... These next few chapters take place one day after the other, for the most part. And now the moment you've all been waiting for, a whole chapter devoted to Robert Chase...don't forget about the Cuddy hiring John at PPTH thing. that comes back in the picture.

Chapter 34 (Part One):

That same night on Christmas Eve, a few hours after Lisa Cuddy and John Greene had talked job proposals, a few miles away, Trenton State Prison stood silent but menacing; the interior was dark with a few overcast lights illuminating the hallway as prison guards made their hourly rounds, their black boots echoing on the stone floor as they walked up and down the length of jail cells. There was no indication that it was the midst of the festive time of the season, nor that is was Christmas Eve.

One inmate in particular, Robert Chase, was lying on his cot in the dark and dingy cell that he had called 'home' for almost a month. It was around midnight and despite lying in the same prone position for over an hour, he still couldn't sleep. This was nothing new for him; Chase was frequently having more and more cases of insomnia as his thoughts ran wild, out of his control. Cameron's face tormented him in his dreams, telling him that everything was his fault and he deserved to be where he was now; House's face also plagued him, spitting out obscene and profound expressions.

Chase knew his boss wanted to kill him. He recalled his own reaction when he was forced to read an article that got shoved into his hands that day at the hospital. He like everyone apparently was shocked at the fact that his boss and the Dean of Medicine had finally gotten together in an intimate relationship. The banter was one thing, but to take the next step and go into a fully fledged relationship was another.

A lump rose in Chase's throat as he recalled the feelings that he experienced when he learned that the woman in the other car was someone he knew personally, and whom he had respected. And even if their interactions were minimal, Chase liked her and she was someone he looked up to for her passion with medicine and love for the hospital. She had done nothing wrong, and it was his fault; his fault for making her suffer unbearably and to lose something so dear to her. And House had to endure it right along with her.

As much as House was a hard ass most of the time, Chase enjoyed working for him. He liked the fact that House challenged him, Cameron and Foreman to think way out of the box, and not like typical doctors.

But now, what did he have? He had nothing (at least nothing like he had before). What he did have was a boss who was extremely pissed at him and who would undoubtedly (if Chase ever made it back onto his team), make Chase's life a living hell.

Turning his head away from the wall in frustration, Chase pounded his flat pancake-like hard pillow, and his eyes fell upon the bed across the cell, which was now unoccupied. His old inmate, known as 'Harper' was transferred to another part of the jail (Chase heard a rumor that it was a higher security section because apparently Harper had tried escaping).

He was somewhat relieved that Harper had gotten relocated; they didn't really get along that well. Maybe it was because they had come from different family backgrounds; Chase, from a rich proper family where son follows father into a prestigious profession such as medicine, and Harper, from the dirt poor slums of West Orange, where son breaks away from the family unit only to get involved in all sorts of trouble.

Chase didn't really trust anybody in his unit. One fellow inmate, Clayton Rivers, who Chase had been talking to quite frequently and had taken a liking to, had shown him 'the ropes'.

"If anything, remember the DTA rule. Don't Trust Anyone. Period." That was what Clayton had told him when the two inmates were having one of their many conversations out in the workout yard.

When Clay had learned that Harper was Chase's roommate (before getting relocated), he just shook his head sympathetically. "Better you than me, Rob," he had told the doctor.

Chase liked Clayton. Better than the other inmates anyway. Tall and broad shouldered, Clay resembled a guy who either pumped iron religiously, or a guy who intakes a ridiculous amount of steroids (or both, Chase didn't really know). A viper snake tattoo ran the length of his upper back, and another one ran the length of his left arm.

First glance told Chase not to mess with this guy. One deep penetrating stare gave the idea to anyone that this guy was pissed off and either wanted to kill you or just injure you severely with little or no regard for your own life. However, it was Clay who approached Chase, and showed him around the prison, giving him a brief history of the other inmates, as well as a personal tour.

As they walked along the iron fence outside, Clay reiterated more advice that he had come to know over the period of time he had been at the prison. "Don't approach guys like they're your best friend," he said, "Have respect for them. You wouldn't want them to be hounding you, so don't do it back."

Clay then told him he had learned that concept the hard way.

"What happened?" Chase inquired, as they continued their journey around the outside perimeter, fenced inside the red brick wall.

Clay chuckled. "Let's just say I was trying to be friendly, and I asked this guy the wrong question. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground with a bloody face, a swollen lip, a bloody nose, and a black eye."

Apparently, a little too personal for the guys liking. And Chase was determined not to have that happen to him, so he stayed quiet, unless he was spoken to.

His thoughts flashed forward to the present moment, the here and now. If anyone had told him that he would be spending Christmas in a 6 x 8 feet jail cell with brick walls, a concrete floor, and with a extremely uncomfortable musty-smelling cot, he would have declared them insane and out of their mind.

But they were right.

Flipping over on his back, Chase let out a frustrated sigh and stared up at the ceiling at a spot where paint was chipping off. He listened to the air around him. Silence engulfed him. He couldn't explain why but his thoughts flashed to Cameron. How would she feel after he returned to work, that is if he still had a job. Would she think any less of him after his release?

He was brought out of his thoughts as he heard the heavy iron door to his cell open and stop with a loud bang. Turning his head, Chase immediately saw two security guards standing side by side in the doorway, both staring at him, looking rather bored.

"Doctor Chase?"

Chase immediately stiffened. No one really called him 'Doctor', least of all the security guards.

Before he even had a chance to open his mouth to speak, the shorter of the two guards cut across him. "We'd like you to come with us."

Chase followed the two guards down the dimly lit corridor in complete silence. No one spoke. Chase wanted to ask where they were taking him, but thought better of it and decided to keep his mouth shut. Five minutes later, both guards stopped walking. So did Chase, stopping a few yards behind them. One of the two guards knocked on a door that was to the left of them.

The door opened, revealing a short bald man with black spectacles and a bushy mustache. Chase guessed him to be in his early 60s at least.

"Tell Dr. Morgan that Dr. Chase just arrived," the shorter guard said in the same bored voice, before the older man had a chance to even open his mouth.

With a quick nod of the head and a gesture of the hand, the bald man beckoned them inside and down the dark corridor into a vast open space.

Looking around, Chase noticed the pale looking beds that sat against the wall, a five to ten feet space separating them. Some were occupied, but most were vacant. Immediately, a familiar smell filled Chase's nostrils as he glanced around the vaguely familiar atmosphere that engulfed his senses.

He stopped walking as a tall, thin man stepped into his field of vision.

"Dr. Chase? I'm Dr. Alex Morgan," the brown haired man said, as he fixed his glasses that sat on his crooked nose. He extended a hand, which Chase grasped firmly and shook. "You work for Dr. House, correct?"

Chase nodded. "Yes," he said, leaving out the fact that he was most likely jobless at the moment but this 'Morgan' man did not need to know that.

The man donned 'Dr. Morgan' turned. "Follow me, Doctor."

Chase followed Morgan down the hallway, wondering what the man could possibly need from a guy who was doing time in a cell. As he craned his neck back, he noticed the two guards had turned and were walking back towards the door that they had brought Chase through.

"We have a case," Morgan told him, as if he was reading Chase's mind. "This one inmate, chest pain, abdominal pain, 107 degree fever….He's got a clean record. Well, medically anyway." He smiled at his little joke. "…I just can't figure it out," he continued as they walked down the corridor.

Rather intrigued, Chase turned his head to look at the other doctor, cocking a single blonde eyebrow, hardly daring to breathe as he thought he knew what the doctor was getting at. "So, you want me?"

Morgan merely smiled. "Yes."

Morgan and Chase had reached an isolated bed, occupied by a rather broad black man, who was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. Monitors that surrounded the bed were sounding in a steady rhythm. An IV bag hung from a pole, supplying fluids by way of tubes into the man's right arm. Chase moved closer to the bed and noticed that the man was shivering and yet he was drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. His face was scrunched up as if in pain, and his breathing was intermittent, followed by gasps of pain.

"Name?" Chase asked, his eyes scanning quickly down the man's body.

"Ross Conway," replied Morgan. He handed Chase a solid pale white folder.

Accepting the folder from Morgan, Chase tore his eyes away from 'Ross' and glanced down at the contents of the folder. After a second, he glanced back up. "How long has his breathing been irregular?"

Morgan shrugged. "About fifteen minutes, I don't know…."

Chase exhaled deeply as he tried to keep a mutual expression on his face, How could this doctor not know how long his patient couldn't breathe for?

"Well, it might have been important," Chase said, a bit harsher. "Give me a stethoscope."

Morgan handed a stethoscope to him without a word.

"Hey Ross," Chase shouted, although not too loudly, "can you hear me? I need you to breathe deep for me, okay?"

For the next five minutes or so, Chase remained by Ross's side, listening to his ragged breath sounds, making notes on his chart, and trying to get as much as he could out of the guy. Finally, he made eye contact with Morgan from over the bed, and the two doctors' walked away from the bed, down a different hallway than they had come in.

"I need to use a phone," Chase found himself saying. He wasn't sure if he spoke the words out loud or just thought them. He must have verbalized them because he heard Morgan reply with an "Okay."

"There's one in my office," he said. He showed Chase to the office, and then, after showing him how the phone system worked, let him be and left the room to give the inmate some privacy.

Before he picked up the phone, Chase took a deep breath. What he was about to do was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brilliant. He could either get help or simply just rejected. Rubbing his eyes, he let out another breath through his exhausted body's lungs, and picked up the phone, cradling the receiver on his shoulder as he punched in an all too familiar ten-digit phone number.

Part Two:

While Chase was seated at a chair in New Jersey State Prison cradling a phone, waiting for the other end to get picked up, Gregory House was lying in his bed with one arm resting next to his pillow, while the other one was wrapped around Cuddy's lower back as she was curled up against his side. Both their breaths fell in unison with one another as they slept peacefully.

The shrill ringing of the phone startled House as he jerked awake, bringing one hand up immediately to grab the phone on the bedside table before the sound awoke the woman next to him.

"Who the hell is calling me at –" House started to say in an agitated whisper, but was cut off.

"House," Chase said.

There was complete silence on House's end of the phone. Finally, after a few moments, House found his voice. When he spoke however, his voice changed tone drastically from tired and muffled to exceedingly bitter.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you think you can just call me up any old time you please?" If House wasn't awake before, he certainly was now.

Chase, haring the sudden coldness and bitterness in House's voice, hesitated for a moment. "I…I need a favor," he finally stammered out.

House didn't speak for a moment. Maybe it was because if he had opened his mouth, he would have completely lost it. Instead, he took a much needed deep breath as he tried hard to contain himself.

"And why the hell are you calling me at –" He glanced at the bedside table where the clock sat, "almost 2:30 in the fucking morning?"

He glanced at Cuddy's sleeping figure as he said this for she had just made a slight movement.

"Oh and if Lisa wakes up, you're so dead," House warned in a low voice.

Chase swallowed nervously as he chose not to respond. Instead, he said, "There's a case here that I can't figure out."

House heard Cuddy move against him beneath the sheets. "Hold on," he said coldly into the phone. He lowered it down against his shoulder as he looked down upon the woman next to him.

Cuddy lifted her head tiredly and turned to face him. "Greg?" she said lazily, her voice sleepy and muffled. "Who's that?"

House kissed her on the forehead. "It's ok Lisa, it's nobody. Go back to sleep," he told her, as she settled back into his side.

"I'm going out into the living room," House said into the phone, "Hang on." Very carefully, without disturbing Cuddy, he gently threw back the covers on his side of the bed, and stood up. He grabbed his cane from off the headboard and as quietly as he could, limped out into the living room, leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar behind him.

"You should know," House said, as quietly as he could through clenched teeth, as he paced back and forth on the dark furnished hardwood floor of his living room, "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for the puzzle." He unscrewed his Vicodin and swallowed a handful into his mouth before continuing.

Meanwhile on the other end, Chase remained silent.

"I could care less about you right now," House continued, after swallowing the pills. "As far as I'm concerned, you belong right where you are. In that little cell, you piece of shit."

Chase opened his mouth to respond but failed to formulate any words, and just closed his mouth again. He looked down and saw his hand clenched into a fist on top of the desk. He slowly unclenched, and let out a silent breath.

Meanwhile, House continued pacing back and forth across the floor in his apartment. The thud of his cane echoed off the walls in the silent tense air. "So, enlighten me," he finally spat into the phone, "Before I go off and berate the shit out of you."

Chase told him about the patient: his symptoms', his history; everything that he managed to get out of the patient was what he told House about. The only time House interrupted him was to ask more specific questions that Chase hadn't bothered to tell him.

After about twenty minutes of conversing back and forth, House had to go; one, because his leg hurt, and two, because he did not feel like talking to Chase anymore and he wanted to go back to sleep.

"I won't be in until Monday. Call the office in the morning and we'll touch base . . . yes, they will. . . okay, if anything changes or gets worse, let me know. Just remember, I'm not doing this for you, you shithole."

With that, House disconnected from the line without even as much as a simple good-bye, and limped back into the bedroom.

Shutting the bedroom door softly behind him, House exhaled quietly and limped over to the side of the bed, hanging his cane back on the headboard and climbed into bed. Before pulling the covers over him, he glanced at Cuddy.

What he saw before he closed his eyes was Cuddy's back as she was turned away from him. Her one hand rested on the middle of her belly. 'Thank God she didn't wake up,' he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

What he did not know however, was that Cuddy was far from sleeping; her eyes were open and, as she mulled over everything she had just heard, she had an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at the overcast of shadows on the opposite wall.

So, what do you think Cuddy is going to do? Is she going to call House out for lying to her, or is he going to approach her first? Wait and see... Is our Huddy in danger because of this one rocky encounter or can she still love him even though he went behind her back? What'd you think?

Also, Clayton Rivers, Chase's inmate, might resurface. I haven't decided yet. And yes, the day will come when Cuddy/Chase have their confrontation, but not for a while (maybe 15 or 20 chapters or so). But they WILL meet.