Six weeks later
Chase parked his car at the front yard. Inhaling deeply, he pulled the key and sat back for a moment, his hands resting on the steering wheel, bracing himself for a visit that he hadn't expected to happen.
In front of him, a huge Victorian brick building stretched into the sky, surrounded by vast meadows and sitting on top of a hill like a fortress. The wire nettled gates revealed what it was: a secure unit for the mentally sick. It looked more like a prison.
He shouldn't be here.
He certainly wouldn't be if Wilson hadn't asked him to.
Slowly, he got out of the car, heading towards the entrance stairs. He couldn't shake off the notion that he was about to enter forbidden territory. House wouldn't be thrilled to receive any visitors, least of all an ex-employee.
A female doctor was approaching him as he walked into what looked like a lounge for the patients. There was the inevitable table tennis court as well as a number of tables and randomly scattered chairs, and a piano in the window front. The lid was closed, presumably locked.
The doctor offered him her hand. Her grip was firm and gentle at the same time, and she had the distinctive aura of a psychiatrist about her. A badge on her white coat identified her as Dr. Beasley. She greeted him with a professional smile, and then led him to the table in front of a glass booth, presumably the drug depository. A nurse was busy checking charts, carefully preparing the rations for each patient.
"You're working for him?"
"I used to."
"It's looking good," Dr. Beasley said. Her voice was kind and reassuring. "He made it through the worst part."
Physical withdrawal. Chase inwardly winced at the thought. Images of his mother emerged, crying and sobbing and soiling her sheets. He firmly pushed the memory into the back of his mind.
"Therapy is to close in about ten minutes", Dr. Beasley informed him. "I'll let him know he has a visitor. Would you like some coffee?"
The coffee was cold and untouched by the time House emerged from the hallway. Mechanically, Chase rose from his chair, and then sunk back again.
They cut his hair. As if to compensate, his usual stubble had grown into a beard. It made him look… strange. Vulnerable. Like someone Chase didn't know at all.
Nothing in his face gave House away as he approached him and pulled out a chair.
"I was expecting Wilson", he said, flatly.
Not exactly the warmest reception, Chase noted. At least in this regard he was still his old self.
"He told me to give you his best wishes."
House ignored this, scrutinizing Chase with all the time in the world – which, of course, he was totally entitled to. "So the honeymoon's over", he said, referring to the slight tan on Chase's skin. "Hawaiian surf?"
"Acapulco."
"I told you I wouldn't attend your wedding. What can I say? Psychosis is a good reason to stay away."
"I suppose Amber is gone."
"These guys are good. Effective, too."
"Then you're better."
"At the very least I no longer entertain the urge to kill you."
Chase looked at him, stunned. If this was meant to be a joke, it wasn't funny. "Why would you do that?"
House shrugged nonchalantly. "I tried."
"Oh, right. I remember. Four years of stabbing me with views and pointed remarks."
"That, and strawberries."
Chase felt the urge to laugh, oddly enough. Was he still mad? "You're talking about the party. It was an accident. Nothing more than a coincidence."
"I knew the stripper from Wilson's last bachelor party. I know that you are allergic to strawberries, and I knew that she was using body butter. It wasn't coincidence, Chase. I'm afraid I tried to expel you into the afterlife."
That was utterly absurd. "Why?"
"Because I was mad?" he suggested helpfully.
What was this, some sort of game? Chase couldn't make any sense in House, and even though this wasn't necessarily unusual, he still felt like he was walking on thin ice. "I don't see the point, House. Are you saying that you were setting me up with the assistance of a bloody stripper that was supposed to put me into anaphylactic shock?" And here I was, lead to believing that for once in your life you were trying to be nice.
House didn't budge. Blue piercing eyes held Chase's gaze as he said: "It was Amber's idea."
"Which, of course, makes it yours."
"Thank God she's gone. You might want to check your coffee, though. If I'm wrong, you'll probably find traces of arsenic in it instead of sugar and cream."
"This is absurd." Chase shook his head incredulously, still not wanting to accept House's harshness. "I've been working for you for four years. There's no logical explanation to what you're saying. You never did anything out of a whim."
"It's nothing personal", House said. "You're a fairly good doctor. Wasted at surgery, but you always knew how to hide your light under a bushel if it serves your convenience. You're married to a beautiful woman. You'll have gorgeous kids with pretty blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. As far as I'm concerned, your future looks bright and shiny."
Chase couldn't believe his ears. "You're envying me?"
House shrugged, apparently okay with this deduction, for he didn't deny it right away. "All I'm saying is that you are surprising me, Chase. You didn't turn out the way I thought you would. Congratulations."
"You thought I'd turn out to be like you", Chasse realized, with slight horror. "Is that what you expected me to be?"
"I don't expect you to be anything, least of all me. Actually, you're far from it. If it is any consolation to you, you're nothing like me at all."
"So you're considering me as a failure."
Is that why you tried to kill me? This is your excuse? Because I failed to live up to your expectations? This was beyond ridiculous.
House gave him a grim smile. "Trust me, if I made it a habit to eliminate any failure, three quarters of my staff would be dead." He looked at him sharply. "Still not one single word from your wife. Where's Cameron?"
"She doesn't know I'm here."
"She doesn't know much about what you do."
He thought of all the semi-truths and evasions that were incorporated in their daily life, as well as their silent agreement to not speak about House. He was right, again. They didn't talk much. If they did, it was about cases at work, or colleagues. They would discuss a movie, or a book they had both read. Nothing that had to do anything with the life that they were going to share. Nothing about becoming a family.
Sometimes he was astonished how foreign he felt in their shared apartment. It was like he didn't really belong there. Truth to be told, he sometimes felt as if he were part of the carefully chosen furniture that Cameron enjoyed when she was in the mood.
"Don't worry", he heard House say. "It's probably not gonna last."
"What?"
"Your marriage stands on feet of clay. One blow and it'll fall to pieces."
"You're wrong."
"And still you're here. You wanted to come here. Your wife mustn't know about it. It makes me wonder. You're not here on account of Wilson's. You wanted to see me because, let's be honest for a moment, you enjoy talking to a madman just as much as you enjoyed working for me. It's turning you on, doesn't it?"
Chase felt dizzy. House was still crazy. Or wasn't he? "I should go."
"Yeah, right. You're always leaving when things get under your skin."
"I don't want to argue with you."
"One of your most annoying flaws."
"Good luck, House."
He didn't stretch out his hand as he rose from his chair. House would not accept a handshake anyway.
Chase was oddly numb as he staggered his way out of the hospital and back to his car.
Slumping into the driver's seat, he felt as if House's words had just burned a hole in his chest.
Damn you, you sick bastard.
oOo
She was blurry and her voice faint, like on tape recorder which was slowly wound down.
Not that he would have missed her.
But somehow it was almost amusing to see her sitting at the piano with her legs crossed, and her hands primly placed in her lap.
"He doesn't believe you", she said, stating the obvious.
"Give him some time to think it over. He's a bit slow sometimes, but not totally hopeless."
"Why bother? He's in love with the idea to become a happy douchebag."
"As long as everything runs smoothly, he will be."
She smiled cunningly. "You told him it won't last. What makes you so sure it doesn't?"
"It won't. It takes one crisis, and she's going to drop him like a hot potato."
"You got them all figured out then", Amber said. "I wonder if you're right. Look at him. He's wax in her hands. It's her who's dictating the rules now, remember?"
"He's never been one to play by the rules. Not in the long run, anyway." The thought made him oddly proud of himself. Maybe Chase wasn't a failure after all.
"So one single transgression, and she will leave him." The idea seemed to please her. "What will you do then? Telling him how sorry you are?"
"I can do with him whatever I want."
"Because you're the only one he can count on", she scoffed. "He puts his trust into the man who admitted to nearly having killed him at his own bachelor party."
"He was not even mad when I told him."
"He doesn't want to face what you're capable of. You raised him well, I'll grant you that. Congratulations."
House ignored her and limped to the window front. Outside, in the parking lot, he watched Chase turning his car. Wheels spun and sent the gravel to spray when he took up speed. House kept watching until the car was out of sight, vanishing behind the first turn of the road.
"He'll be back," Amber said confidently. "He always comes back. There is nothing you can do about it. Not even attempted homicide."
Some dark, dangerous part of him had proven to be able to kill.
He had nearly murdered his ex-employee who meant nothing to him.
For a brief, startling moment he wondered if Chase would be able to go that far, too.
"He can do it", he heard her say, in that grating, smug sounding voice. "Put him to the test. You have achieved what you wanted. He's turned out to be like you, whether you like it or not. Just wait and see."
"Go to hell".
And maybe she took his advice, because when he turned around, she was gone.
Something in him hoped he was wrong.
And another part of him just waited for it to happen.
Fin
