Warning(s): Violence. Language
Chapter rating PG-13
Chapter 13
The department dynamics were a little off the next day. Chase was quiet and tired, Foreman was annoyed by something, Cameron was suspicious, and House was giving strange looks; which were the cause of Cameron's suspicion. Foreman's unrest stemmed from an early-morning argument he had with his girlfriend, so half of his mind was still back there. Chase was nearly catatonic. Cameron seemed to be the only one picking up on the strange way House was acting. It was nothing drastic but she was quite astute when it came to behaviour, especially that of her co-workers.
At first she thought it was just concern on House's part because of Chase. It was becoming more and more apparent that he wasn't getting enough rest, if any. She already knew that House liked Chase, so the attention their boss paid him was not a surprise. She wasn't sure how much of it was reciprocated but she could have brushed it all off, if not for the softness that briefly touched his eyes when they shifted to Chase. She recognised the look because she had wished, and to an extent still did wish for that expression when he looked at her. Her suspicion was growing but she was willing to chalk it up as simple concern, and as rare as it might have been coming from House, it wasn't a big deal. The patient file that Cuddy breezed in and handed to House who was spending much more time than usual hanging around the conference room, managed to collect the attention of the four doctors for a little while.
"White male. Sixty-four years young…and no pulse." Yes, that caught everyone's attention. Even Chase managed to raise his head enough to get his chin off his chest.
"Sounds like a case for the morgue," Foreman suggested with raised brows.
"Foreman, are you discriminating on the basis of vitals? Am I going to have to send you back for more sensitivity training? 'Sides, this wouldn't be the first living-challenged patient we've had. And this one has a pulse at his carotid and everywhere else there should be one, except his wrist." The retort was directed at Foreman but after a glance down House's eyes shifted to Chase again, and Cameron lost her focus on the case. She looked to Chase who was staring sleepily up the older man, through his lashes. He looked too tired to be aware of what he was doing. Cameron turned her gaze back to House, who quickly moved on to the differential. Throughout it Cameron kept her eyes on him, now thinking that there was more between House and Chase than just concern.
House was endeavouring not to treat Chase any differently than he usually would have and he succeeded. The barb at the sleepy man's diagnosis was in perfect tune. Chase didn't respond with his usual sass but that could easily be attributed to his apparent insomnia. What House wasn't so successful in masking were the glances in Chase's direction. Couldn't have been more than a few extra, and a second longer than normal but Cameron was already suspicious so the slips were obvious to her.
"ESR," House ordered, his back to his fellows and eyes on the list of symptoms, which included temporal headache, back pain, hydronephrosis, myalgia, jaw claudication. Chase's suggestion of polymyalgia rheumatica was a good one but since his daddy was a rheumatologist he had an unfair advantage. And he like his idea better. "If I'm right like I usually am, then it'll be elevated. Do another CBC too –and a smear. In the meantime, Cameron, start him on prednisone, one milligram for each kilo."
"I think you're jumping to conclusions," Foreman said, sceptical as always. "You can't use blindness as a symptom when the man's been blind for years from detached retinas. And that was trauma related."
"He has temporal headaches though," Chase said weakly, in support of House's diagnosis of giant cell arteritis. "And an aortic aneurysm would explain the lower back pain and the hydronephrosis"
"So would age," Cameron said absently, her narrowed eyes more focused on the silent interaction between House and Chase. "He could just have rheumatoid arthritis. It could also be Takayasu's."
"He can't be both an old man and a young woman. You have to pick one," House countered, knowing that their patient didn't fit the profile for a person with Cameron's latter suggestion.
"The headache, the myalgia, the claudication, and if Chase is right, the aortic aneurysm makes it a long list of arterial involvement. You can't just jump to a diagnosis when the patient is missing all the ophthalmologic symptoms."
"There is the arteritis part of giant cell arteritis, in case you missed it. Schedule him for an angiogram too. Get him on the steroids first."
The two male fellows pulled their weary bodies from their respective chairs and left for the lab. Cameron hung back.
"You can't just put him on high-dose corticosteroids because you have a hunch. You could make his situation worse."
"Well, I'm not going to make him any blinder."
"What's going on?"
"You tell me." House reread the symptoms scrawled on the whiteboard, presenting his back to the brunette.
"What's going on with Chase? He looks terrible-"
"No, that's just his clothing," House spoke over Cameron.
"-and you've been staring at him all morning."
Tired of her argument already House tapped the white board with a knuckle. "Hello? Patient who needs some steroids." He went back to his mental differential. The presentation was classic GCA, except for the no failing vision part, but the guy was already blind.
Eventually the young woman got the hint and left. House slid his eyes to the right to watch her exit, quickly sliding them back to the whiteboard when Cameron glanced back at him. He sighed up at the ceiling when she was gone and sat down. His hand rubbed idly at his right thigh trying to ease the ache.
He assumed it was just muscle strain after all the activities of last night –fun activities but perhaps a bit too much for his leg. It was either strain, or the ketamine treatment wasn't holding. He'd read the articles. He knew the pain could come back. A loud aggravated huff pushed past his lips. He had enough to worry about. He didn't need a snoopy Cameron too. House tilted his head a little to the left, replaying her tone and her words.
Maybe 'snoopy' wasn't the right word. Maybe 'jealous' was more on target.
Terrific.
H
"Didn't sleep much last night?" Foreman said in more of an accusing manner than a questioning one as he kept Chase from adding the wrong solvent to the test he was trying to run. Dull eyes watched as the plastic bottle was removed from his hand and replaced with a different one. He read the label.
"Oh. Thanks." Chase continued the procedure, his potential screw up making him more diligent.
"Are you okay?"
"Peachy," he answered shortly. "What about you? Girlfriend problems?"
"How'd you guess," Foreman answered sarcastically from his workbench. It was good to be able to argue and just shoot the breeze. Cameron was too touchy-feely and House was too acerbic. Despite how much MTV he watched, House was too old. He just couldn't relate. Chase was just as young and, when it came to relationships, just as stupid as he was. They could complain, commiserate, argue and the next day all was forgotten, or forgiven, or whatever. It wasn't an issue.
"Didn't I say something about the two of you? Something along the lines of two bulls in a relationship."
"You haven't even met her. And you never will."
"I don't need to meet her. I know the type you like. Strong willed, smart, arrogant, practically a female version of you."
"Yeah well, I thought I knew your type too. Just didn't figure House fit in the category."
Chase didn't even bother asking how Foreman figured it out. He was the one that was half-asleep. For all he knew he'd been making googly-eyes at House all morning.
"Neither did I," Chase said honestly. He wasn't sure when his admiration turned to attraction or how long he'd been hiding it from himself. He didn't see any point in trying to hide it from Foreman. Though he suspected to garner a lot of ribbing from the neurologist, he didn't expect anything particularly harsh. Foreman was judgemental, but when things weren't going to make the situation worse, he was pretty slack. Yeah, Eric was surprisingly easy-going, for an uptight-tightwad.
"You think Cameron figured it out?"
"Half-asleep remember," Chase said pointing to himself. "You're probably in better condition to gauge her at the moment. Besides she doesn't like House anymore."
"What makes you so sure?" Foreman careful measured out the right amount of an activator he required and poured it into a test tube.
"She said so."
"And women always say what they mean, right?"
Chase conceded the point.
"Looks like we're going to figure this out right now."
Chase turned to look at Foreman. The dark-skinned man nodded in the direction of the labs glass doors.
"Here she comes."
Chase looked through the glass doors and read her expression. "Terrific."
The two men made the best use of their last few seconds of peace before Cameron stormed in. Neither of them greeted her and she went directly to Chase.
"Are you sleeping with House?"
"Is that any of your business?" Chase measured out the right amount of his solution into a small test tube and slipped it into the centrifuge. From his stool Foreman watched surreptitiously the exchange between his colleagues. He would remain quiet, not wanting to be drawn into the path of hurricane Allison.
"I just don't think either of you are ready for a relationship. You'll just end up hurting each other."
"Your concerns are duly noted." Chase wasn't even sure he'd call the thing between him and House a relationship. They'd both avoided talking about anything serious that morning. After convincing House that he'd be fine he called a cab to take him to the cemetery where his car had been left overnight, driven home to shower and change, and then came to work, where things were nearly like they always were.
"What happened to 'House doesn't like anybody and nobody likes House'?" Cameron asked with her arms folded. Those were Chase's exact words from nearly a year ago.
"I was wrong." Chase swivelled on the lab stool to face her directly. "What happened to 'I'm over him'?" he paraphrased.
Allison just shook her head, a vague expression of disgust marring her otherwise lovely face. She turned and left.
"Everybody lies," Foreman said. Chase didn't respond. He went back to his work, annoyed with Cameron and her petty drama. He didn't want to hurt her. That wasn't his intention. But he couldn't really concern himself with her at the moment. He had bigger problems than an angry female.
Some of those problems would accost him later that day.
H
It wasn't a big deal. That's what House kept telling himself. Wilson was making a Martian volcano out of a nano-dot. Just because Wilson was sitting silently next to him while they watched General Hospital on the television in the Radiology waiting room, didn't mean he wasn't still annoyed. The waves of unrest flowing off his friend were enough to make House itchy. He was still waiting for Wilson to ask specifically about what happened with Chase last night. Either he didn't care, which was highly unlikely, or he'd already figured it out, clever Jimmy that he was.
"Are you sure he's ready? You sure about him?" James finally asked during a commercial break.
House shrugged.
"I mean… he's a lot younger than you. He may have different goals. He may not even plan on staying here when his fellowship is over."
"Oh, he's staying," Greg said certainly. He wasn't yet sure how he was going to pull that off. He'd tell Cuddy he wanted to keep Chase, and Cuddy would figure it out.
Wilson sat back in his chair for a moment, watching the commercial for the day-time talk show 'Maury'. The content of the fifteen-second ad surprised him. He'd always thought Maury was more like Oprah or at least Montel. This make-over, weight loss, boot camp stuff looked more like Springer.
"Have you noticed that Maury is like a somewhat more respectable version of Jerry Springer?"
James shook his head astonished that they'd been thinking the same thing.
House took his head-shake as a negative. "Guess you don't watch enough daytime-TV."
"People who work aren't supposed to know much about daytime-TV," Wilson countered.
"You can record it. What do you think they made TiVo for?"
"TiVo is wasted on daytime-TV," a man, with a newspaper in hand, said as he walked by.
"I agree with him."
"Who the hell is he? His opinion doesn't count," House said irksomely.
James sighed and brought the discussion back to his original topic. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful. He's hurt. He's young. He has a lot of decisions-"
"Why is it that when it comes to me and Chase you're always so eager for the role of devil's advocate?" House interrupted and skewered his friend with an unwavering gaze. "You wanted me to fire him after he went to Vogler. You thought he'd turn on me when he went to the board hearing about his misdiagnosis. And now this."
Wilson thought about responding but there were too many ears around to pick up this private conversation. He just settled with, "You should have fired him. Both times." Not that he hated Chase and wanted the man to loose his job. It was the principle of the matter and Greg's subsequent actions that made him nervous.
"He made a mistake. One that I know he'll never make again. As for Vogler," House shrugged. "He did what anybody would have done; saved his job."
"You're always making excuses for him."
"Aw! Don't pout Jimmy. I love you more." House pushed out his lower lip and gave Wilson his best puppy dog eyes.
"Forget it." The oncologist got up and left. He didn't want to get into something he didn't quite understand himself. When he looked at Chase, there was an attraction –the man was handsome, no arguing that –and there was unease. Not because of anything the boy had done in particular. It was House. House had a weakness or something for the blond Australian that Wilson had noticed a while ago. He never thought it would come this far, but it had and it continued to worried him.
Even from as early as the interview Wilson knew that to House, Chase stood out from the other applicants. What only he and nobody else seemed to see was the danger this fascination posed. If Chase was destructive, clever, and malicious enough, and if House was smitten and distracted enough, Chase could ruin him –they could ruin each other. House's growing curiosity about Chase and his life had put Wilson on edge long before today. This, in combination with his failed marriage, had pushed the oncologist to seek solace at a bar not too far from the hospital, and coincidentally near a grocery store that Dr. Chase frequented. That was how Chase ended up finding, and taking care of him that night months ago.
In his drunken haze of misdirected anger, he'd decided to find out what House thought was so special about the intensivist. The incident had ended badly, but Wilson had come away with greater knowledge about the young doctor, and some insight into the attraction of the wounded man that went beyond his physical appearance. He also took away more than a little guilt about trying to force himself on someone who'd been trying to take care of him. He and Chase became closer and his attraction had grown. What originally started as a drunken plot, evolved into friendship and lust, lust that could never be acted on thanks to Chase's former boyfriend. However, the change between him and Chase had House splitting the little bit of extra attention he'd directed on Chase, back to him. That had been both annoying and also comforting, and things had been okay –he had both Chase and House. Then everything happened, and Wilson didn't have either.
Back in the Radiology waiting room House didn't move until his show was over. Even then he was tempted to ignore whatever Wilson's problem was and watch the next program. The next program turned out to be The View and that was where he drew the line. He left following the same path Wilson had taken fifteen minutes earlier. Now he could figure out what was going on in Jimmy's overcomplicated psyche.
He didn't think it was that Jimmy didn't like Rob. He couldn't possibly blame Chase for him almost loosing his job when Vogler was here. Vogler was after the diagnostics department, the head of the department in particular. He was the one who had to step in line and, in the end, couldn't. Chase was an easier target for Wilson. He was Jimmy's best friend and at the time, Chase was easily made the bad guy. Firing him when he just fought for his job the way House wanted him to do just wasn't right in his opinion. He'd done more than the other two had to keep their jobs. Foreman coasted by on his brains and generally staying below the radar; same for Cameron. Chase had just made a mistake and was the odd man out. He'd told Cameron he wanted Chase to fight for his job. He had, and then House had tortured him for a month. He wasn't punishing Chase's initiative, just his method, because that was what House wanted from him.
It had been very apparent in his interview with the young doctor that he was smart and his record was glowing so brightly it practically blinded him. What he liked about Chase more than the others with similar applications, was that Chase was very…calm; didn't get riled up by House's insults or jokes. He even laughed at some, though that might just have been some flattering ploy to get the job. What hadn't been was the phone call from the famous, Dr. Rowan Chase the day before, which the younger Chase clearly hadn't know about.
"I've heard a great deal about you," the man had started. "My son has an interview for a position in your department coming up. I'd be very appreciative if you were to give him the position. I know he has his heart set on working for you."
The rest of the short conversation had been pretty standard with House throwing ill-disguised taunts, and Chase Sr. deflecting them with the patience and skill of a Zen master.
So House had hired the young, and still younger-looking, doctor. Not as a favour to Rowan Chase but because of Rowan Chase. The man said he knew a great deal about him. A smart guy like Rowan would have figured out his feelings about nepotism. So a call to him was more likely to make sure Robert didn't get the job than ensure that he did.
Chase Jr. had travelled half-way around the world to escape his father's reputation and become a doctor in his own right. And House was far too familiar with fathers trying to push their son in the direction they chose not to feel something for Chase's plight. So, he hired the son of Rowan Chase. Take that, Dad!
The only problem he'd had with Chase was that he wouldn't fight. Not unless really pushed. He couldn't mould the young man into a super-doctor if he didn't change that. So he'd pushed, twisted and yelled until he had. Chase argued more with him now than he used to, and he fought for what he wanted. House had succeeded, and he lost. René had been right. Now however, House had a chance to get back what he'd lost and more.
H
The afternoon meant clinic duty for Chase and that was just fine by him. On his way back from the lab he'd run in to Dr. Wilson. The frosty greeting he was given puzzled him. He knew it had to do with House, and with what happened last night. He didn't know whether House had given any details, but his brief contact with Dr. Wilson left him nervous and feeling as though he should apologize. He wasn't entirely sure for what he'd be apologizing. He figured that Wilson was just worried about House being with him. Anybody would be. He wasn't the most stable of persons right now, and House didn't appear they type to coddle or cuddle. Chase paused, stopped walking in the middle of the corridor nearly making the doctor behind him, also attending to clinic patients, crash in to him. The other doctor being in such a hurry, barely had enough time to through an annoyed look before he moved on. Chase didn't even notice. He was still thinking about the man he'd slept with the night before.
That morning Chase had awoken at his usual time, he could tell by the cast of the sun through the curtains. He was on his back and he felt a weight over his chest. He looked down and found an arm thrown over him, an arm that belonged to the man making the sleeping noises nest to him. At his right saw House sleeping peacefully, if a little noisily. With his face turned towards his bed partner House was dead to the world. The soft snoring sounds exited the partially open mouth and slack lips. He looked so peaceful Chase hadn't been able to help a sleepy smile. He shifted a little and the arm hand that had been slack grasped at him, holding him, keeping them close. House had mumbled something unintelligible and Chase had given him a short kiss before slipping out from the bed and the comforting embrace.
So, no one would have pegged House as a cuddler but he had been. Only for a few, too brief hours but to him it meant a lot. That it possibly may never happen again meant it was all the more precious. They hadn't said much that morning and nothing in the few sleep heavy words House had directed at him held any hidden message about how the other man felt. Chase didn't know where they stood and he wasn't feeling up to broaching the topic, especially not after seeing Wilson. If House was in a similar mood then he wasn't eager to see him. The clinic was as good a place to hide as any other and the general lack of mental exertion left him still able to ride the comfortable level of calm that he'd managed to hang on to.
"Just make sure she gets some rest and lots of fluids. She'll be fine in a day or two." Chase led the first-time father and his two-year old girl out of the exam room. The little girl had a cold, not even a bad one but the father had worried, as parents tend to do –especially when it was the parent who wasn't usually the one to take care of the child. With the little girl's mother away on business all responsibilities fell to Daddy and he'd just overreacted a bit. Chase had checked that there was no neck-pain so it wasn't meningitis. It was more than likely she just picked it up from one of the other kids at her preschool. He'd spent nearly half an hour just trying to explain that to Mr. Brooks. Now that he was sure the father wasn't going to call 911 if the little girl coughed he was going to let them go.
Mr. Brooks thanked him with all the gratitude of a man whose child had just been saved from a life-threatening illness. He knew he wasn't deserving of such gratitude so he just smiled and nodded. He threw a wink to the little red-haired girl who smiled and waved back at him.
"Doctor Chase, you have a man in room two who asked specifically to see you. He said that you're friends. It's…" the dark hair woman searched for the name in the file, "…uh, Alexander Cass."
"Can't say I recognize the name." He accepted the file anyway and proceeded to room two while skimming the few notes scribbled in by one of the rushed nurses. He'd just gotten his hand on the doorknob when a voice called him.
"Dr. Chase! A moment of your time please," House began. It was clear by the tone of his voice he had something to say, that he'd reach some conclusion he felt the need to share with the other doctor.
Chase knew that it had to do with what happened the night before and was eager to escape. "Can't, have a patient." He ducked into the exam room. House followed.
"This will only take a minute. I just wanted to know if you liked monster trucks."
Chase was stunned. He stood there, back to the patient for a few long seconds as he tried to read into House's words. "Monster Trucks?"
"Y'know, those big trucks with the big wheel and the big engines crushing the smaller cars. It's useless destruction, but endlessly entertaining."
"Monster Trucks, like you took Cameron? Like a date?"
"With Cameron it wasn't a date. Is that what she told everyone?"
"Well…no." She actually hadn't said much about it except that she'd never been to see monster trucks before. "So you're not asking me on a date?" Chase asked. The date probably would have come before the sex for most people.
"I didn't say that."
"Excuse me…" The third voice reminded both men that their issues took a back seat while there were at work. Chase quickly turned to face the man who'd been waiting. He was half-way turned when the voice triggered a memory, actually memories, all of them bad. House saw just a flash of the shock in Chase's eyes before he'd turned completely.
"So, you ridin' with him now?" The man was white, tall but not that tall. Well built muscles and probably a few scars hidden underneath his expensive tailored suit. The dark material clung in a flattering manner over the early-forties man but that was about all the praise one could honestly direct at him. His haircut was nothing spectacular, the whole man was nothing spectacular, except that he carried himself with such an air of confidence and menace that House quickly figured out who he was.
"What are you doing here?" Chase asked. His voice was level but laced with something edgy.
The man didn't respond to Chase's inquiry. He looked to the older man by the door. "This must be Doctor House. You have quite the history."
"At least mine's not a criminal history," House countered and watched with contentment as the man's expression darkened. Chase didn't see the humour apparently because he cut the chitchat.
"What the hell do you want?" He asked with a raised voice, unconcerned with the attention he might draw from those in the clinic.
"Just wanted to see your pretty face. Zinedine was right. How did he put it?" Yarrow casually reached in to the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out a letter that was worn and slightly rumpled, as though somebody had held it and read it over many times. From memory he quoted. "'I touch him and all my thoughts are there, with him and all that's important is the moment'.'" The ex-con unfolded the paper and read directly from the private message. "He told me he loved me. You have no idea how good that feels."
"Give me that!" Chase reached for the letter. Yarrow pulled it out of his reach and Chase didn't want to get any closer to the other criminal that necessary. It had to be the one Zid had written to his father. Montrose had told him it had been lost. It appeared now that it had been stolen.
Yarrow had used the letter to gain insight in to his foe and find the weakness that could bring him down. Montrose had known too much about him so Yarrow had done the same but gone the more personal way. It was that letter that put Zinedine on Yarrow's radar. After his demise the letter again directed Yarrow to Chase.
"I don't think so. This is mine just like everything Monty left you. You see he owed most of that stuff to me and I want it back. You can hand it over or you can suffer. I have some pretty impressive connections." Yarrow glanced at the tall man behind Chase. He brushed off the blue glare with nothing more than a smirk. "You give me what I want and we can clear this whole thing up."
"Clear it up? Like this is some unfortunate misunderstanding. You killed Montrose! You framed me! You…you…" Yarrow loved that he could still twist the young man up inside. It was addictive being able to wield such power over another being. He held out the letter again and though he resisted at first Chase reached out to grab it. The gesture put Chase within Yarrow's grasp after he'd been so careful to stay out of it. He grabbed Chase's arm with his free hand and tugged him closer.
"I made a man out of you. If you want we can discuss this in a more horizontal position. Those meetings always went so well back in Trenton." The light brown eyes directed down at his prey smouldered with remembered pleasure. The heady mix of power and lust, even in recollection, got him excited. The fantasy hadn't even finished playing out in Yarrow's gutter of a mind before a swift fist collided with his face.
"Oh! I think that was just a bit too hard for a 'chin check'," House commented with a smile as he watched the felon fall. Chase didn't know how or why House was so familiar with prison slang. Most of his attention was on Yarrow, who was picking himself off the floor with an angry look on his face. The fury that boiled his blood was beginning to cool to a simmer. In the face of Yarrow's anger he felt unaccountably weak, the moment of anger having flared and passed. A warm presence pressed lightly against his back, reassuring and supporting him as his fight waned and the dread returned.
Yarrow worked his jaw with his right hand. "Well at least you didn't stab me this time."
"Something tells me you deserved it back then too. In the mean time we have to go." House grabbed Chase by his upper arm and forced him from the room. The young physician was still looking at the crumpled letter in the parolee's hand, gauging how he could get it. House wasn't about to let him take the risk, especially now that Yarrow was trekking into the realm of royally pissed. "And if I find you anywhere near Doctor Chase, or his home, or his place of work, or his grocery store, or his dentist, I'll call someone and get you thrown back in the big house. I have my own connections." He didn't wait for a response and Chase didn't wait for House.
He was down the short corridor and out of the clinic in a few seconds. He wasn't sure how he ended up in the men's washroom but he paced up and down trying to calm himself, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. He hadn't expected this to follow him to work. For some reason the hospital was a safe zone, sacred ground, he was supposed to be secure here. Robert laughed at himself. Even in his head that didn't sound right.
"Chase."
He raised his hands to House as the older man walked in to the bathroom, stalling any words. He couldn't listen to anything right now. He just needed to calm down, and think, and calm the fuck down. He faced away from House and brought his hands to cover his face. He was starting to feel claustrophobic, which was strange because he didn't suffer from claustrophobia and the room was pretty big –four sinks, four stall, four urinals, plenty of space. He shouldn't have felt like the walls and the world were closing in on him.
"Rob."
The sound of his name saved him. The arm around his wasted moored him.
"I have to finish this," he whispered in conclusion to his storm of thought.
Into the short blonde hair House dipped his head, letting his lips brush against the soft strands.
"Finishing means you've already started." House didn't expect Chase to answer. He sighed and tilted his face to rest in the blonde hair mumbling, "What have you done?"
Chase reached back to grasp at the House's shoulder. He loosely clutched the blazer feeling the soft yielding of the shoulder-pad underneath.
"I have to."
"You don't owe him anything."
Chase swallowed back his unrest so that he could speak. "This isn't for him." His accent and his nerves softened the words but not their resolve.
"I'm not going to let you do this."
The door to the washroom opened. Chase moved to put some distance between them but House didn't let go. He wasn't worried about anybody seeing them. Other people's opinion of him was low on his list of priorities. Besides he recognized the sound of Wilson's walk anywhere.
"Uh…Chase, Cuddy is looking for you. House…well, Cuddy always wants to know what you're up to."
"You can tell her I'm feeling up my intensivist." He gave Chase a parting squeeze before letting him go. Chase took a deep breath and a glance at the two older men before walking out. House noticed that the look lingered on Wilson just a little too long. His first response was jealousy, which he quickly beat down. After another millisecond of consideration he realized that the look had been the calculating one that Chase sometimes wore when he was working on a particularly intricate and delicate puzzle. The door closed with a dull thud and it marked the same moment in time that House knew Chase was going to make a move; probably a bad one.
"What's going on?" House inquired now that they were alone.
Wilson walked further in to the washroom. "I'm not sure. People in dark suits and carrying badges –either Chase really did kill someone or they're worried about the same thing we're worried about." His personal issues not withstanding, Wilson couldn't help but fret about Chase in this situation.
House tilted his head to the left and glimpsed up to the ceiling. "You think they'd want to know that the guy they're worrying about is here?"
Wilson didn't catch on right away. "The guy? THE guy! He's here?"
"Well, he was two minutes ago. I'm not sure how speedy crime bosses are with their exits." He let his head droop forward as he considered what Chase was likely going to do. "Chase won't tell them. He thinks he has a score to settle."
"Doesn't he?" Wilson argued.
"I don't care if God is working through him. I'm not going to let him get himself killed. He can recover from being raped. He can't recover from being dead."
Wilson pivoted to follow as House brushed past him. "Did you stop to think that maybe he might need to do this to recover?"
"You're not going soft on me are you, Jimmy?"
"Are getting soft in the brain, Greg? You usually love watching people dig themselves into holes they can't escape from."
House pulled the door open and didn't bother holding it for the man he knew was following him out. "Now that's not fair. I usually hit you over the head with the shovel before I throw it to you. Couldn't stop you from getting married, again, but personal responsibility has to kick in somewhere." To himself, House marvelled at his brilliance. He could keep up a conversation of a topic he wasn't remotely interested in and still leave his buddy speechless.
"House…"
The warning he knew was coming finally arrived and he was ready for it.
"He asked me to save him. I'm not going to hesitate when I have to save him from himself."
James shook his head. "He really did a number on you." Neither man took notice of the eyes following them or the ears following their conversation. They'd caught the attention of more than a few people.
"Now you're just jealous," House announced and without looking back he passed through a set of double doors before they could close behind the last person who had gone through. James watched the man he called a best friend leave and wondered what was wrong with him that House was the best he could get.
H
Chase slowly entered the crowded office. He didn't hide the suspicious glares he directed at the men and women sporting gold shields from either their belt, or breast pocket. He picked his way past the five unfamiliar people until he got to Dr. Cuddy.
"What is all this?"
The older woman gave him a sympathetic look and began to explain. "The FBI thinks you might have valuable information."
"I don't," Chase responded quickly. His patience was gone. Away from the suffocating presence of his former cellmate Chase felt his anger and his strength returning. His anger was fed by the knowledge that even outside the prison Yarrow had power over him. It was power evolved by experiences in prison, maintained my memory and despised by the victim. "Can I go now?"
Cuddy wanted to say yes.
"We just have a few questions to ask you."
Chase turned to the brown-hair man who had spoken. "Really? And I suppose you need this much back up for a few questions?"
"You probably aren't all that familiar with the organization, but we like to be thorough, and well prepared. You know. In case one of your pals from Trenton shows up. You wouldn't have happened to see Antony Yarrow anywhere around here would you?"
Chase turned to the haughty man who didn't look much older than he was. If this little upstart wanted to antagonize him they could take this outside because right now he was spoiling for a fight. Pummelling someone would likely do wonders for his nerves.
"Even if I had, I wouldn't tell you." The two men squared off and both their superiors were about to call them off when the door to the office burst open.
"Am I interrupting?"
"Get out, House." Cuddy was short with him. She wasn't sure she could keep a leash on both her doctors right now. She'd never seen Chase like this and handling House was always an art form. She didn't have time to work any masterpieces right now. Or handle any pieces of work.
House barged in despite his lack of welcome, throwing a smirk at his boss.
"Let me guess. FBI."
The man facing Chase rolled his eyes. "Brilliant deduction."
"Let give you another one. You're here about Yarrow. You just missed him," House said as he pointed out the doors towards the rest of the hospital. "If you hurry you might catch him." House didn't turn to watch, but the sound of feet on the carpet supplied that at least two people were going to check it out.
"Agent Chamberlain. I'm the lead detective on this case," a tall woman stepped forward and introduced herself. She offered her hand to Chase, who didn't make any move to return the gesture. She returned her hand to her side knowing better than to offer it to the tall, unshaven man. "We need to know what Yarrow said. Why was he here?"
"Not a clue," Chase stated. "If you'll excuse me." He went to exit but that detective he really didn't like blocked his path.
"That's no way to speak to a lady."
"Cool your jets, Yankee," Chamberlain chastised her NYC-native detective. "Doctor Chase we know Montrose left everything he had for you. I'm guessing that he also imparted some information as well. You must know that Montrose and Yarrow got each other arrested. What Montrose leaked to get Yarrow put away, however, only scratched the surface of what he knew. Yarrow had nothing else on Montrose so he was in the clear. His death was Yarrow's best way of securing his freedom."
"You're boring me," Chase said cruelly, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of impatience. They didn't know nearly as much as they thought they knew.
"If Montrose told you what he knew, then you've got Yarrow by the balls and he's squirming. You share what you know with us, and we'll hang him by them. All we want is to talk to you for a little while. You have my word that we'll protect you from him."
Chase glared sidelong at her, resenting that he was being ganged up on. And he now had a history with law enforcement. "You want me to trust you? Last time I went in for questioning with cops, I was arrested for a double murder I didn't do, and sent to a bloody prison!"
"That's been corrected. We know that there's a connection to Yarrow and the officers who arrested you are being investigate by Internal Affairs. We're trying to make this right." She was attempting to be soothing but more than anything her tone was patronizing. House knew this wasn't going to go well.
"You know how you can make this right?" Chase walked directly up to the woman. "You can go back in time and prevent my arrest, my incarceration and Montrose's death! But you can't so sod off!" He went for the exit but was again blocked. This time by a different, significantly balder man. The man raised his hands ready to apply force to keep their "person of interest" from leaving but Chase paused and tensed.
"Just touch me," he threatened. The other man stilled.
"Let him go," Chamberlain said. The agent stepped out of the way and Chase was as good as gone.
"Well, that went well," Cuddy commented.
"I can't believe he stood three of you down. And me without my camera," House mocked.
Chamberlain took a breath and changed gears, pushing away the comforting maternal figure that didn't actually come off very comforting or maternal. "He likes you, Doctor House. Talk to him. Make him see sense."
"So that you can convince him to testify, making himself a target for the mob? You may not know this but he had a less than stellar run in with a mob guy a year or so ago."
"We can protect him. Witness protection–"
"And what small, mid-west city have you found where his accent wouldn't stand out?"
"With practice his accent can be eliminated."
"So what makes you think that he'd do it, or that I'd let him?" He had originally come with the intention of getting Chase to cooperate. He now recalled why he didn't like cooperation; it somehow always ended up as a parasitic relationship. The only person who was going to benefit here was the FBI. Chase would be locked away in some squalid, little place in the middle of Ass-munch, Wyoming while the detectives received their kudos and promotions.
"He's already a target. We're his only chance. You know that. You just don't want to admit it." She gestured for the other agents to leave. This was a big case and there were a lot of careers and promotions riding on it, but this also meant taking out a powerful wing of the organized crime regime that law enforcement agencies had always had trouble getting a handle on. This was going to take finesse. "We'll be in touch."
"I'll be in surgery."
Chamberlain smirked and followed the rest of her team out.
It was several seconds before Cuddy felt she could sit down without something getting sprained from all the pent up tension. Eventually she dropped into her chair. House continued to stand though he seemed to be leaning more on his left leg.
"They aren't nearly as cool as the guys I the movies. Their plan sucked."
"If you have a better idea, I'm all ears," Cuddy sighed, her heart going out to Chase who was faced with this impossible dilemma.
House pressed his lips into a thin line. His crafty eyes skimmed across the familiar and tastefully adorned office taking in none of the details. He walked out a few seconds later without offering Cuddy any alternatives. He needed time to think. He also needed to track down and keep an eye on his wily and elusive Aussie.
H
The rest of the day was quiet and tense. Chase and House went back to work joining Cameron and Foreman with diagnosing the patient. They seemed to be on the right path with the autoimmune condition. The erythrocyte sedimentation rate was elevated as House had predicted and the ultrasound of the abdomen showed an aneurysm of the aorta. The angiogram was scheduled for the next day and with that they would determine whether surgical intervention was required. Foreman was still whining that the diagnosis was nothing more than a lucky guess since the reduction in sight couldn't be confirmed in a blind patient. House continued to say that he was just that good. Cameron suggested biopsy of the temporal arteries and House agreed. By the end of the day the patient was stable and nothing else could be done until the following one. Six o'clock rolled around and Cameron exited first. She threw a look at House, and then at Chase, and was gone. House watched her leave thinking to himself that she didn't have any reason to feel betrayed.
He was fond of Cameron. He liked her contradictions. He liked watching her evolve beyond them. If he could cut away all that neediness, all that wounded idealism she wore like a fashion statement, and if he could giver her Chase's ass and Cuddy's boobs –yeah, he might have taken her for a tumble. As things were now though, he had Chase –at least he hoped he had Chase –and Chase was all he wanted.
"I'm going."
Foreman's declaration pulled House back to the present. "Go."
The man left. House looked to the conference room and found it was empty. He glanced around hoping to catch a glimpse of his Australian somewhere but didn't. He swivelled his chair around to face his balcony and rose. He could use this time to talk to Wilson. He needed to figure out the whole picture. Chase and the FBI weren't sharing, and it was clear that something was going on in Chase's head. He'd been quiet and tired all day, but after the FBI and Yarrow's visits he was more alert and, amazingly, more withdrawn. At some point in the afternoon he'd slipped out and gone to that café for another one of his too sweet coffees. He took only six sips (House had counted) and spent most of his time staring at the logo. Something was going on and House was going to find out.
He barely remembered that there was a short wall that needed to be hopped when saw into Wilson's office. What was Chase doing in there and why were he and Wilson arguing? House jumped the partition, pausing to wince and hold his leg when the landing hurt more than it should have. He brushed the pain aside and approached the closed glass door. It was unlocked so he inched it open, quietly, and listened.
"I don't want either of you hurt!" Wilson exclaimed. His hands were raised and tense as though he was struggling with the fight not to strangle Chase, who was red-faced with anger, or a believable imitation of it.
"What the hell do you care?" Chase asked a moment too late. House immediately zoned in on the hesitation and cocked his head forward a little. "You think I don't know you resent me? You think I've stolen what's yours! You don't want to share him. Well, here's something to get you off my case! You don't have to share him!" Chase turned to leave but Wilson stopped him. There was so much shock and anger on his face that House actually felt his chest constrict at what might happen next. Unconsciously he readied himself to intervene.
Wilson knew that his grip on Chase's arms was tight, painful probably, but he didn't care. "That's it? You're just going to leave him?"
Chase didn't answer directly. Instead he asked a question of his own. "Isn't that what you would have done to me?" Wilson froze. His heart rate picked up. "Fucked me and then left? I think your record with half the nursing staff speaks for itself."
Wilson almost hit him. He actually tried to. Chase had jerked out of his grasp moving back about a foot and Wilson had swung. Angry or not, bigger or not, emotion and size weren't enough to trump prison-honed evasion skills. Wilson just barely managed to clip Chase's cheek as the younger man quickly changed the direction of his motion, to stepped forward, too close to be hit and too close for comfort. Running from a fight just made one a bigger target in prison. Stepping up worked better both figuratively and literally.
Wilson was off balance –his fist and the force he put behind it pulling him forward, and the hands grasping the front of his shirt doing the same. Something hooked his foot. He felt himself falling even as he was being twisted. He was practically seated in the chair usually reserved for patients when the fall stopped –the edge of the seat digging into the upper part of his rear Chase was standing over him hands still fisted in his shirt and lab coat. His eyes were bright with emotion, and also something calculating. The cunning vanished at Wilson's next words.
"You don't love him at all, do you?"
Chase stopped breathing. So did the spy trying to make himself as still as possible.
"I…" He felt his voice wavering and looked away. Though his gaze was averted Wilson would still see his eyes.
Chase could love House. He'd spent most of the afternoon contemplating where the relation \ship could go if he were to try. Him and House -under normal circumstances it sounded like a recipe for disaster. With everything that had happened; House's shooting, his incarceration –they were both more than fit for therapy and he wasn't sure if either of them was strong enough to put up with the other. And if they could, Chase wasn't sure he could risk it. Yarrow was still gunning for him and he couldn't run the risk that Yarrow would go after anyone close to him, even if it was a short list. So he gave the right answer. It was the one that would put him at a distance to the two people who would work the hardest and give up the most to save him.
"I can't love someone who doesn't want to be loved…It's not worth it."
Wilson felt that urge to punch him again. From his awkward position he couldn't so Chase was safe. When the younger man let go, he was quick to move away. He went straight for the door.
"That almost hurts." House's sudden interruption startled the other two men. They turned to the balcony where House was limping in, clearly keeping most of his weight off his injured leg. The other two men barely notice, so shocked by his sudden arrival. "Except I didn't ask to be loved."
Chase was about to say something. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Then ask, his traitorous mind prompted, the part that wanted House to break apart this ruse, the part that still wanted to be saved.
He looked scared, as scared and conflicted as House or Wilson had ever seen him. He was going to turn away but House spoke again. House asked. Chase didn't respond, so afraid and so torn. This wasn't supposed to happen. Chase turned his back and left, hiding the cracks like he knew he had to.
Silently, calmly House moved. He dropped himself into the chair next to Wilson and sat staring forward across the oncologist's desk.
He'd asked. Had he lied? Was he presently so desperate to save Chase that he'd do anything, even if it meant over stating his sentiments? He wasn't sure how strong his feelings for his intensivist went. He was pretty certain that with a bit of luck and some effort, they could have a working relationship.
Did he love Chase? Could he love Chase? He wasn't sure. He wanted to. He wanted to be that close to him, and he was trying, because that's were the honest part of his emotion directed him. He lied sometimes, but he hadn't lied here, and he didn't lie to himself often.
Next to him, Dr. Wilson tried to get the confrontation in order.
"I just wanted to talk to him," he explained, eyes on the base of his desk. He felt Greg's eyes slide over to rest on him for a moment then away.
"He's up to something." He was more certain now than ever, and more worried too. "If I'd known he could be that manipulative, I wouldn't have come running to you each time I needed to dupe a patient."
"What are you talking about? Didn't you hear him?"
House was staring forward again. "I heard him." He levered himself out of the chair. "And I read between the lines."
James hated reading between the lines. Hadn't been good at it in English class in grade school and he wasn't any better at it now. He was a firm believer that if something was being said between the lines, then it wasn't being said at all. Still, when House got up to leave, he followed.
"He's manipulating you," House said making his way back to his office –through the hall this time.
"You're trying to read something that's not there. He used you, Greg." It hurt to say. He didn't expect it to. Surprisingly, he hadn't wanted it to be true. A small, somewhat reluctant section of his mind thought that, maybe, they would be good for each other. It seemed like his original instinct had been right after all.
House had his own instinct. "No. He's trying to protect me."
H
End Chapter 13
Yay! Mwa ha ha ha haa! I really like this chapter for some reason.
Next chapter out on Sunday. Sorry for the delays.
Sagga…