Chapter Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: House not mine, Chase not mine, Wilson….also not mine, other House characters not mine…not getting any money…really could use some…
Chapter 5
H
House explained his diagnosis to Martin, more politely than anyone would have imagined. When Martin didn't agree and refused House access to the patient, House did precisely what everyone would have imagined. He jabbed the shorter man hard in the stomach and then went past him into the ICU.
"What's going on?"
"Poison," House explained succinctly to the voice of his intensivist's friend. "I have the cure." He held up the bag of clear solution he'd brought with him. "If you want me to save him then hold them off." He flicked a hand at the entrance where people were beginning to gather and nurses were trying to get through.
House arrived at his fellow's bedside and didn't waste anytime looking back to see what the noise was about. All he needed was a few seconds to hang the bag and attach the line. He finished just as security pulled him away form the supine patient. He was manhandled out of the ICU and placed in plastic ties. He saw that René was similarly bound.
"He needs the B-six," House tried to tell Martin again but the man glared at him. "Gyromitrin poisoning fits everything!"
"You have no proof," Martin said. He tried to mask the little bit of hesitation in his voice. House who was looking for anything that might work in his favour picked up on it.
"We'll have proof in an hour," he lied. They'd have to rush the test and risk a false result to get it done that quickly. Martin didn't look convinced. He headed for the ICU entrance. House tried to block his way but a security guard held him back. "If I'm wrong, he gets a little more vitamin B6 and a nice shiny coat. If you're wrong he'll die!"
That was enough to halt Martin. Everybody assembled turned his or her gaze to Martin and House already knew what he was going to do: take the safe route. House had purposely and severely understated the possible effects of pyridoxine toxicity but he was confident that before that occurred Chase would either be getting better or there'd be no change and they'd stop treatment. Martin likely knew it too so it was no surprise when he nodded. As House and René were dragged away by security Martin could be heard giving orders to the nurses to watch Dr. Chase's progress very carefully.
H
Two hours later gas-liquid chromatography confirmed the presence of MMH. It couldn't have come from the transfusion Chase had been given so House was right. Cameron returned to the conference room to tell House. She arrived to find both it and the office empty.
Foreman went straight to the ICU with the results to find that Martin already knew and the treatment had already begun. House wasn't around either which surprised him but he shrugged it off and returned to the conference room.
Unbeknownst to the immunologist and neurologist their boss, the diagnostician was in the office of the hospital's chief administrator being reamed a new one.
"Assaulting a doctor! That's a new low for you!"
Staring unconcernedly down at the floor House pondered that their scales were the inverse of each other. He would have said it was a new high for him. Doctors rank higher than patients right?
"How many times did I tell you to stay off this case? It was for your own good!"
"What' the big deal?" House finally interjected in his defence. "I cured him."
Cuddy glared. "Is that what this was about to you? Just proving you could do your job, that you could beat Martin in your own game? Dr. Chase should not have been your rope in a juvenile tug-of-war!"
"I saved him!"
His firm statement brought a pause to her tirade.
"Yeah, you did." She walked around to the back of her desk and sat in the chair. "And you also broke any number of rules." She stared at him and his eyes flitted around the room waiting for the axe to fall. And it did. "You're suspended for one week, starting tomorrow. When you get back you've still got double clinic duty for two weeks." His mouth opened. "Don't make this worse House," Cuddy interrupted ending his protest before it could start. "The police have been called about the poisoning. You will stay and talk to them. Full co-operation or else." Her point across she bowed her head and went back to the papers needing her attention.
"Fine."
When she glanced up the door was closing and House was out of sight a second later.
H
House was sure it was the Starbucks coffee he'd given Chase two days ago. Gyromitrin being water-soluble meant that the water in the coffee could have been loaded with the substance. All the assailants would have had to do is soak the false morel mushrooms in the water to draw out the poison and then use the warm water to make coffee. The near sickening amount of sugar in the drink had likely masked any strange flavours the poison would have had.
He gave the police a description of the couple that had given him the coffee. The police would conduct their own investigation and try to link with direct evidence the poison to the coffee to the couple. For that they'd need to talk to Dr. Chase as well as other hospital staff. Chase's interview would probably have to wait a few days and if there was brain damage they may never get one or any useful information from it.
The two detectives conducting the interview didn't leave until three that afternoon and House didn't get the impression they were the brightest crayons in the box. Overworked and underpaid he doubted whether the cops would find the attempted murders and if there would be enough evidence to convict them if they were caught.
Once the detectives had left the hospital House went to the ICU where Chase was still in a coma. Technically visitors weren't allowed in the ICU but Zinedine, who House hadn't seen since they were both dragged away by security, had insisted to be by Chase's side. As a doctor, even one soon to be on suspension, House thought he could be afforded the same exception. He sat down in the empty chair. A white pill was popped into his mouth and swallowed dry a second later.
He hadn't taken a pain killer in a while and his leg was bothering him now. After everything that had happened he figured he was due.
House let his eyes follow Chase's blanket-covered form, measuring visually his dimensions and counting his slow breaths. The limp hand nearest him had the heart and oxygen-saturation monitor clipped to the middle finger and the hospital admission bracelet around his wrist. Robert Nicholas Chase, DOB: Nov. 19, 1978 read the print on the plastic band. Ensconced in the layers of blankets, eyes closed and golden hair in an almost fashionable state of disarray, the young man looked barely twenty of his twenty-seven years. The bangs that Chase usually swept off to the side were taking residence on the smooth, pale forehead making him look that much younger and that much more vulnerable.
Greg resisted the urge to brush the strands away. They really bothered him for some reason. Maybe because they emphasized how serious the situation was for this man –though, right then he looked like a boy –and his mind continued to stress that it should be him lying there right now. Was Chase in pain –pain meant for him? Was his life going to end here? Was he dreaming? Running towards a white light that promised a reunion with the family he'd lost long before his mother died as a result of her alcoholism and before his father was lost to cancer.
The silent man glanced around. Nobody was near. He reached over the prone man to gently caress the blonde hair away from the forehead. He drew his hand back and snorted. Chase still looked painfully young, and tragically frail.
"Chase…Robert…you better wake up," he both begged and threatened. He didn't examine why he was so desperate. He wasn't quite ready to be that honest with himself.
"It's going to work," Cameron's voice came from behind him a moment before she walked into his field of view. House quickly measured her expression, her mood, and left his shoulders relax as he deduced she had not seen what he'd just done or heard what he'd just said. "His methemoglobin isn't greatly elevated and Foreman said the pyridoxine's already helping." He didn't meet her reassuring gaze. He nodded once and then fled.
Cameron and Foreman made it their job to check on Chase. They kept House, who didn't go back to see Chase again, informed on his progress. Around 10:20 that evening Robert Chase awoke to the rest of the world. Groggy and confused he did little more than mumble unintelligibly to those around him before falling into normal sleep.
The hospital gossip train quickly spread the word that Dr. Chase was awake. Only an announcement over the P.A. would have been faster. A nurse went to Dr. Wilson's office to inform him as well. When she entered and saw that the oncologist was with someone she almost retreated under the assumption the other person was a patient. The other man turned to the newcomer and revealed himself just to be House. The nurse quickly passed on the news and left.
"It's amazing the effect I have on people," Greg mused as though he hadn't heard what the nurse said.
James nodded his head. "I would agree to that." He put his signature on the bottom of a page. "It's also amazing the effect you don't have on people. Y'know, the warm fuzzies?"
"That's what I keep you around for."
"Nobody else would put up with you." James glanced up. "Go see him, House."
"No."
The unusually blunt response piqued the oncologist's interest. He gave the older man his full attention. "Why not?"
Greg didn't answer. "You ever get the feeling everything bad you've done has come back to haunt you?" That was a partly rhetoric and partly serious question.
"'When it rains, it pours', is a cliché for a reason."
"Tacky. Yes, I agree."
"Everybody experiences it." James tilted his head to the side. "This isn't your fault."
"That poison was meant for me."
James didn't tell him that if he had taken it, they might not have figured out what was wrong before he died.
House gave a brisk shake of his head, clearing out the unwanted thoughts. The guilt was his –a companion to replace the physical pain cured by the ketamine. He almost welcomed it.
"Where you going?" James asked watching Greg stand and head for the door.
"Home. May as well get started on my vacation."
James didn't correct him. Suspensions had been so common for House at one time that they probably felt like vacations. It wasn't like he actually missed the patients he was forced to deal with.
"By the way," Greg paused a few feet from the door, "Zinedine René, or whatever his name is, is gone for now. This is your chance to make a move on his boy-toy."
"House," James practically growled the warning.
Greg tilted his head to the side. "Just think of him, lying so helpless and scared on the bed. I hear vulnerability is a turn on for pathological carers."
"And for people who don't care at all." The irritated glower directed at the scruffy doctor's was wasted as the man walked out without seeing it. James exhaled with a grunt and went back to work. He would go see Chase later. It's what colleagues do. It had nothing to do with any event that wouldn't be mentioned or any feelings that might have been uncovered during said un-mentionable event.
H
Four days later Chase was being released from the hospital and House was in the middle of his suspension. Wilson had volunteered to take Chase home. Though he was recovering from his poisoning he wasn't a hundred percent yet. He'd argued with Martin to be discharged from the hospital and eventually, Martin caved and Chase was released.
He wasn't in good enough condition to drive, walking was still a challenge, so he'd accepted Wilson's offer of a ride without a thought. René was still banned from the hospital, which Chase found hilarious. Less amusing were the lengths House –his boss House, his miserable, misanthropic, boss that hated him House –had gone in order to diagnose and save him. It was a relief to Chase that House wasn't around right now. No doubt he would be rubbing this in and making Chase's life at work hell for the foreseeable future. Or he wouldn't, which might say more about this whole incident and their association than the first possibility. Chase wasn't sure which option was better or which one he wanted.
When they arrived after the quiet car ride Wilson insisted on seeing him to the door of his apartment and Chase was too drained to argue. Once he'd unlocked the door Wilson followed him in. He'd been there once before so the setting wasn't new to him.
"I've got everything I need. I'll be okay," Rob informed.
James nodded silently but his eyes roved over the apartment. "You shouldn't be alone here. In case something happens."
"Nothing is going to happen. And Zid is coming by after he's done at work."
"Right. Zid."
Here is where Chase usually would have asked if something was wrong. Fatigue and a slight amount of general malaise kept his mouth shut. All he wanted to do was go shower and then lie down.
"Alright then," Wilson said after a quiet sigh. "I'll see you at the hospital. Call me if you need anything."
"I will," Chase lied. He closed and locked the door behind Dr. Wilson. Leaning his back against the solid wood door he revelled briefly in the comfort of being home. He'd moved to this small apartment a few months after starting at PPTH. The on-campus housing had been fine but more expensive. In an effort to save money he'd moved off-campus to this flat. It was his home now. His brows drew together in sleepy consternation. It sounded less pathetic when he said it in his head. With the home in which he'd grown up in Australia sold long ago he had nothing left there. This small bachelor apartment was it.
He walked carefully to the bathroom, stripping the loose fitting sweats he'd been given at the hospital. The articles of clothing made a trial to the washroom, his boxers being shed just in front of the shower. He promised himself he'd pick up the mess later. Right now all he wanted was a shower and then a long nap.
His hair was still wet when he flopped into his bed. He'd put on a new pair of boxer and forgone anything else. A few hours must have passed when he felt a warm hand rubbing soothing circles in his back.
"Hey, Rob," a voice greeted softly. "How are you feeling?"
Only partly awake the recent hospital patient mumbled a response of "okay." Soft lips pressed briefly against his shoulder and he was asleep again.
H
Early the next day there was a knock on the door. When he looked through the peephole to see who it was all he saw was a gold detective's shield. He'd been expecting the police to come talk to him but he hadn't expected them to be from New York.
"Robert Chase?" a petit blonde woman asked once the door was open. Chase nodded. She smiled at him. "I'm Detective Eames. This is my partner Detective Goren. We'd like to talk to you about what happened."
Goren shifted his files awkwardly around in his arms freeing one briefly to give a wave and a flustered smile conveying that the male detective, despite his imposing stature, was harmless.
Chase eyed them for a moment until, without a word, he stepped out of the doorway to allow them entry. The tall dark haired man, Goren, nodded to him with a smile that, upon closer inspection, seemed little more than a mask.
"You're from New York," he half asked, half stated.
"And you're from Australia," countered Goren, still with that smile. There was something strange about his demeanour, an awkwardness in his movement that was hard to place. Chase's mind was already working through the disorders that could cause such symptoms. It was a pointless exercise especially since the man appeared otherwise healthy and he wasn't his patient. Chase chalked it up to the man being weird and offered them seats on his couch while he took the arm-chair. He felt their eyes on him as he stiffly bent to drop into the piece of furniture.
"Muscle stiffness, from the poisoning?" Goren asked still standing.
Chase nodded but didn't look at him. The detective sounded like he already knew the answer. "It should go away eventually."
"Along with the tremors," Goren added. He'd read up on gyromitrin and it's effects and he knew that though the poison was being counteracted mostly by vitamin B6, the trauma to his central nervous system would take some time to fade.
"We just have a few questions for you," Eames said pleasantly from her place on the dark couch. Her partner wandered around the room gazing at the furnishings. Chase ignored the strange man and focused on the woman. She was pleasant, a surprise considering that she was a detective and probably dealt with a lot of unsavoury people in her line of work. She pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen and began. The questions were fairly routine and as Chase had only received the tampered beverage from House he didn't have much to give them.
"Do you think it's possible that Dr. House was the one who poisoned you?" Eames asked as calmly as possible. So far he was the only person they could confirm to have direct contact with the beverage before Chase ingested it. It followed that he was the first suspect in the investigation.
Chase's brows furrowed. "I don't think so. He doesn't like me but he wouldn't poison me just to pretend to save me." Even he's not that bored, Chase added in thought.
"And if he wanted you dead there are probably less traceable ways of doing it," Goren added softly to himself. His partner gave him a look having overheard the comment. The tall, dark-haired man gave an awkward shrug and gestured for them to continue. He'd fill her in when the interview was over and he had more information.
"Do you have the clothing that you were wearing that day?"
"No. I was in scrubs. I left them with the hospital laundry." He knew they were hoping for a clean sample of the coffee, something to definitively prove the source of the poison. "May I ask why detectives from New York are investigating this?"
Detective Goren answered from the far side of the room where his travels had brought him. "Some big-shot in our burough was poisoned the same way. Unfortunately for him his doctors didn't figure out what it was until the autopsy. You're lucky."
There was a pause before Chase's simple response. "I know."
Whether it was his tone or his words or just the man himself something about the young doctor resonated in Detective Goren. The younger man looked away first, back to Detective Eames who was still aside from him. Goren stared at the doctor for a little longer before Eames announced that they were done.
"We'll be in touch. Take care." Goren breezed out the door. Eames said her own goodbye and followed her partner. Chase was quickly alone again. He could only shake his head at the strange duo and close the door behind them.
"They missed their target," Bobby Goren said to his partner while they waited for the elevator.
"Doctor House doesn't fit the victim profile either. They were going after doctors suspected of practicing euthanasia on non-terminal patients."
Bobby nodded. "To teach them about taking life before their time had come –against God's plan. But there was no letter this time." He began to look through the files previously tucked under his arm. "Different M.O., same motive?"
"Maybe he has been killing patients. He's definitely got an ego big enough to find a justification in there somewhere." Alex frowned at the memory of their interview with Dr. House who was at home on suspension. They'd gone to see him. The miserable man that the hospital staff had described was the exact one that rudely greeted them. He'd been unimpressed and unhappy when they explained they were from New York and that they needed to re-interview him about the incident. Half an hour and many aggravated sighs later they'd left.
"I don't think he's the type, doesn't fit either end of our profile. He's not…he doesn't have enough empathy, and at the other end he doesn't need the power trip. He's a well-known and respected physician and he got there his way. He's got nothing to prove."
"And nothing to lose," added Eames. Greg House was single, childless and from what they could tell his only real friend was an oncologist where he worked.
Goren stared at the opening doors of the elevator then turned in an almost jerky motion back to Eames. "Maybe they didn't miss completely. If they wanted to hurt Doctor House…"
Alex picked up on his train of thought but didn't agree. "He made it pretty clear that he doesn't like Doctor Chase."
"Maybe too clear." Goren stepped onto the elevator car and held the door open while Eames entered. He'd had a difficult time trying to get a read on House. The man had so many thorns. "Maybe Robert Chase isn't the one he doesn't like. If someone wanted to teach him a lesson, doing it through a proxy would, maybe, be more effective."
The elevator doors slid closed. The lift began its descent.
Eames thought about it for a second and eventually gave a slight nod of agreement. "Somebody else has already tried the direct method and I can't imagine him being any worse than he is now." They'd heard about the shooting not long ago.
"Nothing that they do will change him. He's unhappy, alone, and everyone knows he's not a good person. He knows it too but knowing that other people agree won't make you hate yourself any less." Goren chewed on the nail of his right thumb as he contemplated the talented physician. Greg House was uncannily observant and arguably too smart for his own good. He was also wretchedly despondent.
The lift slowed as it reached the ground floor briefly making the two occupants feel heavier than normal. "He's right more often than not when judging people, even himself." He tilted his head to the side. "Maybe this time he wants to be wrong."
H
House was restless that night. Jimmy was busy, too busy to put up with any needling so Greg was on his own. He didn't want to be though. As if he wasn't feeling bad enough about what had happened to Chase two more detectives had invaded his place and again interrogated him about the incident. And that weird guy, when House had finally had enough of his pacing around the room and staring at inconsequential objects he'd asked him bluntly if there was a history of mental illness in the family. Even the blonde lady detective had been unable to keep up her already severely strained mask of good humour. He'd unintentionally hit a sore nerve.
It had gotten them out of his apartment though. Not five minutes later they were through the door and he was gratefully relieved of them.
Now, however, he was tired of his own company and Steve, his rat and trusty sidekick was entertaining himself on his running wheel. All he had for entertainment were his thoughts, his guilty thoughts. That's what he blamed on his walk to his convertible, his subsequent drive that ended at Chase's apartment, and the long looks he'd been casting up at the third floor apartment.
House parked and got out. He wasn't sure what he'd say to Chase. It was nearly eight o'clock. He had no excuse to be there. He'd avoided Chase the last day he'd been at work before his suspension and he hadn't even bothered to call to check on Chase's progress. Cameron left a short message on his answering machine once but due to the lack of response she probably assumed he didn't care. He did though, too much.
Greg slipped into the small complex behind one of the building's residents. The curious glances the woman waiting next to him cast in his direction went unacknowledged. The lift arrived and took the woman to her floor, the second, and then continued its climb to the third.
A thin borealis of soft yellowish light spilled out from below the door to 309 and onto the dark wood of the hallway. Greg stepped into it, obscuring the pattern. He stood still waiting for his spirit to be moved enough to knock on the door. It took a minute or two, an interval during which two people walked by and noticed the frozen man. Finally he tapped his knuckles on the door producing a sharp knock.
There was a quick response. "It's open." House cringed recognizing the voice of Zinedine René. He walked in despite. The main living and kitchen area was empty except for the flowers and get-well gifts strewn across the counter. He went to the sleeping area whose view from the door was obscured by the partition.
"It's dangerous to leave the door unlocked," House admonished before he was even in sight. His low, yet somehow grating voice was instantly recognized.
"What do you want?" René asked harshly.
House tilted his head. "Is that anyway to talk to the man who saved your boyfriend?" House looked down at René who was above the sheets and fully clothed. He had a book opened and resting on his chest so that he could read it from his prone position. Next to him Chase was tucked into the double bed fast asleep, his body not fully recovered yet. He was on his front with his arms crossed beneath the pillow where his head lay. His head was turned towards René, unruly gold hair concealing his face.
"How is he?" House asked without bite.
There was a long measure of silence as several responses were contemplated. "He's fine, mostly. Tired, hands are a little unsteady sometimes, can't concentrate really well –I'm hoping that'll all go away."
"It should," House responded not taking his eyes from the form that had nearly died in his place.
"If you have something to say to him, wake him up and say it."
House lifted his gaze to the man on the bed that was awake. "Can't think of a thing." He turned to leave, still sheltering his unresolved internal conflict. "Don't tell him I was here. Or do. I don't think he'll care one way or the other."
"But you wish he did!" The exclamation and the sudden motion on the bed had Chase stirring a little but he settled back into slumber without waking. House breathed again. René sat up fully to continue his tirade at a lower volume. "He was all yours before. All he had was his job. New to the country the person he knew best was you. The person he admired most was you –the epitome of everything his father hated in him. But you blew it."
"I blew it?" House asked in disbelief, not admitting what 'it' was.
"He trusted you and when it meant the most to him you let him down. He realized he was nothing to you, and let you go. He fought for the last thing that meant anything to him, his job. And when he won, you lost, more than you'll ever know." A gentle hand brushed across Chase's cheek, pushing back the blonde strands for a moment until the caress ended and the curtain fell across his face again. The trance broke and House spoke.
"You're delusional. You like him so much, he's all yours."
"Yes, he is."
"Just because you're hot for him, doesn't mean the rest of the world is."
"Maybe not. There is something about him though, something that makes you want to know him."
"Puzzles are entertaining," House admitted, without apology reducing Chase to nothing more than an amusing distraction.
René shook his head almost sadly and looked down at the peaceful sleeper. "It's…puzzling how he makes you feel like less of a bad person," he said softly in a twist of House's statement. "He looks at you and he just sees a person, no history to live down to or lofty expectation to live up to. For a moment everything true about you is there and he doesn't look away or cringe. He smiles and in that moment you think you don't have to hate yourself quite as much as you do."
Clearly he was speaking from experience. House didn't appreciate the implication that he shared the experience, whether he did or not.
"You don't know anything about me." House marched out as best he could. The temptation to slam the door closed was strong. It would wake up Chase most likely and then René would be stuck trying to explain what had just happened. If René lied and said it was nothing there would be an invisible rift between the two that House could exploit at a later date. If René told Chase he was there then Chase might read something into it and House wasn't sure how he felt about that. Wilson told him that he always set himself up for lose-lose situations so this time he wouldn't.
The door closed with a soft click.
He wouldn't put himself in a position to manipulate or exploit the younger man because House feared that if the opportunity arose he wouldn't be able to resist. I can resist everything except temptation, a wise man once said. House walked away, quietly agreeing.
H
"You know," Foreman said as he made a notation in the file "you don't have to supervise. I have done this before."
"As much fun as pointing out your incompetence would be, I'm not here for that." The spectator was trying to pay attention to his gameboy, keep an eye out for his nemesis and surreptitiously watch the examination that Foreman was performing. It was Friday. He'd just returned from his five-day suspension the day before (he decided to count the weekend in those days and Cuddy hadn't verbally said anything about it even if her glare said plenty). His second day back and he was already ditching his clinic duty that had been doubled. He'd off-loaded some of it to Cameron and Foreman the day before but today Cameron had her own clinic duty and for the moment Foreman was busy with a patient for a follow up.
"Any headaches?"
"Nope. I'm all better," Chase said. Martin had referred Chase to Foreman since he was a neurologist and it was clear the diagnostics team wanted to be well informed on the recovery. It was just easier for everyone this way.
"I'll be the judge of that." Foreman continued with the tests much to the patient's discontentment. At the conclusion of them Foreman looked over the results. "Well it doesn't appear that you haven't gotten any dumber." He missed the patient's glare. He couldn't miss hearing the snort from House.
"And people complain about my bedside manner."
"You have no bedside manner," Foreman threw over his shoulder before looking at the blonde man seated in casual clothing on the examination bed. "Looks like you'll make a full recovery. The tremors will vanish over time and you'll find your concentration getting better."
"And the mood-swings, they'll go too, right?"
Foreman nodded hurriedly. Chase sighed silently with relief. He'd noticed how jumpy he'd been recently and quickly attributed it to residual effects of the poison. He didn't like feeling out of control like he had been a few times in the past days. It wasn't anything drastic. Sometimes it just felt like the situation was slipping out of his grasp. The anxiety and on occasion anger would flare only to be followed later by an almost depressed state.
"You're going to be fine," Foreman gave Chase a pat on the shoulder. "You coming back to work soon?" The diagnostics department just didn't feel right when one of them was missing.
"Hopefully," Chase answered evasively. After his check up he was going to see Cuddy. He did feel mostly all right but he wanted to apprentice one of the other intensivists or emerg officers just to make sure he was still up to par.
"Well, I can evaluate you again later just-"
"Let you know if something weird happens. I know the drill."
Foreman shook his head. He wouldn't admit it (at least not until threat of torture) but he'd missed talking, arguing and trading jibes with Chase. He couldn't with Cameron. Her feelings bruised too easily.
"Aren't you done yet?"
"No comments from the peanut gallery," Foreman snapped mildly, gathering the chart together. "See you," he said to Chase as he left. To House, "I'll tell Cuddy where to find you."
House raised his eyes from his game unit just in time. Just try it, his look challenged. Chase was about to slip off the bed and to towards the exit as well when House addressed him.
"How did you get here?" he asked, eyes still on the flashing screen of his toy.
"Cab."
House turned his game off. "Where's your buddy boy?"
Chase shook his head slightly, wondering how many euphemisms House could find for boyfriend. "He's busy."
"Too busy to drive his sick lover-boy to the hospital? What kind of man is he?"
A better one than you, Chase replied angrily in his head. He closed his eyes pushing back the irritation. Usually House didn't get to him like this unless he was on a particularly sensitive topic, and while his relationship with René was one of them his reaction wasn't normal. He couldn't wait until he felt normal again.
"He's travelling soon. Wants to get a few things in order before he goes."
House turned to face him directly, gameboy forgotten and only the un-addressed issue of this whole ordeal filling the room. He dropped his gaze to the floor briefly while his right hand fiddled with his pant. It was an idle motion but House had a way of making even that seem significant.
"I'm okay," Chase tried. When the other man didn't react in anyway he opened his mouth to speak again. "You-"
"Why do you have a DNR?" House asked suddenly and raised his head to pierce the off-duty physician with his intense gaze.
Chase swallowed thickly not sure if he wanted to get into the reason for the advanced directive with this man. Silence extended between them for several seconds until Chase's shoulders slumped in acquiescence. He'd try to explain to House why in the hopes that it would help ease some unrest he saw in the chilly eyes.
"It's not that I want to die, it's just…" He looked up at the ceiling trying to find the right words. "It's about how I want to live." House didn't look mollified, just confused. Chase blew out his breath and tried to explain. "I don't have anyone. If something happened and I was unable to take care of myself…I'd have nobody and even if I did I wouldn't want to burden them."
"So life is only good enough for you when you're in perfect condition."
Chase felt his ire rising. "I just don't want to linger here for no reason."
House watched the anger mount in the vibrant eyes and for a split second compared them to the dullness that had been there a week before when the effect of the poison was running through his system unchecked. Chase turned his face away trying to regain his balance and House realized this was probably the moodiness Chase had been referring to when he was talking to Foreman. Right now it was a blessing in disguise for House. He could get more from his reclusive fellow now than under normal circumstances, as he just had.
House watched him, watched the nervous gestures that Chase couldn't quite hide and reflected. Chase was young, not even thirty yet and it seemed like he ready to give up. He didn't seem or sound very attached to his life. The DNR was practically proof of that. Chase sounded like he wasn't expecting things to ever get better. He was just coasting through what was left of his life and warily awaiting the next blow to strike. It was like living without hope.
Greg didn't understand how somebody living without hope, without faith, could so easily inspire it in others.
He sure as hell couldn't.
"Rescind the DNR order, Chase," he said with quiet authority. He watched as Chase's expression darkened in a way he'd never seen before. The Aussie turned to him and strode slowly over until he was close and looking down at his boss.
"No, House," he countered in a more sinister shade of House's tone. He made a quick exit a second later. House stared at the empty exam room for several minutes before escaping from his thoughts to the mind numbing drudgery of clinic duty.
"Didn't even say thanks," House muttered to himself as he entered the busy clinic.
H
It was Open-Mic Nite at the Bomber on Fridays. Microphones were set up on the small stage area at wall opposite the bar. There was also a set of drums and a couple of stools. The track lights on ceiling were mostly directed to the performers, leaving the rest of the bar's patrons mostly in the dark except for a few lights at the booths and the candles at each table. The music was pretty good considering it was open-mic and the performers limited themselves to two songs leaving plenty of time for the numerous acts.
At a table near the front Chase sat with a group of friends. They were people he'd met just about five months ago but it was a pretty tight group and he'd managed to fit himself in their ranks. It was in this group that he'd met René.
"What's with the mysterious smile?" a girl at the table asked him.
"I can't smile mysteriously for no reason?" Rob asked leaning forward to rest on the table. Through the chair he felt a vibration when Zid shifted his arm that was resting on the back of it.
She rolled her eyes and jumped back into the conversation going on around them. Rob did too until their turn came. Zid nudged him excitedly as he got up. Chase followed with an indulgent smile. Zid had been trying to coax him for months play and he had only agreed when Zid said they'd make it a duet and do it the same night as the special surprise the group had organized for one of their friends. Recent events almost had him missing this day.
"You ready?"
Rob nodded.
Closer to the back of the bar and a little to the right Dr. House and Dr. Wilson watched the performance begin. Their beers sat on the wood table, being ignored for the moment by their respective drinkers. House had swung by Wilson's new place and practically dragged the man out of his apartment. He wouldn't take "no, I'm tired," for an answer. Wilson had grumbled all the way to the Bomber, a bar he'd never even heard of, though his protests did loose their heat when House announced that they were wombat hunting.
They'd entered the bar to find Chase already there with a group of his friends and his boyfriend sitting next to him.
"How'd you know he'd be here?" Wilson had asked after they'd ordered their beers and sat down at an empty table.
"I saw the date and place marked on a sticky note in his apartment," House had replied without remorse. Chase's apartment really had been a window into the other side of the young man's life and House was afraid to examine why it was so important that he know that part. Cameron's private life, well he was heavily featured in it. Foreman, he had a girlfriend, boring. Chase, until recently he knew nothing about his. It was a situation he felt compelled to remedy. Besides, it was only fair that he find out what he'd saved.
Wilson had pressed how dishonest this was, spying on a colleague but he didn't get up to leave and House just deflected his words with witty comebacks to pass the time. They both hushed when René and Chase went on the stage and played their piece.
Each cradled a guitar, strummed the strings and sang their chosen song, sometimes together, at others separate. The song was familiar and fairly old. "More Than Words" House recalled the title but not the original performers. The Chase-René version of it sounded just as good as far as House was concerned. Even though Chase's accent came through when he sang, it was softer and his voice blended well with his partner's.
Around them many patrons bounced and swayed gently to the sweet song. Next to House, Wilson was a statue. He hadn't taken his eye off Chase since he'd stepped on the stage and his hair luminesced under the bright lights. His head was tilted down a little as he sang and his eyes didn't stray from some spot in front of him except on occasion to glance up at an audience he couldn't see or to the man playing next to him. James didn't miss any of the understated glances. René was bolder staring for long seconds at his partner. It seemed René was singing only to Chase.
"All you have to do is close your eyes and just reach out your hand," the lyrics flowed melodiously from his lips to Chase. They sang on together in beautiful harmony and with quiet emotion unique to the two performers. The song sung here would have a few people downloading the song in the coming days only to find that the rendition of this night was one of a kind.
"More than words," Chase had sung back with a voice in harmony with more than the strings of his guitar.
The song ended and before the last noted died away applause drowned it out. Robert smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement of the applause. Zinedine stood up and bowed with all the flourish and egotism of a true performer.
"Thank you," Robert said into the applause, filling the bar with his accent. "That was More Than Words by Extreme. Now we'd like to play another song but we'll need the rest of the band." He couldn't hold back his smile as the rest of the table he'd been at cleared except for one Chinese woman. The rest of the group was on the stage.
"We'd like to dedicate this to our dear friend. I'm sure you'll figure out her name in a moment," Robert said. "Oh, and feel free to sing along."
The song started with a rhythm of stomps and claps that many people recognised but were unable to place until the group began to singing and the guitars joined in. The embarrassed woman smiled behind the hands that were hiding her face as the whole bar joined in the song.
"Cecelia! You're breaking my heart! You're shaking my confidence daily!"
At the back of the bar Greg and James sang along, unable to resist the free cheer flowing through the room. Also, getting the chance to embarrass a complete stranger couldn't be passed up. Celia, a grad student, was from Hong Kong, and had picked an American name at random when she arrived knowing that it would be easier than Xiaoming. She was beginning to think she should have gone with anything else.
"Jubilation! She loves again! I fall on the floor and I'm laughing!"
H
When Chase came back to work Wednesday of the next week House was playing Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkel from his Ipod. Chase wasn't sure if it was a coincidence. From the half smile pulling at House's mouth, Chase guessed it wasn't. He just shook his head and got on with his morning, greeting Foreman and Cameron. There was nothing he could do about House being House. He told the man to screw off and that didn't work. Being passive probably wasn't going to help. He shook his head as he made his coffee the way he liked it. The man was incorrigible completely, entirely and categorically.
"Alright kiddies now that the third stooge is back it's time to get to work," House said as he walked in.
Chase chewed on his stirrer shaking his head at the man but knowing that House couldn't be changed. He hoped he wasn't the only one who thought that maybe that was okay.
H
End Chapter 5
Sorry for the cheesy bit at the end. I just couldn't help myself. I blame it on the bunnies! You should too.
I also wanted to say hi to Cecelia, my old roommate! Hi Cecil!!!
Next chapter out Sunday or Monday…hopefully Sunday.
Sagga…