„He's having fun."
"Who doesn't?"
"You, for instance", she said, "locking yourself up in the bathroom and listening to the mayhem that goes on beyond a closed door."
"Do I look to you like I don't enjoy myself?" House raised the bottle of champagne to help himself to another swig.
"Cheers." Amber raised her glass in a mocking toast. "He's like a little boy left in a toy store."
"Then we were doing it right."
"Aren't we happy now", she scoffed. "I think he's getting drunk by the minute."
It was weirdly satisfying to see Chase letting go like this. It was like watching a different kind of person. As long as he knew him, Chase had always been the hardest to trick into a spontaneous reaction. The sound of his inebriated laughter was like a well-deserved reward to House.
Everything it took was alcohol and a bunch of pretty girls dancing and flirting and feeding him ice-cream with their perfectly manicured fingers.
Quite pleased with himself, he clinked glasses with Amber who was sitting opposite him in the empty tub. "Here's to a successful party."
"Here's to a pointlessly plastered Dr. Chase", she replied, dead-pan, "Finally spinning out of control at your very command."
"Foreman's playing chaperon. I bet Cameron has asked him to."
"Only proving her point what a bad influence you are."
His influence, good or bad, would come to an end once they had tied the knot.
Chase would have no difficulties to adapt to Cameron's own moral code. He was fairly good at switching sides if it served his purpose, selfish little prick that he was.
"It works for him", Amber pointed out, jumping on his train of thought. "Besides, he shies away from confrontation. Not an admiring trait we share, am I right? He's still got a few lessons to learn."
"Not from me."
"You're expecting his wife to do it for you?" She sneered contemptuously. "Get real. He'll avoid you."
"He's doing it already."
"And yet he's here, perfectly boozed and dancing with a stripper because it's fun. Because it's immoral. He enjoys that. Still playing your games, right?"
"Nothing wrong with that," he shot back.
Chase had proven to be useful, and in a way, reliable even. It didn't take much effort to convince him if House needed uncritical support from his staff, be it some sort of seemingly uncalled surgery, or some crazy antics like a betting pool or staging a bachelor party.
It wasn't because Chase was particularly easy to manipulate.
It wasn't because House considered Chase a tool or a stooge: he had actually the guts to prove that he had brains enough to object more than just once. There was a sharp mind underneath the harmless façade of boyish interior, and House knew how to use it for his own benefit.
"You hate change. I understand that", Amber said sympathetically. "That's why we don't want to let it happen."
"Are you suggesting me to break up their relationship?"
"Think of it as a personal favor."
This wasn't what he wanted. Or did he?
"You can't stand the two getting married", she stated, matter-of-factly. "Admit it. You're jealous."
"Matrimony doesn't necessarily indicate that a fairy tale comes true. According to statistics, it won't last anyway. Why would I be jealous of a marriage that is most likely about to fail?"
"You'll always be alone" she said with an icy smile. "Chase and Cameron are not."
"Two kindred hearts that have found each other on their long journey across a loveless ocean", he scoffed, "It's ridiculously romantic. Which is actually a synonym."
"Maybe he loves being dominated. Maybe it's what he wants. What they both want."
"You're wrong. She doesn't want him, and he wants her too much. It's a matter of time before they realize how brilliantly that's going to work out."
She smiled at him over the edge of her glass. "You could shorten the agony, if nothing else."
She was unpleasant.
Cold.
Sneaky.
Worst of all, he could see what she was driving at.
Why was it so hard to make her stop?
And why would he obsess about the private affairs of his former fellows?
They were no longer in his life.
They didn't mean a thing to him.
"It has never been like that," Amber said. "This hospital is your living room. Your employees are your kids. It's everything you're clinging to in your pathetic life; they're the pathetic substitute for a family. The two are going to have their own. Give it some time, and they'll reproduce. Blonde, beautiful brats, maybe two or three. Chase loves children."
So what? He didn't care.
Foreman's panicked voice and the subsequent shaking on the doorknob spared him a reply. "House! You're in there?"
"Use the other bathroom. It's in the kitchen. Looks like a sink."
"Chase went into anaphylactic shock from the stripper's body butter or something."
House felt the blood drain from his face. "Is he okay?"
"One of the residents had an EPI-pen, so he's fine but we're taking him to the hospital just to be safe."
When he turned to her, her face lit up, and a triumphant smile twitched at corners of her mouth.
The pieces fell into place, and it came as a shock. "I knew that Chase is allergic to strawberries, didn't I? That's why you wanted Karamel at the party."
"I suggested Karamel 'cause she was great at Wilson's party."
"I knew about her body butter. I knew about his strawberry allergy. I tried to kill Chase. Why would I do that? I don't want Cameron."
Amber shrugged. "You're not a big fan of other people's happiness, either."
No.
It couldn't be.
This was insane, completely illogical.
Why would he resort to such drastic means?
What would he gain in return?
There was nothing in it for him, nothing that made sense anymore. Unless…
Unless there was only one explanation left. It threw him to the verge of panic.
He had to be crazy.
"There now", Amber said, patting his arm as he staggered to get out of the tub, "no reason to get all worked up. They'll take care of him. Who knows, maybe it's good for something."
"I nearly killed a man who means nothing to me. What the hell is it good for? Why should I want to hurt Chase?"
"Because you rarely act in the interest of others if there is a chance to destroy their pretty bitty illusions?" Amber suggested helpfully.
He hated her.
He hated what her words implied.
He hated what she represented.
The only way to get rid of her one and for all was to put a bullet through his head.
"He's got everything that you'll never have," she prodded mercilessly. "Isn't that a fair reason to be jealous?"
Shaken to the core, he shook his head. "This isn't me."
"It's a part of you that you've apparently lost control over. It hasn't always been like that."
"I don't want to kill Chase. He's not a threat. He's doing what I want."
"Past tence. He's no longer your puppet."
"I never wanted him to be one."
"Well, he's going to be Cameron's from now on. If it's any consolation to you, you can always try to convince yourself that you tried to kill him as a precaution. Spare him the humiliation."
His fingers grasped the bottle so tightly that his knuckles stood out white. "This is madness."
"Still the world's best diagnostician", she nodded appreciatively, her eyes cold and hard as steel.
oOo
His throat felt sore when he tried to swallow, like someone had been choking him.
Breathing didn't come as easy as it should, but it would pass.
It was all over.
The party was called off.
Cameron came into view, and he tried to focus on her face, squinting. She squeezed his finger so hard it almost hurt.
"Hey" she said softly.
Chase blinked. His vision was a little blurry, and he fleetingly wondered if she could smell the alcohol in his breath. He was hopelessly drunk.
"Hey" he said weakly, attempting a smile and failing miserably.
Her expression was worried and something else – disappointment, maybe?
Didn't I tell you that House's mad ideas would get you into trouble?
She didn't say it aloud, and he was grateful for it.
"What were you thinking?" She brushed a strand of hair from his face, looking down at him. "You could have suffocated. You were lucky in disguise."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. His voice sounded strange and hoarse and a bit shaky, and he hoped she would blame it on the shock.
Her tightly pursed lips turned into a frown. "You didn't tell me where you were going."
"Didn't… expect a thing like that to happen."
"No one expects such things to happen." Stunned, she shook her head. "Stuffing yourself with strawberry ice cream like that. How on earth, Robert..?"
Strawberry body butter, he wanted to say, but refrained in the very last moment. Who made this up? Foreman? Anyway, she would be more comfortable with him being stupid than knowing the truth.
She eyed him suspiciously. "When you were admitted, you were mumbling something about a girl. I thought women had no access."
He felt groggy, and so very tired. "It was House's idea. He doesn't believe in rules, you know that."
"That's why I'm glad we no longer work for him."
"You've always enjoyed working for him", Chase pointed out, feeling too weak to making it sound like an accusation.
"And I quit. It was time to draw a line. House changes people. It was okay while it lasted, but enough is enough." She gave him a quizzical look. "Where is he, anyway? Cuddy said the police had to pick up Wilson when he was on the way home - apparently from his own apartment. And Thirteen evidently had been at the party as well. What did you do?"
"It was just a party."
"More of an orgy I assume. God, you smell like a liquor factory."
But it had been great.
It had been fun.
More than anything he had done in a long time.
If you want your marriage to matter, you have to be a wanton, trolling, muck-covered pig the day before.
Well, it seemed like he had more or less fulfilled the conditions.
"It was a party. Nothing more. You should have seen it. There was this massive glass pyramid... And he delivered a speech. It was one of the best parties I've ever had."
It was also the first that ever had been aligned especially for him since fourth grade, but he didn't tell her that.
Cameron got up with a sigh and shouldered her bag. "I'll be back by tomorrow. You're staying overnight. Do you need anything else? I brought your toothbrush and clothes to change."
"Thank you."
"It wouldn't have happened if you let Wilson throw the party."
Sure not. "It's not House' fault I'm allergic to strawberries."
"He should have known", she replied. "It's in your file."
Chase wondered if he ever bothered to take a glance at it in the first place. "Allison..."
She turned, arching her eyebrows.
"I'll be seeing you tomorrow", he said softly, still a little woozy from the alcohol and the anti histamines. "I love you."
"I love you too."
oOo
"Here he is, the little Prince." Amber rapped her fingernails rhythmically against the glass wall, watching Chase sleeping peacefully behind it. "Struck down by a stripper, poor thing."
"It's your fault."
"You said yourself you knew he's allergic to strawberries."
"You knew that the woman was using strawberry body butter."
"Indeed", she confirmed not without pride. "We complement each other splendidly."
House opened the door and went in, every fiber in him resenting it.
A fleeting look at the monitors told him that there was nothing to worry about. Chase was tough. He's had an allergic reaction, and it hadn't been the first in his life, and he had survived.
Just like he always did. He had outlived a drunkard of a mother and the absence of a cold-hearted father.
He had lived through a four year's lasting ordeal of torture and constant challenge under House's reign (and, truth to be told, Chase had been a grateful victim). Going into anaphylactic shock was a piece of cake compared to all that. Chase was a natural born survivor.
And yet he had tried to kill him. What for?
"You're crazy, remember?" Amber said.
There was more to it. If only he could find the answer. "He's not competition. I did what was needed to be done in order to make him function properly. It's what they're here for. It's what I do."
"Maybe he's getting too good at being like you", Amber suggested. "Maybe you tried to kill him because you're actually seeing yourself in him? The logical conclusion would be to-…"
"Don't."
Amber shrugged. Her lips didn't move, but he could hear her grating voice coming from the back of his head.
You're miserable. You're lonely. Manipulation is what keeps you distracted from the fact that you're worthless. Why keep up with it?
He took the bottle of vicodin out of his pocket and swallowed a handful of pills without counting them.
It didn't help.
"Better be going", Amber said. "He's waking up."
Something inside of him wanted Chase to wake up.
Something inside of him was looking for absolution.
And at the same time the urge to leave the room became almost overwhelming.
He pulled a chair and sat next to the bed, watching Chase stir in his medically induced haze.
"Bad idea", Amber said. "Tell him it was your fault and he'll hate you for the rest of his tragically shallow life."
House ignored her, watching Chase coming gradually to his senses. He grunted softly and stirred before he opened his eyes. His gaze was glassy, and he blinked rapidly, then rolled his eyes to check on the monitors like he was expecting bad news. Of course, having House next to a patient's bed rarely bore reason to get excited.
Finally, Chase croaked: "Why are you here?"
"Providing you with a stash of Spiderman comics from pedi."
"Soothing your guilty conscience", Amber corrected.
"How'd you feel?" What a strange thing to ask.
"Okay, I guess." Chase struggled to sit up. It was weird to see Chase hooked to an IV-line and medical instruments when he was usually the one who was monitoring them.
"What a crappy way to bid farewell to the guests", Chase said, twisting his mouth into a crooked, wry grin. "Apart from that, it was the best thing that ever happened to me."
His way of saying thank you.
"Sweet," Amber commented. "Now tug him in and we're out of here."
House kept looking at Chase, determined to pull through with what needed to be said. "I knew that you're allergic to strawberries."
Chase didn't understand, and why would he? It was only a part of his confession, and it meant nothing to Chase.
"You came here just to tell me that you've actually read my file?"
"You mentioned it when Cameron brought strawberry shortcake into the office some weeks after I hired her."
Chase rubbed the neck, blushing like a teenager. "It didn't even smell like strawberries."
Amber snorted. "Our plan was very carefully thought out."
House ignored her, looking Chase straight in the eye. "Quit your job."
Baffled, Chase opened and shut his mouth, then said: "What, because of an allergy?"
"Because I've put your life at stake. I staged all this madness, Chase. It was me."
A rare grin lit up his boyish face, still blissfully oblivious to the obvious. "It was a bloody crazy party. I haven't had so much fun since my tenth birthday."
"Sad", Amber commented.
"You and Cameron should leave PPTH. The sooner the better, for both of you." God, his migraine was killing him.
Chase gave him a quizzical look. "You're drunk."
"He's crazy. And a little drunk," Amber said.
"Think about it. It's no use to stay around here much longer. You can't hang on like a bird in its nest, unwilling to fly. You'll have to, eventually. This is the perfect moment, Chase. It won't get any better than that."
It was pathetic, and Chase knew it. As soon as the words were out in the open, Amber clicked her tongue with disapproval. "What is wrong with you? I thought he was the one without backbone?"
Chase kept his gaze, and there was something in his eyes that frightened House more than him going all backboneless and paternal. It was a knowing look, almost wistful in its intensity. "She's still there, isn't she?"
He ignored the plainly stated fact. "You can easily find another job. You could both work in diagnostics. That's what you were designed for, not some surgeon dawdling with mind-numbing routine stuff and the occasional clashing of heads with hard-nosed employers. Cameron is wasted in the emergency room, and you get bored in surgery. That's so not why I have wasted my energy on you for four hellish years."
"You want to get rid us of", Chase noted, surprisingly sober. "Is this Amber speaking?"
Amber hissed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. He still doesn't get it."
House waved her off, realizing too late how ridiculous that must have looked. "Tonight could well have ended in disaster. I want you to leave. You and Cameron don't belong here. Start building your own neat little picture perfect home with an SUV and a chock full of adorably little kids with an annoying accent."
"That was mean," Amber observed.
It was more than that. It was downright degrading. Was he just about to drop his pants in front of one of his ex-employees?
Fervently he tried to ignore Amber's compassionate snort. At least she kept her mouth shut this time.
Chase shook his head, ready to give House what he wanted. "It wasn't your fault."
If only you knew.
House stood and practically fled the room as best as he could with a bum leg and a knot in his stomach, and stormed into the elevator.
Amber wasn't there.
He inhaled deeply, half hoping, half terrified for a minute she was going to haunt Chase from now on, and then scolded himself a fool.
She wasn't going to be a thread for a man who was, and would always remain, the imperfect incarnation of Gregory House.
"Bed time", Amber greeted him cheerfully as he closed the door to his apartment with trembling fingers.
He walked past her and snatched a bottle of whisky from the kitchen, ready to drink himself into sweet numb oblivion.
