By: Oldach's Dream
Summary: A brief look at Robert Chase and one of the many fights he endured to become Dr. Chase, M.D. Pre-series. Robert and Rowan have differing views. No pairings.
Disclaimer: Chase isn't mine – unless they ever make House dolls, like they did with The X-files and Buffy. Then he will be. Heh.
A/N: I'm not entirely sure if the show ever mentions when exactly Chase came to the states, but for the sake of this fic, I'm going to say that he came to America for medical school. As this is based mostly on personal experience, I'd love to know what you think of it.
Degrees of Uncertainty
"You don't know what you're doing." Rowan Chase stated cleanly in that deep voice that his son had always found so infuriating. That is, he liked to believe that he'd always found it infuriating – in truth, the majority of his youth had been spent in fear of that voice.
That baritone melody that could go up or down on a whim – anger could be loud or docile. You're a goddamn fool could be projected in an outright shout or a deep, unrelenting growl.
It didn't matter to Robert. Not anymore. At least, that's what he liked to believe.
"I know exactly what I'm doing." He countered. His voice was so juvenile by comparison. His words were naïve, and he knew it.
"You're making the biggest mistake of your life." His father bit back – the voice going up.
That voice.
The Don't be an idiot, come live with me voice.
The You're throwing your whole damn life away for nothing – for no one voice.
"I'm going to medical school." Robert pointed out, trying to remain calm, level-headed. Just like he'd told himself he was going to. "I thought you'd be…happy." Not proud. Never proud.
They were seated across from each other at Rowan's large, expensive, heavy, dark wood, kitchen table. Robert had known better than to come here. He had anyway.
That was his error.
"You're moving across the country." He spit out, as if that were a sin tinged with some unspeakable evil.
"I'm going to America." The nineteen-year-old managed almost flippant. If only because he knew flippant would piss the hell out of the older man. "The land of opportunity, right?"
"Opportunity." Rowan scoffed. "That's what you said about the Seminary, as well."
He'd been waiting for that.
"I don't regret the Seminary." Firm. Stay firm.
"You only managed to stay there a year."
Ten months, two weeks, four days and seventeen hours. But who's counting? "And I still don't regret it."
Or maybe he did. Straight out of high school and into pre-Priesthood. Who did that? Who limited themselves so drastically, so quickly? Maybe he was being too rash now, as well. Maybe his need to get away was clouding all logic. Maybe he was being over-dramatic.
"You can go to school here." Rowan threw out his hands and actually laughed. Albeit, with no humor. "Go. Go to a University. Go to medical school. Do it in Australia. I'll pay-"
"I don't want your money!" Robert finally exploded. "I want…I want to start my own life."
Rowan shook his head exasperatedly, "You're being a complete imbecile."
"Thanks." He knew what he was doing was right.
Didn't he?
"The U.S. isn't a hop, jump and a skip away from here. It's thousands of miles." He really seemed to want to push that.
"Dad," Robert started, trying his best to regain his calm. "I've lived my whole life here. I need a change."
"And that's the great logic you've latched onto in order to justify this?" Anger. So, so much anger. "Robert, this is a whim. A dimwitted whim, at that."
"I-"
"And you want to be a doctor?" He laughed a horribly mocking laugh. "How's that logic going to work out for your patients when you have a medical license? Your death toll will be through the roof before you finish your residency."
What if he was right? Robert had never pictured himself as a doctor. Not since he was four-years-old and his dad had stopped being a hero. It wasn't the life he'd wanted. Why the hell was he choosing it now?
"I know what I'm doing."
"You know what you're doing." Rowan repeated loftily before narrowing his eyes and speaking harshly. "Robert, I'm your father. I know what's best for you."
"You've never known what's best for me!" At this, he did shout, he had no other option. There was too much long-lasting resentment built up there to keep it quiet.
Rowan regressed, ever so slightly. Yet decided, "Well, I do now."
Birthdays forgotten, anniversaries dismissed, soccer games blown off – funerals he'd had to work through.
"You don't know a goddamn thing about me."
"I know the world, Robert." He shouted a shout that presented itself with no volume raise. Robert could live a hundred years, and he would never understand how the man who'd fathered him could manage that. "And I know medicine. If you're going to take this on, it's going to be tremendously difficult. Moving to a foreign country will only add to that – substantially."
He knew that, too.
Staying in Australia would be so much easier. So much safer.
"I've dealt with more tremendously difficult things." It hurt to make even that subtle reference to his mother. It always hurt. Especially with him. With Rowan, it was always so much worse.
But the Seminary had been his place to hide from his past. Now, that was gone.
Their eyes locked. Rowan had frightening eyes. But they were only frightening to someone who knew him – knew all his sides and masks.
To Robert.
Because he'd seen those eyes soft and caring as the man was walking out the door – turning his back on his family. He'd seen them filled to the brim with hope as he was delivering lies.
Rowan Chase's eyes were deadly frightening, unimaginably scary, because they were the eyes of a manipulator.
Robert had always been told that he had his father's eyes. And he always prayed that he had his mother's expression. He wasn't sure if he did.
"You think you have," the older man finally responded. "But you've never watched a patient die. Had to look into their faces and tell them there's no hope."
"No," he was seething. "I just watched mum die. Watched her drink herself to death, without being able to do a damn thing for her."
"Of course you couldn't do anything for her!" Rowan slammed his fist down on the table harshly. "There is no cure for alcoholism! The notion that anything could be done was childish an-"
"And running away when things got too hard?!" Robert interrupted, shouting back. "What was that? Heroic? You split as soon as mum got to be too much!"
"I told you to come with me!" They were both yelling now. This was a hold-nothing-back free for all. "I told you there was nothing-"
"I was fifteen!" Tears pricked at his eyes. It wasn't long enough. The memories were still fresh and raw. "You were asking me to abandon my mother!"
"She was unstable!"
"And you were a rock?!" He laughed bitterly, voice understandably horse from the shouting he'd grown unaccustomed to while living in the Seminary. "Twelve cases at a time. You were never home. Overseas conferences; always holed up in your office writing that damn book. You were never really there! At least she gave a damn when she wasn't drunk!"
"So you're going to throw your whole future away to punish me?"
Yes.
No.
He didn't know.
"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm just doing something different."
"You're going to fail."
He wanted to contradict that so badly. To scream at the top of his lungs, No I'm not! Until Rowan Chase was forced to accept it. To give his son a chance.
But he couldn't. Because he didn't know if he believed it. Didn't even know if he wanted to. It would be so easy to cave. To give into what his dad was offering – let him pay for school and remain in Aussie.
It would be a good life.
A beneficial life.
He could almost taste it. He could trick himself into believing, I'll just stay for pre-med, medical school in America. Or, I'll get a residency in the U.S. then I'll have a firm foundation of education.
It made sense.
It made perfect, logical sense.
That's why he hated it so damn much.
If he were to fail, Rowan would be proved right, and Robert would be at a loss. He would have thrown his whole life away on a whim. A juvenile decision.
He wanted to put as much space between himself and his childhood as he could physically manage.
But was that a secure basis for a future?
He doubted it.
"Maybe." He finally spoke. His tone revealed nothing of his doubts. Only what he hoped was an adult recognition that he could in no way predict the future. "But if I do fail, it'll be on my terms."
"You're making…such a huge mistake." Rowan would not be backing down from this stand.
It would be a month before Robert could leave for the states. A month of packing and sending – of fighting and waiting.
His father wasn't even close to done. He'd pick more fights, offer more bribes, bring up old issues, new issues, barrowed issues and made-up issues.
He'd do everything in his power to make his son feel as inferior as humanly possible. If he could stomp out every ounce of independence Robert had, he would.
The sad truth, though, was that Rowan was not an entirely bad father.
He was doing what he believed, in his warped and twisted mind, was the right thing for his child.
That wasn't horrible parenting.
It wasn't particularly good parenting, either.
Years of growing up had taught Robert that children should not have to fight to have their dreams acknowledged. Television, friends, books and movies had shown him worlds in which parents nurtured and loved their children. Supported them.
Didn't abandon them.
Robert was sure of nothing.
Every certainty he'd ever had, had been proven false eventually.
Nothing remained constant.
There was no security.
Love was a bargaining tool.
Hope was a lie.
Emotions meant so little, if anything at all.
This was life.
His life. A life. A view on the world or the only way humans could be – he didn't know yet. He'd seen other realities, but never experienced them. They could be lies, just like the happy family portrait Rowan had always painted for friends and colleagues, had been a lie.
He needed to know if those worlds really existed. The Seminary had been a step, of sorts. More like a fantasy.
It was another world, another existence. But was it as fake as this? As his father's selfish cynicism?
He still didn't know.
He wouldn't – he'd never know – not until he left.
"Yeah," he acknowledged. "Maybe I am making a mistake. But dad… it's my damn mistake to make."
He had none of the real confidence that he managed in his words. No firm standing behind which he believed.
He'd decided to move to America, so he was moving to America.
At this point, it was more about giving in, backing down. He'd hate himself if he gave into fear. Hate himself if he gave into his father.
And he already hated himself enough.
Fin.