Summary: I really didn't mean for almost every single one of these prompts to be about the father/son relationship between House and Chase…but here we are again.

Pairings: None. I don't think I can ever do a House/Chase slash. So don't expect to see one.

Category: General/Drama

Timeline: The Duckling Era.

Rated: T

We All Float On

The scene was bitterly surreal.

Chase could hear the rain assaulting the windows from outside, he could hear his heart beating, hear his shallow breathing. He could hear all his thoughts, but he couldn't focus on one; couldn't develop a steady stream of conscious attention.

And then there was House.

The older man's face was set in a deep scowl. He still had one hand raised in the air, holding Chase's personal coffee mug just out of his reach. The Intensivist had stopped reaching for it but his boss still held it high. Frozen in place.

There wasn't much that could be said. At least nothing that would be appropriate in this particular set of circumstances, but Chase longed for the silence to dissipate. For House to say something, anything at all.

Because he knew it wasn't his place to. So he waited.

o0oo0o

Greg House – in the hopes of avoiding situations like the one he currently found himself in – had never had children. Admittedly, this decision was based on a little more than just the want of avoiding awkward moments.

He'd considered having kids when he'd been with Stacy, they'd even talked about it once and it'd been the first time in his adult life that he'd ever thought about offspring. In his youth – when his father was at his worst – he'd vowed that he'd never procreate. Just in case.

But then he'd grown up, fallen in love and lived for a while in this window of happiness. And of course, that didn't last. The infarction had ruined everything, he pushed Stacy away and that had been the end of that dream.

So if there was one thing that was certain in his life and in this world -assuming Cuddy never asked for a particular favor– it was that Greg House would never be a father.

Which begged the question, why the hell was he feeling so damn…paternal?

o0oo0o

"Vodka?" House's voice was oddly calm compared to the look in his eyes. His face screamed so many things- so many emotions, more than anyone would ever even consider House capable of – but his tone was almost careless.

Chase took a deep breath, swallowed and nodded, "Yes."

"Irish coffee," House nodded and slowly that hand lowered, the mug now in front of him casually. "I could fire you for this."

Those words created a vortex of emotion in the younger man. Immediately he felt so incredibly desperate, regretful, sorry and scared that he felt tears pricking at his eyes and he could scarcely breathe.

He could see that House saw his panic. The older man chose to do nothing about it for several long, lingering moments.

"Have you seen any patients yet today?" He eventually asked, and although it wasn't in the least bit comforting, Chase felt himself calming just a little.

"No," he shook his head. "No, I…was going to ask for the day off."

"You came in to ask for time off?" House snorted and that, Chase felt, was pretty damn comforting.

"I guess I…wasn't really thinking straight." He mumbled. Comforted or not he couldn't bring himself t look at his boss for more than a few seconds at a time.

"You were drunk. Buzzed, at least," he diagnosed like the pro Diagnostician that he was. "You still are. You're just in shock right now."

Chase nodded, silently agreeing and praying and biting his lip and wishing and wanting all at once. "I'm sorry," he eventually managed and, even though he couldn't maintain eye contact for more than a moment, he knew that House knew that he was sincere.

"You're an alcoholic."

Spoken so bluntly like that, Chase had to remember his mother. How many times had he said those exact same words to her? How many times had he used that voice – the voice House was using right now? Calm and factual. He'd wanted to present her with the truth in an adult manner.

It had never worked with his mother.

But then, he had never been House.

He hadn't admitted it to himself yet, he barely thought about at all on the good days, but he felt himself nodding. "Yeah, I think so."

House nodded too. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't at the same time.

Chase had a thought and was too drunk to not voice his opinions. "This isn't the same as you and your Vicodin."

He saw a brief look of surprise flash over the older man's face and Chase almost let himself feel proud. Before he remembered where he was going with this.

"You can be mad. You can call me a junkie. It's not the same. You're in pain." He spoke fast and hated himself in the same detached way that he saw himself most days.

"I'm guessing you are, too." And if Chase hadn't been standing right there, he never would have believed Greg House capable of – not only such words – but the soft voice in which he phrased them.

Years later even, when he looked back on it, he would think that he was drunker than either of them had really thought. Because surly that kind of misinterpretation could only come from excess amounts of alcohol.

He couldn't just let himself believe that House cared.

Chase swallowed thickly. He wanted to nod, but he couldn't. House saw the truth in his eyes anyway.

"Stop drinking." The words were nothing short of a demand, but he still managed them in an even tone. There was no room for debate here.

"Okay." Chase nodded and wished for the first time in a long time that he wasn't drunk. Because this isn't what he'd wanted. He didn't want to…disappoint House.

"I'm not going to fire you," the older man said shortly. "But if this happens again…"

Chase nodded. Neither needed to hear the end of that statement.

Then House nodded too. He limped over to the sink in the office and poured Chase's Vodka tainted coffee into the sink and turned on the water and washed everything away.

The young Australian man felt oddly cleansed when House came back and handed him the coffee mug. He took it and almost wanted to smile.

Instead he said, "I'll start going to A.A."

House nodded. "Good." But offered nothing more.

"I'm sorry," he said for lack of anything else to say. He had a feeling that would be his default for a while.

"You already said that." House stated plainly.

Chase nodded. He was uncomfortable. The alcohol that he'd already consumed that day was making him fuzzy and tired. House was looking at him like he was some kind of puzzle. Perhaps a puzzle that the older man just couldn't completely figure out. And Chase just wanted to go home.

They kept staring for a while and even though it was Chase that was exhausted and emotionally drained, it was House that broke their silence first.

"Do you need me to call you a cab?"

Chase sighed, he had never wanted to become this person – to become his mother. But here he was. Or rather, there he'd been. Because he had something that his mother never had. He had the will and the strength and the means to get over this.

"Yeah." He answered House. And for just a moment, despite the disease that plagued him, he knew that he was going to survive.

Fin.