AN: Wow! Alright, you guys convinced me. I wasn't going to do a second chapter, but you all inspired me to continue with the plot. So, as requested, here is another chapter (and the last). Sorry, I just don't think there's much of a plot after this one. :) Thanks for all the interest, you guys! You're amazing!

Chapter Two:

"Greg?" Chase could hardly believe who was standing at the door of his late father's house -- mansion, more accurately -- the one that was left to him in the will. He had been somewhat confused when the butler had approached him in the dining room and announced, rather unamusedly, that a "Mister Dundee" was at the door for him. "What are you doing here?"

"You think I'm going to let you con me out of a week's vacation?" The older man quipped, leaning heavily on his cane and shifting the rather large duffle bag from his shoulder into Chase's arms. "Nice place. Got any food? The airline never has anything appetizing." House pushed his way past the still-stunned Australian, whistling as he stopped and turned, looking up. "Damn. You didn't tell you were this rich, Robbie. I would have asked for more when your daddy paid me to hire you."

Chase rolled his eyes at the statement, handing the duffle to the butler and telling him to put it in his room, to which he received a raised eyebrow and, thankfully, no comment. The young man turned, once again, to his guest, who studied him closely.

"Why are you really here?" Chase inquired curiously, taking a couple of steps forward and shoving his hands deep within his pockets. "Cuddy wouldn't authorize any vacation time for you -- not after all those clinic hours you've been skipping out on."

"First of all," House countered, "I never go through Cuddy to authorize a vacation. I normally just call from the plane -- which I did -- that way she can't call me back and bitch about it." Chase smirked at this. "Second, you told me not to come, so I, obviously, had to." Chase continued towards him a few more steps, his smile growing wider. "And third-" House was cut off as the younger man, suddenly, lurched forward, engulfing him in a tight embrace and crushing their lips together -- roughly at first, but, gradually, House reciprocated, and the kiss turned soft and deep. Reluctantly, they broke apart, both panting slightly.

"Third?" Chase asked breathlessly, grinning childishly at the blank look he received in return.

"Third . . ." House repeated thoughtfully, shifting in the younger man's hold to get more comfortable. "I don't recall a third. What is this 'third' you speak of?" Chase chuckled, leaning in for another kiss until someone cleared their throat from the door. Both men turned to find a very disgruntled man standing in the doorway.

"Who's that?" Chase inquired quietly.

"That," House replied begrudgingly, "is the annoyingly rude Australian cabbie waiting for his money."

The young doctor gave an exasperated sigh, releasing his lover and reaching for his wallet.

"Hi," he smiled tiredly as he approached the stranger.

0 o 0 o 0

"You could have told me you were coming," the young Australian said from across the table, watching the older man stuff a huge chunk of steak in his mouth.

"You could have asked me to come," House countered past the piece of meat, swallowing it loudly and washing it down with a few mouthfuls of red wine. If only he was able to eat like this every night. Sadly, Chase only ever used his enormous stash for very small, normal things -- groceries, furniture, appliances -- a stash that would grow quite a bit once the house was sold. "I don't know why you insist on selling this place. Keep it! We can use it as a summer home."

"I don't want to keep it," the younger man replied wearily, slumping further into his chair and staring at his untouched dinner. "It's too big."

"That's not the reason you don't want it," House pointed out, cutting into his steak again.

"And what do you think my reason is, then?" Chase demanded testily, the frown on his face exposing wrinkles on his fine skin.

"Well," the older doctor started conversationally, putting the sliver ware down and wiping his face with a napkin, "it'd be a different story if you had actually grown up here. 'Sentimental value' and all that bullshit."

"But I didn't grow up here."

"Precisely," House nodded, "but your father did. And his father before him." At Chase's confused look, the man rolled his eyes. "Don't you read any of your father's books?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Besides being absolutely hilarious," House smirked, "he was very open about his childhood. This house? Been in the family for five generations. Your great, great, great grandfather built this house with his very own hands . . . and about a hundred slave laborers, but that's beside the point."

Chase sighed. "I already knew all that."

"Then why sell it?"

"Because I have no right to keep it," the young man admitted. "Like you said, it's been in my father's family for generations. I don't consider myself apart of my father's family."

"Still left you the house," the other shrugged, sighing and grabbing his wine glass to finish it off.

"And I've already got an offer for $2.5 million," Chase added as an afterthought, resisting the urge to laugh as House spluttered into his glass.

"2.5?!" He choked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, what the hell are we still doing here? Come on! We have to pack up and leave! There are people wanting to buy this place for obscene amounts of money! We don't want to stand in their way!"

Chase chuckled as House stood, limping towards him and grabbing his arm to pull him to his feet.

"The contract won't be final until after my father's funeral," he explained, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and resting his chin on House's chest. "We have this place for a whole week -- no interruptions."

"No work," House pointed out happily, stringing the fingers of his free hand through Chase's soft hair. The young man released the other's waist, running a hand along the his arm until their fingers met and linked.

"Come on," Chase motioned towards the stairs that lead up to their room. House glared at the steps with annoyance, growling slightly as his leg ached at the mere thought of having to trudge up them. Chase tugged at his hand, pulling him down the hall but stopping halfway and smirking at his confused look. House glanced warily at the double doors before them as the younger man pressed a small button to his right. His eyebrow quirked with interest as the doors slid open to reveal an elevator compartment.

After a short moment of silence, House turned to his companion and asked, "Are you sure we can't keep the house?"

"2.5 million dollars, Greg," Chase reminded him, stepping into the lift and waiting for the other man to do the same.

"Right," House nodded, following suit. "What was I thinking?" He pivoted on the foot of his good leg to face the closing doors, his shoulder brushing the younger man's. "We can put one in the apartment building. No more wayward trips to the laundry room in the basement."

"I was actually thinking of a condo across town," Chase suggested with a shrug. "I mean, you'd have to take the long way to work on your bike, but the fresh air might be good for you." House glanced at him with curiosity.

"No saving it for a rainy day?"

The elevator doors opened to the second floor, and Chase made his way out of the compartment, saying, "Well, if you insist . . ."

House joined him, setting their pace as the younger man led him down the hall.

"A condo sounds fantastic," he smirked, stringing their fingers together and pressing a kiss to Chase's temple as they approached the bedroom.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Forgive me if there are any mistakes. I wrote this during an overnight shift, and my mind was on auto pilot most of the night. I'm actually just trying to get this chapter up as quickly as possible so I can go to bed and sleep! Yay! Later, Gators! Hope you liked.