Chapter Text
Chase rubs at his temples, desperate for the feeling to recede. He can’t be doing this– he isn’t going to do this again, especially not when the trigger was false. The case did not turn out to be what they originally thought– there was no abuse of that sort, just a massive malfunction of the endocrine system.
Everything is okay. He is okay, the girl is okay, her father isn’t a monster, and the father’s brother seems to have forgiven him for the false accusation he had aimed at him.. This is silly, and stupid, and there’s no reason for him to be falling apart like this. He used to have migraines after something bad happened to him, but nothing bad has happened now, and he just has to convince his mind of that so that it’ll stop taking it out on his body.
He reopens his eyes, the flickering light pattern in his vision seems to be fading but the pain in his head is worsening and he’s starting to feel queasy. He’s fine; does it even count as a migraine if it’s all psychosomatic?
(Of course it does, the rational, doctor side of his mind answers. No one knows definitively what causes migraines anyway..)
He just needs to calm down. He got the therapy, he engaged with it, he talked about it and he moved on. Just because the guy in their last case maybe looked a little like his–
“Chase! It’s your turn to throw out a bad idea,” House bellows, “Stop fidgeting and staring into space and start disappointing me.”
He nods, which is a bad idea, but he has the presence of mind not to outwardly flinch or show that he’s in any pain.
“Parasite, infection…” he says slowly, hoping he actually sounds like his normal self since he feels like his brain is lagging as the headache intensifies, “We should do a blood culture.”
“Why is that always your answer?” House asks incredulously, banging his cane against the table, the sound reverberating in Chase’s head unpleasantly, “At least put some effort into it.”
“Sorry,” he swallows, trying to ignore the way that the scent of Foreman’s leftover breakfast on the table is making his stomach turn, “You did ask me to disappoint you, though.”
“Yes, but at least try harder not to or it isn't fun,” House sighs, “Foreman, Cameron, can one of you try actually using your brains since Dr. Chase apparently doesn’t feel like being a doctor today?”
Chase tries as hard as he can not to clench his teeth, wills his body not to tense up and wills his breath not to quicken, but it becomes harder and harder as the conversation continues around him and the migraine progresses. The aura before the headache has clearly passed, and he’s in the real thick of it now. He had forgotten just how excruciating the pain could be; as a doctor of course, he believed all the medical literature and the patients he’s seen suffering, but he had mostly blocked out all the times he experienced it himself.
He remembers the first time, his mother picking him up from the school clinic and how he had been convinced he was dying. He remembered the school nurse urging his mother to take him to the doctor as quickly as possible, but then of course, how she hadn’t done that. He had survived, of course, only to re-experience that same nearly once a week for the next six years.
He had spent nights in his room clutching his teddy bear and wondering if he’d survive the night, then when he was older and had finally been to the doctor he spent nights on the bathroom floor, trying to sort through his math homework even though the numbers on the page appeared to be spinning.
Eventually, he had grown out of it, or so he thought.
The cane is smacked against the table once more, this time right in front of him. He hadn’t expected it, as he hadn’t really been paying attention to anyone or anything going on in the room, so he can’t help the way he jumps in his chair or the yelp that escapes from his lips.
“The fuck is up with you today?” House demands, leaning down to be able to get in his face.
Chase squeezes his eyes shut tight, trying to resist the urge to just give up and tell everyone he needs to go home.
“Hey!”
Another hit of the cane against the table, though this one much lighter.
“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” House says, “Look at me.”
“No,” is all he’s able to say, and it comes out rather pathetically.
“No because you don’t want to, or no because the sound of the continued banging of my cane combined with the gorgeous fluorescent lighting of the room is making your headache worse?”
“Chase?” Cameron asks gently, leaning in closer. Normally the light smell of her perfume is a comfort, but the increased overwhelm from all his senses going into overdrive pushes him over the edge, and he cracks open an eye just to be able to pull over the closest trash can so he can vomit into it
“Well, we might not have diagnosed the patient yet, but at least we can diagnose Chase as having had a few too many drinks last night,” Foreman sighs, “And we can probably diagnose the reason for that as being you House.”
“Funny,” House says flatly, “Way to get both of us with that one. Wombat, you doing okay there?”
There’s a hand on his back moving in slow circles, and though Chase doesn’t yet feel well enough to look up and see who it is, he’d bet all that he’s worth that it’s Cameron, and not only because she’s his girlfriend and he knows what her hand feels like against his skin, but because he’s sure his lapse in health hasn’t caused House to suddenly grow a soul, and Foreman might actually have somewhat of a soul but there’s no way he isn’t enjoying this just a little.
“Give him a moment to catch his breath,” Cameron chides, continuing to move her hand against his back, “And I’m pretty sure he isn’t hungover, Foreman.”
“So you two don’t drink before you–
“Would you—”
“Dr. Chase,” House shouts, getting a groan out of him, “I need you to talk to me so I know you’re not having a brain bleed. If either of the two of you were actually good doctors, you’d have realized he clearly was presenting with the symptoms of something neurological rather than a hangover.”
“I said I didn’t think he was…” Cameron protests, before House’s words really catch up to her and she rapidly grows nervous, “Chase? Can you look up at me for a second? I need to check your pupils. Is there any chance you could have eaten something cross contaminated with strawberries?”
“Not hemorrhaging,” he manages to grumble out, wincing when he has trouble getting the second word out, “No aneurysm, no brain tumor, no allergy. S’migraine.”
“Yeah, I thought it was probably that and not anything scary,” House admits, “I just wanted to scare you guys, and him maybe.”
“You’ve never had any migraines before, though,” Cameron says, confused, helping him as he tries to sit back up, “We would have seen it by now.”
She does not need to say out loud the implied I would’ve definitely seen it by now, he hears it loud and clear.
“Haven’t in a long while,” he admits, though he doesn’t plan on telling her exactly how long for fear of her panicking and convincing herself it is a hemorrhagic stroke, “But I did use to have them, I promise. This feels exactly like that– I had the aura before and everything. You don’t need to be worried, please.”
“Chase, what year is it?” Foreman asks, and to Chase’s horror and humiliation, he realizes the man is only being half sarcastic.
“Not dying,” he mumbles, “Am not letting you do a neuro exam.”
“You ever take anything for them when you had them before?” House asks, “Today can be Fun Friday where I write a script for one of you instead of it being the other way around for once. Wouldn’t that be just so fun?”
“Why are you being nice?” Chase groans with a slight slur, “Leave me’lone. Patient.”
“I’m not being nice. I banged my cane against the table until you puked to prove that I was right,” House murmurs, “But if you aren’t up to running tests, I might actually have to run some for once. We can’t have that.”
“Don’t need meds. Talk about the patient.”
“Maybe we should do a CT just to be extra safe,” Foreman volunteers, “If he hasn’t had them in a while, maybe we shouldn’t take this at face value. If Chase dies and I, the neurologist, missed it? Cuddy will destroy me.”
“He’s fine,” House says with a roll of the eyes, “Don’t be so dramatic. If it were anything serious, he would be disoriented and rapidly deteriorating. Look at him! He’s just cranky. He’ll live.”
“I’ll get you some water so you can rinse your mouth out,” Cameron says sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder.
“M’not the patient,” he repeats, “Can we please just talk about her? House is right. I have a migraine and it’s making me cranky– I’m not dying. Now the patient on the other hand…”
“Right. Torturing Dr. Chase is fun but it’s not what I’m actually being paid to do here,” House says, voice full of mock disappointment, “Dr. Australia, I’m giving you thirty minutes to rest. The other two of my stooges, run a stress test and do all those pointless lab tests you always insist on running.”
“Where are you going?” Foreman asks, and honestly, Chase doesn’t really care, he’s just ecstatic to have the room all to himself, even if it’s only for two minutes.
“To throw darts at a wall to pick which of the many Triptan class drugs I’m going to prescribe to Chase for his migraine,” House says matter-of-factly, before his voice is dripping with fake sympathy, “Seeing someone so pretty so miserable is breaking my little hurt.”
Chase spits out a mouthful of the water Cameron brought him into the trash can, shaking his head.
“House, I don’t need any drugs. I’m starting to feel a bit better.”
“Dude, just take the pill he’s offering instead of being miserable all day,” Foreman suggests.
“How do I know he isn’t going to actually give me arsenic?”
“I’ll do a tox screen,” Cameron jokes, patting him on the shoulder again, “Take the pill and rest. We’ll come check on you later to make sure you haven’t stroked out.”
“Fine,” he relents, if only to just be left alone, “Bye guys, always a pleasure.”
“Rest well, Sweet Aussie,” House says with a salute, “I’ll be back shortly with the magic of modern medicine. Thanks for ruining this differential, by the way.”
“Always a pleasure,” he repeats, laying his head down on the table in front of him, already looking forward to forgetting all about this once it’s fully passed.
It’s just a fluke, he’s decided. This only has to mean anything if he lets it mean anything.
Just as he sighs in contentment at having the space to himself, he feels footsteps clicking back toward him. Again, he doesn’t have to turn around to see who they belong to.
“It’s a migraine. I’m fine, I promise.”
“But what would make them come back all of the sudden?” Cameron asks, stroking his back more tenderly now that no one else is around– of course, the team knows they’re in a relationship, as does practically the whole hospital, but they do have to keep things professional, of course. She rarely shows him affection like this when they aren’t outside of the hospital.
“Dunno. Migraines are weird like that,” he murmurs against the table, trying to hide how nervous he suddenly feels, “We don’t even know why I had them in the first place.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Cameron presses, guiding his chin with her hand until he sits up so she can get a good look at him, “Honey, you have a horrible headache and vomited, plus you were slurring your words a little. If it was anyone else–”
“Anyone else without a history of migraines,” he cuts in, “Please don’t worry yourself until we’re both sick, Allison.”
“I didn’t know you had a history of migraines until five minutes ago.”
“Never came up,” he says with a shrug, “Really, I am fine. It’s already starting to get better.”
She cups his face in her hands, looking right into his eyes for a long moment before sighing and nodding.
“If your headache gets worse or you puke again, I’m taking you to the ER. No arguments.”
“No arguments,” he agrees, already knowing there will be several arguments should either of the two scenarios occur, but wanting her to feel like it’s alright, and that he’ll be alright, because he certainly will.
“Okay,” she replies, sounding deflated, “I’m going to go, but only because if I don’t get out of here before House gets back, he’ll make our lives even more insufferable for the next few weeks. You rest, okay? If you need more than thirty minutes, take it. I don’t want to see you up and about until you’re actually well enough for it.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he murmurs, putting his head back down against the table and he hears a sound mixed between a sigh and a laugh.
“See you,” she whispers, rubbing his back for one more quick second before leaving, “Feel better.”
He will, he knows he will.