Warning(s): Language.

The adult version of this chapter can be found at my live journal. See my profile for the link.

Chapter rating: PG-13

He hadn't cared when the rain started. He'd barely noticed. The grass pressed under is knees that had been cool and damp was now cold and wet, soaking his pants from below while the rain did the same from above. Absently, his right hand wiped away a rivulet of water that flowed a little to close to his eye, obscuring the words engraved before him. He carelessly brushed back the short hair stuck to his forehead by the water. The dishevelled peaks were quickly flattened once again against his head by the constant fall of drops. He didn't try to push them away this time. It didn't matter what he looked like. He wasn't here to be seen and there was nobody here to see him.

"Go through a hurricane and still have perfect hair, huh?" A shaky laugh hitched his breathing as he recalled Zid's hands running through his hair, endeavouring to mess it up while he tried to watch TV. After several failed attempts, Zid had proclaimed his hair to be "un-mess-up-able" as he watched it tumble back into perfect place despite his efforts.

The sentimental smile faltered. He tried to fight against it, to pull the moment to last a little longer. An involuntary shiver from the cold water running down his back marked the end of the interlude. He could no longer put off the issue that nipped at his heels and left his mind and body heavy with a fatalistic sense of helplessness.

His sleeve was completely soaked, the excess dripping off of him as he extended his arm to trace the letters etched in the smooth granite headstone. "Zinedine René," he said solemnly then added, "Montrose." Speaking for the first time in numerous years the last name Zinedine had dropped when he discovered his father's business while spending a weekend with the mobster. Rob had known of the change in name but not what the name had been. Now he did. Now he knew everything. He knew too much, had too much, wrongly inherited it all, and he was left to face it alone while so emotionally and physically exhausted.

Restful sleep continued to evade him. He knew it was only a matter of time before people began to notice. The nights spent drifting near the threshold between slumber and wakefulness, while the memories of his incarceration whispered in his ear turned the hours of darkness meant for rest, into episodes of anguish and frustration. He'd escaped, he was free and he still felt like he'd left much of himself back there. He knew intellectually that all that was left of him there were a few dark red stains, proofs of different kinds of assaults. And when in the morning he rose, still at the early hour dictated by the schedule he'd been forced to live by for three months, he would shower, blessedly alone, and with no fear of dropping the soap. There was no way that should be funny to him but he laughed anyway. One part of his mind was eager to forget it all and the other compelled him to scrub away the filth that clung heavily to every part of him that they'd touched.

Everyday he stepped out into a world he couldn't quite match. He wondered if he'd been falling apart as quickly in Trenton. It hadn't seemed like it. Then again his standard for comparison in Trenton was much lower. On the outside, in a teaching hospital with world renowned physicians, the standards were much higher and though he'd known he had a long way to go he measured up before, it was worse now. Sometimes he didn't feel human at all.

He'd been thrown back into the life of Dr. Robert Chase, only to watch it slip through his fingers, like trying to hold water in a sieve. It had been slow at first, the currents of daily life passing him by. He'd tried and was still trying to keep. He'd pretended and faked his way through the concern, the curious stares and, at each day's end, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it together for much longer. Though they were few, the eyes that followed him still scratched deeply at his weak walls. The worry that they might see and might know haunted him almost as much as the violations themselves. Acting normal, being normal wasn't going to work. Normal meant worrying about his bill payments, and thinking about his future. The previously hazy future he'd been slowly and unenthusiastically planning out, was now a thick fog that he couldn't even begin to navigate. Any impetus he'd had to move forward was gone and that probably should have worried him. In all honesty he didn't know to care.

He didn't know what happened to Dr. Robert Chase and even in lieu of Rob's efforts he couldn't be found. Where was the arrogance that he'd patched over the insecurity? Where was the surety of his medical knowledge, the confidence that made people have confidence in him?

It was just pain –just a little hurt to add to the pile –so he'd been doing what he'd always done. He pushed it away and moved on. Well, he tried. His feet were stuck and even if he could, he didn't know where to step next. In the obfuscation of his depression the only thing he knew for sure was that if he made the wrong choice he'd be lost, more so than he was already.

The temptation to shut himself off from the world was one he fought against everyday, and each day that he didn't give in, he was cursing himself by the end of it. Sometimes it was all he could do not to give in to the part of his mind that murmured to him his tormented experience, reminding him of what had happened, what had been done, and what he'd done. He didn't think he'd ever have more to confess than he did now, but this time, like the times before and the ones to come later, he hadn't gone to church. Instead he'd come here, to a graveyard. To this one particular grave, which was not just the memory of the dead man whose name was engraved into the rigid memorial, it also served as a reminder of better, simpler times. When he'd been happy, when he'd felt almost whole.

Soaked all the way through and tired to the core, Rob came here to bask in old and broken dreams. Dreams from before Trenton made him just as broken, and made him far too old.

Zinedine René Montrose. He wanted to go back. Reverse time and snuggle back into the comfort of that time. Kneeling there in the soggy weather, there was so much to tell, and as always, there was neither enough time to tell it all, nor the right word to get it across. So he went with something simple.

"I don't hate you." His words were punctuated by a streak of lightning. Rob didn't even have the presence of mind to be startled by the crash of thunder that rumbled over the landscape several seconds later. "I don't hate you," he repeated. "I've loved and lost before." It was a recurring pattern in his life. It still hurt but at least this one had said good-bye. The others hadn't had the foresight. Either that or they just hadn't cared enough to bother. A bitter smile briefly tugged at one corner of his mouth. He took a deep breath. Water trickled past his lips, easing his parched mouth, helping the next words come out more easily. "I know you didn't…understand him but I have to do something for him…right some wrongs…put some issues to rest. Some of them are mine too I guess." He blinked away the water running in to his eyes. "Just know he wasn't all bad. You…you were the best of him –better than him."

The sky lit bright white as another bolt struck the earth. For a brief moment, it was day, harshly lit and cast with an overtone of stark grey and gloom. The rows of memorials to the deceased appeared then vanished and it was just Robert Chase and the memory of Zinedine René Montrose. The touch of cold stone against his palm made him shiver. So cold, he thought. He must be so cold. Alone, buried and forgotten, only the solidly packed earth to insulate. Robert began to shiver more violently. His heat was drawn away through his hand travelling through the granite to the earth and the cold body buried beneath him, stealing what little was left of his spirit. His eyes drifted shut as the cold arms of his last lover wrapped around him.

"Chase."

The chilly embrace began to warm. Blue-green eyes, dreary in the darkness, slowly opened.

"Chase?"

He blinked and turned his head just slightly so that he could see the lower portion of the interloper. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too." House was glad he could be so dry when he was clearly soaked. He was also glad that Chase was responding to him. When he'd arrived at the cemetery the younger man had been completely still. When he'd gotten closer he'd been relieved to see the shivers rocking his fellow's body and had given in, without thought to the compulsion to hold him, share some warmth, and ease the tremors. "You trying to catch pneumonia? Let's go." He tried to pull Chase to his feet. Chase resisted. He pulled out of the grip and stood under his own power.

"Go away, House. This doesn't concern you."

"I'm not going to let you do something stupid, Robert."

The use of his first name stung, more than the cold drops of water crashing over him. It spoke of a familiarity that he didn't have permission to use. House had just taken it, crossing clearly established boundaries. It was Chase and House, not Rob and Greg. It was a small detail but with Greg House you could never overlook even the most minor of events. Robert and not Chase meant an intimacy he couldn't at this unstable time admit to wanting.

"You don't know what the hell is going on." Chase pivoted to make his exit and walked swiftly away from House and from René's resting place. He passed rows of graves, the lamppost on the main path giving just enough illumination for him to make his way without tripping or slipping on the sodden ground. His ears managed to pick out the squishy sound of House's footsteps as they came up behind him.

"I know enough of what's going on! You're pining after somebody who was too much of a chicken-shit to stick around! He left you! Why the hell are you so devoted to him?"

"What? Are you jealous?" Chase scoffed.

House grabbed him by the shirt and pulled to slow his escape and force a confrontation. "Get it through you're pretty little head! It's not your fault! You can't save somebody that doesn't want to be saved!"

Chase struggled to break away from the hold. "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" He tensed and gave one last hard pull and the hand slipped away. Before he could bolt House lunged, getting an arm around to his front while the other returned to his shoulder. House tried to turn him around. Chase resisted. The combination their thrashing and the slippery grass had them tumbling to the ground in a tangle of soaked limbs and raging emotions. Not deterred from his goal, House hooked a leg over Chase and with the hand latched on the front of his shirt pulled himself up and the rising Aussie down in one motion –thank you high-school wrestling team. He quickly straddled the slim waist, grasped him by the collar of his shirt and pressed him into the cold ground. Water dripped from the face above to the one below.

"Damn it! You don't owe him anything! If don't start thinking with your head instead of your love-sick heart I won't be able to save you!"

"I didn't ask to be saved!"

Greg pulled him up a little then slammed him back down. The blow was softened by the squelch of waterlogged lawn. "Then ask me!" Because you need to be saved. You can't face this by yourself. You don't have to.

His yell faded over the deathly quiet field of stone monuments.

Underneath his tight fists the stuttered rise and fall of Chase's breathing told House he wasn't helping the situation. So it was a surprise to him when the shocked, wide eyes staring up from the grass softened into an expression reflecting the abuse he'd endured and tried to bury.

Chase thought he'd never seen this man before. Dr. Gregory House, diagnostician, saved lives, saved bodies. He addressed the physical workings of human beings and only concerned himself with the mental when it was relevant to his diagnosis. So was this House's first time trying to save a soul? Did he see the heartache and pain that couldn't be fixed by a fancy chemical made in a fancy lab and realize that it mattered? Greg House saved people from disease and illness, and as hard as that might be, saving a spirit was harder. Saving one that Chase wasn't sure existed anymore, was impossible.

Nevertheless, there was something about the concern that made his breathing jumpy and uneven. There was a longing and singing from somewhere that rejoiced openly at being worthy of being saved, and being saved by Greg House. So he gave in. He asked.

Save me.

Thunder drowned out the rain and the words but Greg could still read the simple plea from the wet lips. The noise lessened and he could hear the last part of the entreaty. "Please."

House breathed again. The first new breath escape as a relieved sigh and his grip in Chase's shirt slackened for a moment before returning fiercer. The man on the ground didn't have time to react as the weight over his waist eased some and House pulled his upper body from the grass. Forgoing any warning or explanation the older man smothered his lips against the alluring pink ones he'd spent too much time thinking about. His tongue plunged into the open mouth finding the other and coaxing it into responding. Rob was quickly kissing him back with equal ferocity and a little desperation. For several seconds the heat built, the kiss went on, tongues exploring and duelling.

Greg's tensed arms held him against gravity as cool hands passed over his flexed arms and back, then trailed down to rest at his sides. Lips and tongues became acquainted, their breaths mingling together as they took in the unique smells of the other mixed with rainwater.

Rob strained up trying to get closer wanting to loose himself entirely in the kiss laced with a touch addictive and dizzying. He gave in to the attraction he'd been holding so close for quite some time he'd mistaken as jut respect and admiration. The inkling that the emotion ran deeper than that had been there, but all he'd known for certain was that it was precious and when he was ready he'd face it, accept it, and tell him. He should have known that Greg House didn't go by anybody's schedule.

Suddenly it was over. The hands twisted in his shirt released and he fell back into the waterlogged grass, loosing contact with the rain-slicked lips he wanted so direly. The weight and warmth over him disappeared as well leaving him totally exposed to the continued rain from the pure, black sky.

A hand materialized above him. Chase followed the hand to the arm and back to the body standing over him. "Come on," he thought he heard. "Time to get out of the rain," House said with no sarcasm, no bite. When finally Chase gave him his hand House helped to pull him up. He nodded towards the parking lot and his bike reluctantly letting go. Chase turned and went off first, House following a second later to walk beside but a little back to keep his eyes on the dazed young man. He grabbed Chase by the arm to stop him from heading to wherever his car was parked and handed him the black helmet he'd dropped in his haste when he'd arrived.

"You're not driving."

Chase took the helmet and stared at it for a moment. He brushed the droplets off the visor but they collected quickly again. He handed it back to House. "You'll need it to see in the rain," he told the older man. House conceded that and took back the helmet Chase held out to him. He mounted the bike first and started the engine. There was a second of hesitation but Chase climbed on too and grasped House at his sides to hold on. House corrected the hold, removing the hands and pulling until the arms were wrapped tightly around him. He held them there even after Chase took hold. He cradled the back of the cold hands in a vaguely comforting gesture and then let go to take hold of the bike handles and drive them away.

H

"I found him," House said quietly in to the phone. "Yeah, he's fine. Go home." Hearing the response he hung up. He opened the small cabinet in the washroom to retrieve some towels and returned to the living room where Chase was still standing near the door. "You don't have to stand there. I do own the rest of the apartment too." He handed the soaked young man a towel, keeping one for himself.

"Didn't want to track water everywhere," Chase mumbled. For a moment their eyes met, two different shades of blue. Iris's tinged with a bit of green, Chase's eyes searched House's for a sign of what was to happen next. He read the bright azure eyes and discovered the older man had no idea what was to come. It shouldn't have made him feel so amused, House being unsure, but it rarely happened. Chase looked away first, feeling a little lighter but no less lost. He wiped his face with the towel then moved up to his hair. He was less than half there, trying as he was to figure out if it was okay to touch someone again and remind himself what it was supposed to feel like.

House must have had a problem with the job he was doing drying his hair –though he'd never had any complaints before –because a moment later his hands were batted away from his own head and replaced with House's.

"What are you-"

"You're a million miles away," House said to justify his actions. He rubbed vigorously. He didn't have a problem with how Chase was drying his hair, he just needed a reason to touch him after being so frantic to find him.

When he pulled the towel away the blonde hair was still dark with water but no longer dripping. Locks of the short hair stood at a mess of different angles. House avoided Chase's eyes and paid attention instead to the spiked hair. He made a half-hearted attempt at styling it in to an acceptable do. He failed and could only shrug. "I'm sure nobody will mind. You can tell them it's a…" he trailed off as Chase's hand reached up to lightly touch his. He was ensnared by the eyes staring intently up at him. "…a Gregory House original," he finished belatedly.

No man should be that pretty, was House's last thought before he was being pulled down. He let Chase set the pace for this kiss. It was slower, more cautious but Greg suspected highly that passion was just below the surface. He thought about coaxing it out but this was nice.

Their tongues were dancing, not duelling. The urgency and desperation had faded from both of them and the kiss could continue calmly, safely, for a while. Only until the embers were stoked enough to flame. That's when Greg pulled back. Chase didn't let him go far so it was against the soft lips that House made his case.

"Uh…" he swallowed with difficulty. Damn, this kid knew how to kiss. He looked forward to exploring the depths of his talent. He just wasn't sure today was the right day. Now to get his brain cells to fire in the right order. "Mmm," he was all he could manage with Chase pressing his lips insistently against his. Pushing a little on Chase's shoulder House tried again. "We should wait. You're soaked." That wasn't precisely what he was trying to get out.

Chase paused. He rocked his weight back so that his feet were flat to the floor again. That put him inches shorter than House and standing so close to him, he had to tilt his head up further than usual to meet his eyes.

"Are you kidding?" He licked his lips, tasting House there. It was such an erotic little motion that House nearly gave in. Chase decided to play it off lightly. He didn't want to reveal the true depth of what he wanted. Chase's next words wouldn't help House's resolve to refuse the request in both the young man's eyes and the in his kiss. "You don't want to get laid because you're worried I might get a cold?"

That didn't sound right to House either. He still didn't relent. His hands rubbed up and down Chase's arms, then all the way up so that he could gently grasp his face. He leaned forward and kissed him, hot and heavy and far too short.

"I'm sure I have something that should fit you," House told him voice dim with arousal and internal conflict. He gave a parting brush of his thumb across a shapely lower lip before letting go and heading to his bedroom.

Chase breathed heavily for a second or two to regain a semblance of equilibrium. That tickle of sensation, pins and needles over cool damp skin replaced the numbness. He'd been so long and so deeply deadened that he was unprepared for the return of undisguised and unmitigated emotion. It faintly hurt, like the return of heat to a frozen extremity. The blood racing through his vessels carried the warmth of lust and arousal that he hadn't felt in so long. Sexual dysfunction was a side effect to the trauma of rape. That he hadn't been able to touch himself or have a thought that was more than distantly sexual without feeling ill was to be expected. That House's touch could take it away, make him better, well that was unexpected and now heavily desired, maybe more than the man himself. That's what held him back, cooling the errant flames. Did he really want to use House just so that he could feel better? He looked down at the small rug at the entrance on which he still stood. It didn't have any answers.

Chase followed through the unfamiliar corridor of House's apartment. Probably would have been interested in House's abode if he weren't otherwise distracted.

Greg had already found a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and handed them to the younger man once he walked in. Chase took them without words, dropped them on the edge of the bed and began to strip. His mind had skipped over the suggestion of privacy, a freedom he was still getting used to having after prison. He was slipping the wet shirt from his shoulders when he felt eyes on him. He raised his to find another set of blue ones tracing the contours of his chest. He tilted his head a little in surprise, though the expression didn't appear as more than a blink on his face. He always thought his looks would mean nothing against House and his brain. More and more he was seeing the brilliant doctor was just as much a man as any man.

"What happened?"

Chase glanced down, finding the scar on the lower left side of his abdomen that House had focused on. "A…fight." The permanent reminder of that assault in the recreation area of the prison had the arousal cooling and it was a touch that brought him back to the here and now.

A large, talented hand gently outlined the narrow scar, another token from Trenton. It was raised and had that shine of fairly new skin that hadn't healed well. "Didn't hit anything important, did they?" His question was accompanied by his other hand settling on the trim hip.

Breath fell past his lips. His reply was barely audible. "No." His arms hung limply at his sides. The shadows of the hands that held him down and violated him at the prison were close. They ghosted over his skin and left him frozen in remembered terror. His saturated shirt still hung from his fingers, though his mind had forgotten about it the second the long fingers had touched him.

"We shouldn't do this," House told him.

Chase shook his head. He scoured his mind for the right words. The hands inching around to caress his back pushed away the old ones that had dirtied him before. The presence so warm and near to him, made thinking difficult. All he wanted was to stay in his embrace and remember what it was like to be close to another person without fear.

The proximity was already doing things to House. They'd barely done anything and he wanted to throw Chase down and explore the tempting body. He knew he shouldn't but even the constant cold of his soggy jeans didn't temper his arousal. "This is a bad idea."

Chase agreed. "I'm full of them."

House's arousal jumped in response, wanting badly to know and explore all those ideas. Altar boy turned bad boy, cliché but such a major turn on.

The distance between there lips couldn't be measured on any appreciable scale anymore. Desire was thick in the room, suffocating good senses, strangling it, cheering at its demise and pushing the two men closer together.

"You're not ready," the words struggled out.

"I need this. I need you." His stomach clenched. He wasn't sure where exactly that came from but once it was said he knew it was true. More than worrying about its source, he worried that such a confession could easily be thrown back at him. This was dangerous and he still couldn't stop himself. "I want it to be okay again. I-" He closed his eyes. "Save me."

House understood the tacit plea. While his thinking brain protested, the rest of him compelled action. He gave in.

He'd tried. Nobody can say that he didn't. But who could be noble in the face of all that?

H

He hated that short hair. It was his weakness. Why did that sound familiar? He couldn't be bothered to pull out the obscure reference buried somewhere in the back of his crowded mind. Greg shrugged minutely to himself and continued to stare at the blank TV. Post-sex thinking was always pretty simple. On this occasion it was the long list of why he shouldn't have done what he just did that finally appeared. Would have been useful two hours ago!

He let his head drop back to the back of the black leather sofa. His left hand ran over the creases in the well-used leather. He compared it to the warm damp skin of Chase in the throws of orgasm.

"Ugh." House groaned at his pathetic thoughts. It was just sex; sex with a co-worker, worse –he sighed –sex with an underling. Damn it! Sex with Chase, Robert Chase, and twenty years his junior! There was half the alphabet between their generations. This was all kinds of wrong. There were probably volumes of law books and biblical scriptures that said this was a bad idea and why. Combine that with the psyche books about PTSD and rape victims, and he was the worst kind of bastard. Nothing new really.

Besides, he'd never put that much faith in books of, well, faith. After two thousand years or more, depending on what religion is your flavour, it was time for a new version –Holy Bible 2.0. And psyche? Well that whole thing was a bit iffy in his opinion, too soft to be fact. As for the unwritten rules of work-place interactions, well he'd crossed those lines ages ago. While keeping himself directly separate from the issues of his fellows and his friends –maybe that should be friend, singular –he was always quick to step in and nudge somebody this way or that, depending on the doom he saw around the corner or how amusing and just piteous the result might be. Catch his interest and you weren't safe. Chase, Foreman and Cameron had figured that out.

So it wasn't a big deal. Chase was the guy at the hospital. Rob was the guy in his bed. Capice?

"Hey."

Okay, so Rob was the guy standing at the junction of the corridor and the living room.

"Can I get a glass of water?" Chase asked uncertain of whether he was still welcomed here.

"Sure," House replied neutrally. He started to get up but Chase waved him back down.

"I'll get it. Where are your glasses?"

House followed his progress to the kitchen. "Next to the cabinet over the sink." Chase was naked from the waist up and barefoot. The pair of short House had given him hung low on his hips reminding House why he'd given in and had sex with the man. Even a straight man would tap that. Chase was a primo piece of ass.

Shit. House let his head tilt to the ceiling. If this was how a free man was thinking what about a guy in prison surrounded by nothing but ugly, dirty thugs and not a female in sight.

He also noticed that Chase was a little thinner than he expected. The changes in his body were hidden during the day by his clothing but without them it was obvious that Chase hadn't taken well to prison food. Who would?

"You want anything?"

"Beer in the fridge." He turned on his TV needing the noisy diversion.

A beer appeared in his line of vision a few seconds later. He took it. Chase sat on the couch, on the other side but not all the way to the end. It put just enough distance between them.

He twisted the top off and slid his eyes to the side while he took a swig. Chase was drinking his water pretty quickly.

"Didn't get enough water earlier?" House asked in reference to the rain that had drenched them. Chase didn't pause. The only response House got was a brief grunt.

Chase sat the empty glass on the coffee table when he was done. The only sounds came from the television. House was rapidly flipping through the numerous channels, unable to settle on any particular program. Chase had the sinking feeling that like those programs he wouldn't be able to keep House's interest for very long either. That cold feeling was creeping over him again, even though his wet clothes were in pile in the bedroom.

When he'd woken up and found that he was alone in the bed, the sheets next to him cooled to ambient temperature, he'd been nervous. Though the similarity was very vague, he recalled waking, or coming back to himself after assaults in Trenton. The pain of waking, of having to clean himself up and tend as best he could to any damage, it made him shiver in disgust and revulsion. Strangely the one he hated the most was himself. Somebody else would have found a way to escape. They would have fought harder. A stronger person would have let Yarrow die. Face buried in House's cool pillow that still carried the other man's scent Rob had waited. The emotion would pass.

He had to hold himself together for just a little longer. He had to not care for just a little longer, keep this hurt locked away until it was safe to let go. He didn't know if he could. After holding all his demons so close he didn't know how they could not be a part of his definition. He could say to himself that nothing mattered –it seemed much easier a choice –but then what about House? He couldn't not care and be with someone, could he? The weight of his troubles was nearly enough to drown him and he couldn't be helped if he couldn't let go. To do that he had to admit there was something there that mattered, because good things float, things that don't matter float away, and he could feel himself sinking.

He took a shuddering breath and whispered, begged, "save me." Finally it had passed and his chest didn't feel as tight, the bed sheets weren't so cold, he wasn't quite as dirty.

When he'd looked at the clock and saw that it was only nine-twenty-one he relaxed a little more. It was too early to be going to bed, so he slipped on the shorts, cleaned himself off a little, though it appeared House had done most of that while he'd been out, and padded cautiously to the living room.

Now seated next to the man Chase didn't really want to examine what he felt. All he knew was that he didn't want this to be a one-time thing. He also knew that he didn't have anything to offer that House couldn't get elsewhere. Why would anyone stay?

"Why did you come looking for me?" Chase asked. His eyes remained on the television screen though he wasn't actually seeing the images that flashed by. He felt House shift a little and knew the man was looking directly at him. Chase suppressed a shiver, feeling more exposed than the lack of shirt warranted.

"You didn't come back."

In both their ears they could hear an echo of a deeper sentiment.

"I called the NYPD cops and they told me about Montrose…and about Yarrow." Chase had been still before but at the mention of Yarrow, he was frozen. House had expected such a reaction and waited until Chase was breathing again before telling him the rest. "He's been released."

"When?"

"Earlier today."

Chase nodded and tried to swallow. His stomach was rolling, churning with unrest and memories that the man's name brought to the surface. He could feel the burn in his backside. He knew that it had been House and that House wasn't like Yarrow but his unconscious mind and stomach didn't seem to find the distinction. The residual discomfort that he usually enjoyed as a reminder of previous passion, now only reminded him of a dark prison and the repugnance of the events that had taken place there.

Chase?

Somebody was calling his name.

"Rob?"

All he could do was nod. He wasn't sure what exactly a nod would convey. Yes, Robert was his name. It was all the response he could manage.

He took a breath and tried to swallow. He got up and went to the washroom. From the living room, House waited expecting –yes, there it was. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before going to the washroom where he found Chase bent over the toilet spitting out the last remnants of the water his stomach had just rejected. When he thought it was over House helped the shivering man to his feet, helped rinse out his mouth, then helped him in to bed.

"I have to go," Chase protested weakly, eyes glassy and unfocussed.

House didn't bother to respond. Chase was settled in on his side facing in towards the center of the bed. His eyes were open and didn't show signs of closing.

"Get some rest." He moved to leave but a hand around his wrist stopped him. Only somewhat reluctantly he lay down. Chase didn't move any closer to him. He wasn't going to push his luck. It turned out he wouldn't have to, because after a minute House pulled him closer and Chase went willingly. He figured they'd been as close as two people could be and there was no point being coy or shy about it now. House also hoped that this would convey, without him actually having to say it, that he wasn't going anywhere and that he didn't intend for this to be a one-time event. He had offered a shoulder to cry on and tonight he was offering more.

Eventually the older of the two fell into sleep. Hours later, the other would follow to get a few short hours of rest.

H

End Chapter 12

Sagga…