over with the pan and dropped three slices of thick toast on his plate. "I can't eat all that," he stated. Breakfast had never been a big meal for him anyway.
Wilson put three slices on his own plate, returned the pan to the stove then sat down and glared at Chase. "Eat it anyway. You're not anorexic, right? So it shouldn't be a problem."
"Are you going to the funeral with me?" Chase asked, as a distraction. Because he refused to get into an argument with Wilson.
"I was planning on it," Wilson replied, as he smeared butter on his toast then drowned them in syrup. "Is that a problem?"
Chase shook his head. "No. I expected you would. I would think House plans on going as well." He said it as a statement, not a question.
Wilson swallowed the bite he'd taken, then shrugged. "Never know with House, but when I talked to him a few minutes ago he told me to have a good day. So maybe he has a case."
"Oh." That surprised Chase a bit, he fully had expected House to come and be in his face. But if House was going to stay away, Chase was glad. In fact he found himself relaxing a bit since he wouldn't have to worry so much about being on guard. Lately, whenever he was in House's presence, he felt like a bug under a microscope and that older man was trying to dissect him.
"Why did you go for a run?" Wilson asked, the question coming out of the blue.
Chase looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge whether the man was being judgmental or not, then he decided to give him the truth. "I like to run."
Wilson seemed to accept that. "Just be careful, Chase. Don't sabotage yourself."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Chase felt anger flaring up inside him and irritation at the thought that he suddenly needed to defend himself.
"You need to gain weight, not burn calories," Wilson replied, then he forked a bite of toast into his mouth.
Chase stiffened, fighting against making a biting retort. He calmed himself and said mildly, "You seem to keep forgetting the fact that I'm not ill. I'm not anorexic, for all of House's postulations that I am. And running, or any form of exercise, is healthy." There, he'd remained calm and stated his case. Although the fact that he needed to do so still irritated him.
Wilson washed down his bite with a swig of orange juice, then he set his fork down to focus his full attention on Chase. "Exercise within reason is good and healthy," he allowed. "If you balance out your eating with your running, that's fine. As for being anorexic, maybe you're not. House did concede that you're borderline and his thought was intervention more than anything. But realistically you know you're underweight by a good twenty pounds. Which isn't healthy."
"Then why don't the bloody lot of you go pick on Cameron!" Chase shot back. So much for keeping his cool. But he was tired of everyone obsessing over his weight. "She's the skinny one," he continued. "I'd even lay odds she's bulimic." Foreman had even called her on it once and Chase remembered how pissed off she had been, glaring at Foreman then huffing out of the conference room. But at the same time she hadn't really denied it. Just like she hadn't denied it in his hospital room. In fact she had been the one to bring it up when he accused her of being the anorexic one. Chase knew all about non answers being more honest than any truth, or confession, could ever be. But no one was harassing Cameron.
"Maybe she is bulimic," Wilson allowed. "But it's not affecting her health."
Chase bit his tongue to keep from snapping at Wilson. After a moment of grinding his teeth, he was able to respond quietly. "I've had a rough few months, I think I'm allowed to be off my appetite. That doesn't mean I'm sick."
Wilson sighed, pushing away his own plate of food. "I'm not going to debate this with you, Chase. Bottom line is that no matter what we call it, you have to be careful. And since I'd like to believe that you're not in total denial of that fact, I'm going to drop it. For now."
"Fine." Rising from his chair, Chase brought his plate over to the sink. He didn't want to argue either, but he realized he was still angry. He rather wished he could go for another run, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. "What time do we have to leave?" That was a safe enough topic for now.
"9:30," Wilson replied, glancing at his watch. "It's about eight now, so why don't you lay down for an hour?"
Chase nodded. He managed a weak smile then he slipped out of the room and headed upstairs. He had no intention of sleeping though, so he turned on the TV. He spent fifteen minutes flipping through channels before hearing Wilson moving down the hallway. Turning down the volume on the TV, Chase heard water running after a time and guessed that Wilson was in the shower. He turned the volume back up and idly flipped through some more channels, never once stopping on one for longer than a few minutes. When the clock finally ticked 9am, Chase got up, turned the TV off and started getting dressed.
It felt strange putting on the suit. Stranger still knotting on the tie. The last time he'd worn it, Vanessa had tied it for him. He could almost feel her fingers working against his chest, and the scent of her lingered in his memory. Chase swallowed the knot in his throat as he tugged his tie into position. He hadn't loved her the way she had deserved to be loved, but he was going to miss her. Just maybe not for the reasons he should.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Chase went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Then he ran a brush through his hair, combing it back with his fingers when it fell in his face. He really needed a haircut, but Vanessa had asked him not too. There was nothing stopping him from getting one now. He'd have to make an appointment. But that was another vague thought he pushed aside.
Moving back into the bedroom, Chase went in search of his shoes. Maggie had moved most of his things to this new room, but apparently not his dress shoes. So he headed for the master bedroom and he tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted into knots as he moved to the closet. Tucked in the back corner were his shoes. It felt weird to stand in the closet and for it to be so empty. All of Vanessa's things were packed in boxes that would be gone by the time he got back from the funeral. It had been that way when his mother died too. Her life packed into boxes that were put into storage. Only Chase had been the one to pack everything away then. And he had put them into storage himself, mentally packing the memory of his mother into storage as well. Then he had tried moving on with his life, but circumstances hadn't made that easy.
A faint knock distracted Chase from his thoughts and he stepped out of the closet to find Wilson standing in the doorway. "Time to go?" Chase guessed.
"If you're ready." Wilson was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a dark tie. He looked perfectly creased and somber.
"Ready," Chase said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his suit. It was too big for him now, making him remember how he'd dressed in his father's things once as a boy. Wanting to be like his father. Wanting to be an important doctor. He'd become a doctor, but failed in every other aspect of his life. Hell, he wasn't even famous, not that he wanted to be. Not that his father cared anyway. Rowan Chase dying hadn't really changed anything in Chase's life, even though he felt it should have.
Moving to the armchair near the fireplace, he sat down to put his shoes on. They felt tight and uncomfortable, rather like his skin right now. The jittery feeling was back and Chase didn't want to do this. He wanted to walk out of this house and never look back. Only he had no where to go, and that thought was depressing in itself. He had made this bed and now he would have to lie in it. Standing up he said, "Just let me get my jacket."
A quick trip to his new room and Chase met Wilson on the landing. Five minutes later they were driving off, Wilson at the wheel. Chase wasn't surprised that the man seemed to know where he was going and twenty minutes later they were at St. Peter's Church. Stepping out of the car, Chase looked over at Wilson. The older man looked a bit nervous. "It's just a church," he stated.
"A very big church," Wilson allowed. "Kinda creepy looking." He noticed the way Chase was looking at him and added, "It's a Jewish thing. At least for me."
"I see." Actually, Chase didn't. Not that it mattered. He closed the car door and headed up the steps. He waited for Wilson to catch up before going inside and he was greeted by a familiar face. Father Flanigan. Vanessa was Catholic, though not devout, but she had attended services here once a month and one time she had asked Chase to go with her. That was when he'd met Father Flanigan for the first time.
The elderly priest smiled sadly at Chase. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Robert," he said in a warm voice. "Vanessa was a lovely woman."
Chase nodded. "She was. Thank you, Father." He turned to introduce Wilson, then they were led to the front pew. Chase sat down with Wilson sliding in beside him. He looked to the right and there were four people seated there. The church was otherwise empty. Yet Chase wasn't the least bit surprised when Father Flanigan moved to the pulpit and began the service with a prayer. Chase didn't go to his knees, but he did bend his head and whisper "amen" at the appropriate time. Then he only half listened as Father Flanigan spoke briefly about life and death and Vanessa's place in both.
He fell into a sort of reverie, remembering another time, another church. The drone of the Priest's voice as he spoke of his mother. The fact that his father hadn't come to the service because his new wife was busy giving birth to Rowan's daughter. It was Wilson's hand on his arm that shook away the memories, leaving Chase feeling bewildered and dazed. He scrubbed a hand over his face then stood up, realizing that the others were leaving. This part of the ritual was over.
Wilson guided him down the aisle and out of the church. Chase was grateful for that, taking a moment to gulp in the fresh air before heading to the car. He didn't get into it, he just leaned against it for a moment, lifting his face up to the weak sunshine.
"Small attendance," Wilson commented.
"That's how Vanessa wanted it," Chase replied.
Wilson moved to lean beside him. "Were any of them family?"
Chase frowned, trying to remember who he'd seen. "Her parents are dead and she didn't have any siblings. Her only living relative is a cousin in California that she hasn't seen in twenty years."
"That's kinda sad." Wilson was silent for a moment, then asked, "So who did come?"
"One of her lawyers, her business partner, her hairdresser and I didn't know the fourth person." Chase ticked them off on his fingers, realizing how strange and almost pathetic the list sounded. But Vanessa had always been rather quirky.
Wilson arched an eyebrow, gazing at Chase in disbelief. "Her hairdresser?"
Chase shrugged. "They've been friends for fifteen years or so."
"There wasn't a casket." Wilson looked surprised by that.
"She wanted to be cremated." It was Chase's turn to arch an eyebrow at Wilson. "I'm surprised House didn't give you all the details."
Wilson looked a bit sheepish at that. "He told me what time to bring you here for the service and that there's a gathering tonight at Vincente's to...say goodbye."
Chase sighed. "To celebrate her life. Vanessa wanted people to remember her the way she was. She didn't want people to think of her as dead and gone. Just off having a drink in the afterlife...so to speak." Chase heard the bitterness in his tone and ignored it.
"You ready to go?" Wilson looked a bit uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He pushed off the car and headed for the driver's side.
"You have work, don't you?" Chase countered, then he continued before Wilson could respond. "Go to work, I'll call a cab to take me home. You don't have to sit with me all day. I'm not going to do anything stupid and I'd rather like some time alone."
Wilson looked like he was going to protest, but after a moment he simply nodded. "Okay. Call if you need me."
Chase almost laughed at that. He didn't need anyone. He'd spent his entire life watching out for himself. But what he said was, "I will." Then he stepped onto the curb and watched as Wilson got in the car and drove way. For a moment he was tempted to go back into the church, to try and reconnect with God. But past disappointments and remembered failures stopped him. Instead he dug in his coat pocket for a cell phone and called information to get the number of the local cab company. Then he sat on the Church steps, waiting for the car to arrive.
He didn't give the cabbie directions for home. Instead he went to the local bookstore. He sent the cab off, knowing he could call another one then lost himself in the classic literature aisle for a time. He was just checking out a paper back Sudoku puzzle book when his cell phone rang. Chase frowned at the ID. It was House. "Chase here," he replied.
"Eat lunch," House ordered. "You have a weigh in first thing tomorrow."
"Goodbye," Chase drawled, then he hung up. But he wasn't angry about the call, he felt surprisingly resigned. And something more. Something he couldn't identify, but the anxiety he had been carrying around eased a bit. Leaving the bookstore, Chase found the nearest fast food place and ordered a cheese burger and fries. He only managed to choke down half the burger and a few fries, but he felt it justified his claim that he wasn't sick.
Dumping the remains of his lunch, Chase headed for the nearby park and he spent the next hour doing the puzzles in his book. Since he only had a pen on him, it made it all the more challenging, but it was a much needed distraction. He then called a cab and by the time he got home it was nearly four.
The first thing Chase did was change into running clothes. He needed to be in motion. He didn't run far or for all that long, but he felt better and more at peace by the time he got back, stripped, and hit the shower. He dressed for the party in jeans and a pullover. Pulling on socks, he passed by the full length mirror on his way back to the bathroom to brush his hair and caught sight of his reflection. The jeans were dark and the pullover was maroon and it struck Chase how thin he looked. He hadn't noticed it before but his reflection looked almost warped.
But he wasn't sick and he hadn't intentionally tried to lose weight, and Dr. Burns was wrong about his eating habits being associated with the desire to be in control. He just hadn't had much of an appetite of late, but he'd prove to everyone it meant nothing. He just hadn't realized how he looked to them, until now.
Stepping away from the mirror, Chase went into the bathroom and pulled a brush through his hair. He doubted Wilson would be home until around six so he had some time to kill. He felt suddenly exhausted so he stretched out on the bed, figuring he could rest while watching TV. But Chase drifted off to sleep without meaning too, sliding into dreams that were more memories than anything.
He dreamed about his mother, remembering the way she had looked at the funeral. They'd made her look pretty again, but a pale and plastic kind of pretty that had sickened Chase. She'd felt like cold plastic when he touched her face and he hadn't said goodbye to her then, because he hadn't been ready to let her go.
That memory shifted to the argument he'd witnessed the day before his father had moved out. They never knew he'd heard them. He was supposed to be gone to practice after school but it'd been cancelled because the Coach had gotten sick. So Chase had come home and entered the house in time to see his mother slap his father and his father slap her back. Chase had been as shocked as his mother by the action. As shocked as his father's expression of disbelief. He could remember the sadness in his father's voice as he had apologized, but it had been lacking in sincerity. Just like his mothers sobbing tears had lacked any real meaning anymore.
He dreamed of the day she'd hit him with a half empty bottle of gin, splitting open a cut on his temple and leaving him to suffer headaches for a weak. She'd blamed him for his father leaving then cried her sorrow and begged his forgiveness. He'd given it freely before tucking her into bed.
He dreamed about the day his mother died. The way she had looked gray and thin and sickly as she lay on the gurney at the hospital. She should have looked at peace, but there was nothing but pain and sorrow etched on her pale face. He hadn't said goodbye to her then either.
It was the sound of the telephone ringing that jolted Chase out of his dreams. He felt his heart racing in his chest as he reached for the phone. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, but he was already answering out of habit. "Chase."
"Just checking in," Wilson said. "You okay?"
"Fine," Chase replied. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after five. He'd relived what felt like a life time of memories in about thirty minutes.
Wilson cleared his throat. "Good. Um...I'll be leaving in about twenty minutes and I'll bring pizza for supper."
Chase wasn't hungry but he said, "Fine." It was easier not to argue. "That it?"
"That's it," Wilson confirmed. "See you in a few."
"Goodbye." Chase hung up, not caring that he'd been rather rude. He slid off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Falling to his knees next to the toilet he retched until he shook with dry heaves. Then he was coughing and shaking and cursing what he felt was a weakness. People died and life went on its merry way. He was used to it. This shouldn't matter. He'd move on like he always did. He wasn't sick and he wasn't going to let House get to him. He would let everything slide off his back because it didn't matter.
But it took fifteen minutes for Chase to get on his feet and brush his teeth. He was at the kitchen table, doing his puzzle book, when Wilson arrived with the pizza. Chase already had plates out and glasses filled with soda.
Wilson looked surprised but pleased. He put the pizza on the table then shrugged out of his coat. "I got half cheese and half pepperoni. I figured the cheese alone would settle on your stomach better."
"You're probably right," Chase acknowledged. He wasn't about to tell Wilson he'd been throwing up, so it was a moot point really. Instead he opened the box and grabbed a slice and took a bite. It tasted like sawdust, but Chase chewed and swallowed and washed it down with a swig of soda. He managed to down the whole piece that way.
"Have another," Wilson prompted.
But Chase shook his head. "There'll be food at Vincente's." He got up to pour himself more soda. The coke was helping to keep his stomach settled.
Wilson went to work on a second piece, but managed to watch Chase closely as he ate. He didn't say anything though. He just watched.
"What time are we supposed to be there?" Chase asked, and it felt strange to be asking Wilson for details. But everything had been arranged without him. More Vanessa's doing than House's, but Chase still felt a bit of resentment towards his boss.
"It starts at seven, so I should probably go change." He downed the soda in his glass and stood up. After putting the rest of the pizza in the fridge he looked at Chase and asked, "You sure you're up for this?"
Chase wondered why he looked so worried. He was fine so there was nothing to be worried about. To prove it he smiled. "I'm sure. I want to do this for her."
Wilson nodded. "You going to change?"
"No, she wanted it casual." Chase reached for his glass and took another sip of soda.
"Guess I'll go change then," Wilson replied. He left the room but was back in ten minutes wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He caught Chase's grin. "I like plaid," he defended. "And given your usual shirt and tie combos, you shouldn't say a word."
Chase held his hands up in a mock defensive pose. "I haven't said a thing."
Wilson chuckled. "See that you don't." But his smile soon faded. "It seems weird to be doing this."
"It's what she wanted," Chase replied, fishing his car keys out of his jeans pocket. "I'll drive."
"You always do what people want, don't you?" Wilson shot back.
Which stopped Chase in his tracks. He'd been heading for the door but now he turned around and glared at Wilson. "I do what I have to do," he replied. And he meant it. Why fight against the current when it meant being sucked in by the riptide? He knew how to float along without making waves. He knew how to survive without having to fight. When he was forced to fight he always seemed to lose. Always came out battered and bloodied. He'd learned early how to slide under the radar. Until he started working for House. But that was a type of penance for Chase. A penance that was nobody's business but his own.
Wilson moved to his side. "We don't always do the right thing though, Chase," he said softly.
"Are you coming?" He wasn't going to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. Turning on his heel, Chase headed for the door. He was in the car and had just turned over the engine when Wilson slid into the passenger seat. Without looking at him, Chase drove out of the garage and drove off into the night.
THE END...of part 14