Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chase felt restless.

A month into his fellowship and things had been going well, though truthfully, only simple cases had been handed out thus far.

Nothing could have prepared him for the first real mystery.

House was a difficult man. He was particular in the way he liked things done and he was a hard person to please, but Chase had been getting by so far.

He found a balance, found comfort in the routine and rhythm he had with his new boss.

They’d banter back and forth, Chase would take his insults, he’d do the grunt work he was sent away to do, and his favourite by far, they’d talk medicine.

Chase knew medicine. House stressed him out and scared him like no other, but it all washed away when they’d begin talking about patients and running through diagnoses. He was good at it. House knew he was good at it.

He’d have to stop himself from leaping with joy whenever House would show up to work and begin writing symptoms on the board while lazily referencing a patient file. He hadn’t learned how to contain his smile or the way his leg would bounce when he got excited discussing diagnoses and treatments.

He was practically addicted to the rush he’d get when House was approving of him.

When Chase rattled off potential solutions, he basked in the way House would follow along, listening intently to what he had to say. He couldn’t help but feel proud of himself when House listened to him. When House took his input, accepted his solutions, Chase was content.

He had seen House argue with people before. He’d seen him get frustrated with patients, disrespect their families, and fight with Cuddy, but he hadn’t known what it was like to be on the receiving end of his anger.

House was no longer as eager to have prolonged discussions with Chase about the patient. There was a time limit. He wanted solutions and only solutions.

He snapped at every wrong answer. He’d ridicule every attempt at brainstorming. He’d insult Chase at every turn, shout and yell louder for every minute that ticked by.

The breaking point had been when the treatment they’d prescribed wasn’t doing anything.

“If it’s not bacterial, what could it be?” Chase ran a hand through his hair, trying to match House’s pace as they made their way back to the diagnostics room. For a man with a limp and a cane, House could be fast when he was determined.

“I hired you to answer those kinds of questions, didn’t I?” House responded, voice gruff and tone impatient.

Chase swallowed thickly. House liked to talk about medicine with him, like to debate courses of action and answers. He just needed to keep talking.

“We’ve run through everything, what else could it be?”

“Goddamnit, Chase! If you’re just going to keep talking about useless shit and not do your job, why are you here?”

Chase stood still, lips parted. He felt tears brimming in his eyes, clouding the image of House’s face twisted in anger.

“Just go,” House instructed, shaking his head. He turned and continued walking down the hall, leaving Chase frozen and unmoving behind him.

Chase turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

He’d ruined everything.

He’d been so excited when he’d gotten the interview for this position. He’d been too stressed to eat or sleep in the lead up to it. He’d found a place where he felt he belonged. He was happier than he had been in a long time working with House.

It was all gone.

He felt tears rolling down his face as he continued walking. His ears were ringing. His heart was pounding. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Everything he had worked for, the time spent settling in and learning and adjusting was gone, all for nothing.

He only wiped his eyes when he heard Dr. Wilson chirp out a cheerful “good morning, Dr. Chase,” while walking in the opposite direction. He didn’t have the presence of mind to even try to conceal the fact something was wrong, but the wiping of his tears was automatic.

He passed the older man without a word, picking up the pace.

Without thinking, he slipped away into the closest bathroom. He hurried into a stall, eyes wide and heart beating out of his chest.

He dropped down to his knees. He was convinced he was going to throw up.

It never came.

All that came was a fit of sobs, wracking his body completely.

He didn’t care if anyone else was in the bathroom. He didn’t care who heard or that he was kneeling on the nasty bathroom floor. It was hard to care about anything when everything was falling apart.

In a moment of frustration, Chase leaned away from the toilet and shot his fist out toward the stall wall, hitting it with all his strength.

His cries paused for a moment at the shock of the loud sound and the pain in his hand that followed served as an oddly pleasant distraction.

With all the adrenaline of freaking out, the pain in his hand was dulled, instead feeling like an intense tingling sensation.

It was calming.

Experimentally, Chase tugged down his sleeve. He placed his non injured hand on the skin, slowly beginning the scratch at the flesh. He earned the same, tingling, emotion-numbing sensation he received from his hand.

He pressed harder, picking up the pace. He scratched until the skin on his forearm felt a little too exposed. He looked down and saw pinpricks of blood bubbling up amidst the swollen scratch marks.

Chase tilted his head back and closed his eyes, struggling to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized how heavy he’d been breathing.

He focused on the tingling in his fist and on his arm as he breathed, slowly calming down as the tingling turned to an ache.

Silently, he tugged down his sleeve and rose up off the ground. He wiped his face quickly and left the bathroom, not sure where he was off to.

Chapter Text

“Time of death, eleven fifty-eight am,” Chase called, pulling his hand away from the patient’s neck.

He stared at her eyes, still open, the fear she had felt in her last moments preserved.

House reached to shut off the monitor blaring the flatline tone at them, allowing the room to fall into complete silence.

The patient’s daughter stood in the doorway, only arriving moments previous. Her eyes were wide and teary, lip trembling as her breaths came in short, shallow gasps.

Chase felt his stomach lurch as he looked over to her. Her suitcase was still grasped in her hand. She literally just got off the plane to see her suddenly ill mother in her time of need and had arrived to House yelling instructions, nurses frantically following, and Chase giving chest compressions to a limp, soon to be lifeless body she once called her mother.

“Oh my god,” the daughter brought a shaky hand to her mouth, tears spilling over. Chase swallowed thickly.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he sounded too emotional and too robotic at the same time. “Would you like a moment alone with her?”

She nodded, eyes still wide. Chase stepped out of the way, waiting until she was at her mother’s bedside before he committed to vacating the room.

House had already started on his way out. Chase followed, closing the door behind him as a nurse began telling her to let them know if she needed anything or wanted more information.

She wasn’t the first patient Chase had lost, but she was the first under House.

House was a brilliant doctor. House made Chase feel smart as well, for what it was worth. In Chase’s mind, House could do anything. He was like what little kids thought their father’s to be, superheroes and all powerful. His methods may be unorthodox but after the yelling and badgering and all the perceived cruelty, patients got better. Lives were saved. His job was done.

He couldn’t do it this time.

“What happened?” Chase asked quietly, staring blankly ahead as he walked. House glanced at him, brows pinching in worry. A look Chase had yet to see on his boss’ face thus far.

“We were too late,” House replied simply. He wasn’t mocking or sarcastic, he was genuine. Stating the facts.

Chase was silent for the rest of the walk back to the diagnostics room. The door opened, the room exactly how they’d left it with the whiteboard displaying the patient’s symptoms, the bag of chips House stole from Wilson half full on his desk, and Chase’s chair haphazardly pulled out from the table from when he’d stood up in a rush at his pager going off.

House sighed, limping over to the whiteboard and erasing it, as if all the work they’d done hadn’t been done.

What they’d done hadn’t mattered. They failed.

Chase suddenly felt House’s eyes on him. He snapped back into reality, closing the door behind him and walking over to his chair. He sat down, unable to stop himself from zoning out again.

“You alright?” House asked, voice low and gruff. Chase looked up, finding House right beside him.

“Yeah,” Chase nodded. Patients died all the time. He didn’t need to throw a fit about it. He was a doctor. He could handle this. He had handled this.

Why did it feel so much worse?

“It’s not your fault,” House suddenly spoke up. Chase nodded, eyes glazing over as he looked at him. “It’s not mine, either. It’s no one’s. This happens.”

Chase scoffed. What did House think of him? He wasn’t some sensitive little kid. He was a doctor. He was capable. He was able to handle this job and everything that came with it. House couldn’t see that.

“I know. I’m not an idiot,” Chase’s words came out weaker than intended. House narrowed his gaze. Chase felt the nausea that had surged in the patient’s room begin to build again.

“Just making sure,” House walked past Chase and out of the diagnostics room. Chase watched him until he left. The lights turned on in House’s office. The blinds shut just as fast.

As soon as the blinds shut, Chase felt a pang in his chest. A wave of emotion overtook him, everything that felt muted now coming to light.

He fought to keep his breathing even. He kept the tears in his eyes contained.

Losing the patient had been bad enough. When House assured him it wasn’t his fault, he realized that’s what he was upset over. He was worried about what House’s response would be.

Chase expected yelling. He expected insults. He expected something sharp, harsh, and painful.

He hadn’t expected something soft.

House thought Chase couldn’t handle it.

House wasn’t nice. He was a good doctor, but he was a far cry from nice. He went out of his way to make the people around him miserable. He never did anything for anyone that he wasn’t obligated or paid to do.

He must have felt obligated to be nice to Chase.

It had to have been clear that he was struggling. That Chase was shaken by the ordeal. That he was feeling everything a doctor ought to be over by now.

House thought Chase couldn’t handle this. He knew Chase couldn’t handle this.

Chase felt the nausea beginning to creep up his throat.

What was House going to do? Would he fire him? If he were in House’s shoes, Chase would fire himself. He was acting anything but professional, zoning out and tearing up at the loss. He should have been fired on the spot, ridiculed and kicked out of the hospital.

Maybe House thought it was his fault. Maybe he thought Chase had made a mistake that led to the patient’s death. He was letting it marinate, waiting for the perfect moment to strike when Chase finally felt safe.

Or maybe House didn’t know Chase had made a mistake when he actually had. Maybe that’s what he was doing in his office, thinking over what had gone wrong and discovering the path that led back to Chase. That would surely have him fired.

Chase didn’t know what House was thinking. He didn’t know what was going on. All he could do was guess. All he could do was sit and feel his heart beat faster and faster and fall further down the spiralling thoughts.

He stood up suddenly, unable to stay stationary. He shoved both hands in his hair, breathing frantically. He paced back and forth, the world passing in a blur due to his speed and the tears clouding his vision.

He found himself pulling at his hair. The sensation that followed, a tugging pain helped him feel the ground beneath his feet and helped his vision clear just slightly.

He needed something more.

He found his way to the sink, throwing open the drawers beneath it in search of cutlery. He ran his hand over the utensils, unable to get his eyes focused enough to see what he was reaching for.

Eventually, his hand found the sharp blade of a knife.

He didn’t give himself time to think. He pulled down his left sleeve, exposing the skin of his forearm. He quickly dragged the knife across his skin, slashing quickly. He repeated the action twice more before the blood began bubbling up, throwing him back into the reality of what had happened.

He stared at his arm, the blood forming small beads unevenly along the cut. The knife wasn’t awfully sharp. The marks it had left were jagged and rough.

He slowly caught his breath. His heart rate slowed to a harsh but steady pounding. He tilted his head back, panting and closing his eyes.

His legs felt numb under his weight. He felt dizzy. He felt tired. His arm was starting to ache.

Robotically, Chase ran the knife under warm water at the sink and limply wiped it down. There wasn’t anything visibly on it, but it was better to be safe.

He stuck his wrist under the water. He hissed and pulled it away as soon as he did, the slightly hot water stinging as it flowed directly onto his injuries.

He took a few breaths and tried again, this time adjusting the temperature.

He washed the cuts with soap. He grabbed a paper towel and pressed it against his arm. He pulled his sleeve back down and applied pressure through his coat. He left the room, heart still pounding in his chest, now sharing the space with shame rather than panic.

Chapter Text

Chase was sick.

Not sick enough to justify staying home when he’d woken up with a stuffy nose and a tingle in his throat, but the day had given him a pounding headache and a lovely case of hot flashes and cold chills by lunchtime.

Chase slowly leaned forward in his chair, grabbing his cup of water and taking a sip. He visibly winced when he swallowed.

“This is a hospital, y’know?” House asked, bouncing his ball against the floor.

Chase raised a brow, placing the cup back on the table.

“Yeah? What about it?” It hurt to speak. Chase cleared his throat, hoping to soothe the itch. It only served to bring a burning pain.

“You’re sick as a dog. Go take something,” House instructed, emphasizing his point by tossing a Vicodin into his mouth.

Chase rolled his eyes, hoping he didn’t reveal how bad the movement had hurt his head.

“I’m fine. I don’t even know what I’d take,” Chase ran a hand through his hair, wiping sweat off his forehead in the process. House stood up from his desk and made his way over, wearing an inquisitive expression.

House brushed Chase’s hair away from his forehead, pressing the back of his palm against the clammy skin. “Start with your temperature. You’re running a fever, kid,” House pulled his hand away, making a show of wiping away the sweat on his shirt.

Chase reached up and fixed his hair, face flushed red from more than just his fever. “I’m fine. Let me get back to work.”

House shrugged. “Fine by me. Just don’t sweat all over the paperwork, I’ve already gotten ketchup on a page.”

An hour later, Chase was wishing he’d taken House’s advice.

He had stopped sweating, though only because he was freezing cold. The sweat that had pooled on his skin had cooled down as well, contributing to his discomfort. His mouth was dry, his throat ached, his nose was red and disgustingly crusted, the mucus dripping down his throat from his sinuses was making him feel nauseous, his head ached, his mind was foggy, and his limbs felt like lead with the pure fatigue.

He didn’t feel sorry for himself or waste time in self-pity. He was frustrated.

He wanted to peel his skin right off. He was ready to work that morning and everything was getting in his way and preventing him from doing so.

Another cold chill rolled through his body. A surge of anger pulsed in his chest, radiating outward.

He sniffled. He rubbed his temple with his free hand. The words on the page swam in front of his eyes.

He sniffled again. His head was pounding. His eyes were as heavy as his limbs. He just wanted to give in.

Another sniffle. This was getting annoying. He should have gotten up and blown his nose, but he was too tired. He felt frustration flare in his chest. He let out a barely audible whine, face flushing further at the realization.

At the next sniffle, House spoke up.

“Go blow your damn nose and find yourself some meds. This is insane,” House complained.

Chase wished he could scream at House. He wanted to scream and tear his heart out of his chest. He wanted to throw a chair or rip up the paperwork he’d made no progress on because of his damn headache. He wanted to dunk his head in a bucket of ice water to both show his body what being cold actually felt like and to force his temperature to go down.

He was overwhelmed. He was frustrated. He was tired.

Chase nodded, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as anger clawed at his scratchy throat, begging for an escape.

He stood up slowly, trying to conceal how tightly wound he was and how dizzy he felt.

He grabbed his cup off the table and made his way over to the sink, head and muscles protesting every movement.

He glanced behind himself to check on House who appeared to be in a rare state of focus on his paperwork. He filled his cup up with water from the sink, opening the cutlery drawer as he did so. He grabbed a knife out, tucking it into his pocket.

After taking one large sip of water, Chase abandoned the cup on the counter by the sink before he left the room, heart pounding and head as well.

He slipped into the nearest bathroom, finding a stall and locking himself in it.

Producing the knife, he pulled down his sleeve, three faint marks from the previous instance staring back at him.

For a moment, he felt scared. He questioned why he was doing what he was doing. But logically, he knew he’d feel better.

Chase closed his eyes, adjusting the grip on the knife. He took a moment to round up everything he was feeling: the headache, the sniffly nose, the sore throat, the chills, the fatigue, the dizziness, the frustration.

He pressed the knife to his wrist and sliced at the overwhelm’s peak.

He repeated the action a few more times until the first mark started to actually hurt.

Chase tucked the knife away, feeling as sick as before but slightly calmer.

Chapter Text

House was interviewing new fellows.

At least he was meant to be.

Chase couldn’t help but feel worried when he’d heard the news House was going to be interviewing new fellows. He’d initially heard it from Wilson when House had left his friend’s office practically fuming and likely sensing the fear on Chase’s face, he’d explained he was being forced to find a new employee.

In his time working under House, Chase had learned he was a very particular man and needed things run a certain way. He also believed that everyone else in the whole world could never serve any purpose to him and his work and would only get in the way.

House had interviewed one applicant so far. He only booked interviews with them because Cuddy forced him (begged him) to pick “just one, for god’s sake.”

He had not hired the applicant.

“Wombat,” House called from the diagnostics room doorway. Chase perked up, looking to his boss with as much attention as his tired self could offer.

“Yeah?” Chase responded louder than he intended.

House gestured to follow with a tilt of his head. Chase scrambled out of his seat to obey, ignoring the confused look House threw his way when he heard the commotion.

Chase was led into House’s office. He waited until the younger doctor had fully entered the room before closing the door behind him. He limped over to his desk, sitting in his chair and grabbing a stack of papers off to the side of his desk to place in front of himself.

“Come here,” House demanded, barely looking up. Chase listened, walking up to his desk.

House stared up at Chase through his lashes without moving his head. “Get over here. I don’t bite,”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Chase replied. House huffed out a short laugh as Chase moved to his side.

“You’re helping me choose a new fellow,” House revealed. He picked up the stack of papers and handed them to Chase with a wide grin, happy to pass on his responsibilities.

Chase nodded, accepting the papers with an eye roll.

He moved to the chair on the other side of the desk. He hesitated before he did so, wondering if House wanted him to stay at his side. He took a seat, watching his boss out of the corner of his eye for some sort of reaction. None came, so he proceeded.

House distracted himself with his laptop while Chase looked over the resumes in his hands.

He fell into the rhythm of the task quickly, eager to please and get back to the work he’d abandoned in the other room.

As he carefully read through each resume, he began growing more and more worried.
Things were fine the way they were and House appeared to agree, proven by the tantrums he kept throwing whenever the topic of hiring a new fellow was brought up.

Every applicant was extremely qualified. They had high grades, respectable references whose names Chase recognized, and experience he didn’t know existed.

House was fine with Chase for now, but what if the new fellow was better than him? What if House liked them more? What if House realized Chase was no longer needed?

It took immense focus to get through the task. Every applicant was competition in his mind. Every resume he read was proof of how he was replaceable.

Eventually, Chase found three applicants he thought House would approve of. He begrudgingly stood and headed toward House’s desk. He had selected the people whom he thought to be best fit for the job of working under a man like House, but it didn’t come without hesitation knowing that any one of these people could show him how little Chase was needed.

“Find any?” House asked, not looking up.

Chase nodded, not trusting his voice. House looked up when he didn’t hear a response. Chase flushed and handed over the few resumes he found suitable.

To his relief, House nodded after his eyes had scanned the pages.

“Good job,” He praised.

Chase smiled, standing straighter. “Thank you,”

House shrugged, beginning to type something into his laptop. “Don’t thank me, just leave,”

He did, dread settling in his chest.

Strangely House was prompt with scheduling the interviews. Chase was caught off guard when House retreated into his office an hour or so into the day, just one day following Chase’s selecting of applicants, explaining he was interviewing someone.

Chase had taken to effectively zoning out when House went into his office for the interview. He had been relatively out of it such the previous day, not wanting to confront how he was feeling or what it could mean.

About twenty minutes later, Wilson hesitantly entered the diagnostics room, rapping on the doorframe with his knuckles to catch Chase’s attention.

“What’s House doing in his office?” Wilson asked, expression tight.

“Interviewing,” Chase replied bitterly. Wilson didn’t seem affected by his tone.

“Really? He’s not scowling at every resume anymore?” Wilson asked, relaxing.

Chase shrugged. “He had me choose a few for him,”

Wilson chuckled. “You spoil him, y’know? He’s going to be disappointed with every person who shows up for an interview,”

Chase shrugged again, barely looking up from his work. Wilson had no idea how wrong he was. He liked Wilson. He felt a little awkward conversing with him, but he liked him. Now though, he just wanted to be left alone, especially if the alternative was talking about the topic he’d been trying to avoid.

“Don’t think so,” Chase replied shortly.

Wilson thought for a moment before shrugging. “I guess so. If he’s willingly interviewing applicants instead of having a random resume shoved down his throat by Cuddy, he must be impressed,”

Chase shrugged again. He felt sick.

“I’ll leave you to it. Have a good day, Chase,” Wilson left the room with a polite smile and wave. Chase didn’t acknowledge him.

As soon as Wilson left the room, Chase set down his pen and buried his head in his hands.

He could feel anger building in his chest. He could feel the frustration and dread consuming him with every shaky breath he drew. He felt like a kid frustrated with a math problem, on the brink of tears over nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything. This job had given him everything. Besides the practical experience, this fellowship had to be the best thing to ever happen to Chase. Beyond all the complaints he had about House and all the hell he put him through, House was amazing to work with. He challenged Chase, pushed him further than what he ever dreamed he could be. He engaged him, he taught him, he argued with him, he did everything for him.

All Chase wanted was to prove that it was all worth it. That hiring him had been a good idea, that all the hours and all the mistakes among the strengths were worth it. That he was worth it.

He needed House to stay pleased and impressed with him. A new fellow threatened the balance he’d so carefully set up.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so genuinely upset. Not sad or unhappy, so frustrated that all he could think about was the problem.

The only issue was there was no solution.

House was interviewing a candidate at that moment. Chase knew how qualified each candidate was. House was a hard man to please, but not impossible. And anyone who succeeded in pleasing him was remarkable.

Chase was done for.

He stood up, shoving his chair back and out of the way. Tears pricked in his eyes as he rushed over to the counter, retrieving the knife he’d taken times before from the cutlery drawer.

Without much thought, Chase tugged down his sleeve and cut himself.

He made more cuts than he had previous times. The frustration took longer to dissipate. The sight of blood on his forearm made him feel better. Calmer. Like his world wasn’t imploding. The pain made everything feel a bit more manageable.

But as he rinsed away the blood, the frustration made itself known again. Not as sharp or urgent, but still heavy, dragging him down.

He cleaned himself up slowly to start, but the sound of movement in the hall made him pick up the pace, panic surging through his body.

He hadn’t gotten the chance to fully dry his arm before he sat down in his chair. He picked up his pen as quickly as he could to make it look like he was in the middle of work when the footsteps approached. His knee bounced rapidly beneath the table.

“Get out,” House ordered from the entrance to the diagnostics room as he threw the door open.. Chase flinched, looking up from his work. He could feel how hot his face was and hear how hard his heart was pounding. House was standing in the doorway with a young, female doctor lingering behind him, a very concerned look on her face.

“Why?” Chase asked.

“Because I asked you to,” House narrowed his gaze, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his cane.

Chase just stared.

“I’m interviewing someone for the fellowship,” House stepped to the side, grinning sarcastically and gesturing to the brunette beside him. She smiled meekly and waved, glancing at House.

“You have an office,” Chase said, turning back to his paperwork, knee continuing to bounce.

“Needed a change of scenery,” House explained. He started walking into the room, the interviewee hesitantly following. She threw Chase a worried glance, Chase shrugged, cracking a small smile. His heart was racing at this point. He once again felt like a little kid who’d done something bad and whose parent was so close to finding out.

“Is that code for ‘needed a whiteboard to play mind games’?” Chase asked as House approached the whiteboard. On cue, he grabbed a whiteboard marker and uncapped it.

“Yes,”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Chase closed the file he was working with and gathered up his things, leaving the room and heading into House’s office.

He abandoned what he’d grabbed on the chair and hurried to House’s desk to grab a handful of tissues. He pulled down his sleeve and pressed the tissues to his forearm. Some of the cuts had started congealing, but there was still enough bleeding to justify applying pressure at this point.

Chase closed his eyes and tilted his head up as he began to catch his breath. He sank down to the ground, forearm in pain and shame bubbling in his chest.

Chapter Text

“She’s like you but less annoying. Just as pretty, though,” was how House had described the applicant he’d decided to hire to Chase.

She started in the position a week following her interview. That week had seen two difficult cases in quick succession, leaving both House and Chase drained.

The cases weren’t enough of a distraction for Chase’s worries about the new fellow, either. The knowledge he’d be competing with a new, wonderfully qualified and pleasant fellow in a few days further fueled his usual desire to please House.

He didn’t know why it felt like a competition was imminent. The feeling of competing was vague. The desire to be better than someone else was synonymous with the desire to be good in general.

He already held himself to high standards as was reasonable with a boss like House, and the added pressure was quickly becoming too much to handle.

Chase arrived slightly later than normal on the new fellow’s first day. Despite her arrival being all he thought about over the past week, the actual date had managed to slip his mind. He was only focusing on his feelings surrounding the matter, not any of the real details.

“Good morning,” the new fellow greeted from the table. She smiled formally alongside her greeting. Chase gave her a short nod as he felt the dread he’d been feeling for the past week growing stronger.

“Morning,” He walked over to his seat and set his things down. He took a long sip of coffee before he placed his cup on the table and took a seat.

“Nice to meet you,” she tried politely. “I’m Allison Cameron,”

“Robert Chase. Nice to meet you.” He near mumbled, looking just beyond her.

Cameron wasn’t fully registering in his mind as a person. He had a name and a face to put to the dread and fear he’d been feeling, but they weren’t matching up correctly.

“Any idea when House will be here?” Cameron asked. Chase shrugged, staring into his coffee.

“No idea. Don’t worry, it’ll probably be a while,” he said, entirely serious. Cameron laughed, bright and relaxed. It took him a moment to realize what was funny about what he’d said.

“He might come only a half hour late today, though. On account of it being your first day,” he said with a shrug, finally meeting her eyes. House had lied about one thing, she was far prettier than he could ever dream of being.

“He doesn’t seem like the type,” she observed, still wearing her smile.

“Oh, he’s just excited for a new person to bully,” Chase cracked a small smile of his own.

As their conversation continued, Chase felt… strange. He had formed an opinion and feelings toward Cameron before he even knew what she looked like or what her name was. He associated her with nothing but bad feelings. He thought of “the new fellow” and felt sick. She had caused him so much stress, worry, frustration, fear, and though he’d never admit it, tears. She had no idea what she had done to him.

Talking to her though, Chase forgot that this was the person responsible for his struggles in the past week. She was kind and pleasant and great to talk to, but that had nothing to do with how she’d made him feel.

Meeting her, the feelings he felt and the person who “caused” them drifted further apart in relation. Cameron wasn’t making Chase feel this way, but the feelings still remained regardless, untethered to any specific cause.

The feeling was familiar. Something he’d felt many times before. It was hard to place, something between frustration, sadness, shame, and fear. He felt hopeless.

Without anything to direct the feeling toward, Chase felt lost. He felt more scared. He felt worse even though the feeling wasn’t as magnified as it had been when he’d had Cameron to blame.

Chase wasn’t sure what to do. All he could do was keep talking and pretend there wasn’t a chasm in his chest.

Eventually, House did show up, and with a new case. Chase knew the upcoming work hours were going to be a bitch with how excited House seemed and how much paperwork he still had to complete from the last two cases.

House scrawled symptoms on the board, turning to his fellows and popping a Vicodin in his mouth.

“What are you waiting for? Get to it,” House gestured lazily to the board. He looked angry as usual, but Chase could tell in the way he carried himself that he was oddly happy. He seemed more alert, stood up a little straighter, and his limp hadn’t been nearly as bad as it had been the past few days.

Chase quickly came to the conclusion it had to be Cameron.

She was quick with her suggestions. She took House’s ridiculing like a champ. She seemed a little surprised at first, but she was adapting quickly to his brash attitude. House was able to go back and forth with her and bounce off ideas. Before Chase knew it, he and Cameron were off to see the patient.

“That was intense,” Cameron said with a smile as they walked down the hall. Chase nodded, expression blank. The feeling he’d been hosting was trying desperately to latch onto something, specifically Cameron, but it wasn’t quite clicking. The struggle served to enhance the emptiness and add overwhelm to the mix.

“You get used to it,” Chase reassured with a shrug.

The rest of the walk to the patient’s room was quiet. Chase didn’t want to talk. He felt like he couldn’t. Something was bothering him. Something was lingering just below the surface he couldn’t quite place and it was taking up all his attention.

The case wasn’t too difficult to solve, but it was a difficult case overall. Their patient was struggling with unexplained sleepiness and continuously fell asleep throughout the entire case, making the frequent discussions they needed and many tests a bit difficult to perform. There was the added fear of her going to sleep and just not waking up as well that she herself had reinforced.. She had struggled with daytime sleepiness for years, but decided to seek out treatment after she slept for over two days straight, waking up starving, dehydrated, and confused.

“Alright,” House called out to the room once the patient was fully handled, equipped with a correct diagnosis and her first treatment for the condition administered. “I’m grabbing dinner. Bye.”

Chase squinted at his boss as he began leaving the diagnostics room. “You still have work to do from the last two cases,”

House shrugged, not looking back. “You have work to do from the last two cases. This one, too. I’d get started on that if I were you,”

As soon as the door closed behind his boss, Chase felt exhaustion hit him like a wave. Cameron must have noticed the way his shoulders suddenly sunk and his face fell, because she wore a concerned look on her face.

“Last two cases?” She asked.

“Paperwork,” Chase explained simply, eyes unfocused. He stood up, pushing his chair away from the table.

“Need any help?” Cameron watched him as he stood, unmoving.

“I’m okay,” He said as he turned to leave the room. “Be right back,”

Chase was shocked he made it all the way to the bathroom without falling over. He’d been on his feet all day and for a significant portion of the entire week. He had barely slept all week either and everything was catching up with him. Every little thing had been bothering him that day from arguments with staff about getting an MRI slot to feeling too warm with his coat on was beginning to hit. In the moment, it had all felt overwhelming with every sensation existing intensely and individually. By now, the weight of the day, even the past week, was all blending together into a uniform mix of bad.

Chase slipped into a bathroom stall and reached into his pocket, pulling out an individual razor he’d freed from a disposable razor at home. He tugged down his sleeve and watched as he cut himself with it, the sight of blood and the stinging feeling of sliced skin calming him.

He was still exhausted. He was still overwhelmed. He still had copious amounts of paperwork to do. But in the moment, none of that mattered. He felt at peace. His only regret was not cutting himself earlier in the day or even that week.

Once the high had worn off, the fatigue started slowly returning. Regardless, he couldn’t deny how he felt a little lighter, the emotions he’d been burying for days finally having a chance to be neutralized. Not necessarily rid of, just replaced with numbness, still taking up just as much space, but significantly easier to deal with.

He made his way back to the diagnostics room after he’d cleaned himself up. He would be lying if he didn’t feel a little better when Cameron perked up at his arrival.

“Are you staying?” Chase asked. He felt more grounded in reality that before. He hadn’t realized how foggy his mind was until he’d been brought back.

“Yeah. I’ll get started on some paperwork for this case,” She said with a smile. Chase mugged her expression.

“It’ll be nice to have two people working on paperwork instead of just me,” Chase expressed earnestly. Cameron laughed, retrieving a pen from her coat pocket.

“House doesn’t do much paperwork, does he?”

Chase shook his head, still smiling. “Nope. This job is mostly being his secretary,”

Cameron laughed again, the bright sound lifting Chase’s spirits. He couldn’t have imagined this day he’d been dreading would end with him laughing with the fellow he was so terrified of. He was exhausted and numb and his arm was really starting to hurt, but he was content.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t an issue.

It was anything but. It was a near magical solution to all of Chase’s problems.

Being a doctor came with stress. Working under House added extra stress. Life in general was stressful and overwhelming. Cutting was an easy fix.

He started only hurting himself when something was really bothering him. When everything was too overwhelming to deal with and the next step was breaking down in tears, cutting was there to pull him back from the edge.

He realized quickly that the coping mechanism didn’t have to be restricted to dire situations. It made everything more bearable.

If he was having trouble falling asleep, it helped him calm down. If he wasn’t able to focus at work, he’d slip away into the bathroom and be ready to lock in when he returned. If House’s attitude was annoying him, he knew how to release those feelings so he’d be able to move on. If he felt frustrated, tired, overstimulated, bored, or anything that was distracting him, he’d cut himself.

It turned into a daily occurrence. Almost a habit.

Chase had no idea how he went through life without this tool. Every feeling that sparked the urge was impossible to live with. It was like his emotions had intensified since he’d started self harming, though he knew it was just the feeling of relief twisting his memories, like when you finally get a chance to lie down after a long day and realize how tired you really were. Everything always felt this bad.

There was only one real downside. Unfortunately, his new way to cope came with physical proof of what he’d done which was highly frowned upon, so he now had the added stress of having to hide what he was doing. And in a job where he used his hands a lot, he’d have to be careful. He’d caught himself going to pull up his sleeves before settling down to do paperwork or perform tests too many times to count.

Chase showed up to work holding a near empty coffee cup. It was a ridiculously hot day, so he’d gone for an iced drink rather than hot. It was disgusting, but he had downed most of it during his commute to cool down.

When he arrived, he already felt the urge to hurt himself. The frustration that came with the heat was enough to bother him. He shrugged off his coat and set his things down on the table with a heavy sigh. Cameron looked up from her work, greeting him with a small smile. He offered one back weakly.

“It’s not just me then? It’s boiling in here,” Cameron commented, continuing to work. Her coat was nowhere in sight and she was only wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt.

“AC must be out if it’s already so hot this early in the day,” Chase commented. He reached into his pocket, feeling around to make sure he had a razor. He knew it wasn’t necessarily safe to have a sharp object loose in his pocket, but it was the most convenient place for one. It gave him more freedom of when and where he could hurt himself.

Chase went to leave the diagnostics room and head to the bathroom, but House decided today of all days to show up on time, sunglasses engaged and a stethoscope around his neck. He pushed Chase to the side as he limped into the room. The contact furthered his frustration.

“Chase, you’re coming with me to the clinic,” House announced. He walked over to his desk, throwing a drawer open and grabbing a bottle of Vicodin to slip into his pocket. He removed his sunglasses with a wince and set them down on the table.

“Why are you here,” Chase ignored what House had said.

“God, I’m so appreciated around here,” House commented sarcastically. He started to head out of the room again, gesturing for Chase to follow. He did.

“Why am I coming with you to the clinic?” Chase asked. House groaned dramatically and Chase knew he made a mistake asking.

“Cuddy requires I have supervision in the clinic for a week after an incident a few days ago. Says I can’t be trusted on my own with patients, or something,” He rolled his eyes. Chase felt anger flaring in his chest. He was already on edge from the heat and the added frustration of having to be the one to babysit his misbehaving boss when he had other work to do was adding to his distress.

“Why does it have to be me?” Chase asked, not even trying to hide his frustration.

“Because Cameron is busy and I knew you’d do it,” House explained like it was obvious, shooting Chase a confused look. He grabbed his stethoscope off his neck and threw it at Chase. He sighed and put it around his own neck before continuing to follow.

The first patient they saw confirmed all the trepidations Chase had toward joining House in the clinic. The only good part about it was the clinic still had air conditioning, but it didn’t make up for how god awful the patient was.

“Are you a student?” Was the first thing the older man on the exam table said. He looked Chase up and down suspiciously.

“No, I’m a doctor,” Chase replied, looking at the chart in his hands.

“You look awfully young to be a doctor. You’re not wearing one of those white coats either,” He scoffed.

“I’m a doctor, I’m sure. I got warm so I took the coat off. I’m allowed to do that,” Chase explained through his teeth. It wasn’t taking much to get him worked up. The issue of overheating was gone, but its mark had been made on Chase’s mood for the day.

“You his boss? You don’t got a coat on either,” The man said in regards to House. House feigned a confused expression before looking down, gasping in sarcastic surprise.

“I get it,” The man rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“I’m Doctor Chase, this is Doctor House,” Chase introduced, emphasizing ‘doctor’ in his own introduction. “What seems to be the problem, sir?” Chase asked.

“You have the file in your hand, don’t you?” The man glared.

Chase drew in a deep breath. It was taking everything in him not to snap at this man’s attitude. “I like to double check. Sometimes things aren’t exactly right or there are details that weren’t mentioned,”

The man scoffed. It sent a flare of anger through Chase. “You saying I’m stupid? So stupid I didn’t mention why the fuck I’m in here?”

“Listen tubby, just tell him what’s wrong with you before we start guessing. My money’s on herpes,” House snapped, finishing with a smile.

“I’ve had a cough for about a month now. I had a cold in the beginning, but this cough is sticking around,” The man explained, face still wound up in resistance.

“Do you smoke?” Chase asked, looking down at the file.

“Every once in a while. Never caused an issue, though,” He said, checking his watch.

“Any other symptoms? Anything like shortness of breath or chest pain?”

“Jesus kid, I don’t have all day. I told you what’s wrong with me, fix it,” The man spat. He covered up his anger at the last second with a chuckle and a side glance to House, clearly just remembering the man was in the room.

Chase took a deep breath, smiling tightly. House looked his fellow up and down. Chase didn’t acknowledge it.

“Sorry, sir,” he started. “If you could lift up your shirt, I’ll listen to what’s going on in your chest,”

The man complied, mumbling something under his breath. Chase tugged his sleeves up and grabbed the stethoscope off his neck to put it on. He was so busy trying to focus on his own breathing and to calm himself down that he nearly forgot to focus on the patient’s.

Once he was finished, Chase slung the stethoscope back around his neck and picked up the patient’s chart.

“Everything seems normal. You’re likely experiencing some inflammation caused by your cough during your cold. This could last up to eight weeks. It’s nothing to worry about,” Chase explained.

“Seriously?” The patient complained. “I came out here and waited in your damn waiting room for ages just to be told it’s nothing to worry about?”

“If it makes you happier, we can tell you you have cancer,” House offered. He was speaking to the patient, but he kept his eyes on Chase. The younger man ignored his boss’ gaze.

“Just tell me how to fix it.” The patient grumbled.

“Keeping hydrated is the main thing. Then cough drops or over the counter cough medications can help provide further relief,” Chase explained. He made a point of staring at the papers in his hands and not at the patient. The sound of his voice was enough to frustrate him. He didn’t need the further aggravation of seeing his face.

“You’re kidding,” he scoffed.

“Tea also helps. Add a bit of honey, works magic,” House offered, expression neutral. Chase could still feel his eyes on him.

“I’m leaving,” the patient slid off of the exam table and stormed out of the room, shoving past Chase on his way out. He drew in a sharp inhale at the contact. He reached his hand up to the bicep that had been touched. He felt like he’d been burnt. The day was already overwhelming and it had barely been a half hour. He had no idea how he was going to get through the day at this rate.

“Hey, kid,” House stood up from the chair he’d been sitting in and walked just past Chase to the open door, careful to not brush up against him even though he was basically blocking the exit.

Chase looked to his boss. He could feel his face flushed with anger and frustration. He could feel his heart racing beneath his arm across his chest as he struggled to keep calm.

“Yeah?” He forced out.

“Are you okay?,” House looked deep into Chase’s eyes. His eyes were soft. He wore an expression Chase couldn’t place while it was on House’s face. It wasn’t quite pity. It almost seemed sympathetic.

“What do you mean?” Chase asked, chuckling lightly. House’s eyes flickered downward for just a split second. The realization hit Chase like a truck. His sleeves were rolled up, cuts and scars on full display.

Chase felt his heart drop. He stared dumbly at House for a moment, his blue eyes staring back full of apparent sympathy. He quickly tugged his sleeves down, averting his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Chase could hear his voice cracking more than he felt it. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt more stupid. More ashamed. He could feel tears building in his eyes. His chest felt hollow. He couldn’t feel his limbs. He wanted more than anything to go back in time and stop House from seeing, but second to that, he wanted to freeze the moment. To never progress. To stay in this moment of time where nothing was being discussed, no thoughts were being thought, no feelings felt, everything just stopped. He couldn’t bear the thought of the next moment. Whatever it held, no options were good. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to go back to work without a word, either. He couldn’t function in this state. He needed everything to stop.

“Calm down, kid,” House’s voice was gruff and gravelly, but steady. He shut the still open exam room door, sealing the pair away from the outside world.

“I’m really sorry,” Chase shook his head slowly, not breaking eye contact.

“Why are you apologizing?” House asked with a shrug. He was too unbothered and too nonchalant for the situation, but seemed too concerned for House to be in any situation. Chase didn’t know what he was thinking.

“What do you want?” Chase snapped. The sound of his own voice shocked him still.

“I want to know if you’re okay,” House repeated.

“I’m fine. Why do you care?” Chase crossed his arms. He tried to pretend his eyes weren’t brimming with tears and his hands weren’t shaking, but he knew House noticed with the way he was eyeing him up and down.

“I like you, Chase,” House admitted. Chase stared, not sure he’d heard him correctly.

“You’re important. You matter around here. You’re the first fellow I’ve had I’ve actually wanted to stick around. Didn’t think this was a surprise, but your wellbeing sort of matters to me,”

It took a moment for Chase to process what he’d been told before he could speak. “I… I’m okay. I’m sure.”

House nodded. “You don’t have to be,”

Chase shrugged. “I’m just… dramatic. I’m fine,”

“Dramatic?”

“There’s nothing serious going on. Everything’s normal, I just overreact and… I don’t know.” He trailed off, not wanting to say it. House didn’t seem to mind. He nodded along, strangely respectful.

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious. We all have our issues and we all have ways to cope. Sure, your way is absolutely terrible and doesn’t work, but sometimes it’s just about getting through the day,” House shrugged. Chase’s watery eyes met his. His hands shook.

“What do you want?” Chase asked again, voice quiet and resigned.

“I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m not going to tell anyone or give you a lecture or force you to stop. But I’m here if you need anything.” A more distinct look of concern was clear on his features by now.

When House found out about Chase's self harm, he panicked. His heart was still pounding from it. The worst thing in his mind was someone finding out. But now that House knew, he felt a little relieved. Self-harm is inherently isolating. It’s often done in private, away from any prying eyes and kept away from other people’s attention.

Knowing that someone else knew was liberating. He was embarrassed and ashamed and still scared, but he felt reassured knowing that someone in the world saw his struggle. That someone else knew about what was going on. Even if he didn’t talk about it, even if House never knew the why or how, sharing the burden just the slightest bit made everything feel a little lighter. He still felt a bit panicked and angry and overwhelmed, but everything felt a bit more manageable.

“Thanks, House,” Chase expressed earnestly.

House nodded. “Let’s head back out there. Those stuffy noses will fix themselves, but they need us to tell them that,”

Chase cracked a smile and began walking toward the exam room door. Before he could leave, House placed a hand on his shoulder and spun him around, pulling him into a secure hug. It wasn’t tight or suffocating. House applied even pressure throughout his arms to Chase’s body, instilling a sense of security.

House let go before Chase could process what had happened. Without another word, House led the way out of the exam room. Chase followed.