Yeeeey, chapter five! Things are really going slow now because I'm worried of the crazy turn this story is going to take. But I'd like my reader's opinion, are you okay with crazy s***? Let me know :D

I might also add some total romance; a thing like that can't pass up Chase's blue eyes, can it?

I'm busy with work so I'm not going to be updating as often as I'd hope; just to let readers know, I'm not bailing. I have plans for this one, yeah, I do…

Chase was surprised. The moment he had gone through the door, where the gargoyle stood outside of, he found himself entering House's very own office, finding the original sun-streaming open blinds of his windows, and usual colors of an ordinary world with tables and coffee machines. The rest of the team sat there in different seats but in the same manners, shooting out more suggestions in the manner when a treatment had turned out to be for a wrong diagnosis. That usually happens after more than half a House M.D. episode's time. Chase frowned, looking around, overcome by a second shook.

'Dammit, how long was I gone?'

'About two hours,' Cameron said. House gave him the once-over.

'You took a two-hour prance around the halls, and you forgot to bring me my coffee?' House said, pretentiously appalled. 'Never mind, mate. We'll leave that to your guardian angels to take care of. Meanwhile, I guess I wouldn't be wasting time to tell you that we'd pretty much made a good progress in your absence, or should I say because of it–'

'House!' cried Chase, interrupting him. 'You wouldn't believe it! I've been elsewhere. Completely elsewhere,' he couldn't help exclaiming. He met House's eyes so his boss could see how serious he really was now, saying this, 'And they want me to manipulate you. I told them I was gonna do it, but I now I–'

'What in God's hell's name are you talking about?' House said with a very dark look, bending over his cane at him. 'Get away from my office.'

Chase looked as though he was about to cry. He sensed a caring look from Cameron, and stormed out of the office, before he could get a glance at Foreman's face. Chase hissed, his face in his hands, his eyes red once he looked at them in the mirror.

How could House do that? Sure, he was mean, but he always listened, if not for the interest of others, then for his own sick one. Chase gnashed at the towel he held in his hands, threw it in the bin so hard its thud sounded like he'd thrown a huge stone in there. But before he could get out of the bathroom, he stopped before the door, and remained standing there quietly. Then his hand reached into his pocket and he took out the yellow bottle of Vicodin. Was Chase that evil?

No, the question was, was House really such an acute observer? Of course, he was, but the unreasonable yell he'd given Chase just now made Chase doubt the man at that moment. House wouldn't have thrown him out of his office unless there was a good reason, and it wasn't because Chase was distracting the team. House would let any conversation take place as long as it served his interest and it wouldn't matter if it had nothing to do with their case, or was during a patient's critical time. So it wasn't distraction House held Chase accountable for, or deviation. It was because this deviation didn't matter or make sense to House.

Dumbledore was right. House needed those sand pills. House needed them desperately. He needed to stop rationalizing, and start unrationalizing. Maybe he would listen to Chase next time he starts telling him about Hogwarts and not humiliate him in front of his colleagues.

'It would do the world some good,' said Chase bitterly, looking down at the bottle lying flat in his palm. Now all he needed was a plan to start that meanie's mouth working with those pills.

James Wilson, M.D., the brass lettering on the door read. Chase occupied the green or purple couch behind that door's room, looking over at the busy man, reading some files.

'Just… take your time,' Chase said, pleasingly, spreading his arms on the back of the couch and taking his time to take in his surroundings. He'd never had time to do so. Wilson looked up from his file speculatively.

'Are you okay, Chase? It's strange that you don't have any tests to run at this hour,' he said, looking at his watch, still holding the file with the right one.

'House is a moron,' Chase spoke. 'Yeah, you heard me,' he added without turning his face away from the ceiling. He had his head bent back against the couch.

Wilson still looked a little offended and taken aback, but he uttered kindly with sarcasm in his tone, 'I assume House must've said something terrible, but why haven't you been hear every other hour in my office for the last two years? Why just now?'

'You guessed it,' said Chase with a lazy, indulgent sigh. 'I'm not only here to complain.'

'Why are you here then?' asked Wilson with aggravated eyebrows.

Chase drew out a long breath. 'James,' he said. Wilson raised his brows. Why the hell was Robert firstnaming him now?

'I need your help,' Chase let out. 'Yes,' he added as Wilson kept staring at him. Chase knew, and not because Wilson liked Chase, that House's best friend or friend always went on the team's side when he heard House mistreated them by being himself. Wilson did that once, he lost it when he found out that House took out his assholity on Chase, and then Wilson lost it when nothing else made him lose it before, and that was for House's benefit, to make House a better person. Chase was going to use Wilson's weapon and use his good intentions and high knowledge of House to get the damn house take the pills.

There was no way in his boss's hell that Chase was going to switch bottles without House noticing.