Chase lay on the bed, once again staring up at the ceiling. This time, though, he was a little more with it. Throughout the day he seemed to have been blocking out his surroundings and his thoughts, whether subconsciously or consciously he wasn't sure. House had decided that he was going to be in control of Chase's actions, and rather than exhausting himself by resisting, Chase had simply allowed him to, and banished all thoughts of why.
But now, whether because the antidepressants were kicking in, returning the chemicals in his brain to a more normal balance, or whether because now he had been left alone for a while, his brain was beginning to kick back into action. And his mind was full of questions.
Why was House doing this?
What did it mean?
Why was Chase putting up with it?
Did he want to be here?
The last question, in particular, kept recurring to Chase. Again and again, he pushed it away from the forefront of his mind, convincing himself that he didn't care, he just wanted control back. He didn't need anyone else. He didn't want anyone else.
But at the same time, he couldn't quite help the stir of life that seemed to be rising within him, that whispered that the world wasn't such a bad place after all, that there were things left worth living for. Chase turned restlessly on his pillows, ignoring the voice.
Chase jumped as he heard the key click in the lock, and his racing heart skipped a beat, causing Chase to flinch, just as House switched on the light and entered the room with his medical bag. Chase sat up. He knew it was late, and wondered if House was planning on staying up all night.
"Rise and shine, wombat," House said cheerily, shutting the door behind him. Chase felt a twinge of resentment over being locked up, something that hadn't really registered before.
Chase scowled as House wrapped the pressure cuff around his arm and began to pump it full of air. Every medical action that House performed served as a reminder to Chase that House had denied him of his wishes. Having been dead to emotion for the entirety of the day, anger built suddenly and inexplicably within him.
"Why?" He spat at House angrily. Looking up from the reading on the blood pressure machine, House simply raised his eyebrows.
"Why… does the sun shine? Why… does the grass grow?" he supplied. Chase breathed in deeply, feeling his heart rate notch up.
"Don't mess with me House, you've done enough of that already." Chase responded, brushing House's humour aside. "Why did you do it, when you said you wouldn't?"
House eyed the Aussie, half relieved that he seemed to be back at home mentally, and half unsettled at the directness of the question.
"Everybody lies." He fell back on his favourite saying, because at least Chase couldn't argue with it. Reaching for his stethoscope, he diverted his attention from Chase's eyes and focused his attention on the medical tasks before him. "Your BP's not coming up," he informed Chase, going to lift his shirt. Chase moved away from House's reach, forcing House to look up and meet his eyes.
"Can't you ever give a direct answer?" Chase asked, almost begging. He needed explanations.
House sighed, realising that for once in his life, now would be a good time to answer for his actions, given the fact that he had Chase locked in his bedroom for the foreseeable future. But probing into his thoughts a little as the silence stretched out, House realised that he honestly couldn't give a direct answer. Either he didn't know, or he couldn't acknowledge, his reasons for saving Chase. Was he saving Chase from himself, or was he saving him for his own selfish reasons?
"I don't know why I did it," he finally answered Chase. "If I ever work it out, you'll be the second to know." Chase stared back at House with a look of bitter disdain, and broke the eye contact himself this time, yet he allowed House to pull up his shirt and listen to his heartbeat.
House kept his face blank as he measured the heart rate, despite the fact that it was beating even faster than it had been earlier.
First thing in the morning, Wilson dropped by with the various supplies that House had demanded.
"This is the last favour House. I had to shove all this stuff in my briefcase, and then it wouldn't lock." He informed House as he let himself in and found House still in bed on the new couch-bed.
House stared up at Wilson groggily, not yet fully awake.
"No, 'honey I'm home'? No 'morning House, here's your breakfast in bed'?" He croaked. Wilson merely glared back, dumping his supplies on the coffee table, and looked ready to leave, but then, softening, he asked, "How's Chase doing?"
House glanced at his watch. 7 am. That meant it had been 8 hours since he'd last checked on Chase.
"I don't know. You want to be the one to go find out if he's a morning person?" House suggested hopefully. Wilson rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to work House. Call me if you need anything," he said, turning towards the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, and peered back at House over his shoulder. "On second thoughts, don't."
House buried his head under his pillow as the door swung shut behind Wilson, then slowly dragged himself out, reaching first for his Vicodin, and then swinging onto the edge of his bed and reaching for the supplies Wilson had brought. Grabbing his cane, he got up and unlocked the door to his bedroom.
Chase, to his relief, was peacefully asleep. House opened his mouth to yell, and wake Chase up, but taking in the still pale pallor and the deep bags around the eyes of his youngest duckling, he changed his mind at the last moment.
"Chase," he said, shaking the young man's shoulder. "Time to get up." Chase rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, squinting against the morning light. As his eyes set on House, he let out a small grown and closed his eyes again, turning onto his side. House suppressed a smirk, secretly glad at the fact that Chase had actually managed such a response, though it was possibly only because it was too early for him to have his guard up. Still restrained by some sense of pity, House held back a cutting remark and instead reached silently for the blood pressure cuff. Chase still refused to meet House's eyes, and House couldn't tell whether it was from shame, indifference, anger or tiredness, but he neither did he resist House's efforts. The machine bleeped and House was relieved to find that Chase's blood pressure had increased significantly, placing him almost within normal measures. Pressing his fingers over Chase's wrist, he found that his heart was still beating too fast, and not entirely regularly, though it had improved. Now if Chase would just start getting better mentally, he would be fixed, and House could get his apartment back…
"Get up." He ordered. Chase glanced at House in a long suffering manner and moved slowly towards the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. Satisfied that Chase would obey the order, House stood and walked to the door, leaving it open as a signal for Chase to join him.
Ten minutes later, as House served two plates of scrambled eggs on toast, he was beginning to wonder if Chase had given up on the order. But a moment later, the younger man appeared at the doorway, hair wet, and House realised that he must have been having a shower. House was pleased that the younger man had actually made the effort of his own initiative. Casting an eye over his youngest duckling, House noted the stubble over his chin that was becoming more and more pronounced. He would allow Chase to do something about that after breakfast.
House set the plates down on the table with two mugs of coffee, wondering what Wilson would make of the five star service that he was providing Chase with, in comparison with the slave labour that House made Wilson subject to when he stayed over. "Eat", he instructed Chase as he sat down. Chase sighed and slumped slowly into the other place, but made no effort to begin eating.
The awkward silence ate away at House. It wasn't something that he was generally used to dealing with. Normally he would have broken it with a stream of acerbic wit, but every time he looked at Chase, toying dejectedly with his fork, all he could feel was a twisting feeling of guilt, mixed with pity, that churned his stomach, and left him voiceless. House couldn't remember if he'd ever felt this way, not since he was a very small child at any rate, and certainly never over another human being, at least not to the same extent.
"Are you going to eat those eggs? Or just turn them into soup?" He finally snapped, the tension that had built making his voice come out harsher than he had intended. The resulting guilt only served to further aggravate him, and his face wrinkled into a grumpy frown.
Chase froze with the fork hovering above the plate, but still he wouldn't look at House. Lowering the fork slowly, he finally dug into the eggs, nibbling timidly at the fork load. House sighed, leaning back in his chair, and fiddled with his cane for a moment, trying to disguise his awkwardness. Finally deciding that he could bare it no longer, House lifted his empty plate and shoved it roughly into the sink.
"I'm going to take a shower," he told Chase, limping towards his bedroom. "Be done by the time I get back."
Chase placed the fork down on the table, and sat entirely still, listening. He felt suffocated by House, and confused. He couldn't understand why his boss, normally so aloof and uncaring, was suddenly behaving this way. Though Chase usually followed House's instincts over medical matters, when it came to his personal life, Chase didn't trust the other man at all. Now that the initial anger, and then blankness, towards House, seemed to have blown over, Chase simply felt apprehensive and uneasy. He was sure that House had some kind of ulterior motive for keeping him here, and he increasingly felt like a test subject. Even with a patient, Chase had never known House to be so, well, caring.
Hearing the bathroom door click shut and the shower come to life, Chase let out an unconscious sigh, feeling for the first time in the few days that he could breathe. His mind clicked into action. Chase glanced at the front door. House had left it unlocked. Slipping on a pair of House's sneakers, discarded by the mat, Chase opened the door as quietly as he could, and slipped outside into the corridor. He felt like he was escaping from a prison, and the adrenaline was pumping so hard that he thought he could hear his racing heart beating. Chase tensed as he softly shut the door, expecting at any moment that the wrathful face of House would appear. But, mercifully, the only sound that could be heard from the apartment was the distant rush of water from the shower. Chase paused for a moment, a sudden moment of indecision washing over him as he questioned whether or not he should really be doing this. Chase tried to keep his head down as he shuffled to the door, trying not to hurry too fast past the doorman behind the desk as his head automatically popped up from inside the newspaper he was reading at the emerging guest. He tried hard not to think of the fact that he was dressed in a crumpled, ill fitting t-shirt and a pair of blue scrub bottoms, with 4 days of stubble and wet hair, especially given the cold winter day that awaited him.
The doorman, a ginger haired youth, looked uncertainly at the oddly attired man, but he hurried past and made for the exit, and as long as he was going not coming, what did it really matter? Chase pulled open the left of the double doors, the crisp air meeting him with a rush, and stepped into the outside world. As the door shut behind him, the doorman shuddered against the gust of wind, and returned his gaze to his paper.
A/N: having re-watched a few episodes I realise that House doesn't actually have a doorman… but he serves an artistic purpose, so I'm afraid he stays.
P.s. Happy Christmas!