REWIND...part 20
Chase was running tests with Cameron, and wishing she would stop glancing sidewise at him. It made him feel almost like she expected him to do tricks or something. Or worse, start a conversation. But maybe that would be the thing to do. Maybe if he asked Cameron about the last movie she saw, or something, then she'd stop staring at him.
Before he got a chance to say anything, his beeper went off. To his surprise it was Cuddy. "Gotta get this," Chase said to Cameron.
"Who is it?" She looked curious.
"Cuddy." Chase said nothing else as he headed for the door.
Cameron called to him, waiting for him to turn back around to ask, "Is everything okay?"
Chase shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" Then he left before she could say anything else. He stopped at a vending machine long enough to grab a Mountain Dew, then he headed straight to Cuddy's office. She was waiting for him, and she wasn't alone. Dr. Burns was standing by the window. Chase felt his stomach drop.
"It would appear you missed your last appointment, Dr. Chase," Cuddy said in greeting, as she gestured for Chase to take a seat.
"I'm sorry, I forgot about it." It wasn't a lie or the exact truth, and Chase ignored the chair. He wanted out of there as soon as possible.
Dr. Burns was watching him, carefully. "I paged you several times."
Chase remembered deleting the pages. "Sorry. I didn't get them." He could lie with the best of them when necessary.
"Well...I've been out for personal reasons for the past two days," Dr. Burns stated. "But I've cleared the next hour in my schedule for your session, Dr. Chase. So why don't we go to my office and get started?"
"I'm right in the middle of a new case with Dr. House," Chase countered. He would use whatever excuse necessary to get out of this.
But Cuddy wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I'll talk to House," she said firmly. "He'll understand."
Chase knew enough to drop it. House would push this on him if only to torture him. So he plastered on a smile and followed Dr. Burns out the door. Five minutes later they were in her office and Chase had to resist the urge to bolt.
"How have you been?" Dr. Burns asked, as she moved to sit behind her desk.
"Fine." Chase intended to be succinct. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with this at the moment.
Dr. Burns looked at him then nodded. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she prompted.
Chase found himself pacing so that he wouldn't feel like she was able to watch him so closely. It was hard to pin your focus on a moving target. "Nothing," he replied. "Everything's good."
"You seem a bit anxious," Burns stated. "If something's bothering you, this is the perfect place to talk about it."
"The only thing bothering me is having to be here!" Chase snapped, and instantly regretted it. He knew his loss of control would just make Burns more convinced he needed to talk.
Leaning back in her chair, Burns eyed Chase with curiosity. "Well, it's obvious you're feeling irritable. Is it at someone in particular?"
Chase stopped pacing and turned to glare at her. "What part of I don't want to be here, didn't you get?" he countered. "I'm pissed off that I have to talk to you. Isn't that enough?" He really hoped it was and that she'd let him leave.
"You usually have better control over your emotions." Burns let that comment hang in the air between them.
"I'm tired of everyone pushing their nose in my business," Chase responded, after a long moment of silence had passed. He locked eyes with Burns. "I'm not sick or crazy or a child," he stated, pausing a moment to scrub a hand over his face. He felt suddenly weary to the bone and he wished he could just go home and start this day over. But he couldn't, which meant facing Burns and dealing with this, then moving on. "I'm tired of people treating me as if something were wrong with me. Like being forced into these sessions. I'm not suicidal or anorexic. I've just had a lot happen and I should be allowed to deal with it my own way, in my own time."
Burns held his gaze for a long moment, then she got up and headed for the file cabinet in the corner. After rummaging around in it, she withdrew something then returned to her desk. She held the object out to Chase.
He frowned as he accepted it. "It's a notebook," he said, stating the obvious.
"Consider it your journal," Burns replied. "Write down what you think and what you feel. Write down curses if you like, or poems...song lyrics...whatever. Then next week maybe we can talk about some of what you've written. Or talk about other things."
"Or talk about nothing?" Chase interjected, because he wanted her to understand that he wasn't okay with having to do this. Writing in a stupid notebook wasn't going to change that. Even if it did get him out of talking to her at the moment.
Burns shrugged. "Fair enough. But I expect you to report to the session next week. On time."
Chase nodded. "So I can go now?" When she nodded back, he left quickly. Shoving the notebook into his lab coat pocket, Chase headed for the locker room. Technically he still had almost an hour to kill of session time and he was tempted to change into sweats and go for a run. He felt jittery and angry and out of control and he didn't want to face anyone, especially a patient, feeling this way. He didn't want to make mistakes of any kind. Medically or personally.
But he knew that running for the release or just running away, weren't options he could avail himself of. Which meant he had to settle for popping a few Tylenol in the hopes of relieving the headache that was plaguing him, then he had to pull himself together and head back to the office.
Somehow Chase managed to pull it off. To focus on work and eating and acting like everything was okay. Because it had be okay. He wasn't sick so all he had to do was convince House he was fine. He could feel the older man watching him intently, but during the course of the next three days, nothing was said.
Wilson had backed off as well. Of course, with Wilson it was a case of ignorance was bliss. Chase ate breakfast and supper with him every day, managing to eat enough so that nothing was said. He also stayed home and gave the pretense of going to bed early. By ten each night. And he would doze off until his alarm went off at one AM. At which point Chase would get up and go for a two hour run. He'd jump into the shower when he got back, take a sleeping pill, then sleep until seven without interruption. He was almost proud of himself for doing so well. Other than puking dinner back up on occasion. Which was no big deal.
He had two more days before the big weigh in. That night Chase went running again, heading into the kitchen when he returned for a glass of Gatorade and nearly jumping out of his skin when the light clicked on before he reached for it.
"Good run?" Wilson asked, from where he stood just inside the doorway.
"Fine." Chase breezed past him, going to the fridge and grabbing his Gatorade. He drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the fact that Wilson was watching him intently. There was no point in making excuse or trying to lie. Chase knew he'd been caught out, not that it should matter. He was a grown man and this was his house. He could do anything he wanted.
Wilson moved to sit down at the kitchen table, wrapping his blue robe more snuggly around him as if cold. "I found the sleeping pills," he stated.
Chase stiffened at that, feeling anger lurch through him. "You have no right to go through my things. This isn't your house!"
"Then why don't you kick me out?" Wilson countered.
"I --" Chase began, but broke off because he didn't have an answer for that.
Wilson seemed too. "House told you I had to be here so...you let me stay. At least that's part of it, right?" When Chase didn't respond he continued as if it didn't matter. "You're afraid of what he'd do if you kicked me out. But maybe you're also afraid to be here alone. Maybe a part of you wants me here. Maybe you need me to be here."
Chase shook his head at that. "I'm doing you a favor!" he shot back. "Where else would you go?"
"I'd find a place," Wilson replied. "That's not an issue here, Chase. I think you know you need help. You just don't know how to ask for it."
"No...you...no," Chase knew he was babbling so he shut up. He was tired and angry and he didn't want to deal with this. So he made a move towards the door only to find Wilson suddenly blocking his way. "Move!" Chase hissed at him.
But Wilson stood firm, arms folded over his chest. "You have to stop doing this to yourself, Chase. Stop punishing yourself."
That last bit hit Chase like a slap in the face. "I'm not punishing myself! I'm trying to get on with my life and no one will let me!"
"You mean House won't let you?" Wilson countered.
"Are you going to tell him about the running?" Cold dread twisted in Chase's stomach. If House found out about it he'd send him away for sure.
Wilson looked resigned. "I have too."
Chase felt sick, nausea slamming over him. But he swallowed hard and whispered. "Please don't." He was begging and he didn't care.
"Chase..." Wilson began.
But Chase wasn't listening anymore. Anger fueled something in him and he felt himself reacting. He grabbed a pot off the counter and hurled it into the wall. A dish and a glass followed then he was reaching for the cupboard door when hands gripped him, pushing him against the wall and a solid body pinned him there. He started to fight back but Wilson stopped him with an ease that was frightening.
Feeling himself shaking, knees buckling, Chase sank to the floor.
Wilson sank down with him. "You done?" he asked.
"Why won't everyone leave me alone?" Chase whispered, feeling tears burn in his eyes. But he didn't let them fall. That would be giving away too much.
"Maybe because we think you're worth saving, even if you don't," Wilson softly replied. Then he gripped Chase by the arm and pretty much hauled him to his feet. "Let's get you in the shower then to bed. I'll give you something to help you sleep."
It was what he wanted, but Chase was surprised Wilson was going to give it to him. "Why?" he asked.
Wilson merely shrugged then nudged him out into the foyer. "You need a good night's sleep. I'll call House and tell him we're going to be late."
"I don't need you to babysit me," Chase protested. And it was a moment of pure deja vu.
"Sure," Wilson replied, and he was obviously being patronizing and not caring that it showed.
Chase pulled away and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He strode into his room and shut the door. Then he stripped off his sweats, got into the shower and scrubbed himself from head to toe under the hot spray of water. He felt sore and tired as he got out, yet not the least bit relaxed. He pulled on boxers and a t-shirt and stepped back into his room to find Wilson waiting for him.
Waving to the bed, Wilson told him, "Get in."
Since it was easier to obey than argue, Chase complied. Once he was stretched out under the covers he held out his arm for Wilson, who sat on the side of the bed, syringe in hand. Chase watched him swab a spot then insert the needle. He didn't even feel a pinch. "You're wrong," he said softly.
"About what?" Wilson prompted, as he swabbed the area again after the injection. He capped the syringe then looked at Chase.
"I don't need to be saved," Chase replied. "I'm not sick or dying or giving up or anything stupid that anyone thinks I'm doing." And that didn't make a whole lot of sense, but he really didn't care at this point. The drug in his system was working fast and Chase felt a pleasant and heavy warmth steal over him.
Wilson sighed softly. "I can't make you see what you don't want to see," he stated. Then he patted Chase on the arm. "Get some sleep."
Chase closed his eyes and slid into darkness.
OoO
He slept until noon the next day, without dreaming. For a moment he felt relaxed but then anxiety kicked in and fear followed close behind and Chase was up and in the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. He knew it would be judgment day when he went into work and he wasn't ready to face it. Or face House. But running away still wasn't an option. There was no where to run and Chase had worked to hard to find a place here to want to run really.
After a moment he managed to calm himself enough to get in the shower. He washed up, dried off and got dressed. After brushing his teeth he headed downstairs and he was surprised to find Wilson sitting at the kitchen table. "Why are you still here?" Chase asked, as he went to the fridge. But after staring at the contents he closed the door without taking anything out.
"I was waiting for you to wake up. I figured you might sleep for another hour or so." Wilson was glancing at his watch as he spoke.
"What the hell did you give me?" Chase shot back. Because he sure as hell hadn't expected to be out for so long.
Wilson set aside the book he had been reading, placing it neatly beside a plate that held the remains of a sandwich. "I wanted you to get some rest, Chase."
Since it didn't really matter what he'd given him, Chase switched topics. "Did you tell House about my running?"
"I told him everything," Wilson said quietly. "Are you really surprised, Chase? You know that's why I was here. To keep an eye on you."
"To rat me out!" Chase snapped, although he knew he wasn't being fair. Sure that's what Wilson was doing, but he did know all along that would happen. Wilson and House were friends. Wilson did whatever House told him to do. Of course he was telling him everything. Chase had known that so he wasn't really surprised, he just couldn't help feeling betrayed. Not that it mattered. He headed for the door. "I'm going to work," he called over his shoulder.
Wilson caught up to him. "I'll drive."
Chase thought about arguing the point, but figured it was pointless. And probably safer if he didn't drive. He knew he wasn't exactly focused at the moment. He felt sick to his stomach about the confrontation that was to come with House. So he got into Wilson's car and said nothing on the drive.
Once at the hospital, he went directly to the conference room. Only House was there, staring at the white board, where he had a list of symptoms listed. "Sleeping beauty awakes," House drawled.
"What do you need me to do?" Chase countered. He knew what was coming though, he just wasn't about to let House see how scared he was about it.
"My clinic hours," House replied. "They're waiting for you. See you in about three hours." He waved a hand at Chase, dismissing him.
Chase fled. Maybe this was nothing more than a means of making him sweat over things, but he didn't care. It was a momentary reprieve and he was going to take it. Only the three hours turned into six, then Chase was called into ICU to cover for another doctor for half a shift. It was after nine pm when he made it back to the conference room.
Not surprisingly, House was in his office and called Chase in. "Sit," he ordered, using his cane to point to the chair across from his desk.
"What's this?" Chase asked, pointing to the bottle of vodka on the desk and beside it, an orange bottle of pills without a label.
"Sit first," House said, locking eyes with Chase.
So Chase sat down, feeling his stomach twisting into a knot. Something bad was about to happen and he had to resist the urge to flee. Instead he made himself hold House's gaze as he stated, "I know Wilson told you about my running."
House nodded. "And the sleeping pills. He knows you've been throwing up too. And I don't need a scale to tell me you haven't gained any weight to speak of."
"So that's it then," Chase whispered, knowing he'd lost. Knowing it was over for him.
"You think I'm going to send you away now," House commented.
Chase shrugged. "That was the whole point, wasn't it?"
House looked almost amused. "Do you really think I have to power to do that? To just send you away?"
"You'd find a way," Chase conceded. "Threaten to fire me if I don't go. Something like that anyway." And he was positive Cuddy would back House up without argument for once.
"I wouldn't even have to go that route," House countered. "You know why?" When Chase simply continued to stare at him, he said, "Because you give me the power."
Chase frowned at that. He didn't understand what House meant, nor was he about to ask him. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to play head games with House. Chase knew he would lose.
House tapped his cane on the floor, staring at Chase for a long moment before continuing. "Do you know why you're anorexic?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me why you think I am," Chase countered.
"Because what you eat is pretty much the only thing you have any control over at the moment," House replied. "You couldn't stop your mom from drinking herself to death. You couldn't make your dad love you back. You couldn't stop Vanessa from being a drunk. But you can starve yourself if you want too and no one can stop you. Not even me. So not eating and running until you're going to drop and even puking your guts out...that's all under your control. Gives you a kind of head rush, doesn't it?"
Chase felt anger flaring but he tamped it down. House was messing with him and he wasn't going to make it easy for him. Not this time. "Brilliant analysis," he drawled, making an attempt of relaxing back into his chair. "Brilliant...but wrong."
House ignored him, standing up and moving to the front of his desk so he was directly centered in front of Chase. "You're killing yourself slow and steady. But why? That's what I want to know. Penance for a lapse in faith? For Kayla's death? For not being able to save your mom? Because even though you can be idiotic, Chase...you're not an idiot. You know none of that was directly your fault. That stuff falls under the category of Shit happens."
"I'm done with this," Chase hissed, rising from his chair only to find himself blocked by House. A hand on his shoulder shoved him back down.
"It's stupid, really." House looked almost angry as he spoke. "It's like you're trying to rewind your life. At least hooking up with Vanessa was doing an instant replay. She was nothing more than a mommy figure, only you couldn't save her any more than you could save your mom."
Chase felt himself almost vibrating with anger, then he was glaring at House. "You're wrong!" he hissed, forcing himself not to yell. Not to lose control. Not to prove House right. "I loved Vanessa."
House nodded. "Maybe you did," he allowed. "But for all the wrong reasons." He grabbed the bottle of Vodka and the pills and thrust them at Chase. "Here...take them. If you're going to kill yourself then just get it over with. Swallow the pills with the vodka and I promise not to resuscitate you. Although please do try not to vomit on my carpet if you would. Although you shouldn't need to drink much vodka if you take all the pills. In fact, you should die almost peacefully. Take about fifteen minutes tops."
"What the hell are you doing?" Chase shouted, shoving the pills and the vodka back at House. He then pushed his chair back, stumbling over it a bit as he stepped away from the other man. He was shaking to the point where his knees almost buckled on him. This was insane. It was like a twilight zone moment or something.
"I'm trying to speed things up," House replied, not looking the least bit ruffled by Chase's outburst. "I'm tired of the show. You're killing yourself...I get it...get to the punch line already."
Chase shook his head at House, not believing what he was hearing. "I'm not trying to kill myself!" he protested. "How can you say that?"
House looked disappointed, and maybe a little bit angry. "You're a doctor, look at the facts. If you had a patient who didn't eat, pushed himself beyond his physical limitations, took sleeping pills...well...you know the facts. What would you think was happening? What would the outcome be?"
"It...I.." Chase felt something inside him snap and he sank to the floor as his legs gave up on him. He zoned out for a moment and suddenly House was beside him, holding out the vodka and the pills. Chase took them, realizing the cap was off the pill bottle. He stared at the white pills then shook them into his palm. Maybe this was what he was doing after all. Maybe House was right. Maybe this was the only thing that made sense. But even as he tried to convince himself this was the right thing to do, he found himself flinging the pills into the corner. "I don't want this," he whispered, scooting back till he hit the wall and wrapping his arms around his upraised knees.
"Then what do you want?" House asked. He was grunting a bit as he pushed to his feet, then he grabbed a chair and brought it over to Chase and sat down in front of him. "Figure it out, Chase," he ordered.
But it wasn't that easy and Chase didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know how to stop this," he whispered. "That's what I want. Just to stop this."
House was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "Stop what?"
"This...what I'm doing." Chase broke off, trying to gather his thoughts. "I want things to go back to normal," he said after a heavy moment of silence. During which House did nothing but watch him, and for once Chase didn't feel like something under a microscope. He felt almost like he was somewhere else watching this happen. But he did know one thing he wanted. "I want to be a doctor here and work, without it being so complicated."
"You have to be healthy for that to happen," House replied.
Chase bit his tongue against insisting he wasn't sick. He might not be sick but he was fucked up and maybe that was worse. Maybe House wouldn't want him here any more.
Tapping Chase on the shoulder to get his attention, House leaned in and his voice was sharp but not cold as he stated, "I want you to go to the treatment center for two weeks. They can help get you back on track with eating and sleeping. After that it's up to you to prove you can take care of yourself and do your job."
"So I can come back here?" Chase didn't mean to sound so surprised or so hopeful, but in the end all that mattered was being allowed to come back.
"You can come back, but if you don't change things...I will fire you," House announced.
Chase nodded. "Fair enough," he allowed, not letting that thought sink all the way in. Because getting fired wasn't acceptable. "When do I leave?" he figured House had it all taken care of anyway. Because getting Chase into the center had been his plan all along. And if they could get him back on track physically, he could fake the rest. He knew House would accept that because House was as messed up as Chase was and they both knew that. Their issues were different, but House was an addict so he couldn't push this but only so far. The difference between them right now was that House could still do his job. Chase knew he couldn't right now. But he was going to change that. Then everyone would leave him alone again.
House almost smiled, rising from the chair and moving back to his desk. He grabbed a piece of paper and held it out.
Rising to his feet, Chase walked over and took it. It held the name of the treatment center and tomorrow's date and time. Ten am.
"Wilson will drive you there," House said.
"Okay." Chase didn't say anything else because there nothing else to say. He simply walked out to find Wilson waiting for him at the elevator. Neither of them said a word as they stepped inside. But as they rode down to the first floor, Chase felt a little less scared and a little less broken.
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.
THE END...of part 20 one more part to go