Work Text:
“Did your mom cut those for you, Chase?” House joked, his voice lacking amusement, as he limped into the conference room where his team waited. He nodded towards the small tupperware container of apple slices Chase was picking at, the blue plastic lid set neatly under it.
“I missed breakfast this morning, er, my alarm didn’t go off.” Chase replied, gently pushing the container away from himself.
House didn’t acknowledge the intensivist, instead opting to drop a case file on the table. “46-year-old Kathryne Williams, complained of fatigue and constipation. Also said she was feeling down .” The last words were dripping in sarcasm, and the diagnostician pulled finger-quotes as he said them. “Room 316, if you want to see the freak show.”
Foreman picked up the case file and skimmed it as House read it. “ ‘says she’s 384lbs,”
Chase chuckled. “Tell her she should lay off the food,” he chimed in, “she’ll be fine.”
Cameron turned to face Chase. “You don’t know that! There could be an underlying reason for weight gain- like, she could be going into menopause?”
“ Menopause ?” Chase repeated, “for 380 pounds? There’s definitely something else happening.”
“Plus, 46 is a bit early for menopause.” House added. “Start her on.. Levothyroxine.”
“For Hypothyroidism?” Cameron furrowed her eyebrows, turning to House. “Why? How do you know?”
“I don’t,” House admitted, “but if she doesn’t have it, she’ll shed a few pounds, so it’s a win-win either way.”
The diagnostician limped over to the whiteboard, crudely writing “ Levothiroxin ” before underlining it and walking out of the room despite Cameron’s protests.
Chase returned his gaze to his fingers drumming lazily against the table. Hunger clawed at his stomach, begging for him to eat the apple slices sitting in front of him. His eyes shifted to the bowl. He looked over the apple slices, analysing each detail. The deep red skin, the pale yellow flesh that was browning slightly near the ends. The fibres of the fruit were visible in the skin, texture bursting from each slice.
Chase imagined what it would be like to eat the apple slices. Just one. He imagined what it would feel like to pry his hand off the table, the weight of his flesh pulling on his bones. He imagined what it would feel like to pick one of the slices from the bowl, the others falling in a domino effect to find a place to rest again. He imagined what it would feel like to bite into the slice, his teeth clacking against each other as the tangy flesh of the apple poured onto his tongue and the red skin resisted against his teeth. He imagined what it would feel like to swallow the apple, the fruit coagulating into a lump that travelled down his oesophagus. He imagined what it would feel like to feed the growing pit of emptiness that sat in his chest.
6 calories. One slice is 6 calories. Just have one. Just. One.
He closed his eyes and exhaled, regulating himself. No. No more. He’s already had too much.
He dismissed himself quickly, mumbling how he ‘has to go check something’ to the others, leaving before they could reply.
He walked down the hallway at a brisk pace, heart beating in his ears. If that girl- Kathryn Williams, was it? He could take her medication. It induces weight-loss, right? She doesn’t deserve it, she put herself in that position. She was the one that ate herself to suicide. He, on the other hand, deserved it. Years of dieting, years of enduring the criticisms and insults thrown by- by him , he deserved an easy fix.
He got to the pharmacy, placing both hands on the countertop and setting his weight on them. “Erm, I need a, er, Levothyroxine. For Kathryn Williams?”
The pharmacist turned to look at him. “Oh, yes, um, do you have the prescription?”
“What?” Chase asked. He forgot to write a prescription. “Er, I’m a doctor. She needs it for Hypothyroidism. Can’t you just give it to me?”
The pharmacist cocked his eyebrow. “Kathryn Williams? House came by just now and already picked up her medication.”
Chase sighed, his teeth clenching. “What room is she in again? 316?”
“Oh, I don’t-” The pharmacist started, putting up his hands, but it was too late. The intensivist had already rushed off.
-
Chase sped down the hallways, scanning each door for 316 desperately. He tripped to a stop when the room finally showed up, stepping back and swinging the door open.
“Hello,” he started, eyeing the patient, “Have any doctors given you any medication? Little orange pills, they’re called Levothyroxine?”
The woman paused, before nodding. “Yes, a man gave me these. I haven’t taken any yet.” She picked up a small orange pill bottle from her nightstand, outstretching her arm to give to Chase.
Chase took the pill bottle from her, breathing a sigh of relief. “Yes, er, these- erm, these are the wrong medication. Deadly, they are, if not- if we give them to you.”
“Well, good I didn’t take any yet, isn’t it?” Kathryn laughed. Chase awkwardly chuckled too, briefly, before heading out the door. He stared at the pill bottle in his hands, rattling the tablets inside.
He walked to the bathroom sitting idly at the end of the hallway. He stepped inside, unscrewing the pill bottle and taking out a pill. He was about to put it in his mouth, when he hesitated. Sure, he wants to be skinny, but does he need to? Is it really that important?
He put the tablet in his mouth. Yes, he wants- needs to be thin. He turned on the sink and cupped his hands under the running water, quickly swallowing it and the pill. He grimaced as he felt the orange tablet slide down his throat.
He looked at himself in the mirror. He dragged his finger along his cheekbones, his jawline, his collarbones. One thing he learned from modelling was that he had to be skinny. He had to, or he’d look bad. He’d be judged. They’d hate him.
The intensivist screwed the lid back onto the pill bottle, before shoving it into his pocket and stepping out of the room. His stomach yelled at him, the pill just a reminder of the food he could’ve been eating. Could’ve . Aside from the apple slices, he hadn’t eaten in- what- four days? He was going through a rough patch, even now he could tell. He thought he’d recovered by now, but all it took was one call. One call. He didn’t even know why it set him off, it was just his old friend reaching out to catch up. Maybe it was when she mentioned modelling. Maybe it was when she mentioned Keiran. Whatever it was, that call last week was something Chase regretted picking up.
-
Cameron knocked lightly on door 316 before stepping inside the room. “Hi Kathryn! How’s your medication working for you?” She smiled.
“Medication?” Kathryn repeated, before her eyes widened. “The little orange pills?”
Cameron nodded, her smile faltering as she realised something was wrong.
“The man! The blonde man said they were dangerous! He said they would kill me!” The woman’s eyebrows furrowed in worry.
“I can assure you they won’t hurt you. I can get you more,” Cameron tried to reassure, although her voice was laced with concern. “What- what did the blonde man look like?”
“He was thin. And pretty. And Australian.” A grin split on Kathryn’s face.
Cameron nodded and left the room.
-
Chase stared at himself in his bathroom mirror. He barely caught any sleep that night, and his hair showed it with how messy it was from him tossing and turning. Still, he stared at his reflection. He stared until his eyes hurt and he couldn’t stare anymore. He picked up the levothyroxine and took two pills. The more, the merrier, right?
Chase sat in his car, waiting for the red light to turn green. Everything was so bright, it was giving him a headache. And he felt nauseous, like he was going to throw up. He considered turning around and going home, but he figured he was too far; he should just show up and go home later if he feels worse.
He showed up at the building, dragging his feet against the tiled floor. He took the elevator up to the conference room, sitting at his chair in the corner of the room. The eyes of his team members followed him as he did so.
“You’re late.” House said from the front of the room, “And you’re high.”
“What?” Chase laughed, confused and slightly taken aback by the accusation.
“Miss Kathryn’s levothyroxine mysteriously disappeared, and you’re the prime suspect. ‘Not many other blonde and pretty aussies running around this hospital.” House limped closer to Chase, his cane clacking against the floor. “Are you in the clouds, Chase?” he mock-whispered.
Chase paused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t take a patient’s drugs ,” Chase deflected.
“Are you sure? Because the evidence proves otherwise, and you’re about to throw up.” House said.
“ What do you mean I’m going to throw up? ” Chase was about to say, when he threw up on the ground next to House’s feet. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Oh, my god- I am so sorry, I’ll, er, I’ll clean that,” He said, standing up to look for cleaning supplies.
House took another step away from the pile of stomach acid on the floor. “ Throwing up is a common side effect of levothyroxine. You’re not going to clean that, instead you are going to hand me your stolen bottle of pills so you don’t drug yourself to death.”
“I don’t have any!”
House paused. “..Then we’ll just have to get Williams more. Go down to the pharmacy, pick up more for her.” He handed a slip of paper to Chase, before limping over to the whiteboard and continuing to talk about whatever it was they were talking about. Chase didn’t care.
The intensivist stepped out of the room, opening the slip of paper and reading it out of curiosity. Surprisingly, it didn’t have a prescription on it. It was a handwritten note that said ‘ Stop starving yourself, go eat something .’
Chase smiled at the note, stuffing it in his pocket and deciding to head home. He waved to the receptionist as he left, stepping into his car and turning the ignition. The car buzzed to life, the engine roaring a guttural sound as the intensivist pulled out of his parking space.
-
Chase set the bag of food on his table. He had decided to stop at a fast food place to get something to eat, but he felt too guilty and decided against it. At that point he was already ordering, so he decided to get something cheap and discard it when he got home. He set his bag down, stepping back into his living room to throw out the food. He picked up the bag, eyes grazing over the brightly-coloured fast-food logo, before peering inside the bag. He hadn’t bought anything big; just a small packet of french fries, but the hunger suffocating him screamed at him to eat them. To eat anything.
Chase picked one french fry out of the bag. He turned it in his fingers. He wondered how many calories it was. He begged himself not to eat them, to not succumb to the hunger, but it was too much to bear. He couldn’t take it anymore.
Slowly and hesitantly, Chase took a bite of the french fry. The salt grains stuck to the potato broke under his teeth, spreading the sour taste over his tongue. The soft and slightly soggy fry stuck to the front of his mouth, gripping the roof of his mouth.
He swallowed the fry, finally feeding the hunger that sat in his abdomen for so long. He ate another fry, indulging in the joy of finally not having a gaping emptiness clawing at his diaphragm anymore.
He ate another fry, and another, not caring that they were sticking to the roof of his mouth. He kept eating them, swallowing them by the handful, and after around 20 seconds he’d eaten all of them.
He exhaled, setting the brown paper bag down on the table. He thought that this was what all those obese people in the hospital felt like, being able to eat without guilt. Of course, Chase couldn’t fully escape from the guilt, as it slowly crawled back to loom over him like a shadow.
He picked up the paper bag again, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the recycling bin. He then pulled some paperwork out of his bag, deciding to work on it. He sat down on his couch, taking out a pencil and scribbling information on the patient sheets.
10 minutes later, as he was writing a very interesting report, his thoughts drifted back to the fast food and the guilt returned. First as a quiet whisper in his head, but as time passed it grew louder than a scream. His head hurt and he couldn’t focus. He set his paperwork down on the table, burying his head in his hands and rubbing his temples. He swallowed, trying to push his thoughts away, to no avail. He felt nauseous. He stood up, walking towards his bathroom. He pushed the door open and kneeled next to his toilet. He brought his finger into his mouth, pushing down hard to trigger a reaction. He winced from pain. He’s done this so many times before, he’s becoming desensitised. That’s not good.
His gag reflex triggered soon after, and he threw up soon after pulling his hand out of his mouth. He swallowed and flushed the toilet, washing away the barely digested reminder of his eating disorder.
As he washed his hands, he noticed the small orange bottle of levothyroxine. He was supposed to bring those back to House. A few more couldn’t hurt though, right?
Chase took a gulp of water as he swallowed 3 pills. He paused, looking at himself in the mirror. He figured he should take one more, seeing as he has to give them back. He should stock up now. He looked at himself in the mirror again, noticing his skin pulled tighter over his bones than earlier in the week. These pills did make a difference after all.
-
Foreman’s eyes scanned over the test results again. “She’s not improving from the levothyroxine, are you sure it’s Hypothyroidism?”
House nodded, pausing to consider something. “If she’s not responding to the levothyroxine, start her on liothyronine and liotrix.” He paused, turning his eyes to Chase, “You did get her more levothyroxine, right?”
“Er- yeah, I did, of course,” Chase nodded.
House cocked his head to the side, keeping eye contact. “Are you sure? You’re sweating.”
“Yeah, erm, I’m just- it’s really hot,” Chase replied, a nervous grin breaking on his face, as he pulled at his shirt collar.
House half-blinked. “Heat sensitivity is also a symptom of levothyroxine. If you took it to get stoned, you clearly didn’t think too much about the side effects.”
“I’m not- I’m not high !” Chase chuckled dryly, eyebrows furrowing, palms turning upward.
“If you’re not high, you wouldn’t mind doing a drug test, would you?” House asked, resting his head in his hand.
“Why do you care so much?” Chase snapped, “You don’t care about anything!”
“Because I don’t want a brilliant doctor like you to become a druggie,” House replied, “Now get me some of your urine, and get Kathryne more medication, because you clearly haven’t yet.”
“That cow doesn’t need the medication. She probably wants to die, given how much she eats.” Chase scoffed, standing up and leaving the room.
Cameron waited until the intensivist was out of earshot. “Oh my god, he looks awful! Is he starving himself?”
“Weight loss can happen to people who take levothyroxine, and if he’s overdosing on top of starving himself it would explain it,” Foreman explained.
“Why would he do that!?” Cameron asked, her voice drenched in worry.
“We’ll see how much longer he’ll put up with it,” House chimed in, “Chances are, sending him down to the pharmacy will prompt him to get more for himself. 50 bucks he passes out on the bathroom floor.” The diagnostician offered a bet.
“It seems cruel to bet on someone’s eating disorder,” Foreman replied.
“Come on,” House tempted, “You know Chase would approve. I can hear him now, when I win he’ll be saying ‘ He was right, Foreman, pay up! ’” House’s grossly bad Australian accent was present in the last words.
-
“Hey, Chase,” Cameron found the intensivist sitting at an otherwise empty cafeteria table during their lunch break, “I saw you didn’t have any food, so I bought you a coffee and a sandwich,” she handed the man a bag and a to-go cup, sitting opposite him.
“Oh, er, thanks,” Chase smiled, hesitantly taking the containers from Cameron. This was going to be difficult to avoid eating.
“So, uh, do you have any clue on what could be prompting Kathryne’s symptoms?” Cameron mentioned, attempting small talk.
Chase laughed. “It’s obvious, innit? She’s.. Just look at her!”
“That might not be the cause, though,” Cameron said, “Hypothyroidism can cause some weight gain,”
“ That isn’t some weight gain, that’s an animal.” Chase picked at his food.
Cameron frowned. “What’s wrong with your sandwich? You don’t like it?”
Chase inhaled. “No, no, it’s fine, er, I just… I’m not hungry.”
“I haven’t seen you eat today,” Cameron continued, “Actually, I haven’t seen you eat anything for the past week.”
“I had apple slices,” Chase deflected.
“You had that three days ago, and you only had 2.” Cameron replied, “I’m worried about you.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Cameron.” Chase sighed, “ ‘Just not hungry. You don’t need to worry.” His stomach throbbed, a reminder that his words were a lie.
Cameron nodded. “Okay then, um, have you taken the meds to Kathryn yet?”
Chase nodded, “Yes, er, liothyronine and liotrix, right? Because she wasn’t responding to the levothyroxine?”
“No, because you, um, took the medication from her? You still need to give the levothyroxine back.”
“You too?” Chase scoffed, “I did give her the pills back! I swear!” His hands turned to point to himself.
“Are you sure? because-”
“Look, I don’t know what you or House is on, but I don’t know where you got the idea that I took these pills to escape into some drugged-out fantasy!” Chase snapped, waving his hands mockingly as he said the last words, “I took the pills because that bloody woman doesn’t deserve help. I don’t understand why a person is able to eat themselves into oblivion and just expect everyone to pull out all the stops for them!”
Cameron paused, processing the intensivist’s words. “What- what do you mean she doesn’t deserve help? Isn’t everyone owed some sort of medical treatment?”
Chase chuckled dryly. “Not fat blokes like her. People who stupidly put their health at risk shouldn’t have people work to fix them. It’s their problem.” He stood up, leaving his sandwich and coffee untouched as he stormed away.
He had managed to walk a few paces away from the table before he was hit with intense dizziness. He slowed, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Soon after, his vision was clouded with darkness. He desperately tried to stay alert, taking a few unsteady steps towards the cafeteria door. He turned to Cameron, fear scribbled over his face, realising he couldn’t overcome this dizzy spell by himself. His vision succumbed to the fog, his senses fading away from him as he felt his consciousness slipping away from him.
Cameron ran up to Chase, catching him just before his body could make contact with the floor. This all but confirmed Foreman’s theory, that Chase was starving himself and overdosing on levothyroxine to aid in that. But why? Why was he starving himself?
-
The first thing he noticed was beeping. A heart monitor? Why? The next thing was the fact he was lying in a hospital bed. His memories returned to him, and he realised Cameron must have brought him when he passed out. He opened his eyes, glancing around the room, and noticed a discarded feeding tube. Shit, they gave him food ? He didn’t know how many calories they gave him, but he knew it was a lot. Immediately, guilt made an entrance as a pit in his stomach and the undeniable feeling of nausea.
He felt a presence looming in his room’s doorway. He looked over, seeing House leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin playing on his lips.
“So,” the diagnostician started, “You starved yourself half to death. Care to share why?” He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind himself.
“I don’t want to be fat,” Chase replied, blunt, “unlike some patients. I don’t understand why they can sit around with all that weight pulling them down.”
“So your strategy to not gain weight was to starve yourself for four or more days, take non-prescribed drugs, and pass out in the middle of a hospital cafeteria? Great plan, smart guy.”
Chase sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re playing this up like it’s a bad thing. I actually care about what I look like, thank you.”
“Unless you’re going for vampire, your pale skin should be nothing to celebrate. That, and the fact you’re 37 and-a-half pounds underweight.”
“37 and-a-half?” Chase repeated, the weight of the statement finally sinking into him. Oh my god, he had an eating disorder. This was bad.
House sat on the end of the bed. “So, why are you so obsessed with your weight? Was it an abusive ex-boyfriend, or…”
“No, it was, erm.. It’s hard to talk about.” Chase mumbled, fidgeting with his hands. “Wait a minute, ex- boyfriend ?”
“Okay then, you don’t have to talk about it.” House shrugged, “We’re also giving you cholestyramine. Don’t pull the IV out of your arm, it’s for your own good.” He stood up to leave the room.
“Wait, erm..” Chase stopped House, prompting the diagnostician to sigh and throw up his arms in defeat, before sitting back down on the bed.
“I thought you couldn’t talk about it,” House said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Chase glanced at House briefly. “Er.. before medical school, I was in modelling, and-”
“ ‘Makes sense, you’re too pretty to just be a doctor. I’m assuming your boss starved you? You developed some bad things from that?” House interrupted.
Chase nodded. “Yeah, er, Keiran. His name was Keiran.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Right. You’ll get better, don’t worry, and, uh, Foreman took all your levothyroxine from your apartment and I told the pharmacy to not accept prescriptions from you.” House stood up and limped to the exit. He paused.
“Oh yeah, that woman, Kathryn, she had some niche disease I don’t know how to pronounce. Turns out, the levothyroxine would’ve actually made her worse. Good job, Chase,” House flashed the intensivist a thumbs-up before leaving the room.