Chapter Text
“Screw you,” Chase gritted out, hands wrapping his belly while his feet kept tossing unintentionally on the ground, attacking Kutner who was trying pinned him down, Thirteen who was stroking his back in an attempt of calming him while giving her best ‘everything’s going to be okay’ look, and Foreman who was going through their limited medical supplies with a face of not-so-silently judging his life’s choices.
House smirked smugly, popping up a vicodin as he leaned on the rusty ceiling of the building, “Already did.”
10 HOURS EARLIER…
Chase knew it was going to be a bad day when he woke up with an ear splitting alarm and an unusual sensation building up in his middle to back area. He’d chalked it off to a mild case of food poisoning and went about his day anyway, though the earlier weird twinge was steadily growing sharper as hours passed. He was convinced his dinner was to blame–despite it being his regular takeout. In fact, nothing was usual today. Frankly, working for House never was–but the crippled was currently missing and so was Taub. Well, Taub actually called in sick. Though they all just assumed he was dealing with the aftermath of a night spent with the nurse he’s messing with.
The four of them–him, Foreman, Kutner, and Thirteen were left to deal with today’s case: a homeless man admitted with a gut problem. He scoffed, what a coincidence.
“30 year old woman, came in with shortness of breath. High cholesterol and blood pressure.” Foreman said, already standing towards House’s whiteboard with the black marker in his hand.
“You’re the boss now?” Kutner asked, flipping through the encyclopaedia to find another fitting diagnosis before Foreman could convince all of them that he is the only person that gets everything right.
“You’ll get used to it. I think he’s turned on when he's barking orders–dominating. Thirteen, what do you say? You’re the only one that ever slept with him.” Chase shouted back with a mocking smile.
Kutner returned his smile with a little laugh, making Thirteen shot them a look. “The problem is her chest.” Thirteen said, countering Foreman and making their little off-topic conversation back in place.
“Nah. It’s a regular case of diabetes.” Chase joined the same time Kutner said that it was her kidney shutting down.
Soon enough, the diagnostics room was filled with shouts. Everyone was convinced their diagnosis was the correct one. Chase was on fire, spitting out his reasons for which he believed it's—when the pain came back. A dull ache in his lower belly.
He frowned, stepping back from the heated circle and pressed his right hand to feel more and his left held his weight using the conference table. His hands roamed across his middle area. It was tight just a few seconds ago, but now he felt rather bloated-which was quite the shock since he had never been obese or had excess fat (which is very much shown on his dislike of fat people).
The ache had spread to his lower back, the sort of stiffness he'd get from a wrong sleeping position. He was just slowly stroking his back when nausea suddenly crept in, accompanied by an urge to go to the bathroom. Chase looked up towards the others, noticing that they seemed to have settled on one diagnosis.
“Uh…?” Chase was about to ask, but he didn't have to anymore since Foreman already barked orders for each of them.
Foreman and Kutner walked outside first while Chase was once again deep in trying to convince himself that it was simply a case of an unsettled dinner when Thirteen snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Hey, let’s go.” She said, already marching forward. Chase simply nodded and followed.
They walked past the restroom and Chase contemplated excusing himself for a minute–when a loud, reviving car engine suddenly appeared. It was loud enough that it even reached the hall from the parking lot. Thirteen and Chase looked at each other at the same time, then silently agreed to check on the sound.
There was House, in the hospital lobby, with a grin on his face, dingling a car key. But what caught their attention the most is the huge, real-life monster truck parked in front. Thirteen blinked, Chase put his hands on his hip, looking up. They brought their feet closer to see the car closer. The sun sure hitted their faces, but the most eye-striking thing was definitely the tall truck. It was a mix of green and blue, working together with the sun in blinding their eyes. There was a ladder dangling from the driver’s seat–which they assumed is how House climbed the monstrous car.
“Where’d you even get this?” Thirteen asked. She was still pretty impressed despite having been used to House’s crazy stunts. A monster truck costs a lot–not that House was ever financially responsible–or even remotely responsible in anything.
“Ahoy there, me hearties! Permission to come aboard.” House said, his hands opening up in a welcoming gesture.
Chase grinned, Thirteen crossed her arms. “We have a job, a still-living human to cure.”
“Which is why Masters and Taub are staying! Chase, page Kutner and the dark one.” House stated, already up on the driver’s seat again.
“Masters and Taub called in sick today.” Chase said after paging the two other men who were actually treating their patient.
House gasped, “How come they are not doing their job when there is someone actively dying in here?!” He deliberately glanced, mocking an offense at Thirteen.
Thirteen rolled her eyes at the same time Kutner and Foreman came to the parking lot. Foreman immediately put on his, ‘Seriously? How is House getting crazier every day?’ while Kutner had an almost identical reaction to Chase, whispering ‘cool’ under his breath.
“Well, hop in! Unless you all want to stall and waste our precious time when we could use it to save someone?” House yelled, already starting the engine.
Thirteen and Foreman sighed, while Chase and Kutner excitedly approached the ladder. Chase was about to climb up when Cuddy yelled and stopped them.
“No. I don’t allow this.” She threatened House.
House rolled her eyes, “Fun-killer.”
Chase’s random period of aches hasn’t gotten any better. In fact, he’s been getting them more frequently–and only two hours have passed. He had had to excuse himself four times already because he’s been getting the urge to go.
Right now, he was in yet another bathroom session, groaning while massaging his tightening belly. It only tightens for a few minutes before going back to his usual build. His back and hip, though, has been cramping a lot. He wished he could take them off–they’re stiff, not very painful–yet. He has a feeling he’s coming down with something, but was still convinced it was a very unlucky case of food poisoning.
He sighed and buckled his trousers again, walking back to the diagnostics office. Chase looked around and asked, “Where’s House?”
“He was–he is riding some kind of prostitute chariot?”
At Kutner’s words, they all glanced at the window. House was coming in with a scooter. A woman pushed the office’s door open, letting House come in–to which he honked the bell twice despite all of them already having their attention on him.
“Seriously? You’re bringing them to work now?” Taub spoke up. He came after Foreman paged him, though he initially insisted on having a really bad case of flu.
House ignored him, “Mmmm, no. Boring.”
Foreman rolled his eyes, continuing speaking information from the file he was holding out loud. “30-year-old woman with shortness of breath, high cholesterol and high blood pressure–”
“Next.” House cutted off, already grabbing the whiteboard’s eraser.
“We just got her imaging results back.” Foreman responded.
“Do you not understand English?” House said again, fetching the file from Foreman.
He read it for a few seconds then scoffed. “Let’s see… She was admitted with difficulty breathing. Hmm, I wonder what the cause is. If only there was a hint on this full medical history?”
Foreman huffed, crossing his arms. House tossed the file back into the table. “She weighs 300 pounds at 5 feet. Her cure? Meal prep and self control. See the magic of medicine come to life. C’mon, chop-chop. I have a wedding to prepare.”
“Didn’t know fatphobia is contagious.” Foreman murmured, shooting a glance at Chase–who was suspiciously quiet. Foreman tried to look at him more clearly. Chase was sweating, his fingers gripping House’s pen.
House was yawning when Masters–who was also paged (despite having an actual class to attend) immediately swooped in with what she hoped was an interesting enough case for House.
“23-year-old homeless man, brought into the E.R with burn injuries and–”
“Let me guess, diagnosis was fire.” House stated, already circling around the table with his scooter after erasing the previous case information.
“He said his burning flesh smelled like licorice, and the E.R antiseptics like blueberry muffins.” Masters finished.
House hummed, making them wait for his answer with bored, exasperated eyes.
“Cool.” He finally decided.
“Dysosmia could be anything from an environmental factor to an early sign of a degenerative brain disease. Smells like a winner.” House stopped his scooter, grabbing the case’s file from Masters.
“Okay, you and Chase go checkout the park where they found him. You two load him up with prednisone, give him an odor I.D test.” House ordered Masters, Chase, Taub, and Foreman. Kutner and Thirteen shared a glance at the lack of instruction for them.
House read through the file, “If he’s still mistaking his body odors as candy, the problem’s definitely in his brain.”
“What about us?” Kurner asked, referring to himself and Thirteen.
“Oh! I forgot I still have two obedient people who’d do anything I say.” House uttered.
“Find out what else he’s lying about–since I’m assuming ‘Ferris Bueller’ isn’t his real name.”
House threw the file to the table, already going to have fun with his scooter again when Masters asked.
“Why?” She only said one word, but it was enough to make everyone stare at her.
Chase even opened his mouth in shock–just in time as his secret pain had come back. He pressed his hand to his belly, feeling the muscles contracted beneath. Everybody’s words became blurred, he only registered House announcing his upcoming marriage with the woman he came with–Dominika–and left with her again.
House was roaming around the hospital’s receptionist with his brand new scooter when Cuddy stopped him in his tracks.
“You can’t ride that thing in here,” she declared.
“Speaking of things–I’m having one on Friday,” he replied, going through a bunch of pink cards in his hands–then handed one to Cuddy.
“If you want to drop by, we’d love to have you. No pressure.”
Cuddy gave the card a glance, then shifted her attention back on his ride. “You’re still standing on it.”
“So I am. Perhaps you’re not familiar with New Jersey handicap ordinances.” House threw another card at the desk nearby.
“Or perhaps I am. They apply to wheelchairs and powered scooters only, not toys.” She stated, briefly showing House a document of the rules and grabbing House’s scooter sign.
“Have you had any idea how much this toy cost?”
“I don’t care.”
“For some reason, my leg’s been hurting a lot this week.” House reasoned again.
“For some reason, I still don’t care.” Cuddy retorted.
House dramatically sighed, pretending to really struggle on getting off the scooter. Cuddy rolled her eyes, “Stop. I’ll make an exception for your leg. But next time, check with me first.”
He put on his winning expression, slowly backing down for the dramatic flair. “House–don’t forget you need to cut down your team. You have six employees working under you!” Cuddy shouted as House left–probably to deliver the remaining wedding invitation cards.
House whistled, driving around the hospital like a maniac. He had gotten close to crashing into someone four times before he actually did. “Oops, didn’t see you there, wombat.”
Chase groaned, gritting his teeth–which was already a raised flag for House because why wasn’t he yelling at him? Instead, Chase gave him a murderous glare and House thought he was getting hit for the second time, but the Aussie just walked off with his hands still on his back, stumbling.
House stared and processed the earlier scene for a while, thinking to himself.
Huh. Interesting. He thought as the last of Chase’s shadow disappeared into the corner.
Meanwhile, here was Chase, bending over as he sat on the toilet.
“What an arse,” he muttered. House just made his back pain worse than ever–he’d like to believe it was due to the crash, not because it was gradually getting stronger as time passed.
He winced, pushing his fingers to his cramping abdomen. He stayed in that position for a while; pathetically hunching over in a toilet stall with hands gently massaging his middle part–when his backache flared up, like he was getting shocked. Chase grunted, now moving his left hand to stroke his back while his right still pressing on his belly.
Sure, his brain was alerting him that something is really wrong, but he ignored it because–he didn’t want House to tease him about being weak. If he did open up about this random pain, everyone would assume the same thing: he had a bad dinner. That’s just it, he convinced himself.
Slowly, after the pain subsided, he straightened himself up–catching his breath. He pushed the door open and went to the sink to wash his face. The shine of his watch reflected on the mirror, so he did a quick check on how many hours of work were left.
“Two more,” he muttered to himself. He took a deep breath, telling himself he could hold on until then.